“You are the most handsome warrior in this village,” she had told him. “All the young women look at you, Blue Hawk, for your blue eyes fascinate them and make you special. You are strong and beautiful. I am proud that this day you ride out against the Crow. Bring back a Crow scalp for me. Make me proud, Blue Hawk.”
The young man had promised he would do just that, and he cared not that all the young girls watched him. There was only one whose attention and admiration he craved: Walking Grass. He searched for her as he rode proudly through the village, joined by other warriors as he moved. And then he saw her, standing with some other women, admiration in her eyes as she watched him. She suddenly broke away from the group, running up to him and handing him a beautiful war shield, a detailed blue hawk with the sun behind the bird painted on the front.
“For you, Blue Hawk, for good luck,” she told him quickly. “Come back.”
Their eyes held for a brief moment, and he was so startled by the gift he didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a sign that she favored him, and his pride and self-confidence knew no bounds. At close range she was even more beautiful than he had realized. She whirled then and he started to call after her, but a white horse was suddenly beside him, bumping against his leg.
“You would do best to concentrate on the battle to come, white-eyes. To think of a woman when going into battle could shorten your life.” The words were hissed threateningly, and Blue Hawk stared into Fire Wolf’s dark eyes, his youthful temper surfacing.
“I will think what I want,” he answered steadily. “Do not worry about me in battle, my friend. I will take more scalps than you.”
Fire Wolf grinned wickedly. “We shall see. But perhaps your death will not come from the Crow. Anyone can be an enemy, Blue Hawk. Do not call me friend again. And stay away from Walking Grass.”
Blue Hawk smiled. “She has shown me favor. She does not belong to you, she belongs to the better man.”
Fire Wolf just glared at him, then swung the lance he held in his hand and knocked the new war shield from Blue Hawk’s hands. It whirled in the air and spun to the ground, and Fire Wolf quickly rode off, his horse trampling the shield. Blue Hawk started after him.
“Blue Hawk!” The words were almost growled, and a lance barred him from the other side. “No.”
He turned to see Proud Eagle.
“He deliberately soiled the gift Walking Grass gave to me.”
“We are riding into war. If you have something against Fire Wolf, save it for when we return and bring it before the Council. Do not forget that you are not truly one of us—yet. In battle we must work together or we fail.”
Blue Hawk’s eyes were an angry, icy blue. He dismounted and picked up the war shield, brushing it off and fuming that one slender branch that formed the edge of it was cracked. The shield was, however, still usable, and he slipped the holder on the back of it over his wrist and remounted his war horse.
“After we ride against the Crow,” he told Proud Eagle, “I will be one of you. You will see what I can do. And if Fire Wolf ever touches anything of mine again, I will kill him.” He rode off then, and Proud Eagle and others followed, sod flying from beneath the hooves of the swift ponies that would carry them into battle.
Chapter
Ten
THE surprise attack was planned for early dawn. There was a side of Blue Hawk that wanted the wild excitement, and a side that did not. But living with the Cheyenne the past weeks and his desire to be one of them outweighed any hesitancy his white blood might create. In his youth his Sioux people had warred against enemy tribes, and it had simply been their way of life. But his years at Fort Dearborn with white men had planted a seed of doubt. Tom had said many times that the Indians were only hurting their own cause by warring against each other. But here, in the wilds, as they began charging the village of the hated Crow, that didn’t seem to matter. What mattered was revenge for the Cheyenne and proving his worth.
In moments the Crow village was surrounded. Women screamed and families began pouring out of their tipis, the warriors scrambling for weapons and horses. But the Cheyenne were quickly upon them, charging right through tipis, swinging tomahawks and plunging lances. The fight for territory had begun, and for the Cheyenne, the only way to keep their hunting territory was to show the Crow by force that they did not belong, had no right to steal Cheyenne women and horses. The Cheyenne would strike back.
The horse Buffalo Man had given Blue Hawk went into action easily, prancing out of reach of Crow warriors who grabbed for him or tried to wound him with a weapon. Blue Hawk whirled the stone of his sling, hitting a Crow warrior’s head and knocking the man to the ground. He pulled his musket from its boot and fired, opening a hole in the Crow warrior’s forehead. He quickly dismounted and stole the eagle feathers from the warrior’s hair, an act of humiliation. He had touched the enemy and now deserved at least one coup feather along with those he had just stolen.
He quickly stuffed the feathers into his belt and started to remount when a second Crow man screamed and attacked him from behind. Blue Hawk whirled, kicking up his leg and hoping it would do some kind of damage. It caught the man’s upraised arm, knocking a tomahawk out of it. Blue Hawk lunged for the tomahawk as it fell while the Crow man went flying backward. But the Crow man was quick, and just as he picked up the tomahawk the Crow warrior was lunging into him again, hitting Blue Hawk so hard the breath went out of him.
Blue Hawk was as big, if not bigger than the Crow man, but he lacked his full potential, for this was all new to him, and he still did not have the full power and size of the man he would eventually become. But when he thought about Walking Grass he felt renewed. He kept a grip on the tomahawk as the huge Crow warrior on top of him tried to wrest it away. They struggled violently, Blue Hawk gasping for breath but refusing to let go of the tomahawk. The thought of being beaten in his first raid brought so much shame that it made him angry, and he suddenly felt a burst of energy that helped him roll the Crow man over.
Horses thundered by them, other warriors fought hand-to-hand nearby, but Blue Hawk concentrated only on the man under him, who grasped Blue Hawk’s wrist and held the murderous weapon away. Blue Hawk straightened his left leg, raising his body and bending his right knee, ramming it up under the jaw of the Crow, knocking him senseless. He yanked the tomahawk from the man’s hand and slammed it into his skull, then used it to quickly carve a tuft of scalp from the man’s head.
He jumped up, shoving the fresh scalp into his belt alongside the eagle feathers, grinning with the sweet taste of victory. But he could not celebrate long, as yet another Crow came at him, his knife poised. Blue Hawk lunged sideways, swinging the tomahawk and catching the Crow hard in the side with it, but not before the Crow managed to knife Blue Hawk just below the ribs and draw blood. The Crow went down and Blue Hawk was on him immediately, cutting off part of the man’s scalp. He put a hand to his side where the Crow’s knife had managed to slice through his buckskin shirt and pierce his skin. It stung terribly, and blood made a growing stain on his shirt. But the wound seemed almost worth it. It was that much more proof of how close he had come to his enemy.
Blue Hawk quickly looked for his horse, and to his delight the animal stood nearby. Buffalo Man had been right: this horse knew what to do in war. Blue Hawk started for the animal, while all around him the fight continued. He realized the Cheyenne were slowly but surely winning, and the battle could not last much longer. He had not quite reached his mount when he heard a horse thundering up behind him. Blue Hawk didn’t think the Crow men had had time to get to their horses, and when he turned at the last minute, he didn’t realize right away what was happening.
A white horse slammed into him sideways, knocking him over. He felt himself growing weaker from the stab wound and he hoped he had enough strength left for this next warrior. He got to his knees, then his feet, somewhat stunned. He grabbed the tomahawk that had been knocked from his hand and whirled to see the warrior coming at him again
. It was not a Crow. It was Fire Wolf. The man’s eyes were alive with a desire to kill as he bore down on Blue Hawk. He stood his ground until the man was nearly on top of him, then ducked sideways, turning and grabbing Fire Wolf’s ankle just as he went by. He hung on, stumbling backward as Fire Wolf kept his horse at a hard run.
Blue Hawk looked up and saw the man’s arm raised, his knife ready to plunge into Caleb’s neck. He let go of the man’s ankle and darted away, Fire Wolf’s laughter ringing in his ears. Blue Hawk ran for his mount, leaping onto its back and whirling the animal to face Fire Wolf, who was coming at him again, this time with a lance. He yanked out his own lance and headed straight for Fire Wolf, realizing there would be no more chances to save himself. He had only to think of this man lying with the pretty Walking Grass to have the courage and skill he needed. He wished his musket was loaded and at hand, yet he sensed that to kill Fire Wolf with his lance was more honorable.
He charged toward Fire Wolf, and the moment Fire Wolf was close enough he hung sideways so he could hit the man’s lance with his own, and knock it out of Fire Wolf’s grasp. Blue Hawk quickly whirled his sure-footed mount and charged Fire Wolf before the man could even stop his horse and turn. He was nearly upon him before Fire Wolf realized it. The man yanked out his tomahawk and again headed toward Blue Hawk, thinking to snap Blue Hawk’s lance with the tomahawk. But Blue Hawk did not hold onto the lance as Fire Wolf thought he would. At the last possible moment he threw it hard, then whirled the roan mare immediately to the left so that Fire Wolf could not reach him.
Fire Wolf rode on for several yards with the lance sticking out of his chest before finally falling to the ground. Blue Hawk turned his horse and neared the man, dismounting to yank his lance from the dead man’s body. He stared at him for a moment, panting, his side bleeding badly. He hadn’t wanted to kill Fire Wolf. The man was a respected warrior. But he had left Blue Hawk no choice.
Blue Hawk felt dizzy and sick, and when he turned to shove his lance back into the loop that held it, he realized the fighting had ended and several Cheyenne warriors had gathered around him.
Proud Eagle was one of them. His dark eyes moved from Blue Hawk to Fire Wolf and back to Blue Hawk. “This is bad medicine, Blue Hawk. You have killed one of our own.”
“He tried to kill me,” Blue Hawk answered quietly, regret in his eyes. “I had to defend myself.”
“I saw Fire Wolf attack him,” one of the other warriors said.
Proud Eagle studied Blue Hawk. He liked him, but what he had done was not good, for many had seen Blue Hawk and Fire Wolf fighting before they left camp, fighting over the shield given by Walking Grass. Among the tribe it was understood Walking Grass would go to Fire Wolf, and now this blue-eyed Cheyenne had come along and had already practically claimed her, even though he had not formally expressed an interest and hardly knew the girl.
“This must go before the Council,” Proud Eagle told the young man. “All will have their turn at telling what they saw, and you, too, will be allowed to speak. I cannot say what will be done, Blue Hawk. The elders might banish you.”
Blue Hawk thought of Walking Grass and his aunt and the fact that he had just this day proven his worth as a warrior. But now his reputation was damaged and his credibility was being questioned because of Fire Wolf.
“I did nothing wrong,” he told Proud Eagle. He yanked the scalps and feathers from his belt. “Look. I took two Crow scalps, and I stole these eagle feathers from a third. All are dead.” He held up the tomahawk. “This weapon I took from a Crow. I counted many coup this day. I helped the Cheyenne fight the hated Crow. Is banishment my reward because a Cheyenne does not know how to master his envy?”
“I cannot say. What you have done today against the Crow will be considered. But Fire Wolf was a respected warrior, and his family will be angry. Come. We must prepare to return to the village.” The man told a couple of other warriors to wrap Fire Wolf’s body and tie it to a horse. He would be brought back to the village for proper burial by his own family.
There were no other Cheyenne deaths, but there were wounded, and time was taken to tend the wounds before they started back. Three young Crow women were kept tied and watched, but they refused to look afraid. Blue Hawk knew it would not be long before they resigned themselves to being slaves, and most likely would end up marrying Cheyenne men, the usual fate of women prisoners.
Two Cheyenne women, relatives retrieved from the Crow, had been rescued. One had been badly beaten and abused, and Blue Hawk thought how terrible it would be if Walking Grass were ever taken by Crow. It was possible many braves would force themselves upon her, and the thought of it brought a surprisingly fiery jealousy and hatred to his heart. He vowed he would never let anything bad happen to Walking Grass.
But perhaps there would be nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he would be banished from the tribe, just when he was growing accustomed to the people and their way of life again. The thought of being forced to leave the Cheyenne saddened him. He wondered how he managed to keep doing the wrong thing. He had had to flee Fort Dearborn, but he did not want to leave here. He wanted to stay and make his life with these people. He belonged to this wild land.
The fire burned brightly, and Blue Hawk watched the flames, hoping the spirit of Black Antelope was watching over him now as he faced the Council. Fire Wolf’s family were among those present, his mother glaring at Blue Hawk. Her wailing had been great when they first returned, but the honor of Fire Wolf’s death was diminished when it was learned he had not died at the hands of the Crow, but at the hands of the blue-eyed Cheyenne.
At a word from Three Feathers, Blue Hawk stood, ready to defend himself, still weak from his own wound but refusing to show it. He had deliberately worn the torn and bloody buckskin shirt he’d had on the day of the battle, to prove he had almost been mortally wounded. On his lance, which he held in his hand, he had tied the two Crow scalps and the eagle feathers, and in the other hand he held the Crow tomahawk.
Witnesses rose to speak of how they had seen Blue Hawk kill Fire Wolf, including the one man who had seen Fire Wolf attack first. Proud Eagle spoke in Blue Hawk’s behalf, and then it was his turn to speak. The fire crackled as all eyes turned to him, some friendly, some eager to banish him.
“Speak Blue Hawk,” Three Feathers said. “It is fair that you have your say.”
Blue Hawk stepped forward, his blue eyes flashing with pride. “I am Cheyenne. My eyes are blue, but I never knew my white father, and I was raised to love my people. I never stopped wearing the blue quill necklace from my Cheyenne mother. When I was old enough, I left the white village where I had been taken and came searching for my people, for the source of my blood.” His eyes scanned them all. “I found it here, with my beloved aunt whom I thought dead. I found it here, among my own kind, people I have learned to call friend. I made you a promise when I came that I would fight with you like a true warrior. I have shown no fear, given you no reason to be ashamed of me. In the battle with the Crow, I killed three warriors, took two scalps, eagle feathers and a tomahawk. I would have killed even more if Fire Wolf had not stopped me.”
He looked straight at Three Feathers. “I never did anything to make Fire Wolf hate me, yet from my first day here he looked at me with hate and envy in his eyes. He thought that I wanted the woman that he, too, wanted. I never said that I did, and I did not do anything shameful or lead Fire Wolf to believe I was stealing something from him. The woman belonged to no one, not even Fire Wolf. You know of whom I speak.”
In the shadows Walking Grass listened, her heart pounding. How she adored the handsome young man with the blue eyes who had come to her village. How she feared for him now. She never thought giving him the shield would bring him so much trouble. She was glad Fire Wolf was dead, for she did not want to be his wife. But his death might mean banishment for the handsome half-breed, and she did not want him to go away.
Three Feathers nodded. “I know. Go on, Blue Hawk.”
�
��The day we rode out of this village, the woman gave me a war shield she had made herself, a gift of good luck and a sign I am favored. I did nothing to lead her to this. It was her choice. Fire Wolf was jealous, and he knocked the shield from my hand and rode his horse over it. That was a disgrace to the spirits in the shield. But because he was a great warrior he was allowed to ride with us into battle. He must have decided that it would be easy to kill me and blame it on the Crow, so he waited until I was wounded to try to kill me. What I did was in self-defense. I did not want to kill Fire Wolf, but if I had not he would have killed me. I tell you now, I am your friend. I would die for the Cheyenne. I proved that in battle. My wound proves it. My scalps and feathers prove it.”
He sat beside Proud Eagle, his heart pounding with apprehension. Leaving would be bad enough, but if he was banished he would be leaving in shame. Three Feathers looked at Fire Wolf’s father. “What do you say, Black Eagle?”
The man studied Blue Hawk, then held up a skewer. “The white belly says he is brave and a good warrior. Perhaps he has shown this by the fight with the Crow, the scalps and feathers. But until he makes the sacrifice of the Sun Dance, he cannot say he is one of us, or that he is truly brave. It is one thing to count coup in the excitement of war. It is easy to be brave then.” He waved the skewer. “Let us see how brave the white belly is when these sticks are put through his skin and he is raised to hang until the skin tears away. I say he must prove himself at the Sun Dance. I say he can stay until then. If he refuses to participate, he is banished. If he cries out, he is banished.”
Savage Horizons Page 15
