by Karen Kay
He was giving her a moment of reprieve, a moment in which to collect herself. But she knew that opportunity was as fleeting as a drop of moisture under the Kansas heat. Something was happening between herself and this man and she did not know what it was. She wondered if he did.
And, though she could little understand it, he seemed to find something in her that was attractive. And, the good Lord forgive her, she liked that attention…
They camped beneath a grove of cottonwoods and willows, the majority of the trees growing next to a babbling stream. Anna noted that several of the willows had boughs which hung down, dipping into the water. Glancing toward those branches, she knew a moment of camaraderie with the plants.
She felt miserable in the heat. Even though War Cloud had led their party only a few miles away from where they had recently stopped for a drink, the journey here had seemed interminable.
Frankly, Anna felt as though she were shriveling up under the relentless sun, and the children did not appear to be faring much better. War Cloud, however, looked as fresh and undisturbed as when they had first started their trek; a circumstance that found her casting him envious glances from time to time.
How did he do it? She would have to remember to ask him about it at the first opportunity.
However, once they had stopped long enough to set up camp and she’d had the chance to contemplate him more thoroughly, she had observed that War Cloud appeared anxious. She had inquired about it, but had received no more than his typical monosyllabic replies in response.
Still, when she inspected his countenance fully, she knew with certainty that something bothered him. Was an enemy in their vicinity?
She wished she had the nerve to quiz him extensively about it, but she knew it would do her no good. Perhaps it was no more than exhaustion, anyway.
But no matter, her energy resources were exhausted and she did not feel she had the strength at present to pull out of him whatever were his concerns. At least not right now. Perhaps later.
And so it was that with this thought uppermost in her mind, she curled up onto her side and fell into an exhausted sleep; a sleep filled with visions of a handsome Indian who somehow found something in her that was attractive.
Chapter Thirteen
She awoke to the sounds of evening. Off in the distance trilled the melody of hundreds of crickets, while closer at hand came the quavering refrains of doves. An occasional burst of the night hawk’s warble accompanied the evening’s racket, and she would have to have been deaf to miss the incessant croon of the locust.
Listening, Anna extended her arms above her head while a wave of contentment washed over her. She sighed longingly, breathing in the humid and earthy, although somewhat cooler, air. She stretched, leisurely, as though she had all the time in the world.
As the evening continued to fall about her and she breathed deeply, Anna decided that the air here smelled fuller, cleaner and healthier than it had in any other part of the country. It was also less humid since evening had descended upon them, and as she opened her eyes, she stared straight up into the branches of a tree. That those limbs waved in the wind seemed somehow romantic, the natural clamor of the stirring leaves thrilling to her, as though the wind and the trees were giving notice of another imminent storm.
How long had she slept? she wondered. She remembered that War Cloud had set up camp late in the afternoon, right here beneath these few shade trees, but beyond that she recalled nothing. She had gone to sleep almost at once.
She became alert for sounds that would tell her that the children might also have awakened. She heard nothing, however, that would cause her to think they had, and moving sluggishly, she turned onto her side.
She caught her breath at once; held it, then let it out slowly, noiselessly. Directly in front of her sat War Cloud, his back to her, and she allowed herself a short while to study him.
What a fine figure he cut, she decided. He had let loose his long, black hair and the effect was astonishing to her. Why, she concluded, his hair might be as long as hers. Odd, she had become used to seeing him with two braids caught at both sides of his face, and for some reason that hairstyle, or perhaps her lack of observing him closely, had failed to give her a clue as to its true length. Nonetheless, at present those locks fell gently down his back, their descent unencumbered by the quiver of arrows he usually wore, although a strand or two of his hair waved now and again in the wind.
Wondering what he might have done with his quiver, she flashed a quick glance down to his side, observing that he had set it in a ready position next to him, along with his spear and shotgun.
Uninterested in the weapons, however, she returned her study to the man himself, noting that his shoulders were broad in the extreme, his back unusually straight even though he appeared to be leisurely reclining. Plus, if she allowed herself to look there, glimpses of his buttocks and bare legs peeked out at the sides of his breechcloth.
Previously, she had refused to stare at that portion of his anatomy, considering such curiosity indecent. Nevertheless, she began to rethink her attitude.
She had to admit that, while she had practically melted under the Kansas heat, this man had remained cool. God willing, she conceded, there might be some logic to his style of dress.
At present, he sat before her cross-legged and alert; he alone being watchful while the rest of their party slumbered.
She was impressed. Such vigilance would require discipline and a willpower of steel, she decided, for she realized how horribly tired she had been after their afternoon march. She had been unable to keep her eyes open.
Yet he had not only led them here, he had remained on guard. Admiration for his hardiness stirred to life within her, as well as an awareness of…what? It was more than mere thankfulness; it was a sense of respect she felt, as well as perhaps a feeling of…
What made her want to reach out and touch him? Her fingers itched to do so, as though they possessed a will that was independent of her own.
Regardless, she might have done it, but in that instant he looked quickly over his shoulder. Gasping, she cast her glance in another direction. A nervous sort of trepidation washed over her, reminding her of the sensation she’d had when, as a child, she had been caught in the act of stealing a sweet.
If he noticed anything peculiar, however, she did not know it, for his response at seeing her awake was no more than a brief, “Humph!”
“And good evening to you, too,” she countered, staring back at him, her voice perhaps more brisk than was necessary.
He did not respond to her, however, and after a short while, she asked, “Have you seen any sign of an enemy?”
“Humph!” came the response she was beginning to expect from him.
She sat up, straightening her petticoats around her. “I was only wondering,” she justified, although why she needed a reason to ask him questions was beyond her.
Again came that terse, “Humph!” Although in a trice, he added, “Had there been sign of any enemy, I would have awakened you.”
If she was supposed to be properly chastised for the simple act of asking a question, she refused to rise to the bait. She said instead, “Would you like me to sit watch while you rest?”
He did not respond. At least not in words. She did notice his entire body stiffening, however.
She tried again, “Would you?”
She heard a low, guttural sound come from his throat and then, “First you try to entice me into doing women’s work,” he reprimanded, “and now you try to take my duty from me. What is it you wish? Would you rather I wear dresses?”
“I… The thought hadn’t entered my mind. I am only trying to be kind to you. I realize that you must be tired.”
“Humph!”
“I was trying to be helpful.”
“Then maybe you should do your women’s work without complaint. That would be helpful.”
“Why, I…” She bit her tongue. Differences in culture, she tried to tell hers
elf. That was all this was. The two of them were merely experiencing a divergence in etiquette. There was no reason to feel anger. She simply did not know what he expected of her, and he did not know what she considered polite behavior. Although sometimes, she admitted to herself, she had the impression that this man deliberately antagonized her.
Still, what did he consider women’s work? She said, “If you are talking about what happened earlier today, there by the stream, I think you misunderstood. I was merely commenting that a white man is more considerate of his woman when he sees that she is tired and is yet required to do physical work.”
“Were you?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And is it more considerate,” he asked, “that the man be caught off guard by an enemy or by a wild animal when he is helping his woman?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it not better that a man stand on guard, watching out for the weaker ones, ready to fight an enemy if the need to do so presents itself?”
“I…” She stopped. She did not know what to say. Unfortunately, for the sake of argument, what he said made perfect sense.
He did not wait for her to continue, however, and he went on to say, “In my camp you would have been chastised for asking me to help you. It is a man’s duty to protect his family, not to do the women’s work. Most Indian women take pride in what they do and do not wish their man’s assistance. Were I to have tried to help a Cheyenne woman in this way, she would have been insulted.”
“But—”
“She would have thought that I was telling her, with my ‘help,’ that she was not worthy of my protection. Is it this, that you wish from me? Do you not feel deserving of the safety I give you?”
“I…” She paused for the beat of a second. “No,” she continued, “I…thank you, I guess. But you see, it is the way of things in my society that a man, because he is stronger than a woman, will help her with physical work.”
“Humph! Look around you, Nahkohe-tseske. You are no longer in the country of your people.”
“I know, but…there are so many things I do not know about your country, Mister War Cloud, as there are things in my society that would be strange to you, also. Could we not call a truce as regards our differences?”
He did not answer right away and she explained further, “Please try to understand, I am not attempting to be difficult. I simply do not know what you expect of me. And, if you are honest, you will admit that you know little about what is considered good behavior in my society.”
“Humph!” came the response that was beginning to become irritating. He said, “I do not care to know it.”
She cleared her throat. “That may be. However, we have been thrown into one another’s company against our will. We could try to understand one another, couldn’t we?”
He did not answer, and unexpectedly, she took courage from his silence.
She came up onto her knees and scooted toward him, settling herself beside him. She chanced a glance up at him, immediately catching her breath. There were lines of worry upon this man’s face, and she found herself asking at once, “Is something wrong?”
“Humph!”
One of the children stirred in his sleep and she sent a hasty glance toward that spot, letting out her breath as she watched the child settle back down. Returning her attention to War Cloud, she asked once more, “Is something worrying you?”
Again, no response.
“Something is, isn’t it?”
“I do not worry…so much,” he added.
“I see,” she acknowledged. “Then might you tell me what it is that isn’t worrying you…so much?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I must tell you sooner or later. I have known that I must.”
She drew in a quick breath and threw back her head, as though she were to meet a conflict rather than a simple statement of fact. Although she asked only, “What is it?” she watched as a muscle twitched in his cheek.
He snapped his head to the left, chin out, a gesture she was beginning to recognize as typical for him. After a short while he said, “Those Pawnee at the fight were very close to Dog Soldier country. They took a great chance in coming this close to my people’s land; this they knew. It makes me believe, because of their lack of fear, that they must have been the advance guard for a column of warrior-whites. If this is true, then these whites are seeking out my people in order to kill them. I have sent my brother and his white friend, Collin, back along our trail to see if my suspicions are true.”
“Oh,” she uttered without pause, “this could, indeed, be a problem.” After a moment she asked, “Forgive me, War Cloud, for I know you have more to say, but I must ask you, what are the Dog Soldiers?”
His brows drew together and that same muscle tapped angrily in his cheek, but he did not hesitate to answer, saying, “The Dog Soldiers are a Cheyenne military society. It is one that used to be an esteemed order of the Cheyenne people. However, many years ago the leader of this society disgraced himself by killing another Cheyenne. Even though the act was committed in self-defense, the laws of our tribe banished him.
“There were many of his relatives and friends who followed this leader into his exile, and together, they set up their own camp, becoming a militant society. They are now the most feared of any group of warriors, for they will fight to the death to protect what is theirs.”
Anna moistened her dry lips and swallowed, hard, as a thought occurred to her. She asked, “And are you a part of this society?”
“I am one of its leaders.”
“I see,” she said, as one thought followed upon another and she asked, “And the fight at the train, those were your men who struck us?”
He nodded.
“And so it is really you who are responsible for the deaths of all those people,” she pressed on.
He must have heard the censure in her voice, for he sent her a glance laced with contempt. “I am at war with the whites,” he said.
“But not those particular people,” she uttered, stating her viewpoint on the matter even though she knew he would disagree.
“The bounty hunters captured my brother,” he responded. “They abused him and knew I would come after him. They were prepared for what would happen and it was a good fight. Those whites are not as innocent as you would make them seem, I think.”
She raised her chin. “I agree that the bullies got what was coming to them, but there were innocent people killed, too, a friend of mine among them.”
“That is true, yet the law of the prairie is, a life for a life, and I have many more lives to take before I can say that I have avenged the deaths of my family and my friends.”
She paused. While it was a fact that she might understand this point of view, she could never agree that one innocent life should pay for the death of another. “Yet,” she breathed, “the laws of my God say differently. Only those who kill should be punished, not those who had no hand in it.”
“Then you should teach these values to your children when they are young so that they do not kill innocent Indian women and children. Or are you like the other whites who believe that only a white life is of any worth?”
“That was a harsh blow, Mister War Cloud,” she countered. “You must know, from my actions, that I do not share others’ prejudice.”
“Humph!”
She became silent. He did know that, didn’t he? She said, “There are many other white people like myself who are not prejudiced and who want only peace.”
“Had the white man wanted peace,” came the instantaneous reply, “he would have talked peace at Sand Creek, because the Indians were there under a truce; we were there to talk about reconciliation. For many days there had been peace talks and the soldier-whites visited our camp often. Yet you know what happened. Either you speak with a forked tongue or your words contain no experience with these warrior-whites. Had the white man stayed his hand at Sand Creek, there would have been peace, for the Cheyenne wanted harmony t
o return to the land. I know. I was there.”
Her expression stilled. She was certain that he spoke wisely, for as he said, he had been there and surely knew what the Indians had planned and what the warrior-whites—as he called them—had done. And yet, was it wise to blame an entire race for the injustices of a few?
Anna said, “The white man was wrong at Sand Creek. And if you were to visit with the leaders in the East, you would see that you would get their agreement on that.”
“And if I could do that, how would that help the Indian people? What would that give them that they do not already have?”
“Understanding?”
“Humph! Our leaders visited our father in the East many times in a place called, Washington. Lean Bear went to that place in the year the white man calls 1863. Black Kettle, the great peace leader, went there in the year 1864. Bull Bear and White Antelope were there, too. They are gone. They listened to the great white father who spoke of peace. They believed him and trusted him, only to be killed by these frontier warrior-whites who do not recognize Indian rights. Would you have the Indian give up his life, his women, his children and all that he holds dear to become no more than slave to these warrior-whites? You tell me now, what good would come from the Indian going there in the East?”
Anna’s brows pulled together in a frown and she hesitated. She had not known all those delegations of Indians had gone to Washington on a mission of armistice. Nor did she understand why the white man in this territory did not listen to the words of those in governmental power, for she was certain the United States government would not sanction many of the military’s actions here.
She said, “I don’t know what to tell you. I really don’t know what good might come of going there. Maybe you are right and it would do no good whatsoever.”
No expression crossed his face, although the muscles in his neck worked violently. He observed, “Sometimes a man must make a stand for what he believes is right. The Cheyennes are making such a stand now.”
