by Carol Finch
"An' Lordy, do them Nin-am-beas delight in playin' practical jokes," Two-Dogs chimed in, his deadpan expression making Rozalyn giggle in amusement until he eyed her disapprovingly. "Don't you be doubtin' it, girl. There is such things as Nin-am-beas." When Rozalyn composed herself, the trapper continued, "That's why Indian squaws place the tenderest meats of the bison and antelope in the crotch of a tree near camp. If Nin-am-beas ain't served vittles in generous proportions they fly into a rage and plague the tribe with bad luck."
"A foot tall, you say?" Rozalyn queried, striving for a serious tone.
"No more than that," Fuzzy affirmed. "And you should hear how scared Indians are of gophers. Not that I would cross one myself, but if one of them varmints darts in front of an Indian he starts chantin' prayers to the Great Spirit and offerin' tributes." Fuzzy shook his head and then snickered lightly. "Once I was stayin' with the Sioux and one of them pesky gophers burrowed on the edge of camp. Lo and behold, the news spread like wildfire. Them Sioux pulled down their tepees, packed their belongin's, and moved to a new spot where the medicine man was sure they would be safe from gopher evil. I went to sleep in the middle of a Sioux village and woke up in a deserted camp."
"Is there nothing that brings Indians good luck?" Rozalyn questioned before munching on her meal.
"Why, shore," Trapper insisted, propping his elbows on the edge of the table to peer straight at Rozalyn. "A chickadee twittering near a village is a good omen. The Indians say it was that little bird that discovered the world. Then there are the spirits of the Yellowstone that live in the springs."
Rozalyn pricked up her ears, and her gaze swung to Hawk who lounged at the opposite end of the table, sporting an I-told-you-so smile. "I suppose all of you have been visited by these specters and have indulged in a swim in these boiling springs."
"That's usually the only time we can git Trapper to take to the water . . . 'cept when he lays eyes on a lady as perty as you," Fuzzy chortled, his dark eyes dancing with teasing amusement.
Trapper thrust out an indignant chin. "That ain't so."
Before their taunting raillery led to physical blows, Rozalyn steered her attentive admirers onto another subject. "Is there good trapping in the Yellowstone?" She directed her inquiry to' Trapper who instantly mellowed beneath her curious smile.
"We've bin trapping the Yellowstone for several years, after Hawk got us permission from the Crow. But he still ain't found the valley where legend has it beavers are so thick they fight one another to get into a man's trap. I've heard tell there's more game in that hidden valley than the night sky has stars."
That was the tallest tale Rozalyn had yet to hear. The expression on Hawk's face warned her not to scoff at Trapper's remark without insulting her companions. Still, beavers fighting to have their paws lodged in a painful trap? Rozalyn thought these men were prone to believe anything.
Deciding it best to sit back and listen to the trappers fantastic stories rather than contradict them, she found herself assaulted by tales of gigantic avalanches, ground blizzards, and hostile Indian attacks. Finally, the talk of the long-winded trappers turned to the numerous superstitions about the man-eating Wendigo, the giant beaver that prowled the rivers, and to the mysterious Folly of the Woods which crept in during the night to steal men's minds. Rozalyn had thought she had heard all there was of legendary lore while she was under Bear-Claw's care, but it was obvious she had been mistaken. The four trappers she had recently met were filling her head with so many exaggerated tales that she began to wonder if she could again separate fact from fantasy.
More than two hours later, she was hoisted to her feet and shuffled into the open square. There, other mountain men had gathered, bringing their fiddles, harmonicas, and drums to provide music. Rozalyn, along with a few Indian maidens whose white husbands had brought them to the fort, was passed around the boisterous group. Several of the trappers had partaken of so much White Mule whiskey and rum that they were dancing together, seemingly unconcerned that their partners were not of the female persuasion. Rozalyn barely had time to catch her breath before she was snatched from one trapper's arms to be whirled around by another.
Her situation had been tolerable until two drunken trappers had begun to become overly intimate, while dancing. Rozalyn was furious when Dark-Eagle and Yellow-Calf herded her away from the crowd with every intention of molesting her. In no mood to be diplomatic, she attempted to slap some sense into Dark-Eagle and then turned her hand on Yellow-Calf s bristled cheek. Growling at Rozalyn's hostile attitude, Dark-Eagle fastened her hands behind her back while Yellow-Calf attempted to steal a kiss without having the hide lifted from his face. But before the inebriated trapper could see his dream come true, Two-Dogs intervened, jabbing his sharp-bladed knife into Yellow-Calf's ribs.
"The lady came to dance, naught else," he insisted through a tight smile. "If you heathens got other ideas in yore heads, it's best that you forgit 'em." Clamping a vise-like grip on Dark-Eagle's arm, Two-Dogs forced Rozalyn's would-be molester to unhand her.
"Go find yer own woman," Yellow-Calf grumbled. "We found her first."
Two-Dogs pressed the stiletto convincingly against Yellow-Calf's tender flesh, evoking a pained grunt. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, friend," he gritted out. "Back off before I lose what's left of my temper."
After a strained silence, the trappers retreated, but not without glaring holes at Two-Dogs for interrupting what might have been a satisfying tete-a-tete. After Rozalyn had rearranged the gown that had very nearly been twisted around her neck, she graced Two-Dogs with a grateful smile and allowed him to usher her back to the circle of dancers who were enjoying a lively folk tune. Her gaze circled the rambunctious group in search of Hawk, but when he was nowhere to be found, a troubled frown etched her brow. She knew he had been in a sour mood : most of the evening, but would he desert her? Obviously he had or he would have come to her aid when she'd been hustled off by those brutes.
"Hawk ain't here. He went to see his people," Two-Dogs informed Rozalyn when he saw her glancing about the compound. "But don't you fret none. Me and the men will take care of you 'til he comes back."
"He could have told me what he was about before he wandered off," Rozalyn muttered irritably.
"I guess he ain't used to answerin' to nobody," Two-Dogs remarked with a careless shrug. "Hawk is set in his ways, jest like the rest of us. It probably takes some gettin' used to before a man recollects that he can't jest go waltzin' off without reportin' to his wife."
A thoughtful frown creased his brow. Something wasn't right, Two-Dogs mused. He could feel it in his bones. Hawk had behaved strangely all evening, but he wouldn't divulge the source of his trouble. There were a few questions Two-Dogs wanted answered, and he had the sneaking suspicion that what was going on between Hank and Rozalyn Whoever-she-was might not be a simple matter. Two-Dogs was notorious for possessing the curiosity of a cat. Now he wanted to know exactly what a refined young beauty was doing out here. Hawk had lied to his friends, Two-Dogs was prepared to bet his left arm on that.
When Two-Dogs herded her toward her cabin, Rozalyn accompanied him without objection. Her ear had been severely bent and her toes sufficiently trounced upon for one night. She was eager to stretch out on a bed and enjoy a moment's solitude, but it disturbed her that Hawk had strolled off without personally informing her of his intentions.
Two-Dogs noted the melancholy expression that settled on Rozalyn's features, and he gave her hand a fond squeeze. "I suppose you ain't accustomed to all these doin's. Mountain people get a mite uproarious at times, but they don't mean no harm." When Two-Dogs had ushered Rozalyn into a seat, he dragged a chair over in front of her and then plopped down on it. "You ain't really Hawk's wife, are you?" he asked point-blank. "You don't have no ring to prove yore wed. A lady like you would have one because Hawk woulda seen that it was all proper, right down to the gold band. He may seem uncivilized like the rest of us, but he's got the manners of s gentleman. His pa see
n to that."
"Did you know Hawk's father?" Long, tangled lashes swept up and Rozalyn's eyes met the crusty mountain man's faint smile. "Do you know why the DuBois and the Baudelairs hate each other?"
"DuBois?" Two-Dogs choked out the name and then stared at Rozalyn for a long, pensive moment. Understanding suddenly dawned on the mountain man. Why else would this lass want to know about the feud if she weren't a DuBois? It was obvious she knew just enough to make her curious. "Lordy, don't tell me yore Aubrey DuBois' daughter!" The bewildered mountain man slumped back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "Hell's bells, don't that beat all."
"I'm afraid I am," Rozalyn confessed quietly.
Two-Dogs raked his fingers through his hair and then let his arm drop loosely to his side. "I'll be damned," he grumbled. "Hawk promised us at last summer's rendezvous that he was goin' to negotiate with DuBois in St. Louis. When he informed us earlier today that he had found a foolproof way to bargain for lower prices, I wondered what he meant. Bift now the pieces of the puzzle are beginnin' to fall into place. Yore his bargainin' power, ain't you?"
"So it seems," Rozalyn replied. Then she focused penetrating blue eyes on the trapper. "You didn't answer my question."
"I will . . . if you will answer one more of mine," Two-Dogs bartered. "Is Hawk holdin' you for ransom and forcin' you to . . ." The trapper bit his tongue before he blurted out his probing question.
Hesitantly, Rozalyn nodded. "He is not actually my husband, and yes, he abducted me from St. Louis to bargain with my father. But what is between us is not something either of us takes lightly."
Two-Dogs deciphered her delicately phrased message and then frowned thoughtfully. "I reckon stealin' you was the only way Hawk could gain yore pa's attention. But that don't do you and Hawk no good now, does it?"
A sigh escaped Rozalyn's lips, but she met Two-Dogs' scrutinizing gaze. "I have become a pawn and I know I cannot win. I still do not know why my father detests the Baudelairs, or why Hawk and I can never become man and wife. If you could explain, I would be grateful."
Two-Dogs dragged his pipe from his pocket. After lighting it from the lantern, he took a long draw and then watched the smoke rings drift across the shadowed room. "I don't see no reason why you shouldn't know what started this feud," he murmured. "But I ain't sure I'm the one who should be divulgin' the information."
That was not what Rozalyn wanted to hear. She wanted to know the dark secret her father harbored—quickly. But she could tell by the square set of Two-Dogs' jaw that he would not betray a confidence. Dammit, would no one enlighten her? How could she fight when she didn't even know who and what she was battling?
When Two-Dogs bid her good night and closed the door behind him, Rozalyn paced the confines of her quarters, wondering if she would die without knowing what had ignited the feud. Rozalyn had the sinking feeling that her father would retrieve her from rendezvous, cart her back to St. Louis, and never mention the cause of his fierce hatred. And yet it might have been only a simple misunderstanding, something that could be forgiven if both parties would sit down and calmly discuss the matter.
But she knew that wasn't so. She had watched her father fly into a rage at the mere mention of the Baudelair name. He would not rationally discuss what had set him in a frenzy in St. Louis. By the time he reached the mountains he would be so furious at the turn of events that there would be no reasoning with him.
Mulling over that depressing thought, Rozalyn climbed into bed. Blast it, where was Hawk? He knew their days together were numbered. He could have taken her with him to the Crow camp. Don't work yourself into a stew, she told herself. Hawk has his reasons and he loves you. But does he love you enough? the nagging voice of distrust asked. That question continued to torment Rozalyn while she attempted to sleep. She knew Hawk was an adventurer, and no matter what hushed words of endearment he whispered in the heat of passion, he still came and went as he pleased, leaving her without an explanation. It was as if he were proving to her that he still had his freedom, no matter what was between them.
And he will always crave his freedom, Rozalyn reminded herself. He is a restless spirit and love can never truly bind a man like Hawk to a woman.
Oh, why did I fall in love with a man I can't have? Rozalyn asked herself miserably. She might as well attempt to hitch herself to a fleeting cloud. That would be as practical as wanting a future with Hawk. There could be no such thing, even if Aubrey didn't stand like an immovable mountain between them.
A fond smile pursed Hawk's lips when he stepped inside the wigwam to see his grandfather sitting cross-legged before the fire. Although Arakashe was nearing his seventieth year, he was a spry old man with keen, perceiving eyes. His weather-beaten features were framed by braids of silver hair, and his shoulders slumped now as they had not when he'd been in the prime of life.
"You have been gone a long time," the chief remarked in a graveled voice. "I expected you before the season when the buds burst and the owls that hatched from the snow began to take their prey. Could it be that your heart has strayed from the people of the Sparrow Hawk?"
"It has been a busy winter," Hawk defended, sitting down by the fire.
"And a troubling one, I fear," Arakashe said, his scrutinizing gaze working its way over the rugged features of his grandson's face.
Hawk nodded solemnly, knowing it was impossible to put anything past the perceptive chief. "There has been a great deal on my mind. I can find no solution to the dilemma that frustrates me."
Arakashe had seen the same exasperated expression on Hawk's face once before. More than thirty years ago, Hawk's father had come to Arakashe, searching for direction, pondering the truth in his soul. "The past has a way of repeating itself, does it not, Manake?" he questioned, calling Hawk by the name he had been his grandson when Hawk was but a lad. As was the custom, Hawk had taken another name as the years passed, but the chief fondly remembered the boy who had been his constant shadow those many years ago.
Hawk's gaze lifted to survey Arakashe's knowing smile. "You once warned me that it was unwise to make promises I couldn't keep, but I was young and foolish then. I thought I would grow to a man and be able to manipulate the world as it suited me."
"You have not outgrown your fierce desire to control your destiny." The chief chuckled.
"I still have that desire," Hawk admitted with a bitter laugh. "But I lack the power. Bear-Claw has told me of my link with the past. He explained the legend you told to me those many years ago. I wanted to become Morning-star's fiercest warrior, but, too late, I have realized that there are some things in this world a man cannot change, no matter how relentlessly he quests for solutions."
As if the wise chief had read Hawk's mind and plucked out his troubled thoughts, he queried softly, "Who is she, Manake?"
"She is Aubrey DuBois' daughter, a woman of incomparable beauty, and I know I cannot keep her," Hawk declared, his voice revealing his frustration.
Arakashe sat in pensive silence while crosscurrents of emotion passed across his wrinkled features. "Your burden is heavy and the obstacles that cast their shadows upon you are as tall as these mountains. You have followed the tracks of the Longknives for many snows, my son. It is time for you to fast and pray to the Great Spirit for guidance. It is the way of the Crow. I know in my heart what you will ask of Morningstar, as your own father asked before you."
Remorseful green eyes focused on the chiefs sober countenance. "I would be wasting my time. How can I search for an answer when there is not one to be found? Don't you think I have considered every possibility? I have spent the winter contemplating alternatives. What purpose will be served by offering tributes to Morning-star when I can see with my own eyes that my future is grim?”
A wry smile rippled across the old chiefs lips. "The warrior who casts aside his spear and retreats can never lead his braves into battle. That is not the way of the Absarkoes. The people of the free-flying Sparrow Hawk never back away, Manake. We may give way when the battle do
es not go in our favor, but we remain steadfast of heart and firm in courage." Arakashe laid his hand over Hawk's and willed his grandson to meet his level gaze. "If a man looses heart, what has he left? Certainly not his life when he must bear it with shame. Let your heart lead you to the place where Morningstar dwells. If no answer comes, you can return, knowing you have done all that is possible. But do not forsake the spirit of your mother's people, of my people. You must search until the last ray of hope follows the sun to the edge of Mother Earth. No man can ask more of himself than that, and no man should admit defeat until he stands in the long shadow." Arakashe gestured toward the northwest. "Go now, Manake. I will bring your woman to you after you have fasted and prayed. We will wait for you beside the boiling river in the land of the spirits."
A low rattle of laughter rumbled in Hawk's chest as he remembered the difficulty of the Sioux chief when he'd attempted to take Rozalyn where she didn't want to go. "You may find dealing with Rozalyn a difficult task if you do not explain your purpose. She is a feisty one, very unlike Crow women."
"I would have expected no less," Arakashe remarked with a nonchalant shrug. "You have never been satisfied with the shy Crow women who would have been proud to invite you to share the wigwams of their families in the custom of our people."
"Do not think to lead her from the fort without explanation," Hawk advised. "Rozalyn is not obedient. She will not hesitate to defy you if she feels she has just cause."
Arakashe chortled. "Then she is much like your own mother, a contrary creature who also had difficulty conforming to the ways of her people."
Hawk couldn't have stated it better himself. Although Rozalyn was flesh and blood, she possessed great inner spirit, something that set her apart from others, a trait that could be annoying and yet endearing. She was a curious enigma, and she intrigued Hawk. He prayed Arakashe wouldn't lose patience with her for his grandfather was in his declining years. Rozalyn was not his own daughter and he might not be as tolerant with her as he had been with his own child. The last thing Hawk needed was for Rozalyn to demolish the Crow camp and invite Arakashe's wrath. She could not know the source of Arakashe's feelings toward her and if she didn't watch her step—
