by Karen Kay
The reaction of his body only served to fuel his anger. Without further ado, he spun around, that he might leave this place.
Indeed, he would have accomplished it too, except that he heard the angel laugh, and in doing so, she caught him, as readily as if she had spun a web around him and drawn him in. Swift Hawk hesitated, he listened, but mostly he paused to admire the sound of her voice. For its tone was not only musical, there was a quality about it that expressed life, vitality, a love for living. Though he might be experiencing more than his fair share of apprehension, the zest within that laugh entranced him.
Hardly daring to do so, he glanced over his shoulder, toward the circle of dancers, and there he looked his fill of her, beholding the allure that was hers alone.
He should gaze away from her, he knew he should, but he found himself unable to do so. As he turned toward her, he experienced an odd feeling, as though he had suddenly sunk into quicksand, for he could not move his feet.
However, the fact did not bother him. Instead, he resigned himself for what was to be and simply stared at her, struck by the unusual style of her white woman’s dress, for it hid her womanly form, yet accentuated it at the same time.
In a white dress that swooped down to her ankles, she looked as foreign yet as stunning as a silvery morning sunrise. The dress was not entirely white, he admitted, for its print included red dots all over it, and its sleeves were unusually full, falling over her shoulders and gaining their largest width at her elbows. A red belt accentuated her tiny waist and a white hat with immense red ribbons sat atop her blonde curls. An enormous ribbon, also in red, was tied under her chin, though off to one side.
Her dress swayed with every movement of her body, and she seemed never to stand still. Even when remaining in one place, she constantly moved, shifted and curled with every breath she took, with every word she whispered. And though it might be slight, each motion screamed seduction.
At present, she laughed up at a white man, one of the soldiers Swift Hawk recognized as an officer of the fort. Her gaze upon the man was nothing if not provocative.
Still, Swift Hawk had little choice but to stand there, watching her smile and tease. Gradually it came to him that he was in trouble, for a raw streak of jealousy knifed through him.
He muttered a white man’s curse beneath his breath. What was this sudden burst of hatred that he felt toward that man? What was the meaning of this desire to take his knife and…?
Swift Hawk reined in his thoughts. Realization dawned: She could not be the salvation he thought her to be—she must not be. He had been wrong in coming here, wrong in seeking her out, wrong in thinking she could help him.
Clearly she represented nothing but dishonor to him. For he knew that if he were to be in this woman’s presence for any length of time, he would ruin her and ruin himself. It would follow as surely as dawn follows the night. As he was unable to resist her, his vow of celibacy would go disregarded, and in the end he would overcome her objections and woo her to his bed.
He knew he would. And it was a thing he must not do.
Perhaps, he thought, grasping at straws, it was her brother who would help him. After all, her brother had also been a part of Swift Hawk’s vision.
Very well. There was only one thing he could do and retain his honor: He must leave here at once. He must return to the prairie and offer up his thoughts to the Creator.
So it was with this determination that Swift Hawk again turned to leave. He had managed no more than a few steps in retreat, when a delicate hand touched him on the shoulder.
“Mister Swift Hawk?” said the voice. “I believe that is your name, is it not?”
Swift Hawk stopped completely still, as though her touch had transformed him to stone. He did not turn around. He did not look around. He dared not.
“Mister Hawk, have I introduced you to my brother, Julian?”
Swift Hawk cleared his throat to speak, but it seemed she did not require his reply, for she went on to say, “Jules, may I introduce you to Swift Hawk, who has come here to act as a scout. Isn’t that a coincidence? That the two of you should be occupied in the same trade?”
“A scout, are you?” asked Julian. “Say, this is a touch of luck then, isn’t it?”
Swift Hawk didn’t respond. He turned around slowly, dreading coming face-to-face with her. Glibly, he thanked his elders for instilling good manners within him, for it was only these formalities that enabled him to bestow upon sister and brother a simple inclination of his head.
That done, he turned to leave, but again she caught him with the mere grace of her touch.
“Please stay. I was so hoping that you and Julian might find a good deal to talk about.”
“Yes,” chimed in the brother, with a huge smile. “Have you ever traveled the Santa Fe Trail?”
Swift Hawk acknowledged the man with a positive tilt of his head and glanced down at the feminine hand pressed against his arm.
Her gaze followed his, and she quickly withdrew her hand.
“Both routes?” asked Julian, acting for all the world as though he were unaware of any exchange between Swift Hawk and his sister. “The desert, as well as the mountain route?”
Another nod from Swift Hawk.
“Which do you prefer?”
Swift Hawk paused to give himself time to settle his emotions. “The mountain route is the better of the two. Though it is longer, there is no risk of running out of water for yourself and your stock. Besides, the mountain route travels toward my cousin’s fort.”
“Your cousin, you say?”
“Aa, yes. However, it is probably more truthful to say that my cousin is adopted. The fort is known as Bent’s Fort. William Bent, who built the fort, married my adopted cousin.”
“Ah, Bent’s Fort. William Bent married a Cheyenne woman, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“And she is your adopted cousin?”
“She is. I was adopted by the Cheyenne when I was still a young boy. Bent’s wife, Owl Woman, and her sister, Yellow Woman, are my adopted cousins.”
“Ah…” said Julian, as though this explained something, “and your real tribe is…?”
“My own tribe is an old one, but it is distantly related to the Blackfoot, who are in the North.”
“Blackfoot.” Julian drew out the word and frowned. Then under his breath, “The tigers of the Plains.”
Swift Hawk didn’t deign to respond.
“Blackfoot, eh?” Julian repeated, and running a finger under his collar, he sighed. “Then you might have heard of a friend of mine, since he used to scout up that way. John Bogart?”
“I do not know him,” answered Swift Hawk, “but I know of him, since he is one of a handful of white scouts. I have often heard William Bent speak of him.”
“Ah, then maybe you have heard of me too—”
The angel in white placed her hand over her brother’s arm. “I think I should tell you that—”
“Yes,” drawled Julian, “I’ve spent many an hour with Bogart over a campfire, talking of many things.”
“Julian, listen to me—”
“Taught me everything he knows, and vice versa, and—”
“Please stop this. He knows,” said the angel succinctly before turning away from the two of them, where she directed her gaze out toward the dancers, as though she were more interested in them than in the conversation at hand.
Julian frowned. “He knows? He knows what?”
Spinning back toward her brother and lowering her voice, she whispered, “He knows that you have never met John Bogart.”
“But…but…” Julian looked decidedly uncomfortable, and he strained his gaze in his sister’s direction.
“Don’t look at me like that. I did not tell him,” she defended. “Mr. Hawk was listening to us the other day.”
“He heard us talking?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said.
“But I didn’t see him anywhere around there.�
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“Yet he was there. I spoke to him after you left.”
Swift Hawk frowned at the young man. “The white man has not learned to sense the presence of another. And it is this that often causes his doom. If you are to scout, it is one of the first of several awarenesses you must gain—to sense the presence of another being.”
Julian’s eyes grew large. Without so much as a blink of an eye, he said, albeit a little defensively, “What do you mean, learn? I am a scout.”
Swift Hawk raised a single eyebrow.
“Well, I am… That is, I could be…”
“Yes, yes,” said the angel. “Mister Swift Hawk, might my brother and I interest you in a little chat?”
Swift Hawk drew back from her. “A chat?”
She nodded. “Yes, a chat…a conversation. I believe that my brother and I would like nothing more than to have a moment of your time, if you will…away from here, where we might talk. If you would be so kind.”
As though his assent were already given, she placed her hand through the crook of his arm, as well as that of her brother. Then, without another word being spoken, the angel in white and red led Swift Hawk and her brother out into the ever-darkening night.
Chapter Seven
The Native American has been generally despised by his white conquerors for his poverty and simplicity. They forget, perhaps, that his religion forbade the accumulation of wealth and the enjoyment of luxury… Thus he kept his spirit free from the clog of pride, cupidity, or envy, and carried out, as he believed, the divine decree—a matter profoundly important to him.
Charles A. Eastman
The Soul of the Indian
While it was a fact that a white man and an Indian might converse in private, it was not a common sight to see a white woman doing so. Angelia supposed this was why there were a few startled looks directed toward her. Indeed, it seemed to her as though a mere scowl might contain material weight, so heavy did these feel upon the back of her head.
Angelia chose to ignore the looks, the stares, as well as the people who gave them. For truth be known, she needed Swift Hawk. She needed his help, his advice, his cooperation, and she needed it now. That is, she required it if she were to ensure her own and Julian’s safety.
Besides, she was perfectly within her rights. It was not as if she were meeting with Swift Hawk privately. Julian was here too.
Strolling a few hundred yards from the scene of the dance, the three of them came to a small wooded area bordering a stream.
Letting go of both men’s arms, Angelia began, “Let us speak to one another plainly, here where no one else can hear us.”
“I can’t, Angel. There’s a meeting I need to—”
“Yes, yes, but a moment, please. Let me say my piece.”
Julian sighed but remained silent.
“Mr. Hawk…” Gazing toward Swift Hawk, Angelia caught her breath. The moon, which was almost full, was shining down on the man in such a way as to make him look…handsome. Incredibly handsome, and… She coughed. “Since you already grasp that my brother knows only as much about scouting as he has learned from this book written by Mr. Bogart, I am wondering…” She hesitated, then cleared her throat. “I am wondering if you might teach him some skills. Perhaps take him with you, show him what he should know, maybe cover up for him if he makes mistakes, and in exchange I—”
“Angel!”
“Please, hush. Let me finish.”
Julian groaned, but again he remained silent.
Angelia resumed her entreaty. “Mr. Hawk, you know already that my brother and I are in trouble, and that we are running away from the authorities, who are offering a rather large reward for our capture—”
“Have you lost your mind?” Julian spouted. In a more whispered tone, he asked, “Why are you telling this man these things?”
Angelia shrugged. “He already knows about it. Remember? He heard us talking.”
“Oh.” Julian frowned. “Right.”
“Therefore,” she addressed Swift Hawk, “it is important to my brother and myself that we reach Santa Fe as quickly as we can, because, you see, Santa Fe is out of the jurisdiction of the United States. We will not be easily caught there.”
Angelia bestowed Swift Hawk with another sweeping glance, but whatever his thoughts were on the matter, he held them to himself.
Resigning herself to the task at hand, she voiced, “I admit at first I was surprised by Julian signing on to the job of scouting. However, the more I considered it, the more I began to see that perhaps it might be a blessing, for as Julian had reckoned it might, it will allow us to travel to Santa Fe without recognition. That is, it will if I can enlist your aid to help him. Without that aid, I am afraid that within the passing of a few days, Jules will be quickly discovered.”
“Don’t say any more. I—”
Casting her brother a frown, Angelia held up her hand.
Brows drawn together, Swift Hawk drew his arms over his chest. “Why do you ask this of me?”
“Because,” she said, “I cannot take my plea to Colonel Davenport, nor to any other person here, scout or soldier. Colonel Davenport would feel it his duty to turn us in, and I am afraid, quite frankly, to trust any other man—or woman—at this fort. A reward of five thousand dollars for our capture would be too much for a person to resist.”
Swift Hawk scowled. “But you feel that I would resist this?”
“You have already told me as much. Do you not remember telling me that you would not carry tales to Colonel Davenport? That your sense of honor would not allow it?”
Swift Hawk didn’t respond to the question. Instead, he seemed to draw inward. For her own part, Angelia didn’t dare break the silence, either, though she held her breath waiting for his answer.
At last, hardly able to bear the oppressive quiet any longer, she said, “I would not ask this of you if I weren’t prepared to exchange something with you.”
His gaze bored into hers. “And what have you to give me?”
She bit her lip. She didn’t have much to offer. Even she knew it was so. Perhaps Julian might?
Glancing toward her brother, Angelia realized she was in trouble. The only thing she could discern about Julian was his agitation as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as though he couldn’t wait to be gone. To add to the impression, Julian kept staring at the dancers off in the distance. Clearly his attention was not centered on this conversation, and if anything, he was here in body alone.
That left her to fend off the question, and the only thing she could give to Swift Hawk was…
“Knowledge,” she said.
“Knowledge?”
She nodded. “Yes, knowledge. Of the white man. Of the way he thinks, his schools, what he teaches. For instance, do you even know how to do this dance that they are doing?”
Swift Hawk frowned.
“I could teach you.”
“I have no need of the white man’s dance.”
“Then you’ll be missing out on a great deal of fun.”
“Fun? I have no need of the white man’s idea of fun, either.”
“I see.” Angelia could feel her face fall, but it was not within her to give up so easily. “You seem unusually critical of the white man, Mr. Hawk. Are you, perhaps, a spy?”
“Some of my people believe there is much about the white man to be critical of, and I am no spy.”
“But the folks here suspect most Indians, and most believe that the Indians are here only to spy. Besides, if you were such a person, you would hardly tell me, would you?”
The question went unanswered, and when he didn’t appear to have anything else to say on the matter, Angelia decided to take another tack. “There is a great deal more I could teach you. It might be worth your while to learn as much about the white man as you can, since he is moving into your territory farther and farther west with each passing year…and…”
Angelia stopped short. The man looked more like a boulder at the mo
ment than flesh and blood. And he said, “I know as much about the white man as I care to know. I have learned much about this already from William Bent, who is a trader at Bent’s Fort.”
“Yes,” said Angelia. “I see that he has taught you English very well. But has he shown you how to add and subtract a column of figures, so that you can tell if a white man or a trader is cheating you?”
Swift Hawk raised an eyebrow.
Angelia pressed her point. “These are the very things that could save your people from despair. Truly, it could free them.”
“These things could save my people?”
“They might.”
“Tell me how this could be.”
It was the one question Angelia was prepared to answer, since she had already put some thought into the subject, and leaning in close to him, she consciously shifted her weight, while her upper body swayed toward him. “By showing you how to read and the basics of simple arithmetic, I can teach you to understand the white man’s culture so that your people are not entrapped by it.”
Swift Hawk had backed away from her an inch or two. “How will this help me to free my people?”
“By bringing them understanding. And with understanding, ignorance departs. By knowing all you can about the white man and his ways, you would set your people free from misunderstandings so that they would survive the onslaught of the incoming culture…for it is coming.”
Swift Hawk didn’t answer. Indeed, he was silent for such a long time, Angelia was concerned that she had lost her cause. At last he said, “I will think on it. And I will give you my answer soon.”
“But—”
“That is all I will say at this time and in this place.”
“Oh, I see.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Well, then, please do let me know your answer as quickly as possible.”
