“It’s Crow blood, Abbie girl, not mine,” he told her with a grin on his face. “He’s bad wounded, too. I doubt he’ll survive the night. But at least he’s gone now—picked up and carried off by his friends who turned tail and ran.”
“Oh, Zeke!” she said in relief. She hugged him around the middle and he returned the embrace, but only for a brief second.
“Not here, Abbie,” he said quietly. “Cheyenne men don’t show their affection openly.” He pulled back and winked at her. “They save it for inside the tipis.”
She blushed at her awkward mistake and pulled back, wanting to cry again, and he saw that her eyes were red and swollen.
“Abbie, are you hurt?” he asked, beginning to look her over. She only shook her head, knowing that if she opened her mouth she would show her childishness. “You are!” he frowned. “Your legs are all skinned up!” He stooped down to get a look at them, then rose and met her eyes. “What happened?”
“I just—My horse fell,” she replied in a quivering voice. “I slid down the hill and—oh, Zeke—I thought they’d killed you! I didn’t hear any gunshots, and—”
He put his fingers to her lips. “Abigail Monroe! You know no Crow can lick a Cheyenne! And a real warrior doesn’t use a gun, Abbie, not if he can help it.” He took on a proud look not unlike the one his own brother, Swift Arrow, had assumed earlier. “A real warrior gets close to his enemy!” He grinned and yanked his knife from its sheath, suddenly seeming like a changed man as he turned and faced the still-celebrating Cheyenne men. “He kills his enemy with weapons that require’ close fighting!” he continued. “He counts coup, touches his enemy, kills them with his own strength and skill—not from far away, hiding behind a rock with a gun! Guns are for white men who are too afraid to get close to their enemy!” He let out a war whoop and held his knife in the air, and the other men began hooting and hollering again.
Zeke’s Indian blood had surfaced, and Abbie could see he was just as caught up in the excitement of the small skirmish as the others were. He howled and laughed with the other men, concentrating on three in particular, whom he greeted hardily with a firm Indian handshake and a look of genuine affection in his eyes. There was the same affection in the eyes of the three men. Abbie recognized the half-naked Swift Arrow and knew the other two must also be Zeke’s brothers.
She felt a strange tinge of jealousy at Zeke’s ability to share the Cheyenne culture with these men and to understand them. It seemed to her this was a part of him that would never belong to her, a wildness she would never be able to completely control.
Something moved at her right, and Abbie turned to see four women standing and staring at her, several children hiding behind them and gawking at the newcomer. Abbie was amazed that she had not known until now that there were any other women around. She supposed they must have been hiding in tipis with their children until the battle was over, and that it was only now that they were aware of the presence of a stranger. Their faces were not unkind, and one smiled. Her face was broad and round, and her dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. Abbie liked her right away without knowing her. The woman carried a papoose on her back, and Abbie was curious to see an Indian baby, but by then the warriors were quieting and beginning to turn their attention to the strange white girl who had invaded their camp crying “Crow!”
Abbie stood a distance from them, turning her eyes from the Indian women and looking at the men again, realizing the attention was now being directed at her. Their interest had been drawn from the Crow skirmish to one small, white girl, and she felt awkward and embarrassed. The men’s laughter and celebrating dwindled, and their eyes grew curious. Abbie stepped back a little further when they began to circle her, and Zeke was at once at her side, motioning to the three men he had so hardily greeted.
“Come here, my brothers, and meet my new wife!” he told them in English. Swift Arrow looked at Abbie haughtily while the two younger ones looked at each other, then back at Abbie, scanning her with their eyes and again making her feel undressed. The two younger ones grinned and nodded to her, their eyes friendly, but Swift Arrow remained sober. All three stepped closer.
“Abigail, the ornery one there is Swift Arrow,” Zeke told her teasingly. “That one is Red Eagle,” he went on, pointing to a younger man, the shortest of the three, but just as fine-looking as Swift Arrow. “He’s eighteen summers. The youngest one here is Black Elk. He’s seventeen summers—only one year older than you, Abbie.”
Black Elk was more slender than the other two, the muscles of his arms round and hard but not as full and powerful. His nose was sharp and prominent, his skin darker than the others. He was not as handsome as Swift Arrow and Red Eagle, but was still fine-looking in his own right, on the threshold between boy and man. He put out his hand white-man style and Abbie took it hesitantly. He closed a warm hand around her own, shaking her hand vigorously.
“She is pretty!” he told Zeke sincerely.
Zeke grinned. “That she is,” he replied proudly. “Her name is Abigail, but she is called Abbie. She’s sixteen summers, Black Elk—and don’t get any ideas. She’s mine.”
Black Elk laughed and looked around at the others. “Zeke’s wife,” he told them in the Cheyenne tongue, pointing to Abbie.
Their reactions were mixed, some scowling at her, others smiling, and some just staring at her with blank looks. Swift Arrow stood with his arms folded, looking down his handsome, prominent nose at Abbie. His thick, dark hair was neatly braided and decorated with beads, and there were three coup feathers at the base of his neck.
“You left something out, my brother,” he spoke up to Zeke, shifting his eyes to the man. The others quieted, aware of Swift Arrow’s bad temper. “She is white!” The words were sneered. “We need no white women in this camp! We need no white women in any Cheyenne camp! It is bad luck! White women are weak. Look at her eyes! Already your woman has been crying!”
Abbie looked down at the ground, ashamed of her own tears and feeling as unwanted as a plague. Zeke bristled, stepping closer to his brother. “I’d say under the circumstances she’s done pretty damned good up to now,” he replied, trying to stay calm. “And you don’t know anything about her yet, Swift Arrow. When you know about her, you’ll know she’s not weak. And you’ll respect her the same as if she were a Cheyenne wife, because she’s my woman, Swift Arrow, and a good woman!”
Swift Arrow’s dark, angry eyes blazed. “You told us once that you will never again marry a white woman! We wait here for you faithfully, caring for your horses! And what do you do but return with a white woman at your side!”
Zeke moved back over to Abbie and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hold your head up, Abbie girl,” he told her firmly. “Look at these men.” Abbie dutifully raised her eyes, scanning the assortment of dark faces and breechcloths and vests and leggings and long, black hair. The tears in her eyes blurred her vision and made the Cheyenne look alike—dark enemies who wanted no part of her. Never had she felt such a foreigner. “These are my friends, Abbie, and three of them are my brothers—blood brothers.” He accented the last two words. “This woman is my wife,” he told all of them. “She has suffered greatly over the past year. I have brought her here with me to find the peace all of you know I cannot find in the white man’s world. She has given up everything to be at my side—all the comforts of the white world, her very way of life—given it all up just for me! She is not weak! She is strong, and good, and obedient. She is my woman, and that is the way it is.”
Swift Arrow turned his head in disgust.
“There is much she has been through,” Zeke continued. “And when I bring her before the council and before my mother, I will request my brothers and all of you to attend, and then you will know her story. It is a sad one. She knows suffering and grief, just as our people have known these things … and as I myself have known them. And all of you should know that this tiny woman has killed two Crow bucks: one was among some outlaws who attacked and brutalized her and
the other attacked the wagon train she was with. She has even taken a Crow arrow in her back. She almost died from the wound, but the Great Spirit saved her—for me!”
Those who understood English exclaimed over her courage, and most wore broad smiles of approval, as Zeke retold the story in the Cheyenne tongue for those who did not understand. The Cheyenne women grinned and whispered and continued to stare at her. All seemed impressed, and even Swift Arrow had turned to glance at her in surprise when Zeke mentioned she’d even suffered a wound from a Crow arrow.
“She has killed three Crow!” Black Elk spoke up with a boyish grin. He pointed to a dead Crow Indian halfway up the hill. “That one. I see her shoot him, after she fall from her horse. Maybe we make her a woman war chief, huh?” Some of them laughed with good humor, and Black Elk voiced his feelings to the others in his own tongue. They were warming to her now, and Abbie began to feel more at ease. Zeke grinned with pride, but Swift Arrow began to scowl again.
“No white woman can be counted among the brave Cheyenne women!” he grumbled. Zeke stepped closer to his brother again, reaching out and putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“What is it, Swift Arrow?” he asked quietly. “Always you have been the suspicious one, but it is not like my brother to be rude and insulting. She is only a small girl, and she is frightened. It was my wish that my brothers would help her feel welcome among our people.”
Swift Arrow met his half-blood brother’s eyes. “She is white!” he repeated. “She will bring disease! If not for the white man’s disease, my own wife and child would not have died of the ugly spotted fever!” He spit out the words bitterly and turned away, and Abbie watched the two of them, suddenly losing some of her hatred for Swift Arrow.
Everyone quieted, and the little circle of men began to break up. The women disappeared as quietly as they had appeared, and Zeke’s two younger brothers remained, watching Zeke, who stood staring with pity at Swift Arrow.
Black Elk touched Zeke’s arm, embarrassed at Swift Arrow’s words. “It is good to have you back, my brother,” he told Zeke. “Our mother was worried. She has gone on ahead to meet up with Dog Man’s clan. Our father is to teach Little Rock about the hunt and prepare him. Soon we must all leave for the hunt.”
Zeke nodded, but kept his eyes on Swift Arrow. “Abbie and I will be going along,” he replied. Black Elk looked over at Abbie in surprise, then nodded to her. He turned to his brother, Red Eagle, and Red Eagle motioned that they should leave Zeke alone with Swift Arrow. They left quietly, and Zeke and Swift Arrow and Abbie were left alone.
“I’m sorry, Swift Arrow,” Zeke spoke up quietly. “When I left, you had been married to Weeping Woman for only two or three months. I did not know there was a child. When did this happen?”
“Six moons ago,” Swift Arrow replied, his voice sounding suddenly too weak for such a powerful man. He turned to face Zeke, his eyes full of hatred. “It was the white man’s disease! In this past winter, my brother, while you have been gone, we have lost almost half of our people! Do you understand? Half of the whole Cheyenne nation was gone in only two moons because of the white man’s dreaded spotted disease! Women. Little children. Even warriors. Men who could defeat any man in battle died like women from the dreaded disease. They could not fight that. And now you bring a white woman into our camp!”
Their eyes held in a challenge, and Abbie swallowed back her tears. Zeke’s eyes began to soften. He had lost a wife and son of his own. He knew the hurt.
“I understand your feelings, my brother. But Abbie is just one little girl. She’s had the spotted disease, so she can’t get it again. They say you only get it once, and then it can’t hurt you anymore. And it’s only when you find the whites in great numbers that the disease can take hold. Abbie has been with me now for six weeks. Before that she spent the winter at Fort Bridger, with strong, sturdy men where there was no disease. It’s been a long time since she’s been around whites fresh from the East. They are the ones who bring the disease, Swift Arrow—the ones fresh out here in big numbers. Don’t blame what happened to Weeping Woman on Abbie. I’m asking you as a brother to accept her and make her feel welcome. And I’m truly sorry about your wife and baby. I’ve felt the loss, Swift Arrow. You know that.”
Swift Arrow seemed to soften slightly. He sighed deeply. “All right,” he told Zeke. “I will not interfere. But some of my anger is not at the white woman. It is at you, for I fear you will feel the hurt again. How many times did you say you would never again marry a white girl?”
“I know what I said. But that was before I met Abbie.”
Swift Arrow glanced at her, then back at Zeke. “She must be an unusual white woman for you to make her your wife.”
“She is. She’s good, Swift Arrow, good and true.”
The man’s eyes remained belligerent, but it was obvious he had a great deal of respect for his half-blood brother.
“My tipi is the one with the arrows painted on it,” he told Zeke. “Just behind your woman. Our mother always puts it up for me. Now I give it to you. It shall be your dwelling until your woman makes one of her own, if she can learn!”
Zeke recognized the friendly gesture, even though Swift Arrow had added the last sarcastic remark.
“Thank you, my brother.”
“I do it only because our mother would wish it and because a man needs a place to be alone with his woman. You are my brother. I would not deny you shelter.” He turned and walked away, calling out to Zeke as he departed. “Tonight we will make big fire—have council.” He stopped and turned to look at both of them again. “You bring woman.” He turned away again and Zeke looked at Abbie, whose mouth was set in a hard line of anger at Swift Arrow for his digging remarks.
“Believe it or not he’s starting to like you,” Zeke told her.
She sighed and looked down. “I find that hard to believe, Zeke.”
He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, leading her inside the tipi. “He’s given us this dwelling place,” he told her. “That’s quite a gift. Sit down over there on that buffalo robe, Abbie, and let’s have a look at those legs. I’ll go out and get some bear grease from my supplies.”
Abbie turned up her nose. Bear grease did not smell very good, but it did work wonders on abrasions. She decided that if the Indians used it, she might as well get used to using it also.
She sat down wearily on the buffalo robe, staring around at the lovely paintings on the inside of the tipi and feeling very sorry for the wife of Swift Arrow, whom she would now never meet. She had to feel sorry for Swift Arrow in that respect, and she could not fully blame him for fearing she would bring disease to their clan. She could only pray she would not.
Zeke returned a moment later with his parfleche and a canteen. He sat down beside her and put an arm around her for a brief moment. “Everything will be all right, Abbie,” he told her. “You just let me do all the talking for a few days.” He gave her a squeeze and moved around in front of her. He pushed up her tunic, and his hands looked large against her thin legs. “You still need to put on a few pounds, woman,” he told her.
She smiled wistfully. “Mama used to call me her little bird,” she replied. The thought of her dead mother brought an ache to her heart, reminding her she had no family now. There was only Zeke. All she had in the world sat in front of her now … this precious man who was her dearest friend and who had stayed by her side when all else was lost.
He poured some water from his canteen onto a piece of clean cotton cloth he’d taken from the parfleche. He dabbed the cloth on her legs and she jumped with pain. He hesitated, glancing up to see the tears in her eyes.
“Sorry, Abbie, but we ought to clean these up a bit before I put the bear grease on them.” He continued washing them as best he could. “And try not to think about sad things right now,” he added. “You have the present to think about, honey. Don’t burden your mind with memories of the past.”
She sat quietly and watched him, as
he applied the bear grease with great care and gentleness. Again she was amazed at how he could be a fierce warrior one moment and a gentle husband the next. She quietly studied the finely chiseled features of his face. He loved her. Of that she was certain. He was here now, and she didn’t have to be afraid.
Someone called Zeke’s name from outside the tipi, and Zeke turned and replied in the Cheyenne tongue. He set the bear grease aside as Red Eagle, his middle brother, entered, followed by the friendly, round-faced woman Abbie had seen standing outside watching her. A small girl, perhaps two years old, followed the woman, clinging to her mother’s tunic, and a little boy, slightly older, was behind the girl.
Zeke greeted them all, and the children stood staring at Abbie as though she were a strange spirit who had come to eat them. Abbie’s first thought was how beautiful the children were, their skin smooth and brown, their eyes almost too big for their small faces. She had seen many other Indians in her few months in untamed territory, and she was sure the Cheyenne had to be the most handsome. Their appearance was clean, their stature proud, the colors of their clothing and dwelling places bright and lively. Their long, jet-black hair was soft and clean, neatly braided or twisted into plaits with brightly died cloth and beaded rawhide strips.
Red Eagle glanced at Abbie, amazed at how white her legs looked. Abbie felt embarrassed, and quickly pulled down her tunic. Red Eagle looked at Zeke. “This is Tall Grass Woman,” he told Zeke. “Wife of Falling Rock. You remember her?”
Zeke nodded to the woman. “I remember.”
Red Eagle reached over and took something from Tall Grass Woman’s hands. “She bring gift for your woman—to welcome her.” He shook out the cream-colored doeskin dress, beautifully painted and decorated with quills and beads.
Abbie gasped with delight, and Zeke smiled, reaching down and helping Abbie to her feet so that she could take the tunic and hold it up to herself.
Ride the Free Wind Page 6
