“The iron fiend,” Sage said, then urged his horse into an even harder gallop, Runner keeping steadfastly at his side.
Runner could not help but feel a strange, building excitement every time he watched a train traveling along on the gleaming tracks. Like something magical, on and on it would go, rumbling and flashing in the sun.
Chapter 3
Love sent me thither, sweet,
And brought me to your feet,
He willed that we should meet,
And so it was.
—JOHN NICHOLS
The sun was pouring its heat from the sky, reflecting on the steel rails of the railroad tracks like white lightning. Runner rode at a gentle canter beside his father, squinting his eyes as he studied the new rails being laid, even now, by the work gangs. Although he felt a deep hatred for this invasion on the land of the Navaho, he was undeniably in awe of the power of the trains that rode these sorts of tracks. Distances were joined like magic.
“Do you see how the land is being destroyed by those men?” Sage said, as he edged his strawberry roan closer to Sage’s stallion. “The earth is Mother and is to be revered. Not to be made ugly by steel rails.”
Runner nodded, his eyes shifting to the men who had stopped their labors and were now leaning on their pickaxes staring at him and his father. These men, who performed the labor for the Santa Fe Railroad Line, were quiet, self-effacing men. They worked by day, and drank and played by night in the saloons and bawdy houses in Gallup. It was this sort of men who were not welcomed in these parts. The threat of them corrupting the young of the Navaho was too severe.
Runner rode onward with his father. They left the work gang behind and inched their way alongside the rails that had already been installed. Runner looked over his shoulder. “There are but a few rails left to be laid before it reaches Fort Defiance,” he said, mentally counting those that lay strewn along the ground. “Then perhaps the laborers will leave.”
“But today, even now, the iron fiend and its carloads of white people come to invade our land, freedom, and privacy,” Sage said, his dark eyes angry. “This Navaho has always searched for ways to keep peace with the whites. But now? Now I feel that I was wrong to have given in so easily to their demands. See where it has taken us? To a time and place of more invasions of the whites.”
“It is not something that can be changed, Father,” Runner said somberly. “Unless—”
“Unless we rip these tracks up, and all of the others as they are being laid from day to day,” Sage said, casting Runner a heated glance.
“That would bring the white pony soldiers to our village,” Runner said, his eyes locking with his father’s. “I have known you long, Father, and I know that you do not want this.”
“Nor do I want to flee again, as I did when Kit Carson brought heartache to our people,” Sage said, in his mind’s eye remembering the day that he had been forced from his stronghold by flames lit by the white man.
“Then let us wait and see how all this truly affects our people,” Runner said, reining in his horse beside Sage’s. He reached a comforting hand to his father’s shoulder. “This son means no disrespect by saying his mind.”
A smile quavered on Sage’s lips. He reached up and patted Runner’s hand. “It is always good to hear you call yourself my son,” he said. “You are not of my blood, but you are even more my son than if you had been. Your thoughts often match my own, so do not despair when occasionally we disagree on how things should be.”
“It is not that I disagree,” Runner corrected. “It is . . .”
His words were stolen away and he dropped his hand from his father’s shoulder when the long screaming whistle from a train drew his quick attention. He turned from Sage. His spine stiffened and his gaze was drawn to the sky, where again he watched billows of black trailing along in the wake of the approaching train’s belches.
His jaw tightened when another loud, long shriek came from the train. He was now able to see the black engine coming into sight, black smoke pouring from its smokestack that was shaped like a great kettle.
“Is it not an ugly monster?” Sage said in a grumble. “And listen to it. Hear how it snorts, puffs, and screams?”
“That is so, Father,” Runner said, yet the white side of him could not stop the fluttering of his heart as he watched the train’s approach. When he was a child, he had heard rumors of trains. The thought mystified him no less now than then.
And here he was, a grown man, coming face-to-face with such an invention.
If he could but only see that it was true progress for his Navaho people, as he knew that it was for his white heritage.
But everything pointed to it being hogay-gah, bad, for the Navaho. Bad, ugly, and a disgraceful thing to happen to the land of his Navaho loved ones.
He fought off feelings that were wrong and accepted that he must hate this train as much as his Navaho father. Yet their hate seemed as bad as the train itself.
Hating anything meant trouble.
They rode on until they met the train, then began riding alongside it as it approached the end of the private spur that had been laid thus far.
“There is only one cattle car and there are no cattle, but instead only a few horses,” Runner said, forking an eyebrow. “And there are only two passenger cars.
“I can see enough through the windows to see that there are only two passengers,” Runner said, exchanging quick glances with his father when they both saw two people staring intently at them from one of the passenger cars. “Have we been wrong to think that the trains on these tracks will bring scores of white people to our land?”
“Do you think they would spend so many white man’s dollars to lay such tracks for only two people?” Sage scoffed. “Son, they are only the beginning of our people’s total ruin and unhappiness. There will be others. Many, many others will follow.”
“I am sure you are right,” Runner said, tightening his hold on the reins and holding his knees tightly to the sides of his steed when the train shrieked again.
Runner and Sage rode away from the train, stopping a few feet from the end of the line. Ignoring the glares from the work gang, they sat quietly and sternly, waiting to see more clearly these two invaders of their land.
Adam leaned closer to the window of the train. “Come and see, Stephanie,” he said, motioning to her with a hand. “Our welcoming party has arrived.”
“Welcoming party? I didn’t know we were going to be met by anyone,” Stephanie said, scampering to her feet. She lifted the hem of her skirt and scooted onto the seat opposite Adam. “Why, it’s Indians, Adam. Two Indians. Are they Navaho?”
Adam’s past was coming back to him in flashes. “Yes, they are Navaho,” he said, his heart beating anxiously. “And by God, Stephanie, one of them is Sage. You know, the chief that I’ve so often talked about.”
“Truly?” Stephanie said, her eyes widening. “Which one? The older one, no doubt.”
“Yes, the older one,” Adam said, grabbing for the seat back when the train came to a sudden, rumbling halt. “The one who has his hair clubbed and wrapped with strands of white wool.”
“And the younger Indian?” Stephanie said, her gaze taking in the handsome man, realizing that he was not altogether Navaho. It was only in his attire, and how he wore his hair, that she saw him as Navaho. His clothes were colorful. He was dressed in a shirt of handwoven, woolen cloth with a vee-neck, and dyed buckskin trousers that had silver buttons down the sides and tied with woven garters. The bandanna knotted about his head was of red crimson silk, holding back his long, flowing black hair. Otherwise, she saw his white skin, burned dark by the desert sun and wind, not by heritage.
“Good Lord, Stephanie,” Adam said, staring even more intensely at Runner. “You wanted to know about the White Indian? I believe you’re looking at him.”
“Runner?” Stephanie gasped, still staring at him. His features were sculpted. His eyes flashed with dark intensity. “Is that truly Runn
er?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Adam said, rising from his seat.
Stephanie turned quickly to Adam, who was already at the door. “Where are you going?” she blurted.
Adam ignored Stephanie. He stepped out into the heat of the day and ran to the cattle car. He slammed open the door and placed a plank from the car to the ground, leading his horse down it.
Stephanie bunched the hem of her skirt into her hands and ran after Adam. “Wait for me,” she shouted. “Adam, I want to go with you.”
Adam still ignored her. He was too anxious to resume ties with his old friend, and not only for friendship’s sake, but hoping to find an ally in this friend who was, by birth, white. He mounted his brown mare bareback and rode hard toward the two waiting Navaho.
As hell-bent on meeting the Navaho as Adam, Stephanie also bridled her horse in the cattle car, then led the chestnut stallion out and mounted him bareback. Gripping the reins with sure hands, she rode after Adam.
When she finally reached her stepbrother, he had already drawn up beside Runner.
Runner raised an eyebrow as Adam sidled his horse closer to his stallion, seeing something familiar about the man, but could not place him. His gaze shifted when Stephanie came and drew rein beside the white man.
Memories rushed over him of white women of his past: his true mother and her friends. He had been young when he had been living among the white community, but he could recall seeing such lovely women as this, with their ivory skin, supple and slender figures, glowing cheeks, sparkling eyes, and full, ripe mouths.
Even this far from the woman he could smell a sweet perfume wafting toward him, reminding him of the perfumes his mother had worn.
But even though he could recall those women long ago, and seeing Leonida every day now, and thinking them all so beautiful, this woman was even more than his wildest dreams could conjure up. She was more lovely than any that he had ever seen before.
She had an entrancingly curved mouth. Her eyes were as smoky gray as the spring sage on the mountain slopes. Her feathery dark lashes flared widely so that they cast shadows on the pale skin beneath, and her hair was a magnificent torch of copper.
She was a picture of feminine daintiness, the snug fit of the bodice of her traveling suit emphasizing a tiny waist and high bosom.
The more he looked at her, the more she caused him to realize that he had been without someone to share his nights with him for far too long. Her mere presence was setting little fires throughout his body. And he could not allow such feelings.
In a sense, this woman was an enemy, an enemy of the Navaho.
“Trevor?”
Hearing the name of his youth being spoken by the white man made Runner jerk his eyes back to the man. Only people of his past knew the name that he had been given on the day of his birth.
He looked at the white man more closely and began seeing something familiar about him. This close, he could see the features of his boyhood friend—Adam.
“Adam?” Runner said, his voice low and measured.
“Runner, it is you,” Adam said, reaching over to give Runner a fierce, manly hug. “It’s really you.”
Runner returned the embrace, feeling awkward. He saw the woman as an enemy; he could feel no less for Adam. It was obvious that Adam was involved with the expansion of the railroad, or he would not have been there.
Across Adam’s shoulder, Runner looked at Stephanie again, finding it hard to continue labeling her as the enemy. He silently studied the gentle loveliness of her face and the breathtaking color of her hair and eyes.
Remembering again the differences in their beliefs where the railroad was concerned, he quickly shifted his eyes away from her and eased away from Adam.
“And Sage?” Adam said, leaning so that he could look around Runner. “It’s so good to see you again.”
Sage’s lips were pursed tightly. He refused to give this man of his past a greeting that would be the same as speaking with a forked tongue. Although he was happy to see the boy of his past now turned into a young man, he would not allow his happiness to show. Adam was bringing trouble to the Navaho. His presence on the train made that fact evident.
Adam’s eyes wavered. He looked clumsily over at Runner, then at Stephanie. “I would like to introduce my stepsister to you,” he said, motioning for Stephanie to move into view.
When she did, Adam took her hand. “This is Stephanie. Stephanie, you have heard me mention Runner and Sage to you often.” He motioned with his free hand first to Runner and then to Sage. “I am sure they are pleased to meet you.”
Runner nodded in acquiescence.
Sage sat stolidly quiet, offering no comment.
“I’m pleased to meet you both,” Stephanie murmured, blushing somewhat beneath Runner’s steady stare.
Sage moved his horse forward, then stopped. He looked over at Adam. “Your mother Sally,” he said. “She is well?”
Relieved that Sage was finally speaking, Adam’s eyes took on a lively sparkle. “My mother is quite well, thank you,” he said, relaxing somewhat. “Mother has been widowed twice but is now happy with her third husband, Stephanie’s father.”
“It is han-e-ga, good that she is well,” Sage said. “She was a good woman.”
“And your wife?” Adam said smoothly. “How is Leonida faring?”
“She is happy among the Navaho,” Sage said, his eyes taking on a dark glittering. “She is Navaho now. As is our son, Runner.”
“I can see that Runner has changed,” Adam said, raising an eyebrow as he roved his eyes over Runner. “A lot.”
Sage turned his gaze from Adam, shifting it to his son. He could see the instant attraction between Runner and the white woman. He was reminded of how quickly he had become enamored with a white woman, himself, all those years ago. Although Sage’s marriage had been blessed with happiness, he would much rather his son choose a Navaho bride.
If Runner married a white woman, his children would most certainly be white. If he married a Navaho, there was always a chance that the children would be at least part Navaho, which would be preferable since Runner would one day be the leader of the People.
He could not allow his son to fall in love with a woman who was aligned with a man who had returned to Arizona for all of the wrong reasons. It was most certainly not to renew acquaintances—there was no logic in why he would.
His gaze swept over the richness of Adam’s attire, stopping at the two diamond rings on his hands. This man was not guided by the heart. It was evident that he put too much faith in what money could buy. Sage could not help but feel that Adam was there only because of the railroad, and if so, he could not be made to feel welcome.
“Adam, what has brought you to Arizona?” Runner asked, guardedly watching Adam’s reaction. He knew the foolishness of asking the question that he already knew the answer to. As each moment passed, Runner suspected that his old friend had strong ties with the Santa Fe Railroad and was there for all of the wrong reasons.
Adam looked over his shoulder at the train, then slowly looked from Runner to Sage. He felt that it was important to talk to Runner alone, to explain about being responsible for this new Santa Fe spur and his ideas behind it. Sage had already shown his resentment by his cold behavior. He could instantly reject the idea. Adam wanted the chance to slowly persuade Runner into accepting everything. And then he could spring it on his father.
He turned glittering eyes back to Runner. “I’ve come to see my old friends,” Adam said, placing a hand on Runner’s shoulder. “And to escort my stepsister to this great land so that she can photograph it. She’s a photographer for the Santa Fe Railroad.”
Runner’s and Sage’s expressions became instantly cold and distant as they glowered at Adam and then Stephanie. Their thoughts were the same on people taking photographs of their People: it was exploitation of the worst variety.
Stephanie smiled awkwardly at Runner and Sage. Their reaction to the mention of her bein
g a photographer made her realize that nothing she had planned in the weeks ahead would come easy. She was already meeting resentment she had never expected.
Her gaze stopped on Runner. Having him resent her for any reason was going to be hard for her to accept. She was attracted to him as never before to any other man. She could not allow anything to stand in the way of their knowing one another.
She would fight for her rights, not only to take her photographs, but also to be free to become closer to Runner. She had to find away to tear down this barrier that he had just placed between them.
And she would.
She scarcely ever lost at anything she fought for.
Chapter 4
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before
My heart has left its dwelling place
And can return no more.
—JOHN CLARE
Stephanie had read somewhere that Indians distrusted cameras and wouldn’t allow their pictures to be taken for fear that their images on paper might capture their soul. Realizing that photographing the Navaho might be even less accepted among their people than the new spur line, Stephanie decided it was best to put aside further talk of it.
“Adam and I have been invited to supper at Damon Stout’s ranch tonight,” she said in an effort to break the silence. “Sage, would you and your family like to join us? Perhaps we can become better acquainted. We can talk things over that . . . that . . . obviously displease you.”
Adam’s eyes lit up. He saw that he had been clever in bringing her with him. She could have more control of these Indians than he could. She was a beautiful young woman, hard to resist. It had been hard, but he had resisted loving her long ago; their feelings toward one another had always been those of brother and sister.
His eyes wavered when he saw that her suggestion had brought no change in Sage and Runner. Instead, he saw an even deeper anger in Sage’s narrowing, dark eyes.
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