It wasn’t that way now, not for her or her friends.
The three of them, Meg, Tillie and Betty, wearing their black dresses and nun’s habits, looked extremely out of place among the hide dresses and fringed leggings. They, however, didn’t seem to mind. Nor did anyone else.
Except for a few older men and women, most of those still sitting on the ground were children. They were participating in their own way, clapping their hands and tapping their feet to the beat of the music with rapture glistening in their eyes as they watched the others circling the fire. Ones that young would have long ago been put to bed back home. However, there wasn’t a yawn to be seen. The dancing seemed to have rejuvenated the entire camp. And they all were here because they wanted to be, not because they had been forced into participating.
The beat of the music changed again, as did the chanting, and her attention once again landed on the leader of the band. Though the dancing moved around the fire, with no beginning or end to their line, it was clear Black Horse was the leader, not just of the band, but of the dancing.
Lorna glanced around, wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped into the darkness. Her gaze went back to the dancers, including her friends, and she sighed. One for all. All for one.
* * *
Black Horse’s heart should be full. The spirits of those who had gone before him and those who would follow in his path for many generations were among them tonight. He could feel them in his footsteps, see them in his head, hear their chants mingling with those around him, yet there was a longing inside him that grew more prominent with each step he took.
Long ago he’d discovered he wasn’t meant to walk this world alone. Hopping Rabbit had made him whole, and the void left inside him when she had gone from this world to the other had never been as strong as it was tonight. Nor had the desire to know his children, offspring from his loins, would one day be dancing in such celebrations. That should not be. Just as his eyes should not keep finding Poeso. She sat alone and that bothered him. The other white women were dancing; their long black dresses had melded in and looked as if they belonged among the others as much as Crazy Fox’s long buffalo robe.
Poeso had been invited to join in. Moments ago She Who Smiles had offered her a hand. Poeso had shook her head, had chosen to sit on the ground, watching. There was longing in her eyes. If she wanted to dance, why did she not?
The spirits led him around the flames again, his moccasins barely touching the ground as steady beats of the drums carried him forward. He listened to voices whispering in his ears, telling him of the great and successful hunt to come, and tried to ignore the ever growing longing inside him. The celebration would last for hours, until the great Cheyenne moon overhead would fade behind the blue sky that would mark the beginning of their move. Some of his people would retire, dreaming of the hunt in their lodges, while others would remain awake all night, refreshed as much from the dances as those who would find it from their sleep.
He had danced until the moon sank many times, and had retreated to his lodge to dream on just as many occasions. The calling inside him dictated which it would be. Maheo—the Great Creator—had gifted him the powers to be a great hunter, a dedicated leader and a fearless warrior long ago and the medicine within spoke to him often.
Black Horse continued to dance until the desire was no longer there, and then he quietly left the circle. Some warriors would fall upon the ground when they were full. He had never had that reaction, but was joyous for others when they found their medicine so strong it sapped the strength from their bodies. It was a sign of many buffalo kills to come, and that meant no one would go hungry when the snow settled upon the earth, allowing the grasses to sleep and grow strong until the sun once again brought warm winds and long days.
He spoke to no one, not even Poeso, but did stop next to her and held out a hand.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to dance.”
Back in his lodge, One Who Heals had said this woman was trying to trick him into speaking her language in front of others, trying to trap him. He could not deny the medicine woman’s wisdom any more than he could forgo his duty. He had never wished not to be a leader of his people, but right now, he had to consider how much easier it would be to be just a warrior. “Enhoota,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
Gesturing in the direction of his lodge, he repeated, “Enhoota.”
“Leave?” she asked. “Leave the dance?”
“Heehe’e.”
She rose and started to walk, but veered in the wrong direction. Taking her arm, he guided her around the lodges and onto a path that would eventually take them to his.
The beating of the drums faded as they walked, and when the quiet of the night settled around them, she asked, “Will you show me where our wagons are?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired and I would like to go to sleep.”
“You will sleep in my lodge,” he said.
She dug her heels into the ground like a horse coming to the edge of a cliff. “No, I will not.”
Chapter Eight
Black Horse wasn’t pleased with the idea, either. Having a woman in his tent would only increase the longing in his heart, but it was his duty to protect his people. One Who Heals had insisted this woman would cause trouble, and though she had done nothing wrong throughout the celebration, that didn’t mean she might not at any time. Ignoring the fast beats of his heart, he explained, “It would not be safe for you to sleep in your wagon.”
“Why? You and Meg keep saying the Cheyenne are peaceful. That you won’t hurt us.”
“My people are good, and tomorrow we begin the buffalo hunt.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He knew that, but was trying to not frighten her. “Not all here are my band.”
“So?”
“Many come together to hunt. Some not welcome white women.”
She turned around to look back toward the celebration. “What about my friends? Will they sleep in your lodge, too?”
“Hova’ahane,” he answered.
There was a hint of fear in her eyes, but the darkness of her glare came from mistrust. “Why not? If it’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for them.”
“Others will keep them safe.”
“Why can’t I stay with others, too? Why can’t we all stay together?”
He would welcome that as much as she would. “Because One Who Heals does not trust you.”
“I don’t trust her, either,” she said. “She smacked me with a switch earlier.”
He once again steered her in the direction of his lodge. “Why?”
“Because I spilled water.”
“You will be more careful next time,” he said.
She dug her heels in again. “There won’t be a next time. I guarantee you that.”
If he had ever believed something a white person said, man or woman, he believed that. It made him want to smile. That should not be. One Who Heals had great powers and would use them against opposing forces. Poeso was as opposing as one could get.
“Furthermore, I have been on my best behavior all night. I hauled water and wood, dug up roots and did every other little menial chore someone grunted for me to do. I have done nothing to make anyone not trust me.” She flung her arm about. “I sat over there and didn’t move an inch, even when everyone else was dancing. I could have walked away and no one would have noticed. I could have—”
“Come,” he said. “You are tired.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You said you wanted to go to sleep.”
“In my wagon,” she said. “Not your teepee.”
No one, other than Hopping Rabbit, had ever argued with him like this. That annoyed him as much as it tickled his insides. “My protection is great.”
“Give me my gun and I’ll have great protection, too.”
Arguing with her was giving him more pleasure than it should. He took h
er arm and pulled her toward his lodge. “No, it will not.”
She struggled, but could not break away. He almost grinned, until she went limp and dropped to the ground. Startled he released his hold and knelt down.
Crossing her arms, she said, “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not sleeping in your teepee. I’m not—”
He lifted her off the ground and flipped her over his shoulder. Her stubbornness was greater than a boulder. “Then, I will tie you again.”
That stopped her screeching as quickly as it started. “No, you won’t,” she said. “I won’t let you this time. I’ll fight and—”
“You are weak,” he said. “I am strong.”
“I am not weak!”
She pounded her fists against his back, and though it stung, it did not hurt. He laughed. “You not injure Black Horse.”
“Oh, yes, I will,” she insisted, hitting him faster. “I will hurt you! I will kill you!”
He let her continue pounding on his back and shouting of her strength. It made him grin, until they had entered his lodge and he set her on her feet. It was dark inside, but the yellow light of the moon was bold enough for him to see her clearly, and the tears that ran from her eyes. Stepping back, he reached out to wipe them away from one cheek. She twisted her face away and swiped at the tears with both of her hands.
“Why you cry, Poeso?”
“I’m not crying,” she said. “My eyes are watering from hanging upside down.”
“That does not make eyes water.”
“How do you know? Have you ever been hauled around like a sack of flour?” She hurried across the lodge, to where many furs covered the pine boughs he slept upon. Tossing things about, she asked, “Where’s my gun? Where’s that little pouch you were wearing?”
After everything was tossed about, she spun around. “Where is it?”
Tears fell from her eyes, but what struck him like a knife was the fear on her face.
“Where is it?” she shouted. “I need it so no man can get within three feet of me. No man. Including you!”
He took a step closer.
“Don’t!” she shouted, backing up. “Don’t come any closer.”
Being filled with fear was more dangerous than being filled with anger. That went for people as well as animals. Black Horse held his arms out to his sides as he would while approaching a cornered horse. “No one will hurt you, Poeso,” he said quietly.
“I know they won’t,” she shouted. “I won’t let them! I won’t let anyone hurt me ever again!”
The way she shook entered his heart, made it pound with an unknown anger. She had been mistreated, badly, at some time, someplace. “I won’t let them, either,” he whispered.
“I won’t let you hurt me.”
“I will not hurt you,” he said. “I will protect you. I will stop all others.”
Still crying, she shook her head. “No, you won’t.”
“Yes,” he said, moving forward very slowly. “I will. My protection is great and powerful. All listen to Black Horse.”
She glanced around, but upon realizing he was in front of her, giving her nowhere to go, she slid downward, onto the ground as slowly as leaves fall. The fear was still in her eyes and tears on her cheeks, but the fight was leaving her. He didn’t like that. Kneeling down, he asked, “Who did this to you, Poeso? Who hurt you so deep?”
She shook her head.
He wanted to touch her, to wipe away her tears, but she would not accept that. Understanding came to him as a whisper from his heart. There was no room for trust in her. Had not been for a long time. Twisting, he gathered some of the buffalo hides she’d tossed about and laid them flat. Patting the bed he’d made, he said, “Lie down, Poeso. Your day was long. You are tired.”
Her glance was weary, and wary, and she shook her head.
“Black Horse protect you.” Gesturing toward the doorway, he said, “No one will enter my lodge.”
Still shaking her head, she whispered, “Who will protect me from you?”
Another whisper of understanding angered him, turned his insides dark. A man had hurt her. A bad man in a bad way. “Black Horse protect you from all.” He backed away and then moved across the lodge to repair his bed. Afterward he retrieved his pouch from where it hung on a lodge pole, and pulled out the gun. Trust had to be mutual or it was nothing.
“Here is your gun, Poeso,” he said, holding it out for her to take.
Her eyes were big and full of surprise, and her hand shook as she reached for the little pistol.
He laid it in her palm and wrapped both of his hands around hers. “I trust you, Poeso. You trust Black Horse.”
She looked from him to their hands and back up at his face. “Are the bullets still in it?”
Her voice was soft, and the words cracked, but he understood she had to say them. “Yes.” Letting go of her hands, he pointed to the buffalo hides. “Go to bed, Poeso, you are safe.”
He waited, hoping his heart was right, that he could trust her, and then watched her scoot onto the furs. She kept the gun clutched near her chest, even after lying down on her side.
Black Horse moved to his bed. This may become a sleepless night. He had never slept next to a woman holding a gun. Once stretched out on his back, he listened for any movement she might make.
“What does poeso mean?” she asked quietly.
“Cat.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because that is what you remind me of. The sleek mountain lions that roam the hills.”
“Is that bad?”
“Hova’ahane,” he answered. “Epeva’e.”
“Epeva’e,” she repeated. “It is good?”
“Heehe’e,” he said. “It is good.”
After several quiet moments, she whispered, “Good night, Black Horse.”
He stopped the smile forming on his lips by telling himself she was a white woman, one he may regret trusting. “Good night, Poeso.”
When her slow and steady breathing said she was sleeping, he quietly found his knife and laid it next to him, just in case. Then his mind worried no more. He closed his eyes and welcomed the dreams of the great hunt they would embark upon with the sunrise. Such dreams were slow to come. They could not get past the sound of Poeso’s breathing. The way that made him think like a man instead of a leader.
* * *
It took Lorna a moment to remember where she was when she awoke. Sunlight filtered through the sides of the teepee, and that reminded her of the crisp parchment paper her mother liked to write notes on. That reminded her of her own diary. For the first time in a year she hadn’t scribbled upon the pages before falling asleep.
And that reminded her of exactly what had transpired last night. Yesterday. She sat up with a start and quickly surveyed the rest of the area. The teepee was empty. Feeling the fur mat beneath her, she found her gun and instantly inspected it. Finding it intact, and loaded, she stood before tucking it in her pocket. There was a bowl near her makeshift bed, holding dried bits of meat and grain of some sort. Breakfast no doubt, but left by whom, she wondered.
She ate a few bites while finger combing her hair and twisting her dress into place, discovering it wasn’t grain but dried berries, which had a sweet, unique taste. When the bowl was empty, she moved toward the opening.
What she saw had her blinking and checking her vision.
“There you are, sleepyhead.”
Lorna turned at the sound of Betty’s voice. “What’s happened? Why are all the teepees...gone?”
“They aren’t gone,” Betty said. “They have been dismantled for traveling. Black Horse told Little One we weren’t to take his down until you awoke, and we were starting to wonder if that would ever happen.”
Lorna’s heart skipped a notable beat. “Where is he?” she asked. “Black Horse?”
“Around somewhere, I’m sure,” Betty answered. “Getting his herd of horses ready to travel most likely.”
Lorna had man
y more questions, but nature was calling. “I need to relieve myself. Will you come with me?”
Yesterday, while preparing for the celebration, she’d discovered an area a short walk away from the camp that everyone used. Young boys were assigned to maintain the area by immediately covering any deposits with dirt.
“Of course,” Betty replied.
Lorna was thankful for that, because she wasn’t certain she’d be able to find the area again by herself. The few things she’d pinpointed as landmarks yesterday—the teepee with the buffalo hide covering its doorway and the one with a deer painted on its side—were gone.
Once she’d completed her business with as much privacy as the few trees in the area provided, she and Betty started back toward camp. In more of a condition to converse, Lorna asked, “What is happening? Why are all the teepees down, and what were you saying about herding up the horses?”
“The bands will start traveling today, to where the buffalo were spotted,” Betty answered.
“I thought the men hunted while the women stayed home.”
“I did, too,” Betty said. “But I have learned differently. The entire tribe will travel, following the buffalo for as long as the hunt takes. It’s so fascinating, learning all about the ways of the Indians.”
“Well, we aren’t traveling with them,” Lorna pointed out. “We need to get back on the trail to California.”
“That’s the best part,” Betty said. “The herd is northwest of here, which is the same direction we were traveling. We can travel along with the Cheyenne, giving Little One and Meg time to get better acquainted, and for Little One to make her decision whether to leave with us or to stay. It’s a grand solution, wouldn’t you say?”
No, Lorna wouldn’t say that, but merely nodded because something else had caught her attention. “Don’t look behind us,” she said. “But I think we’re being followed.”
“We are,” Betty said. “That’s Stands Tall. Black Horse told him not to let you out of his sight.”
Her Cheyenne Warrior (Harlequin Historical) Page 10
