He found the thoroughly soaked coverlet lying discarded on the prairie about twenty-five yards from camp. Picking it up, he squeezed out as much water as he could and took it back to the wagon with him, thinking it might make a good conversation piece when he tried to explain what he was doing there.
Charity was inside her wagon by the time he arrived for the second time. She was fully dressed but still gave a little squeal of fright when he knocked and pushed back the flap. “What do you want?”
In the tight confines of the small wagon he could see she was all by herself. “I came to return this,” Connell said, holding up the quilt.
“I don’t want it!” Charity’s reddened, puffy eyes filled with new tears. “Take it away.”
“I heard about what happened to your sister,” he went on. “Please accept my condolences.”
“We…we shouldn’t even be out here in this godforsaken desert,” the girl stammered. “Faith insisted we come. Look what her bossy nature got her.” She started to sniffle. “I hate this place. All I want to do is go home.”
“Lots of folks feel that way, Miss Beal. I could escort you back to Fort Laramie and you could wait there to join up with an east-bound party.”
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. My husband surely wouldn’t like it if I rode out of camp with another man.”
Connell’s fist tightened on the quilt. “You’re married? When?”
“Two days ago. Captain Tucker, Ramsey, wanted us to keep it a secret from nearly everyone. He was afraid my sister would pitch a fit and spoil things if she found out.” Charity blinked back tears. “When I came back to our wagon last night I was going to explain it all to her, to prove to him he was wrong, but I never could make myself speak the words.” She paused to stifle a sob. “How I wish I’d told her the whole truth before…before she…”
“I am sorry,” Connell said. “But wherever Faith is, I’m sure she wishes you only the best.”
“Will the Indians hurt her?” Charity blurted out. “I couldn’t bear that. I just couldn’t.”
He didn’t dare tell her the true details of the fake kidnapping because she might make the mistake of saying something about it to her nefarious husband. If Tucker began to suspect what had really happened, Charity could be in worse danger than she already was. Instead, Hawk tried to comfort her another way.
“The Plains tribes I know are not vicious and cruel the way the dime novels say they are. We don’t always understand their ways because they’re so different from ours, but they do have loving families. They care about each other the same way white men do…maybe better.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” he said. “I can assure you, if your sister is with the local tribes she will be well cared for.”
“If she’s alive,” the girl added.
“I have a strong feeling that she is,” he said. “And I promise to keep my eyes and ears open for any word of her.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled a warning. He turned in time to see Ramsey Tucker headed their way.
“I have to go,” Connell said. “But first, tell me. Now that you have a husband, do you still plan to meet up with your father in California?”
“Yes, of course.” Charity pushed her mussed blond curls back from her pale cheeks. “Looking forward to the day of that blessed reunion is all that keeps me going.”
“Then I wish you the best.” Quickly tipping his hat, he dodged around the corner of the wagon, leaped into the saddle with the quilt in front of him and spurred his horse out onto the prairie.
Behind him, he could hear the angry curses and shouts of Ramsey Tucker.
Faith awoke to a gentle calling of her name. Sitting bolt upright, she peered up at Connell expectantly, happily, then looked past him right and left. “Is Charity here? Did she come with you?”
“No. I saw her and she’s fine, though. A little weary, and you can see she’s been crying, but all in all she’s the same as always.”
“Oh, I’m so thankful.”
He hunkered down beside her. “There’s more.”
Eyeing him curiously, she saw the regret in his expression and realized that the news he was about to deliver was not going to be good. “Tell me.”
“Charity says she and Tucker are already married.”
“Oh, no!” Faith’s hands flew to her throat. “So fast?”
“Apparently it happened shortly before you were kidnapped. Your sister says she tried to tell you everything but couldn’t bring herself to do it.”
“What can we do? We have to help her.”
Connell shook his head. “As I see it, there’s not a whole lot to be done for the present. She says they are traveling on to the mining country to meet your father, just as Ab told us they would.”
“So?”
“So, that means he was right about her being safe for the time being. As long as we beat Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey Tucker to California and tell your father the whole truth ahead of time, I think we can safely put off doing anything right away.”
“We?” Faith’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Did I say that?”
“You certainly did.”
“Then I guess I’d better honor it. Get ready to ride.”
Praise God! After all that had gone wrong, all the danger she’d already lived through, Faith could hardly believe the amazingly wonderful offer. “You’ll take me with you?”
“If you want to go.”
The idea of spending more time with Hawk didn’t frighten her nearly as much as the nameless joy she found she was feeling in anticipation of the opportunity to travel with him. Still, her strict upbringing insisted she add, “We hardly know each other.”
“Yes, we do. We’re like family, already. You feel it and so do I, so don’t bother to deny it. Besides, did you think I’d ride off and leave you? Just where do you think you could go all alone out here?”
“I—I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Faith answered, wondering absently if he had meant family like kin, or family like man and wife.
“Well, I have. I can’t send you back to the Tucker train or you’ll probably be killed. And I certainly can’t abandon you. If the bandits or the hostile Indians didn’t get you, starvation or thirst or cholera probably would.”
Kin, she decided. Definitely like kin. “That’s not a very comforting list of choices.”
Smiling, Connell got to his feet. “Glad you realize that. I was hoping you’d be sensible and see this my way. It’ll make the next few months much easier on both of us.”
Months? Was it really going to take that long? Reeling and confused by all she’d been through, all she’d learned, fantasized about, then dismissed as the ridiculous yearnings of a silly girl, Faith took the hand he offered and let him help her up without objecting.
The bare, moist ground felt cool and soothing beneath her feet, as if she were meant to go barefoot for the sheer pleasure of being in close contact with the earth. Awed, she clung to his warm, steadying hand and tried to explain to him how different she’d begun to feel since coming to the plains.
“I’m not surprised to hear that,” he said when she had finished. “I always did sense a trace of the People in you.”
“The People?”
“That’s what the Indians call themselves. I’ve never met one who wasn’t totally in tune with the wildness of the land and the animals.”
Faith followed him to where their horses waited, her shoes and stockings in her hand. She gasped with delight when she noticed the old quilt draped across Rojo’s withers in front of the saddle.
“Grandma Reeder’s quilt! You found it! Oh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s pretty muddy, but I think it’ll clean up all right.” He chuckled. “Hopefully, so will you.”
Looking down at the horrid red mud clinging to her skirt she could only imagine what the rest of her must look like. “Is it possible I could have a bath and rinse out my dress before I meet I
rene? I’d hate to make a bad impression on her.” Not to mention the impression I must be making on you, she added to herself.
“Maybe.” Connell nodded, thinking. “I don’t intend to head straight for Black Kettle’s camp without making certain it’s necessary. First, I’ll take you to meet Little Rabbit Woman’s people and try to find out which branch of the Arapaho Ab left her with. I’m pretty sure they’ll help us. They may even offer to give you something more appropriate to wear in trade for the clothes you have on.”
“These rags? Goodness! Why would they want to dress like me?”
“Their interest in the white man’s culture is understandable but worrisome. To them we’re as fascinating as a new species of animal. I’m afraid their curiosity about us may eventually be their undoing.”
“But, surely they realize we feel the same way in regard to them,” she suggested.
“Maybe you and I do, Little Muddy Dove, but you have to admit that particular opinion is not a popular one among most settlers.”
Faith giggled at his use of the silly nickname. “Little What?”
“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who came up with it in the first place.”
“I hardly meant it to become permanent.” She was secretly glad he’d substituted the word “muddy” for “soiled,” because of the sinful inference of the latter.
“Why not?” He eyed her up and down. “The muddy part certainly fits you lately. And since I’m the Hawk, I think it’s appropriate that my traveling companion be a Dove.”
Flattered, Faith thought for a moment, then agreed. “All right. I’ll be Little Dove. But you have to leave the muddy part out.”
“Little Dove Woman it is, then,” he said, adding, “It’s customary for all Arapaho squaws to have the identifying word, ‘woman,’ in their full names.”
“Like saying ‘missus’ or ‘miss’?”
“I never thought of it quite that way, but I guess you’re right.” He laced his fingers together to make a cradle for her to step into as she mounted Stuart’s sorrel horse again. Then he handed the quilt to her for safekeeping.
Faith slung it over her horse’s neck the same way he had carried it, smoothing the fabric as best she could and arranging it in loose folds. “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. Keep turning it like that to help it air out so it doesn’t mildew. And don’t wrap it up in your slicker till you’re sure it’s completely dry.”
“I know that.”
He shrugged and smiled over at her as he climbed aboard Rojo and took up the reins. “Sorry. You look so much like a ten-year-old street urchin it’s hard to remember how old you really are.” He paused a moment. “How old are you, anyway? I never did ask.”
“Nineteen last May,” Faith said proudly.
Thoughtful, he drew his hand over his neatly trimmed beard and slowly looked her up and down. “I know you won’t take kindly to this notion, but I think it would be best if you didn’t try to look or act like a capable, grown woman out here. When the question comes up, which it will, leave the explanations to me, even if others happen to be speaking our language.”
“What do you intend to say that I couldn’t impart every bit as well as you can?”
“Mostly that you’re a little crazy in the head,” Connell told her. “Indians fear madness. They think it’s catching, like smallpox.” As expected, his companion didn’t seem to relish his honesty or his sarcasm.
Kicking her horse, she urged it closer to him and flicked the loose ends of the reins to sting him on the arm.
“Ouch! Didn’t anybody ever tell you that doves are supposed to be harmless?” Laughing, he dodged her second attack.
“Not this dove,” Faith declared. “And don’t you ever forget it, mister.”
“I’m not likely to,” he replied. “Just don’t get all het up. What I’m really going to say is that you’re my long-lost niece. That way, everyone will honor my decisions about what happens to you.”
Was he really old enough to be her uncle? she wondered, doubting he could be much more than thirty now that she’d gotten to know him better. Still, if that was how he wanted to think of her it was probably for the best, especially considering the untoward thoughts she’d been battling whenever he was near. And when he wasn’t.
“What might happen to me? Just for instance, mind you,” Faith finally asked. They had fallen into a comfortable, side-by-side canter and were leading the extra horse as they started back to where they’d left Ab.
“Well, for one thing, I don’t intend to let any young brave buy you for one of his wives…unless that’s what you want, of course.”
Faith coughed and sounded like she was strangling. Connell patted her lightly on the shoulder with the flat of his hand while he laughed out loud at the stricken look on her face.
“Wives?” she finally managed to choke out. “Plural?”
“Actually, you’re probably already too old and worn-out for most warriors but we can’t rule out an old man maybe wanting you, so it’s best to be prepared.”
At this point, Faith couldn’t tell whether he was teasing her or not. One thing she was certain of, however, was that his suggestion she masquerade as his niece and pretend to be family had touched her deeply. In truth, she already felt more genuine affection for the rough plainsman than she could ever remember having had for any man except her father.
As for the rest of the unsettling feelings she was struggling to understand, perhaps they were better forgotten as much as possible, at least until all their other problems were solved.
And there was no time like the present to begin acting the part Hawk had chosen for her. “I’d be pleased to consider you family,” she said with genuine affection. “And I promise I will try to comport myself well and make you proud of me, Uncle.”
“I already am proud of you,” Connell told her.
Faith was so touched by the honestly spoken praise she didn’t bother to ask why he felt that way. Having his complete acceptance was enough.
Chapter Nine
Ab was in better spirits by the time they returned to fetch him. At sunup he had managed to locate the shallow grave intended for Faith, drag Stuart’s body into it and bury him, but not before stripping the other man of every stitch of clothing and keeping it for himself.
Consequently, the skinny little man was no longer freezing, which helped lift his dour mood considerably even if he did look strange with Stuart’s trousers draped over his shoulders like a soggy shawl.
“How far to the Arapaho camp?” Faith asked as she rode along beside Connell with Ab bringing up the rear.
“Not far. Which reminds me, you’d better let me carry your Colt from here on out.”
“I thought you wanted me armed all the time.”
“That was only to impress Tucker. Where we’re going, most women aren’t warlike.”
“Neither am I,” she said, unbuckling the belt and handing the holstered pistol to Connell. “You sure I won’t need to protect myself from the Indians?”
He huffed. “If you did, one gun sure wouldn’t be enough.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Faith shifted in the saddle. “I’m not used to riding so long. Can’t we stop and rest?”
“In an hour or so you’ll get all the rest you want.” He was scanning the horizon. “We should start seeing the Coyote Men pretty soon.”
“The what?”
“They’re a guard society of the Arapaho. They dress in white buffalo robes and paint their faces white, too, then stand sentry duty outside the main camps.”
“Oh, like in the army.”
Connell glared over his shoulder at Ab when the old man snorted in derision. “Not exactly like that. In the cavalry a different man takes over the post every few hours. Coyote Men do their jobs for years. They live in the hills, build no shelter no matter what the weather, and remain totally alone for as long as they continue to hold the office.”
“You mean totally alone?” She
blushed and averted her gaze.
“Yes,” Connell said. “They have no families, most especially no wives. Women are considered far too much of a distraction.”
Faith was flabbergasted. “I’ve never known anyone that dedicated to their job.”
“It’s more than a job to the Arapaho,” he explained. “It’s an honor. When one Coyote Man decides he’s finished, he takes his decorated rifle or war club and personally passes it to the man he has chosen to be his successor.”
“Goodness. There is a lot to learn about red men, isn’t there?”
Ab was chuckling and trying to stifle the noise by covering his half-toothless mouth with his hand.
“That’s another myth,” Connell said. “Indians aren’t red by nature, they paint themselves that color for certain ceremonies. For instance, when a family member dies, there will be a year or more afterward when mourners who have cut off their long braids for the burial will not try to improve their appearance in any way. Then, when the mourning time is over, an elder will paint their faces and hair with red clay. That signals that they’re free to dress and act like everyone else and resume normal life.”
“They aren’t born red?” Faith continued to be astonished. “But I’ve read lots of novels that said they were.”
“Written by men who had never been west of the Mississippi, I’ll wager,” Connell said with disdain. “Some of them have darker skin and distinctive features, but that’s all that sets them apart. That, and their primitive culture. Many’s the time I’ve thought their ways made a lot more sense than ours.”
While he’d been explaining Indian custom, Faith had been studying his strong profile and wondering what he might look like without a beard. There were tiny wrinkles in the outer corners of his eyes, caused undoubtedly by his prolonged exposure to the elements, but she was willing to bet he was a lot younger man than he let on.
“I have an idea,” she ventured, hoping to change the subject enough that he at least quit scowling. “Instead of pretending to be my uncle, why don’t you be my brother?”
From the rear, Ab piped up, “I vote for that one, mister.”
Frontier Courtship Page 10
