Nan Ryan

by Written in the Stars

  Golden Star was asleep.

  Diane sat there for a minute longer, digesting all the old Shoshoni woman had told her. Then she silently rose to her feet She left Golden Star, went directly to Starkeeper’s lodge. She called his name loudly as soon as she reached his remote tipi. No answer. Determined to speak with him, she ducked inside, still calling his name. The lodge was silent and empty.

  Disappointed, she stepped back outside and jumped, startled.

  A mounted rider was there right before her. Waiting. The silvery-haired old Chief Washakie, astride a big paint pony, looked down at Diane and extended his hand.

  “Come, Pale One. I will show you where he is.”

  Diane didn’t question how the old chief had known she was looking for Starkeeper or how he knew where Starkeeper would be. She nodded, took the revered chieftain’s outstretched hand, and agilely swung up behind him.

  Chief Washakie wheeled the big paint about and cantered out of camp. He immediately turned the mount up toward the jagged mountain peaks and began climbing to a higher elevation. In minutes they’d ascended well above the valley floor.

  Over his shoulder Chief Washakie said, “There is a place in these mountains where Starkeeper goes when he is troubled. It is the home of Tamapah, the Sun Father. Starkeeper comes up here alone to communicate with lamapah.”

  Her slender arms around the old chief’s thickened waist, Diane said, “Will he be angry with me for interrupting that communication? If he is troubled—”

  “You are Starkeeper’s trouble.” The chief pulled up the snorting paint. He turned his silvery head and looked at her. “Time you two communicate.” He motioned for Diane to dismount. Nodding, she slid to the ground and looked quizzically up at him. He raised his arm and pointed the way out to her. Then silently he backed his big paint away and left her.

  Diane stood there alone, high above the scattered Indian villages, the only sound that of the wind sighing through the pines. And the pounding of her heart. She hesitated, considered leaving without seeking out Starkeeper. Squared her slender shoulders and turned toward the vast, towering pillar of rock pointed out by the old chief.

  Up and over a narrow, treacherous pathway she climbed into an eerily quiet and shadowy crevice. Breath labored, at last she rounded the massive fluted granite column and stopped short.

  Twenty yards away Starkeeper was seated on a flat ridge of stone. The entire canyon was in deep shadow. But he was not. A shaft of bright sunshine poured down through a gap in the higher peaks above, bathing Starkeeper in brilliant white light.

  A hand went to her tight throat. Diane was awed by the sight of the silent, unmoving man seated there on the rock, awash in white-hot sunshine when all else was in shadow. His dark, handsome face was turned up, his eyes staring unblinkingly into the sun.

  Softly Diane spoke his name. Starkeeper seemed to come out of a trance. Slowly he turned his head and looked at her. He said nothing. She cautiously approached him, not quite sure what she was going to say.

  After she’d ascended the stone steps to him and stood just above, she said from the covering shadows, “May I sit?”

  “If you like,” was his cool reply. His hooded gaze swung away from her, returned to the sun.

  Diane took a shallow breath, stepped from the deep, cool shade, and sat down in the harsh sunlight beside him. Blinking in the brightness, she said, “Look at me, Starkeeper.” He slowly exhaled, turned, and looked directly at her. His eyes held that now-familiar mixture of heat and cold. “I have finally learned,” she said softly, “who you are.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes. You’re an impostor. You’re as white as I am.”

  His stern lips lifted into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He placed his dark forearm next to her pale one, so close his sun-heated skin touched hers. “Not quite.”

  “I’m not speaking of the color of your skin,” she said.

  “Nor am I.” He moved his arm away. “Being Indian is not a matter of color. I’m more Indian than white, and I always will be.” His tone was dismissive.

  “Oh, really? Then why, I wonder, don’t you live here with your—”

  “And do what?” he interrupted. “Sit on the agency porch all day with the other idle men?” His eyes flashed.

  “No, but—”

  “Look around you. What was once our kingdom has become our cage,” he said sadly. He lifted a hand, swept it about in a wide, encompassing arc. “Not long ago this whole country—all America—belonged to the redman. There was room for all tribes and they were happy and they were free.” A muscle danced in his tanned jaw. “But then the white man came, drove them out, killed them, herded them onto reservations. Like this one.”

  “I know all that, Starkeeper,” she said, tempted to point out that he selfishly left his sweet, aged grandmother here in the place he called a cage. Why didn’t he care enough about her welfare to allow her to live with him in his fine Nevada mansion? “I know.”

  “Do you now? Do you know that all his life old Chief Washakie has befriended the white man? That he willingly allowed them to cross his sacred hunting grounds, indeed, helped guide them safely across it? Never raised a hand against them?”

  “No. No, I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s true. But guess what? It made no difference. He, like the others, was cornered into one little spot of the earth, cornered like a prisoner and watched by men with guns.”

  “I’m sorry.” Diane said, and meant it. “I’m truly sorry. But, Starkeeper, I’m not the one responsible.”

  “I know that,” he admitted. “What I’m telling you is I’m Indian. These people are my people. I’ve seen them suffer and lose the will to live, and it breaks my heart.” He shook his head sadly. “You and all your white friends believe that the Indian is by nature a stoic and impassive race. That’s not true. But after years of being endlessly ridiculed and tortured, many a happy-go-lucky Indian has become stoic and silently endures the white man’s humiliation.”

  Diane said, “Like you when they cut off your braids at the university?”

  He turned flashing black eyes on her. “No. Like me when you and your lover taunted and tormented me while I was chained in that damned animal cage.”

  “I deserve that,” she said. “I was cruel and unkind, and I’m sorry.”

  He laughed bitterly. “So now you’re sorry? Could it be because you’ve since found out I’m supposedly one of you?”

  “No,” she said, “I’m sorry because I treated another human being so shabbily. I felt guilty about it when it happened, I still do. I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven.” His tone was flippant. “Now your conscience is clear, so why don’t you run along and—”

  “I want to stay here with you,” she said with frankness and honesty. “I want to stay here as long as you stay. And then, when you leave here, I want to go with you back to your lodge. I want to stay there with you. Never to leave unless you leave. I want to … love you, Starkeeper.”

  “What for?” His dark eyes narrowed. “Where would the thrill be for you now? I’m white, remember?”

  Diane’s slender shoulders sagged. “What happened between us meant a great deal more than a passing thrill. At least it did for me.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” Her violet eyes held a soft, loving expression as she gazed at his dark, sullen face.

  “Sure. It meant so much you couldn’t wait to run out on me afterward.” His face, lighted by the shaft of sunlight, was as hard as granite. “It’s all right. I understand. You were ashamed, and who can blame you? Who wouldn’t feel bad about making love to a filthy savage? An uncivilized beast?”

  “That isn’t fair, Starkeeper.” She felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “I never—”

  “Please, Beauty,” he interrupted. “Your memory can’t be so short that you’ve forgotten calling me savage and animal and Beast and—”

  “But I w
as afraid of you! You’re the one with a short memory. Maybe you’ve forgotten you kidnapped me! My God, I was terrified. Hardly responsible for the foolish things I said. And yes, before you say it, let me assure you, if a ‘white man’ had kidnapped me, I would have been just as scared!”

  His stern mouth softened slightly. “I doubt that. But it doesn’t matter.” He sighed heavily and added, “My behavior was inexcusable, and I’m sorry. I’d undo it all if I could.”

  She reached out, touched his arm. “But you can’t. And I can’t.” She smiled hopefully at him. “So let’s go on from here.”

  He didn’t return her smile. “Why did you come here? What is it you want from me, Beauty?”

  “I don’t want anything from you, Starkeeper.” His dark eyes flickered as she spoke his name. “I want to give you something.”

  “There’s nothing you can give me, Beauty.”

  “Yes, I can. I can give you friendship and affection and respect and—and … love.”

  She saw the fabric of his pale blue shirt pull across the flat muscles of his chest as he took a deep breath. Saw his beautiful eyes change expressions. Her simple declaration was having an effect, and Diane felt suddenly light-hearted and hopeful. If only he’d give her the opportunity, she’d show him that she cared for him as a human being, as a person, as a man.

  Scarred by the past, distrustful, Starkeeper remained unconvinced, unreachable. Unwilling to risk being hurt, he said sarcastically, “Ah, Beauty, Beauty. I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “You don’t know me at all,” was her firm reply.

  “Yes, I do.” His tone was accusing. “I know you all too well, have known dozens just like you.”

  “No, you haven’t, damn you!” Diane said, anger flaring. “There is no one else just like me!” She glared at him. “If you don’t believe me, give me a chance and I’ll prove it!”

  He looked into her angry eyes and thought she was surety God’s most endearing creation. Had they met under different circumstances, there might be a chance for the two of them. But they hadn’t. And there wasn’t. And if she had temporarily forgotten about the big blond Cherokee Kid, he had not.

  Starkeeper said, “I’ll see you back to Golden Star’s lodge now, before it grows dark.”

  “No! I can find my way alone.” She shot to her feet.

  He nodded and without looking at her said, “Tomorrow we leave Wind River.”

  Diane’s heart sank. “Leave Wind River? But I thought you wanted to wait until … wait for—”

  “Your lover to catch up with us? I did, but—”

  “He is not my lover!”

  Starkeeper shrugged wide shoulders and ignored her statement. “I’ve changed my mind about waiting. It’s time you were back safely with your family. There’s a morning train from Lander which makes connections in Salt Lake City for San Francisco. I’ll escort you as far as Virginia City.”

  “To your Nevada home?”

  “Yes, I’m going home. Now please leave me. Go back to the village before the sun sets.”

  “What—what time tomorrow?”

  “We’ll leave Wind River shortly after sunup. Be ready.”

  No longer trusting her voice, Diane nodded. But Starkeeper was again looking into the lowering orange sun.

  She had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry.

  But now, as she stood outside Golden Star’s lodge and watched—for the last time—the sun rise over Wind River, Diane felt that familiar lump rise to her throat and her eyes burn.

  Golden Star stepped out of the tipi, came to Diane, and wrapped both arthritic hands around Diane’s slender arm. Diane looked at her, swallowed hard, and tried to smile.

  The old Shoshoni woman fondly pressed her gray head to Diane’s shoulder and said softly, “Do not give up so easily, child. The ride to Virginia City is a long one. Who knows what will happen? You are a persuasive young woman.”

  Diane patted the gnarled hands that were clamped around her arm but said nothing.

  There was that merry child’s laugh from Golden Star. Then she said confidentially: “For centuries woman has changed man’s mind. Change Starkeeper’s mind about you.”

  “But how?” Diane spoke at last.

  “Why, the same way women have always done it.” She looked up at Diane and winked.

  Before Diane could reply, Starkeeper appeared. “Ready?” he asked, his tone flat, cool.

  Diane squared her slender shoulders, smiled brightly, and said, “More than ready. Are you?”

  Starkeeper didn’t respond. He turned to his grandmother, draped a long arm around her shoulders, and said, “I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask one more time if you’ll come with me.”

  Golden Star smiled broadly, patted his chest, and shook her head. To Diane she said, “My grandson is a stubborn man. Each time he comes to Wind River, he asks me to leave my home. Wants me to come to Nevada and live with him.”

  Surprised, Diane looked from Starkeeper to Golden Star. She’d been thinking how ungrateful and selfish he was not to allow his grandmother to live with him when all along it was Golden Star who refused.

  “Why don’t you?” she said to the smiling Shoshoni woman. “I’m sure he would take good care of you and—”

  “I take care of myself,” said the independent Golden Star. Then she softened and added with a barely perceptible sigh, “We have had our day, Chief Washakie and I and the rest of the old ones—just like the buffalo. The future belongs to you, Pale One. And to my grandson, Keeper of the Stars.” She smiled then and added, “This is my home. Up here is the air the angels breathe. I could never leave this place.”

  “You’ve left out one of your reasons,” Starkeeper gently prompted.

  “If I go away from here”—Golden Star soberly addressed Diane—“I could not see the moccasin prints in the sky to guide me to the Great Mystery.” She looked up at her tall grandson. “I do not wish to lose my way.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” he said, bent and kissed her wrinkled temple affectionately, and pressed her gray head to his chest.

  She hugged him tightly and said into his shirtfront, “You will come again to see me?”

  “Count on it,” he murmured, and released her.

  The old woman turned immediately to Diane. When Diane hugged her, Golden Star said, “You will come see me again?”

  “Count on it,” Diane whispered with a confidence she wished she really felt.

  Diane released her. Golden Star quickly turned away. Her slumped shoulders shook. She was crying.

  When the silent pair rode out of the Wind River Reservation, Diane felt certain she would never see it—or Golden Star—again. It was noon when they boarded the train in Lander. Seated by the window, Diane looked back at the snow-capped Wind River Range rising to meet a cloudless Wyoming sky.

  She laid her forehead against the cool train window and watched the mighty mountains growing steadily more distant.

  Diane’s head shot up as something streaking closely by the train captured her attention. She leaned forward, peered out, and saw the diamond-throated cat racing the moving train. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips. She watched the cat, thinking he was the most beautiful beast of them all, with perfect conformation and a grace of movement that was unique. The tawny mountain lion ran with a fluid motion through the dense tangle of sagebrush without ever breaking his stride.

  And then disappeared.

  Diane pressed two fingers first to her lips, then to the window in a silent salute and good-bye. She turned to look at Starkeeper, but his dark eyes were shut, arms crossed over his chest.

  The locomotive’s whistle blew loudly at a railroad crossing. Diane sighed, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes. All was silent save the rhythmic clickity-clack of the train’s steel wheels on the tracks.

  The wheels of a train which was rapidly speeding her westward.

  Chapter 32

  The train rolled into the station ju
st as the fog rolled in over the bay.

  It was early afternoon when Boz, the engineer, poked his head out the train’s window. His striped railroad cap pushed way back, his dust-covered goggles shoved up on his wrinkled forehead, Boz blinked and squinted, his eyes locked on the swinging red signal light guiding him safely through the dense fog and into the Oakland, California, switching yard.

  When the tricky maneuver had been successfully accomplished and the troupe train had come to a complete stop at its siding, Boz wiped his perspiring face with his red bandanna and addressed his locomotive as if it were a person.

  “Whew!” he said aloud, mopping his face. “That was danged tricky, old girl, but we made it.” He grinned, congratulating himself and his faithful, aging locomotive.

  Boz tried not to think about the fact that this could be his last time to guide the “old girl” into one of America’s busy train terminals. He wouldn’t think about it. Something would happen. Something would save the show. And the train.

  Boz swung down out of the locomotive’s cab and shook hands with the lantern-swinging signalman. Their attention was drawn to a pair of white-uniformed men standing on the platform in the thickening fog.

  The white-clad pair quickly boarded the train. Short minutes later they carried a stretcher bearing Ancient Eyes off the train, across the tracks, and to a waiting ambulance. Shorty Jones, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands nervously twisting his battered Stetson, was right on their heels.

  “Watch it now, boys,” Shorty warned when they reached the horse-drawn ambulance. “Be mighty careful loading him.” Shorty glanced down at Ancient Eyes’ weathered face and said, “Don’t you worry, Chief. I’m going with you. See they treat you right and all.”

  A faint smile touched the old Ute’s lips. “With me,” he managed, and Shorty grinned, nodding reassuringly.