Cheyenne Captive (16 page)

“They will be accepted,” he promised her, stroking her yellow hair. “That is why I delivered the ponies because my uncle thought her family would be more impressed and as the father of the groom he couldn’t make the offer himself. Usually, though, the ponies are taken by some elderly person of the family but ours seems to have none left. Anyway, the marriage is a foregone conclusion. The whole camp has been watching this love bloom since sun dance season before last. My cousin has worn a path in the dirt following her when she goes to the river for water. Have you not heard his flute at night among the others as the young men serenade their sweethearts?”

She smiled. “I have heard the flutes, but I didn’t realize they were being played for sweethearts.”

“Do not white men do much the same? Are we such savages, then?”

Her face colored. “I suppose men in love do many of the same things, no matter their color. When will we know if Two Arrows is being accepted?”

“The ponies are tied in front of her father’s lodge now. If the marriage is welcome, her family will take the horses away and put them with their own ponies. It is bad manners to let them stand more than a few hours without being accepted. In fact, that almost never happens, for a brave would not humiliate himself by offering ponies he did not think in advance would be accepted.” He thought for a moment of Gray Dove. It was cruel of her not to let Angry Wolf know in advance that she was not interested in his offer and thus spare him the humiliation and laughter of the whole camp.
Because of a girl, he and the man had become enemies. Finally it had led to this killing that stopped Iron Knife from becoming chief
.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she said, placing her small hand over his big one.

“What?” he asked, puzzled.

“You know, it’s a white man’s saying that doesn’t mean anything. You seemed so far away for a moment, I wanted to bring you back to me.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he said, turning over his big hand so her small one lay in his palm. “I was thinking of the wedding.”

“Will it be soon?”

“Probably tomorrow or the next day. Indians see no point in long waits now that the offer has been made. We want to leave soon for our winter camp. Almost never do we come this far south and east but the buffalo on the western plains seem fewer this year. There are deer over in the pine and blackjack forest of this area and, besides, we delight in stealing ponies from the Cherokees and Creek tribes who live around here. They are soft victims to raid because they have walked the white man’s road too long and even keep black slaves.”

“But aren’t there millions of buffalo? Enough to feed the tribes forever?”

“Maybe.” He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “Motsiiu, Sweet Medicine, our folk hero, warned us to stay away from the whites and to guard our Sacred Arrows, the
Mahuts
, and the Buffalo Hat,
Issiwun
, from danger. If these two religious talismans were safe, the Cheyenne would have good medicine. We have had two of the arrows stolen by the Pawnee and had to make new ones to replace them but they lack the magic of the originals and we seem to be having a lot of bad luck.”

“And the Buffalo Hat?”

“It is still safe at this moment. But we protect it carefully, for legend says when it is damaged or desecrated the buffalo will disappear and the Cheyenne will be caught up in a whirlwind of bad luck.”

The wedding of Two Arrows and Pretty Flower Woman took place the next afternoon. Gifts equal to those first offered were sent by the bride’s family to the groom’s. Then the bride, dressed in her finest, was placed on a horse and led to her father-in-law’s tepee while her mother brought up the rear, carrying gifts. Male members of Two Arrow’s family placed the bride on a blanket and carried her into the tepee.

Later that day, a new tepee for the couple was erected near the bride’s parents, but the groom had to remember not to break the tabu of never speaking to his mother-in-law. A great feast was prepared from meat killed by the groom’s family, and as darkness fell there was much dancing and eating around the great campfire in the center of the lodges.

Iron Knife sat with his friends, his woman serving them choice portions. As she served his friends dutifully, she winked at him and he had a hard time keeping a straight face.

Children ran through the crowd, playing and chasing each other. Women stood in small groups, gossiping as women will. He noted with relief that they all seemed friendly to Summer Sky as she tried hard to converse in their language. Only Gray Dove glared at her without speaking and turned to walk away in the darkness. Annoyed at the Arapaho girl, he thought about it and decided to say nothing. Sooner or later, she would realize that she could never replace the white girl in his affections.

The drums started now and Summer came over to sit by him but he did not touch her. He longed to pull her close, but it would not look seemly for a warrior to show how much he cared for a captive.

She leaned close and her laughter drifted over the sound of song and drum. “Isn’t this fun?”

“It isn’t so very different from a white wedding I once attended as a child in Texas,” he said, smiling. “Lot’s of proud relatives, food and gifts and a shy bride and groom waiting to slip away the first chance they get.” He nodded toward the newlyweds standing at the edge of the circle.

“Tell me,” Summer whispered and her mouth was so close to his ear he could feel her warm breath. “Does Pretty Flower Woman wear one of those—well, you know!” She blushed and did not continue.

“
Nihpihist?
Of course she does and she doesn’t have to take it off tonight if she doesn’t want to.”

“But won’t Two Arrows force her to take it off? After all, he’s bought her with the ponies and gifts—”.

“You really do think we are savages, don’t you?” He frowned at her. “Two Arrows didn’t buy her. Those things were gifts. Are there no gifts at a white wedding?”

“Of course.” She nodded.

“And a Cheyenne woman retains ownership of her own property and ponies even after she marries, while in the white world, I understand the man owns and controls everything his wife has.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“As for the chastity belt, Pretty Flower Woman will decide when she is going to take it off and give herself to her husband. She may want to wear it for several weeks as they become better acquainted. Isn’t that better than the brutal, legal rape that so often takes place a few hours after a white wedding?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe you are right. Maybe it is my people who lag behind and are savages.”

Summer Sky seemed lost in quiet contemplation so he turned back to visit with his friends. The dancing started and women were pulling men out to dance the slow, rhythmic beat in the big circle lit only by the giant fire. Summer disappeared but Iron Knife hadn’t noticed until he looked up and saw the hunger on several male faces.

Following their hot gaze, he turned and saw Summer dancing all by herself in the semidarkness, oblivious to those around her. The firelight glowed dim where she danced, but it played on her long blond hair which she had shaken loose; now it hung free down her back almost to her hips. Swaying to the savage beat of the drum, she reminded him of a sexual fertility goddess.

Her curved hips writhed and the deerskin shift strained taut against the nipples of her full breasts. he could see the silhouette of her sensuous figure as she danced and swayed in the flickering light. The sudden hardness in his groin told him his body understood her message.

Quickly glancing around, he realized her dancing was being noticed by other men. He could see their hot eyes coveting her body. He was jealous and angry as he got up and walked over to grab her arm.

“What do you think you’re doing, making such a spectacle of yourself?”

She looked up at him in obvious confusion. “I wanted to dance and I didn’t know if I would be welcome in the circle. Over here by myself, I didn’t think anyone would notice me—”

“Notice you!” He gestured toward the men. “Every warrior here has noticed you! You tease their manhood like some white dance hall girl!”

“What would you know of dance hall girls?” she flung back.

“I was once almost whipped to death for killing one!” he blurted out without thinking and he stopped short as he saw the blue eyes widen in horror.

For a long moment, they faced each other and then she turned and fled into the darkness, away from the fire.

“Summer!” he called. “Summer!”

But she was gone.

“Summer, wait!”

He was going to tell her he was innocent, that he hadn’t killed the red-haired woman but knew who did.

Regretfully, he stared after her. She was too upset to listen to reason now and he was not sure what he would say to her later.

No one in camp knew what had caused his terrible scars except his family, just as no one knew of the little sister left behind in Texas the terrible night Iron Knife and Texanna had fled for their lives. Texanna would be dead in less than a year, his father the year after. By then, the little sister had been with the whites too long to ever adjust to the hard life of the Cheyenne.

Iron Knife frowned regretfully. If Cimarron were still alive, she would be grown by now and probably still down in the town of Fandango.

lf only
, he thought with regret,
if only he and Texanna had not been out picking berries that day along the Red River when the Texas Rangers spotted them. If only his father or some of the other warriors had been at the scene instead of out hunting, he and his mother would not have been captured.

He thought tenderly of Texanna. His white mother had been big with child and unable to flee when the white men spied them among the wild blackberry bushes. He might have gotten away himself but he had been unwilling to run because he loved his mother more than his own life. Nor could he have faced his father and admitted the Rangers had taken her while he ran like a cowardly coyote to save himself. So the Texans captured them both.

Iron Knife had been called Falling Star in those days because he was born in the month of
Hikomini
, the freezing moon that the whites called November during 1833. Whatever the whites called it, the Indians would always remember that time as The Night the Stars Fell.

He was eight years old when the Rangers captured the two and took them, kicking and struggling, back across the Red River into Texas.

For a few hours, he hoped his father could follow the tracks, but the warriors were off hunting buffalo and a heavy rain began a few hours after the capture. Even a keen tracker like War Bonnet could not follow a trail that was washed away by pouring rain.

He remembered now how terrified of the whites the boy Falling Star had been and how Texanna had fought and begged to be allowed to return to the Cheyenne.

Even now, he could remember the jubilation of the Rangers as they looked at Texanna and said over and over: “Cynthia Ann Parker.”

Texanna had shaken her head. “Please believe me,” she begged the Big Chief of the Rangers, “I am not that girl you seek. My name used to be Texanna Heinrich and I was taken from a north Texas wagon train in the spring of 1832 by the Cheyenne chief, War Bonnet.”

The captain chewed one end of his mustache as he looked at her, then toward the defiant son. “Looks like the savage didn’t waste no time enjoying you.”

Young Falling Star caught the leering look, the obscenity of his meaning as he struggled against the ropes that bound him. He spoke the little English his mother had taught him. “My father will come after us and kill you for this!”

Texanna shook her head at him warningly as the Texans jeered his threats.

But her head was held high and proud as she spoke to the Ranger leader. “Yes, I am War Bonnet’s woman,” she said, “and this is his only son. Please let us return to our people.”

There was another man, a dark, handsome Spaniard, and his eyes were full of sympathy. “Si, the señora’s right, Captain. She obviously isn’t Cynthia Parker and she wants to go back to the Indians. I hate the idea of taking her against her will—”

“Are you loco like she is, Durango? Even if she isn’t the Parker girl, you can see she’s white and there may be a reward out from her family—.”

“The white family usually doesn’t want the woman back in these circumstances.” The Spaniard nodded toward Falling Star and Texanna’s bulging belly.

The captain tipped his hat back with the barrel of his pistol. “Wal, now, Diego de Durango, that ain’t rightly our problem, I reckon. Let’s let her folks make that decision. She might want to stay in civilization once she has a chance to think about it. It turns my stomach to think of handing a pretty gal like that back over to the Injuns for some brown buck to mount—”

“Watch your mouth, hombre.” The Spaniard’s eyes flashed. “I don’t like the word
Injun.’”

The other laughed good-naturedly as he holstered his pistol. “Sorry about that, Durango. I plum forgot you were with the Rangers yourself when they overran the Comanche camp down on the Brazos and rescued a pretty Cheyenne girl. Heard you got a baby by her.”

Falling Star watched the Spaniard’s mouth. It was a hard, grim mouth like a scar on his handsome face. “That girl is now my legal wife.” He emphasized his words as if he were fighting to hold his temper. “And my son is legal heir to my ranching empire.”

“No offense, señor,” the captain said with a quick grin as they rode along. “It’s just that not many men marry Injun girls, and as much as you like Injuns, I’m surprised you ever joined up with us. If I had a fine ranch like yours, I wouldn’t ride with the Rangers.”

Maybe only Falling Star saw the anger and the finality in the Spaniard’s eyes as he nodded. “You’re right, hombre. I feel less and less that I belong with the Rangers. Si, I’ve realized it for a long time. I think I’ll go back to the Triple D and raise fine cattle and horses and watch my son grow up. But first, I’ll ride along and see that this girl is returned to her white family safely.” He looked around at the rough frontiersmen. “Some of your men might think because she would take on a Cheyenne, she’s fair game for anyone.”

It took many days riding, but at last they approached the small Texas village.

Durango reined up on the edge of town and turned to the captain. “You sent a rider with a message so the family would be prepared?”

The man chewed his mustache and did not meet Durango’s eyes. “I sent word we was bringing in a girl who called herself Texanna Heinrich. I didn’t say anything else, well, about, you know . . .” He glared at Falling Star.

Durango frowned at him. “Holy Mother of God!” He swore softly in Spanish. “This is cruel for everyone concerned,” he muttered. “The family should have been warned.”

The captain shrugged. “How do you tell a family something like this?” He nodded toward Falling Star and Texanna’s bulging belly. “You were right. I wish we hadn’t brought her in now. No self-respecting family would want her back and no white man will accept an Injun buck’s leavin’s.”

Durango hit him then. Even the boy was surprised at the way the Spaniard’s fist flew out and caught the Ranger’s chin. The captain flew sideways off his startled horse and hit the dirt like a sack of cornmeal.

Durango’s eyes were soft with sympathy as he looked into Falling Star’s. He tipped his hat to Texanna as the Ranger stumbled to his feet. “Señora, I’m very sorry for my part in this, forgive me.”

And he turned and rode off to the southeast as the Ranger rubbed his chin and remounted.

The group rode down Main Street. Iron Knife winced even now, remembering as he stared into the darkness after Summer Sky. Even now, he was not sure he could share that pain with her. It had been afternoon and the whole town had turned out for the occasion. People lined Main Street and a small band played loudly if slightly off-key. There were banners hanging everywhere. The boy could not read but he looked over at his mother’s drawn face as she read them and saw her silently mouth the words: Welcome Back, Texanna! Texanna, Our Heroine!

There was a rotund man standing out in front of the crowd who strutted as if he felt he were important.

Falling Star heard the captain mutter, “The mayor of the town, no doubt. This is going to be worse than I thought. They even got a brass band and decked out the town like the Fourth of July!”

The group rode down Main Street while the band played and people cheered. Then, gradually, they seemed to see the boy, the condition of the drawn, tense woman. The cheers faded and the music trailed off uncertainly. Falling Star looked into hostile, closed faces and heard the murmur of the crowd. He didn’t have to speak very good English to understand the remarks. The anger and contempt of the voices told him everything.

“My Gawd, a half-breed Injun kid!”

“Will you look! She’s—she’s expecting a baby!”

“How could she? With an Injun, I mean?”

The boy glanced over at his mother who sat her horse with quiet, calm dignity and ignored the curious stares.

The pompous mayor stepped forward uncertainly as the horses stopped. The blondish woman standing next to him took one look at Texanna, clutched the arm of the elderly, frail man next to her. Then the woman shrieked and fainted dead away.

“Give her some air!” the crowd yelled even as they clustered around the fallen woman while the mayor looked from her to the Rangers, and over to Texanna.

“Well, what did you expect?” an irate, stiff-backed woman said to another as they fanned the unconscious one vigorously. “After all, how would you like to have waited twelve years to find your sister and have her come back in the family way and have a half-breed boy with her!”

The mayor stepped forward and stuck his thumbs in his bright vest as he confronted the Rangers.

“I am Ransford J. Longworth,” he huffed and the red veins stood out around his long nose. ”That is my poor wife, Carolina, who has just fainted from the shock!” He gestured wildly. ”Land o’ Goshen, why didn’t you warn us about—about this?” He nodded toward the boy and Texanna’s swollen stomach.

The boy watched his mother’s eyes as they searched the crowd, looked down at the elderly man kneeling beside the fainting woman. “Father?” she said.

But the withered man glared at her with revulsion and hate. “Ach, whore!” he spat out in a foreign accent. “Slut! We thought of you as our pure Joan of Arc sacrificing herself to save the wagon train. We thought of you as the dead saint of Fandango!”

One tear made a crooked trail down Texanna’s face. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed I’m alive! I’m sorry to destroy your shining image. I am only a woman after all with feet of clay like any poor mortal.”

She looked around the crowd. “Where are my brothers?”

Longworth shifted his bulk and looked back at his wife who was now sitting up in the middle of the street, sobbing and obviously enjoying being the center of attention, the object of sympathetic glances.

The man fiddled with the heavy gold watch chain across his paunchy stomach. “Miss Heinrich, I’m your brother-in-law, and your brothers . . .”

Falling Star heard the ripple of whispers through the crowd. “Poor thing, she’s been gone so long she doesn’t even know both her brothers are dead.”

The boy saw the pain on his mother’s face as the words reached her.

Longworth fumbled with his watch and studied its face rather than meet her eyes. “Your big brother Joe died at a place called the Alamo only four years after you were stolen by the Indians.”

“And my young brother Danny?”

The crowd was very quiet now, hostile, but quiet. Only the blond woman sobbed loudly to keep the attention of the crowd on herself.

The mayor sighed. “Danny was executed by the Mexicans in the terrible black bean lottery after the Meir expedition two years ago.”

Texanna’s face crumpled: “Danny,” she wept. “Oh, not my favorite, Danny!”

The boy looked up to see a horse galloping madly into town from the other direction, and as it reached them a man slid off and ran toward them.

“Gawd Almighty!” the man drawled as he ran up to Texanna’s horse. “I came as soon as I heard you had been found, and . . .”

The man’s voice trailed off, disbelief mirrored on his ugly, bearded face as he stared up at the woman, his mouth hanging open. He was a big man, dressed in rough, frontier-style clothes. His western hat was pulled down over his eyes, and a silver filigreed whip hung on his belt.

When he spoke again, his voice was an angry, accusing drawl. “Texanna, how could you? How could you have let one of them savage stallions—?”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Texanna lashed out suddenly with the ends of her reins, catching the big man across the face.

“How dare you! How dare you scold me, Jake Dallinger!” She looked out across the crowd in outraged dignity. “How dare any of you disapprove of me! Don’t you remember? The war party demanded a hostage or they would wipe out the whole wagon train. How quickly you forget! I gave myself up to save your worthless necks and this is your gratitude!”

Falling Star glanced around the circle, saw them look away, ashamed. It was true what she said. He could tell by the way people kicked the dust in guilt and the crowd began to drift away to their homes.

He watched a man reach up and rip down a banner, then someone helped him pull down another. They threw them in the street and as people mounted up and rode away, the departing horses trod on the banners, grinding them into the dust.

The boy listened to the muttering of the crowd as they drifted away. “Well, yes, she did go out to the Injuns when they demanded it or they’d kill us all, but she didn’t have to sleep with them. She could have done what any self-respecting white woman would have done; she could have committed suicide.”