Comanche Moon (12 page)

“I challenge you, as the son of the chief, to prove your manhood,” the young man said, and when he turned his face to the light, Hawk recognized him.
Esatai,
or Little Wolf. He had long been a rival of Hawk and resented the way he came and went in the camp. He had made comments before, and once they had fought. It had been a close fight, with longknives, and Hawk had cut him and won. Now Little Wolf swaggered forward, his stance a challenge.

“We go to steal many horses, and if you are not afraid, you will ride with us,” Little Wolf said boldly.

Hawk didn’t answer for a moment. It wasn’t that he was afraid, or even that he disliked raiding. It could be exciting. But he did dislike being cornered, and his voice was harsh.

“Have I not ridden with you to fight the Cheyenne? The Sioux, and the Apache?” he asked. “I have counted coup, and I have taken enemy scalps. My deeds are recorded on the walls of my lodge. I do not need you to question my courage. I have proven it to any who care to ask.”

“Perhaps, but I have not seen you fight the white men. Is it that you need a special magic to fight them? Or are you afraid?”

“My reasons are my own.” Hawk’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need to share them with you.”

For a moment no one spoke or moved. The air was still, charged with tension. Hawk could feel Little Wolf’s hate and resentment, but did not offer a soothing reply. He felt no need to negotiate for peace when Little Wolf had begun this matter.

“I say you do not dare go,” Little Wolf sneered, and glanced around him as if for agreement. A few muttered in accord.

Only one other man dared speak in his defense, and that was his cousin,
Ohawasápe,
or Yellow Bear. Though younger than Hawk by four years, he had no lack of courage. And he had always admired his older cousin.

“I hear the yapping of a coyote instead of the howl of a wolf,” Yellow Bear said angrily. “This one thinks that someone here envies my cousin his many ponies and the scalps in his lodge.” Little Wolf glared at him. “I have many ponies of my own! And there are scalps in my lodge . . .”

“Gray scalps, and your ponies are too slow to catch the turtle, much less run with the buffalo,” Yellow Bear retorted. His black eyes were narrowed with fury, and Little Wolf took a step forward.

Hawk lifted a hand. “This is my fight, cousin, though I thank you for your words. It is good to hear them.” He turned to Little Wolf. “Do you offer me a personal challenge? I will fight you as we did before, if you like. This one does not mind at all.”

Little Wolf shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. He still bore a long, thin scar from one eyebrow to his chin, and it was obvious he recalled who had given it to him.

“I will fight you,” he said finally, “once you have proven that you are not too afraid for war. I would not like to soil myself with one who trembles at the thought of counting coup on an enemy.” Hawk spat on the ground to show his contempt and saw Little Wolf’s flush. His voice was a growl, and his eyes narrowed when he said, “So be it. I will fight you when we return from our raid.” Spirit Talker rattled his gourd, and red feathers shimmied with the movement. “And you must get rid of the white woman,” he said in a high, thin voice. “She will bring many troubles upon us if she stays in our camp.” Hawk felt the stares on him, but allowed no emotion or reaction to show on his face.

“No. The white woman is mine. She stays until I tire of her.” Someone gasped at his refusal, and an angry mutter ran through the crowd. Hawk did not move, did not show by the flicker of an eyelash that he heard or cared. An uneasy shuffling of feet in the dust was evidence that his answer had disturbed many of them, but no one else offered a word or protest. It didn’t help his mood any to know that he’d already thought everything Spirit Talker had said.

Enough of this. Tomorrow, he would go to Deborah, and he would prove to her that she was meant to be his woman.

A murky gloom lay inside the tipi
, though the eastern sky was beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn. The entrance to the tipi faced east; growing light splintered through the cracks in the hide. Deborah stared down in dismay at the stains on her blankets. She had no idea what she was supposed to do about it here, or how to explain it to Sunflower.

Fortunately, Sunflower seemed to know much more about it than she did, and apparently treated her courses as a natural fact of life. Which, Deborah supposed, they were. It was only in her own society that women were forced to pretend such natural functions did not exist.

Here, she was taken to another lodge. The girl led her away from the tipi where she always stayed. On the fringe of the village, on the far side of the camp and almost up against a rock ridge, a shelter made of brush was tucked beneath a huge overhang. Sunflower turned and looked at her shyly.

Deborah stared back at her, uncertain what to say or do. The shelter was small and stank. Just outside the open doorway, a circle of stones cradled a bed of black, charred ashes.

“Ikaru,”
Sunflower said, motioning for Deborah to enter the dwelling.

She shuddered, not liking the strong, sharp smell that was evident even from outside.

“I don’t understand,” she began, but then Sunflower gave her a frustrated glance and gestured. Slowly, with blunt gestures and a few words
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Comanche Moon

she didn’t understand, Deborah was finally made to comprehend the girl’s meaning. Her face colored hotly.

“Tsihhabuhkamaru,”
Sunflower said frankly.

Though Deborah wasn’t certain of the word’s meaning, she had understood enough. “I suppose the fact that . . . that my courses are here has upset the natural order of things.”

“Nabi?atsikatu,”
the girl said softly, and Deborah gave a helpless shake of her head.

She thought the word meant forbidden, or taboo, but she wasn’t certain.

There were so many unfamiliar words that she frequently grew confused.

Embarrassment sharpened her voice.

“So, I suppose I am to remain an outcast until this is over with? Not that I mind. I find that some of your primitive rituals are very childish, but harmless.”

Ignoring Sunflower’s hurt expression, Deborah ducked into the brush shelter. The smell of sage filled the hut with an almost overpowering scent, and cedar and spruce and other plants hung in bundles from the bent poles that formed the ceiling. The roof was thatched, the floor thick with more bundles of tied plants.

When she turned, she saw that Sunflower had knelt and was starting a fire in the stone-ringed pit outside the lodge. She felt a spurt of remorse that she had been so sharp, and sighed.

“I am sorry- to have been rude,” she said, and Sunflower looked up with a smile. Deborah saw her ready willingness to forgive and forget with dismay.

It only added to her guilt for speaking out of turn. She went to the door.

“Haitsíi.”

Dark eyes met hers, and Sunflower said softly,
“Haitsíi. Haa.”
Dear friends. Deborah wondered what Sunflower would think when she left without saying good-bye. It would have to be that way, of course, if there was a hope for success.

Just the thought of what she contemplated made her nerves quiver with apprehension. It would be dangerous, and there was little hope they would make it, but they had to try. She and Judith agreed on that.

Judith. Oh heavens, what would she think when Deborah did not go to the stream? The worst, probably. And there was no way to tell her any different.

Smoke rose from the fire that Sunflower had begun, and the girl was motioning her forward. Deborah stepped out of the brush shelter and paused. The smoke was thick and fragrant, smelling of spruce and sage.

Sunflower smiled and beckoned her forward.

Throwing a robe over Deborah’s shoulders, she enveloped her briefly in a tent of smoke, then stepped back, taking the robe with her. Deborah understood. It was some kind of ceremony, probably having to do with her time of month. She nodded gravely, and Sunflower seemed pleased.

“It was foolish,” Hawk growled,
and Sunflower stared down at her toes again, chastened. “She is not one of the People. She does not need our ceremonies.”

And, he added silently, he had not wanted to leave without speaking to her again. That was impossible now that Sunflower had taken her to a purification hut. There was nothing he could do. He would have to wait and speak to her when he returned.

“You will be safe, my brother?” Sunflower asked timidly, and his anger faded at the sight of her forlorn face. She’d meant well.

“I’ll bring you something. Would you like that?” Her face brightened.
“Haa.
Though I like this last gift you have given me very well.”

He frowned. “What gift was that,
nu samohpu?”

“Deborah. She is very nice.”

“She is not for you. You know that. And I did not bring her here.”

“But you keep her here. That is what Spirit ‘biker said. He thinks she will bring us bad luck, but I think he is wrong. She tries very hard to please us.”

“To please you, maybe,” Hawk muttered, then shook his dark head.

“You spend too much time with her, my sister. When I return, I will let you go back to our father’s lodge. Old Grandmother has been missing your help.” Sunflower stared up at him, and he saw the hurt in her dark eyes. “You are not pleased with me?” He put a hand on her shoulder, lifting a strand of her silky black hair between his fingers. “I am very pleased with you. I could not have a better sister. You make my heart glad, and I am proud. But the woman will be able to take care of our lodge, and I will once more sleep beneath my own lodge poles.”

Sunflower bent her head, and he smiled faintly. The curve of her cheek was still so childlike and soft, her small hands plump as an infant’s. Soon, there would be an offer of marriage for her, and she would no longer be a child. It was the way of the world, but he felt a pang of regret that she would change.

“Perhaps I will bring you back some of the hard candy like I brought you before,” he said, and she looked up with a smile.

“Bring enough for two. I am sure your woman would want some of her own.”

Startled, Hawk only nodded. He wished he had not been so impulsive, and given Deborah into Sunflower’s care. His sister would be distraught when the inevitable happened, and he did not want a rift between them.

He looked up and past her, and saw his father watching them. White Eagle looked grave, and Hawk knew he must be thinking about the coming raid. “Are you certain this is what you wish, my son?” White Eagle asked when Hawk joined him. “I know your feelings about this matter.” After a moment, Hawk said slowly, “I would not shame my father’s house by being thought a coward. I do not make war on women and children as Little Wolf does, but I will fight armed men.” He shrugged. “I have said to all that my heart is not in it. But I will go, and I will count as many coup as Little Wolf dreams of doing.” His voice grew grim. “And when we return, I will meet him with my knife, and we will see if he still speaks of my courage in the same way.”

“You have met him before.”

“And he has forgotten.” Hawk met his father’s eyes. “I will remind him.” A glint of humor and pride flickered in White Eagle’s dark eyes, and he nodded slowly. “It is good. There are some men who learn slowly.” He looked past Hawk, his gaze turning to the far ridges of the mountains. “I feel the winds of change blowing down from the mountain passes, and up from the valleys. We will not remain long in this camp.”

“So you believe, like Spirit Talker says, about the white captive bringing bad luck?”

White Eagle’s lips thinned. “I believe that one day it must end, as do all things. Chief Kwanah has joined with the Kwahari tukhas, and they are making many raids and killing many of the blue coats. White soldiers are angry about the raids, and our young men speak of war when they should speak of peace.” His eyes narrowed on the horizon, as if he could see the future. “There is a new chief at the place called Fort Richardson. He trains his men to fight as the Comanche. He is called
Mangomhente
by the People. To the white man, he is known as Mackenzie.”

“And you think he will succeed where others have not.” White Eagle shrugged. “That is not for me to say. This I do know—there was a raid on the Salt Creek Prairie, and four of the black men with buffalo-hair were killed. Maman-ti led the raid that time, and took their scalps. There will be more trouble for that deed.” Hawk was certain of it. He knew the white man’s world better than he did his father’s, and knew that the outrage against the Negroes would not go unavenged.

“You said in the council that they should be patient. It is by your leadership that we are still free instead of on a reservation. Have they forgotten already?”

“Like Little Wolf, some men have short memories.” White Eagle’s eyes shifted back to his son. “And now, they call you coward when it is me they would like to accuse. It is not just. I am sorry for it.” Hawk shrugged. “I am accustomed to names. For me, they do not have the same power. I have been called many things.”

“And that, too, is a fault that must be laid upon my shoulders.” Uncomfortable with the discussion, Hawk shifted restlessly, and White Eagle must have noticed. He sought his son’s eyes.

“Spirit Talker was right about one thing—you cannot walk two paths at once. You must choose.”

“I have.” Hawk found his father’s steady gaze compelling. “I came back to the People.”

“But your heart still wanders.” A gust of wind lifted White Eagle’s hair, and the feathers he wore atop his crown fluttered. “I talk too much, like Old Grandmother,” he said after a moment. “I, too, forget. Unwanted advice is like throwing feathers into the wind.” Hawk nodded, but his father’s words stayed with him. He thought of them when he rode away from the camp, painted and dressed for war. And he was glad that Deborah Hamilton could not see him.

Chapter 9

Deborah shivered in the chill of early morning. The days were warm, but when the sun went down, it grew quite cold. She pulled a buffalo robe up to her chin and glanced over at Sunflower.