No Other Man (31 page)

The girl's smile encouraged her. She ducked down, ready to
greet the children.

They literally crawled on top of her. She laughed, falling
back on the ground. One of the toddlers laughed with delight then as well, and
the others joined in. She plucked up the erring fellow who had toppled her,
setting him down at her side. The girl came to her then, smiling tentatively
again, and speaking in her own language but making a drinking motion Skylar
couldn't fail to understand.

"Water, yes, please," Skylar said.

Hawk's grandfather entered the tipi. He watched her, his eyes
dark and fathomless, his face deeply lined by time and the elements. She drank
the water offered to her from a gourd and thanked the girl and then Hawk's
grandfather. One of the babies found a tortoiseshell comb in her skirt pocket.
She drew her eyes from those grave ones of the old brave and showed the child
what the comb did, laughing as she drew it through the babe's dark hair, then
offered it to the little one. The child watched her with enormous,
almond-shaped dark eyes. Beautiful eyes, in a face filled with wonder. Skylar
bit her lower lip suddenly, remembering accounts she had heard of Indian babes
being killed when the soldiers had triumphed over the bands. It had seemed so
distant then, so real now. The children were beautiful.

No one had a right to slaughter innocents. Cherubs like
these. Little ones who smiled, laughed, gurgled, reached out to be touched,
expected love. She shivered suddenly. She looked up at the old Indian brave.
And as he looked down at her, she felt that he knew what she was thinking. She
couldn't talk to him; she didn't know a word of his language. But he seemed to
understand her thoughts. He smiled, and somehow they communicated.

And she wasn't so afraid.

The old woman spoke very quietly to the man. He shrugged,
then looked at Skylar again.

"Deer Woman would ask if you are you hungry if she
could. She does not speak your language, and so cannot."

"No, I'm—" She broke off, startled. Hawk's grandfather
spoke English quite well. Regaining her composure, she wondered if it would be
rude not to accept something to eat. "Perhaps, I'm a little hungry. Only
if it is no problem ..."

Her voice trailed as he turned back to the white-haired
woman. She rose, setting her work aside, and left the tipi. Mie returned with a
bowl filled with meat in a thick juice. Skylar thanked her and tasted the meat,
hoping that she would find it good and that she wouldn't embarrass herself
farther by choking it down—or worse, being sick.

The food was delicious. She arranged her legs beneath I
km
the same way she had seen the white-haired woman do ns she ate, aware that the
children continued to play with In i comb as she did so.

Hawk's grandfather sat before his fire, gazing at her.

"Your feet are hurt," he said.

"Just a little sore."

"Deer Woman has salve for them."

Skylar
straightened her legs so Deer Woman could reach her feet. As the woman gently
tended to them, Hawk's grandfather continued to speak to her.

"You came from the East?"

"Yes."

"Married to Hawk?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I—I met Hawk's father there."

The old
warrior nodded as if her explanation made perfect sense to him when no one
else had ever really understood it. "David found you for Hawk."

"I—yes," she said simply.

The old man smiled.

"What do you think of us?"

The
blunt question threw her. "I... I don't know yet. I have just come here. I
know so little and I'm trying to learn so fast. I think the children are
beautiful."

"Good.
I am their great-grandfather. Four of the children belong to Pretty Bird,
Hawk's cousin, sister to Blade, Ice Raven, and Willow. Two belong to their
brother Red Fox, who died in battle."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. So what do you think of us?"

"I
think ... I think that I still have a great deal to learn. I know that Sioux
must be brave, strong, generous, and wise. I hope that you'll be—generous with
me. I—" She broke off again. "What do you think of me?" she
asked him.

He was
a great deal like his grandson—noncommittal. "I have much to learn,"
he said.

She
smiled, lowering her lashes, nodding and accepting his words.

"What do you want me to think of you?" he asked.

"I—I want you to like me," she admitted.

"Because of Hawk?"

She looked at him, hesitated, then nodded.

He smiled and told her, ' 'My English is good. My grandson
and my son-in-law taught me to speak English. I do not share the fact that I
speak it often."

"I will never tell anyone," Skylar promised.

He nodded sagely, then shook his old head as if in dis-
j'ust. "I'm glad that you wish to learn. The whites, they are so quick to
judge us. They think of us all as one out here on the plains. They talk of us
being savages. You cannot imagine the things that have been done." He lifted
a hand, indicating the slim, immaculate white-haired woman with her neatly tied
braids. "Deer Woman lived among our allies, the Northern Cheyenne. They
are a people who call themselves the Human Beings, a fine people."

She smiled. "Naturally, they are a fine people. They are
your allies."

"Yes. Good people. Our allies." He had a wonderful
smile. A strange wisdom. He could laugh at himself while speaking the truth
with all seriousness. "The whites often say that the Sioux are the most
warlike tribe on the plains. We didn't seek war with them. There were things
that we were promised. Certain lands that were to be ours until the grass no
longer grew, the wind no longer drifted and bellowed over the plains, the sky
was no longer blue. Cheyenne camped along the Washita at peace. The women
worked with their awls; the men cleaned their hunting rifles. The winter snows
were on the ground. Children played, babies cried. The white soldiers' bugles
started to call. Their horses were racing through the snow, dozens and dozens
of them. They pounded into the village, shooting, dubbing, setting fire to
tipis. They didn't care if they shot warriors, ancients, children, women,
babies. Deer Woman's daughter was killed with one child in her womb, one in her
arms. The blood spilled over the snow in great pools. If we are savage, then
what are whites? Deer Woman was left lor dead herself. There were few
survivors. So you see, granddaughter, we are all many things, and I am glad
that you have eyes to see beyond what one sees first."

"Thank you," she murmured.

The old woman, Deer Woman, finished with Skylar's feet and
looked at her. She went away for a moment and then returned and hunched down
before her, pressing the beautiful garment she had been working on into
Skylar's hands and talking to her. Skylar looked at her, listening. The woman
spoke kindly, but Skylar had no idea of what she was saying.

Hawk's grandfather interpreted for her.

"Deer Woman says you must take the dress."

"Oh! It's beautiful. But I couldn't accept it—"

"You must accept it. You have brought us ponies and
cattle. The ponies are survival, the cattle are a feast. You will wear the
dress and accept the other presents the woman have made for you."

"The women?"

She heard a giggling. There were a number of women at the
entrance to the tipi. They had been there, peeking in, watching her, she
realized.

The pretty girl who had kept the children occupied while she
ate rose, laughing. She drew Skylar to her feet and led her out of the tipi.

The women touched her, spinning her around. For a moment, there
were so many of them, reaching for her hair, her gown, that she felt a rise of
panic. She'd heard what Sioux women could do when torturing prisoners or stripping
the bodies of dead enemies.

But these women were giggling, not hurting her. Perhaps, somewhere
in the village, there would be those who might despise her for what she was.
But these women offered her no malice. They were curious. She wished
desperately that she could speak with them,
know
them, know their lives.

Suddenly, her arms were caught and she was led forward.

And shown her present.

She gasped, amazed, touched. She thanked them profusely. And
she was certain that they understood.

* * *

Because they were Sioux—Sioux who were also
wasi- chus,
white—and because they had just come
from their other world, Hawk and Sloan, who was called Cougar-in- the-Night
among his father's people, spent several hours engaging in the purification
rite of the sweat bath,
inipi.
They atoned
there for whatever wrongs they might have committed and cleansed themselves of
outside forces.

When they were done, they dressed in breechclouts, leggings,
and moccasins, and prepared for their official visit to Crazy Horse.

Crazy Horse awaited them with He Dog, one of his closest
friends and supporters. They all greeted one another as old friends, with
restrained pleasure, as was the Sioux way.

Because they had come to speak, Hawk and Sloan sat on either
side of Crazy Horse. Willow, Ice Raven, and Blade joined the circle as well.
First, Crazy Horse lit his pipe, which he shared with the others in the
spiritual way. After they smoked, Crazy Horse's wife, Black Shawl, and her
mother, who lived in the tipi as well, served the guests food, well-prepared
buffalo meat which was sweet and rich. Only when they had finished and complimented
their host on his hospitality did it become time to talk. And it was Crazy
Horse who began.

"I know why you have come; Sioux have come from the
agencies as well. Men from Red Cloud, who once fought the whites so vigorously,
now tell me that we can never best their numbers."

"Red Cloud has been in Washington, and yes, he has seen
that the whites are incredibly numerous," Hawk said.

"The white settlers are a wave, a great wave, spilling
over the country," Sloan said.

"Throughout my life, we have gone through one treaty
with the whites to the next. We have told them where they must not build their
railroads, then we have watched as their railroad builders have come anyway,
protected by the white soldiers. We have often asked before attacking why
they
are where they have promised
that they will not be.

The
Black Hills are Sa Papa. The whites were not to be there.
Cougar-in-the-Night—your army was to keep the whites out of the Black
Hills."

"My army despairs. They attempt to stop the settlers.
But there is gold in the Black Hills. When white men get gold fever, they can't
be stopped."

"Red Cloud's opinion is that the Black Hills are already
lost," Hawk told him.

Crazy Horse waved a hand in the air. He looked from Sloan to
Hawk. "You live at the base of Indian lands. Your father, the man we
called the white Sioux, lived there in peace. He made use of the gold he found
only where he knew he did not trespass on holy land. Why can't the rest of the
whites understand this? We've listened when they speak. 'The railroad must be
here.' They bring their railroad. We've watched them, we've waited. Nothing is
ever enough. They always demand more. They claim that they are at peace and
raid Indian villages. Where will it end?"

"It won't end," Hawk told him truthfully.

Crazy Horse smiled. "You came to ask me to come in and
listen to the whites' words about buying the Hills."

"Yes."

"Are you asking me?"

"I'm asking you."

"But you know I'm not coming."

"Yes, I know."

"So the invitation is given, and refused. Cougar, you
know as well that this is true. You can return to your army with the assurance
that you have done all you could do. I will not see the whites. I will not
agree to sell the Black Hills. Perhaps the whites swarm over them. It is not
with my agreement. I promise no safety to the whites there. Or here. The white
man has asked for war. I try to keep my distance from him. When he steps on me,
then I must throw him from my back. That is the way that it is."

"Perhaps bloodshed can still be avoided," Hawk
said.

Crazy Horse stared straight at Sloan. "The army wishes
us all dead."

Sloan shook his head. "Not the army," he said.
"But yes, there are men, some of them generals, who want the Indians gone.
They cannot kill the agency Indians because there will be a terrible outcry
among Americans back east if they hear that peaceful Indians are being murdered
at the agencies."

"And will that matter?"

"Yes," Sloan said, "Because among the whites
... well, among the whites, the Americans, men who want power must be granted
some of it by the people around them. To become really great chiefs, they must
be elected by the people. To some people, a great victory against the Sioux
would enhance a man's favor. But equally, Crazy Horse, there are gentle people
among the whites. Many people, like those who said that black men should not be
slaves, who don't believe that any human being, living at peace, should be
murdered."

"So you think I should try for peace and forget what the
whites have done to me and my people?" Crazy Horse demanded.

Sloan shook his head again. "No." He stared at
Crazy Horse. "I hate what has been done; I am disgusted by the slaughter
that has befallen so many of our Plains brethren. Crazy Horse must fight if
attacked. With Sitting Bull, Gall, and others, you are the backbone of our
people. Maybe the time will come when the Sioux will be so outnumbered there is
no more choice. Now I know that to hold against Ihe whites is the only choice
you can make."

Crazy Horse smiled at Hawk. "He is not a white
man."

"In his way, he is. The words we bring to you are important,
but those we bring back from you are equally so. Cougar will tell the army that
Crazy Horse is strong, that many Sioux—
and allies!
—stand
with him. And it is hoped that the army generals will tell the white fathers
that they cannot steal the hills as they have stolen so much else. Yes, the
whites swarm there now. But perhaps the Sioux will benefit because a line will
be drawn and a price will be paid."