Reckless Heart (2 page)

So he taught me how to read trail signs instead, and how to find my way home at night by using the stars. He taught me how to skin a deer, too, and then showed me how to tan the hide. First, the skin was staked out on the ground. Then all bits of flesh were removed with a buffalo leg bone. Next the hair was removed—unless you were going to use the hide for a robe, in which case it was left on for added warmth. Next, brains and liver mixed with melted fat were worked into the skin. After that, the skin was soaked in water. Later, the excess liquid was stripped out with a long stone blade and the skin was hung up to dry. Lastly, the skin was worked and pounded until it was soft as velvet.

Personally, I thought the whole process was disgusting, though I didn’t say so for fear of incurring Shadow’s scorn. But then I disgraced myself forever in his eyes the day he ate the raw heart of a buffalo calf—and I threw up all over him.

With the coming of winter, the Cheyenne moved south. Shadow’s absence left a void in my life—one that could not be filled. I was lonely again and spent most of my time reading in front of the fireplace, losing myself in stories of pirates and treasure and ill-fated lovers.

Shadow came with the spring, bringing gifts for us all—a bone-handled hunting knife for Pa, an intricately woven Indian blanket for Mother, a headband beaded in black and yellow for me. That year Shadow instructed me in the fine art of distinguishing one set of animal tracks from another. He also taught me how to recognize the print of a Cheyenne moccasin from that of a Sioux. He began teaching me his tribe’s spoken tongue as well as sign language, which was the universal language of the plains, enabling warriors from different tribes to communicate with each other.

One afternoon he told me how wolves mark their hunting grounds by urinating on the rocks and trees, then further astonished me by declaring that if a warrior made water across the entrance to a cave, no wolf would dare enter!

Of course, Shadow was learning, too. His English became less stilted with everyday use, and he picked up some American expressions as well as a handful of cuss words from Pa. But Mother was his best teacher. I remember she was quite upset the first time Shadow had dinner with us and ate the mashed potatoes with his fingers! Right then and there she insisted he learn American table manners. And when she discovered he could not read or write, out came pen, ink, paper, and my old McGuffey’s reader.

Shadow proved to have a quick mind and he rapidly mastered the art of reading and writing the English language. Reading especially appealed to him and he read everything in sight, labels on tin cans, old newspapers, my books, a volume of Shakespeare (which neither of us understood), my mother’s cookbooks, and Pa’s mail order catalog.

But his favorite book was the Bible, and he read it through twice!

“The white man respects nothing,” he remarked one night after reading the 27th Chapter of Matthew, which is an account of the crucifixion of Jesus. “Not only does he kill the buffalo, and the Indian, and his own white brothers, but his God as well!”

Shadow openly adored my mother. He frequently brought her gifts, a pair of soft doeskin moccasins, an exquisite necklace of turquoise and silver, a set of delicately carved wooden combs for her hair. I was sure Shadow would have walked barefoot over flaming coals if my mother asked him to, so you can imagine my surprise the day she asked him to please fetch some water from the well and he refused.

I stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. He swelled up like a toad and coolly informed us that such menial tasks as hauling water, gathering firewood, curing hides, sewing, weaving, food preparation and child care were squaw work, and that a warrior
never
did squaw work when there was a woman around. He further informed us that he thought it quite strange that my father worked in the fields when he had two healthy females in his lodge.

“Well, we do things a little differently here,” Mother explained calmly, completely unruffled by his arrogant outburst.

But I noticed she never again asked Shadow to do any chore he considered “squaw work”. When I asked why, she said it was all right to teach Shadow to read and write, and even show him how civilized people behaved at the dinner table, but that it was wrong to interfere with his customs and beliefs. She went on to explain, somewhat sadly, that Shadow would one day be a warrior and would find it hard to live as a Cheyenne if he acquired too many American habits.

Pa was less than enthusiastic about Shadow’s frequent presence in our home, though he made the best of it because of Mother. Often, after Shadow had ridden off for home, Pa would go around mumbling about taking a viper to our bosom—whatever that meant.

“Dammit, Mary,” I overheard him say one night, “that half-naked savage is gonna be a warrior before too long, and Hannah’s gonna be a young woman!”

“Yes, Curly, I suppose so,” Mother agreed serenely.

Pa pounded the table with one ham-like fist. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Katherine Mary Kincaid,” he growled. “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Mother chided gently. “Hannah isn’t going to run off with him.”

I gasped in astonishment. Was that what was worrying Pa? Me running away with Shadow? I ducked out of my hiding place and ran outside where I burst into gales of laughter. Me and Shadow! Now that was funny! Even though I was only eleven going on twelve, I already knew the kind of man I wanted to marry. He would be tall and handsome and rich and we would live on a big ranch somewhere in Bear Valley and raise blooded horses. We’d have lots of kids and travel to New York, and I’d buy lots of pretty dresses—all silk and satin and lace—and we’d go to the theatre and dine in a fancy restaurant with velvet chairs and crystal chandeliers. And we’d ride in a fine carriage pulled by a team of matched black stallions…

Oh, I had a lot of ambitious dreams for a girl on the shy side of twelve, and you can be sure there wasn’t a half-naked arrogant Indian boy in any of them!

When Shadow turned fourteen, he began the rigorous training boys undergo to become full-fledged Cheyenne warriors, and we saw him less and less.

By the time I was twelve and Shadow was going on sixteen, his visits to our place had ceased altogether. I missed him more than I would admit, but I think my mother missed him most of all.

Chapter Two

1872-1874

The summer I turned thirteen we got some neighbors down the road apiece. Pa said, sourly, that Bear Valley was getting crowded, but I think he was as glad of their company as Mother and I were. It was a good feeling, knowing we were no longer the only white people in our part of the country. Our new neighbors, Ed and Claire Berdeen, had two sons, Joshua, sixteen, and Orin, fourteen. They were mighty handsome boys, both tall, blond, and blue-eyed, with easy-going ways and nice manners. The boys and I had a good time that summer. Once our morning chores were done we were usually free until evening, and we spent our time horseback riding and picnicking and swimming. Often, we went walking in the woods down by the river crossing. Josh and Orin spent a lot of time wrestling each other and generally showing off by climbing trees and jumping over rocks, each trying to outdo the other for my benefit. Naturally, I loved being the center of attention, but then, what girl doesn’t?

Of course, I did some showing off of my own. Weren’t they surprised to learn that I could turn out a decent loaf of bread, make jam, and bake a deep-dish apple pie just as good as their mother’s! But my culinary talents didn’t astound them nearly as much as my tracking ability. I’ll never forget the day we went hunting together. I bet Josh and Orin that I could find a deer quicker than they could—and did it, too. And didn’t their mouths drop to their knees when I not only killed the buck with one well-placed shot, but skinned it out, too!

It was fun asking them to do ridiculous things, just to see if they would do them to please me. Like the time I saw a bear cub and asked Joshua to fetch it for me.

“Don’t be silly,” Joshua said scowling. “You can’t take that cub home.”

“I don’t want to take it home,” I countered petulantly. “I just want to hold it awhile. It’s cute.”

“I’ll get it for you, Hannah,” Orin offered, and with a Rebel yell that would have made the South proud, he dashed off toward the unsuspecting cub. Scooping the furry little creature up in one hand, he trotted back toward us, looking right pleased with himself.

He’d only gone a short distance when a mighty roar thundered behind him and the cub’s mother came charging out of a thicket, jaws agape, sharp yellow teeth stained crimson with berry juice. Lordy, was that old sow mad!

“Orin, run!” I screamed. For a moment, he seemed frozen to the ground as he saw the enraged animal rocketing toward him, and I screamed again, certain he was going to be torn to shreds right before our eyes.

“Drop the cub, you fool!” Josh hollered. “Hannah, run for home!”

The next few moments were mighty tense, let me tell you. I ran toward the river, casting anxious glances over my shoulder to see how Orin and Joshua were making out. Orin had dropped the cub and was running hell-bent for leather down the path after me with Josh hot on his heels. The old sow streaked past her cub like a runaway locomotive and for a long, heart-stopping moment it looked like she wouldn’t halt until she’d caught us. But then the cub whimpered sort of sad-like, and that big old bear turned in mid-flight, graceful as a ballet dancer, and trotted back to her baby.

I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, then sank down on the grassy riverbank, gasping for air. Now that the danger was past, it was funny and I began to laugh.

“Oh, Orin,” I giggled. “You should have seen your face when that fat old sow reared up in the bushes.”

“Pretty funny, huh?” he asked good-naturedly. “Would you have cried if she’d caught me and ripped me to pieces?”

“You know I would have,” I said. “Why, I’d have cried buckets every night!”

“See, Josh, it’s me she’s crazy about,” Orin boasted. Falling to one knee, he grabbed my hands and said, with mock gravity, “Hannah, thou art fairest of all the fair. For one smile from thy ruby lips, I would climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest river, defend thee to the death, but please, please, don’t bid me fetch any more bear cubs!”

Josh scowled as I burst into laughter. Always the serious one, Josh was. I’m afraid Orin and I sorely tried his patience with our endless clowning and joking.

Rising, I found a long, thin reed and tapped Orin lightly, once on each shoulder.

“For services rendered, I dub thee Sir Orin the Brave. Arise, Sir Knight.”

Looking properly humble, Orin rose to his feet and bowed from the waist. “Might I be so bold as to beg a favor?”

“Perhaps,” I allowed with queenly grace. “What is thy wish?”

“A kiss from she who holds my heart,” Orin responded gallantly. “One kiss from that maid whose name brings joy to my soul, beauty to my eyes, and a song to my lips.”

“Well spoken, Sir Knight. Claim thy favor.”

Eyes twinkling, Orin took me in his arms, bent me back, and kissed me soundly on the mouth. We parted, laughing, to find that Joshua was gone.

Joshua rode over the next morning alone and asked if I would go riding with him. Since my chores were done, Mother said I could go—as long as we were home before dark. Josh threw a saddle on Nellie and helped me mount. One thing about Josh, he always treated me like a lady.

Side by side, we rode down to the river crossing. We weren’t supposed to cross the river but I was tired of riding the same old trails and I urged Nellie down the bank. That old mare sure hated getting her feet wet! She picked her way across that shallow stretch of water as if she were walking through a nest of snakes.

As soon as we reached the opposite bank, I gave her a solid thwack on the rump. Startled, Nellie lined out in a dead run.

“Hannah, stop!” Josh yelled.

“Catch us if you can!” I hollered over my shoulder, and lashed Nellie with the reins.

It wasn’t much of a race. Nellie was no fit match for Joshua’s big black gelding, and he caught up with us in practically no time at all.

“You little fool!” he scolded angrily. “Don’t you know better than to run off like that? This side of the river is Indian territory, remember?”

“Oh, Josh, stop being such a worrywart. The Indians aren’t going to bother us. They never have.”

Joshua did not look convinced, and his eyes darted nervously from side to side as he said, “Well, we’d better be heading home just the same.”

“You’re worse than an old woman,” I snapped irritably. “Now, stop worrying. There probably isn’t an Indian within twenty miles.”

“Oh, yeah?” he muttered drily, pointing over my shoulder. “What do you call those?”

Turning, I felt my confidence quickly crumble as a number of warriors trotted over a low ridge toward us.

“Oh my,” I murmured. “Indians! Let’s get out of here!”

“I don’t think running is such a good idea just now,” Josh said. He was suddenly calm, low that we were facing real danger. “Better just sit tight.”

In minutes, we were surrounded by a dozen armed young braves, all dressed alike in deerskin clouts and beaded moccasins. Three of the warriors had deer carcasses slung over their ponies, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness they were only a hunting party and not a war party as I had feared.

One of them—the leader, I supposed—quickly searched Josh for weapons. He looked mildly disgusted when all he found was an old Barlow knife. “What shall we do with these paleface dogs?” he asked.

“Let us take their horses,” said one brave, casting an envious eye at Joshua’s fine black gelding.

“Let us take their scalps,” suggested another, and I pulled away as he ran a long brown finger through my hair.

“Let us kill the boy and take the girl,” a third remarked. “She will make a fine slave.”

“You talk big for untried warriors!” I blurted, trying to cover my apprehension with bravado. “Why don’t you just go home to your mothers where you belong?”

I knew it was the wrong thing to say the minute the words were out of my mouth, but there was no way to call them back. The leader’s black eyes flashed with anger and wounded pride. Scowling, he hefted his lance as I berated myself for my quick tongue. The Indians were mad now—perhaps mad enough to kill Josh. What better way, after all, to prove they were warriors than to spill the blood of a white man?

The other braves leaned forward expectantly, ebony eyes glinting, as they waited for their leader to uphold their honor. Joshua’s face went deathly pale as the leader drew back his arm to hurl his lance.

Just then a second group of Indians arrived on the scene.

“What is going on here?” one of them demanded, and I nearly fell off my horse with relief.

It was Shadow! Seventeen now, and a head taller than any of the other braves, he sat proudly astride a tall roan stallion. There was neither warmth or recognition in his gaze when he glanced my way, yet my heart began to pound inside my breast, and I felt my cheeks grow hot.

“It is no business of yours,” the leader of the first group retorted.

“We are hunting meat, not scalps,” Shadow countered evenly. “Let the white eyes go in peace.”

“No. They are my prisoners. It is for me to decide if they live or die.”

“Hear me, Running Buffalo,” Shadow said in a hard tone. “I know this girl, and I will not see her hurt. Or her friend, either.”

The two warriors glared at each other for several taut moments. For a brief time it looked like they might fight it out, but then Running Buffalo’s eyes wavered before Shadow’s steely gaze, and he lowered his lance. Sullen-faced, Running Buffalo gave us mount a savage kick and raced away toward the mountains.

“Go home, Hannah,” Shadow said, in English. “Do not cross the river again.”

Before I could thank him for his help, he signaled his warriors to follow and galloped after Running Buffalo.

“Whew! That was close,” Josh exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Who was that Indian, anyway? How did he know your name?”

“Oh, that’s Shadow,” I replied nonchalantly. “He’s an old friend. Come on, let’s go home.”

“What do you mean, an old friend?” Josh demanded. “Where’d you ever meet an Indian?”

“Why, Joshua Lee Berdeen, I do believe you’re jealous.”

“Of a savage?” Josh scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Well, you certainly sound jealous to me,” I insisted sweetly. “And it’s none of your business where I met Shadow. But, if you must know, I met him out at Rabbit’s Head Rock years ago. He’s a very nice boy.”

“Nice!” Josh exploded. “Hannah Kincaid, have you taken leave of your senses? Nice! What would your folks say?”

“Oh, they know all about him,” I replied airily. “Shadow used to come to our house all the time.”

Joshua’s mouth fell open, and he looked so funny I couldn’t help laughing. “For goodness sakes, Josh, don’t look so shocked. Indians are people, too, you know.”

“That’s not a very popular notion, Hannah,” Josh said testily.

“Well, it’s true just the same,” I retorted sharply. “And I would think you would be a little more tolerant, seeing as how an Indian just saved your scalp!”

Josh scowled at me, and we rode the rest of the way home in silence. I don’t know what thoughts were running through Josh’s mind as we crossed the river, but all I could think of was Shadow. How tall he’d grown. How handsome he was. And how wildly magnificent he looked on that prancing roan stallion.

I bid Joshua a hasty farewell at the door and hurried into the house, bursting to tell my folks, especially Mother, how Shadow had saved Joshua’s life.

Mother didn’t seem the least bit surprised that Shadow had come to our rescue, but Pa’s brows gathered in a frown as he remarked, dourly, “Just give him a year or two, and he’ll be as eager to take our scalps as the rest of the red bastards.”

“Curly, shame on you!” Mother scolded gently. “Shadow will always be our friend.”

“I hope you’re right, Mary,” Pa muttered under his breath. “I just hope you’re right.”

In the spring of 1873 five families moved into the north end of Bear Valley, and suddenly we were up to our ears in people. The population jumped from seven to thirty-six, and Mother started talking about building a church and a schoolhouse, now that we had enough people to make such an undertaking worthwhile. There were rumors circulating that Custer had discovered gold in the Black Hills, and Pa predicted sourly that once news of a gold strike got out, we’d be swamped with folks looking to get rich quick.

And Pa was right. Prospectors swarmed into the Dakotas, utterly disregarding the treaty rights of the Indians. Naturally, this upset the Indians, and we began to hear about Sioux and Cheyenne raids on white settlements further west.

With more and more people flocking westward, Pa started talking about turning our farm into a trading post. Joshua allowed as how he thought that a trading post was a prime idea, since we were near the river, and even offered to help Pa start building if he was of a mind to.

And that’s just what they did. Orin and his pa and our other neighbors pitched in, and by late summer our farm had been transformed into a kind of fort. The split-rail fence was gone, replaced by stout log walls with lookout towers at each corner. Our corral was enlarged, and our barn spruced up. Our cabin underwent some changes, too. Pa and the men added a second floor, and we moved our living quarters upstairs, leaving the main floor free for the store.