The Endless Sky (Cheyenne Series) (30 page)

      
“Among our people, when a crime has been committed, the chiefs prefer to arrange for a payment to make up for the injury rather than to banish the offender. My brother would ask that Pony Whipper atone for dishonoring me by offering marriage. I would be forced to accept.”

      
“They planned this together to make you marry against your will! But that's terrible.”

      
“You see why we cannot tell anyone about the shameful thing Pony Whipper has done,” Kit Fox said as the man groaned and rolled over.

      
Both women stepped back but he did not attempt to arise, only reached one hand to his head and massaged the lump forming on it. “If he had not turned and dodged the full force of my blow, I might have killed him. Dear God, the other Crazy Dogs would have demanded my death, wouldn't they?”

      
Kit Fox nodded. “As a captive, you do not have the same rights as a Cheyenne. We could hardly banish you,” she added with impish amusement. Then she sobered. “Come, you have made a deadly enemy. Pony Whipper dare not speak of his dishonor, but he may try to harm you for spoiling his plan. I will protect you. I will speak with my brother. Plenty Horses has much to answer for. I think he will be ashamed for this day's work.”

      
The two women left the dazed man sitting on the ground and quickly returned to camp. Kit Fox slipped into her lodge before anyone saw her torn clothes. Stephanie returned to Red Bead, deeply disturbed by the dangerous situation in which she had now become embroiled.
As if I were not already in enough trouble.

      
Chase spent the afternoon in discussions with the chiefs and leaders of the warrior societies, planning the move for the winter into the high isolated region of the Bighorn Mountains to the north. There they would be safe, far from the Long Knives, the railroad and all the deadly dangers of white civilization. But soon they would be hemmed in. The Union Pacific was already established in the south and the new Northern Pacific would run to the north. The High Plains tribes were slowly being squeezed by a pincer of rails. How long could they hold out, fighting the hit-and-run sort of war he had taught them?

      
Deeply preoccupied, Chase walked back to his lodge only to find Stephanie waiting outside it. What was he to do with her? He must take her with him to their secret hideaway. Yet that bastard Phillips would love nothing more than to ride into the stronghold and massacre every man, woman and child. Once she had journeyed there, could he ever risk freeing her?
Isn't that what you want? To keep her forever?
He repressed the disturbing thought, concentrating on how to treat with her for the moment.

      
She looked lovely with her hair falling like molten silk over her shoulders. The Cheyenne clothes fit her tall slender body perfectly. He could almost make himself believe that it would work out if he took her, but he knew he was deceiving himself. She had pledged herself to his sworn enemy and if there was one thing of which Chase was certain, it was that Stephanie Summerfield would never break her vows.

      
Stay clear of her
. He smiled coolly as he approached her. “I see you're ready for the feast.”

      
“Red Bead said I was to wait for you.” Her tone indicated how much the idea appealed to her.

      
“Come,” was all he replied, turning sharply.

      
He expected her to heel like some damned camp dog! Fleetingly she wished for the war club to bash in the thick skull of another Cheyenne male, but common sense prevailed. Best to play along. Perhaps there might be a chance for escape later. She followed him to the open clearing surrounded by the semicircle of lodges.

      
The area was already filled with people of all ages, laughing and talking excitedly. Many greeted Chase in obvious friendliness and admiration but here and there she noted several hostile young warriors watching him with narrowed eyes and angrily furrowed brows. Were they all members of the Crazy Dog Society Kit Fox had mentioned? Stephanie could not discern enough about tribal insignias and nuances of dress to be certain.

      
As he approached the front row of the circle of men seated around the large fire, he turned to her. “Go to Red Bead and she will direct your tasks.”

      
“Of course, my lord. I am your obedient servant,” she said dulcetly.

      
“And property,” he replied with indifferent arrogance calculated to enrage.

      
She swallowed a retort and walked furiously over to Red Bead. Chase sat down beside Stands Tall who smiled thinly. “I do not think she enjoys being your captive.”

      
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Chase replied dryly.

      
“Only watch she does not scald you with a bowl of stew,” the older man retorted with a chuckle.

      
Chase grunted, not at all sure of what Stevie Summerfield might do. When she approached him with a bowl of steamed trout, he was wary, but she sat it beside the basket of fresh gooseberries and hackberries. He knew some of the food would repel her—the roasted intestines of buffalo calf stuffed with fresh meat and nuts, and the marrow bones that were broken open so the rich black marrow could be sucked out and eaten raw by the men. By the time she brought him a chunk of buffalo stomach filled with a gelatinous mass of congealed blood, Chase expected her to be pale and queasy looking, but she surprised him. Anger had always made Stevie even stronger. And he knew that playing slave was infuriating her.

      
He nodded to her with respect after all the food had been set out and the men were eating. Many warriors fed choice tidbits to their favorite sweethearts, wives or children.

      
Chase indicated that Stephanie should at last take a seat on the ground behind him and his uncle, then passed her some fruit and a chunk of roasted buffalo hump.

      
Tiny Dancer and Smooth Stone scampered around the fire, following the other children, begging for treats as was the custom. He motioned them to come sit with him, then offered them the fresh fruits and a spoon made of buffalo bone so they could dig into the various bowls of stew and other delicacies.

      
“This stew is my favorite,” Tiny Dancer exclaimed after they had sampled many things under the indulgent eyes of Chase and Stands Tall.

      
“Yes, it is mine, too,” her brother agreed, taking the spoon from her and scooping up a chunk of meat.

      
“You must try, Stephanie,” Smooth Stone said, offering her a generous spoonful.

      
She had sat back, watching their eager excitement with pleasure. Smiling she said, “Very well.”

      
“I would not advise that,” Chase cautioned in a low voice as she took the spoon.

      
“Am I not entitled to the really good food because I'm a mere white captive?”

      
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

      
She took a sip. It was faintly sweet, unlike any other game she had ever eaten, with a peculiar mushy consistency and a distinctive strong aftertaste. She chewed and swallowed manfully, not wanting to hurt the children's feelings. “It is...different. I've never tasted buffalo prepared quite that way before.”

      
Tiny Dancer giggled as Smooth Stone said, “Not buffalo. Puppy.”

      
She hoped she had misunderstood him. “You—you mean calf—buffalo calf, don't you?” she asked hopefully, feeling the bile rise dangerously in her throat.

      
He shook his head and both children laughed at the foolishness of this white lady. “No, puppy—young dog. Sweet, tender. You want more?”

      
“No! That is, no, no thank you,” she said more calmly. Sheer force of will kept her stomach from rebelling further and humiliating her. I will not give him the satisfaction, she thought, glaring at Chase's back as he sat chewing on one of those noisome marrow bones.

      
“What is wrong, Stephanie?” Tiny Dancer asked in perplexity.

      
“My people do not eat dogs...er, puppies. They are domesticated animals, raised as helpers for people.”

      
“So are cows, chickens. You eat them, no?” Smooth Stone's logic seemed irrefutable to him. “Give milk, eggs, help you, but you eat meat.” He shrugged.

      
“It's not the same,” Stephanie replied weakly. The children returned to their stew with zest, and the white woman fell silent remembering a scene she had seen that afternoon on her way to the river with Kit Fox and the others—a plump toddler outside one of the lodges, napping in the warm sun, nestled in a pile of sleeping puppies. Stephanie murmured softly, unaware that she was speaking aloud, “Chubby little babies don't cuddle with chickens or cows.”

      
Chase heard the comment and the mouthful of food he was swallowing seemed to lodge in his throat. God, she sounded so forlorn so...lost. He looked at Tiny Dancer and Smooth Stone, but apparently they had not heard the remark. He wished to God that he hadn't.

      
Wanting to shake her gloom, Stephanie asked Tiny Dancer, “Are you happy with Crow Woman?”

      
“She is kind. She teach us to be Cheyenne. We learn to speak, to play stick ball, swim, do chores with other children.”

      
Stephanie hated having to make the supplication. She knew she would only hurt the children if she made it in their presence and Chase refused to allow it. So she waited until Smooth Stone and Tiny Dancer ran off with several of their young friends to play. “Would you let me visit with them from time to time...as long as I'm here?”

      
He stared straight ahead in silence for a moment, hearing the entreaty in her voice. She loved the children, longed for little ones of her own. He thought of the beautiful babies they could have had together and the pain engulfed him. Cursing inwardly, he pushed the impossible thought aside and turned to her. It was almost his undoing. Her eyes were luminous in the firelight. Her skin gave off a soft golden glow for she had spent many hours in the sun during the past days of travel. The shimmering curtain of bronze hair glowed like molten metal, surrounding her face like a radiant nimbus. She was so utterly lovely he almost reached out to touch her, just to assure himself that she was real, that she was his.

      
But she was not his. She belonged to Hugh Phillips, he reminded himself angrily. “You may visit them, but don't interfere between them and Crow Woman. She is their mother now and will care for them long after you've left us. Come, it's time we retired,” he said abruptly.

      
Stephanie was taken aback. She had hoped the revelers would drink to excess and pass out as she had always heard the tame Indians around the posts did. But there had been no sign of alcohol all evening. The men shared a mild beverage made of some sort of fermented roots, but it did not seem to affect them any more than would watered down beer.

      
“Aren't you going to join in the dancing?” she asked, observing some of the men and women moving gracefully about the fire, the males segregated from the females decorously. Perhaps they might dance until they dropped with exhaustion!

      
“I don't think so. Tomorrow I have to be up before first light and I need my sleep.” Let her make of that what she would, he thought with grim amusement as her eyes widened and she moistened her lips nervously. “Let's go.” He turned and strode swiftly toward their lodge.

      
He expected her to follow again...like some damned puppy—to the slaughter! She would not sleep beside him ever again, she vowed fiercely. Out on the plains he had teased and taunted her, playing his cruel sexual games until they had encountered the children and he was forced to act with more decorum. But now he could take her to the privacy of his lodge. She knew Stands Tall and Red Bead would allow him to do whatever he wished with his captive and never interfere. There was nothing to stop him from forcing himself on her...if he still desired her as he had back in Boston—and he'd given many indications that he did desire her even though he despised her and himself for it.

      
We're so alike, Chase. I despise myself for it, yet I long to have you touch me as you once did.
She choked back tears. How bitter that admission. But she could never give in to her long repressed feelings. She would refuse him. Surely his sense of decency, some small vestige of the civilized man he had once been, would prevent him from dishonoring them both. Resolutely she followed him back to the lodge.

      
When they reached the opening, he stopped. “Red Bead will show you where you're to sleep.” Noting with satisfaction the startled expression on her face, he said, “What's the matter, Stevie? Disappointed?”

      
“You are contemptible,” she said, stung with humiliation. “Nothing could give me greater relief than to be free of your...snoring!”

      
He reached up and touched her cheek very fleetingly. As he dropped his hand he whispered, “Liar,” then vanished into the darkness.

      
Stephanie watched him enter another large skin hut a couple dozen yards away, leaving her standing alone without so much as a backward glance. Red Bead's voice broke into her stunned trance, bidding her to enter. She bent over and slipped inside where the coals of a small low fire glowed faintly, casting everything in dim orange light.

      
“That is your sleeping place,” Red Bead said, pointing to one of the pallets of soft furs.

      
There were only two pallets remaining in the big lodge where that morning there had been three. She had assumed one was for Red Bead, one for Stands Tall and one for Chase. She had also assumed she would be forced to share Chase's. “Where has Chase—er, where have White Wolf and Stands Tall gone tonight?” she asked, hating herself as the old woman's shrewd eyes studied her knowingly.