Wind Rider (15 page)

Moving her up and down the extended length
of his staff, Wind Rider felt her tightness surround and squeeze him and nearly exploded. He couldn’t believe his reaction to Hannah, for
he’d never before lost control with a woman. Cool and detached, he’d always made certain the woman felt pleasure, but he’d never im
mersed himself to the extent of letting his need
rule his mind or body. But with Hannah he
was like a rutting animal who could not get
enough.

Hannah felt the tremors begin deep in her
loins as wave after wave of ecstasy pounded
through her. Her cries triggered Wind Rider’s climax and he shuddered violently, releasing his seed in a gushing torrent. Afterward they
washed again in the river and returned to the
lodge. Hannah was surprised to find that some
one had left food for them while they cavorted in
the water. They ate ravenously, then sat outside
in the sun to rest and renew themselves. Hannah
had donned her dress, but Wind Rider wore only
a brief breechclout.

“I want you to tell me how you came to be
owned by the white eyes,” Wind Rider said
lazily. “You said you came from a country that lies across a huge sea.”

“The country is called Ireland. I come from
a poor family and have many brothers and
sisters. The potato famine left thousands of
people starving, my family among them. I left home so my father would have one less mouth
to feed.”

Wind Rider’s brow wrinkled. “So you sold yourself to another? It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not exactly right. I sold my services for
seven years to pay for my passage to America.
It’s called indenture. Upon arrival in Boston,
the ship’s captain sold my indenture to Mr.
Harley. We left immediately for Independence
and joined a wagon train. We left the Oregon
Trail at Julesburg and traveled south to Denver,
where Mr. Harley intended to open an inn.”

Wind Rider digested all this thoughtfully.
“White people are strange. Why did your master call you a whore?”

“Mr. Harley is a cruel man,” Hannah said bitterly. “He wanted me to bed the men who
came to the inn, but I refused. When he insisted
I ran away. The law will punish me if I’m caught
and return me to Mr. Harley to serve out my
indenture.”

“What happens after your indenture is
served?”

“Then I am free to pursue my own life. I hoped to save enough money to send for some
of my brothers and sisters. But Mr. Harley has
made that impossible.”

“You looked so pitiful the first time I saw you. I knew the man must have starved you,
beaten you, and worked you excessively. I will
kill him if I ever see him.” His words were
spoken with such utter lack of emotion that
Hannah believed he could kill Harley without a shred of remorse.

“My appearance was partly my doing,”
Hannah admitted. “I tried to make myself as unattractive as possible so as not to attract attention. But it didn’t work. Mr. Harley decid
ed to clean me up and offer me to his custom
ers despite my lack of appeal. That’s why I ran
away. Most likely he has notified the author
ities and they are looking for me right now.”

“He cannot have you.” Wind Rider spoke with
such heat and conviction; Hannah was amazed
that he cared so much.

“Tell me about yourself,” Hannah said quietly. “Was your mother white?”

Wind Rider hesitated so long, Hannah
thought he hadn’t heard. She was about
to repeat her question when he said, “My
father is White Feather. My mother, Gray
Dove, was killed by white soldiers from Fort
Lyon.”

Hannah stared at him. His silver eyes and
white features disputed his claim. “Why won’t
you tell me the truth?”

Wind Rider remained silent, considering his answer. Sooner or later Hannah would hear the truth from someone. Many Sioux spoke the white man’s tongue.

Hannah tried another approach. “You men
tioned a sister. Is she still with the Cheyenne?”

Wind Rider’s features softened. “Tears Like Rain lives near Denver with her husband, Zach Mercer. He is white, but I believe he loves her.

He calls her Abby. It was her name before .. .”

Hannah’s attention sharpened. “Before
what?”

Wind Rider let out a harsh breath. “Before White Feather adopted us.”

“I was right; you are white!” Hannah crowed
delightedly.

Wind Rider stiffened. “I am Cheyenne. Nev
er forget it, Little Sparrow. I do not belong to the white world. Since the age of ten I have
lived with the Cheyenne. Their world became
mine; I adopted their customs. I know nothing
about white society. White eyes drive us from
our land and kill our people. They slaughter
innocent women and children and try to force
us to live on reservations, where the land is poor and no buffalo remain.”

“How do you know you can’t live in white society? Obviously your sister made the tran
sition successfully.”

“It was not easy for Tears Like Rain. She
fought against our father’s decision to return
her to the white world. If I know my sister, she fought Zach Mercer every step of the way.”

“Is she happy now?”

Wind Rider smiled, recalling how happy
Tears Like Rain had looked when she told him
about the child she was expecting. “I believe she
has accepted what cannot be changed. She has a
white husband whom she loves, and is expecting
his child soon.”

“You have a white wife,” Hannah reminded him. “It would be so easy for you to return to the white world. I’m sure your sister would help you adjust.”

“Never!” He said it with such fierce convic
tion, Hannah was utterly convinced he meant
it.

“I can’t ever go back to Denver because of Mr. Harley, but there are other cities in which we could live. You could find a job and—”

”A job?” Wind Rider snorted derisively. “I
have a job. It is chasing white eyes from our
land.”

“You can’t succeed, you know. You have no
idea how many people are leaving the East
to settle in the West. They are so numerous
that soon there will be large cities springing up across the plains. I saw them, Wind Rid
er. In Boston there are so many people, the
streets were teeming with them. Other eastern
cities are probably just as crowded. In Inde
pendence, wagon trains stretched out in mile-long lines, waiting to begin the journey West.

“Tracks are being laid to carry trains bringing
more people across the prairie. In Denver they
call it progress. People say that one day no
Indians will roam free. Leave now, Wind Rider,
leave while there is still time to make a new life for yourself. Raiding and fighting can only lead
to your death.”

“You are wise for one so young,” Wind Rid
er said, astounded by her perception. He had already come to the same conclusion many
moons ago, but he had vowed to fight to the
bitter end. “As for my death, it is inevitable.

When I left Sand Creek I knew I traveled a path that led to the spirit world.”

“But there is no need!” Hannah cried. “You’re
white. I-I don’t want you to die.”

He regarded her curiously, his face soften
ing. “Why? I have not been kind to you.”

“You have not hurt me. You saved my life. If I had not met you, I would have died long before I reached Cheyenne. I was so naive. I had no idea how dangerous it was to leave
Denver as I did to try to reach Cheyenne on
my own. I was ignorant of the distance I would
have to travel alone. But I was so determined
not to sell my body for Mr. Harley’s benefit
that I could think of nothing but escape, no matter what the cost.”

“You are a remarkable woman, Hannah
McLin. You are small and delicate but have
the courage of a warrior. And you are very young
and naive. There is no returning for me.

“Besides, you talk too much, Little Sparrow.”
He grasped her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come, I will show you where to gather the
soap plant we used for our bath. When we
return we will lie on the river bank and make
love with Grandfather sun shining down upon
us.”

“What are these scars?” Hannah asked curi
ously. She ran her fingers lightly over the
faded ridges on either side of Wind Rider’s broad chest. She hadn’t noticed them before, probably because they were old and barely
discernible.

“When I was fifteen winters I participated in
the Sun Dance.”

“Sun Dance? What is that?” Her fingers
stilled on the scars, savoring the warmth of his flesh, amazed at her boldness and the sense of lightness she felt lying in this man’s arms. They had made love so many times during the
past days, she had lost count. And each time had been better than the last. Knowing that he
was white eased her conscience somewhat, for it was incomprehensible to her that an Indian could captivate her so utterly.

“The Sun Dance is many things to different
tribes. But to the Cheyenne it is world renewal. A warrior makes a vow before participating in the Sun Dance, not so much for himself but for the whole tribe. Attending upon his vow and
its fulfillment is an abundance of good water
and good breath of the wind. As the ceremony
progresses, a lodge is erected and a fire built,
which represents the heat of the sun. The lodge is built facing the east so that the heavenly
bodies may pass over it and fertilize it.”

“It sounds complicated,” Hannah said, plac
ing a kiss over each scar. “You still haven’t
explained how you got the scars.”

“I will explain.” The touch of her lips against
his flesh sent a quiver of anticipation down his
spine. “The Sun Dance requires eight days to
complete. The first four days are given over to
building the dance lodge and to secret rites,
which you would not understand. The last
four days are devoted to the public dance in
the Sun Dance lodge. The dancer is called ‘The
Reproducer’ because through his act the tribe
is reborn and increases in number.

“Self-sacrifice, in which many but not all
men indulge, takes place outside the Sun
Dance lodge. You might think it barbaric. We call it ‘hanging from the center pole/ One who
has vowed to do this asks the medicine man to
help him. The medicine man fastens the end
of two ropes to the crotch of a pole erected
outside, adjusting them so that they will reach
just to the breast height of a standing man. He
next punches or cuts two holes in the skin just
above each nipple and pushes a small skewer
through each pair of holes so that a narrow
strip of skin laps over it and holds it against
the breast/’

“Oh, no,” Hannah gasped, horrified. “It must
have hurt dreadfully.

“It is not so bad.” Wind Rider shrugged, proud of the ordeal he had undergone. “The free ends of the rope are fastened about the
skewers so that the sacrificer may dance fas
tened to the pole all night. If by morning he
has not succeeded in tearing the skin loose to
free himself, the medicine man cuts the skin off
and his ordeal is ended. To help overcome the
pain, the sacrificer blows a whistle, invoking the help of the spirits to ease his suffering.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Hannah
agreed, unable to comprehend the type of self-torture practiced by Indians. “Why would any man do such a thing?”

“For many reasons,” Wind Rider said. “Most
often it is a vow pledged as a means to gain the
spirits’ pity and thereby obtain good fortune.
It is also an act of courage that brings great
public approval from the People, and it gains one much prestige.”

“Why did you do it?” She was trying hard to
understand what drove Wind Rider, but it was
difficult.

“I did it because I wanted to prove I was
Cheyenne despite my white blood. I wanted to show I did not lack courage. When I reached
fifteen summers I sought my vision and among
other things I saw myself participating in the
Sun Dance, earning praise and respect from
the People. Once I had participated none could doubt that I was truly Cheyenne.”