Wind Rider (22 page)

Red Cloud spoke slowly, so his words would
not be misunderstood. “I have given the matter
much thought,” he said, addressing Gilmore,
“and I have decided not to sign this treaty,
but to give the commission one more chance
to prepare a peace treaty the Plains Indians can
live with. As a gesture of good faith, you may
take the woman with you. As you can see, there
are no other white captives in the village.”

Gilmore tried to conceal his jubilation. “You
are wise, Red Cloud. The commission will be impressed by your gesture of good faith.”

“Should we not wait for Wind Rider?”
Hannah dared to ask.

Red Cloud sent her a quelling look, as if her suggestion carried no weight in the matter.
“Wind Rider will do what is best for the
People/’

“It will be all right, Miss McLin,” Gilmore said, eager to leave now that Red Cloud had given his permission. “You’ve nothing to fear. Wind Rider won’t dare defy his chief’s orders.
He won’t be able to hurt you again. I know how
you must have suffered.”

“No, I...” The words froze in her throat.
What would the lieutenant say if she told
him she loved Wind Rider? That he’d never hurt her?

That he was white.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t betray Wind Rid
er’s trust. If he wanted people to know he was
white he’d have to tell them himself.

“We’ll leave immediately,” Gilmore said
brusquely. He’d hoped for the opportunity
to question the Indians about the trader’s
illegal activities, but he thought it best to leave
before the chief changed his mind. Alone and
vulnerable, he could not stop the Indians from
taking him captive if he angered them. “Get the
horses,” he told Trader.

Hannah’s eyes grew wild. “I don’t wish to
leave!”

Ignoring her plea, Red Cloud rose and
walked into his lodge, lowering the flap in obvious dismissal.

“We must hurry!” Gilmore urged as he took Hannah’s arm and pulled her away from Red
Cloud’s lodge.

“Don’t forget who the reward belongs to,”
Trader said.

Hannah stopped abruptly, digging in her
heels and refusing to budge. “Does the reward mean so much to you? Are you to share in it, Lieutenant?”

“No; that’s not my reason for being here,”
Gilmore said with a hint of impatience. “I
couldn’t bear the thought of a white woman at
the mercy of Indians. The reward will go to Mr.
Wilton. I want no part of it.” He would gladly
accept a promotion if one came his way, but
he kept that bit of information to himself.

“And I want no part of Mr. Harley,” Hannah
returned shortly. “You’d know why if you’d
seen how he treated me.”

“The law says you must return,” Gilmore
reminded her, “but if the man isn’t treating
you kindly, I’ll speak with him myself and see
to it that the law in Denver is informed of his
mistreatment.”

Hannah’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Obvi
ously, there was nothing she could do or say
to change Gilmore’s mind or influence Red
Cloud. Of one thing she was certain: She’d
never see Wind Rider again. He might miss
her, but never enough to make him leave his
people. She knew he’d be considered a white
savage in her world and people wouldn’t be
far off the mark. Wind Rider’s love for her, if
indeed he loved her, would have to be strong to
lure him from his people. And if he did leave, there was nothing he could do to obtain her
freedom. Harley owned her services for seven
years; that was the law.

They had reached Woman-Who-Waddles’s tepee now, and Hannah saw the old woman standing by the opening, wringing her hands.

“I’ll wait outside while you gather your
things,” Gilmore said. “But don’t tarry. I don’t trust Red Cloud.”

“I have no belongings,” Hannah said, “but
I would like to say good-bye to Woman-Who-
Waddles.” Hannah hugged the old woman
fiercely, saddened that she would never see
her again. A bond had formed between
them despite their differences in language
and culture.

Just then Trader approached, leading three
horses. “I talked the chief into giving us a horse
for the woman.”

Woman-Who-Waddles ducked into the tepee
and emerged a few minutes later with a bundle,
which she thrust into Hannah’s hands. It con
tained food, a spare dress that had belonged to
her dead daughter, a comb made out of buffalo bone, and soap plant leaves. Then she placed a
small bag attached to a rawhide thong around
her neck. Hannah fingered the bag, aware
that Wind Rider wore one that was almost
identical.

“It is a medicine bag,” Woman-Who-Waddles
said in Sioux, using words Hannah could
understand. “It belonged to my daughter and
will bring you luck. You must add your own
special talisman to make the medicine more
potent.”

“Thank you,” Hannah murmured, wondering
what sort of talisman she could add to the
contents of the bag. Suddenly, she thought of
something. “Wait here for me,” she told Trader
and Gilmore. “I will be right back.”

Running the short distance to Wind Rider’s tepee, Hannah ducked inside, grateful that
Spotted Doe was absent. Rummaging in a
parfleche hanging on a pole, she found what she was looking for. She had come across the
object one day when she was searching for
something else. It was a tiny miniature of
two small children. Engraved on the other
side in flowery letters were the names “Abby and Ryder Larson.”

Hannah supposed it was a picture of Wind
Rider and his sister, and the names were those that had been given to them by their parents. But she had never questioned him about it; the time just never seemed right. She had never
seen Wind Rider look at the small painting,
and now she thought he’d not miss it. But
to Hannah it would be something precious
of his that would remind her of their short
time together. She slipped it inside the bag hanging around her neck and hurried to join
Trader and Gilmore.

“Are you ready, Miss McLin?”

Hannah nodded, too emotionally spent to
reply.
.
Her heart called out to
him, knowing he would not answer, that he’d
never answer. With Spotted Doe to ease any
sadness he might feel over her absence, Wind Rider would not miss her for long, she thought
disconsolately. Unfortunately, the same did not
hold true for her.

His name whispered from her lips in a silent
prayer. The wind swept it away and carried it across the prairie.

Wind Rider stood poised atop a flat butte,
facing the east, toward the Badlands and home. For the past two weeks he had ridden hard and fast, striking at army supply wagons, attacking columns of blue coats riding into Powder River
country, and generally discouraging travelers
through Indian territory. He was weary. Weary of raiding, weary of senseless deaths, and eager
to go home to Hannah.

Hannah.
Her name moved like a specter
across his memory, and his lips stretched in a smile despite his weariness. He recalled how sweetly she had responded to his lovemaking.
Her eyes defied the emerald splendor of the
dew-kissed prairie grass and her hair chal
lenged the fiery brilliance of the sun. His eyes
grew misty as he thought of how bereft she had looked when he’d bid her farewell, perhaps never to see her again if luck deserted
him and he did not survive. An ache grew
inside him, increasing until his entire body
vibrated with it. He missed her so desperately, he imagined he could hear her voice calling to
him, wafting to him across the prairie on gentle zephyr wings.

.. . He heard it more clearly now
and cocked his ear to the east. . ..
Was there a note of sadness in her voice?
... The wind ruffled his hair and cooled his flesh but did not quench the fire burning inside him. He stood as if carved in stone,
listening, remembering, needing ...

Suddenly Wind Rider stiffened. He knew.
He
knew!
Hannah needed him. It was time to go
home.

The War Dog society found the Cheyenne camp
by accident. They had not known it was there,
for the small band had just recently left Kansas territory for the relative safety of Powder River country. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found safe
ty. Several hours before Wind Rider and his
companions stumbled upon the camp it had
been attacked by Gen. Conner in his sweep
of the area. Twenty-four men and boys over
twelve years of age had been killed. Most of the
women and children had fled into the woods, but they came back later to prepare their dead for burial. Wind Rider was horrified at the
destruction wrought by the army. But more
than that, he was devastated to find Summer
Moon, the maiden who had married his father,
weeping over the body of White Feather. He
hadn’t been aware that White Feather was
anywhere in the area.

“Father!” Wind Rider cried, leaping from his
horse to kneel beside White Feather’s broken
body.

Summer Moon turned slowly, her eyes hollow, her face gaunt. The cradleboard strapped
to her back held a tiny infant. At first the
grief-stricken woman didn’t recognize Wind Rider, but when she did she collapsed against
his naked chest, shedding tears of fear and
anger. “It isn’t fair, Wind Rider. Your father was a brave man. He was taking us to Red Cloud’s camp. He hoped we would be safe in
Powder River country. He wanted a better life
for his son.”

“I am sorry, Summer Moon.” His throat was clogged with unshed tears. “Father will always
be remembered as a brave man and a wise
chief. I will help you prepare his body for
burial.”

Those riding with Wind Rider pitched in
to help. While some erected platforms to
hold the dead, others packed everything of
value that the soldiers had not destroyed.
Once the dead had been placed on the
platforms the survivors would be taken to Red Cloud’s camp and integrated into his tribe. They stayed the night to allow the
women time to mourn their dead and left
the next morning. Wind Rider took Sum
mer Moon and her babe up on his horse
before him.

“White Feather knew he was going to die,”
Summer Moon said softly. “He told me his death had been revealed to him in a vision.
That’s why he wanted to take me and his son
to a safe place. But there is no safe place, is
there, Wind Rider?”

“You will be safe with Red Cloud. My wives
will take care of you and the babe.”

“You’re married?” For some reason that sur
prised Summer Moon. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“My father’s widow and son are no burden. After your period of mourning there will be
many men eager to join with you and raise
White Feather s son.”

They reached Red Cloud’s village the next
day. Wind Rider was so eager to see Hannah,
he could hardly contain his excitement. He looked for her as he rode through the village, but when he didn’t see her a shiver of apprehension slid down his spine. Why hadn’t she turned out with the rest of the village to wel
come him? Was she still angiy at him for tak
ing a second wife?

Red Cloud came out of his lodge to greet
them, listening with rising anger as the Cheyenne survivors told of the attack. He
was saddened to hear of White Feather’s
death and offered his condolences to Wind
Rider and Summer Moon. Then he welcomed the remnants of the tribe to his village. The
cagey chief said nothing to Wind Rider about Hannah’s absence.

Wind Rider saw Spotted Doe and placed
Summer Moon in her care. He was so anx
ious to see Hannah that he gave his second
wife a few terse directions concerning Summer Moon and led his horse toward the lodge
of Woman-Who-Waddles, convinced that he’d
find Hannah with the old woman.

Woman-Who-Waddles waited with a heavy heart for Wind Rider to approach. There was no doubt in her mind that Wind Rider would
be angry when he learned Little Sparrow had
been sent away.