Sweet Savage Surrender (44 page)

“Oh, Skyraven, you
would
look so much better if you would not be so stubborn. But then…”

Skyraven lifted one eyebrow as a smile tugged at her lips. “When
I first saw you standing in front of your house
,
I did not know that you had on that
big, heavy
, tent like piece of clothing.  I
thought you were built like a t
epee, little at the top and big at the bottom.
” She circled round and round Gwen Ella, puzzled. “How can you sit down or even more around in that…that thing?”

“Somehow I manage.”
Gwen Ella laughed so hard that tears filled her eyes.  Skyraven was
absolutely right.  There had been much discussion in the fashion world over the bulky
crinoline
hoop skirts the women were wearing.  Not every one liked wearing them.
“Right now they are
in fashion.
”

“In fashion?” It was a strange word, but Skyraven didn’t ask any more questions. She didn’t like it when the woman laughed. In truth, Skyraven thought how little she felt like laughing right now. Did this woman know what the men of her kind had done? She decided that she did not or she would not have given into her laughter. No, the white woman just didn’t really understand. Perhaps her husband did not want her to know what he had been up to.

Gwen Ella hovered over Skyraven as if she were a
life-size
doll
, babbling on about her life.
When she had decided to come west to be with her husband
,
  she had determined that fashionable dress would be a way of keeping up her morale out  in the  dismal place she was going to live in
, she told Skyraven.
  Gwen Ella had worn the simple Quaker dress when she was younger
,
but after they were married, Henry had insisted that it would help his career if she were more fashionably dressed.  It was expensive to dress
in the manner befitting
an officer's wife but Henry wanted it that way and that was the way it would be. 
“
Even  a  yard of printed calico cost
s twenty five dollars,” she was explaining.

Cal
i
co. Once again Skyraven remembered John Hanlen and his present. This time she could not help the mist of tears that stung her eyes at the betrayal of someone she had trusted and loved.

By the time the two women had completed Skyraven's attire they had become
better acquainted, and if not
friends
at least closer to being so
. The process had allowed them to know more about each other and to dispel some of the darkness
surrounding
Skyraven'
A bond of sorts was formed when
the women discovered they were just about the same size.
Skyraven was fuller in the bust and Gwen Ella was thicker around the waist and hips
, but with slight alteration,
Gwen Ella's clothes would fit Skyraven
, as she put it, “quite nicely.”

Skyraven stared at her reflection, not really certain just what she thought. She
was finally dressed in one o
f Gwen Ella's house frocks, a
simple long sleeved,  red printed calico dress with a white collar and cuffs and a white apron tied around her waist.  The only thing remaining to do was her hair. 
Certainly now, with the rags in it, she looked silly. As if she were going on the warpath, she thought.

“And now I’ll work the finishing touch.” She positioned Skyraven in front of the mirror, untied the rags, and began to style the long luxurious tresses.

Skyraven’s hair was too abu
ndant to pile in an upsweep so it was gently curled under in the popular waterfall style
,
with curls and ringlets over the ears.  Most women wearing this style used a horsehair support which they tied under their own hair to give it the added bulk
,
but Skyraven needed no artificial aids.  Her hair was lon
g, thick, and shiny blue-black. Gwen
Ella
felt a moment of envy, then pushed it aside. The girl was stunning, and she thought to herself she was partly responsible for the vision that stared back from the mirror. It gave her a sense of accomplishment. Henry would be very surprised.

And indeed he was. When he came into the
house for dinner
a few hours after the transformation was completed, he
recognized Skyraven.   His eyes raked over her .  Why hadn't he noticed her slim waist and big bosom before?  he silently asked himself.   She was a beauty.  Yes indeed, a real beauty.  Perhaps having brought her here to be nearby was not such a bad idea after all.  Looking  at her now she didn't look any
thing at all like a dirty  "Injun".

When they sat down to dinner he could hardly keep his eyes off of her. 
She was a pretty little piece. Gwen Ella was so cold, but he had heard that the Indian women were very passionate. He had to try extremely
hard to cover up the lust he was feeling for
the girl at the moment.
  It would never do for Gwen Ella to suspect such a thing.
But he’d find a time when the
Ind
ia
n girl was alone and then……
             
"Well, my dear"  he took Gwen Ella's hand and gently kiss
ed it.  "You have
accomplished quite a miracle with this girl.   She will f
it in quite nicely after all.  So you see, you were right.”
Gwen Ella smiled at this admission that she and not he had seen the girl’s potential. “And
I am glad you wi
ll have someone to help you now,
"
he said pleasantly, hiding his true thoughts, that he would make of this Indian girl his mistress.
  His eyes met Skyraven's as he said.  "I believe you can prepare yourself for a long stay with us. 
Ind
eed, I think you will be with us for a very long time…..”

Chapter Forty-Six
             

             
Escape
! The word
pounded over and over in John Hanlen's brain as he rode back to the fort.  He had to find out what had  happened to Skyraven or be doomed to sleepless nights and a
n agony of uncertainty.  But
he had to be  careful.  Sedgwick had ordered his foremost prisoner to be surrounded by  five armed men for the journey, one riding in front of him, one at each side and two behind, all brandishing rifles.  If he tried to ride away
,
John had no doubt but that he would be shot.  Perhaps that was
what Sedgwick really wanted and i
f so he did not
want to play into his hands.

Sedgwick.  The very  name stuck in his craw.  How could he
have ever trusted the bastard? Family friend indeed!
  It was obvious to John now that Sedgwick had merely used his father's influential position to further his own ends.  Now he was riding on the crest of Chivington's bravado and
popularity, hoping
it would reap rewards upo
n his head.  He had been put in
command of the fort while Chivington had gone traipsing after Indians and was playing his authority to the hilt, insisting he arrive back at the fort before anyone else, on the pretext that he wanted to greet the brave men.  Bullshit!  Undoubtedly he wanted to ascertain that none of the soldiers
,
haunted by conscience
,
would shoot off their mouths.  The truth would be the one thing both Sedgwick and Chivington would want to conceal
.

John was glad that Sedgwick had gone on ahead. He knew the colonel all too well and knew he was a man who seldom let down his guard.
  Had he been along
,
John would have been under a scrutinizing, constant surveillance.  As it was
,
the longer they rode the more frequent were the times the men guarding John were distracted
.  He knew
if he were patient and
focused
a keen eye focused on his guards
,
he just might find a way out of this dilemma.

  Patience.  It appeared to be
his only asset at the moment. And then John’s
patience paid off much sooner than John had anticipated.  When they had traveled a third of the way to the fort
,
an image of some concern to the soldier leading the  unit appeared on the horizon.  Alarm coursed through the soldiers
as the cry went out
that
a
band of Indians
was approaching.

Like a storm cloud
,
they swept down upon the mounted soldiers
. The bluecoats were
outnumbered
. Far different from the incident at Sand Creek, these Indians were armed
and therefore threatening.  Fear that they might retaliate in kind for what their tribesmen had suffered prompted t
he soldiers into a near panic.

"Ride like hell!"  The sergeant in the lead guided the men off to the right, hoping  to outdistance the rampaging band. 
In the melee for self-preservation, John was
forgotten for just a moment, but long enough to take advantage of the sit
uation.  It was now or never.  With his h
eart beating wildly
,
he crested the top of a hill and though he heard a shout,
and the retort of a gun being fired, he escaped being hit.

Nothing but wild grass and hills constrained him.  Urging his horse onward, John plunged ahead to freedom.  The wind tore at his face as he rode onward but
he scarcely noticed, as he had no
thought but escape.  Heedless of the rutted landscape, he rode faster and faster, looking back from time to time to see if he was being followed.  He was, but not by soldiers.  John thought he recognized the brave who had fought him  at Skyraven's camp riding close upon his heels.  So, he had been wounded but not enough to keep him down, he thought.  Despite his predicament he was
gla
d
, for i
t would have been a tragedy if a man of such fighting spirit and courage had been
cond
emned
to death and mutilation.  For n
ow, however, he would have to outride him
, for he doubted any words could convince the brave that he was not involved in the atrocities against his people. He would have to get away or face death. With that thought in mind, he sought a firm grip on the reins, bending
close to the churning muscles of his horse as if to become one with the animal
, as Skyraven informed her people did.

The sound of horses' hooves was an ominous warning that urged John to find a hiding place  quickly.  His hands were tied.  There was no way he could give a good accounting of himself were he forced to fight.  Thus thinking
,  he
guided his horse towards a clump of trees
where he would be able to seek the shelter of the trunks and branches, double back, make a large circle, a
nd emerge from the
thicket
to take a different path.  Though he knew how skilled Indians were at tracking
,
he could only hope that were he to disappear
,
his pursuer would lose interest in continuing the chase and seek those who were visible.  With that thought in mind
,
he raced towards the foliage, reining in his mount to hide behind a tall, stout tree.  From his position
,
he could see the shadow of his pursuer as he rode past him.  Holding his br
eath for a long, long , time, John
at last gave in to his sense of relief, dispelling the air
in his lungs with a long sigh.
With as much intensity as if he were an Indian, he trained his ears to the sounds.  It was quiet
,
and he could only suppose that the soldiers had li
kewise escaped any real danger.
Still, he stayed where he was for
several minutes
, only emerging when h
e thought the coast was clear.

His own safety but of secondary importance, Skyraven’s plight drove him on to retrace the path he had just ridden. From a vantage point on the hilltop, John could see a few of the soldiers still scavenging around. Once again he
had
to be patient, keeping out of their sight. When at last
the soldiers were gone, he
stealthily led his horse down the hill.
He
found
the Indian village in a smoldering ruins of death and destruction.  
Undoubtedly, the order to torch the village was to hide any evidence of what had happened.

In a daze he rode through the cam
, revulsion overtaking
him as he stared down at the bodies.  Chivington called the Indians savages
,
and yet the scalped and ravaged bodies revealed the sav
ageness of the white man
. Only
now
did the full realization of
the horror strike him. His heart ached for the plight of these proud people. They had trusted, had wanted peace, and this is where it had led them.

"May God have mercy on their souls....."  Crossing himself
awkwardly with his hands tied together,
he said a hasty prayer for the Indians who had died and for the few white men as well.

Somehow managing to dismount,
holding his horse's
bridle
tightly
in his
bound
hand
s
, John gave in to his
desolation
.  Why?  Why?  It was a question that had no logical answer.  What added to his pain was the thought that he had been too late to save Skyraven.  Too late.  And yet his soul cried out that
he had
not
found her
among those killed
and in that then, there was still hope.

There were scattered
weapons lying about.  John used a discarded knife to work at his bonds, feeling a deep sense of  calm once he was freed.  The night seemed to be the coldest he had experienced so far and he shivered, clutching the ends of a saddle blanket around his shoulders
.
Though he didn't know quite where to start looking for Skyraven
,
he found that somehow he just could
n't bring himself to leave.  Perhaps
he
was
hoping to find some clue to her whereabouts
, he thought.
Hunkering down he picked up a discarded string of beads and in that moment was fully lost to his pain.  Though he had been told a man should never cry
,
he couldn't fight against the moisture that stung hi
s eyes and blocked his vision.

A sudden noise warned him of danger.  Looking behind him, he found himself staring into a begrimed face.  The eyes were open wide in the shock of finding him here.  Armed with a knife
,
the woman brandished it threateningly
as if to protect the baby in her arms, yet
something in her manner told him that in actuality she
would not strike unless she had to.
  "I am n
ot here with intent to harm you,
"
he said. His eyes met hers
in stunned
recogn
ition
.  "Desert Flower!"
             
"You!"
She stared at him
in uncertainty.  The uniform he wore marked him in her eyes as the very devil. "Why are you here?"

"I came to find Skyraven."  He stretched out his arms in
supplication.  "Please, Desert
Flower,
tell me what happened to her."

Not knowing his motives
,
Des
ert Flower cried out at once, "She is dead!"

"Dead?  No!"  It was as if she inflicted a blow more fatal than any knife could render.   Falling to his knees
,
John put his hands in his face and moaned.  "Then I am too late to save her.  Dear God!"  In an outpouring of grief he gave vent to his sorrow, a sorrow that could only be soothed by his rage.  "I'll kill him!  I'll go after that bastard Chivington and I'll make him pay for what he did!  The bastard.  The unfeeling bastard.  How c
ould he have been so ruthless? The filthy murderer!" 

Desert Flower watched him warily.  His grief was sincere
,
and yet how could she even think to trust
a soldier?  Coldly she said, "Y
ou have killed many, blue coat.  S
kyraven was but one among us."

John's eyes glittered with an angry fever as he turned to her. 
"I
didn't, Desert Flower.  It was not I.  I took no part in any of this.  You must believe me.  Not all the soldiers are murderers.  I did not fire any bullets in this slaughter.  I did not kill any of your people.  I was taken prisoner by my so-called chief because I would not have part in this
atrocity
.  But I escaped when a band of Indians swooped down upon my captors.  I came here hoping to find Skyraven.  I had so hoped, but now I know that all is lost
.
All I can do now is to avenge her, thou
gh it will mean my own death."

"Avenge her?  You would do that?"  Little by little Desert Flower's dist
rust was wavering.  Skyraven’s soldier was reacting as one would who spoke the truth. His eyes spoke clearly that what he was saying came from the heart. “Even though you would forfeit your own life, Bluecoat?”

"Even so."  He closed his eyes.  "I only wish that I could undo what has been done.  I am sorry, Desert Flower.  Moreso than you c
an ever understand...."

"Then you have passed my tes
t and I will tell you the truth,” she said slowly. “Skyraven lives, though she has been taken prisoner by two men who wear the dress of soldiers.”

"What?"   His eyes flew open.    For a moment John was afraid to believe, thinking that she was only trying to toy with him as
punishment
for
the white
soldiers
’ evil deeds. 

"It is true. 
I saw h
er ride by  with one of the
soldier
's on his horse and I heard the bluecoat
talking about taking her with them. 
I think one of the soldiers wants to claim her, take her back t
o live with him in his lodge."

"A soldier?"  Dear God, what kind of man was she at the mercy of?  What would they do to her?  "Tell me, Desert Flower.  You have to think and be certain.
”

“
T
hey talked about rocks. About boulders. They were headed in that direction.” She pointed in the direction of the fort.