The Endless Sky (Cheyenne Series) (26 page)

      
“Freak show?” she echoed, looking again at the banner drooping across the side of the wagon—which had curtains drawn behind a set of bars.

      
Just then a frail whimper sounded from inside. “Come see what your
civilized
white men have done,” he said tightly, turning his back on her and walking over to the wagon. He pulled back the curtain revealing two small Indian children, huddled together in one corner of the cramped, filthy cage. The smaller one, a girl, was sobbing while a slightly older boy tried to console her in some strange dialect.

      
Savage cannibal children indeed! They were terrified Indians barely six or seven years of age. “My God, the poor things—get them out of there, Chase,” Stephanie said, approaching the wagon slowly to avoid frightening them. “Hello. We mean you no harm. We're going to set you free,” she said softly. Two huge pairs of round black eyes stared at her in awe, but they made no reply. She turned to Chase who had climbed up onto the wagon box and was searching the corpse. For an instant she was horrified, certain that he planned to scalp the man, but he was instead searching his pockets. He pulled a key ring from one, then let the dead man fall from the opposite side of the wagon.

      
Ignoring the dull thud of two hundred pounds of dead meat hitting the ground, Chase jumped down and began trying each key on the rusty old lock as Stephanie watched, all the while talking soothingly to the children.

      
“They don't seem to understand English. Speak to them in Cheyenne, Chase,” she said.

      
“It would only frighten them more. They're Crow, sworn enemies of my people. Their village was wiped out by smallpox and their mother was one of the few survivors. She took them to Camp Baker looking for help. Her husband had been an army scout before he died. The soldiers offered to let her whore for them. She died after one of them beat her to death. Then the captain sold the children to these dandy fellows.” He finally tried the right key and the lock clicked open.

      
“How did you learn all this?”

      
“The fellow who hightailed it out of here using you for cover was real loquacious while his partner was sneaking out his rifle to kill me.”

      
“If they're Crow and your people are their enemies, why risk your life to help them?” Chase was becoming more of an enigma to her every moment.

      
“We don't make war on children,” he replied impatiently. “Any little ones captured in raids—red or white—are adopted into our tribe.” He opened the cage and extended his hand to the boy hovering protectively over the girl. “The fat man said you spoke some English. We set you free. Will you come with us?”

      
“No more cage?” the boy asked suspiciously.

      
“No more.”

      
“You Cheyenne?”

      
“Yes, but you heard what I told the white woman. My people will offer you a home, food, a warm lodge.”

      
The boy digested this for a moment, studying Chase intently. Then apparently deciding he trusted his rescuer, he nodded and murmured something to the girl, who was staring at Stephanie in awe. He turned back to Chase and replied, “I, Smooth Stone. My sister, Tiny Dancer.”

      
“I am called White Wolf,” Chase replied with a smile as the boy climbed out of the wagon followed by his sister.

      
“Who is she?” Smooth Stone asked after his sister whispered the question in his ear.

      
“My name is Stephanie,” she replied to the children, smiling and kneeling down in front of them.

      
“Are you White Wolf's woman?” the boy asked.

      
Stephanie bit her lip, uncertain of how to reply, not wanting to frighten the children by saying she was a prisoner. Nor did she want to deceive them by saying she was his wife. “Once our families pledged us to wed, long ago,” she equivocated. Their pitifully thin little bodies were filthy and their hair matted with some noisome snake oil, probably mixed up by the wagon owner. “Are you hungry?”she asked. “We have food at our camp.” She opened her arms to Tiny Dancer, who stood shyly beside her brother, a graceful little wraith clad in a garish yellow breechclout covered with cheap feathers dyed red and blue. Both children had been outfitted like performers in some tawdry Wild West circus, with bones tied in their hair and hanging around their necks.

      
Tiny Dancer hesitated for a moment, then went into Stephanie's arms. “Smell good,” she whispered with a slight lisp caused by her missing front baby teeth.

      
“Come, little warrior,” Chase said to Smooth Stone. “We will let your sister and Stephanie ride my horse back to our camp. We will walk.” He whistled for the dun, then helped Stephanie to mount and handed up the little girl into her arms.

      
Smooth Stone followed his savior proudly, while keeping an eye on the white female carrying his sister. “You live Cheyenne, but you part white,” the boy said, looking at Chase's hairy chest. He had spent enough time among white men to recognize the difference between the races.

      
“My mother came from far beyond the Father of Waters to wed my father,” Chase replied. “I have chosen as she did, to live with his people.”

      
“What of your woman? Did she choose same?” Smooth Stone asked, watching the way Tiny Dancer clung to Stephanie who talked softly to the girl, stroking her head as she carried her.

      
Chase found himself in the same dilemma as Stephanie. How should he answer? The boy was uncommonly shrewd, seasoned by bitter experience far beyond his years. There was no way to deceive Smooth Stone. “She is my captive. I am taking her to my band where she will learn that red men have honor...just as some whites do.”

      
“Huh! I do not believe white man has honor. Soldiers lie to my father. Share my mother. Sell us to bad men who put us in cage. Others look, spit on us, laugh.”

      
Stephanie listened to the boy as they walked back to their camp and her heart broke. That supposedly civilized human beings could behave so callously appalled her. Yet after listening to the other officers' wives discuss the “Indian problem” and witnessing the army resettlement policies, she knew few whites really believed the Indians were human beings, even the children.
Nits make lice.

      
After they reached camp, Chase left Stephanie in charge of bathing the children who eagerly shucked the chafing and garish costumes they had been forced to wear by their captors. Shrieking in delight they scampered into the pool, laughing and splashing.

      
“How could anyone call those beautiful children cannibals! And subject them to such an ordeal,” she said furiously, feeling more than a bit of guilt for the cruelty of her race toward those considered inferior.

      
“It's not unusual. Everyone likes a freak show—the Elizabethans thought it a merry jest indeed to trip and kick dwarves and lame children. It isn't unknown among some tribes of Indians. I'm glad those fools got lost and wandered off the trail. At least two little ones have been saved. They'll find a good home with my people.”

      
But will I, Chase?
She did not voice the question aloud. Instead, she asked, “When I've finished cleaning them up, what shall I dress them in? Do you have any more clothes in your pack?” she asked, thinking she could cut something down, perhaps shirts.

      
“They can go naked,” he replied casually.

      
“Naked! Most certainly not—why that's...that's—”

      
“Barbaric?” he supplied to her sputtering. “Children that young most often don't wear clothes in warm weather. They wouldn't want to be rigged out in layers of hot restricting cloth,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her wrinkled black cotton dress.

      
“I'm going after supper. Stoke up that fire while I'm gone.” He turned and strode away, then looked back at her for a brief moment and said, “At least you ditched the corset,” his eyes lingering suggestively on the curve of her breasts. Then he was gone, leaving her standing by the campfire, staring mutely after him.

      
How did he know?
Her hand came up involuntarily and brushed her breast and she gasped for both nipples were rigidly hard, the points stabbing shockingly against the thin cotton bodice of her dress. She crimsoned in mortification at the tingling ache he had caused with only one scorching look.

      
What is happening to me?

Chapter Twelve

      
Chase was gone over an hour. It took him only half that time to locate the birds. He shot enough for them to feast well that evening, but he stayed away from camp, circling his gelding around the area instead of returning. He dreaded the thought of facing Stephanie. God, every time he looked at her his body throbbed and the facade of scorn became more impossible to maintain. He wanted her. How he wanted her!

      
When he had seen the impudent outline of her nipples protruding through the ugly black cloth, he had wanted to take her right there on the ground. If not for the children, he might well have lost control and done it. Lord knew, she felt the same way he did—or at least her body did, if not her mind. He could imagine the soft supple grace of that slender body now freed of the hard confinement of corset stays and lacing. No, thinking of that would only bring disaster!

      
After stopping at the medicine wagon to unhitch the two mangy nags and put hackamores on them, he turned his gelding back to camp, leading the other horses. They were old and ill treated, but would serve to carry the children. Stephanie could not be expected to ride bareback even if he could have trusted her not to attempt another foolish escape.

      
Only one more night of riding with her body pressed so closely to his. He gritted his teeth against the thought as he neared the camp. The children had looked hungry. They would enjoy the fresh meat. He, on the other hand, would just have to curb his hunger for the bronze-haired
veho
until he could turn her over to his aunt for safekeeping. Beyond that he refused to consider.

      
As he approached the pool, dusk was thickening and the tang of wood smoke from the fire filled the air. The musical sound of children's laughter blended with the richer timber of Stephanie's husky chuckles. He reined in the dun and looked down on the scene below.

      
Stephanie knelt at the pool's edge with a length of white cotton in her hands as two small brown naked bodies cavorted around her. The three of them played some sort of game. Tiny Dancer skipped near and Stephanie grabbed her in a fierce hug, enveloping the little girl in the cloth, drying her wet glistening body as the child giggled and shrieked. Then Stephanie released the girl when Smooth Stone skipped close enough and seized him with the towel, repeating the process.

      
When both children were dry, she gathered them in her arms and spoke softly with them. They squatted obediently beside her on the towel which she laid out. Then she produced a comb and began to work on unsnarling their hair. He could see she had a natural way with children, obviously loved them. Why had she and Phillips never had any of their own? The question seemed to ask itself. Thinking about her bearing a child to the sadistic bluebelly made him angry.

      
He kicked the dun into a trot and the nags followed as he rode down the ridge into camp. Sliding from his horse's back, he tossed the hens to the earth in front of the fire. Stephanie walked across the open ground from the pool with the children gamboling around her. When she approached the fire, she glanced down at the blood-spattered game, then met his steady gaze.

      
“I see you were successful,” she said neutrally, still unnerved by how savage he looked. Even before he spoke she knew what he was going to say.

      
“Prepare these birds and roast them.” He pulled the knife from his belt and tossed it into the earth, then began to secure the horses. The blade sank into the moist ground at her feet with a solid thunk.

      
“Aren't you afraid I'll use that on you?” she asked, eyeing the wicked looking knife.

      
“In front of the children? For shame, Stevie,” he replied caustically as he completed his task and the horses began to graze.

      
“I've never plucked a chicken in my life, much less cooked wild game over a campfire. I haven't the first idea of how to go about cooking quail.”

      
Chase was not surprised but Smooth Stone and Tiny Dancer were. “What kind of woman not cook what hunter kills?” Smooth Stone asked in amazement.

      
“In Boston my father had servants to do the cooking. Out west Hugh hired a striker to cook and clean for me,” Stephanie said, staring defiantly at Chase, knowing the answer would anger him. She wanted to hit back in any way she could. He was punishing her for marrying his enemy, as if marriage to Hugh was not punishment enough!

      
“Since I neglected to abduct a striker, you're on your own,” Chase drawled, mockingly.

      
“If I pick up that knife it will most certainly not be to use on creatures already dead.”

      
Tiny Dancer took in the exchange between her rescuer and the beautiful white woman with apprehension. She was too bold, speaking this way to a warrior. He would surely whip her! “I watch women cook. I do it,” she said, shyly stepping in front of Stephanie.