White Wind (25 page)

“Hey,” Hank yelled, spurring his horse forward. “When are we gonna reach the next tribe of savages? I’m gettin’ tired of all this ridin’ round fer nuthin’.” He stood in his stirrups and lifted his sore seat from the saddle.

Pulling on his reins, Harry whipped around, moving much faster than it appeared his bulk would allow. Startled, Hank fell back into his saddle with a moan of pain, pulling abruptly on his reins as he did so and nearly lost his seat as his horse reared to let him know he didn’t appreciate the rough treatment.

When Hank regained control of his horse, Harry’s bushy brows pulled together, his face a cold mask as he lashed out at Hank. “You watch yore mouth, young fella, unless you want to get us all scalped. They could be watching us now. I’ll be at the village by afternoon,” Harry informed both Hank and Red before turning to continue onward.

“Wait a sec, Ol’ Timer. We’s goin’ with ya this time,” Red declared. “We’s tired of stayin’ behind while you goes to eat and enjoy yourself. Hell, we’ll never find that brat for Willy,” he grumbled.

“I agree with my brother,” Hank said. “We all go together this time. For all we know, maybe you’re getting all them squaws too. I’m ready for a woman. Even a squaw will do.” He snickered.

Muttering about young fools who would get them all killed, Harry gave in. In a way, he couldn’t blame them. If any of them had guts, they’d return and tell Willy they had failed. But he didn’t want to face Willy’s wrath. Not yet anyway.

Stopping a short time later on the pretense of resting, he warned his companions they were under observation. In a low voice he gave his instructions.

“Go sit and relax. But leave your guns on your horses and stay calm for Gawd’s sake! They’s approach us here, we must be convincing as trappers if we want to get into their village. Do only as I do and for Christ’s sake, keep your traps shut and let me do any talking.”

“Why don’t we just ride into the village? Why’s we gotta sit out here like sittin’ ducks?” Red complained, glancing over his shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Harry forced himself to remain calm. Turning to Red, he hissed in a low tone, “You don’t just ride into an Indian village, you stupid fool. They are well guarded. They know you’re in their territory long before you find the entrance to their villages. Now shut up and do as you’re told, or I might just let them savages have at you.”

Watching Red and Hank lower themselves beneath the shade of a large pine tree, he followed, grumbling he should’ve left those two fools behind and come alone as he’d done countless times since leaving Willy that night so long ago. He sat, a bundle of pemmican in his hand. Looking at each other, the brothers followed suit and started to eat.

Sure enough, they had barely finished eating when they were approached and surrounded by several warriors, their faces and chests streaked with slashes of paint, sharp lances held ready to throw in one hand, shields held in the other. Harry slowly got to his feet and used the hand signs for friends and traders.

Harry conveyed to the distrustful warriors that they meant no harm. They were only there to trap and trade. Waving his hand toward the heavily loaded pack mule, he invited them to inspect his goods.

The leader motioned to his warriors. Immediately, their horses and goods were inspected. Hank and Red sat, too afraid to move or speak. They cringed when the leader pointed his spear at them and looked to Harry, a question in his black eyes.

Hank and Red turned their wide eyes toward Harry. Unbelievably, Harry sat relaxed, as if this were an everyday occurrence. Next time they would stay back, their looks to each other said.

Harry didn’t have to understand the Indian’s language to understand his unspoken question. One glance at Red and Hank was all it took. The two quivering dummies didn’t look like seasoned trappers or traders. Hopefully, they wouldn’t get them all killed. Harry forced a laugh and again used sign language. He explained that the two were his sister’s sons, his nephews. Using the sign for children, he explained they were like children learning, and he was their teacher.

He also signed to the warriors that they were slow learners, not very bright, but his responsibility. He pointed to his head, and shook his head.

The leader laughed and shook his head to show his contempt at grown men who cringed like babies. Conversing with the rest of his party, the mighty warrior motioned them to their horses.

Back in his saddle, Hank leaned over and asked what was going on. Unable to resist passing on the insult, Harry told the boys what had been conveyed. Watching their faces turn the color of Red’s hair, he advised, “You two big tough boys continue to act scared and green. It may be the only way you get out of their village alive. Follow my lead, and for Gawd’s sake, stay away from their women. If you get into trouble, I won’t be able to help you.”

Entering the large village later, they were immediately surrounded by the people of the tribe. The chief and his family came to meet them. The others hung back. Talking to the leading warrior, the chief nodded his head. Walking forward, he silently went through the goods laid out on the ground for their inspection. Choosing what he and his family wanted, the chief walked away without a single word.

Seeing the confused expressions, Harry explained that was the price and the signal from the chief to trade with his people.

For the next hour, hot bodies pressed close together, each trying to find the best bargain.

Sulking in her tipi, Night Star peered out to see what the noise and commotion was about. She stared with envy at the silky furs and shiny trinkets the other women were carrying back to their tipis. It had been a long time since she’d seen a trader. Her old village stayed so far up in the mountains that they didn’t get visitors.

Unable to resist, she stepped out. She didn’t have anything to trade with, but she could look. She chose to ignore the fact that she was banned to her tipi for disobeying her husband. She scowled. Matosapa thought he could order her around like a slave. She ignored the fact that he was kind to her most of the time and had not forced himself on her. Night Star resisted the softening of her hate. She didn’t want to like anything about him or his village. The other women ignored her as she picked at the remaining furs and shiny baubles.

Unknown to Night Star, Harry’s sharp beady eyes watched her closely. He saw the lips twisted with bitterness, eyes that burned with unhappiness and hatred.

Harry approached her, noticing the way she fingered the small fur trim in her fingers. Speaking aloud, as well as using his hands, he told Night Star, “Take. I give to you a gift of friendship.”

Night Star glanced around, seeing that most of the others had finished. She threw the fur at the white man. “No. I not take white man’s gifts. Give to your white-girl dogs.” Night Star spat at his feet contemptuously. As much as she wanted to accept the gift, her pride would not allow it.

Harry raised his brows at her broken English as well as her hatred. He played along, sighing loudly. “But I do not have a white girl to give beautiful furs to. Perhaps you know of one that would like gifts of furs and trinkets?” He reached down and brought up a large soft pelt and fingered the silky fur.

She narrowed her eyes, and a gleam of evil lurked as a plan formed in Night Star’s mind. Looking appraisingly at the old trapper, she slyly asked, “How bad you want white girl, white man? Bad enough to steal from Indian village?”

No emotion showed as the wise old trapper shrugged. “Depends on how pretty she is.” He sighed. “I do have a weakness for young yellowed-haired beauties, however. Do you know of any such women?” Harry asked nonchalantly.

“Maybe, white man. Maybe. If I know of one, and if I choose to tell you, it will cost you much,” Night Star hissed. She’d show these stupid women and get even at the same time.

Pretending to consider, Harry chose his words carefully. “I will take a chance. Describe this girl to me. If I likes what I hear, I will pay you many furs and beads.” Taking a bag from deep within his many layers of clothing, he held it so only she could see.

Greedily, Night Star eyed the small bag of treasured pony beads. She’d make herself many beautiful garments with those. Quickly she gave him the description of Sarah without taking her eyes off the bag he swung in front of her.

Tossing the girl the bag, Harry squatted next to the picked-over pile as if showing Night Star more furs, and handed her a short stick.

Night Star glanced over her shoulder and drew a rough map of the area in which he would be able to find her village.

Standing, Harry tossed Night Star an armful of furs and cheap baubles.

Looking at her armful of goods, Night Star fled to her tipi. She had to hide her bounty. As she buried them among her belongings from her village, her face grew grim. If Matosapa found them, she would tell him they were her treasures and that she’d brought them with her. Lying came easily to her.

She peered out of her tipi when she heard the traders take their leave. Laughing, she danced with glee. She had not gotten Golden Eagle, but now the white girl wouldn’t have him much longer either.

Night Star had just barely concealed her goods when the flap flew open and Matosapa stormed into the tipi. “You were told not to leave this tipi, wife! You have disobeyed me again. Why can you not act as other warriors’ wives? Where are the things you got from the traders?”

Night Star’s heart pounded both from the fright he’d given her and the sheer handsomeness of her husband. Her face flushed with guilt, but she sent a look of disdain toward him to hide her growing awareness. “You startled me, husband. What are you talking about? I went out to relieve myself.”

“I was told that you returned from a conversation with the trappers with many furs in your arms. Where are they?” Matosapa towered over her, red with rage.

Night Star shrugged. “Then you were informed wrong. I only stopped to look on my way back from the bushes.” What she wouldn’t give to know who’d told her husband.

“Very well, Night Star. You were given the chance to be honest with me.” Matosapa went to his wife’s pile of belongings and started to rummage through them.

Night Star jumped to her feet “Get out of my belongings, Matosapa. These are my belongings from home and you have no right to go through them.” She tried unsuccessfully to pull her husband’s large bulk away, but found herself put aside.

“Ah, what have we here?” Matosapa exclaimed triumphantly, holding up a leather pouch. Opening it, he dumped the contents onto the hard earth floor, watching as the colorful beads scattered over the hard-packed dirt. Next, his searching fingers latched on to the many fur trims and pelts, and he threw them at her feet.

“Brought from the village of Chief Hawk Eyes, you say?” He held one up, eyed the fur, turning it over, fingering the silky textures. Dropping the fur as if it burned, Matosapa rose to his full intimidating height.

Night Star cringed as her husband approached, his face deceptively calm as he waved the piece of black fur at her.

“Would my wife like to tell me how she acquired such smooth, shiny beads and furs cut from animals by white men? Your father’s village does not deal with traders as ours does. Did you think Matosapa would not be able to tell a fur skinned by an Indian over one done by white men? Does the wife of Matosapa think her husband stupid?” Angrily, Matosapa flung the offending item away.

“What did Night Star give to the trader? You have nothing of value.” He waited, but Night Star remained silent. She knew if he found out the truth, he would beat her publicly.

Matosapa stared at his wife’s angry, unrepentant face and came to a decision. “Very well. Since I have brought you to my tipi, I thought to give you time to adjust to our marriage, adjust to your new tribe. I have been lenient with you. I have hoped you would come to terms with your life here in my village, but I can see that you are no happier or better off with my gentle handling. From now on, you will act as a warrior’s wife. You will be obedient, or I will beat you. You will give no more trouble to the other women, or I will cut your sharp tongue out. Is that clear, wife?” Matosapa roared, loud enough for those outside to hear.

Night Star’s eyes grew round and she nodded, for once truly scared. She had no doubt he was serious. She’d pushed him too far with this last act of rebelliousness. A feeling of sadness washed over her as he turned away and headed for the doorway. When he stopped to fasten the flap securely before turning to face her once more, her heart sped up.

His hand waved to indicate the bounty at her feet. “All this will be given to those in need in my village.” With determined purpose, he took several steps toward her and
placed his hands on the thong at his waist. “It is time for you to learn how to please your husband on our sleeping mat. I long for sons and daughters, and perhaps if you are busy with our babes, you will have no time left to cause trouble. Come to me, wife.”

Night Star watched, her heart beating furiously as Matosapa removed his moccasins and untied the length of cording around his waist. When his breechclout fell to the floor, she stared in fear and wonder at that part of him that was growing large before her eyes. Suddenly, she was eager to discover the secrets of womanhood.

“Your husband is waiting, wife,” she was reminded.

Night Star wrestled with her resentment for a minute longer before she took the first steps toward her husband.

As hot summer winds whisked across the dry grass of the prairies, anticipation swept through the village. Tipi to tipi, family to family, the air sizzled with excitement. Scouts had returned with news of a small herd of buffalo roaming in the lower regions of the Black Hills, not far from the new site of the village. Immediately, a hunt was planned.

Just days ago, the tribe had settled in a deep canyon that provided cooler temperatures and greater safety with steep canyon walls surrounding them on three sides.

Chief Hawk Eyes decided not to uproot the whole tribe to hunt the buffalo. This would be a small excursion, one more for fun, excitement and training. The one or two buffalo they hoped to get would also tide them over until the main hunt at the end of summer when his tribe would be joining others in great numbers to kill all they needed of the fattened prime buffalo to sustain them through the winter.

Hawk Eyes chose his best hunters and a few inexperienced braves. The warriors would take their families with them as the meat would have to be dried on the spot to prevent spoilage.

Time was spent carefully inspecting weapons, sharpening arrows and readying their best buffalo horses. Wives and daughters made sure their knives were sharp and supplies in order. At night, songs to the buffalo rose along the canyon walls while below, bodies danced, honoring the great beasts.

Many prayers were given by the
wicasa
while the warriors and braves sat in the sweat lodge, purifying themselves, making themselves worthy to kill the great beasts that their people so depended on.

Seeing Eyes woke early, the air cool and gray with shadows. She turned, rolling over to seek her husband’s warmth for a last cuddle before duties demanded her full attention.

Her eyes flew open as her fingers encountered a cold empty spot where her husband had lain. Pushing herself up, she shoved her long black hair from her face and blinked the sleep from her eyes as she glanced around. Spotting Hawk Eyes squatting in shadows cast by the slowly appearing morning light, she rose to her knees. “Husband?”

Hawk Eyes turned his attention from the box resting in his palm and scooted toward his wife. Kneeling beside her, he held out the object that occupied his attention so early that morning.

Carefully taking the carved box with work-worn fingers, Seeing Eyes stared at the exquisitely crafted box with admiration. The tips of her fingers traced the raised edges of the carved symbols. “This is beautiful, my husband. Where did this come from?” she asked, fingering the softness of rabbit fur inside.

Seeing Eyes knew it was not made by her husband. Each warrior’s brand of artistic talent was easily recognizable and objects could be identified by the symbols and style of work.

“It belongs to White Wind.” Hawk Eyes held out his hand for the box.

Startled, Seeing Eyes would’ve dropped the box had her husband not had his hand beneath hers. “White Wind?” she repeated dumbly, as if she’d not heard right. Wide awake, she kept her eyes focused intently on her husband. “Since when does my husband call the white girl by name?”

Hawk Eyes straightened proudly. “Did my wife think her husband would not hear of the name she gave to the white girl?”

Seeing Eyes lowered her eyes in shame as Hawk Eyes continued. “White Wind is the name that you foresaw, is it not?” he persisted.

Seeing Eyes raised her eyes. “Yes, my husband. My vision spoke of a white girl who would be known as White Wind,” she answered, then waited, certain he would be displeased with her.

“And what else did your vision tell you? Did it tell you that this would be the mate for our son?”

“Yes, husband. That is what I saw. Sarah is to be our son’s wife and the mother of his children.” Seeing Eyes laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Hawk Eyes nodded, reached over to cup the side of her face and asked, “What of White Cloud and the peace agreement?”

“I do not know the answer to give you, my chief. I only know what has been revealed to me.”

Hawk Eyes set the carved box down and looked deeply into Seeing Eyes’s uncertain gaze. “The name White Wind would make any woman with Indian blood in her veins proud, including the white girl, Sarah,” Hawk Eyes announced, cradling her face in his.

Seeing Eyes examined her husband’s words, not sure if she understood correctly. Staring deep into his eyes, she hesitantly asked, “Are you telling me that Sarah is Indian?” At his nod, she shook her head. “How can this be?” she asked.

Hawk Eyes related the story told to him by Sarah. He picked up the box and handed it to Seeing Eyes while he dug among his things and brought out the necklace as well for her to study. “I have seen similar work, but cannot say where or whose it is. Have you recognized this warrior’s work?”

Seeing Eyes studied the Indian objects fragile with age. That they were made by her people, she did not doubt. Several symbols were of their nation and of great importance. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the objects in her hands. Love and sadness overcame her.

Looking into her husband’s eyes, Seeing Eyes shook her bead. “I too have seen many of these symbols. As I look upon his work, I also feel his sadness carved into this wood.”

Hawk Eyes did not question what Seeing Eyes felt. He accepted her observation as part of her gift of sight. Instead, he stated, “An Indian’s work is individual. It’s a mark of that warrior, of his life and his deeds. When our people come together, we will ask others if they can tell us the name of the warrior who made these.”

Putting the objects away, Hawk Eyes pulled his wife close and looked over her shoulder at their sleeping daughter. Seeing Eyes followed his gaze and smiled as she allowed herself to be pulled back to their sleeping mats.

Sarah stood in front of her tipi and watched the commotion surrounding her. To an inexperienced eye, it would seem as if the village had gone wild. But despite the noise of people, horses and barking dogs, she knew order reigned amid the chaos.

A large party of warriors, women and older braves readied themselves. Horses were packed, some with a loaded travois behind them, ready to carry tipis and all of the family’s belongings.

Groups of well-wishers, mainly the elderly, sick or very young, gathered to see their friends and relatives off, many shouting last-minute advice.

Sarah turned back into her tipi at Golden Eagle’s call, and noted that he too was ready to leave. She flew into his outstretched arms.

Tenderly, Golden Eagle stroked her cheek and met her saddened eyes. “Take care, White Wind. It is best you remain here this time. You are still weak with sickness from our babe. The work is hard. You are not accustomed to it yet.

“You will help when we hunt during the moon-when-leaves-are-brown. Stay close to the village and take care of our growing babe.”

“I will be fine, my golden warrior,” Sarah reassured him, hugging him fiercely before stepping back. “I will be very busy looking after Two Feathers and Winona,” she reminded him.

Looking deeply into her dark blue eyes moist with sadness, Golden Eagle held her head. “It is important for you to stay close. Our village will be vulnerable with many of our warriors and braves gone. There will be a few left to guard the village, but you must not wander away. Always go with the other women to bathe. Never go to the water alone. Make sure one of the warriors goes to guard you. Take Running Bull with you. He is the bravest warrior remaining and can be trusted to watch over you.”

Sarah nodded, still wishing she could go, but knowing she would be of more use to the tribe here at the village, seeing to the elders and her two charges.

Sarah cupped his face in her hands and rose on her toes to kiss his lips. “I will, do not worry. You take care of yourself too, my golden warrior. Our child needs his father to return safely.”

With one last lingering kiss, Golden Eagle ted Sarah out into the sunshine before beading off to ready his horse. Bright Blossom brought over Two Feathers and a parfleche of his belongings. The two women hugged, and Two Feathers squirmed between them and demanded to be let down. Laughing, Sarah set him down and watched as he headed for her tipi, looking for the treats she always kept ready for him.

A short while later, she stood with the others, waving and cheering until the hunting party was out of sight. She turned and along with the remaining women, young children and elderly, set about preparing for the first load of meat and furs that would be sent back. Everyone worked. Everyone shared in the goods.

Glancing around, hands to her hips, Sarah searched for her young charges. Spotting Winona and Two Feathers climbing on a fallen log, Sarah shook her head. Something told her she had her work cut out for her just tending to them. Calling Winona, Sarah instructed the mischievous girl to bring her belongings to her tipi.

A week later Sarah decided to gather some
wazhushtecha,
wild strawberries, for their meal. Leaving Two Feathers in the care of Morning Grass, she grabbed a small hide pouch and started off.

“Sarah!” Hearing her name shouted, Sarah paused and swiveled toward the high-pitched childish voice. She grinned as Winona came running.

The girl’s strong brown legs flew beneath her as she neared Sarah, who quickly stepped to one side, stretched out one arm and halted Winona’s headlong flight. “Slow down, Winona. I do not want to have to send word to your parents of your injury,” Sarah sternly reprimanded her.

Long black braids whipped across her back as Winona hopped up and down. “I want to go with you,” she pleaded. “Can I come too? Please? Let me help. I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

Sarah laughed and shook her head in resignation as she stared into the seemingly innocent features of her young charge. She knew first-hand how little effort it took for Winona to get into trouble.

Sarah pursed her lips and put one hand to her waist. “I don’t know, Winona. You know I promised your parents that I would not let any harm come to you.” She hid her smile when the girl’s round face fell with disappointment, her lower lip jutting out in an unmistakable pout

Sarah laughed. Her love for Golden Eagle’s young sister grew each day. It was times like this when she regretted having no brothers or sisters. Nodding her permission, Sarah tweaked one long black braid. “You may come, but stay close. We aren’t allowed to go far,” Sarah cautioned, holding out her hand to clasp Winona’s small brown one firmly in hers.

Hand in hand, the two went up the canyon a short distance toward the thick-growing bushes closest to the village. Together they started picking the fresh juicy berries. Sarah glanced over her shoulder to see how the young girl was faring and stopped her gathering.

Sarah placed her red-stained fingers at her waist. She shook her head in mock dismay, her lips trembling with laughter. “You scamp. Look in your basket,” she gently scolded. Together they bent their heads, one fair as the sun, the other dark as night.

Winona smiled sheepishly as her basket was nearly empty. She lifted sparkling unrepentant golden eyes toward Sarah. “But Sarah. They taste so good. I can’t help it.”

Running her finger down the small upturned nose, Sarah gave a playful tweak to the tip and held up her half-full pouch. “I understand, but you must explain to Morning Grass why your basket is so empty. I promised to pick enough for all to enjoy,” Sarah replied, seemingly dismissing it from her mind.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah watched Winona’s eyes grow round as the child stared with regret at the plump berry she was about to pop into her red-stained mouth. Sighing, properly reprimanded, Winona dropped the fruit into her basket and set about filling her basket so she too could share with the others.

A short time later, carrying one basket barely half full and one bulging pouch, Sarah and Winona returned to the busy village. The two warriors who had followed silently and unobtrusively stood guard also returned.

High up the canyon, concealed in thick bushes, eyes followed every movement of Sarah, Winona and the warriors standing guard. Harry’s beady eyes glowed with anticipation. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead, replaced his hat and glanced at the bright burning sun.

He was amazed he’d found Willy’s ward so quickly and easily, considering the poor directions he’d gotten from that greedy squaw. Once he had found the area, he’d been frustrated and discouraged to find emptiness where the tribe had once been. Following the faint marks made by dragging travois poles, he’d searched until he’d discovered the location of their new camp in the canyon below, well concealed and well guarded.

Harry sat back on his heals in his hiding place. He’d found the village a week ago and dispatched Hank and Red to report to Willy after arranging a place to meet. Each day he came to watch and plan. All he had to do now was wait for Willy and the boys to return. By his figuring, they should be at the meeting place soon, depending on how long it took the brothers to find Willy and Tom.

It sure would be nice if they got here before the rest of the warriors returned from their hunt, he thought. It had been a stroke of luck that so many had left the day after his arrival, leaving the village vulnerable. Walking the considerable distance to where he’d left his horse, he led the animal silently away.

Two days later Harry returned in the early afternoon for his daily spying. He carefully scouted out the village as he always did. To his disappointment, there were buffalo furs pegged to the ground, stretched out to dry. Everywhere he looked, thin strips of meat hung drying on racks, the women below removing the dried meat until needed to make pemmican. And in one corner of the village, a pile of bones waited to be cleaned.

Carefully, he counted the number of people below and sighed with relief. Not all had returned. To his trained eye, it looked as though half of the warriors and their families had returned.

Frowning, he left. Time was running out. Soon all the warriors would be back. When he felt he was a safe distance from the village, he kicked the horse hard and rode swiftly for his camp.