Wind Rider (19 page)

Panting and heaving, Wind Rider felt the
approach of his climax and tried to delay it,
but his passion was too hot, his need too
great.

“I cannot wait, Little Sparrow!” His words
were wrenched from his lips
 
on a cry of
pain/pleasure so intense, he felt himself shat
tering.

Tilting her pelvis upward to receive the full,
heavy length of his violent strokes, Hannah raced to keep up with him. Jerking his hips
rhythmically, his deep, driving thrusts brought
them both to the brink. The end came quickly
and explosively, leaving them emotionally and physically spent.

Later that night, Hannah joined Wind Rider
at the feast. When the drums began a wild tattoo he leaped to his feet to join the dancers. She couldn’t help but admire the way his sleekly muscled body moved to the primitive
music but deliberately refrained from joining him as some of the women did. Spotted Doe
was not so reluctant. Her lithe body swayed in
sinuous rhythm to the beat of the drum. Her
head was thrown back, her long hair flipping
wildly about her shoulders as her prancing
feet carried her around the campfire. But
to his credit, Wind Rider did not seem to
notice her.

More than once Hannah caught Red Cloud
staring at her in a most curious manner. She
was certain he had been told who she was,
and though his dark penetrating looks didn’t seem particularly threatening, they still dis
turbed her. Didn’t he approve of Wind Rider
marrying her? she wondered uneasily.

Before the men were to enter the sweat hut
to fast and pray Wind Rider approached her
and led her back to their lodge. Spotted Doe was still dancing and hadn’t noticed their
departure.

“I made arrangements for you to stay with
Woman-Who-Waddles” he said when they
stood outside the tepee. “I know Spotted
Doe will give you trouble once I am gone,
and Woman-Who-Waddles is glad for the com
pany. She will see that no harm comes to you.”
He stared at her lips, remembering their taste,
but did not kiss her.

Hannah nodded, grateful that she would not
have to share quarters with a woman who hated her. “Thank you,” Wind Rider turned
to leave. “Wait!” He paused. “Will I see you
before you leave?”

“Perhaps. I will return for my weapons and
food.”

“I will have them ready for you.”

Once again he turned to leave.

“Wind Rider!” He whirled and she flew into
his arms, holding him tightly, unwilling to let him go, perhaps to his death. “I don’t want you to die. Take care; please take care.”

Wind Rider’s heart swelled with an emotion he’d tried hard to deny. Knowing that Hannah cared for him was a gift he hadn’t expected or wanted. There were things he could say to her,
but admitting he cared for Hannah was too
difficult an emotion to express. Besides, he
wasn’t certain it was love he felt. Perhaps it
was lust. Sometimes it was difficult to distin
guish between the two. If love meant needing
a person so desperately that the thought of
parting from her nearly tore him apart, then
he supposed he loved Hannah McLin.

“I will come back, Little Sparrow,” Wind
Rider vowed. “I will not die,” Once again he turned to leave.

“Wind Rider, don’t go! I have this terrible premonition of something ... something .. “
Alarm shuddered through her. “I don’t know
what. I’m afraid.”

“Your fears are no more than what other women feel when they watch their men go off
to fight.”

Hannah shook her head in denial. “No, this
is different. It’s not too late to leave the village.
You belong to the white world. Your people
were white. Find your sister; she will help you.
Please, Wind Rider, leave while there is still
time.”

Wind Rider’s expression hardened. “You speak foolish words, Little Sparrow. I can
not leave my people. I must go now to the purification hut.”

“Wind Rider...” His name drifted away on
the breeze. She could think of nothing more
to say that would sway him. She squeezed her
eyes shut, forcing back the stinging tears. But
despite her valiant efforts they slid down her
cheeks unchecked. She didn’t turn away until
he had disappeared into the purification hut.

Two days later Wind Rider and the other
warriors emerged from the purification hut.
Hannah thought he looked grim and gaunt
after his days of fasting and prayer but did
not remark on it. She had his weapons ready
and handed them to him silently. He stared at
her intently and nodded his thanks. Spotted
Doe had prepared a parcel of pemmican and
parched corn, which he carried in a small
parfleche that hung at his waist. He donned
his buckskin leggings but not his shirt. While
Hannah watched, Spotted Doe painted bold
stripes on his torso and face with the black
and yellow paint she had prepared.

He seemed distracted, hardly aware of either woman as he prepared for battle. His mind had
already detached itself from mundane thoughts
of home and family. He felt strong, invincible,
ready and able to defeat the enemy. Outside
the tepee, his horse pawed the ground in eager
anticipation. Warriors from the various soci
eties had already gathered in the center of the
village, waiting for the others to arrive so they
could ride out to destroy the enemy. Red Cloud,
wearing a high-crowned war bonnet made of
eagle feathers that trailed nearly to the ground, stood tall and proud outside his lodge as his
people clamored for white blood.

Hannah followed mutely as Wind Rider left
the tepee. She was waiting for him to say
something, anything, as long as he gave some sign that he cared what happened to her. But he said nothing. Spotted Doe seemed to take
his silence as perfectly normal behavior; she
appeared not at all concerned by his taciturn
manner.

He strode toward his horse, still focused on some distant battle. Suddenly he stopped,
whirled on his heel, and caught Hannah by
the arm. Pulling her hard against him, he
kissed her with almost brutal urgency. His
teeth bruised her as his lips moved forceful
ly over hers and his tongue thrust inside her mouth. Though the kiss was of short duration,
Hannah was certain she’d never forget it. Into
that one kiss he had put all the things he hadn’t
said, all the feelings he’d held inside him.

Breaking off the kiss, he turned abruptly and leaped onto his pony. With a blood-curdling cry, he thrust his bow high in the air and rode
off to join his friends, leading them from the
village in a thunder of hooves, war whoops, and
victory cries.

A week passed with no word from Wind
Rider or the War Dog society. Hannah stayed
as close to Woman-Who-Waddles as possible.
She learned a good deal from the old woman, including a greater knowledge of the Sioux
language. She also learned all the difficult
and tedious chores that an Indian woman
was expected to perform. Indians had no
modern conveniences; the work was endless
and time-consuming. Hannah was beginning
to understand why Indians took more than one
wife, though she’d never forgive Wind Rider for
doing so.

One day a man leading a pack of laden
mules
 
rode
 
into
 
camp.
 
Though he
 
caused a flurry of excitement, no one stopped him.
Red Cloud came out of his lodge to await
the man. Women stopped their work to follow
the strange-looking caravan.

“It is the trader,” Spotted Doe appeared at Hannah’s side, startling her. Since Wind Rider
had left Spotted Doe had spoken to her only on
rare occasions.

“Is he free to come and go as he pleases?”

“Yes, he brings us trade goods. The women are always happy to see him. Sometimes he brings firewater for the men, and-guns.”

“Guns! That’s illegal.” Even Hannah knew it was a crime to smuggle guns to the Indians.

Ignoring her, Spotted Doe ran off to join
the women who were already pawing through
one of the packs the trader had placed on the
ground for them to inspect. Hannah walked closer to get a better look and was surprised to
see cheap items such as colored beads, mirrors,
blankets, and bits of ribbon; there was noth
ing as valuable as the hides the women were
offering for trade. When the trader unwrapped
another bundle, placing it before Red Cloud,
Hannah gaped at the array of guns lying at
the chief’s feet. A heated discussion ensued
between Red Cloud and the trader.

Hannah regarded the trader with contempt.
His long hair was dirty and unkempt, covering his head in a wild disarray of blond tangles.
Bits of food clung to his sparse beard, and
when he spoke Hannah saw that his rotted
teeth were stained with tobacco juice.
 
His
buckskin clothing was so filthy it could have stood by itself.

After a lengthy discussion Red Cloud and the
trader seemed to reach an agreement. They
were about to go inside the tepee to smoke and
talk when the man spied Hannah from the cor
ner of his eye. He stopped abruptly, staring at
her, his eyes narrowed, his expression thought
ful. Her hair shone like burnished copper in
the sunlight, and the whiteness of her pale skin was startling among the dark-skinned Indians.
Where had he seen her before? His eyes wid
ened in sudden recognition. He remembered!

“Who is the white woman?” he asked Red Cloud. After years of trading with Indians he was quite fluent in several dialects.

Red Cloud gave Hannah a cursory glance. “She is called Little Sparrow. She belongs to Wind Rider. Why do you ask, Trader?” The
man had never offered his name; he was known
simply as Trader.

Trader regarded Hannah with open curiosity. “How long has she been with the Sioux?
Is she a captive? What is her name?”

Red Cloud frowned. “Do you know the
woman?”

“No, but I seen her picture. At Fort Laramie.
She’s a runaway indentured servant. Some
man paid good money for her services and she
ran away. He wants her back and has offered
a reward. How much do you want for her?”

“She does not belong to me. She is Wind Rider’s woman.”

“Wind Rider,” Trader repeated slowly, mem
orizing the name. “Ask him if he is willing to
sell her.”

“He is not here. You are here to trade guns,
not women.”

Trader knew by the tone of Red Cloud’s voice
that the subject was not open for discussion.
Quelling his excitement over his discovery, he ducked inside the tepee. He knew exactly what
he was going to do when he left the village.

A week later Trader, whose real name was
Nate Wilton, reached Fort Laramie. He asked
to see Lt. Gilmore, and after a short delay was admitted into the man’s office. Clutched in his hand was a handbill with a description of one
Hannah McLin, runaway indentured servant.
He had plucked it from the wall of the out
er office where he had been left cooling his
heels.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wilton?” Lt.
Gilmore spared a brief glance at the trader,
aware of the man’s unsavory reputation. He
had long been suspected of smuggling guns
to the Indians, but so far nothing had been
proven.

“You still lookin’ for this woman?” Wilton
asked, shoving the flyer beneath the lieuten
ant’s nose.

Gilmore stared at the flyer for a moment,
recalling that it had come in two weeks before.
“Ah, yes, the indentured servant. As if we don’t
have enough to do without looking for runaway
servants. Besides, she disappeared near Den
ver, not up here in Wyoming. By now she’s
probably dead, or taken prisoner by Indians—
in which case she’d be better off dead. Why do
you ask?”

“I seen her.”

Gilmore stared at him in disbelief. “You saw
her? Where?”