Wolf Runner (18 page)

Cheyenne gazed upon her grandfather’s face, her heart heavy. His eyes were closed and it took every bit of his strength to draw each breath.

Just like Gram, she thought, holding his hand and trying to keep the tears at bay. She had only known her grandfather for two days, but already she had become attached to the dear old man.

Bold Eagle’s two wives sat on the other side of her grandfather’s pallet and many tribe members had gathered outside the tipi in what amounted to a death-watch.

From somewhere in the village, drums were beating softly, and it seemed to Cheyenne they were keeping tempo with her grandfather’s heartbeat.

He suddenly opened his fever-bright eyes, his gaze fixed on Cheyenne’s face. “My daughter,” he said in a labored voice that seemed to steal what little breath he had left. “You have come home to me at last.”

She did not understand his words.

He reached out a shaky hand to her and spoke in English. “You are not my daughter,” he said, his watery eyes fixed on Cheyenne’s face.

“Rest. Do not try to talk,” she urged, feeling pain tear at her heart.

His grip tightened on her hand and Bold Eagle took a deep breath, let it out, and then he went limp, his hand falling away from Cheyenne’s.

“No!” she cried. “Do not leave me!”

Walking Woman and Soaring Bird began rocking back and forth, chanting, their pain tearing at her heart. Lowering her head to rest against the old man’s chest, Cheyenne cried bitter tears.

In the distance she heard the cry of the wolf and knew it was Satanta echoing her grief.

She did not realize Night Fighter had entered the tipi until he took her hand. “Come with me,” he urged. “Allow the wives of our chief to prepare him for the ceremony.”

Cheyenne felt numb as Night Fighter guided her outside, where others had begun their lamenting chants that filled the village with sorrow.

The morning sun had melted the snow, but dark clouds gathered in the north, and Cheyenne was certain it would snow before sundown. She raised her tear-bright gaze to the sky, not knowing how to show her grief in the Indian way.

Night Fighter tugged her hand, urging her away from the gathering. Forgetting Wolf Runner’s warning about being alone with the warrior, she allowed him to lead her away from the village and down a path to the solitude of the woods.

Suddenly Satanta was beside her, matching her steps and placing his huge body between Cheyenne and Night Fighter.

“I didn’t know my grandfather for very long, but he was easy to love,” she whispered through trembling lips. Heartbreak and sorrow consumed her. She wished she’d had more time to get to know her grandfather.
There were so many things he could have taught her, so many things about her mother’s people she did not know.

Leaning her head against the rough bark of a pine tree, she wept.

Night Fighter stood some distance away, warily eyeing the wolf that lay at Cheyenne’s feet, thinking the wolf would have to die.

The chants from the village seemed to be rising in volume and Cheyenne remained there until silence fell like a whisper on the wind. Remembering at last that Night Fighter was near, she turned to face him.

“Is it over?”

“Not completely,” he answered in English. His dark eyes swept her face. “The old man took his time in leaving this world.”

Cheyenne was shocked by the coldness in his tone. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It matters not. I wanted to tell you that the council is meeting to choose a new chief,” he told her. “I believe it will be my father.”

She could do no more than nod.

Night Fighter moved closer but stopped when Satanta raised his head and stared. “I wanted to explain some things to you that you may not know.”

Sighing, she gave him her full attention. “There are many things I don’t know.”

“I want to speak to you of what happens to a woman when her husband dies, or, like you, your grandfather.”

Cheyenne patiently waited for him to continue, not knowing why he was saying these things when her grandfather had just died.

Night Fighter could not hold back a smile. Cheyenne was ripe and ready for a man, and he intended
that that man would be him. “In our village you will be respected as the granddaughter of our dead chief, but if a woman has no man to look after her, she will be abandoned by the rest of the tribe.” He found further satisfaction at the horror on her face. “It has always been so and it is for the good of the tribe—the weak cannot be tended by the strong.”

“Are you saying I will be left to die?”

“Cheyenne, you cannot hunt for game, and no one will be willing to share their food with you. You will soon die from exposure and hunger.”

Swallowing a lump of fear, she shook her head in dazed shock. “Explain what you mean. What about my grandfather’s wives?”

“The younger, Walking Woman, will probably find a warrior to take her into his tipi. I do not know what will happen to the eldest wife, for she is so old no one will want her as their woman.”

Cheyenne met his gaze. “And you are telling me that I have no one.”

He waited for a moment, gathering his words. “You have me.”

Suddenly she remembered Wolf Runner warning her about Night Fighter, and she glared at him. “I will not live with you.”

“You
will
be my woman. There is no other way for you.”

Most of Cheyenne’s life she had lived by other people’s rules and notions. Once more she was trapped in a situation from which there didn’t seem to be an escape. “I don’t know you—and I have no wish to be your woman.”

Night Fighter’s eyes darkened when she turned away to return to the village.

He grabbed Cheyenne’s arm and spun her to face
him. “I offer you an honored place in my tipi and you scorn it.”

Shaking in anger as much as in fear, she said, “I do. My grandfather just died. I can’t think of anything else at the moment.”

“It is him you want.”

“Who?”

“The Blackfoot—Wolf Runner. You desire to be his woman and yet, he left you.” Night Fighter’s eyes held a dangerous glint and his grip on Cheyenne’s arm tightened. “You must choose a man in our village, and I say that man will be me.”

Satanta was stirring restlessly, and Cheyenne kept a calming hand on his head, not knowing if she could keep him from attacking Night Fighter. It had always been Wolf Runner who gave the wolf his orders. She didn’t know how, so she tried to keep her voice calm.

“I will not speak of this now.”

Night Fighter’s anger flared. “You are a fool. Do you not understand Wolf Runner used you to find me? He wants nothing so much as to see me dead. Had he cared for you, he would have taken you with him.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, remembering Wolf Runner had offered to help her before he knew she was related to Night Fighter. “It’s not true; he wouldn’t do that.”

Night Fighter clamped his hand down on her arm and jerked her to him. “Pity you cannot ask him. Then you would know I speak the truth.”

She glanced quickly down and saw Satanta was baring his teeth. “Do not move, Satanta,” she said.

“Take your hands off her,” a deadly cold voice commanded.

Wolf Runner stood just behind them, his hand resting on his knife. He had come upon them so silently neither of them had heard him, but Satanta had, and was happily circling Wolf Runner.

Cheyenne shoved Night Fighter’s hand away and faced Wolf Runner, uncertain why he was there. “You have returned.”

Wolf Runner took her arm and moved her away from Night Fighter. “I had time to think, and I realized your grandfather had not long to live. What Night Fighter told you is the truth, you will be on your own if you do not want to marry him, or any other man who might offer for you.”

Her heart fell. “I will not be anyone’s woman.”

Wolf Runner glanced at Night Fighter—his father had taught him to watch a man’s eyes and read his intentions. He discerned that Night Fighter wanted to go for his knife, but the man hesitated. “Do not,” Wolf Runner warned.

Blinking, Night Fighter’s hand moved toward his knife, with hatred bursting in his heart. The man he despised above any other stood before him, touching the woman Night Fighter wanted for his own. “You have no claim on her—she is of my blood and belongs to me,” he hissed.

“Then it is well I returned, for she does not want you.” He gazed down at Cheyenne. “I will take you to my mother, where you will be protected.”

Happiness burst in Cheyenne’s heart. “I will need to get my belongings. It won’t take long.”

“Wait,” Night Fighter said, speaking in his tongue so Cheyenne would not understand the words. “I say to you again that I have more claim on this woman than you, Blackfoot.”

Wolf Runner answered him in kind, “Only if she
says you do. Since she has already refused you, she will go with me.”

“I have seen the hunger in your eyes when you watch her.” Then Night Fighter smiled. “She does not believe me when I told her you used her to find me. You and I know it to be the truth.”

“I know where to find you, which I will do when I know Cheyenne is safely with my people.”

“What is she to you?”

Wolf Runner paused in thought. “I vowed to see her safe. Her white grandmother charged me to take her to my mother, and that is what I will do.” He watched the Cheyenne warrior grasp the handle of his knife and Wolf Runner’s mood darkened. “I would not do that if I were you. You would be dead before you could use that knife.”

Night Fighter had heard much of Wolf Runner’s prowess as a warrior, and his bravery was legendary. With anger burning in his heart, he dropped his hand to his side. “This is not over between us.”

Wolf Runner gripped Cheyenne’s arm, not trusting Night Fighter. “I will accompany you.”

When they reached the tipi of her grandfather, both of his wives were inside. Cheyenne touched the eldest on the arm. “Wolf Runner, please translate what I say.”

He nodded.

“Tell Soaring Bird, I feel her grief. Thank her for all her kindnesses.”

After Wolf Runner spoke to the eldest wife, Cheyenne approached Walking Woman. “Explain to her that I am going away with you. Thank her for her gentleness and her kindness to me.”

Soaring Bird dipped her head in grief, but Walking Woman took Cheyenne’s hand and spoke.

“She says,” Wolf Runner explained, “that she wishes you happiness, and that your grandfather’s last hours were made easier because you were with him.”

Tearfully Cheyenne gathered her meager belongings and moved to the tipi opening. Meeting each woman’s gaze, she nodded and stepped out into the sunshine to find Night Fighter waiting for them.

Cheyenne cringed at the hatred reflected in his eyes. When he moved toward her, Wolf Runner stepped between them. “Do not,” he warned.

Satanta also edged himself between them and bared his teeth.

Stepping back, Night Fighter faced Wolf Runner. “I should have slain you the first day you came to our land. I will one day drive my knife into your heart.”

“Do not make threats you cannot keep. I do not fear any man who intimidates a woman for his own needs.”

“I do not care for your high opinion.”

Wolf Runner had already gauged the Cheyenne warrior’s character and determined he was a coward. “Watch him, Satanta.”

When the wolf went into a crouch, Night Fighter took several quick paces back. “Take the woman and may you never know a moment’s peace with her.”

Cheyenne had no notion what the two men were saying to each other, but they were saying it angrily. She mounted her horse and waited for Wolf Runner, who backed toward his own horse, watching Night Fighter for any sign of treachery.

Wolf Runner mounted his horse, and they rode away, with Satanta and the packhorse following behind.

Cheyenne did not look back as they rode away from her grandfather’s village. But she had left a
piece of her heart with the dear old man whom she had known for such a short time, and his two wives, who had shown her such kindness. This was a day for mourning her grandfather’s death, but also a day for rejoicing. For whatever the reason, Wolf Runner had returned for her.

She had been in the depths of despair, thinking he was gone from her life forever. When Cheyenne glanced at him she saw he was frowning. Yes, he had come back for her, but something was troubling him.

“I will not cause you any trouble,” she said, wanting to reassure him that he should feel no obligation toward her.

He turned a dark gaze on her. “You have caused me trouble since the first day I saw you.”

Throughout the day Cheyenne and Wolf Runner spoke little. She had many questions she wanted to ask, but his brooding silence sealed her lips.

At sunset she helped him make camp, and after she had returned from gathering wood, she finally spoke. “Why did you come back for me?” she asked, going down on her knees and arranging the wood for the campfire, hoping he would say he had returned because he missed her.

He knelt beside her, striking his flint and lighting the campfire. “I knew when I left that your grandfather was ill and did not have long to live. I was nearby when I heard the drums that announced his death.”

He decided not to tell her that he was already coming back for her when he heard the drums, and he would have taken her away with him even if her grandfather had not died.

“If you had not returned, would Night Fighter have forced me to be his woman?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at him. “Once again it seems you’ve rescued me.”

Even though he was taking Cheyenne to his village, where she would be safe, nothing could change between them, and he had to make her understand that now.

Studying her face, it took Wolf Runner a moment to speak. “Perhaps you will find a strong warrior among my people who will suit you.”

Cheyenne dropped her head, studying the flickering flame that had just taken hold. Wolf Runner had not come for her because he wanted her with him. “I don’t care to be anyone’s woman.” She frowned. “Is it also thought among the Blackfoot that a woman without family is a burden to others?”

“Only if they are alone and have no one to look after them. You will not need to worry about that. My mother and father will offer you their protection.”

He reached out to her and then let his hand drop away. “To see you in a doeskin gown seems natural.”

She forced a smile. “I find the clothing comfortable,” she admitted, glancing down at her moccasins. “Knowing me, I will have a hole in the bottom of these before we reach your village.”

Nodding, Wolf Runner watched the flames dance across her face and wanted to take her in his arms. “Yes.”

Watching the night sky, Cheyenne stood. “Wolf Runner, for so long now I have not known where my life was going—I still don’t.”

He knew her well enough to discern she was feeling lost and unsure. “Look to my parents as your friends.”

He had not said he would be her friend. Cheyenne bit her trembling lip. He would soon marry the woman he had left behind in his village, and she would have to watch them together.

“If you are ever troubled, I will be your friend,” she told him in what she hoped was a strong voice. “I stand ready to help you in any way I can because you have done so much for me. It was not your duty to come back for me, but you did, and I am glad.”

His throat had closed off. She did not even know she was tearing him apart inside.

“I look forward to meeting your mother since I have heard so much about her.”

Wolf Runner turned to her. “I have thought almost from the time I met you that you and my mother are similar. I believe you will like each other.”

Cheyenne spread the furs out next to a cliff wall, hoping it would protect them from the wind. “I worry about Grandfather’s older wife.”

“Do not. It is the way it has always been with older women alone.” He finished tying a knot in a rope and looped it about her horse’s hooves. “It may seem cruel to you, but it is necessary for the survival of a tribe.”

Cheyenne curled up on the fur and covered herself with a blanket. The clouds had moved away and the night sky was clear and stars were scattered across a black backdrop like sparkling jewels. The moon seemed so near it gave the illusion you could reach up and pluck it out of the sky. “I still don’t like it.”

Once more her life was spinning out of control.
Oh, Gram
, she thought achingly,
where does the new direction take me?

Will I ever find happiness?
she wondered.

Satanta bounded out of the bushes and flopped down beside her. Resting her hand on the wolf’s head, she fell asleep, knowing Wolf Runner was nearby.

But not knowing he watched her as she slept.

For over a week Wolf Runner led them toward the distant mountains. The closer they got to Blackfoot land, the quieter Wolf Runner became. Cheyenne did not feel like talking either. She was an encumbrance to him, and wished there was some way she could
apologize for all she had put him through on the journey.

When she looked at him, she was reminded how wonderful his lips had felt against hers and how right it felt to be in his arms. She had never envied anyone in her life, but she had begun to envy the woman who would soon be his wife.

Once they had reached the foothills Cheyenne glanced up the great mountains. “I used to love imagining what it would be like to live in the mountains, so high above everything. These are much higher than the peaks in Santa Fe—do you climb there often?”

Wolf Runner turned to look at her. Cheyenne was exactly the woman for him. He wanted her as his woman so much he considered taking her to the mountains and making her his. Instead, he pointed to a distant peak. “My family has an encampment there, where I often spend summers. It is where my father took my mother after they were joined.”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Cheyenne looked into his eyes. “Is that where you will be taking your…woman?”

He turned his head. “Blue Dawn does not like the mountains.”

The moon had risen above the pines as they enjoyed the two rabbits Wolf Runner had trapped and Cheyenne had roasted on a spit.

After she had eaten her fill, Cheyenne set aside dried berries and pemmican for breakfast the next morning, then repacked the rest of the supplies.

Cheyenne huddled beneath her blanket. The icy fingers of winter swept down the mountain, and she shivered until Satanta plopped his large body down next to her.

Wolf Runner lay so near she could have reached out and touched him, but she dared not bridge the gap, no matter how much she longed for his touch.

“For the last few evenings I have felt you are wrestling with a problem, Wolf Runner. Would it help you to talk about it?”

He turned his dark gaze on her, not at all surprised she had known he was troubled. “More than any woman I have ever known, you test me, Cheyenne.”

She rose up on her elbow, shocked. “That has never been my intention. In fact, I’ve tried not to be any trouble to you. Once we reach your village, you can turn me over to your mother and never have to think about me again.”

He watched the firelight play across her hair. “Never think of you again?” he said, giving her a searching look. “And how do you suppose we bring that about?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, confused. “I suppose as soon as you take a wife, you will move out of your mother’s tipi and won’t have to see me.”

“Cheyenne, I have not lived with my parents since I was fourteen.”

“Oh. A white boy of fourteen would never move out of his parents’ house.”

He sounded irritated. “I am not white, and my parents do not live in a house.”

“Of course, it was just a figure of speech.”

He sat up. “Cheyenne, I am sensitive to all you have suffered, losing your grandmother and then your grandfather in less than three months, but could you not look to the future with hope in your heart? I want that for you.”

“Wolf Runner, I have always been happy, even as a child. But lately, life has been a bit hard. I will try to
put all the sadness behind me. And I’m sure I’ll eventually succeed. I will always miss Gram, but I hardly knew my grandfather before he died.”

“What do you miss most about your gram?” he asked, trying to turn the conversation away from her unhappiness, which was what was really bothering him.

“A hundred little things—the smell of coffee in the morning, even though I don’t like coffee. I miss her wise guidance and her loving nature.” She sat up, tucking the blanket about her. “The one thing I discovered by living with the Cheyenne is that I am more white than I am Indian.”

Wolf Runner lay back on his folded arms. “Yet you have been set upon a different path.”

“And I don’t know where it will take me.” She fixed her gaze on the brightest star in the heavens and stared at it. “How did your mother adjust to the Indian way of life?”

“I never thought about it. She has always seemed Blackfoot to me. You will meet my grandparents, Chief Broken Lance and Tall Woman, who took my mother as their daughter when she was first brought to our village. They gave her a wonderful life, even if it was not the one she was born to live.”

“They must be proud of you.”

“They have a son, named Firethorn, who is my best friend.”

“Your uncle is your best friend?”

“He is my uncle, but he is only two years older than I am.”

“It sounds like you have a perfect family,” Cheyenne observed.

He looked into her eyes, wishing she belonged to
him, and said before he could stop himself, “No, not quite perfect.”

Cheyenne squeezed her eyes together tightly. Even the most innocent subjects led them back to their hopeless situation. Turning her back to him without a word, she lay down, feeling Satanta adjust to accommodate her.

What would I do without this loyal wolf to comfort me?
she wondered.

Wolf Runner stared at Cheyenne for a long moment. In his heart he had to let her go, and he could do that now, knowing that his mother would take care of her.

The sacrifice he was making in giving her up was almost too great. He saw Cheyenne’s shoulders shake and realized she was silently crying.

Without thought of the consequences, he went to her and gathered her in his arms, kissing her tears away. It was like a dam had broken and his feelings came tumbling out. “Do not cry, for your tears tear at my heart.”

Her arms went around him and she looked up at him. “I can’t help myself.”

Wolf Runner brushed her hair out of her face, his lips hovering above her mouth. “And I cannot help myself.”