Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (12 page)

      
At first Hawk held back, trying to gauge the endurance and second wind of several of the other horses in the field. The gray might tire and the black or the paint win in a last-minute blaze of speed. He had ridden in enough wild free-for-all races from Montana to Texas to know the front-runner did not always finish first. In this case, with nearly two dozen horses to consider, anything could happen. The gray was holding on to the lead with dogged tenacity and showing no signs of tiring. Hawk inched closer and waited.

      
It would feel good to beat Angry Wolf, a childhood companion whose bullying and hateful nature had made a younger half-blooded boy's life a misery. Yes, Hawk would relish this victory. He had also noted the way his old foe looked at the lovely green-eyed maiden before the race. She did not favor the big Cheyenne, but instead cast her eyes on Hawk. The win would be doubly sweetened if he could make it. As they neared the homestretch, he gave Redskin a quick rake with his moccasined feet, and the big bay plunged forward in a sudden lunge that pulled him abreast of the gray.
 

      
Angry Wolf was laughing as he sighted the end of the race, a stand of alders by the banks of the Tongue River. When he saw Hawk and Redskin out of the corner of his eye, he let out a guttural oath and leaned forward to whip his horse with a rawhide strip, urging it to greater speed. The long, sharp leather lashed out, narrowly missing Hawk and his mount as well. Angry Wolf never did play fair, Hawk remembered grimly.

      
However, flaying his horse did not help Angry Wolf. By the time they neared the alders, Hawk pulled into the lead and the bay flashed by the crowd of waiting onlookers. The gray with his sullen rider came in second, several lengths behind the bay.

      
As he slid smoothly off Redskin, Hawk was greeted by Iron Heart, pride worn like a banner across his face. “You have done well, Hunting Hawk. I am pleased.”

      
He was not the only one pleased. Wind Song stood near the edge of the crowd, looking at Hawk's sweat-soaked body as he gratefully took the soft cloth proffered by the old man and began to towel off his face, neck, and upper torso.

      
Her hypnotic gaze was broken when Angry Wolf came stalking up to her. He could see where her eyes were turned. “So you look on the half-blood. He is not Cheyenne. He will not stay with our people. Like the summer rains, he comes and goes without warning. Best beware lest you lose your chastity to his spiderish ways and end up on the prairie!”

      
At this, Wind Song let out a furious gasp of indignation. Casting a woman out on the prairie was a degrading punishment reserved for women caught in repeated adultery, almost unheard of in their band. Without speaking a word to the hateful man, she proudly walked away to rejoin several of her young women friends and her little sister. She held her head high to show her disdain for his filthy suggestion.

      
Morality among the Cheyenne was uncommonly strict by either white or Indian standards. Sexual relations between unmarried men and women was strictly forbidden, and adultery punished with public disgrace and ostracism. Divorce was possible but rare. In all the bands Wind Song had observed at summer camps, she had only heard whispered talk of three or four women who were known to be common harlots. No honorable man would ever offer them marriage, and they lived a degraded, meager existence on the periphery of tribal life.

      
She wondered how the
veho
were different, having heard rumors about their loose morals. Surely the grandson of Iron Heart would never dishonor her. Certainly she would never allow herself to be used so cheaply. Wind Song thought about the vast world beyond the sunrise, that place full of
veho
cities. She heard some of the old men speak of it, those chiefs who traveled to the east to meet leaders of the whites. Hunting Hawk had been part of that alien unimaginable world. Was he like them or like the People?

* * * *

      
Sunrise. Hot orange light filtered across the high plains as Hawk stretched and awakened instinctively. He had been unable to sleep past daybreak since his earliest memories, no matter how late he stayed up at night. Always this oneness with the birth of morning was his. Today he would go hunting with his grandfather and Stands Tall.

      
They split up, the three men, each taking a different track. By midmorning Hawk found fresh signs and silently crept to a nearby watering hole to wait. Within an hour his patience was rewarded. A young bull elk silently picked his way to the clean pool and cautiously scanned his surroundings. Sensing no intruder, he dipped his head to drink. Hawk took careful aim with his rifle and fired one shot. The big elk crumpled, hit solidly in the chest. As Hawk tied the elk across a wooden travois, Iron Heart admired the clean kill. It would be a good pelt, and the teeth on the young buck were beautiful, perfect for the elaborate trim sewn onto ceremonial dresses by Cheyenne women. He thought of one maiden in particular.

      
“The meat will roast tender and sweet,” the old man said as he greeted Hawk, who nodded absently as he worked.
 

      
“Yes, Calf Woman will make some fine stews as well, I imagine.” Calf Woman cooked for Iron Heart.

      
The old man cleared his throat, then spoke evenly. “I have much meat already in my lodge. Everyone has been generous to an old man. There are others in the village who could use it more...” He let his words trail off.

      
Hawk picked up the cue. “Tell me who, and I will take it as a present to his family.” Such generosity and mutual help between families of the People was always the custom.

      
“Standing Bear has grown old and infirm. His daughters are alone and have no one to hunt for them. Wind Song and Sweet Rain could use the elk meat.” He looked expectantly at his grandson.
 

      
Hawk grinned. “Then to the beautiful green-eyed Wind Song it goes. Even the teeth to decorate a dress.”

      
“Hrumpf,” the old man grunted, satisfied.

* * * *

      
Wind Song was in her father's lodge, removing food bowls from behind a willow backrest when she heard Hawk's voice outside, speaking with Standing Bear. Quickly she smoothed her braids and adjusted her leggings. Feigning a trip to the stream for water, she grabbed a big bucket and casually stepped toward the tepee opening.

      
“I have killed an elk. My grandfather has already received from others more than an old man alone can use. I offer it to you and your family, Standing Bear.”

      
The old brave was palsied and frail, far from the robust specimen Iron Heart was, even though Hawk's grandfather was far the older of the two men. Standing Bear nodded gravely; indicating that Hawk should untie the game. “For a sick old man and his two maiden daughters, your gift is most welcome.”

      
As if on cue, Wind Song emerged from the lodge. “Father, I—” She stopped short, her eyes widening as the tall, lean man effortlessly dragged the elk from the travois and deposited it in front of their lodge. He smiled in silent greeting. Hating herself for it, she blushed in response, then forced her voice under control and spoke.” I was going to fetch water. I will send for Sweet Rain to help me with the elk. We are most grateful to the grandson of Iron Heart for his generosity.”

      
“I am called Hunting Hawk.” Once more the disarming grin appeared, making the harsh lines of his handsome face soften.

      
“And my elder daughter is called Wind Song.” Standing Bear supplied the rest of the introduction. “Will you stay and eat with me? I would be honored.”

      
In response, Wind Song moved to spread a buffalo robe next to her father's side so Hawk could sit. Nodding gravely, Hawk squatted on the soft cover as the lithe girl slipped inside the lodge to bring food. She completely forgot her ruse about the need for water. As she was preparing dried fruit and strips of meat, Standing Bear began another coughing spell. Setting the food down quickly, she rushed outside to find Hawk supporting the old man's weight. Standing Bear struggled to breathe.

      
“It is better if he lies down with his upper body raised.” She began to help her father rise, but anticipating her need, Hawk lifted him up and carried him inside the lodge. Gently he stretched the pain-wracked man across a pile of robes, propping him against a backrest to ease his labored breathing.

      
Wind Song quickly mixed a small amount of the potion she had received from the medicine man and forced it between her father's bluish lips. His coughing subsided and his breathing became slower and deeper. Soon he slept.

      
Silently the two young people slipped from the tepee back into the day's bright grasp. “Thank you for helping. The attacks grow worse. I fear for another cold season.” Her voice was infinitely sad.

      
Hawk realized the truth of her words. Standing Bear could never survive another winter on the plains. “It is the white man's consumption?”

      
She nodded. “For the last two seasons he has grown thinner and the cough stronger. He was at Fort Robinson when there was not enough food or blankets. The white man's lodges are not as warm as ours. He came home sick and broken. Then my mother died and he just gave in to it.” Her voice was haunted by all the tragedy visited upon her young life, all brought by the spider people.

      
“Do you have other kin in my grandfather's village?” Hawk felt a wistful sympathy for this lovely girl of mixed blood.

      
She shook her head. “No, only my sister and I are left now.”

      
The other solution was obvious in Cheyenne society. She looked to be sixteen or seventeen. “Is there not one fine young warrior who you favor? Surely you have had many offer your bride-price.” `

      
She blushed, recalling the elk in front of the lodge. “No man has offered whom I would choose, yet.” She could tell her cheeks were hot with color, and was relieved when Sweet Rain burst in on their conversation.

      
“Oh, Wind Song, I was told to come help you with an elk. It is beautiful!” She looked at the big beast on the ground in undisguised pleasure. “Maybe this time I'll get my elk-tooth dress and one for you, too. If only you had not refused the elk Angry Wolf brought you yesterday!”

      
Unaware of the implications of her speech, Sweet Rain went inside and began to gather sharp adzes and skinning knives for the task at hand;

      
Hawk's black eyes took on a speculative gleam as he looked from the child to the flustered young woman who stood in acute embarrassment. Gently he said, “I must go now. Whenever you need my help, just send word, Wind Song. I will come.” With that he quickly took Redskin's reins, turned the empty travois, and left her standing silently in front of the lodge. She busied herself immediately with dressing the elk, afraid to look around and see if he was watching her.

* * * *

      
Early the next morning Wind Song really did need to go to the stream for water. Still pensive over her meeting with Hawk and distraught over her sister's teasing about his gift, she wandered down a seldom-used path to the river. It was overgrown with alder trees, but she could hear the rushing of water from behind the seclusion of greenery. Wanting a peaceful place to think in private, she wended her way through the bushes to the edge of the stream and knelt to fill the bucket.

      
Sweet Rain's taunts about Angry Wolf still burned her ears. He wanted to marry Wind Song, but she had refused him. Her father agreed that she did not have to marry a man she disliked, but how long could she wait? Already Angry Wolf had staked a claim on her by frightening off several other young braves who had courted her. Everyone was afraid of him. Hateful bully! She detested him, but if her father died and she was left without a protector, the chiefs would meet and give her to whoever they deemed best, probably Angry Wolf.
 

      
It was selfish of her to cause her father and sister to suffer this way. If she married Angry Wolf, her family would be well provided for because he was a good hunter and a rich man. Still her heart rebelled. She lost track of time, kneeling in silent misery, hidden by the tall grass at the edge of the water. Just then her twisted thoughts were interrupted by a sharp oath of pain from a male voice that spoke in the
veho
tongue.

      
“Damn!” Hawk had just nicked himself with â dull razor. He cursed for not taking time to hone it—and for needing it in the first place. Cheyenne men were certainly better off. What few chin whiskers they had they could easily pull out. He eyed the thick black stubble covered by the soap lather on his face and swore at his white blood. Just as he looked in the mirror to finish the shave, he heard a twig snap and a small gasp from the trees behind him.
 

      
Wind Song's frightened face appeared in the glass. She was standing in the thick undergrowth by the water's edge, bucket clasped awkwardly in one hand, staring in wide-eyed amazement at his soap-covered face.

      
He grinned crookedly and put his thumb to the nicked place on his jaw as he turned to greet her. “Good morning, Wind Song.”

      
Nodding, she lowered her gaze in mortification. “I did not mean to intrude. I was getting water and wanted to be alone, so I wandered farther from camp than I should have.” Then her eyes lifted, curiosity overcoming shyness as she looked at his face. His smile was warm and heartened her. “What—what is it that you do?”