“I do my best not to think about her at all, but if you insist . . . ” He paused a moment, trying to find the words. “I guess she's just about like her father saidâspoiled and selfish. Every so often I think maybe he's wrong; so far it's hard to tell. She's a good-lookin' woman, I'll tell you that.” He shoved his hands behind his head and continued to watch the sky. “You've known a lot more of these little rich girls than I have; what do you think?”
James smiled into the darkness. He unfastened another button on his now-dusty white shirt and scratched a mosquito bite on his neck. He thought of the wealthy Chicago
family he'd left behind. He'd wanted no part of the life his domineering father had planned for him. Working in an office, taking over the family business, living in the city. He left home at eighteen, went west to seek his fortune.
He smiled again at the memory. He'd done well enough, but it was a tumbleweed existence, with little future. After he'd tagged up with Travis Langley, he'd been able to save some money. For the first time he had plans for the future, and this assignment was a big step in that direction.
He turned his attention back to his friend. “Well, most of the rich girls I've known were conniving little misses used to getting everything they asked for.” He thought of the many debutante balls he'd been forced to attend. “I guess in that way she seems the same, but in other ways she doesn't quite fit the picture. I'll tell you one thing,” he said ruefully. “If she's half as stubborn as she appears, we'll have our work cut out for us. I've got a hunch she's trying to lull us into making some sort of mistake.”
Hawk grumbled and peered hard into the darkness. Though he didn't relish it, he was determined to make the best of the assignment.
“I've got a feeling you're right, but I've got some ideas of my own on that score. A few weeks out here without her nursemaids ought to calm her down a little. I plan to run her ragged for the first week or so. Take some of the fire out of her. Besides, the sooner we get her home, the sooner we get paid.”
James chuckled. “Maybe she'll go the rest of the way like a little pussycat, and we won't have any problem at all.”
“Not likely. The governor's not payin' us that kind of money for nothing.”
“I suppose you're right,” James admitted. “Look, Hawk, I know you're not thrilled about this little adventure, but that money will sure come in handy.”
It was Hawk's turn to laugh. “Already got yours spent on that saloon you've been wantin' to buy?”
“Well, I won't have quite enough yet, but I'm getting closer all the time.” James poked the fire again. “What about you? Will you have enough to close the deal on your ranch?”
Hawk didn't answer. He was on his feet and moving silently toward the edge of camp. His big knife flashed in the moonlight. He moved stealthily, his moccasins muffling the sound as he stepped atop a giant boulder and climbed high enough to gain the advantage over the man who was trying to sneak into their camp.
Hawk scanned each rockfall and ravine, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darker light away from the fire. A dry twig snapped, and his body tensed. His knife flashed again as he stood poised and alert for the attack. His quarry's shadow moved among the rubble below, and Hawk crouched, ready to spring. Just as his muscles bunched for the move, he pulled himself up short, releasing his breath slowly, trying to control the tension pumping through his veins.
He broke into a wide grin as he spoke in Cheyenne to the man below. “Running Wolf, you have grown soft in your last few years.” He jumped down beside his Indian friend. “There was a time when I would have only known you were here by the blade at my throat.”
The younger man laughed good-naturedly. “I was just being courteous to your advanced years by allowing you to hear me,” he answered, also grinning broadly.
The two men grasped forearms in greeting, then Hawk threw his arm across the slimmer man's shoulders. “It is good to see you, my friend.” They walked back toward camp, and Hawk noticed James holster his revolver as they entered. “James, this is Running Wolf.”
The lean Indian made a greeting in sign language, and James signed a greeting in return. Then Hawk and Running Wolf sat cross-legged beside the fire and began to speak in earnest. Unable to understand Cheyenne, James leaned back against the log, lit a cheroot, and silently offered one to Running Wolf, who accepted.
“How did you know where to find me?” Hawk asked.
“Black Hawk, a man like you is not hard to find. Wherever you go, your people watch. They have not forgotten you.”
“Nor I them.”
“It has been too many moons since you have come to us. Your mother and father long for your presence in their lodge.”
A shadow passed over Hawk's heart. He nodded his head in agreement. “You're right, my brother. And still I cannot come. But soon. Soon.”
Running Wolf lit the cheroot with an ember and inhaled deeply, drawing his lean muscles taut. Smoke curled lazily upward. “I did not come to speak of family, my friend. I came to tell you of the white man's trespass into the Black Hills. They search for the yellow stones. So far there are few white eyes. But soon there will be many. Our land will be torn beneath the heels of their boots.”
It was not the first Hawk had heard of the white men crossing into the territories of the Cheyenne and Sioux nations.
It was a subject that tore at his loyalties, tore at his heart.
“I have heard of this, Running Wolf. But there is little to be done. Greed is always a cruel opponent.”
“Yes, my brother, but you know many of the white fathers. We urge you to speak with them, tell them of our troubles. You are one of us. You understand why we must have this land.”
Hawk nodded. Since he'd left his village he'd done everything in his power to help his people find land they could call their home, but his efforts had done little for their cause. “I will do all I can.” He wondered how helpful his words would be.
Running Wolf's lean countenance relaxed, his task accomplished to the best of his ability. He broke into a smile and nodded his approval. “It is all any man can ask of another.”
The conversation continued for only a brief minute more, Running Wolf wary of being even this close to the soldiers at the fort. When all had been said, the two men rose.
“Good-bye, my brother.” Running Wolf clasped Hawk in farewell, signed a farewell to James, and silently disappeared into the cover of the pines.
Hawk sat back down and recounted the conversation to James.
“It's a problem with no answer,” James said.
“No, I suppose not.” Hawk reclined full length on his bedroll, stretching the knotted muscles of his back.
“It'll probably mean more bloodshed,” James said.
“I'm afraid so.”
The night was warm, even at this high elevation. Hawk pulled his buckskin shirt over his head, determined to get some rest. His mind was plagued with thoughts of what appeared to be a disastrous course of events for the Indiansâand for many whites as well. When he returned to Sacramento City, he'd try once more to help his people, but first he'd complete the job he was being paid for.
He tossed and turned a bit, but eventually his eyelids grew heavy. Finally he drifted to sleep. Worrisome thoughts of his Indian brothers conjured the dream.
He could see a boy, marching endlessly, his bare feet cracked and bleeding, the desert stretching out for miles ahead. Only the women's voices shepherding the children rose above the thudding of the horses' hooves in the deep powdery dust. A tug on the rawhide rope around his neck sent him sprawling for the tenth time. Every muscle ached.
The warrior on the spotted horse yelled something the boy didn't understand as he tried to scramble to his feet, only to be jerked down again. He didn't know how he would go on, but he had to try. His father would have wanted him to try. He rose again and struggled forward, planting one foot in front of the other. He felt the blisters rising on his arms and back where the Indians had ripped off his shirt, leaving his pale skin exposed to the desert sun.
I'll make it,
he promised himself. He'd take all they could dish out and still go onâfor his father, for Uncle Marty and the others, for himself.
The dream wavered; the desert disappeared.
He was in a quiet, cool forest. He could hear the songs of birds, and the squirrels rustling in the trees. There were
other Indians, different this time. The women wore clothes of soft white leather; the men were tall and fine-featured. None wore paint. A big Indian in full headdress moved toward him, stepping between him and the dog-faced Indian who had led him across the desert.
“You have come far, young one,” the man said in broken English. “You have lived when most would have died.”
He watched the man's eyes: keen eyes, able to read his thoughts, his character.
“I am Strong Arrow, of the Cheyenne,” the man said.
Travis did not answer.
“We are not at war with your people,” the man continued. “I am sorry for your pain . . . your loss.”
Travis felt kindness in the man's words. It made him feel weak, feel like crying the tears he had not shed. But he knew he couldn't afford to show his weakness. He steeled himself for the consequences and spat into the dirt at the man's feet.
The man did nothing.
“My friends say I should not take you,” the man said in his broken English. “I should leave you with the Comanche. But I have lost my own son. A boy . . . just about the same in years as you. I think you have no one. Maybe we will help each other.” The man looked hard into Travis's eyes. The decision was made.
The rope was cut from around his neck, and he was led away. He was given food and water. At least he would survive.
Sounds of a distant coyote brought him fully awake and ended the dream. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his
chest and arms and the night breeze chilled him a little. He unfurled a light blanket and lay back down to rest. This time he slept soundly. Only thoughts of the governor's daughter, sleeping not nearly far enough away, caused him a moment or two of discomfort.
CHAPTER SIX
I
t was not until several mornings later that Mandy was able to relax enough to enjoy the beauty of the mountains: the rocky red soil, the screech of the blue jays, the cool clean air.
They were crossing the Deer Creek Range, Hawk had told her, pointing to a doe and fawn grazing on the side of a ravine. A red-tailed hawk had circled above, and Mandy wondered if it could be an omen, as the Indians believed.
After tending to her needs, she returned to the camp and the rich aroma of fresh coffee as it boiled over and sputtered onto the hot rocks of the firepit. Hawk had apparently freshened up in the stream. Clean shaven, he wore a fresh buckskin shirt and breeches. The deep vee in the front exposed a good portion of his sandy-haired chest. His damp hair curled softly over his collar. As he knelt to pour her a cup of the steaming coffee, his muscled thighs were clearly outlined through the soft leather of his snug-fitting breeches.
Mandy suddenly felt self-conscious. She took a deep breath and turned her gaze in another direction. For the past few days, she'd begun to realize just how attractive this man was. She hoped it wasn't the reason her heart pounded every time he came near. Accepting the cup, she almost wished their second meeting could have been under different circumstances.
Of course, if it had been he probably wouldn't have paid her any more attention than he did the first time. The thought irritated her more than a little.
“Can you cook?” Hawk inquired rather abruptly. “It's time you earned your keep.”
“Of course I can cook,” Mandy responded, his manner rankling her. Then, anticipating his next sentence, she added, “But not for the likes of either of you.” She was starting to get back into her Julia role, and considering the train of her thoughts, it was probably a good thing.
“You'll cook or you won't eat,” countered Hawk. “Nobody gets a free rideânot even the governor's daughter.”
Mandy noticed James's sidelong glance, but Hawk paid no heed.
“Then I won't eat,” she said defiantly, “and my father will kill you if Jason doesn't.”
At the mention of her fiancé's name, Hawk bristled. If he had been about to weaken, he wouldn't now. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. Then he started frying the bacon. Some remote part of him wondered why the sound of the man's name made him angry.
When breakfast was ready, he and James ate ravenously, Hawk exaggerating the slurping noises and licking his fingers. “Delicious! Too bad you weren't hungry,” he taunted.
“I'm hungry, all right. I'm starving, but you two couldn't care less!”
“You cook and you can eat,” Hawk repeated. He scraped the leftovers into the coals with a little more effort than necessary, then carefully covered the fire. He grabbed Mandy's saddle with one hand, his own with the other, and headed to the horses.
Mandy gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the rumble in her stomach. Julia would never know how lucky she was not to be on this trip. Grabbing her satchel, Mandy flounced off, disliking the men, and her role, more than ever.
They rode hard all day over rough ground. The sun beat down mercilessly. They crossed several meadows and passed beside a small lake nestled at the end of a valley. By late afternoon Mandy began to complain, as she was certain her cousin would, in an effort to slow them down.
“I'm tired. Can't we rest for a while?”
“Keep riding,” was Hawk's response.