Sweet Savage Heart (6 page)

“There’s only one way to find out if she is my granddaughter. Rana had an accident during her last visit here; that injury would have left a permanent scar on her left ankle. If she wasn’t wearing those beaded leggings, I’d point it out to you. She also has a birthmark on the underside of her left arm.” Nathan paused briefly before saying, “I have no right to ask you to go with me, Travis, but I wish you would. I can put Cody Slade in charge of the ranch and Mace Hunter in charge of the cattle drive to Sedalia. We won’t tell anyone where we’re going.”

Travis loved and admired this older man and told him, “I don’t want to see you hurt again, Nate. You know what you always tell me: don’t climb on a wild mustang who’s sure to buck you off and cripple you.”

Nathan shook his graying blond head and smiled stubbornly. “We both have a gut feeling it’s her, Travis. You know better than most what kind of existence that is for a captive female, especially with all this fighting between the whites and Indians. Can we allow Rana to be slaughtered during a cavalry raid on their camp? What do you think either a white or Indian captor would do with
such a beautiful girl? Make her his whore,” Nathan declared with a sneer. “It’s too dangerous for her to remain in the Dakota Territory, no matter what she says or thinks. I’ll risk any danger or pay any price to get her back.”

Travis knew why Nathan hesitated over asking him to go. His love and concern were obvious. Travis wondered how he would feel returning to his mother’s lands and people after all these years, and if it would be safe for him to enter Hunkpapa territory. He wondered if he was emotionally strong enough to deal with the feelings and situations that could arise during this journey. He could feel a lingering bitterness rising within him. He had tried to come to terms with his past and thought he had, until this matter had come up today. He could now admit that the “evidence” against him had looked bad then, but the Hunkpapas should have trusted him, at least given him the chance to defend himself. He did not know if he could ever totally forgive them for that denial. Travis could not help but wonder, if he were to tell Nathan about his past, which life he would choose to protect—his or Rana’s. No, Travis decided unselfishly, the truth would compel Nathan to make a distressing choice.

Besides, he hated to think of Nathan’s granddaughter being captured, raped, or killed. There was something about this girl that pulled at him, something that no woman had been able to do before. If she was part of Nathan, she belonged here with them. And he wanted to meet her, even if she were not Rana Michaels. Nathan needed him, and perhaps the girl did too. Maybe she was not as happy or as free as she appeared. Maybe she was not like the other women he had known, the ones who had made him so cynical and wary. Like him, this girl was trapped between two warring peoples. She was part of Nathan’s family, and the Lakotas should not be allowed
to take anything else of real value from him. He owed Nathan, and he owed himself.

As he envisioned Wild Wind, Travis’s green eyes brightened and he grinned. He stroked his stubbled jawline. “I haven’t had a decent challenge in a long time, Nate. Rana or not, that ravishing creature will make for a stimulating quest. We’ll get supplies ready tomorrow and leave at dawn Sunday.” Travis mentally added,
May the Great Spirit help us if she’s anything like Marissa or Raymond Michaels,
but Travis did not share with Nathan his overwhelming sense of foreboding…

Dakota Territory

May 24, 1867

Wild Wind ceased her swimming, for it had failed to relax her taut body or distract her troubled mind. Time had escaped without giving her an answer to her dilemma. She left the still-chilly water to stretch out on the spring grass in a secluded area along the riverbank. She closed her eyes and allowed the afternoon sun to dry and warm her shapely body and fiery hair. Neither she nor Lone Wolf had mentioned their last quarrel of weeks ago. Yet each knew it weighed heavily on the other’s mind, just as each wondered what the other would do. The Sun Dance ritual and buffalo feast were approaching rapidly. If she did not make her own decision soon, the problem would be settled for her.

Wild Wind sat up and crossed her feet. She absently scratched a white scar on her left ankle, which sometimes itched when she was angry or tense. Her arms encircled her legs and she rested her chin on one knee. She had not changed her mind about marriage, especially to RidesLike-Thunder, who was always trying to steal kisses or
put his hands where they should not touch. She was tired of being the butt of jokes and teased. How could she marry a man who did not take her seriously, a man who thought mastering her was an amusing game?

Wild Wind was not afraid of animals or wilderness dangers; she could protect herself with weapons and cunning. She would not starve, for she knew how to hunt and cook. But secretly she had witnessed evil deeds of the man-beast enemy, and this caused her to hesitate over leaving her camp and people. She could not live in the forest or mountains alone; and once she rejected her people’s laws and departed, she could never return. Was there no answer other than a forced marriage?

She leapt to her feet and paced back and forth along the riverbank until her bare feet made a path through the supple blades of grass. Needing solitude to make a decision, she had been here since dawn, but she had not achieved success. How she wished these lovely surroundings would share part of their tranquillity with her. How she wished
Tunkansila
would hear her prayers and respond, for Grandfather was supposed to know all things and to have love and mercy for His people. She was so confused, so torn by what should be a simple and happy decision for an Indian maiden: the choosing of a mate and the settling down to married life. Why was she troubled by a terrible sense of foreboding? Why was she resisting and lingering here when she had only two choices: marry or leave?

Wild Wind inhaled deeply and loudly. Perhaps she was overly tired today, for she had slept little the night before. She sat on her drying blanket and stretched out once more. If any peril approached,
Mahpiya
would warn her. She glanced at the cherished white stallion whom she had named Cloud. The highly intelligent animal loved and obeyed only her. He was sleek and swift, and
he responded instantly to the slightest hint of danger to her. She smiled, then closed her eyes.

Travis Kincade and Nathan Crandall had been waiting over an hour beside the coulee for the young brave to return with Chief Soaring Hawk or with a message from him. Nathan glanced at Travis and asked, “Do you think he’ll come to parley, or send a war party to kill us?”

Travis did not pull his scanning gaze from the harsh landscape before him as he replied, “From what I can recall about Soaring Hawk, he’s a man of great honor and courage. I doubt he would kill us before letting us speak our piece. ‘Course, things and people have changed a great deal since I left. You heard what those soldiers at Fort Wallace had to say. The Army’s got several bands of Oglalas and Hunkpapas givin’ ‘em hell. Captain Clardy at our last stop told me they’ve been sending replacements up this way for months to squash Red Cloud and his followers. He said Red Cloud has been able to keep that Boseman Trail through the Powder River country and most of their forts closed for over a year. You know that doesn’t sit well with the Army. If those Yankees think they can whip the Lakotas like they did the Rebs, they’re in for a rough awakening. One Lakota tribe is hard enough to conquer, but several tribes banded together…No way, Nate.”

Nathan leaned against the same large rock as Travis. “From the way those soldiers were talking and preparing, these Sioux Indians have ‘em plenty nervous. Afore this matter is settled, I’ll wager the Army’s gonna regret teaching the Indians about massacres and broken promises. Hell, it’s only been five months since Crazy Horse wiped out Colonel Fetterman and his entire troop. If you ask me, Travis, that’s one warrior the Cavalry had
better watch very closely.”

“You’re right, Nate. Crazy Horse is smart and fearless, and he’s tired of watching the whites try to annihilate the Dakota Nation. He’s a born warrior, the same age as me. Put him with Soaring Hawk, Red Cloud, Gall, and Sitting Bull, and those soldiers are as helpless as newborn pups in a blizzard. The Army’s filling a powder keg on Indian lands, Nate, and we’re smack in the middle of its explosion area.”

Nathan looked tired and worried. “Maybe we shoulda just sneaked into their camp and snatched Rana. I bet these Indians don’t trust any white man. Once he learns why we came here, you think he’ll… ?”

Nathan fell silent as Travis straightened to full alert and reflexively checked the Remington Army .44 pistols that were strapped to his muscled thighs. Travis had selected these particular weapons because they were more accurate and sturdier than the Colt .44. His green eyes narrowed briefly as he forcibly relaxed his taut body, which had stiffened in a careless show of fear or uncertainty. “They’re here, Nate. Stay calm and quiet. Try not to look nervous. Remember, no shouting or arguing.”

Nathan’s hands shook and he wiped his suddenly moist palms on his trouser legs. Nathan glanced around. “I’ll let you handle everything like I promised. Where are they? I don’t see or hear anything.”

“I make out eight of them, two on each side of us. Soaring Hawk should arrive soon. Relax, Nate. If he wanted us killed or captured, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Travis’s keen senses had detected the stealthy approach of the Oglala warriors. Alone, he could have taken on eight warriors and probably defeated them, but he had Nathan’s life to protect. He had to handle himself and this matter gingerly and wisely. He knew
Indians liked to eye a situation before encountering it. His sharp senses did not perceive any immediate threat of danger; but if he was mistaken, he was prepared to deal with it. His Winchester .44 rifle, which fired seventeen rounds, was lying on the hard dirt before him in case he had to drop to the ground and seize it quickly. His pistols were ready for firing, and he carried two concealed knives, which he could use with lethal skill.

Travis cautioned the older man, “Keep your hands away from your weapons, Nate, unless I give the attack signal. Then hit the dirt and fire right and front. I’ll take left and rear. Stand here while I make contact. I need to let ‘em know what we want.” Travis stepped away from the gulch where their horses and supplies were waiting. He lifted his hands and gave the sign for “peace,” his hands before his chest, the left palm turned upward and the right hand grasping the left one snugly.

Travis knew he had to depend on his skill in sign language to get his points across to the concealed warriors. He lifted his right hand to shoulder level. With the index and middle fingers extended upward and held together and with the other fingers and thumb closed toward the palm, he gave the sign for
kola,
“friend.” He continued his mute one-sided conversation by giving the signs that he had come to make a trade for one of their white captives, the granddaughter of the man who was waiting with him. Travis silently entreated Chief Soaring Hawk to come and bargain with him for the girl’s release. To show the warriors he knew of their arrival and their locations, he faced the other three directions and repeated his message. The sable-haired man waited a few minutes, but no one responded to his claims or his summons.

Travis knew his patience and courage were being tested, so he made certain his expression remained calm and his stance remained poised. Travis decided to reveal
his Indian identity to Soaring Hawk and his band, for tribes rarely related the humiliating and painful news of a warrior’s betrayal and punishment to outsiders. Unless the traitor posed a threat to allied tribes, the personal and embarrassing matter was usually kept private. And since all those involved in that treachery had been slain or driven far away, there would have been no remaining danger to the Hunkpapas or their Lakota brothers. Travis hoped that some of these warriors who were closing in on him might recall the famed and fearless half-blooded warrior, White Eagle. What he had to do was recover Rana, then get them out of this area before the Hunkpapas heard of his return and labeled him a threat to their Lakota brothers, as well as unfinished business for them.

Travis gave the sign for “color” by rubbing the fingertips of his right hand in a circular pattern on the back of his left hand. Then his hands formed the signs for
wanmbli
and
ska,
indicating his name of White Eagle. Lastly, Travis revealed he was part Lakota by giving the signs for “half-Indian” and “Sioux” with the “throatcutter” movement, then signaled his bond to the Hunkpapa tribe. Again he motioned that he had come in peace to bargain with Soaring Hawk.

It was only moments before alone Indian approached him on a brown and white Appaloosa whose painted markings exposed the numerous and daring exploits of his bronze skinned master. The man proudly carried a
coup
lance with feathers attached from one end to the other, a counting stick for his many deeds. A bow and quiver of arrows were hanging over his broad back, and a war shield was clutched securely in his left hand. A leather sheath that held a buffalo jaw hunting knife was secured at the right side of his waist. The markings on the arrow quiver, buffalo shield, knife sheath, and horse’s rump worried Travis. They were symbols of the Black
War Bonnet Society and boldly announced his membership in that fierce and determined “war medicine” brotherhood. Clearly this was a man of great prowess and high rank.

The Indian, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, did not dismount or speak. A long mane of shiny black hair settled around the warrior’s brawny shoulders, and a beaded headband with geometric designs kept it from falling into his ruggedly handsome face and piercing eyes. The Indian’s pleasant features were strongly defined. He was dressed in a breechclout and low-cut moccasins, leaving most of his well-developed body in view. His dark skin revealed white scars here and there, signs of past battle wounds and the Sun Dance. Around his neck there was a
wanapin,
an amulet in the shape of a wolf’s head, with bared teeth, keen eyes, and ears erect and alert. Around his large biceps were secured arm bands with special
coups
colorfully etched on them and from which beaded thongs and feathers dangled.