Before he left the village he had taken his
knife and cut his hair. It was a symbolic
act, and one that caused him a great deal of
anguish. As the thick black locks fell to the
ground he felt as if he was severing his final link to the Indian Nation. It was a sobering thought that brought him little joy. It was unthinkable that he would desert his people for
a white woman, but
Heammawihio
had spoken and he must follow. Yet something deep inside
Wind Rider told him that the Great Spirit had
looked into his heart before granting him a
vision. Self-derision was bitter on his tongue.
How could he still desire a woman who wanted
nothing to do with him, who had deliberately lied about him?
He wanted to punish Hannah for lying, for leaving him, for destroying his pride, but he
wanted something more. Something that only
his heart knew.
Leading a string of horses, one carrying the
furs he hoped to trade, Wind Rider roused
scant curiosity as he rode through the fort.
He exuded a restless, forceful energy that was evident in the proud tilt of his head and his watchful, narrowed eyes. He wore buckskins,
for he had no other clothing, but that wasn’t
unusual. Many men wore buckskins in this part
of the country. The stark angles of his face were
shadowed by the slant of his battered felt hat,
given to him by Runs-Like-A-Deer, who had
taken it during a raid.
Coyote had contributed a pair of scuffed
leather boots that fit well enough but felt
strange on his feet. He had contributed the
saddle himself, part of the loot he had taken
during his months of raiding with the Sioux.
He had decided at the last minute that he
would raise less suspicion if he used a saddle,
though his pony was unshod.
His eyes moved restlessly from left to right, searching, vigilant. He felt uncomfortable amid
so many white eyes, but his innate pride did
not desert him as he reined in his mount, dismounted, and tossed the reins over a hitching
post. Since he had only a rudimentary knowl
edge of the written language, learned when he was a small lad, he asked directions to the quartermaster, having been told by Coyote that
that was where he should take the horses he
wished to sell. Coyote, who had had dealings
with white eyes in the past, also mentioned the
price Wind Rider could expect.
“What can I do for you, mister?” The lieutenant behind the desk eyed Wind Rider curi
ously.
“I have horses to sell to the army. Are
you interested?” His abrupt manner was not
unusual. Many mountain men and trappers
were stingy with words.
“Depends. Where are they?”
“Outside. There are ten, all healthy. Will you
look at them?”
Since the army was always in need of good
horses, the lieutenant nodded and followed Wind Rider out the door. When he saw the string of horses his eyes widened, and he ran
a hand over the sleek flanks of the nearest
pony. “Nice animal.” When he lifted up a foot
to inspect the hoof, his expression changed and he looked at Wind Rider with renewed interest.
“These are Indian ponies.”
Wind Rider stared at the lieutenant, nei
ther denying nor confirming his allegation.
When the lieutenant finished his inspection
he turned to Wind Rider and said, “They
are all Indian ponies. Where did you get
them?”
Wind Rider merely smiled, refusing to
answer.
“If you took them from Indians, you’re damn
lucky to escape with your scalp intact.”
“I am a trader; Indians welcome me to their
camps. Do you want the horses?”
“How much do you want for them?”
Wind Rider suggested a price mentioned by
Coyote, hoping he sounded knowledgeable.
The lieutenant thought about it for a few
minutes and named a price somewhat less but
still fair. Elated, Wind Rider eagerly accepted.
“What is your packhorse carrying?” the lieutenant asked, eyeing the bulging bundles
curiously.
“Furs that I trapped during the winter. I wish to sell them.”
“You sure do talk funny, mister. I didn’t
catch your name.”
With a jolt of anguish, Wind Rider realized the moment he had dreaded had arrived. Yet
there was no escaping it. In a white man’s world he must use a white man’s name. For
the first time since he was a young child he
used the name he had been given by his birth
parents. “Ryder. Ryder Larson.” He was sur
prised that speaking his real name had come
so easily. He still wasn’t comfortable with it,
but it didn’t sound as strange to his ears as
he’d expected.
“Well, Mr. Larson, come inside and I’ll pay
you for your horses. And if you’re looking for a
fair price for your furs, Fred Riley over at the
trading post is the man to see.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.”
“Where did you say you’re from?” Still curi
ous about the strange young man who had
turned up from nowhere, the lieutenant felt compelled to delve more deeply into his back
ground.
“Nowhere in particular. I live in the moun
tains, trap some, trade some, and roam at
will.”
“Are you friendly with Indians?”
“You could say that.”
Talkative by nature, the lieutenant asked,
“In your travels did you ever cross paths with the captive white woman Lieutenant Gilmore
brought back from Red Cloud’s village? Rumor
has it that some heathen savage raped and beat
her and forced her to become his whore. Pretty little thing, too. She’s a runaway indentured servant. Her master offered a reward for her
return.”
Wind Rider lowered his eyes, afraid they
would give away his rage. Only the nerve
jerking along his jaw hinted at the crushing
blow Hannah had dealt him. “I haven’t been
to Red Cloud’s camp in a long time. Lieutenant
Gilmore is a brave man, going after the woman
alone.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Did I say
alone?”
Wind Rider shrugged. “I merely assumed he
was alone. Has he sent the woman back to her
master?”
“Not yet. She’s staying in Captain Coon’s
quarters. The captain took his wife to Cheyenne
to visit relatives. If you want my opinion, Lieu
tenant Gilmore is sweet on the woman.”
Wind Rider’s brow furrowed. “Sweet on
her?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “Don’t you
know anything? It means he wants her.” He sent Wind Rider a knowing leer. “You know what I mean. I’m not sure I’d want a woman
who’s spread her legs for a dirty savage, but there’s no accounting for men’s tastes.”
Wind Rider had to force himself to stand
still. If he followed his natural inclination, he
would launch himself at the garrulous blue
coat and slit his throat. His hands clenched
at his sides as he waited for his temper to
subside. When he was able to speak again he
said, “Does this Lieutenant Gilmore intend to
keep the woman here with him?”
”Naw. He can’t; it’s not legal. He has to return
her to her master. He’s taking a patrol tomorrow and escorting her to Denver.”
Having heard all he needed to know and
more than he wanted, as well, Wind Rider
took the money the lieutenant counted out
for him and left. His next stop was the
trading post, where he showed his furs
to Fred Riley. Once again Coyote’s advice
proved invaluable as he dickered with the
storekeeper. The lieutenant had been correct;
Fred Riley was an honest man who offered
a fair price for the furs. The money went
into a pouch Wind Rider carried around his
waist.
Wind Rider left the trading post and lingered
on the wide porch for a few minutes to get his
bearings. By now it was growing dark, and men were returning to their homes or mess
halls for their supper. His original plan had
been to camp a few hundred feet from the
fort and leave for Denver the next morning,
but upon learning that Hannah was still at Fort
Laramie he had altered his plans. On the verge of stepping out of the lengthening shadows,
Wind Rider froze, his silver eyes narrowed on
a man and woman passing by. Enough daylight remained to recognize the copper sheen of her hair.
Hannah! The intensity and fire of his emo
tions raged out of control when he saw the blue coat with her lean forward and whisper intimately into her ear. Her tinkling laughter set
his blood to boiling. She had never laughed like
that with him. Was that Lieutenant Gilmore,
he wondered, the man who was “sweet” on her?
Did Hannah return his feelings? Obviously, she
did. Was everything about her false?
His temper nearly exploded as he watched
them walk arm in arm toward a small house,
one of many along Officer s Row. He stepped from the porch and followed, keeping to the
shadows. He stopped abruptly when they
paused at the front door of a small cot
tage, speaking quietly for a few minutes
while Gilmore grasped Hannah’s hands and
stared into her eyes. Wind Rider did not notice
how quickly she removed her hands from his
grip, or that she deliberately retreated from
the subtle aggressiveness of his body. What he did see were her smile and her flirtatious man
ner. Did all white women act so shamelessly
with strange men? Cheyenne women were shy
and highly moral, even more so than Sioux
maidens.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Hannah
disappeared inside the house and Gilmore returned to his own quarters. If Gilmore had
gone inside with Hannah, Wind Rider wouldn’t
have been responsible for his actions. As it
was, he could hardly keep himself from killing
the man.
Wind Rider returned for his horse and led
the animal across the nearly deserted parade grounds around to the back of the building that he had seen Hannah enter. His conscience told
him he was behaving foolishly, that he could
get himself killed if he wasn’t careful, but his
death would be worth it. Just seeing the terri
fied look on Hannah’s face when he confronted her with her lies would go a long way to restore
his pride. He wasn’t certain what he intended
as punishment; he would know that when the time came.
Tethering his horse a short distance behind
the house, Wind Rider crept to the back
window and peeked inside. It was fully dark now, and he could see a light coming from
somewhere inside the house. A satisfied smile stretched his lips when he saw he was looking directly into the bedroom. He tested the win
dow to see if it would open. It did, noiselessly.
It never entered his mind to worry about what
could happen to him if he was caught as he
slipped inside and moved silently into a shad
owed corner of the room.
Hannah fixed herself a cold supper, heated
a kettle of water for tea, and sat down to
eat. Trent Gilmore had been kind enough to provide food for the few days she was
to remain at Fort Laramie. He had finally
received the colonel’s permission to escort
her to Denver personally, and they were to
leave tomorrow. His excuse for escorting her
himself was that he wanted to confront Mr. Harley and inform him that the law frowned
upon the mistreatment or abuse of inden
tured servants, and to let him know that he
intended to watch out for Hannah in the
future.
Of course, Hannah wasn’t so naive that she
didn’t know Trent was interested in her, despite
the knowledge that she had been Wind Rider’s
woman in every way. Trent appeared to be a kind man, but something about him bothered her. She could love no man but Wind Rider. She’d never forget the piercing brand of his
possession, or how eagerly she’d welcomed the
thick, heavy thrust of his hardness deep inside
her. If only she could have told him good-bye,
let him know no one could ever take his place
in her heart. But Red Cloud had sent her away and she had gone.
Hannah washed and put away the dishes,
grateful to Captain Coon for the loan of his
house. Picking up the lamp, she walked the short distance to the bedroom. As she stepped
inside the room, Hannah felt the hairs rise
at the back of her neck and stopped abruptly just inside the door. The lamp threw a
narrow circle of light a few feet wide, but
beyond that she could see nothing. Yet her
senses were alive; her skin prickled and all
her nerve endings were raw with sensation.
She held the lamp higher, illuminating all
but the far corners of the room. She saw
nothing.