Skin splattered with dried mud, her hair a rat’s nest of filthy snarls, Hannah presented
much entertainment as Wind Rider led her
through the village. Children followed, shout
ing, pointing, laughing. Some jabbed her with
pointed sticks until Wind Rider sent them
fleeing with a few sharp words. The women
weren’t so easily dismissed. A few pelted her with dung while others tugged at her hair,
obviously making fun of her pathetic state.
Hannah ducked the dung as best she could but wasn’t entirely successful. Before long her
hair and skin were splattered with filth. The
people following behind her and Wind Rider
had grown into a small crowd. Wind Rider
reined in abruptly, and she plowed into the side of his mount, staggered, and sat down
hard on the muddy ground. Derisive laughter turned her cheeks fiery red and her Irish tem
per exploded. Picking herself off the ground,
she glared defiantly at the Indians, who were
pointing and holding their noses, as if offended
by her stench.
“Aiyee! Our Cheyenne brother has returned
with his slave. I’m surprised you spared her
life; she smells worse than the village dogs.
There is no accounting for some men’s tastes.”
The crowd cleared a path for Cut Nose.
Hannah glared sullenly at the ugly Sioux,
aware that he was making fun of her. While he
and Wind Rider greeted one another, Hannah
looked curiously about her. The village ap
peared to be quite large, with more tepees
than she could count spread over a flat plain.
She could see hills in the distance, and a
river winding through them. Dogs ran helter-skelter, barking and fighting with one another
for scraps of food. The sound of raised voices brought her attention back to Wind Rider and
Cut Nose. She wished she knew what they were
arguing about.
“You are a courageous man, Wind Rider, to
bring this wretched creature to our village. If you wish to be rid of her, I will buy her from
you.” He leered at Hannah, looking through
the dirt and grime to some perceived worth.
He’d always hungered to taste white flesh but
had never had the opportunity. “Take your pick
of any of my finest horses.”
“She isn’t for sale.” Wind Rider’s harsh voice
brought a sneer to Cut Nose’s ugly face.
“Can it be that you have already mounted her despite her stench? Obviously you have derived
some pleasure from her or you wouldn’t turn down my offer. No man has finer horses than I, and you have so few.”
A slow flush crept up Wind Rider’s neck. He
didn’t like to be reminded that he had lost his fine herd when he had left his tribe at Sand
Creek and ridden north to join the Sioux. Had
he wanted a wife, he couldn’t have paid the
bride’s price.
“The woman is my slave; she is not for sale,”
Wind Rider repeated with ominous portent.
“No one is to touch her; is that clear?”
Runs-Like-A-Deer chose that moment to appear, obviously pleased to see Wind Rider looking so hale and hardy. “No one is questioning your right to the white woman, my Cheyenne brother,” he said, sending Cut Nose
a stern look. Runs-Like-A-Deer was a respect
ed chieftain whose word was rarely disputed.
Though not as important as Red Cloud, he was
nevertheless a wise and courageous warrior. He belonged to the mighty War Dog society, as did Cut Nose and Wind Rider. “I do not think even
Red Cloud would dispute your right. Unless,” he added idly, “he wishes to ransom her to the
white eyes for one of our own.’
Wind Rider relaxed and slid from his mount. “Little Sparrow is worthless to the white eyes,”
he said disparagingly. Not entirely true, Wind
Rider thought but did not say. If Little Sparrow could be believed, her owner might be search
ing for her at this very moment. ‘I’m sure there
are other more important hostages to offer to
the white eyes. This one I will keep.”
Runs-Like-A-Deer noted Wind Rider’s look of
fierce possession and the fact that he had given the woman an Indian name, and wondered at
it. But it was none of his business; he did not
inquire into Wind Rider’s motives, although he
knew Cut Nose had taken a liking to the frail captive and would do his utmost to claim her
for himself. Runs-Like-A-Deer couldn’t imagine what either man saw in the plain little
sparrow, but that was their affair. For him
self, he preferred his two plump wives, whose
well-rounded flesh warmed his blankets on cold
nights.
When both Cut Nose and Runs-Like-A-Deer
turned and walked away Hannah steeled her
self for what was to come next. She didn’t have
long to wait. Wind Rider barked an order, and
one of the children ran off. He returned a few minutes later with a pole about three feet long
and a length of rope. Wind Rider pounded the
pole deeply into the ground with a rock and fastened the end of her tether to it. He tied her
hands, then stood back to inspect his handi
work.
“No, don’t leave me like this!” Hannah tugged
at the rope with her bound hands.
Hardening his heart, Wind Rider turned
and entered his tepee. The flap came down
into place with a jarring thud. The women
and children who had been watching with
much amusement decided Wind Rider’s exit
gave them license to do as they wished with
the captive. Whooping with joy, the children found sharp sticks and formed a circle around
her, taunting and jabbing her cruelly. Refusing
to cry out, Hannah glared at them defiantly. But when the women joined in the enter
tainment she could not suppress a yelp of
pain when a particularly vicious blow bruised
her ribs.
Wind Rider tried to close his ears to the
cries of his captive as the women and children taunted her. Many of the women had lost chil
dren and husbands to the white eyes and they
deserved their fun, as long as it didn’t get out of hand. But when Hannah let out a wail of agony he reacted instinctively. He thrust aside
the tent flap and burst through the opening.
Legs spread wide apart, he stood over Hannah,
glaring fiercely.
“Be gone!” he ordered harshly. “I will punish my slave as I see fit.” His words were met
with sullen looks, but were obeyed neverthe
less. When they were alone he nudged Hannah
with his toe. “Are you hurt?”
Hannah glowered at him. “Why should you
care? I never saw such vicious women. Will
they be back?”
“They will not return. You didn’t answer me.
Where are you hurt?”
”I—my ribs. The women derived great pleas
ure from jabbing me with sharp sticks.”
“They will not hurt you again.” He turned to
reenter his tepee. He was filthy and wished to
go down to the river and bathe. And he was so hungry his ribs were touching his backbone.
“Wind Rider! My brother told me you had
returned. Are you recovered from your wound?”
The woman who spoke carried a kettle and offered it to Wind Rider. “I thought you might
be hungry after your long journey.”
Wind Rider turned, saw Spotted Doe ap
proaching, and smiled. Though not as modest
and retiring as Cheyenne maidens, Spotted Doe,
an exceptionally pretty young Sioux woman,
gave every indication that she favored him
above other men. She was sister to Cut Nose.
“I am well, Spotted Doe. Thank you for the food. I am indeed hungry.”
“You should have a woman to care for you
and cook your meals,” she hinted slyly. Her bold smile indicated that she should be that woman. “If you’d like I’ll tend to your wound.”
“Perhaps later, Spotted Doe, after I bathe
and eat. But I assure you it is fine.” Wind Rider couldn’t get over the difference between
shy Cheyenne maidens, who cherished their
virginity, and bold Sioux women, who found no reason to abstain from sex if they found
a man who pleased them. And if they were
displeased with their man after marriage, they
simply divorced him. All they need do was leave
their mate’s tepee.
Spotted Doe smiled enticingly. “I will return later.” Suddenly she spied Hannah, huddled against the pole to which she was bound. “So this is your slave.” She placed a finger to her nose. “She stinks. Cut Nose said she was an ugly, pitiable creature and my brother did not lie. What are you going to do with her?”
Hannah stared at the beautiful Indian maid
en, aware of her contempt and loathing. The
woman’s large, doelike eyes held no hint of
compassion, no spark of kindness. The only
time they softened was when she looked at
Wind Rider. Was she Wind Rider’s woman?
Hannah wondered dimly.
“She is my slave and will do whatever I tell
her,” Wind Rider said. “Women’s work is dif
ficult; she will not be idle.”
Spotted Doe’s eyes narrowed. “I am glad she is
ugly. If she was beautiful, you might be tempted
to take her to your blankets.”
“The woman is a whore, accustomed to bed
ding many men. But fear not, Spotted Doe, I
have no intention of bedding my slave. Little
Sparrow does not appeal to me.”
Wind Rider had no reason to believe he would
soon wish back his words.
Hannah sagged against the pole to which she was bound, glad to see the last of the lovely
Sioux maiden. The girl’s dark, glowering looks
gave mute evidence to the scathing contempt she felt for the white female slave Wind Rid
er had captured. Had the maiden considered
Hannah a threat for the affection of Wind Rider,
Hannah had no doubt she would have found a
way to eliminate the threat. Hannah thanked
God the maiden considered her unworthy of the
attention of a mighty warrior like Wind Rider. Wind Rider watched the seductive sway of
Spotted Doe’s hips as she walked away. He
hadn’t had a woman in a long time, and
he wondered if the Sioux maiden would lie with him. He briefly considered visiting one
of the camp whores, or a widow known to
accommodate young warriors, but somehow the idea did not appeal to him. He glanced at
Hannah, recalling how she had looked with her
body free of filth and her hair gloriously clean
and shining. His body hardened, envisioning the copper-hued forest cresting her woman’s
mound. He wondered how it would feel to
thrust his mighty rod into the tight warmth
of her sheath. He scowled fiercely, sickened
by the thought of the countless men who had
used her body in such a manner.
Hannah wondered what Wind Rider was
thinking. He was staring at her so intently
and frowning so sternly, she feared that he
meant to do her bodily harm. A roll of thunder
called her attention to the drenching rain that
had plagued them off and on all day. Would Wind Rider leave her out in a raging storm all
night?
Wind Rider heard the thunder and wondered the same thing. If he left his captive to the mer
cy of the elements, she might become ill and
die. Yet she stank so badly he didn’t dare allow
her inside his tepee. Another roll of thunder
made up his mind. Turning abruptly, he disap
peared into the tepee, emerging a few minutes
later stripped to his breechclout and carrying
a bundle under his arm. Then he bent and
untied the end of the rope binding Hannah to the pole. He tugged her to her feet.
“Where are you taking me?”
Disdaining an answer, Wind Rider jerked
on the
rope.
Hannah
stumbled
after him,
the pressure on her tender neck propelling
her forward. He took her to the river/untied
her hands, and removed the rope from her
neck. He frowned when he saw the ugly raw
burns marring her flesh. He had had no idea
her skin would be so sensitive. Once she was
free of her fetters he pushed her toward the
river. When she balked he removed something from the bundle he had brought along, swept
her into his arms, and walked into the water.
When the water surged up to his waist he set
her on her feet and shoved some leaves into her hand.
“Soap plant,” he said. “Use it to wash away
your stink. Take off the shirt; it smells of
dung.”