Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  She might not speak English, Glory thought, but the girl caught the friendly tone.

  “Well, Grasshopper, good morning.”

  The little girl only stared back at her, then moved silent as a shadow to stand before the big glass jars on the counter full of peppermint sticks and horehound drops.

  Glory chewed her lip, watching the little girl. Of course the Indians had no money. They didn’t even seem to have enough to eat, much less money for white man’s candy. It was not good business practice, but Glory found herself reaching into the jar of peppermint sticks. Silently, she presented the candy to the little girl. “This is a gift from me to you.”

  For a long moment, the child looked from Glory to the candy. Then she took off a small, beaded bracelet she wore and offered it gravely.

  “Oh no.” Glory shook her head. “The candy is free; you don’t have to give me anything.”

  “Gift in return,” the child said insistently, holding out the delicate bracelet.

  There was a matter of pride here, Glory realized, as she recognized a spirit so much like her own. “In that case, my small gift shames me; I must give more.” She took a small sack of flour, a slab of bacon and added them to the candy as she accepted the bracelet. “Your gift is better than mine.”

  The child brightened at the sight of the food, grabbed it up as if afraid Glory might change her mind. She turned to scurry out the door and collided with the formidable Mrs. Frost, who was just entering.

  The wife of an employee of the Indian agent was certainly well named, Glory thought, but she put on her friendliest smile. “Hello, how may I help you?”

  “Humph!” The dumpy lady looked after the running child with blue eyes as cold as her name. “You shouldn’t encourage them. You’ll have a store full of those redskin urchins.”

  “The Cheyenne children seem to be so hungry and ragged,” Glory said.

  “It’s their own fault if they’re hungry; my dear husband and the agent are doing their best to get the lazy savages to farm. Your sympathy is misplaced.”

  She must not offend a customer, Glory reminded herself, noting that Mrs. Frost didn’t appear to be missing any meals. She slipped the bracelet on her wrist.

  “Injun junk!” The other sniffed disdainfully.

  “Quite the contrary, I think it’s lovely.” Glory was determined to hold her temper. “How may I help you, Mrs. Frost?”

  “I’m in the middle of a cake, and I’ve run out of sugar,” the older woman snapped, “otherwise ...”

  Otherwise, she would have driven into the settlement instead of shopping here, Glory thought. “How much do you need?”

  “One pound, and hurry, please.” The woman’s thin lips were tight with disapproval as she looked over Glory’s dress.

  “Of course. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Glory put on her best smile, reached for the metal scoop and a brown paper bag. She scooped sugar from the big barrel, weighed the sack on her scale, and tied it up with a string.

  The stout woman took the package, put some coins on the counter, looked Glory up and down again. “Bright calico? With your father less than six months in his grave?”

  “How nice of you to notice.” Glory met the other’s gaze with a firm smile. She was not about to apologize or explain to the gossipy old biddy.

  “Tsk! Tsk! But then, I suppose we shouldn’t expect any better from a divorced—”

  “Good day, Mrs. Frost. Think of those hungry Indian children while you’re enjoying your cake and don’t slam the screen on your way out.”

  “Why, I never!” the other huffed in righteous indignation. “No wonder you’re the talk of the post!” Mrs. Frost sailed out of the store like a big ship under full sail, and she did slam the screen.

  “Mercy, Glory, now you’ve gone and done it,” she muttered to herself. “Why couldn’t you be humble and bow and scrape a little? Then she might have considered you a poor, unfortunate wretch and urged the other ladies to do a little business with you.”

  She would not cower, Glory thought as she glared after the outraged woman. Glory had too much pride, her father had said; she would not lower herself and grovel or beg to save her own life, much less her business.

  Glory went to the store window and stared out at the dusty parade grounds. The big regulator clock on the wall ticked loudly as time passed, but no other customers came in. She did have an order to fill for elderly Mrs. Brown, who didn’t seem to care what people thought ... or maybe it was because the old lady was infirm and had trouble shopping at a more distant store. Glory filled her basket with the order, hung the “Be Back Later” sign on the door, locked up, and left. She walked over to the small houses on the edge of the post, delivered her order, visited a moment with the old widow, and started back.

  Passing the barracks, she was abruptly aware of the buzz of conversation and the crack of a whip. Curiously, Glory changed her path and went around the buildings. A line of cavalrymen were standing stiffly at attention while a man stood tied with his hands above his head against a stable wall. The man was stripped to the waist and his muscular brown body gleamed in the light as David brought the quirt down again. “I’ll teach you to molest a white woman! How dare you touch Mrs. Halstead!”

  Even as she opened her mouth to protest, the riding crop came down across the brown back again, leaving another red welt there. The Indian flinched, but he did not cry out.

  “David, no!” She ran forward as the whip came up again.

  The officer paused with the whip in the air. “Glory, stay out of this. This scout deserves to be disciplined, you know that.”

  “Don’t, David, he’s had enough.”

  The stoic Indian never moved or even gave a sign that he had heard her.

  David hesitated, his square blond face uncertain. She had placed him in a humiliating situation before his men—she knew that—but that didn’t matter to her at the moment.

  “All right,” he snapped curtly to a sergeant, “cut him down. I think he’s learned better than get drunk and lust after a white woman again!”

  As Glory held her breath, a sergeant stepped forward and cut the ropes binding the man’s hands. Two Arrows sagged against the barn wall, but he did not fall. He turned his head ever so slightly and looked at her. Glory shivered at the scorn and hatred in the handsome dark face, still marked by the welt she had put across his cheek with her tiny whip. And yet there was still that passion burning deep in those intense eyes—passion so strong, it unnerved her.

  Because of her, he’d been whipped like a cur, and yet, the intensity of his gaze told her that even after all that, Two Arrows still desired her. That wasn’t what scared Glory and caused her sharp intake of breath. To her horrified surprise, as she stared into his burning eyes, something primitive deep inside her stirred in response!

  Two

  Glory held her breath, terrified that David might realize that something electrifying had just passed between her and the scout.

  However, David seemed too busy with his duties to notice her response. “Get him out of here!” Lieutenant Krueger ordered, and threw down the whip in a gesture of disgust.

  Soldiers stepped forward, tried to get their arms under Two Arrows’s sagging wide shoulders. He shook them off, stepped forward alone, even though he swayed on his feet.

  David snapped, “Aren’t you forgetting something? Salute me, Scout.”

  Instead, the Cheyenne’s lip curled in disgust and very deliberately, as Glory watched, he strode away.

  David turned to the burly sergeant. “Dismiss the squad.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man snapped him a salute, gave his orders, turned smartly to join his men, and the soldiers marched away.

  Glory gritted her teeth, watching the scout, his brown back stiff with resentment. She waited until the soldiers had marched out of hearing distance. “Oh, David, I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  David confronted her, his earnest face red and confused. “I thought you’d be relieved that he’d
been punished. Instead of behaving like a proper lady, your interference made me look like a fool.”

  “I’m sorry.” She caught his arm. “But David, this isn’t like you. I can’t imagine you flogging a man, especially since it’s against regulations—”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He kicked the whip with disgust. “I let my temper get the best of me because of what Muldoon told me—”

  “I don’t think I was in any danger, not really.”

  “More than you know, Glory.” David put his big, square hand over hers and patted it gently. “I saw the way that savage looked at you just now, like he was willing to risk any punishment to possess you.”

  To possess you. In her mind, the strong hand reached up and caught hers as they struggled for her little whip. Shuddering at her own reactions, she took the lieutenant’s arm, and they began to walk. “You’re imagining that, David. You’re letting your own terrible tragedy affect your judgment.”

  The lieutenant winced, and she was sorry she had mentioned his wife’s death. “You’re probably right; Two Arrows is a good scout; except when he’s drinking, which is more and more often this past year. You know what drove me to fury?” He paused and looked down at her. “I couldn’t bear the thought that he had put his hands on you. All I could see in my mind was Susan alone and screaming, while a pack of savages—”

  “Don’t think about that, dear.” She kept her voice low and soothing, and they began to walk again.

  He shook his head. “It’s never far from my mind. The Comanches are allies of the Cheyenne, did you know that?”

  She didn’t answer because he seemed to be talking to himself. “The way that savage looked at you just now—”

  “I’ll try to be a little more careful so I won’t worry you.” She felt the blood rush to her face, remembering the way the big, virile savage had stared at her. Even with his back cut and bleeding, he was thinking how it would be to take her in his arms. She felt guilty because, just for an instant, she had imagined it, too.

  “Glory, you make me crazy sometimes. I pride myself on calm judgment, yet, when Muldoon told me about Two Arrows trying to drag you off that horse—”

  “Did your old corporal also tell you I hit the scout across the face with my riding crop?”

  David blinked. “No. I wondered where that mark came from. I hear he’s killed men for less. Still, that doesn’t matter; he’s a savage. Two Arrows was once a top dog soldier, bravest of all the warrior clans. Now even his own people resent him for being an army scout.”

  “How’d he come by those two bad scars on his chest?” She stopped suddenly, not wanting to admit she’d been staring at the Cheyenne’s muscular brown nakedness, but the lieutenant didn’t seem to notice.

  “Sun dance scars. Hard to believe that drunken redskin was once a respected warrior.” David laughed without mirth. “But then, so was I, once.”

  “You’ll regain your rank, be a captain again, and then you’ll be promoted to major. Your father will be so pleased.” Glory comforted him, patting his hand absently like a sister would.

  He seemed to notice her beaded bracelet for the first time and frowned. “Where’d you get that?”

  She smiled and turned it over with the fingers of her other hand. “Isn’t it pretty? One of the children gave it to me.”

  “It is difficult to hate the children,” David admitted. “The women and children are always the innocent victims when men fight.”

  She didn’t say anything, aware that David was probably still thinking of his own personal tragedy. They paused to watch a troop of cavalry drilling on the parade ground, the September sunlight reflecting off the shiny brass buttons and rifles. A captain sat a bay horse, surveying the marching troops.

  “I’ve got to regain my rank,” David muttered, pain in his pale blue eyes as he stared at the other officer’s back. “Glory, you don’t know how important this is, almost as important as you are. When I regain my rank, perhaps we will talk of marriage.”

  She paused and, taking both his hands in hers, looked up at him. “Have you even mentioned this to your father?”

  He looked shamefaced. “Well, no, I couldn’t seem to put it in a letter, but I’ve got an idea I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, David, you know as well as I do that he will explode. From everything you’ve said about him, your father will be so upset if you marry a divorcée—”

  “The colonel! ” he snorted. “He’s let me know all my life how much I’ve disappointed him; what a shame it is that of his three sons, I’m the only one alive. If I could ever catch him in a good mood when I’m home on leave, and tell him about you—”

  “Marrying me wouldn’t help your career,” Glory reminded him.

  “Perhaps not, but then, I wrecked my own career at the Powder River fight against these same Cheyenne I guard now,” he said ruefully. He squeezed her hand and smiled. “I love you, Glory, you know that; no man could ever love you as much as I do.”

  She patted his arm absently. “I know that, David. It’s just that, well, I don’t know if I want to be married again.”

  “You wouldn’t regret it.” He kissed her fingertips.

  But you might, she thought. Besides, from what she’d seen so far of marriage, she didn’t want any more of it. True love and passion were only for silly storybooks.

  The scent of sweating horses and the rhythmic sounds of troops marching drifted on the warm September air.

  “This is no time to discuss it, David.” She gave him a warm smile. “I’ve got to get back to the store.”

  His earnest face wrinkled into a frown. “I don’t know why you bother to try to keep that store open; you know some of the ladies are trying to run you off this post.”

  “Even more reason I should try.” Her head came up proudly.

  “You’re too brave for a woman, Glory,” he said softly. “You should have been a man.” He reached in his pocket for his pipe.

  “Now you sound like my father,” Glory snapped. “He never let me forget that he would have preferred his only child be a son.”

  David paused in filling his pipe. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “I’m sorry”—she raised her chin—“I just don’t have much patience with these spineless lady types.”

  He laughed out loud. “What they would say if they heard you talk about them that way!”

  “That’s the least of my worries.” Glory shrugged. “I’m not afraid of them and what they think.”

  He grinned as he lit the pipe. “May I call on you this evening?”

  “I suppose.” Glory tried to sound more enthused than she felt. “I’d planned to go to bed early, didn’t sleep very well last night.”

  “Well, no wonder,” David grumbled, puffing and blowing sweet-scented smoke. “I suppose you couldn’t stop thinking about that Indian grabbing you.”

  How could he possibly know? She didn’t look at him as he leaned over and planted a prim, dry kiss on her lips. In her mind, she imagined how the Cheyenne scout’s hot mouth would feel against hers.

  “Glory, I didn’t mean to embarrass you with my little show of affection,” the officer apologized. “You’ve flushed brick red.”

  “It’s all right, really.” She was flustered and confused, glad he couldn’t read her guilty thoughts. “Why don’t you come to supper tonight, David? We’ll talk.”

  “I’d like that.” He smoked his pipe, his earnest features lighting up with pleasure. Dependable, solid; maybe even a little stodgy, she thought, and was immediately ashamed of her disloyalty.

  “Fine. Six o’clock then. Good-bye now.” She turned and fled toward her store, upset with herself because of the shocking images of that savage that kept coming unbidden into her mind.

  Of course there were no customers waiting for her to reopen. Glory went in, scolding herself. Her rash actions last night had stampeded a slow and deliberate man into losing his temper and whipping one of his own sco
uts. It was all her fault for not doing what was expected of her and behaving like a prim and proper lady. Ladies did not go out riding alone at night.

  And white men’s docile Injuns did not try to drag white women off their horses. This Cheyenne was not docile; he was as untamed and defiant as she herself.

  She thought about the scout’s wounds. He’d been whipped like a dog in front of other scouts and a squad of white soldiers. She felt both guilty and angry. There was no doubt from the way he had glared at her that he thought she had tattled to David. Maybe it shouldn’t, but that thought bothered her.

  “Mercy! Are you crazy?” she scolded herself. “He brought it on himself, grabbing your horse and then grabbing you.”

  But he hadn’t touched her hand until she had struck him across the face.

  Glory leaned against the cabinet, staring at the supplies within and thinking about the marks on Two Arrows’s back. The northern Cheyenne had been sent down here under orders from Washington to join their southern relatives. The tribe was poor and had little in the way of medicines; they didn’t even get enough food and clothing, although David said requisitions had been sent repeatedly asking for more supplies. Washington wasn’t interested in savages thousands of miles from politician’s offices, especially Cheyenne. It had been only a little over two years since Custer had been killed at the Little Bighorn.

  She wondered if Two Arrows had been there. In her mind, she saw him half-naked and smeared with war paint, galloping into battle. Something in that image appealed to the wildness in her own soul.

  And because of her, he’d been beaten and humiliated. It didn’t seem just. The least she could do would be to take some ointment over and give it to his woman to soothe his scarred back.

  She waited until four o’clock, but no customers came in. Mrs. Frost had probably already told everyone on the post about this morning’s confrontation. What was Glory to do? She was running out of options. It did no good to keep the store open if she had no customers.

  At least this day was almost over, except that now she had to deal with David for dinner. Taking the ointment, she saddled Misty, the beautiful thoroughbred David had lent her. The only finer horse on the post was the chestnut stallion, Second Chance, David rode. The Kruegers were famous for the fine horses from their northern Kentucky stable.