Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  She managed to avoid anyone seeing her as she cantered away from the post, telling herself she was obligated to relieve the scout’s suffering. It was because of her, he’d been whipped like a dog.

  As she rode closer to the circles of tipis, she was acutely aware of the dark, silent people pausing to stare at her as she passed. How ragged and thin they were, she thought with dismay. The northern Cheyenne had been crowded onto the reservation of their southern relatives here in the Indian Territory last year. The soldiers said they weren’t happy and wanted to return north, where the air was cold and there was still enough game to feed the children.

  The Indian people stared at her with open hostility as she rode into their camp.

  A prickle of alarm went up her back, but she kept her head high and proud, not wanting them to know she was uneasy. Glory wished she had not come now, but she had thought it would be perfectly safe since it was broad daylight. Her conscience had been pricked by the welts on the man’s broad back. No doubt David was feeling the same, but he’d never admit it. Glory would give the salve to Two Arrows’s woman and ride out.

  Dozens of silent, angry Indians surrounded her as she rode in. Yes, the people were thin, and most were dressed in rags. It was so much worse than the whites at the fort realized ... but many who had lost relatives in Indian raids or at the Little Bighorn would not care.

  “I have brought some medicine,” she began, but the women stared up at her blankly. The only friendly face she saw was the little girl she had given a candy stick to this morning. The child smiled shyly from behind an older woman’s skirt, probably her grandmother.

  They don’t understand English, she thought. Glory held up the small jar of salve. “Two Arrows,” she said.

  The little girl started to speak, but the grandmother shushed her and stared back at Glory. “Him hurt.”

  She looked away so the guilt wouldn’t show in her dark eyes. “I—I know. I bring medicine to give his woman.”

  “No woman,” the wrinkled grandmother grunted. “Her dead; him child dead.”

  Two Arrows and David had something more in common than their hatred, she thought. “Two Arrows,” she said again, and the old woman gestured toward a tipi away from the others.

  Glory looked around. “Who cares for him?”

  The old woman shrugged. “Nobody; white man’s scout.”

  Glory regretted coming at all. She would put this ointment in the tipi and go home before David found out she was here; before it got dark. She dismounted and marched toward the tipi, the crowd following her silently. Glory hesitated, then stooped and went into the lodge.

  Inside, a small fire burned in the center, casting a glow of light across the furs and weapons there. With a start, she realized he was here. Two Arrows lay on his belly against the back of the lodge. He must be either asleep or unconscious, Glory thought as she took a deep breath. The inside of the lodge smelled of smoke, cured meat, and the scent of a man.

  Until she stood looking down at him, she had forgotten how big and powerful he was. She felt a sense of shame as she stared down at the muscular, bare back, crisscrossed with whip marks. If David hadn’t been so jealous and so worried about her safety, he never would have struck the scout. Besides, it was against regulations to strike a soldier, had been since before the Civil War. Maybe that didn’t apply to Indian scouts.

  What to do? She would leave the ointment by his head, so that when he woke up, he could get someone to apply it to his back. Even if he didn’t have a woman, there must be one who cared about him. Glory leaned over to place the ointment by his hand.

  Abruptly, his hand snaked out and caught her wrist, yanking her down to her knees. She gave a small cry of dismay, but he only glared at her as he rolled over on his side. “Why do you sneak up on me, white woman? And where did you steal that bracelet?”

  “I didn’t steal it; little Grasshopper gave it to me. How dare you call me a thief!” Glory tried to pull away from him, remembering again how strong his hands were. “I—I brought some ointment for your back. I came because I was sorry—”

  “You came to gloat,” he whispered, “you come to see what your telling has done—”

  “I didn’t tell; I never would have.” Glory was as angry as she was scared. “I’m trying to help you—”

  “I don’t need your help.” He seemed to spit the words at her as he let go of her arm, and she scrambled to her feet, dropped the salve, and backed away.

  “I didn’t tell the lieutenant; I’ve been looking after myself for over a year now. I’m not a weak girl who goes crying to a man for help.”

  His dark, handsome face was stoic as he glared back at her. “Keep your salve, white girl; I don’t need charity.”

  She couldn’t keep her gaze from sweeping across his big frame. He was taller than David and more powerfully built. She had a sudden feeling that he could pick her up with one arm, and she was not a petite type. “Surely there’s a woman who cares—”

  “There was a woman.” He almost whispered it, but there was pain in his dark eyes. He no longer seemed to see Glory; he was talking to himself. “We were camped on the Washita when the Yellow Hair and his soldiers came riding in at dawn. They’re all dead; my woman, my children.” He seemed to have forgotten Glory as he reached to pick up a bottle of cheap whiskey from the buffalo robe and took a long drink. “Sometimes at night, I hear them crying for help, and I wasn’t there; I wasn’t there....”

  Glory waited, torn by the pain in his face as he stared into the fire, which threw grotesque shadows across his tired features. Abruptly, she felt like an intruder. How could she have thought she would make everything right with a stupid little jar of salve? Silently, she turned and left the tipi, brushing past the crowd of stoic people.

  “Somebody needs to see about Two Arrows,” she said to the old woman as she mounted.

  She shrugged. “When the ghosts come, he drink. Him no dog soldier now, him white man’s Injun. No belong here.”

  Heads nodded in agreement.

  Glory nudged Misty and rode out, thinking the scout was as bad off as she was; she didn’t belong anywhere either since she’d been scandalous enough to divorce her faithless, abusive husband. Other women stayed in such marriages. Trouble was, Glory wasn’t like other women; how often she’d been reminded of that by her outraged father. Like the scout, no one cared about her. No, that wasn’t true. David cared about her. Yet David was haunted by his own ghosts. Three misfits, she thought, thrown together by chance and circumstances. No, four, if she counted Corporal Muldoon.

  Glory rode back to the fort, put her horse away, and freshened herself up. She put on David’s favorite dress, the one with the tiny blue flower pattern, and began preparing dinner. She just hoped no one had seen her riding out to the Indian camp. David would scold her for her reckless disregard for her personal safety.

  He arrived promptly at six. David was always prompt. She served beef, well-done, as civilized men preferred it.

  Afterward, they went into her small parlor and in the deepening twilight, David sat down at her piano and began to play and sing. He had a fine baritone voice. “In the gloaming, oh, my darling, when the lights are dim and low,”

  She leaned on the piano and smiled politely, knowing he was singing words of love to her, but her mind kept returning to the hostile, moody brave.

  “and the quiet shadows falling, softly come and softly go.” David looked into her eyes as he sang, and the expression on his square, aristocratic face told her how sincere he was about his feelings for her. “When the winds are sobbing faintly with a gentle, unknown woe, will you think of me and love me . . .”

  Her mind drifted away as she listened to the beautiful melody and played with the beaded bracelet she still wore.

  “Glory, your mind must be a million miles away. What on earth are you thinking about?”

  She realized then that he had finished the song. “Oh, I was just enjoying the music.” She clapped politely. “You
have such a fine voice.”

  “I was hoping you were paying attention to the words; I mean them deep from my heart.”

  “I know, David.” She patted his hand absently.

  “Glory, I know your marriage was hell, but I’ll make you forget all that. With your charm, you could win over my father. Besides, no man will ever love you as much as I do.”

  He would never marry her as long as his father disapproved; the colonel’s opinion meant too much to him. Good, dependable, dutiful David. “Yes, I know, dear. Would you like another cup of coffee?”

  He shook his head. “When I finally leave the service, we could live on my father’s estate; Father won’t live forever, and someday I’ll inherit the place.”

  She busied herself lighting the lamp. “I thought you own a big spread in Texas you bought just before the War started?”

  “I do.” David frowned. “Even though the Comanches have been corralled, the memories haunt me; until I learn to deal with them, I could never live there.”

  “Then I don’t know what you’ll do,” Glory said. “As far as the Kentucky estate, I’m not sure the colonel wouldn’t disinherit you over marrying a divorcee.”

  “I’m the only son he has left, Glory, with William dead in the War and Joseph killed ...” His voice trailed off and she knew he felt guilt and responsibility over both his kid brother and his dead wife.

  “Play something lively,” Glory urged him, thinking that David and Two Arrows had more in common than they knew. Maybe that was why they disliked each other so much.

  “Only if you’ll play a duet.” He reached out and pulled her down on the piano bench beside him. “What’ll it be?”

  She wanted to change the subject and the mood. “What about ‘Camptown Races’?”

  They both began to play and sing and finished laughing. Glory got up then because she was afraid that if she stayed there beside him, he would put his arms around her and talk of love again. Tonight, she didn’t want to think about love.

  “It’s getting late,” David said, standing up and looking toward the door regretfully. “I need to go. I don’t want the ladies gossiping about you.”

  “They do anyway,” Glory said.

  He put his arms around her protectively. “If you were married to me, they’d soon forget your past. I have money, Glory, if we get far enough away, no one will remember—”

  “That’s what my father counted on, but you see, the scandal followed me all the way to Indian Territory.”

  “Think of it, Glory, we could start fresh. I own the finest thoroughbred stallion in the western U.S. Second Chance will be the foundation sire for the best stable in the country. You’ve got the best mare I own.”

  She looked up at him. “You shouldn’t have, David. Gray Mist is quite valuable.”

  “I want you to have her, my dear. When we’re married, that pair of horses will start the best herd in America.”

  She twisted out of his arms and went to stare out the window into the darkness.

  He came over, stood behind her, put his square, capable hands on her shoulders. “What’s the matter, my dear? You seem so preoccupied.”

  Oh, dear God, was it so apparent? She kept seeing Two Arrows’s tortured face as he talked of his wife and children. “Oh, nothing. A little Cheyenne girl came into the store today; I gave her candy. I told you about the bracelet.”

  “You’re such a soft heart, but I love you for it.” He nuzzled the back of her hair.

  Glory kept her body stiff. “She was ragged and hungry-looking. All the Indians here look pretty desperate.”

  He sighed against Glory’s dark hair. “I know. Even though I’ve got good reason to hate Indians, I feel sorry for the poor devils. It seems old Dull Knife and Little Wolf brought their people all these miles down here at government insistence. They say the White Chief told them they could go back home if they didn’t like it here.”

  “Did they tell the Indians that?”

  She felt David shrug. “Who knows? They probably told them anything that would get them to come peacefully, but of course, they won’t let them go back.”

  She turned, looking up at him. “Why not?”

  “Well, I suppose that Washington figures if other tribes see it, they’ll all start clamoring to change reservations.”

  “It seems like such a small thing,” Glory said.

  “To be honest, I suspect Washington’s trying to keep them away from their old friends, the Lakota. If they linked up again like they did two years ago, we might have another big Indian war.”

  “David”—she took his face in her hands—“that pitiful child haunts me. Won’t you talk to the colonel and the Indian agent; see if something can be done?”

  “It won’t do any good,” David said, “believe me, we’ve tried. Even I’m not so cold-hearted that I can watch women and children go hungry, but Washington just sends letters telling us to control them. The northern Cheyenne have been grumbling that they’ve been promised they could return home, and they want to.”

  “How would they get there? Isn’t it a long way?”

  David nodded and made a gesture of dismissal. “Of course it’s a silly threat. It’s almost fifteen hundred miles back up to the Dakotas, and they only have a few good horses; they’d have to walk all the way.”

  Glory chewed her lip. “Isn’t that what the Nez Perce did last year up north?”

  David frowned. “Lot of good soldiers killed there.”

  “Indians, too,” she reminded him.

  “Glory, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” David frowned at her. “I didn’t come here to talk about Indians, yet that seems to be almost all we’ve done.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, that pitiful child unnerved me.” She gave him a quick kiss to mollify him.

  David took her in his arms and held her close. She put her head against his shoulder, thinking if she would let him, and if his father gave permission, she could be David’s wife, protected and secure. When they returned to Kentucky, with his family connections, no one would dare gossip about her, and she wouldn’t have to worry about money.

  He kissed her then, a prim, dry kiss. She felt nothing, but then, she didn’t expect to. Everyone said that women were not expected to feel anything, just submit to a man’s baser appetites.

  David took a deep breath. She could feel his body grow tense against her. Abruptly, he sighed and took her by the shoulders, seemed to step away from her by sheer willpower. “I must be going, my dear; it’s late.”

  She saw him to the door, handed him his hat. “You do look so dashing in your uniform, dear.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ll look even better when I get my captain’s bars back. All I need is some heroic action, a chance to clear my record of the mistake I made at the Powder River almost two years ago.”

  “It was an honest mistake; and you’ll get your rank back,” she assured him as she let him out. “I do hope it happens for Muldoon, too.”

  “Ah, the old rascal; if we hadn’t served together all these years, I’d give up on him. If he’d stop gambling and be a little more spit-and-polish, he wouldn’t have lost his stripes. Another chance; that’s all we need.”

  “That’s all most people need,” she said softly, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “ ’Night, David.” She closed the door behind him.

  Preoccupied, Glory lay down across her bed fully dressed in the blue-flowered calico. In the warm darkness, twisting and turning on her lonely bed, she was unable to sleep. Through the open window, the prairie wind carried the scent of wildflowers, campfire smoke. She got up and went to the window, stood staring out at the silent fort, turning the small bracelet over and over absently. The restless breeze rustled through the dry prairie grass and carried the rhythm of throbbing drums from the Cheyenne camp to her room. She felt suddenly closed in in the small, cramped box of a house. She would go for a ride. No one need ever know. Why, she’d even use a sidesaddle; that would hush everyone. Quickly, she
slipped out to the stable.

  “Hello, Misty,” she crooned, patting the sleek dapple gray head. The mare nuzzled her hand, and Glory gave her a sugar cube. “Are you as bored and restless as I am?”

  The mare snorted.

  “Then we’ll go for a short ride,” Glory declared. “I’ve got too much on my mind to sleep.”

  She saddled up and rode out at a walk, holding her breath. What would she do if she were discovered? No doubt David had told all the soldiers on guard duty to watch out for her, so she rode out a different way to bypass the sentry. The drums seemed to be louder, even though she was not riding in that direction. She reined in, hesitant, listening and curious. What could the Cheyenne be doing this late at night? The soldiers never seemed to pay much attention to the rhythmic drums. The sound seemed to be drawing her like a magnet.

  Maybe she’d just watch from a distance. Glory took a deep breath, pulled the ribbon from her hair, shook her hair loose so that it blew in the breeze. Now she felt as free as some mustang filly. Glory laughed aloud and raised her chin proudly. Then she wheeled her horse and rode toward the Indian camp.

  Three

  Two Arrows stood in the darkness just beyond the big campfire, watching the meeting of the Cheyenne leaders. Once, as a proud dog soldier, he would have been welcomed there, his words would have been heard with great respect. Now, as a white man’s Injun, the men paid him no more heed than if he’d been a skulking cur lurking about the camp.

  His head ached from cheap whiskey, and the quirt cuts on his back still throbbed, though he had put on a buckskin shirt to hide the humiliating marks.

  The arrogant white woman crossed his mind, and he shook his head to chase her spirit away. She was the woman of the lieutenant and had brought him nothing but trouble. When he had grabbed her bridle to save her from falling as her mare reared, she had mistaken his intentions. He both hated and desired her; desired her as he had not wanted a woman in a long, long time. Yet he had been wrong about the white woman; she was no different and no better than the rest. Two Arrows would have thought her too proud to run and tell the lieutenant about last night. Aieee, what did it matter?