Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  He lay down nearby and pulled his blanket over himself. Glory sneaked a furtive look around. The exhausted Indians lay asleep around her, and in the center circle burned a tiny campfire. She realized there were guards watching the horse herd, so there wasn’t any chance of escaping tonight. Besides, she was exhausted, and who knew what dangers lay out there on the dark prairie? She thought about the mysterious wolf that the Cheyenne said was leading them home. They thought it was big medicine, but more than likely, the beast was just waiting for a chance to take down a horse or anyone who ventured too far from camp unarmed.

  Anyway, the army must be gaining on them and might rescue her tomorrow or the next day, so she’d better not take the risk. Broken Blade might be the one who recaptured her. The thought of him made her scoot a little closer toward Two Arrows. He reached out and patted her. “You’ll be all right,” he whispered.

  So he hadn’t been asleep after all. No doubt, he was lying there watching to make sure she didn’t try to escape. Well, at least he hadn’t tied her up. Was he concerned about her comfort, or did he figure she’d given up the idea?

  Before dawn, she awakened to the sound of men speaking Cheyenne over the muted movement about the camp. She opened her eyes and saw the men sitting cross-legged around a council fire, smoking a ceremonial pipe they passed from hand to hand. Two Arrows sat in the circle now as an honored warrior, not hanging around the perimeter as a drunken outcast. Somehow, that pleased her. He had said some important things had to be discussed this morning. She wished she spoke more of the language so she could understand. She wondered if they were discussing her fate?

  Two Arrows sipped the strong, sweet coffee. The craving for whiskey had slacked off and he was relieved. He looked around at the other warriors. All looked weary and hungry, Many were old; too old for a hard journey like this. Some of the ancient ones like Sitting Man seemed to keep going on sheer bravery.

  Dull Knife said, “This is the last of our little bit of sugar and coffee.”

  “We are out of meat, too,” Tangle Hair, leader of the dog soldiers said, “and even if we eat all our horses, the meat will not last long, and then how will we carry the sick and very old ones?”

  They looked at each other and didn’t speak, all knowing that unless they got fresh mounts soon, those people too weak or old to walk would be left by the trail to die.

  Little Wolf scowled. “This is the way it was with the Nez Perce last year, except they had forests and mountains to hide in as the army chased them. We are on flat prairie.”

  “We must not stand and fight,” Thin Elk said. “We are almost out of ammunition, too.”

  Little Wolf glared at Thin Elk and Two Arrows remembered the gossip that Thin Elk was paying unwanted attention to Little Wolf’s daughter. Even if he did not like it, it was considered beneath a chief’s dignity to notice or criticize Thin Elk for this personal affront.

  Two Arrows considered the tribe’s desperate situation as he looked around the circle. “Somehow, we must get more horses and supplies.”

  Little Wolf frowned and stared into the fire. “We had hoped to slip through this Kansas, silent as shadows so the settlers and hunters would not join the army in chasing us.”

  Broken Blade’s cruel eyes lit up. “We will raid these settlers and take beef and horses and scalps!”

  “Then the settlers and ranchers will hunt us, too,” Two Arrows noted. “Every fight slows our march, and we must not be caught on the trail when the snows come.”

  Tangle Hair nodded. “The dog soldiers are ready to give their lives to protect the retreat as always, but Two Arrows is right—time is our most deadly enemy.”

  “Food and horses,” Dull Knife mused, “these we must have. If we can take them without killing whites, that is good; but we will do what we must.” He looked toward the creek, where, even now, gold and scarlet leaves fell from the trees and whirled toward the water to float downstream like tiny boats.

  The pipe passed to Two Arrows, and he held it a long moment, almost overwhelmed to think that he was once again accepted as a warrior of the people after all these years of scorn. He took a puff, savoring the sweet tobacco, and passed the pipe on. “Perhaps we could go on a hunt this morning before we begin our march. We might get a few deer or even find some buffalo.”

  “Hah!” Broken Blade sneered. “The hide hunters have killed all the buffalo! How long has it been since any of us saw even a small herd? Besides, we would still not have enough horses, and the ones we do have are mostly poor old nags. I say we begin raiding ranches! Half the horses these Kansas settlers own were stolen from Cheyenne herds. Besides, we owe them vengeance because of the massacre on Sappa Creek.”

  “Ayeee! Let us paint ourselves for war!” shouted younger braves, and a murmur of agreement passed around the circle. Faces grew hard and angry as warriors remembered the slaughter of Cheyenne women and children more than three years ago at Sappa Creek.

  Many of those here had lost a loved one in that massacre in northern Kansas, Two Arrows thought. Ranchers, settlers, and cowboys had joined the soldiers in the attack. Afterward, the soldiers had set the tipis ablaze and thrown the dead bodies on the fire. Moccasin Woman’s husband had been one of those killed.

  “Let us be calm,” Dull Knife cautioned, “and listen to Two Arrows, who knows how the whites think, since he has ridden for them as a scout. To raid settlers is to bring thousands more soldiers on the Iron Horses that run through this country. Do we not have enough soldiers hunting us?”

  “They hunt us because of the woman,” Broken Blade complained, glaring at Two Arrows. “If we killed her, they would stop following us.”

  Two Arrows felt sudden alarm. Automatically, his hand went to the big knife in his belt, and he was shocked to realize that he would use it to protect her if need be, even against his own people. “On the contrary, the soldiers will chase us even harder if we harm her; hunt us down like rabbits and take revenge.”

  Little Wolf nodded. “Two Arrows is right.” He looked around the circle at the others. “First, we hunt. Later, we will spread out, try to steal horses and supplies, but if we must, we will kill any who try to stop us. Nothing must keep us from reaching the freedom of the north. What say you?”

  There was a chorus of agreement and nodding heads around the circle.

  “Good,” Dull Knife said. “We know some of us will not make it, but it is glorious to give our lives to try. Let us make ready to hunt. We must be finished and on the move again before the soldiers catch up to us.”

  “Dodge City lies only a few miles to the north,” Two Arrows said. “If we time it right, we can slip past after dark. Dodge City will be full of cowboys itching to join the chase.”

  “Agreed,” Dull Knife responded, nodding that the meeting was ended. But as some got to their feet, Broken Blade demanded, “What about the white woman?”

  “Does Broken Blade want to make her his business?” Again, Two Arrows’s hand went to the knife in his belt. He would kill any man who tried to harm her, even though murder of another Cheyenne was a terrible taboo, and a man would be exiled for it.

  Little Wolf shrugged. “She belongs to Two Arrows, and may yet be useful as a hostage. Watch yourself, Broken Blade; you think too much about her.”

  Heads nodded in agreement as the men began to scatter. Two Arrows drew a deep sigh of relief.

  Glory sat up in her blankets, absently playing with her beaded bracelet and watched the council leaving the fire. Everyone was stirring now, going for water from the creek, cooking what little food they had. She felt concern when she noticed the children seemed too weary to play, and many of the horses’ ribs showed as they grazed.

  Two Arrows came over to her, knelt. “The men are going hunting, spreading out, hoping to get a couple of deer or buffalo before we take the trail again.”

  “Why don’t they just give up?” Glory asked. “Some of these people will surely starve and die on this trip. The army would feed them if they would onl
y surrender.”

  “Food or freedom?” he asked bitterly. “Cheyenne weren’t meant to live like that. Besides, if we surrender, the army might hang our leaders. Dull Knife and Little Wolf would rather die like warriors, from a bullet, than to be throttled by a rope. To die that way is shameful for a warrior.”

  “Lieutenant Krueger will hang you if he catches you, won’t he?” Glory realized suddenly.

  He grinned at her. “And give you a seat in the front row, no doubt.”

  She looked away so he would not see the fear she felt for him in her eyes.

  He began to gather up his weapons.

  “Where are you going?”

  Two Arrows paused. “We are going to spread out and hunt for a couple of hours, see if we can find some fresh meat.” He slipped her a small piece of smoked jerky. “Here, this is for you so you won’t be hungry while I’m gone.”

  Glory grabbed it, pulled off a bite, chewed it greedily. The salty, smoked taste was the best food she could remember eating. Abruptly, she paused. “Where’s yours?”

  “I have eaten mine already.” He busied himself with his bow and rifle.

  “You are a poor liar.”

  He shrugged. “Indians don’t get as much chance to practice as whites do.”

  “I can’t take this meat,” she insisted, “knowing you are hungry, too.”

  He looked at her a long moment. “So the Proud One’s heart softens toward me.”

  “No. I want you to live to be caught and hanged!” she snapped, the words sounding false even to her own ears.

  “Such spirit!” he said with admiration. “What fine, brave sons you would give a man; but what type of weak sons will the lieutenant sire?”

  “Now that’s hardly any of your business, is it?” She felt an angry flush rise to her cheeks.

  “We will see.” He finished gathering up his weapons. “I will return in a few hours.”

  In spite of herself, she felt alarm. “You’re—You’re going to leave me here alone?”

  “You are safe enough. The women admire you because of your helping Redbird, and most of the men will go on the hunt. Besides, no man will touch you, knowing you belong to me.”

  She gritted her teeth, thinking she might be wrong about not wanting the army to hang him. As she watched the arrogant way he strode away, she thought she might even want to be the one to spring the trap. He saddled his big paint and rode out at the head of the hunting party.

  She had eaten a little of the smoked jerky, but now she felt guilty. That both annoyed and surprised her. Why should she feel guilty? These savages were her enemies, her kidnappers.

  As she paused uncertainly, somewhere on the edge of the camp, a baby cried. Redbird would need food to be able to nurse her baby and certainly little Grasshopper and her grandmother were hungry, too.

  Glory took the meat and sought them out. The little girl ran to her, throwing her small arms around her legs with a glad cry. The two women smiled and nodded to Glory. She leaned over to peer at the small, dark-haired baby wrapped in a ragged scrap of blanket. She had some baby things back at her small store; she wished she had them here, and all those other things, too, for these pitiful people. By now, her creditors were probably taking the place over.

  Little Grasshopper smiled with delight. “You still wear my present I gave you?”

  Glory nodded and touched the delicate beaded bracelet. “It is beautiful like you. Every time I look at it, I think of you, my little friend.”

  Funny, Glory thought, it was getting more and more difficult to think of these valiant people as savages. All they wanted was freedom and a chance to return to their own homeland. That didn’t seem so unreasonable. “I have a little bit of meat,” she whispered to the older woman. “Perhaps you could make a broth for all.”

  “Isn’t it food Two Arrows gave you for yourself?”

  “I—I have already eaten my fill,” Glory said.

  “You lie bad as any Cheyenne.” Moccasin Woman smiled. “You must be Indian in heart. All right, I make broth and we all share.”

  Afterward, the old woman looked at Glory with a frown. “Your dress is ruined. I have a very fine dress I would like to give you. That is, if you do not mind dressing like a Cheyenne woman.”

  Glory’s heart went out to her. “I would be honored.”

  Moccasin Woman dug around in the things on her travois, very carefully brought out a dress of the most delicate doeskin, heavily fringed and delicately beaded and decorated with elks’ teeth.

  “Mercy,” Glory said in awe as she felt the butter-soft leather, “this is too beautiful! I can’t accept this. You should wear it yourself.”

  For just an instant, Glory thought she saw sadness in the older woman’s eyes, but then Moccasin Woman said, “Now look how broad I am. You think I fit this small thing?” She held it up, and sure enough, it was made to fit a much smaller woman.

  “Where did it come from?” Glory took it in her hands, admiring it.

  The other hesitated. “Same place those moccasins on your feet came from. Not polite to question gift. I be pleased if you wear it.”

  “You are so kind.” Glory hugged the magnificent dress to her body. “I’ll be happy to get out of this calico rag.”

  “In hour or so, sun will warm creek,” Moccasin Woman continued. “Then you wash yourself and put on dress. Maybe we comb the snarls from hair, too. Here, I saved pounded yucca root, which we use for soap.”

  Glory nodded as she accepted everything, remembering the right word. “Hahoo,” she said gravely, thank you.

  She sat down under a tree and watched Redbird nurse her baby while little Grasshopper and the other children played about the camp. The women and old men sat patiently, waiting for the hunting party’s return. Glory was touched by the hope in the weary brown faces. She looked toward the south, wondering where the soldiers were? She was surprised to discover that she didn’t want the army to come riding in and attack these people. If they would just leave her here for the cavalry to find, and ride on north....

  Glory wandered about the camp, waiting for the sun to warm the creek and autumn air so she could bathe. The children had no qualms about the cold water, and laughed and dived like sleek little otters. As she watched, Glory was appalled at how thin the little brown bodies were. The white people and the soldiers around Fort Reno probably didn’t realize, or didn’t believe how close to starvation these Cheyenne really were. A few, like Mrs. Frost, probably just didn’t care.

  As she wandered about the camp, nodding to the women who seemed almost friendly to her, Glory realized that all the men but the most ancient ones had gone on the hunt. Perhaps this was the ideal time to steal a horse and gallop away toward the south, where she would surely run into the pursuing cavalry. However, once she looked over the two or three bony old horses that grazed on the prairie, she gave up that idea. The hunters had ridden the few good horses, and these old nags probably wouldn’t get very far without collapsing.

  Eventually, the sun warmed the earth. Indian summer, Glory thought, that last brief time of glorious weather before winter’s cold winds blew in from the north to cover the world with snow until spring. She studied these weary, gaunt people as she gathered up the fine doeskin dress. Time was running out for them to travel. Soon, a blizzard might sweep down and catch them on the trail with little food and no shelter from the cold. She winced at the thoughts of the children, little Grasshopper, Brave Dream, and yes, Moccasin Woman and Redbird, miserable and dying on the vast prairie.

  “Moccasin Woman,” she called, “I’m going down to the creek to bathe.”

  The other nodded, preoccupied with helping Redbird with her darling baby.

  Most of the children had left the river and were lying up on rocks sunning themselves and resting.

  Glory found a secluded cove along a bend that was sheltered by sumac bushes. The sumac leaves were turning scarlet and above her, tree leaves swirled toward the earth, all scarlet and gold. She wouldn’t hav
e to worry about anyone seeing her naked in this area.

  Very carefully, she laid the beautiful, beaded dress and her moccasins in the fork of a bois d’arc tree, and added the dainty beaded bracelet to the pile.

  She looked down at the blue-flowered calico she wore and wrinkled her nose with distaste. It was not only grimy and tattered, it was dark with Two Arrows’s blood. She remembered the moment she had stabbed him. A lesser man might have killed her in a fury. Abruptly, she recalled something else, the taste of his lips on hers, his tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, the strength of the man as he had held her against him when she struggled and tried to get away, the hot wetness of his mouth on her breasts as he tasted them. And last, the throb of his pulsating manhood against her and the intense desire in his dark eyes.

  The memories made her face burn, and she inhaled sharply, then let out her breath with a shuddering sigh. Mercy, what was wrong with her? The sexual relationship with her husband had been hurried and without feeling. She could not ever remember her pulse pounding when Howard kissed her.

  She looked around, making sure no one watched her before pulling off the filthy dress, chemise, and pantalets. She stared at them in distaste. What to do with these? Certainly as ragged and bloody as the fabric was, no one could wash and wear them again. She might leave them hanging on a tree limb as a clue to the soldiers, but she was certain some sharp-eyed Indian would spy them and tell Two Arrows what she had done. Then his guard would be up again, and she would never get another chance to escape. Glory thought about it a minute, finally put the torn clothes under a rock near the water and waded out into the hip-deep stream.

  It was warm, she thought with pleasure. She looked down at her reflection in the water, appalled at the tangle her long black hair had become. Her breasts reflected in the water, and she stared at that, remembering Two Arrows holding her down with her hands above her head, twisting to get away while he sucked those pink nipples into swollen, throbbing points. You are always pretty to me.