Comancheros (A Cheyenne Western. Book 7)
Page 13
Once, before he raced ahead into the night, Big Tree turned to meet Touch the Sky’s stare. The look he sent the Cheyenne seemed to promise that they would meet again.
“Never mind that!” Touch the Sky exclaimed when Two Twists loosed another war cry and started chasing the fleeing enemy. “You’ve earned enough glory for one battle, buck! Now let us get our people back to their tribe before our enemy drinks that strong water and starts hungering for revenge!”
~*~
The Cheyennes and Riley’s soldiers delayed only long enough to dig shallow graves for Victorio Grayeyes and his young brother Delshay. Riley agreed to take the girl to live with the Apaches at the reservation at nearby Mater Dolorosa. No Apache was happy on a reservation, but at least she would be with her own blood.
Knowing they might be pursued, Touch the Sky carefully watched their back trail. He pushed his band as quickly as he dared across the Llano Estacado, forced to pause often to rest the weakened women and children. Finally, Touch the Sky heaved a huge sigh of relief when the hunt camp came into view below them in the valley of the Red River.
The rest of the tribe was elated at the return of the prisoners. Touch the Sky and his band were greeted as heroes and a Sun Dance was given that same night. But hard upon the heels of this heady joy came cold reality for Touch the Sky. The very next day, Black Elk and his band returned on horses they had managed to steal from the Comanche herds.
Black Elk, Wolf Who Hunts Smiling, and Swift Canoe felt humiliated in the eyes of the others—especially Black Elk, whose face flamed with hot blood as he thought about the sight of Touch the Sky riding triumphantly into camp, his squaw on the tall dog’s lead line.
“Home is the mighty warrior, one day later than his squaw!” some whispered. And though Black Elk could not hear their words, he heard the derision in their laughter, saw the scorn in the slanted glances they shot at him. After all, had he not strutted about camp before he left, playing the he-bear? Indians did not mind a boaster unless he failed to match his brag.
On the night before the tribe was set to begin the northward trek to their summer camp, Black Elk caught Touch the Sky in front of his tipi.
“Gloat, Woman Face. Once again you have played the big Indian at my expense. But know this. Our lances will cross yet, and only one of us will ride away. And I have just told Honey Eater what I am now about to tell you. She is my squaw, not yours. If she shames me one more time in the eyes of my people, I am going to kill her.”
“She has never shamed you and never will. But I have already spoken on this matter, and my words have not eroded. I tell you again. Since you have violated Cheyenne law in the treatment of your wife, I do not recognize Cheyenne law in the matter of your rights as a husband.
“Lay a hand on her,” Touch the Sky continued, “and you had better sing the death song yourself because I will feed your liver to the dogs.”
Black Elk grinned, his flap of dead ear gruesome in the flickering camp fire. “Fine, White Man’s Shoes. Feed as many dogs as you wish. At any rate, that will not bring your Honey Eater back, will it? I will gladly die, if it keeps you from bulling my squaw.”
Before Touch the Sky could reply, his war chief had disappeared into the darkness. But the truth of his words mocked the tall young Cheyenne long into the night. Touch the Sky no longer feared what Black Elk might do to him. However, clearly Black Elk was truly insane with jealous rage. And Honey Eater was virtually his property, to do with as he pleased.
There was a time when Black Elk, a better man, had truly loved Honey Eater. But from this day onward, she was sleeping with a rattlesnake in her tipi. And that rattlesnake might strike at any moment—to kill him or Honey Eater.
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