by Shirl Henke
Morality among the Cheyenne was uncommonly strict by either white or Indian standards. Sexual relations between unmarried men and women was strictly forbidden, and adultery punished with public disgrace and ostracism. Divorce was possible but rare. In all the bands Wind Song had observed at summer camps, she had only heard whispered talk of three or four women who were known to be common harlots. No honorable man would ever offer them marriage, and they lived a degraded, meager existence on the periphery of tribal life.
She wondered how the veho were different, having heard rumors about their loose morals. Surely the grandson of Iron Heart would never dishonor her. Certainly she would never allow herself to be used so cheaply. Wind Song thought about the vast world beyond the sunrise, that place full of veho cities. She heard some of the old men speak of it, those chiefs who traveled to the east to meet leaders of the whites. Hunting Hawk had been part of that alien unimaginable world. Was he like them or like the People?
* * * *
Sunrise. Hot orange light filtered across the high plains as Hawk stretched and awakened instinctively. He had been unable to sleep past daybreak since his earliest memories, no matter how late he stayed up at night. Always this oneness with the birth of morning was his. Today he would go hunting with his grandfather and Stands Tall.
They split up, the three men, each taking a different track. By midmorning Hawk found fresh signs and silently crept to a nearby watering hole to wait. Within an hour his patience was rewarded. A young bull elk silently picked his way to the clean pool and cautiously scanned his surroundings. Sensing no intruder, he dipped his head to drink. Hawk took careful aim with his rifle and fired one shot. The big elk crumpled, hit solidly in the chest. As Hawk tied the elk across a wooden travois, Iron Heart admired the clean kill. It would be a good pelt, and the teeth on the young buck were beautiful, perfect for the elaborate trim sewn onto ceremonial dresses by Cheyenne women. He thought of one maiden in particular.
“The meat will roast tender and sweet,” the old man said as he greeted Hawk, who nodded absently as he worked.
“Yes, Calf Woman will make some fine stews as well, I imagine.” Calf Woman cooked for Iron Heart.
The old man cleared his throat, then spoke evenly. “I have much meat already in my lodge. Everyone has been generous to an old man. There are others in the village who could use it more...” He let his words trail off.
Hawk picked up the cue. “Tell me who, and I will take it as a present to his family.” Such generosity and mutual help between families of the People was always the custom.
“Standing Bear has grown old and infirm. His daughters are alone and have no one to hunt for them. Wind Song and Sweet Rain could use the elk meat.” He looked expectantly at his grandson.
Hawk grinned. “Then to the beautiful green-eyed Wind Song it goes. Even the teeth to decorate a dress.”
“Hrumpf,” the old man grunted, satisfied.
* * * *
Wind Song was in her father's lodge, removing food bowls from behind a willow backrest when she heard Hawk's voice outside, speaking with Standing Bear. Quickly she smoothed her braids and adjusted her leggings. Feigning a trip to the stream for water, she grabbed a big bucket and casually stepped toward the tepee opening.
“I have killed an elk. My grandfather has already received from others more than an old man alone can use. I offer it to you and your family, Standing Bear.”
The old brave was palsied and frail, far from the robust specimen Iron Heart was, even though Hawk's grandfather was far the older of the two men. Standing Bear nodded gravely; indicating that Hawk should untie the game. “For a sick old man and his two maiden daughters, your gift is most welcome.”
As if on cue, Wind Song emerged from the lodge. “Father, I—” She stopped short, her eyes widening as the tall, lean man effortlessly dragged the elk from the travois and deposited it in front of their lodge. He smiled in silent greeting. Hating herself for it, she blushed in response, then forced her voice under control and spoke.” I was going to fetch water. I will send for Sweet Rain to help me with the elk. We are most grateful to the grandson of Iron Heart for his generosity.”
“I am called Hunting Hawk.” Once more the disarming grin appeared, making the harsh lines of his handsome face soften.
“And my elder daughter is called Wind Song.” Standing Bear supplied the rest of the introduction. “Will you stay and eat with me? I would be honored.”
In response, Wind Song moved to spread a buffalo robe next to her father's side so Hawk could sit. Nodding gravely, Hawk squatted on the soft cover as the lithe girl slipped inside the lodge to bring food. She completely forgot her ruse about the need for water. As she was preparing dried fruit and strips of meat, Standing Bear began another coughing spell. Setting the food down quickly, she rushed outside to find Hawk supporting the old man's weight. Standing Bear struggled to breathe.
“It is better if he lies down with his upper body raised.” She began to help her father rise, but anticipating her need, Hawk lifted him up and carried him inside the lodge. Gently he stretched the pain-wracked man across a pile of robes, propping him against a backrest to ease his labored breathing.
Wind Song quickly mixed a small amount of the potion she had received from the medicine man and forced it between her father's bluish lips. His coughing subsided and his breathing became slower and deeper. Soon he slept.
Silently the two young people slipped from the tepee back into the day's bright grasp. “Thank you for helping. The attacks grow worse. I fear for another cold season.” Her voice was infinitely sad.
Hawk realized the truth of her words. Standing Bear could never survive another winter on the plains. “It is the white man's consumption?”
She nodded. “For the last two seasons he has grown thinner and the cough stronger. He was at Fort Robinson when there was not enough food or blankets. The white man's lodges are not as warm as ours. He came home sick and broken. Then my mother died and he just gave in to it.” Her voice was haunted by all the tragedy visited upon her young life, all brought by the spider people.
“Do you have other kin in my grandfather's village?” Hawk felt a wistful sympathy for this lovely girl of mixed blood.
She shook her head. “No, only my sister and I are left now.”
The other solution was obvious in Cheyenne society. She looked to be sixteen or seventeen. “Is there not one fine young warrior who you favor? Surely you have had many offer your bride-price.” `
She blushed, recalling the elk in front of the lodge. “No man has offered whom I would choose, yet.” She could tell her cheeks were hot with color, and was relieved when Sweet Rain burst in on their conversation.
“Oh, Wind Song, I was told to come help you with an elk. It is beautiful!” She looked at the big beast on the ground in undisguised pleasure. “Maybe this time I'll get my elk-tooth dress and one for you, too. If only you had not refused the elk Angry Wolf brought you yesterday!”
Unaware of the implications of her speech, Sweet Rain went inside and began to gather sharp adzes and skinning knives for the task at hand;
Hawk's black eyes took on a speculative gleam as he looked from the child to the flustered young woman who stood in acute embarrassment. Gently he said, “I must go now. Whenever you need my help, just send word, Wind Song. I will come.” With that he quickly took Redskin's reins, turned the empty travois, and left her standing silently in front of the lodge. She busied herself immediately with dressing the elk, afraid to look around and see if he was watching her.
* * * *
Early the next morning Wind Song really did need to go to the stream for water. Still pensive over her meeting with Hawk and distraught over her sister's teasing about his gift, she wandered down a seldom-used path to the river. It was overgrown with alder trees, but she could hear the rushing of water from behind the seclusion of greenery. Wanting a peaceful place to think in private, she wended her way through the bushes to the edge of the strea
m and knelt to fill the bucket.
Sweet Rain's taunts about Angry Wolf still burned her ears. He wanted to marry Wind Song, but she had refused him. Her father agreed that she did not have to marry a man she disliked, but how long could she wait? Already Angry Wolf had staked a claim on her by frightening off several other young braves who had courted her. Everyone was afraid of him. Hateful bully! She detested him, but if her father died and she was left without a protector, the chiefs would meet and give her to whoever they deemed best, probably Angry Wolf.
It was selfish of her to cause her father and sister to suffer this way. If she married Angry Wolf, her family would be well provided for because he was a good hunter and a rich man. Still her heart rebelled. She lost track of time, kneeling in silent misery, hidden by the tall grass at the edge of the water. Just then her twisted thoughts were interrupted by a sharp oath of pain from a male voice that spoke in the veho tongue.
“Damn!” Hawk had just nicked himself with â dull razor. He cursed for not taking time to hone it—and for needing it in the first place. Cheyenne men were certainly better off. What few chin whiskers they had they could easily pull out. He eyed the thick black stubble covered by the soap lather on his face and swore at his white blood. Just as he looked in the mirror to finish the shave, he heard a twig snap and a small gasp from the trees behind him.
Wind Song's frightened face appeared in the glass. She was standing in the thick undergrowth by the water's edge, bucket clasped awkwardly in one hand, staring in wide-eyed amazement at his soap-covered face.
He grinned crookedly and put his thumb to the nicked place on his jaw as he turned to greet her. “Good morning, Wind Song.”
Nodding, she lowered her gaze in mortification. “I did not mean to intrude. I was getting water and wanted to be alone, so I wandered farther from camp than I should have.” Then her eyes lifted, curiosity overcoming shyness as she looked at his face. His smile was warm and heartened her. “What—what is it that you do?”
He chuckled. “It may look as though I am bleeding myself, but I am really trying to shave off my whiskers. I do it badly, I'm afraid.” With that he turned and continued to scrape the lathered beard off with sweeping strokes of the razor. Finishing, he wiped his face with a rag and turned back to her.
Now his countenance was smooth and hairless. So that was why some white men had great bushes growing on their faces and others had none.
“There, you see, smooth as any Cheyenne.”
“Until tomorrow,” she said with a smile curving her lips. “You must do this every day? It seems a great lot of trouble.’’
He grunted in agreement, then changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on his white heredity. “You must have been deep in thought to be so quiet back there. What troubles you, Wind Song?”
Hesitantly she looked up at him. How could she explain it to him? She was already embarrassed enough by what her sister had said yesterday. “Our father grows weaker each day, and I am the elder daughter. It is my responsibility...”
“To marry a strong provider to care for your family,” he supplied for her. “And Angry Wolf has offered, yet you do not like him. Surely there are others?”
“He has driven them off,” she spat furiously. “There is no other brave enough to stand against that one.”
Now. it was her turn to eye him speculatively. When he looked back at her, she lost her boldness and stooped to pick up the sloshing water bucket, refusing to meet his gaze any longer. “I must go. My sister will be calling for me.”
Despite his unwillingness to be drawn into Iron Heart's matchmaking, Hawk was attracted to the maiden and sorry for her plight. “Do you come here often—to think?”
She smiled dazzlingly as she began to walk toward the clearing, hefting the large bucket effortlessly. “Every morning,” she replied, adding to herself, Every morning from now on.
For the next several days Hawk came to the stand of alders to shave each morning, and Wind Song came to fill her water buckets. If accidental and infrequent, such casual encounters between young women and men were permissible under Cheyenne social customs. However, the regularity and premeditation of their meetings was a serious breach of tradition.
Hawk knew he was taking a real risk of being trapped into an unwanted marriage. Nevertheless, he found Wind Song's innocence and beauty captivating. He was scrupulously careful to keep the relationship on a conversational level, never allowing it to move toward anything physical. But the attraction between them was a palpable thing, and he knew he could have her if he wished to pursue her. Hawk held himself in check, honoring the strict morality of the People and the trusting naïveté of the maiden.
“What are white women like?” Wind Song asked him one morning as she lowered her bucket into the clear rushing water.
Hawk paused with his razor in midstroke. “Depends. Some are all right, I guess. Some are evil. I am afraid I have spent more time with the bad ones than the good. Fine ladies avoid half-breeds, you see.”
Sensing the bitterness in his voice and puzzled about his life in the white world, Wind Song said, “You are the son of a powerful white man. You have been to their cities and schools. You must look like a white man when you dress in his clothes. Why would these women not find you pleasing?”
He smiled at her unconscious compliment. “Oh,·I have a good education by Noah Sinclair's standards, but despite it, the easterners know me as an Indian. Anyway, most white women want a rich husband. I have been a drifter and gunman, Wind Song.”
“But you are his only son,” she said in puzzlement.
Hawk gave her a pitying glance, realizing how little she could imagine of the twisted, hateful ways of the veho. “I am his son, but for the last five years of my mother's life he never acknowledged her as his wife. He was ashamed of her. He and I always fought. We never understood or loved one another, even when I was a boy. I never expected to inherit his riches. Neither did any of the women in the territory think I would. I am a terrible prospect for a husband.”
“That is not true—” She stopped short as a crimson flush stole up her neck and over her face. “I—I must go. My father will be wanting to sit outdoors on this warm day. I must attend to him.”
He moved quickly to her side before she could pick up the heavy bucket and took her lovely face in one hand, tipping her chin up and looking into her green eyes. “I am sorry, Wind Song. I did not mean to embarrass you. You are innocent and honest. You do not know how to dissemble. Stay that way.” He kissed her softly on the lips, a chaste, tender gesture that was over quickly. Then he let her go.
Trembling both for what he said and did not say, she scooped up the water and fled with his kiss and warm breath still caressing her mouth.
Hawk swore and turned to gather up his gear from the ground. “Time to be moving on. You may just have outstayed your welcome, at least if you don't marry that girl,” he muttered under his breath, uncertain of what he should do, or even of what he wanted to do.
He knew he must confront Noah about the railroad land being bought by Circle S men and find out what that greedy fox was after. Then what? He was as confused as ever, still wondering if he had a true home anywhere.
CHAPTER SIX
As he rode back to the Circle S, Hawk recalled his last conversation with Wind Song. He had told her he was returning to Noah's ranch to try and help the People escape the ravages of the railroad, making it clear that he was uncertain of when he would return. He could promise her nothing. They had spoken of their mixed blood and what it meant to each of them.
“I never knew my grandfather, the Frenchman. At times I do not feel I have any white blood in me, yet I know I am different. My eyes are the strangest color and my hair curls at the ends when the weather is damp.”
“Your eyes are beautiful, like a clear pool after a summer rain, like the ocean,” Hawk responded.
“You have seen this...this great water—the ocean? I have only heard of it and of the big cities of the white
s stretching along its side. And of boats that cross it to more great cities on the other side. Are there really so many tribes of white men?” Her eyes were wide with wonder and curiosity.
He smiled sadly. “Yes, too many tribes, all warring among themselves. The only thing they agree on is that all of them should exploit the red men. Sometimes I fear the People are doomed, Wind Song.”
“We cannot fit in their world, but you can. Why do you not go and live among them?” She said the words hesitantly, unwillingly, but she needed to understand the answer.
He considered. “I have spent my life between worlds, I guess. Part of me wants to be here, part of me cannot let go of the white ways instilled in me as a child. I really do not fit in either society. I still look for my place, I suppose.”
“The People will welcome you. You will always belong here, but it is up to you to choose if you want to be Cheyenne. The whites may not give you this choice. Do you want them to?”
Hawk pondered her question as he rode back to Circle S. He was sure Noah would never offer him a place in his world on any terms, but with friends like Frank and Kyle the young man already had acceptance. What else was there? Nagging thoughts of Carrie surfaced, her green eyes and Wind Song's melding together. What made him suddenly think of Noah's little fortune-hunting bitch of a wife? He swore and gave Redskin a kick.
At least he could salve his conscience about the lovely Cheyenne. Before he left the village, he asked his grandfather to take Wind Song and her sister under his protection when Standing Bear died. With the considerable influence of Iron Heart, she would not be forced into an unwanted marriage with Angry Wolf or anyone else. Of course, Hawk knew Iron Heart hoped his grandson would return to the People and marry Wind Song. The maiden wished it as well. He could feel it during the last weeks they had spent together, but his own desires were in turmoil.