by Karen Kay
Survival, keeping alive. These were important, and upon these principles, she felt aligned with Swift Hawk.
Lightning cracked overhead, followed by a crash of thunder, causing Swift Hawk’s pony to rear. But Swift Hawk kept his seat as if he were attached to it. Indeed, he reached around behind him and kept Angelia upright as well.
“Easy, girl,” Swift Hawk spoke to his pony. “You’re going to have to bring us to shelter, if we are all to survive. I fear the wind at our back gains on us. But you are a good pony. You can make it.”
The pony seemed to understand every word. She whinnied then shot forward out of the buffalo paths. She leapt through the tall grass, acting like she was part antelope.
“Let us fly like the eagle, pony,” Swift Hawk shouted above the noise. “We must find some low ground quickly. You must look for it. I must look for it. Together we will find it.”
With no further urging, the little mustang raced eastward, bounding over the grasses, vines and snags, the wind constantly beneath her hooves.
“Pony, do you see that bluff up ahead of us?” shouted Swift Hawk. “By its side is a creek, which cuts into the ground. It will give us protection. Ride there, my friend. Ride there.”
The pony strained, and Angelia saw that the pony’s mouth was foaming. But the rugged animal did not give up. Onward she struggled.
Suddenly the ridge was there. Just one leap, one more, and they were standing at the edge of a narrow ravine. Below, Angelia could see a creek, with its waters raging and white-capped under the influence of the winds.
Without wasting a moment, Swift Hawk urged his pony to cut a path into the chasm, prodding the animal down into it. But the pony needed no such goading, the animal picking a trail that allowed a gradual descent.
Even in this little valley, Angelia noticed that the trees and the shrubs were bent over double. But there was one cottonwood tree next to the creek, and it appeared to be holding fast, though it too was losing many branches to the raging storm.
As soon as they reached bottom, Swift Hawk jumped to his feet, set his weapons to the side and hauled Angelia to the ground in one swift movement, and drawing the trade-blanket and his buffalo robe from the pony, he hauled them over them both, the robes giving them shelter. Pulling her into his arms, they awaited the tornado.
Chest to chest, skin to skin, they sat. Angelia was shivering, and Swift Hawk’s hands were moving up and down her torso to warm her. Winds rushed at them, branches fell around them, some minor ones hitting their shelter, and always, the roaring of the howling winds threatened. A crash of lightning shattered into the ground, seemingly right into their little shelter, and Angelia jumped closer to Swift Hawk.
On and on it went, the winds reaching a deafening pitch. She shut her eyes, bent her head into Swift Hawk’s shoulder, and prayed.
Then as suddenly as it had come, the storm moved on. Angelia could hear the wind literally roaring past them. Even the next strike of lightning sounded farther away.
Dust, however, continued to fly everywhere, and for the moment, both she and Swift Hawk stayed beneath their tiny shelter. But Angelia would have been very naïve, indeed, had she thought the storm was finished. Still the winds howled above them.
“Are you all right?” asked Swift Hawk, setting her slightly away from him.
She nodded.
“E-peva’e. That is good. Prepare yourself. I must take this shelter away from us now and make a stronger refuge before it is too late. I fear there is not a moment to lose.”
Again she nodded.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Quick as the rushing wind, he jumped up to his feet, and taking the blanket and robe from around them, he set to work.
“I must carve out some holds against this canyon wall. While I do that, I will need you to find me two, maybe three strong sticks about this big…” he measured about three feet with his hands, “…or bigger. Try to find two that are about the same height. Act fast now.”
Rising to her feet, she discovered that embarrassment was a thing of the past, and she, too, worked steadily, sorting through the debris on the ground. A lightning bolt struck somewhere close by, but it was too distant to worry about.
However, the bolt was immediately followed by a drenching rain. No soft shower was this, no gentle sprinkles to announce the coming deluge. No, the downpour came, and it came at once.
Angelia found four sticks about the same size, and one extra stick for good measure, and pressing them to her bosom, she hurried back toward Swift Hawk.
They were both soaked to the skin and barely able to hear one another, let alone see each other through the downpour. Still Swift Hawk said, “You have done well. These will do fine. Come, we must erect a shelter against this canyon wall.” He had carved three holes into the sandstone wall, and taking the buffalo skin and three big stones, secured it to the wall.
After picking up two of the sticks, he drove them into the ground and tied the other end of the robe to them, placing a third stick, one slightly taller, in the middle, so as to gently slope the rain away from them.
“We will get wet,” he said, “but not as wet as we would had we no shelter at all. Now, you must gather some long grass—bunches of it—and hurry before it is too wet.”
She nodded, and scurrying around the canyon, she did exactly that.
Beneath that shelter, the ground was drenched, yet hard, but Swift Hawk quickly softened it, placing the long grasses on top of the firm earth until the floor was covered in a mat of grass.
Over this mat of grass, he set their trade-blanket then motioned Angelia to sit on it.
She did so at once, but still Swift Hawk wasn’t finished. She watched as he gathered together more of the long grass and branches and bushes, placing them around and over the lean-to until it looked as though it were a part of the landscape. Lastly, with her shotgun, he dug a ditch around their lean-to that would allow water to run off of them, into the ditch and eventually into the creek.
Drenched, yet his work done, Swift Hawk crawled into the shelter, setting the guns and his other weapons off to the side. Briefly, he gazed at Angelia and smiled before he opened his arms and invited her into them.
For the moment, they sat entwined. They were drier and safe from the storm. She was cold and he warmed her. She trembled and he calmed her.
At last he said, “I think we should rest.”
“Yes,” she agreed readily.
Barely had the word left her mouth than she turned her head toward him and shivered. Gradually she felt the gentle touch of his lips against the top of her head.
It was a comforting feeling, yes. However, from out of nowhere came a streak of desire, and she scooted in closer to him. She even placed her arms around his waist and pulled on him.
But if Swift Hawk knew what was in her mood, if he was experiencing an answering bolt of desire, he was greatly adept at hiding it.
Instead, he began to sing her a song, his low-pitched voice comforting, though she could little understand the words.
He rubbed at her hair, at her shoulders and neck, and her tired muscles relaxed. At some length, the song finished, and he said softly, “You should sleep. You are safe now. Sleep.”
Exhausted, she did exactly that. Though her dreams were filled with the images of a man called the Thunderer, who threatened and chased her with lightning bolts, she still slept peacefully. After all, he was there beside her, there to protect her.
Chapter Nineteen
“Ai, that is true,” Weasel Tail agreed. “They cannot sit quietly together. They have so much to say: ‘Do you love me? Why do you love me? Will you always love me?’ Such are the questions they ask each other, over and over again, and never tire of answering.”
James Willard Schultz
My Life as an Indian
Fort Leavenworth
“This is what them two look like, gov’na.” Hat in hand, Jack Hooper extended the writ and the wanted posters towa
rd Colonel Davenport. “They’s brother ’n’ sister.”
The colonel paused, then frowned. “Yes, they were here at the fort. The young man was hired as a scout for the wagon train that left for Santa Fe, oh, about a month ago. His name was…well, I can’t seem to recall it, but his sister’s name was Angel, or something like that.”
“That’s them. They’s wanted criminals back home.”
“Are they? What have they done?”
“Murder, sir.”
“Murder? It hardly seems possible. Both so young, good manners—seemed to be nice folks.”
“Well.” Hooper fiddled with his hat. “It’s almost murder.”
“Almost?”
“Man that them two shot’s on ’is deathbed. Should be dead any day now, way I figure.”
“On his deathbed? Which is it, man? Murder or attempted murder?”
Hooper cringed. “Don’t rightly know. Man should oughta be dead by now. Takes a while, now, ta get here from Mississippi.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “What is known for certain then is that they attempted murder?”
“Ah…ah.” Hooper scratched his head. “Could be.”
“And there is a five thousand dollar bounty for them?”
“Ah…aye, gov’na.”
Colonel Davenport rose to his feet and paced, his boots clacking against the hardwood floor. Lost in thought, he moved to a nearby window, where he stood silently gazing out over the parade grounds. “Mr. Hooper, that is your name, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“You must know that you have no jurisdiction here.”
“But—”
“And you have no authority to do more than bring this brother and sister back here for trial.”
“But—”
“That is not a federal warrant you have offered me as evidence.” Spinning away from the window, Colonel Davenport stepped across the room to stand behind his desk. “Five thousand dollars?” He took a seat. “That’s a mighty huge sum of money to offer for an attempted murder.”
“But like I was sayin’, the man should be dead by now, or right near. ’Sides, do it really matter? They tried ta kill ’im. An’ someone’s willin’ ta pay fer their return.”
The colonel squinted at the man. “Mr. Hooper, let us get one thing straight between us. It does matter. It’s a matter of the law, and I am here to preserve the law.”
“But I reckon they’ll get theirselves a fair trial back in good ol’ Mississippi.”
“Will they?” Colonel Davenport brought his gaze to Hooper’s. “Hear me. I will hold you personally responsible to bring the both of them back here to await trial—that is, if you do find them. They’ve several weeks’ advance on you.”
“But I gotta bring ’em back ta Mississippi ta Mister Riley.”
“What was that?”
Hooper thought for a moment. “Ta collect the bounty.”
“I see. Well, in due time. In due time.” Colonel Davenport dropped his gloves on his desk. “Now, that is all.”
“That is all?”
“Yes. That is all.”
Jack Hooper scowled at the colonel and gritted his teeth. Damn military. Damn colonel.
If he had the courage, he’d tell this officer exactly what he thought of him. But Jack Hooper hated confrontation. After all, why risk one’s neck when a shot in the back would do as well as anything?
The colonel glanced up from his desk. “Will there be anything else?”
Hooper scowled at the man, but all he said was, “Naw,” and slamming his hat on his head, turned and trudged toward the door.
Once outside, Hooper wasted no time in heading toward the livery where he had left his horse.
“This is my ’orse, I’ll be takin’ him now,” he said to the liveryman, and grabbing hold of his horse’s reins, he led the animal away from the fort, out onto the plains.
Damn the military and their laws, thought Hooper once again, as he stamped over the ground, looking for the beginnings of the Santa Fe Trail. Hooper had his orders from Riley, and they certainly weren’t to bring the brother and sister back to Fort Leavenworth.
But this colonel presented Hooper with a problem. Elmer Riley expected the girl delivered straight to him—the boy to be killed.
If Hooper didn’t deliver or if something went wrong, Riley would put a bounty hunter on Hooper’s own trail. And Lord knows how many crimes Jack Hooper had committed to plague his everlasting soul—enough to fill out a good wanted poster.
Naw, he wouldn’t be bringing the brother and sister team back to Fort Leavenworth.
After all, this was the West. Out here anything could happen. Men were known to die, if not by Indians, then by as little as a simple accident.
Yep, in this land anything could happen. And perhaps he, Hooper, might see to it that this time it did.
Swift Hawk didn’t sleep. How could he when she was beside him, with her body huddled into his? With her breasts nestled up against his side, with her leg thrown over his?
He drew in a deep breath, wishing he had a shirt in which to clothe her. He tightened his arms around Angelia, intent on enjoying the moment. She shivered, and he realized she still wore her shoes, the wet leather of them perhaps contributing to the coolness of her body temperature.
Reaching down, he carefully removed each shoe and her hose. It was an exquisite activity, for her feet were slim and delicate. Briefly he rubbed them, listening to her soft sighs. Lying back, he took her once more in his arms and rubbed her up and down, as though by friction alone he would warm her.
Closing his eyes, he experienced a sensation of well-being. How good this felt. How good this was for his soul. If only he could keep holding her, if only she were his.
Maybe the future held a chance for them. Was it not possible that once his obligation was discharged, he could do all he wished for her?
Yet the desire to brand her with his lovemaking now was almost irrepressible. His body did not understand why he hesitated. Alas, regardless of his own scruples, his body seemed to be ever alert to any opportunity.
But she was asleep.
Yet, it would take little to awaken her. And here they were…alone. It was almost perfect, for the storm raging outside would ensure they would not be disturbed.
But, he cautioned himself, it was not perfect. As individuals they were divided on a very important matter—marriage.
Afterward, he would say to her, We are married.
And she would respond with, No, we are not, and have never been.
It was a conversation they had already held, and one which had ended badly.
No, as he saw it, his only option was to place strict control over himself. Yes, strict control. But how to do it?
“My son.” Swift Hawk heard the voice of his adoptive father as though it were yesterday. “Know that honor often demands that a man withhold himself from his woman. And yet, his desires may be many.
“The wrong path, my son, is to choose another woman, unless she be another wife to help your first wife. But even on this, the two of you must agree. Keep in mind that if you break this first pledge to your wife, your home will be filled with conflict, and your peace of mind will be shattered.
“The better way is to control your manly instincts, and there is a way to do this. Focus your passions into action. There are many ways to exhaust the body so greatly that a man does not think of lovemaking so much. Hunting, running, fighting, wrestling, warring—these are all good things. Remember, my son, sometimes a man needs to cure himself of his desires, and he does this with extreme action.”
Action. Yes, that was it, activity.
And yet, here he lay, with the object of his affection wrapped securely in his arms. Was it any wonder that he felt so greatly tested?
Haa’he, he knew what he would do. As soon as she slept deeply enough that she would not awaken easily, he would take whatever steps were necessary to build a fire. Perhaps, too, he would check his stores of pemmican,
for if they were low, he would seek to find food, if not some animal in hiding, then he would fish.
Yes, such was a good plan.
If only there were as workable a remedy for his heart.
Angelia awoke amidst a soft bed of grass and the trade-blanket, which Swift Hawk had laid under her. She felt the ground in front of her, only to find herself alone. Not only that, the blanket, which was fragrant with the scent of horseflesh as well as that of grass, was wrapped around her. And in the air was the scent of… Could it be?
She opened her eyes. Was it…? Yes, she was right. There at her feet, toward the opening of their lean-to, was a fire. Was something cooking there? And how had Swift Hawk managed to build a fire in such weather conditions?
Above her, she could hear the falling of the rain, yet her bed was unusually dry. Glancing upward, she noticed that the buffalo robe, their ceiling, was only a few inches from her head. But because the ground below her angled downward, there at her feet, the lean-to was perhaps a good three and a half, maybe four feet high. Tall enough to allow a person to sit upright.
Tree branches, bushes and long grasses were positioned against the lean-to so that these became their walls on both sides, and though drops of moisture fell through their barrier, any that were caught in the shelter seemed to dry rather quickly.
At present Swift Hawk’s back was toward her, his weapons off to the left of him. There was a fire in front of him, and beyond him was the gray curtain of rain, which was now falling more gently. The entire picture that was presented to her was greatly endearing. As it was reminiscent of home and hearth, a feeling of warmth swept over her.
Wrapping the blanket securely around her, she scooted downward. “Good afternoon, I think. It is still afternoon, isn’t it?”
Swift Hawk stiffened. But when he glanced over his shoulder at her, there was nothing but good humor on his features, though he did not smile. “It is still afternoon, though it is late.”
“Yes, I thought so.” She crawled down even farther so that she might sit up. “It isn’t dark enough outside to be night.”