Wolf Runner cast her a quelling glance. “We will speak of that later. Let us hope you know how to ride a horse,” he stated calmly.
Cheyenne’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Of course I can ride. Every woman in New Mexico Territory knows how to ride a horse.”
Taking her valise and securing it to the packhorse, he nodded at the pinto. “That will be your mount,” he prompted, swinging onto his own mount, which he rode without a saddle. “I hope you can handle him.”
“Just because I wasn’t born in an Indian village, doesn’t mean I can’t handle a spirited horse.”
“We shall see about that.”
Though angered by his tone, Cheyenne chose not to reply. That was when she noticed Wolf Runner’s attention was centered on her traveling gown, and she could tell he thought she was improperly dressed for the journey.
Cheyenne touched a pleat on her traveling gown. “I have no proper riding habit.” Why hadn’t he gotten her a sidesaddle?
“Where we are going no one has even heard of a ‘proper’ riding habit,” he said. “Mount up.”
Cheyenne had the feeling he was testing her in some way, and she did not intend to rise to the bait.
“Will your dog follow us?” she asked, kneeling beside the animal and rubbing the stiff hair on its back.
“Don’t touch him!” Wolf Runner warned. “Move back slowly.”
But it was too late—Cheyenne had already laid her face against Satanta’s head. Wolf Runner tensed. Satanta had never taken well to strangers.
Wolf Runner dismounted and moved closer to Satanta, placing a hand on the wolf’s head.
“Stand back, Miss Gatlin. Slowly. Satanta is not a dog, he is a wolf.”
Cheyenne knew Wolf Runner expected her to pull away in fright, but she merely glanced into the animal’s eyes and rubbed his ear. In truth Cheyenne felt sudden fear riveting through her body, but she refused to let him see how afraid she was, even when the bitter bile of panic rose in her throat.
A wolf!
She was touching a wolf.
She attempted to make her voice sound normal, but she did not quite succeed. “I have never been this near a real wolf before,” she said, hoping Wolf Runner had not seen her hands shaking. “He seems as gentle as a dog.”
“Miss Gatlin, Satanta is a wild animal, and if he took it in his head not to like you, he could tear your head off.”
She stood, hoping her legs would not collapse beneath her. “But he didn’t attack me.”
Giving the animal’s head a final pat, she moved slowly away from him, while instinct urged her to run.
Wolf Runner was still shaken by what could have happened to Cheyenne if Satanta had objected to her touching him. “Miss Gatlin, in the future you should not go bounding headlong into danger without thinking.”
Cheyenne’s sorely tried patience finally crumbled. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she gave him a glacier look, saying, “Well, who would expect someone to bring a wild wolf into a town where there are people about? It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
He was startled by her outburst. Wolf Runner was not accustomed to being questioned or chastised. All he could do was frown at Cheyenne as she crammed her boot into the stirrup and mounted her horse, showing a fair amount of petticoat.
When she was settled comfortably in the saddle, she said airily, “I am ready to leave when you are.”
His dark gaze pierced hers. “One of the first things I want you to do when we stop today is get out of those petticoats. You cannot ride well with so much heavy clothing.”
“No. I certainly will not. And you should not be discussing a woman’s undergarments.”
His dark eyes smoldered as he mounted his horse, and she sensed danger. She wanted to say more, but the determined expression on his face sealed her lips. She reminded herself she wanted to cause him as little trouble as possible. So far that was not working out so well.
“Did you hear me, Miss Gatlin?”
Cheyenne gritted her teeth. If removing her petticoats would satisfy him, what choice had she? “I heard.”
“Well?”
She bit back the words she wanted to say and murmured, “I’ll do it.”
As they rode out of town, the few people who were up and about seemed to take no notice of them or the giant silver-white wolf running beside Wolf Runner’s horse.
“You do know where we are going?” Cheyenne asked because she could not resist provoking him after the petticoat incident.
He gave her a disgruntled nod. “Did you think I would just start in a direction and hope to end up where I wanted to be?”
Her courage left her. “No…I—”
“Miss Gatlin,” he interrupted. “Where we are going is as familiar to me as Santa Fe is to you.”
She bit her lip to keep from delivering the hot retort that came to mind. Wolf Runner perplexed her. Sometimes he seemed to make an effort to be kind to her, and other times he treated her as if he didn’t like her at all.
As they left the town behind Wolf Runner ignored Cheyenne and she lapsed into silence.
It was going to be a long journey.
They had been traveling through a deep mesa with terra-cotta-colored bluffs rising on both sides. Half turning in her saddle, Cheyenne watched a thin serpentine curl of smoke evaporate among the low clouds that hovered across the valley. Although it seemed they were traveling in an isolated and inhospitable countryside, she supposed there was a ranch nearby, maybe more than one.
Wolf Runner kept a close eye on the darkening clouds overhead. So far the rain had held off, but he knew it was but a matter of time before they had a downpour. A good soaking would be Miss Gatlin’s first discomfort—there would be other challenges before too many days had passed. Her grandmother had raised her to be a lady. He would soon know if she had the courage and stamina of an Indian, or if she would fall apart at the first hardship.
They had been riding quietly until late morning, when Wolf Runner finally called a halt to rest the horses. He uncapped his canteen and handed it to Cheyenne, while Satanta streaked off into the bushes.
Out of the corner of his eye Wolf Runner saw Cheyenne grimace as she dismounted. “Are you doing all right?” he inquired, watching her closely, waiting for her to complain.
Cheyenne would never admit to him that she was weary, or that she ached in the places where her body came in contact with the stiff saddle. “I’m fine.” Taking a deep drink, she handed the canteen back to him and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “How long will it take to reach my grandfather?”
He took a drink and then gazed into the distance. “I cannot be certain, since I do not know exactly where he is located. What I do know is we will be going through rough country. And we must be alert to danger at all times.”
Cheyenne gathered her horse’s reins and almost groaned in pain when she settled back into the saddle. “What do you mean by rough and dangerous country?” she asked.
“Outlaws, renegade Indians who have broken away from the reservation, among other dangers.”
“Do you mean to frighten me?” She raised her chin and gave him a haughty glance. “If you are, it’s not working.”
“Miss Gatlin, you had better be afraid—it could save your life. The country we will be traveling in is harsh and unsettled. Just make certain you do everything I tell you. Stay close to me and do not take it into your head to wander off on your own.”
“There will be times when I need privacy.”
“I understand that,” he bit out, watching her chin go a bit higher.
Wolf Runner suddenly chuckled, his shoulders shaking. “Then again, you might just frighten anyone we meet up with, if you glare at them the way you are glaring at me.”
His humor surprised her. She was not accustomed to banter between a man and woman and hardly knew how to react to his lighter mood. Her confusion must have shown on her face because his laughter deepened.
“I need priva
cy now,” she told him with a scowl.
Wolf Runner halted his horse. “This would be a good time for you to remove your petticoats.”
Sliding off her horse, she wordlessly stalked off behind a clump of cedar bushes and unhooked, un-snapped, and stepped out of her petticoats and stays, letting the offending garments lay where they landed.
When she returned, Wolf Runner looked at her in satisfaction. Then he noticed the soft outline of her body as her gown fell in soft pleats across rounded hips. His body tightened unexpectedly and he looked away from her.
“Mount up. We do not have all day.”
Cheyenne ground her teeth. His light mood had left him. He was as sour as before.
The rain held off until it was almost sundown, and then it came down in torrents. Lightning split the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground and echoing off canyon walls.
“We will camp here,” Wolf Runner said, swinging off his horse. “I will hobble the horses,” he yelled to be heard above the rain. “It would help if you unloaded the packhorse. We will need the blankets and the pouch of dried food. Be sure you cover the rest with the tarp.”
Cheyenne quickly complied. With rain peppering against her face and dripping off her chin, she untied the ropes and stacked the supplies against the canyon wall. Removing what they needed, she covered the rest with a heavy tarpaulin, weighing it down with stones.
After Wolf Runner secured the horses Cheyenne watched him cut branches from nearby pine trees. In no time at all, he had fashioned a lean-to with branches and canvas. Pushing a damp strand of hair out of her face, she gratefully crawled beneath the shelter. She was cold, hungry, and miserable, but she would rather have her tongue cut out than admit it.
When Wolf Runner joined her moments later, she could see him clearly in the flickering lightning. She gripped her hands, fearful of being so close to him. In horror, she realized he had stripped off all his clothing except for a breechcloth. Never having seen a man so scantily clad, she turned her back and closed her eyes tightly.
Is he like all the others? Have I been a fool to trust him?
Unaware of her feelings, Wolf Runner brushed Cheyenne’s shoulder as he reached up to cover an opening where water was dripping through. “I had hoped the rain would hold off until we were in the high country where there will be more trees to shelter us.”
“What you are wearing is not proper,” she said, stiffening.
“Miss Gatlin, this is what a Blackfoot warrior wears. And while we are on the subject, you need to get out of your wet clothing, or else you will catch a chill.” He picked up one of the blankets and thrust it at her. “I have no intentions of nursing a sick woman.”
She thrust the blanket back at him. “I certainly will not remove my clothing. As it is, you already have me down to the bare necessities.” She shook her head. “I won’t do it,” she exclaimed unabashed, clutching her hands into fists. “How can you ask such a thing of me?”
“Shall I do it then?”
Cheyenne shrank away from him. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Miss Gatlin, let me put your mind at ease—you are not at all the kind of woman who draws my attention. And I would never take an unwilling woman. Does that answer all your fears?”
The only part she heard was that he was not attracted to her, and for some reason that brought a dull ache to her heart. “Turn your head,” she said ungraciously.
Hearing his soft laughter when she tried to struggle out of her wet clothing while trying to hold the blanket up so he could not see her. It was frustrating. When she finally managed to drape herself in the blanket, she asked, “Shouldn’t the wolf be in out of the weather?”
Wolf Runner listened for a moment as the rain peppered against the tarpaulin. “Like any of his kind, Satanta does not like to be confined.”
Settling back as some of the chill left her body, Cheyenne asked, “His name—is it from the Black-foot language?”
He took her wet garment and hung it from one of the rough branches he had used to build the lean-to. “Satanta is actually Kiowa meaning ‘white bear.’” He smiled. “When he was born he was a fluff of white. My mother gave Satanta his name.”
“But she is white—does she speak Kiowa?”
Wolf Runner was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. “I do not think of my mother as white, and neither does she. But to answer you, she is intelligent and learns languages quickly—she speaks several dialects.”
“Your father must be an exceptional man if she gave up such a successful ranch to be with him.”
“He is more than you can imagine,” Wolf Runner said as he reached up to close another opening where rain had begun to pour in. “You must be hungry. Choose from any of the dried meat in the leather satchel.”
She nodded and opened the bag, taking out two strips of dried meat, and handing one to him.
“Although I’m half Cheyenne, I am not proud of it. I have accepted it because I have no choice. Gram was a fine lady, having grown up on a plantation in North Carolina. She raised me in her traditions. That’s why I don’t know how to be an Indian.”
“I have noticed that. You come from a line of Cheyenne chiefs, from a proud race and you should be proud of that.”
She took a bite of the meat and chewed for a moment. “I don’t know what waits for me at the end of this journey. The one thing I’m sure of is that life as I know it is over.”
He was mystified by her acceptance of what life had handed her. So far she had not complained about anything other than removing her undergarments. “There is truth in that,” he told her, watching her nod.
They both lapsed into silence.
At last she spoke, “I want to be of help to you, but I don’t know how unless you show me what to do. Tomorrow you could start teaching me to tend the animals,” she suggested. “I know I’m capable of that.”
He considered her offer for a moment, then said, “I will tend the animals.”
It was dim inside the lean-to and she could not see him, but she could certainly feel his presence. “Then tell me what else I can do.”
He was not in a mood to teach a sheltered young woman about her Indian heritage. “Eat. Then you must sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day with hard riding. We will soon reach a part of the journey where the terrain is so treacherous we will have to lead the horses.”
Cheyenne felt him becoming detached from her, his mind on other matters. She quietly finished her meat, took a drink of water, and lay down. Pulling the blanket tightly about her, she was determined to make sure she gave Wolf Runner no reason to criticize her.
Closing her eyes, Cheyenne listened to the drumming of the rain. “Should we worry about wild animals?”
Wolf Runner smiled, bemused. “We have a wild animal. He will let us know if danger approaches.”
Baffled, she sighed and sunk heavily into her blanket, falling immediately to sleep.
Wolf Runner sat in the dark, for the first time feeling guilty that he was using Cheyenne to get to Night Fighter.
He could do nothing but go forward. His path was already set on a course and he would see it through.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning the sun came out in all its glory, painting the damp land with a golden glow. Cheyenne came out of the lean-to after struggling into her still-damp clothing. She almost went back inside when she saw Wolf Runner was still wearing only his breechcloth. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, but when he spoke, she glanced at him.
“You must be hungry,” he observed, noticing her embarrassment, not that it affected him one way or another.
It felt like her heart flipped over inside her—all semblance of civilization had been stripped away from Wolf Runner. A Blackfoot warrior stood before her—the most handsome man she had ever seen. His muscles were honed and firm, his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat. Cheyenne was so stunned by his appearance she missed the way his eyes darkened and the frown that cr
eased his brow.
“You must eat so we can leave,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed, with a catch in her throat, as a jolt went through her body and slowed her breathing. Cheyenne was unable to turn her gaze away from his magnificent body. His long black hair flowed free across his shoulders and was now intertwined with three eagle feathers.
Thinking she was disturbed by his lack of clothing, a slow grin tilted his mouth. “Cheyenne,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “It is natural for a Blackfoot male to dress for the seasons.”
Ducking her head, she nodded. “I understand. Please continue in the way of your customs,” she told him. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”
He was retrieving the canvas from the lean-to. “I am not the one who is uncomfortable,” he told her. Cheyenne had much to learn about Indian customs, but Wolf Runner had no intention of being her teacher. So he reached for his buckskin leggings.
She turned away, her heart beating rapidly. Deciding she needed something to do, she began folding the blankets and repacking their supplies.
With her gaze on her feet, Cheyenne ate two slices of fried bacon and a chunk of hardtack, and then she helped Wolf Runner secure the supplies to the packhorse. She was silent, her thoughts troubled. She was going into the great unknown and she had to be strong.
Quietly, she mounted her horse and they rode together toward the distant mountains, Satanta lumbering along beside them.
In the daytime the air was fresh and invigorating, but when the sun went down, it brought with it a chill that went right through Cheyenne’s bones.
There were arduous days when she was so weary she had to hold on to the saddle horn to stay upright. The stalwart, sure-footed horses picked their way across rocky inclines, and sometimes they had to swim the horses across swollen creeks and rivers. The one blessing, Cheyenne assured herself, looking for something positive, was that it had not rained in the last week. She hoped the dry weather would continue.
Wolf Runner Page 11