Her mouth felt dry and her palms were wet. She only nodded. “Zeke?” she said after a moment. “I love you.” She waited a moment, and all was silence. She turned to see him. “Zeke?”
He was gone. She turned back to the fire, her ears highly alert now, waiting for some sound. She jumped when she heard a thud and a grunt. Was it Zeke? Her heart pounded so hard she thought perhaps she would die. Several silent minutes passed, the outer shadows seeming blacker because of the flames of the fire. Abbie closed her eyes and prayed harder than she had ever prayed in her life. Then she heard a rustling in the underbrush nearby.
“Zeke?” she choked out in a frightened voice.
Her reply was a piercing yelp. A Crow buck jumped into the firelight, his black, painted face with the white around the eyes making him look like some kind of monster in the darkness. Abbie screamed and scooted back.
The grinning buck headed for her, his knife pulled and gleaming in the firelight. Abbie’s breathing came in quick gasps, and her eyes darted around the dark perimeter of the fire’s light. She was desperately afraid now that the thump and groan she had heard had been Zeke and not the other way around. She scooted back more as the Crow’s eyes moved over her body, resting on her white legs. He licked his lips. This one would make a fine captive, a valuable slave! He reached down for her, but then a large, dark figure came roaring out of the shadows behind Abbie, ramming into the Crow man with terrific force and lunging the Crow backward so that his bare back fell into the hot coals of the fire.
The Crow’s screams of pain were mingled with Abbie’s own screams of fright and horror, and for a brief second Zeke’s own huge and infamous blade flashed in the moonlight before it came down with terrific force into the Crow’s chest. Abbie covered her eyes and looked away, knowing from things she had seen before that Zeke would rip the blade down through the Crow’s midsection before he pulled it out of the man’s body.
Zeke finished the job quickly, taking a moment to deftly carve off a piece of the Crow’s scalp, his Indian instincts and fighting pride compelling him to take this trophy to show to his brothers. He glanced at Abbie, who was still turned around, shivering and keeping her eyes covered. He had to grin at the sight. He walked over to hide the scalp under his gear and then wiped the blood off his knife onto the grass before shoving it back into its sheath. The next thing Abbie knew, Zeke was grabbing her up in his strong arms and pulling her close. She clamped her arms around his middle, shivering and crying.
“It’s all right,” he said soothingly, kissing her hair. “There was only the two of them.”
“I thought they’d killed you!” she whimpered, burying her face in his chest.
Zeke grinned. “What happened to all those fantasies about your courageous warrior?” he teased.
“Oh, Zeke, don’t joke with me!” she answered, her body jerking in a sob.
He patted her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Abbie. I hate it when you cry. Everything is all right.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze and led her to a supply pack. He freed a rolled-up buffalo robe and let go of her long enough to spread it out for her. “Sit down and turn around while I get that Crow’s body out of here.”
She sank down obediently, shivering from fright and the aftershock of having a painted warrior lunge at her in the eerie firelight. She could not stop her tears as she turned away while he dragged the body off into the darkness.
“What about the rest of them!” she called out in a choked voice.
“I expect these two were sent back to see what was behind them,” he replied from the shadows. There was a loud rustling and then the sound of falling rocks, and she knew the body had been thrown down the small embankment near the edge of the crevice where they were camped. “We must be closer than we think to these devils,” he added. He made a grunting sound, and she knew he was moving the second body. Again there was the sound of falling rocks. “You’d best get some shuteye, Abbie, ’cause we’ll be leaving here before the sun rises.” He reentered the light of the fire and walked to the supply pack again, removing another rolled-up robe. “When them two don’t show up in the morning, the rest will come to find out why, and I aim to be far from here when they do,” he continued. “We’ll make some fast tracks come full light and get the hell on down to the Arkansas and find that Cheyenne camp.” He walked over to her, bringing the robe, and she saw that his face was strained and damp.
“Zeke?” she asked in alarm. “Are you all right?”
He squatted close to her, throwing the robe over her, squinting with obvious pain. “Just that damned old bullet wound from last year,” he told her. “Gives me a little pain once in a while when something hits it just right. That Crow got a knee into it.”
He saw the fear and sorrow in her eyes and put on a grin for her, touching her hair.
“Nothing to worry about, Abbie girl. You did a right good job digging that bullet out like you did.”
New tears welled in her eyes. “Maybe I did something wrong!” she lamented. “I never took out a bullet before, Zeke. What if I did it wrong!”
He put a hand on each side of her face and held her head firmly, his dark eyes holding her own, his handsome face glowing bronze in the firelight. “You did just fine, Abbie,” he said calmly and quietly. “Just fine. If you hadn’t been so brave as to do that, I’d have died for sure. Now I’m telling you not to worry. That’s the way with old wounds, child. Sometimes they just pester a man to his dying day, but they never really do him any harm. I expect something just healed funny on the inside, maybe so’s something goes pestering a nerve once in a while just to be ornery. It’s nothing to worry about, Abbie. Scar tissue often gives a man pain when it’s hit just right.”
She put her hands to his wrists. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.” He bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Now lay down there and get some sleep.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Well, give it a good try. You’ll need it. Do it for me.” He kissed her lightly on the lips and she lay down. He tucked the robe around her face, now gentle again in spite of just having killed two men. His ability to be violent one moment and soft the next always amazed her, but she knew instinctively that his violence would never be used against her own person. He walked back to their supplies and pulled out an Indian blanket. Throwing it around his shoulders and returning to her side, he sat down close by and positioned his rifle beside him. The big knife he used with infamous skill rested in its sheath at his side, and she knew he would sleep with one eye open that night, in spite of his pain.
She watched him as he crossed his legs Indian style and stared at the little flames of the fire, and she wondered just what passed through his tortured mind in the still of the night, when memories were always so much more vivid. It had not been a happy life for him. But she would make sure he was happy from now on.
“I do love you so, Zeke,” she told him quietly.
He glanced at her with a sidelong grin, and she wondered with a sudden, fierce jealousy how many women had shared his bed. But there were some things a woman didn’t ask a man like Zeke.
“Woman, if I wasn’t worried about enemy Crow tonight, I’d be under that buffalo robe with you.”
She smiled, and he knew she was blushing, even though it was dark. “You’re always welcome under my robe,” she teased provocatively.
His eyes held hers for a moment, then scanned the small, almost undetectable rise she made under the robe. Such a child she was, yet all woman when he was inside of her.
“Get to sleep before I give you a good spanking,” he answered.
She laughed lightly. “You might scare those devil Crow and the grizzly bears, but you don’t scare me, Zeke Monroe!” she chided.
He grinned more. “That’s big talk from such a little girl.” He reached over and tousled her hair. “Now go to sleep. I mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
She closed her eyelids, and for a few moments he stroked h
er hair gently, making her sleepy. It was not many minutes before she drifted off, unaware of the heaviness that was upon his heart over the sudden worry about what living with him could mean for her.
“God, I love you, Abbie girl,” he whispered. He took his hand away and hunched over more, pulling the blanket closer around his neck and tuning his mind and ears and senses away from his pain and in to the night sounds and the surrounding shadows. The Lone Eagle would keep a close watch this night, for he had his mate to protect.
The next day brought the signs of life Zeke had been hoping to find. They crested a ridge to see smoke wafting up from the tops of trees that stood in a valley ahead of them and the Arkansas River meandering quietly through a green valley. Zeke halted his horse and squinted, trying to see through the thick pines below.
“Is it the Cheyenne?” Abbie asked quietly.
“Most likely. But we can’t take a chance that it isn’t.” He circled around to the right, guiding both horses amid the trees along the steep embankment, a treacherous but safer approach to the camp if they did not want to be seen right away. They worked their way sidewise and downward until they reached a rocky hill not far above the camp and stopped again. A circle of tipis lay below them. Zeke stared down at the settlement for a moment, then nodded.
“It’s a Cheyenne camp, all right—my own clan, to be exact,” he said with a grin. He pointed his finger. “That one down there, the lodge second from the river’s edge, is the tipi of my brother, Swift Arrow. I can tell by the flying arrows painted on it.” He turned to look at her. “The women always paint their tipis with whatever design they like, each one can be individually recognized as belonging to a certain family. Swift Arrow’s wife painted theirs in honor of her husband.”
Abbie arched her eyebrows. “I’ll have to build and paint a tipi, won’t I!”
Zeke winked. “You’ll learn. The women will teach you, and the ones who paint well will put designs on it for you.” He looked back at the camp. “I’m glad we got here before the Crow did. That tipi over there is—” He never got to finish his sentence, for just then there was a terrible shriek behind him. They both turned to see at least fifteen Crow warriors riding toward them, screeching and grinning at the glory of battle.
“Ride, Abbie!” Zeke ordered, slapping her horse on the rump. “Get down to that camp!”
Abbie’s horse took off at a gallop, and she had no control over its movements. Clumsily she removed her rifle and tried to fire it toward the Crow behind her, but she knew her shot would mean nothing, and it could hit Zeke. Her heart pounded with fear for Zeke, who was staying behind to keep the Crow from getting Abbie before she could reach camp. She could hear no gunshots and wondered if Zeke had been killed by a Crow arrow or hatchet. There were pounding hooves behind her—more Crow braves. She was surprised they would follow her right into a Cheyenne camp; but just as Zeke had explained, these Crow were looking for a good fight, and she knew if that camp below was full of Cheyenne bucks, a good fight was just what they would get.
Rocks rolled down the hill ahead of her and dust flew, and she could see men coming out of lodges now, some already mounted and riding up the hill.
“Crow! Crow!” Abbie screamed, not knowing what else to say. She bent low, dodging the hated arrows, remembering the horror of feeling an arrow in her body the year before. Some Cheyenne warriors stood outside with bows and arrows, others with hatchets and paggamoggons and quirts, but there were none with rifles.
Abbie’s horse stumbled and fell on its side. Abbie rolled off the animal and kept sliding due to the momentum she had already gained in her fall. When she finally came to a stop, her legs were badly scraped, but she had managed to hang on to her rifle. She quickly got to her knees and cocked the Spencer carbine that had once belonged to her father, aiming it at a Crow warrior closing in behind her. She fired and the Indian screeched and fell from his horse. The animal galloped past Abbie and the Crow’s body landed beside her.
“Zeke!” she screamed, worried now. She searched the hills above desperately, but could not see him. Several Cheyenne horses went thundering past her up the hill after the Crow, and someone strong was picking her up then, grabbing away her rifle.
Abbie turned to look up into a stern, dark face. The Cheyenne man set her on her feet and motioned for her to walk the rest of the way down the hill to the tipis.
At first she just stood and stared in awe at the man. So, this was a true Cheyenne, the kind of man whose blood ran in Zeke’s veins. She had seen Crow and Shoshoni and Sioux Indians, but she had not seen a true Cheyenne. It suddenly hit her that she was really here, in a Cheyenne camp, that of Zeke’s own clan! She was frightened and confused, worried that Zeke would be killed and she would be unable to explain her presence. For the first time she wondered if she had done the wrong thing to come here. The man who had picked her up grunted with irritation at her hesitancy to obey his order to move, and he gave her a nudge. She quickly walked the rest of the way down the hill, the Cheyenne man behind her, leading her horse and still carrying her gun. When they reached camp, the man motioned for her to enter a particular tipi, and from the look on his face, she knew she had better obey.
She entered the dwelling, surprised at its neatness. Its sweet, smoky odor was not unpleasant, and all around the inner lining were bright paintings of horses and warriors. The man who had brought her there studied her curiously for a moment; then he left.
Abbie hurried back to the entrance and peered out. Dogs scampered about excitedly, barking and running, many of them bounding up the hill after the Cheyenne ponies. She could hear war whoops and see glimpses of men and horses amid the trees, but nothing was clearly distinguishable, and it was impossible to tell which man might be Zeke. She wondered why she heard no gunshots; that frightened her. Zeke had a rifle and a handgun. Surely if he were alive, he would be using them.
The man who had pushed her into the tipi now thundered up to the entrance on a painted pony, his bare legs glistening in the sun. He was handsome, but nearly naked, wearing only a breechcloth. Abbie thought he resembled Zeke, but she was too embarrassed to stare at him, and she looked down at the ground. His horse pranced around in a circle.
“Who are you, white woman?” he demanded to know.
She swallowed and looked up at him. “My name is … Abigail,” she replied. She took a deep breath. “Abigail Trent Monroe,” she added louder. “I am Zeke Monroe’s wife.”
The man’s eyes grew large in surprise.
“Cheyenne Zeke,” Abbie said in a braver voice. “Zeke said this was his brother’s camp. We were coming here to meet them when the Crows started chasing us.”
The man studied her sullenly, eying her carefully as though she stood before him naked, and she was suddenly terribly afraid. What on earth would she do if Zeke were dead? The man glanced up the hill, then back at her.
“How many Crow are there?”
“I don’t know for sure … maybe fourteen or fifteen.” Their eyes held a moment, as he glared at her, the muscles of his young face flexing in a mixture of excitement and shock and anger.
“It is true? You are Zeke’s woman?”
“It’s true. We’ve come from Fort Bridger where we were married a few weeks ago. We’ve been traveling about a month—coming here to meet Zeke’s brothers.”
He sneered at her as though he did not believe her. “You are white! Zeke would not marry a white woman!”
She frowned, her anger rising at his obvious dislike of her. “How would you know who Zeke would marry?” she retorted.
“I am his brother! Swift Arrow!” the man growled.
Her heart pounded. Of course! She glanced at the tipi to see she had been taken to the one with the arrows painted on it. She looked back at him, losing some of her anger then, not wanting to offend him. So … this was the one Zeke had said would be difficult to win over. And now she understood why he spoke English. Zeke’s mother spoke it, having learned it from her white husband. She folded her
arms in front of her.
“Just the same, I am Zeke’s wife,” she told him in a gentler tone.
He snickered. “White woman bring bad luck to the Cheyenne! My brother has chosen foolishly!” He whirled his horse and rode up the hill before Abbie could reply.
She watched him disappear into the trees, the blood draining from her face. His words had cut deep, and her mind raced with confusion and hurt. Her body began to shake from the shock of her rude greeting, combined with her flight from the Crow and her fall. Her worry over whether Zeke was alive or dead only made matters worse. She choked down a frightened sob and retreated into the tipi, looking around again at the inside of the dwelling place that was so foreign to her. It was much bigger and more pleasant inside than she had expected, but at the moment these things didn’t matter. She huddled down beside the doorway to pray.
“Dear God, what am I doing here?” She could not stop the tears from flowing, and when she looked down at her bleeding legs, she only cried harder, feeling like a tiny girl rather than the brave woman of Cheyenne Zeke. “God, don’t let him be dead!” she squeaked. “Don’t let him be dead!”
Four
Abbie heard the sound of thundering hooves coming toward the river, and she knew the Cheyenne bucks were returning. She quickly wiped her eyes, determined she would not cry in front of Swift Arrow. But if Zeke was not with them, she knew it would be impossible not to burst into tears of pure fright and confusion. She blew her nose on the hanky she kept in the little supply pouch that hung from the belt of her tunic, then peeked cautiously out of the tipi as the horses pounded into the small camp. Zeke was with them!
Her heart leaped with joy and relief and she hurried out of the tipi as he slid from his horse before the animal even came to a stop. All of the men were laughing and apparently joking, but they spoke in Cheyenne and Abbie could not understand them.
Zeke hurried to Abbie while the others bantered, shoving one another around, hooting and mimicking the Crow. It was apparent the Cheyenne had chased off the attacking Crow bucks, but not without a fight, for Zeke’s skins were spattered with blood. Abbie lost her smile of relief when she saw it, and Zeke saw the fear in her eyes.
Ride the Free Wind Page 5