Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  Already, the business of trading beaver skins for other needed supplies was falling off at an alarming rate. The Cheyenne were losing buying power with the skins, as well as losing buffalo, their source of nearly all needs: food, clothing, utensils, medicine, shelter, nearly everything. When the demand for beaver skins was reduced to nothing, the buffalo would become even more important, for there would be nothing left with which to purchase whatever items were needed because of a poor hunt. If the Indian had to resort to trading buffalo robes for more food, then there would be that much less for shelter and clothing. It seemed like a vicious circle, with nothing to look forward to but starvation.

  At least Zeke had his horses. He would continue to breed them and urge his red brothers to do the same, for these animals were one more source of trade, which his people would need as they became more and more dependent on trade for survival rather than on hunting buffalo. But trade would present another problem for the Indians, who were easily cheated by white men. The future did not look good. For now, Zeke would take his herd of horses to Independence, sell most of them, and use the money carefully to buy supplies as needed, at least for his immediate family. He also had some savings in a bank there, with the one and only banker he had found who would do business with a half-breed. He decided this might be a good time to take the money out, especially if war was brewing with Mexico. To wait could mean having difficulty getting his hands on the money.

  He speared a mammoth bull, and the animal staggered and fell. He grinned with pride. It had been a long time since he’d been on a hunt. He climbed down from his horse and, having waited a moment to be sure the buffalo was dead, took out his vicious-looking knife, not even thinking about what he was doing as he deftly gutted out the animal on the spot. He was only thinking about taking Abbie to Independence with him. It would be a nice break for her. He tied a leather cord decorated with white beads around the buffalo’s hoof, designating the kill as his own, then mounted his horse and rode after another bull.

  He hoped that perhaps some day the Cheyenne would have more rifles, which would make this job easier. But that would take away the challenge of getting close to the big animal and killing it with a man’s own strength and wit and skill. He liked it better this way. Even though he had two rifles and a hand gun, he preferred the thrill of sinking his lance into the tough hide of the buffalo. He would pretend the next one was Dancing Moon. That would help him thrust the lance with more force!

  Once the hunt was over, the really hard part began, and it was woman’s work. The men sat in circles, smoking and telling tales about their kill, while the women began the arduous task of preserving every part of the animal for a special purpose.

  Amazed, Abbie watched Zeke’s mother and the other women as they rapidly cleaned out the animals, removing all flesh and gristle from the skins with a sharp-edged tool which they used skillfully. Gentle Woman let Abbie help, teaching her patiently everything that must be done, and Abbie’s head reeled at the Cheyenne’s ability to put to use every part of the animal, wasting nothing.

  “The hair will be scraped from the hide for decorating clothing and to use for stuffing saddles and such,” Zeke’s mother explained. “If this were a winter kill, we would leave the hair and mane on many of the hides for winter clothing and blankets. The hide of the mane, turned inward, makes very warm moccasins. The intestines of the animal are cleaned and stuffed with chopped meat and are roasted and boiled—like your white man’s sausages … the lungs are dried and roasted … the bone marrow is boiled and eaten and used in pemmican. Pemmican can be made many ways and is a very good food for a warrior to take when he will be gone for many days away from his woman and has no one to cook for him.… The hides, of course, will be used for tipis and clothing, as well as leather straps, parfleches—many things.… The meat will be roasted or boiled. Some will be sliced and dried into what the white man calls jerky, and some will be used in pemmican.… The bladder is used for water bags, the horns for spoons and ladles.… The hides of the older bulls are used for moccasin soles, parfleches, and shields, because they are tougher.”

  All of this was said at intervals as the woman worked, wasting no time, while Abbie watched and sometimes helped.

  “We will need many hides to make you a fine tipi,” Gentle Woman told Abbie. “Zeke will bargain for whatever others we need. Then the women will gather and help you sew Zeke a fine dwelling.”

  “I … I don’t know how to thank all of you,” Abbie told her.

  “It is not necessary. The Cheyenne help one another because it is necessary to survive and because they are a gentle-hearted people who care about their own. You and I will show our thanks by cooking the women a fine meal.” She stopped scraping for a moment and sat back to look at Abbie. “Tonight there will be much celebrating,” she told the girl. “Always there is singing and dancing after the hunt. We will roast much meat and stuff our bellies, but after tonight we will be very careful to eat sparingly, for we never know how much meat we will get from the next hunt, and the herds are getting smaller.” She put a hand on Abbie’s. “Do not be afraid of all the wild dancing and singing tonight. It is all done in merriment and celebration. No one will scalp you.”

  Abbie laughed and petted the puppy that had stayed by her side throughout the day. Now it licked at some drying buffalo blood on the grass beside the animal Gentle Woman was cleaning.

  “You’re wonderful,” she told Gentle Woman.

  The woman laughed lightly. “I would not say that. I would say you are the wonderful one.” She sobered. “You have given up much to be with Zeke,” she told Abbie. “This will not always be so easy for you, especially when times become more difficult for the Indian as I know they will. A day will come, Abigail, when it might be wiser for you and my Zeke to be with the whites. To be with the Cheyenne will bring you great sorrow … and danger.”

  She returned to her work, and Abbie stood up for a moment, looking out over hundreds of miles of nothingness at a great, broad plain that seemed to go on forever. How big this country was! Surely the day would not come when there was no room for the Indian to roam freely this way! Surely not that many whites would come to this untamed land! She looked down at Gentle Woman and around at the others. She was beginning to realize how marvelous they were, what a beautiful people they were. Yes, a beautiful people. That was how she was coming to think of them.

  The Cheyenne did not have the same lusts and desires and greed in their hearts that whites had. They cared nothing for wealth and power. Freedom was their wealth. And honesty and simple wisdom was their power. They had no desire to own land, but simply to be able to roam free on the land and use it to survive. She watched Gentle Woman expertly flesh the hide of the buffalo she was working on, and again Abbie was overwhelmed at this people’s ability to survive on the simplest things provided by nature. She wanted to always remember them this way, as they were at that moment, free and happy and beautiful. She hoped it could always be this way for them. For to live any other way would be to die.

  Abbie picked up the puppy and petted it; then she set it down and began helping Gentle Woman again. The puppy scampered off after a bird, and from a distance Dancing Moon watched, thinking how delicious the fat puppy would taste, and what a fine trick it would be to play on Abigail Trent Monroe to make a meal out of the white woman’s pet!

  Seven

  Campfires lit up the night; and beating drums, chanting voices, and jingling bells filled the air with the sounds of Indian celebration. To an outsider, it would be frightening to watch, for it seemed as though these Cheyenne and Arapaho were about to make war and were eagerly preparing to move out and raid and take scalps. But their hearts were full of merriment, and for some of them, their blood was full of firewater.

  At dusk there had been the games, and Zeke participated with the others, coming in second at wrestling and third in the game of shooting arrows to see how many an archer could put into the air before the first one fell to the ground. His
speed was very good, but Swift Arrow, whose name bespoke his reputation, was fastest.

  However, in the contest of throwing knives, Zeke found no match, either in speed or accuracy, as one by one he beat every opponent. Then two pieces of rawhide were strapped in layers around a tree trunk, and only Zeke was able to slit open the outer piece without cutting or marring the leather beneath it. Abbie had to grin. She had seen him use his knife that same way once before—on a man—slitting open the man’s vest without touching his skin.

  Many stories were told among the Cheyenne about Zeke and his blade, and this night they were shared again as Zeke’s brother, Red Eagle, reveled in describing a bloody knife fight he’d witnessed between Cheyenne Zeke and four Pawnees. All four Pawnees died. Abbie remembered stories that white mountain men had told her about Zeke while she was recuperating at Fort Bridger, and it amazed her that a man who could be so vicious with a blade could be so gentle with his woman.

  The evening had begun early, with feasting on roast buffalo and wild strawberries. As the evening had progressed into games and dancing and singing, Abbie had never seen Zeke quite so happy, nor so wild. The day’s kill had brought out a savageness in him that he did not often show. His eyes were full of fire; his smile was that of a man who found pleasure in wielding his knife and participating in the men’s games, which at times were very rough; and his body seemed harder, more tense. He was alive with happiness and freedom, and Abbie knew that here, and only here with his mother’s people, could Zeke be himself and find complete peace.

  The rhythm of the drums changed when darkness fell, and most of the celebrants gathered around a huge campfire in the center of the village. There were still many buffalo to finish dissecting, but tonight the women would rest and dance. Zeke found Abbie just as many of the women began dancing in a circle around the fire, smiling at the men and carrying blankets about their shoulders, moving provocatively as the men watched.

  “What are they doing?” Abbie asked Zeke.

  He ran a hand over her hips. “Can’t you tell? Tonight wives will entice their husbands, and young girls will tease their favorite bucks. They will single out husbands and lovers and throw a blanket around them to show their affection.” He pulled her closer. “Many of the husbands and wives will go to their tipis. Lovers can only sit under the blanket and talk.”

  Abbie looked up at him. “Talk?”

  He chuckled. “Mostly. A Cheyenne girl is very chaste, Abbie, and if a man takes liberties against her will, he suffers the consequences.”

  Gentle Woman hurried over to Abbie, handing her a blanket. “Come! Join us!” she told the girl, moving out into the circle. Women of all ages danced, and Zeke gave Abbie a shove.

  “Zeke, I can’t!”

  “Why not?” he winked. “Get out there and let loose a little, Abbie. Forget that you’re white. Don’t be so stiff. Dance for me.”

  She looked around at the women, holding the blanket around her shoulders bashfully. Then she glanced back at Zeke, and he flashed his handsome smile that always gave her a sweet, warm feeling. Again she looked at the women, and now some of them pulled her into the circle and began pushing her, laughing and urging her to join in the dance. At first she only walked along with them, but soon the rhythmic drums seemed to strike at her very soul, the strange chanting and the eerie firelight making her feel wild and free, making her want her man. She began moving more rhythmically, her hips swaying slightly like those of the other women. She stretched out her arms and turned, letting the blanket float with her like a cape. Then she tried to mimic the skipping steps of the other women, beginning to enjoy the freedom of the movements and joining in the laughter and excitement of the dance. In the outer circle men grinned and watched, occasionally giving short cries of delight and desire.

  Some women began leaving the circle now, walking up to husbands and sweethearts and throwing their blankets over the men’s shoulders. Husbands left the celebration with their wives, and some couples put blankets over their heads. Abbie continued to dance, knowing Zeke was watching and wanting her; she decided that the next time she circled near him she would stop and cast her blanket around him.

  But before Abbie reached Zeke, Dancing Moon had already entered the dance and had stopped in front of him, swaying her body seductively. She took off her blanket and threw it over Zeke’s shoulder. Then she smiled and brazenly unlaced the front of her tunic, pulling it open to show him her full breasts. Abbie felt the blood drain from her face and she stood still, hating Dancing Moon as she had never hated anyone before, jealousy absorbing her with such intensity that she thought she might choke.

  But Zeke did not look upon Dancing Moon with eyes of desire. Instead, his eyes blazed with anger that she would do such a thing in front of Abbie. As he took the blanket from his shoulder the crowd quieted. He threw the blanket back into Dancing Moon’s face.

  “The dogs in this camp are worth more than you!” he sneered at her. “How dare you do this in front of my wife, bitch!”

  Her eyes flashed with the fire of desire. “Some Cheyenne men have more than one wife!” she shot back at him. “I cannot bear children. But I can give you pleasure when that skinny white one is fat with child.”

  Zeke backhanded the woman, and Dancing Moon fell to the ground. Abbie gasped in shock, never dreaming Zeke would lay a hand on a woman. But, to Abbie, Dancing Moon was not like a normal woman.

  “I regret the times I’ve slept with you!” Zeke growled. He yanked her up by the hair of the head, and Dancing Moon winced, putting a hand to her face where he had hit her. “Go away from me, and leave my wife alone, or by God I’ll put a scar on you that will keep all the men away!” He shook her. “Do you understand me, Dancing Moon?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “I understand!” she hissed.

  He gave her a shove and she nearly fell again. She pulled her tunic back over her breasts and, casting dark, hateful eyes at Abbie, picked up her blanket and ran off into the darkness. Zeke’s eyes met Abbie’s. As his gaze became pleading rather than angry, she saw the little boy in him who feared losing someone he loved. She slowly approached him, her heart warming at the love in his eyes. She walked closer and reached up, folding him into her blanket, and the drums began beating again and the people laughed and shouted their approval as Zeke lifted Abbie off her feet and carried her away.

  While Zeke carried her to their tipi, Abbie rested her head on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke, and the drums’ rhythmic beating seemed to penetrate their very hearts as Zeke ducked inside the dwelling with his wife. He set her on her feet, closed the entrance flap, and then turned and pulled the blanket off her. He quietly unlaced her tunic and pulled it down over her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

  Abbie stood with her head hanging, feeling like a new virgin wife—the virgin she had been when first he took her on that wild and lonely night the summer before when they were on that wagon train west. His hands moved down over her breasts, tantalizing the nipples and sending shivers through her body.

  “Look up here, Abbie,” he told her. She raised her dark eyes, blushing as she always did when this man looked upon her nakedness. “Don’t ever let something like that slut get between us,” he told her. “We’ve already been over this. I want no woman but you, and only you know how much I need your love.”

  He bent down and kissed her lightly, then moved his lips down over her neck and began kneeling, caressing each breast with his lips and then moving his mouth gently over her belly until he lightly kissed the soft hairs between her thighs while his hands massaged her bare hips. She could not stop a whimper of pleasure, and she grasped the back of his head in her hands and pressed against him, the drums and her jealousy of Dancing Moon bringing out her wildest desires and removing her normal inhibitions. This was her man. This was Cheyenne Zeke, a man both brutal and gentle, cruel and kind, vengeful and loving, a man greatly feared by his enemies and deeply loved by his people … and by Abigail Trent Monroe.

&nb
sp; He made love to her with such passion that she felt ravished, delightfully tired, and totally in love. She gloried in the bronze-skinned man who moved over her with expertise. His body was hard and handsome, in spite of its many scars. The hunt and the provocative dance had brought out his virility and that of many other warriors who would take their women this night, their manhood stirred by the activities of the day.

  When Zeke finished with her, he held her close under the buffalo robe, and the drums continued to beat outside.

  “It’s been a good day,” he told her quietly. “A successful hunt, the games, the food, and the celebrating …” He kissed her hair. “And this.”

  He kissed her hungrily, but they were disturbed by a rustling sound outside the tipi and a sultry laugh. Then it sounded as though someone was running away. They both sat up, and Zeke gave her a look, telling her to stay where she was. He picked up his knife and walked naked to the entrance flap, opening it quickly and looking out into the shadows. No one was there. But Abbie gasped, and when he looked down, he understood why. Her puppy lay at the entrance—what was left of it. There was only the head and skin, and a pile of bloody bones.

  “Zeke!” Abbie whimpered. “Oh, dear God!” She turned away and wept.

  “Slut!” Zeke hissed. “I’ll use my knife on her for this!”

  Abbie went through the movements of learning how to stitch hides together for a tipi, but actually she was struggling to forget the sight of the slaughtered puppy. Three days had passed since she had found its remains, and Dancing Moon had not been seen since that night. Zeke had gone out of his way to try to make up for the loss of her pet. He brought Abbie the best skins for their new dwelling and promised he would buy many beads for her when they went to Independence so that she could decorate the clothes she made to be more beautiful than anyone else’s. He helped her with work that no other man would help his woman do, and in the night he quietly held her, not trying to make love to her; for he knew the loss of the puppy had sent her into a depression that made her want only to be held.