Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  “You will take her nowhere!” Swift Arrow seethed. “You will not touch her, even if it means the lives of some of our people! She will not leave here with the likes of you! I made my brother a promise to protect her!”

  Baker spit out a wad of tobacco at Swift Arrow’s feet. “Well, now, I’d say she’d be a mite safer with her own kind than with a bunch of savages. We all know how curious you Indian men are about white women.”

  Swift Arrow moved quickly, realizing his only hope was to leave the coward before him no time to think. In a flash he grabbed the barrel end of Baker’s rifle and shoved upward. The gun went off, and Swift Arrow yanked Baker from his mount, shoving him to the ground and jerking the rifle from his hands while he was stunned and smashing Baker across the side of the head with the butt end of the gun. In the same moment, Abbie had ducked back inside the tipi and come out with her Spencer carbine to find Swift Arrow holding Baker’s own rifle on the man. It all happened in not more than two seconds, and Baker’s men, inwardly afraid because there were so many more Cheyenne and Arapaho present than soldiers, hesitated and did not fire their guns; for all knew their first shots would take down some of the warriors and children, but there would be no time to reload before the rest of the Cheyenne men attacked with lances, clubs, knives, and tomahawks, and none of them wanted to die that kind of death.

  Baker groaned and held the side of his face, frightened now that he realized his plan to frighten the Cheyenne into giving up the white woman had backfired. Dancing Moon had convinced him that Abigail was an unwilling captive, and he had fully expected her cooperation. But this was a different matter, for the white woman herself held a rifle on him.

  “Take your men and leave, white scum, or you will be the first to die!” Swift Arrow growled. “Do you think my warriors are afraid of such a few men or even of the other soldiers you might send?” He laughed wickedly. “Send them! We enjoy fighting! But I tell you this! We will die to the last man before we will give this woman over to one such as you! Do you think we are such fools that we do not know what you would do with her? She is my brother’s wife! Now get out of our village before I am no longer able to keep myself from pulling this trigger! If I do, I will only wound you, for I would enjoy saving you for a slow death!”

  Baker swallowed and got up slowly, all his courage gone now that his rifle was in his enemy’s hands.

  “Tell the others to let the children go!” Swift Arrow told him. “If they do not, then tell them to pull the triggers and kill the children! But be sure they know what will happen to them when the children are dead!”

  Swift Arrow’s face told Baker that he meant every word of it. The warriors would sacrifice the children if need be. They would not be threatened and toyed with.

  Baker picked up his hat and scowled. “Let the little savages go!” he ordered his men.

  The children were dropped carelessly to the ground, and their mothers rushed to pick them up and scurry off with them.

  “You and your people will pay for this!” Baker told Swift Arrow.

  “No! You’ll pay!” Abbie shouted back. “When the soldiers find out how you rode in here and tried to make trouble with the Cheyenne, they’ll be very angry. The last thing they want is to rile up the Indians! They’ve done nothing wrong! Nothing! I am the wife of Cheyenne Zeke, Zeke Monroe. I have a paper to prove that I am legally married to him—the white man’s way. We were married at Fort Bridger. Zeke will be back any day now, and when he finds out you made trouble for his wife and his brothers, you’ll be having to look over your shoulder, Mr. Claude Baker, because you don’t know just when you might find a half-breed standing behind you with a knife!” She stepped closer with her own rifle. “None of these good people has harmed me in any way! They are my family and I live with them by choice! You get your men out of here, because I don’t know how much longer these warriors can hold off from chopping you into little pieces!”

  “Come on, Claude, let’s git out of here!” one of the other men yelled. “She ain’t no captive, not if she’s been legally married to the half-breed.”

  “Like I say, Claude,” another spoke up. “I done heard of this here Cheyenne Zeke. I don’t want nothin’ to do with him.”

  “But Dancing Moon said she was a captive!” Baker retorted, backing away from Abbie and Swift Arrow.

  “Dancing Moon!” Abbie’s face paled. “You know the Arapaho woman, Dancing Moon? She is the one who sent you here?”

  Baker moved around to mount his horse. “We had a run-in with the bitch. She’s like all the other squaws. She spread her legs for all of us—in return for food and supplies. And she told us about you. We come here to help you, to save you from these savages!”

  “You’re a stupid fool to believe the likes of Dancing Moon!” Abbie told him. “And it’s you I’d need saving from, not the Cheyenne! Now get out of here!”

  Swift Arrow opened the chamber of Baker’s rifle and spilled out a bullet; then he tossed the gun back to the man and picked up his tomahawk.

  “Leave quickly! I would love to see your blood flow!” He sneered.

  Baker backed his horse, eying the hundreds of Cheyenne who surrounded himself and his men. He did not think they would dare to give him trouble, but now they had the upper hand and all looked eager to do battle. “Ride out, men!” he shouted to the others. They quickly and eagerly obeyed. Baker eyed Abbie for a moment. “You won’t shoot me!” he growled. “It would bring your precious bucks too much trouble from the soldiers and you know it!” He jerked his horse back farther. “I’ll leave! But folks is gonna know there’s a white woman livin’ with Cheyenne men out here, and you won’t never be able to show your face in civilized parts again, you whore!”

  He whirled his horse and rode out, all of his men disappearing over the hill down which they had come and heading southwest for Fort Laramie.

  Abbie lowered her rifle slowly, the blood draining from her face. Her body shook with rage and humiliation. This was the first time she had been exposed to the very thing Zeke had warned her could happen if they tried to live in the white world, for she knew that for every Claude Baker there were a hundred more like him. She had thought that perhaps it could be different in the West than it had been for Zeke in Tennessee. But it was just as Zeke said. The only whites out West were originally from the East, and they had brought with them all of their attitudes. Like the child that she was, she had not believed him, having faith in the goodness of people. But Zeke had been down that road. He knew.

  “Now you are ashamed of us?” Swift Arrow asked her quietly. He stood behind her, his own heart raging at Claude Baker’s last words. Abbie shook her head.

  “No,” she answered. “I’m ashamed of my own people … the ones who think like … him!” She looked off in the direction Claude Baker and his men had ridden and tears streamed down her face. “I’m sorry for their insults.”

  “Do not be sorry for that kind. It was not your fault.”

  She turned to face him. “Thank you,” she told him, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you for not letting them take me. You could have saved yourselves a lot of trouble by letting them have me, you know. It might have been worse than it was.”

  He, too, looked after Baker’s men. “I, Swift Arrow, should let men such as those take you? What kind of man would I be to do that? I made my brother a promise!” He took the rifle from her hands. “Come, Kseé, you are safe now. They will not come back.”

  Abbie closed her eyes and nodded, but she could not stop the tears of shame and embarrassment that slid quietly down her cheeks. “I hate them!” she sniffed. “I hate all people who think those awful things!”

  “So … now you understand this hatred we feel … you understand what my brother has always understood.”

  She did not reply. The tears that choked her would not let her speak.

  When Zeke regained consciousness, it was to find himself lashed by the wrists to a wagon wheel, his arms stretched out to either side, his nude body s
itting on the hard, rocky ground. He struggled to focus his eyes, shaking his head and looking down to relieve his eyes from the glare of the hot sun. His mouth screamed with terrible thirst, and his head ached from the scalp wound. Sweat trickled into his eyes, burning them. He tugged at his bindings; then he was suddenly brought to full consciousness when someone tossed water into his face. It felt wonderful, and he licked his lips, trying to get some into his mouth.

  Then a shadow knelt in front of him, and he looked into the beautiful but hated face of Dancing Moon. His eyes lit up with fire and he tugged at his bindings again.

  “Just how did I get lucky enough to run into you!” he growled at her. He spit into her face, and the smile she had been wearing turned into a sneer.

  “I would not call it lucky, my Cheyenne lover,” she hissed in reply. “This day you shall die for casting me out for your white bitch!” She grabbed his scrotum and pinched, and he gritted his teeth against the horrible pain. “How is your white woman?” she asked. “Did she live after Dancing Moon attacked her?”

  Zeke’s stomach felt nauseous from the pain in his privates. “She … lived!” he snarled. “She lost a baby … but she lived! And I’ll have my revenge, Dancing Moon! Never have I wanted to bring harm to a woman … until now!” He struggled again at his bindings, but she only laughed.

  “Hey, Dancing Moon, we have to go!” one of the Mexicans called out to her from a distant campfire. “How long you going to mess with that half-blood? We got to take these guns south and send Miguel to pay Mr. Mack. Then maybe we get even more guns, eh?”

  “We go in the morning!” she replied, her eyes still on Zeke. She lowered her voice then, talking directly to Zeke. “You killed my man with that blade of yours, my Cheyenne stud! For this and for casting me out, you shall die!”

  She stood up and straddled his legs. “You were the best,” she purred. “But you were bad to Dancing Moon. I am sorry to have to kill you!”

  He looked away. “Who are these men? Why are you with them?”

  She laughed and moved back from him. “They are my friends. When my people cast me out, I came south. These men found me. And I”—she smiled more—“managed to talk them into keeping me with them. I became the woman of their leader, Manuel Artigo. Now Manuel is dead, and for the privilege of competing for my favors, the rest of these men will look to me as their leader. I have learned quickly, my half-breed lover! I have power with men … and there is wealth in stolen guns! I find this life exciting!” She strutted in front of him, and he could almost smell her as a male dog smells a bitch in heat. He was revolted by her. She had changed. There was a time, years ago, when he’d enjoyed her company, even though he knew she had a strange appetite for men and was not true to him. But she had never been vicious. It seemed that as she matured, her appetite for men and excitement had grown also. “After this deal, I think perhaps my men and I will raid some of the wealthy villas and see what riches we can find. For now we will get more of the smuggled rifles, and the Mexicans will pay me much gold for helping them. I think perhaps we shall ride against the Americans and take what we need to lead a good life, no? I will let my men rape the white women. I would enjoy watching that!” She laughed. “Yes, I would enjoy that! I hate the white women!”

  She whirled and faced him straight on. “You! You will be sorry you ever planted yourself in a white woman, Cheyenne Zeke! Today you shall sit there and rot in the sun! Then tonight you shall freeze in the cold desert air. In the morning, you shall enjoy the company of rattle snakes when we throw you into one of the pits!” She flung her head back and went to join the remaining men. There was much laughter and drinking, after which she decided to put on a show for Zeke to demonstrate her power over her men. She sat them in a circle around a blanket and, strutting before them, picked one or more at random to perform sex acts with her in front of Zeke. She was an animal, worse than an animal.

  Zeke looked away, concentrating on thoughts of cool mountains and thinking of himself as an eagle flying high in the heavens where all was peace and beauty. But his thoughts were constantly interrupted by Dancing Moon’s grunts and groans and the laughter of the men; never had he hated a woman as he hated this one. Then he thought about the smooth, lily-handed Jonathan Mack, and his hatred was almost unbearable.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his head back, again concentrating on the mountains, using all his discipline to take his spirit to another place and so avoid the pain and heat and his terrible thirst. He opened his eyes for just a moment when he heard the distant screeching of buzzards. He saw them picking at something several yards away, then realized it was Grimey. His body tensed with a burning desire for vengeance, and he tugged at his bindings again, but to no avail.

  “Maheo, help me!” he whispered. “Heammawihio, help me! Ahktunowihio, help me! Keep me from death. Bless me with the glory of revenge! Allow me to go back to my woman! Maheo! Maheo! I walk as one with Thee. I walk as one with Esceheman and Hesek.”

  “Ho-shuh,” a voice seemed to tell him somewhere in his mind. “Ho-shuh, my son.” He closed his eyes and slipped back into the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

  When Zeke awoke, darkness was falling, and he shivered from the cold. Again he concentrated on being strong, for he had learned to discipline himself against pain when suffering the Sun Dance ritual. He struggled to ignore the terrible thirst and the pain in his head. Then he saw Dancing Moon sauntering toward him, carrying a canteen and a cloth. To his surprise she knelt down beside him and wet the cloth, applying it to the wound on his forehead. She washed his face and then held the canteen to his lips, and he drank eagerly. He said nothing, wondering why she had offered this small bit of kindness, suspicious of her every move.

  “Dancing Moon is sorry to treat you this way,” she told him quietly. “There was a time when it was good between us, Cheyenne Zeke. Both of us wild and free and eager in our lovemaking.” She traced a finger over his finely chiseled lips. “But Dancing Moon does not like being cast out for another woman … especially not for a white woman, you see?”

  He turned his head. “Get out of here!” he muttered, thinking only of poor Abbie and the loss of the baby. Dancing Moon only grinned.

  “I came to offer you a chance to live,” she told him. He turned back to face her with bitter eyes.

  “And just what is this chance I have?” he asked suspiciously.

  She ran a finger down over his chest. “There is still a warm place in Dancing Moon’s heart for her man,” she replied. “If you would show me that you are still my man, Cheyenne Zeke … show Dancing Moon that you still have … feelings for her …” She leaned down and kissed his nipples and he grimaced with hatred and revulsion at the memory of seeing her cavort with the Mexicans.

  “Get away!” he hissed.

  “But you are such a beautiful man!” she purred, moving her lips downward. She began caressing him with expert fingers, and then she began using her lips and tongue to work him against his will, for Dancing Moon knew men and how little control they had over such things. Zeke knew her intention and fury pulsed through his blood. If he had to die, he would rather have it be quickly at the fangs of snakes, than to first be humiliated and debased at the hands of this she-devil. He waited until she was more excited, letting her grope at him and devour him, and then when she raised her head slightly he came up hard with his knee, catching her on the jaw. She cried out and fell against him, and he brought up his left leg, twisting slightly and shoving her away from him with it; then he kicked her hard in the stomach.

  She lay there stunned for a moment before she groaned and crawled to her hands and knees, shouting for her men.

  “What has he done to you, Dancing Moon?” one of them asked. “He must be a man who does not appreciate a beautiful woman, huh?” The man laughed and helped Dancing Moon to her feet.

  “Spread his legs!” she hissed.

  Zeke struggled as four men took hold of him, two men on each side. They pulled his legs apart, and Danci
ng Moon stepped close to him, sneering down with evil pleasure.

  “You are a fool!” she told him. “That was your last chance!” She drew back her booted foot and kicked as hard as she could. This time it was impossible for Zeke not to cry out. “That will keep you from having anyone else for a while!” she hissed. “But that does not matter anyway. I am tired of these games!” She looked at her men. “Throw him in the pit! We will leave as soon as the sun rises!”

  Someone unlashed his wrists, and Zeke struggled; but he had no strength because of the black pain Dancing Moon had inflicted on him. He was dragged and pushed for some distance; then he felt himself falling into blackness. His body hit something hard and cold and damp.

  “Throw in his knife!” he heard Dancing Moon shouting somewhere in the distance. “Let the great warrior be buried with his best weapon! It is fitting!” Zeke heard her laughter as something fell beside him and clinked against a rock. He heard a hissing sound, and although the pain in his groin was almost unbearable, his instincts told him he must not move until the pain lessened and he could get his bearings. He was in a snake pit, of that he was certain. Perhaps if he could lie still until morning, the sun would shine into the hole enough to show him where the snakes were.

  “We will not see Cheyenne Zeke again!” Dancing Moon told the others. He heard their laughter, and then the voices grew dim.

  “I tell you, we saw her!” Claude Baker tried to explain to an officer at Fort Laramie. “She’s white, and she’s livin’ with the Cheyenne! Take some men and go see for yourself! When we tried to take her out of there, the Cheyenne threatened us!”

  “I know the Cheyenne! They don’t go around capturin’ white women!” a Laramie scout interrupted. “I’m tellin’ you, sir, they can’t be holdin’ no captive. We ain’t even had any reports of any missin’ or stolen white women.”