There had been one period in Crazy Horse's life when he had been reckless. He had been in love.
Black Shawl was a beautiful woman. Coveted by many men. He had once courted her in the way many braves had courted her, coining to her family home with his blanket and using his blanket as a screen while they enjoyed a few brief moments of private conversation. But when he had been away on a raid against the Crows, Black Shawl had married No Water. Crazy Horse tried to respect that marriage. He traveled, spending time with other bands, enjoying visits among the Northern Cheyenne. But in time, he came to see Black Shawl again, and his heart swayed both his mind and his conscience.
He ran away with Black Shawl.
Wife-stealing did occur among the Sioux. Sometimes, it was a simple matter. When the wife of a highly respected man ran away from him, pride dictated that he take it lightly, that he should, perhaps, expect a few ponies in exchange for her. But No Water let the matter strike his heart. He came after Crazy Horse and Black Shawl, shooting Crazy Horse. The shot shattered his jaw. No Water thought that he had killed Crazy Horse. But Crazy Horse hadn't died. He recovered in his uncle's care.
Wife-stealing could be fairly minor; shooting, nearly killing a fellow warrior, was serious. There might have been tremendous bloodshed; there could have been irreconcilable breaks among the bands. But cool heads prevailed. Crazy Horse was going to survive with a scar across his lower face. His uncle accepted ponies from No Water. Crazy Horse said the matter was done, so long as Black Shawl received no ill treatment because of the affair. Men received little chastisement for adultery, but though it was rare, women could have their noses slashed, among other mutilations.
The matter was settled. Black Shawl returned to No Water. Crazy Horse endured his disgrace and went on again to prove himself a mighty warrior.
Now he sat alone in his tipi, cross-legged before his fire, smoking his pipe when Blade and Ice Raven arrived. Despite the scar that marred his jaw, he was a striking man, tightly muscled, with dark eyes and strong features.
"Welcome," he told them both.
They greeted him in return, sitting comfortably with him before the fire. He asked them if they were hungry, but they told him they had eaten. Then he asked them about the events taking place in the white world. "How is my white-striped brother?" he teased, referring to their cousin, Hawk.
"Mourning his father."
Crazy Horse nodded. David Douglas had been admired and liked among the Sioux. He had never betrayed a promise—a rare thing for a white man.
"We talked a long time," Blade told Crazy Horse. "He does not like what he sees coming in the future."
Crazy Horse waved a hand in the air. "That the whites now blanket the Black Hills?"
Ice Raven shrugged. "What bothers Hawk is deeper than that."
"He thinks that we should not be hostiles?"
Ice Raven shook his head strenuously. "No. He is Sioux; he knows each man follows his own vision. But he believes that the whites now see us as an obstruction which must be entirely removed. That they will want to kill us all, decimate our numbers, as they have decimated the buffalo."
"They have decimated our numbers as well," Crazy Horse murmured. Thousands of the Sioux were living on agency grounds now. They tried to influence their hostile friends and relations, telling them that the White Father, President Grant, saw to it that they were given cows for the warriors to hunt down and the squaws to butcher.
Crazy Horse did not want to hunt cows. And he was well aware from the many Sioux of different bands and groups who had left the agencies to join him that the stories of abundance were lies. Most often, grain rations were filled with worms. There were very few skinny cows, and those were often diseased. There was tremendous corruption in the agencies, and even many of those army men the Indians knew—some of them actually friends and some of them leaders who had spoken with the Sioux seeking peace— often admitted the corruption.
Crazy Horse wanted no part of it.
Now Red Cloud, who had once been a very fierce warrior, dealt with the white men. Crazy Horse did not resent Red Cloud for his choice; he simply didn't agree with it.
The whites wanted Red Cloud to sell them the Black Hills. Red Cloud couldn't do so. He needed the majority of the Sioux leaders to agree to sell the land. Crazy Horse was already aware that the agency Indians were planning to bring many of the Sioux together so that they could talk about the Black Hills. The people were divided. Some hostiles wanted to sell the hills, some did not. Some agency Indians wanted to sell the hills, some did not. No one agreed on what the price should be.
Crazy Horse didn't care.
They could invite him from now until the sun went down forever. He would not go to any meeting.
Thunder Hawk had left the Sioux. He had embraced many of the white ways, but his heart had remained Sioux. He always did his best to explain what the whites said— and what they meant. He could explain all the words used and translate true meanings. He warned the Sioux when he expected danger; he told his friends and family when he thought it might be best to bend and when not. He always remembered that he could advise, and that in the end, each man followed his own vision, just as he did himself.
"They will send out men from the agencies to ask you to come in and talk. And the army will ask Hawk to come to us."
Crazy Horse nodded in agreement. He smiled.
"He will come," he said with assurance.
Blade said, "Yes," in agreement. "Sloan—Cougar-in- the-Night—will come for him, and they will ride out together, most certainly. We were beginning to discuss this, but then he heard the woman."
"The woman?"
Ice Raven nodded gravely. "A white woman, young, very beautiful. As we talked at old Riley's stagecoach stop, she came in to eat. We could hear her. She claimed to be Lady Douglas. Hawk was upset."
Blade chuckled softly. "We played out an attack upon her stagecoach."
"She fought with more spirit than many a Crow!" Ice Raven laughed.
Crazy Horse arched a brow. Their traditional Crow enemies were certainly brave, though naturally they mocked their enemies. But the woman must have been interesting.
"Since his father has died," Crazy Horse said, "and Hawk is one with the white world, then he is Lord Douglas, as his father was called."
Blade nodded.
"So who was the woman?"
Ice Raven looked at Blade and shrugged. "We rode with him and Willow to seize the stagecoach, but from there, he wished to handle the matter himself. He took her away on his horse, and we parted company with our brother Willow and returned here."
"They're sending his father's body here from across the land. When it comes, they will bury David Douglas in the ground at Mayfair, as is the white way."
"I will wait for Hawk to come here to tell him we all honored David," Crazy Horse said. "I will not go near the whites."
"He knows what is happening. He will not expect you," Blade said.
"Perhaps his good childhood friend, Dark Mountain, will go," Ice Raven said.
Crazy Horse smiled. ' 'Good. I am anxious to hear about this woman. Although..." He was silent a minute, then shrugged. "Men must be careful where women are concerned."
"He was angry, nothing more," Ice Raven assured Crazy Horse.
"She was very beautiful?" Crazy Horse asked.
"A man must like pale skin and blond hair. If he does, then, yes, she was very beautiful. Eyes like silver. A fine, young, firm body."
"If she was very beautiful, and he was very angry, ah, well, then, it might well be dangerous," Crazy Horse said with a hint of humor. "I hope that Dark Mountain chooses to go to see Hawk to help give his father's body up to his god. Dark Mountain will be able to tell us about the woman."
"Well, if she is Lady Douglas, perhaps Hawk will be bringing her here."
"What white woman will come here?" Crazy Horse demanded.
Blade shrugged, grinning at his brother. "She has already been attacked by Indians."
>
"Perhaps he will bring her. I would like to see a blond woman who can fight like a Crow," Crazy Horse said.
He passed his pipe then, speaking about their need to be close to Wakantanka, to keep in deep association with the White Buffalo Woman who had taught them all things. Soon after, Blade and Ice Raven left him again, to return to the home of their sister. They had agreed to form a hunting party the following day.
When they were gone, Crazy Horse stood outside his tipi. He looked to the east and the west, the north and the south.
As far as he could see right now, the world was his. The river, the earth, the night sky, dotted with stars. It was a beautiful time of year. The nights were growing cooler. Fall would come, then winter. Winter was hard, and harsh. Even then, he loved the landscape when he looked forever, and all that he saw was Sioux.
What he saw, he knew, was a lie. For just within the hills, the white men lived. They'd come so quickly! They were madmen over gold!
Custer, he thought with aggravation. Custer had opened the way through the hills, Sa Papa. Custer, who fought the Indians. Who made Indians his scouts, mocked them, used them. Custer knew the Indians well. Knew that traditional enemies could be induced to prey upon one another.
So many army men in the West! When the white man had fought him, they had been weak. By the white way of war, the brave, wise men were kept in the East to fight one another. There were few men in the West who fought well then, who could be respected.
But the white war was long over now. More and more men came with the army to protect the settlers. They came, like a wave of giant white worms, covering the plain.
He closed his eyes. He would ride against them. Fight them. He would not give up.
But for a moment, he felt a curious shudder. He was not afraid; he was not a coward. He knew Death, he had seen it many times. He would never die afraid.
He wasn't afraid for himself, he realized.
He was afraid for the land. For the little children he could hear crying softly from various tipis. For something he could not see that stretched ahead of him.
He was not the only man to lead others against the whites. No Indian sat with greater determination against them than Sitting Bull of the Hunkpapas. He was older than Crazy Horse. A renowned warrior, a holy man. Crazy Horse listened when Sitting Bull spoke. Together with the others who shared their hearts, they would make a stand.
And still, he felt the shudder....
The whites were coming. Blanketing them.
He shook the feeling away and entered his tipi, focused on more cheerful thoughts. Like those of a half-white blood brother he called friend. He sighed, stirring his fire to heighten it. He lay down to sleep. "Ah, Hawk, my friend! Trust me as one who knows.
"Women are trouble!"
Nine
"My God!" Skylar breathed.
Mayfair. The house was magnificent. It was nestled in a valley surrounded by undulating ground, with the Black Hills rising in the distance. Even by the moonlight in which they arrived, the lawn surrounding the fine house seemed teeming with color, softened by shadows brought about by dozens of different kinds of wildflowers. Mayfair itself was a large whitewashed structure with massive white columns that framed a large porch filled with rockers and other chairs. A barn stood to the far right of the house and slightly behind it. Aside from those two structures, nothing broke the flow of the natural beauty of the land. The house seemed almost like a castle in the midst of a flowery Eden.
"It's so very elegant—in the middle of nowhere," Skylar murmured.
She felt Willow looking at her. She turned to him. "It's very beautiful."
Willow watched her, nodding. "The mine is some distance from here. Not quite in the Black Hills, the disputed land now, Sa Papa. Lord Douglas came here many years ago. When he built his white man's house, he would not do so on Sioux holy ground. Not even his gold mine rests on holy land. He had too much respect for the beliefs of the people. But now .. ."
"Now?" Skylar said.
Willow shrugged.
' 'Now the people are divided in factions. Red Cloud was once a fierce warrior; now he lives in the agency and tries to coerce more food from the whites. Many of the Indians live in the agencies, taking the government stipends. Even there, some wish to sell the Black Hills, while others refuse to do so. Some say that war with the whites has all but decimated other tribes and that we must learn the white ways in order to survive. And if we do so, we might indeed survive, but at what price? Others ..."
"Others?"
' 'Others join with Sitting Bull to our west and the north. All that remains of our hunting territory. Men such as Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull will not even come in to speak at the agencies. They feel we must draw the line now and can surrender no more. Red Cloud went to Washington in the summer." He smiled with a shrug. "Red Cloud sees the strength and the might and the numbers of the white men and their government. He enjoys trips to see the Great White Father, your president. But on this matter, even Red Cloud despairs. Red Cloud went to ask that the Indian agents quit cheating. That they buy good cattle instead of rotten meat. Give us grain that is not laden with worms. No one would discuss the problems that plague us. All they want is the gold in the hills."
"There's been a depression for several years now," Skylar told him. She wondered if she could try to explain the confusion of economics when she barely understood it herself. "It's very bad for the white men now, too. A few summer ago, there were grasshoppers destroying the crops. So many, they say, that they darkened the sky and were several feet thick when they landed on the crops. Food became very expensive. The president was afraid of having too much money out that wasn't backed by gold, while the farmers thought that we needed more paper currency to keep them going. In the big cities, people were out of work." She hesitated. "After the great war when the Americans fought the Americans, many came west for a new life. Now they need to come west again to try to survive. Gold is to us what the buffalo is to the Indians. White men think they need it to survive." I need it at the moment, rather desperately, she thought.
Willow was studying her. He nodded with a grudging smile. "Once, it was a great crime for any Sioux to even mention to a white that there might be gold in the hills. They have known that the whites become madmen over gold dust."
"Well, men do go mad over gold!" Skylar agreed. She stared at the house, shaking her head again. "Lord Douglas came here, years ago, and lived undisturbed by the Sioux?"
"He lived among the Oglalas, then returned to England. When he came back here, he built Mayfair. Undisturbed." He lifted a hand, seeking a way to explain. "Among my people, a man is expected to follow his own path through life. Crazy Horse keeps his distance from all things white. Young-Man-Afraid had been among his best friends, but they shook hands and parted when Young-Man-Afraid became an agency Indian. Young-Man-Afraid is now among the Indian police at the Red Cloud agency. Each man takes his own path."
"Young-Man-Afraid," Skylar murmured. "Interesting name. Is he—easily frightened?"
"Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses," Willow told her.
"He's afraid of horses?"
Willow laughed. ' 'No. His enemies are afraid, just of the sound of his horses."
"Ah!"
Willow was still smiling. He shrugged. "I live in a log house by the mining camp. My brothers went west to ride with Crazy Horse. We have parted but are still blood."
"It must be very difficult," Skylar said.
' 'A tide has come. Like a great wave. Just since I was a boy. By the time many more years have passed, everything I knew then will have changed. But—"
"Yes?"
"Well, it's not over yet. Many have seen the future in their dreams. There's blood ahead for us all—" He looked at her again, then seemed to feel that he had spoken too freely and said the wrong things. "I'll bring you into the house. Hawk will be waiting."
Willow lifted her down from the wagon. Wolf, aware that he had come home, jumped from the back
as well, barking excitedly. Even as Skylar's feet touched the ground, three men appeared in the shadows, coming toward the wagon. "Lady Douglas," Willow said, pointing to each man as he spoke, "Jack Logan, who runs the cattle herd." Jack was a tall, wiry white, quick to tip his hat to her. "Rabbit works with Jack." Rabbit was nearly as tall but heavily muscled and pure Indian. "And this here small fellow with the gaping grin is Two Feathers." Two Feathers, as well, was Indian. He was a boy of about twelve, and he did have a wonderful, friendly smile. Skylar returned it. "Hello," she said to them all.
"We weren't expecting no bride out here," Jack Logan told her awkwardly, "just his Lordship back," he added, sorrowfully inclining his head toward the coffin. "But anything you need, Lady Douglas, you come to any of us."
"Thank you."
"You go on up to the house now, ma'am. We'll be bringing in his Lordship."
Willow held her arm, escorting her up the steps to the porch and then to the huge wooden doors that opened to the foyer of the house. She stared at just the doors, at their size and obvious weight.
"He had 'em brought over from Scotland. Things came by steamship, by railroad, then overland on wagons through hostile territory. Quite a feat."
Skylar agreed but said nothing because the doors had opened.
"Do come in."
It was Hawk's voice that greeted her. As she stepped into the grand foyer, newly amazed by the pure beauty of the house, she wondered how long he had been at the mansion. He had changed into a white shirt with slightly frilled sleeves, a black frock coat, and pants. He seemed every inch the absolute master of his domain, drawing her into the entry where her attention was drawn from him to May- fair itself. The entry floor was marble, surrounded by highly polished hard wood. A curving staircase also made of marble led to the second floor, while double doors on either side of the entry led to other rooms. It was immense; it might have been opulent, but everything that might have been overdone was subdued instead, giving the place a feel of both elegance and comfort.
"The master bedroom is that second door off the main hallway leading from the staircase," Hawk said to her, looking past her to the coffin being borne to the house by the men. "Sandra!" he called. An exotic young woman in a simple calico frock and apron came from the left doorway, drying her hands on her apron, and looking curiously at Skylar. Skylar was certain she returned the scrutiny, for she didn't think she'd ever seen a woman quite as different—or beautiful—as this one. There was Oriental blood in her as well as white and Indian. Her eyes slanted slightly upward, their color unbelievably dark. Her hair was loose, hanging down past her shoulders in blue-black skeins that glowed in the dimmest light. Her face was a gamine's, heart-shaped, intriguing as it was lovely.
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