Cheyenne Captive

by Georgina Gentry - Iron Knife's Family 01 - Cheyenne Captive

  “No, I know it seems strange, but they think it wrong to take more than one wife at a time.”

  “No wonder then they must build a place to put these homeless children.” His uncle snorted and passed him the pipe. “Although your father never took a second wife, even though he must have known she was gone forever, he only lived alone and grieved for her. I have never seen a man so under the magic spell of a female as he was about that girl he called the Golden One, or any man so happy as when he finally found out where she was and led the raiding party to bring you both out.”

  “And I know, at last, how he felt,” Iron Knife admitted softly as he smoked. “I will never take another wife, either. I want none but Summer Sky.”

  The old warrior shook his head. “We are a warrior nation. So often a man falls in battle and there is some wailing female who must be taken as wife by some brave.”

  “That is true,” Iron Knife said thoughtfully, “and I suppose we could never explain to the whites our habit of the second and third wife often being sisters of the first.”

  Clouds Above seemed to study him keenly. “Does your woman have a younger sister for you to take as second wife?”

  He shrugged. “I think she has mentioned one, a very young child. But it does not matter. I will marry only this one.”

  He watched the pungent smoke drift in the dim light of the tepee, wondering when Summer would return from her lessons with Pony Woman. He grew increasingly impatient with his uncle and sometimes the Indian ways. The old man had not merely come to smoke, he knew. There was some business on his mind but it was not polite to rush right to the point as the white man did. He wondered if this were the reason the whites sometimes called the Indians “lazy,” because they were well mannered enough to take the time for first the food, then the smoking and the long conversations before finally coming to the point. He wondered when his uncle would finally get around to it.

  “You may not think so now,” his uncle suggested, “but when this wife has a baby at her breast, you will need another wife, for you will not dare mount her for fear of getting her again with child. If that happens, her milk will not flow, starving the child she already has. That is another reason our men take a second wife.”

  “I will face that when the time comes. I want no other woman.” He tried not to sound too short, wondering why the old man had come. He couldn’t be representing some hopeful girl, for it was always a respected member of the groom’s family who called on the girl’s relatives. Maybe he was only making polite conversation until he was ready to bring up whatever it was he had on his mind.

  He took another puff of the pipe and passed it over. “You only took two wives,” he reminded his uncle gently, “and these last few years, you have had only one.”

  Clouds Above accepted the pipe and drew deeply. “When Pony Woman’s older sister was taken by the white’s cholera, I decided one wife was plenty for me. And anyway,” he conceded, “I am an old man now and my blood doesn’t run as hot as it once did. If you insist on keeping this white girl, you should quickly get her with child so you may have sons to bring meat to your lodge when you are too old to hunt anymore.”

  Would the old man never get to the point? “My woman is eager to produce fine, strong sons for me,” he said in the soft, muscial Cheyenne tongue.

  “Just make sure they are your sons!” his uncle admonished. “The white women have very loose morals and do not wear the nihpihist to assure their purity. She might already be carrying the seed of some white man.”

  He very nearly lost his temper. “My woman is chaste!” he defended her hotly. “When first I took her, there was a scarlet stain. I would wager my life she would allow no man but me between her thighs!”

  Clouds Above frowned and passed the pipe back. “I think you care for this woman too much,” he grumbled. “More even than you care for your own people. Do not let this small female blind you to your duty.”

  “I am afraid it is already too late, my uncle,” he admitted as he smoked. “She has taken complete control of my heart and mind, pushing everything else out. Nothing matters to me anymore like this slight, yellow-haired one.”

  The old chief snorted in derision. “I thought you had greatness in you but I see you suffer the same weakness as your father! What difference would it make anyway if you took a brown wife and used this small one for a second if you must keep her? When you are old, you will realize that there is not much difference between women after all. It is good to have one like it is good to have a pony or a fine lance; any of them can warm a man’s robes at night and produce sons for him. A chiefs first duty is to his people.”

  So here it was, finally.

  “You are thinking of giving up your chiefs position, Uncle?”

  “I am growing old and weary of the responsibility. Great trials lie ahead of us, I feel it in my bones. I thought to offer your name to the Council to replace me instead of my son, Lance Bearer.”

  “My cousin would make a fine chief.”

  “True,” the old man nodded. “And someday I know he will step into that place. But right now, he is younger than you and lacks your judgment and reputation as a warrior. The men would not follow him as readily as they would you.”

  All his life, he had waited for this moment to have his name offered as chief, to follow in his father’s footsteps. But it would be bad medicine for the tribe for him to accept after being involved in a killing.

  “I—I cannot,” he said.

  “Nonsense! You cannot think that much of this white woman. Take a Cheyenne wife and you will easily be accepted as chief and our people need you.”

  “My father had a white wife,” he reminded his uncle.

  “Your father was already a great chief before he ever took Texanna. He had led many successful raiding parties as he was doing that time down in Texas against the Comanche when he stole her from a wagon train. You have not proven yourself to that extent and some might grumble at accepting a chief with a white wife.”

  “There are many reasons I cannot accept the chief’s place,” Iron Knife said regretfully, knowing he dare not tell. His uncle, being the great chief he was, would have to put the Cheyenne tabus ahead of family ties. He would have to let the old man think what he would. “Uncle, I cannot give up this white girl. Perhaps I haven’t got the makings of a chief, for I do not think I could put my duty ahead of her welfare if I had to choose between the two.”

  Clouds Above’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You turn down the chance over a mere woman?”

  He had wanted it so long because he knew he could help the People; but now, it could never be.

  “Tell the Chiefs Council that I am honored but I will not accept. When all the bands gather next summer for the Medicine Lodge sun dance, I hope to see Lance Bearer has accepted this honor.”

  The other sighed and smoked a long time. Neither of them said anything and Iron Knife wished he could confide in his uncle. But Clouds Above put his people first, always, and he would feel duty bound to send his own nephew into exile.

  Finally the old man stood. “It will be as you wish, my nephew. Only you know why you feel called upon to turn this down.”

  He looked at Iron Knife sadly. Iron Knife’s heart went out to his uncle as he noticed for the first time how gray the old man’s hair had become under the hammered silver coin hair decorations and otter fur bands that bound his braids. The bear claws from the fierce animal he had killed in his younger days glistened around his neck as he pulled the Pendleton blanket around his stooped shoulders. He handed the pipe to Iron Knife and started out of the tepee, then turned and came back. “I almost forgot I had another reason for coming.”

  “Yes?”

  “My younger son, Two Arrows, wants to marry Pretty Flower Woman.”

  Iron Knife smiled. “This I have been expecting for over a year. You wish me to take the gifts to the girl’s family?”

  The chief nodded. “They will be much impressed if a well known Dog Sold
ier such as you represents his cousin.”

  “Two Arrows is fast becoming a great warrior in his own right like his father.”

  Clouds Above said modestly, “Your praise is too great and we are undeserving.”

  “It is good that a great chief is modest about his many coups, but I am honored to be asked by you to perform this service.” He clapped his uncle on the back. “I was wondering if that pair would marry before we left for our winter camp in the Big Timbers.”

  “My son is tired of sleeping alone and it will be cold this winter in the mountain country.” The old man smiled in spite of himself. “We are prepared to give ten of our very best ponies, three fine blankets, two iron pots, a mirror, and a large pile of beads from the traders’ store.”

  Iron Knife nodded, impressed. “That is a fine bride gift! I know her father, Fierce Bear, will be honored to merge the two families. I will come for the gifts as soon as I am dressed in my best.”

  Clouds Above paused in the doorway. “I will tell Two Arrows.”

  He was gone then, leaving Iron Knife holding the ceremonial pipe. The stone for the pipe came from only one small area in Minnesota traditionally owned by the Sioux who traded the soft stone to the other tribes so that they might smoke. He knew the white men called the stone Catlinite after some man who painted Indian pictures. As he put the pipe away, he studied its plain design. The Sioux designs were always more elaborate.

  Summer entered the tepee, interrupting his thoughts. “What was it your uncle wanted, my husband?”

  “I am not your husband yet!” he teased, gathering her into his arms.

  “In every way but ceremony.” She looked up at him. “Did your uncle’s visit concern me?”

  “Of course not!” he said, looking away. He could not lie to her when he looked into those blue eyes. “It did not concern you in the least and, anyway, it is not proper for a woman to inquire into the business of men.”

  “You sound exactly like my father,” she bristled. “He always thinks women should be seen and not heard!”

  “There have been some honored women among the Cheyenne,” he answered. “Some have even ridden in war parties and several of the soldier societies accept them as members although the Dog Soldiers do not.” He reached out for her. “But since you cannot handle a lance or bow, I think you should do what you do best, which is take care of your man and come to my blankets whenever I feel the need for you—which will be often.”

  He felt the pulse quicken in her throat as his lips brushed her neck and she asked. “Is that time now?”

  He smiled as he gently pushed her away. “I think I have created a monster like the Mihn in the deep water of the lakes and rivers. Do you think this warrior has nothing to do but quench your fires?”

  She looked up at him coquettishly. “It was you who ignited the flame!”

  “I will extinguish it later.” He smiled at her. “Right now, I have promised to be the go-between for a marriage for Two Arrows.”

  “You are helping to arrange a marriage?” Summer clapped her hands with evident glee. “When will the wedding be?”

  “Probably in the next several days if her father accepts the gifts and I have no reason to think he won’t. I have watched my cousin mooning over Pretty Flower Woman for many months now.

  She looked puzzled. “Does every Cheyenne woman’s name end in the word ‘woman’?”

  “Yes, but don’t ask me why. It just does.”

  “Are they engaged?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know that word. But for more than a year now, I have seen my cousin grab at her sleeve whenever she passed to get her attention. Always, he seemed to be standing outside her tepee, awaiting his turn with the other young braves to stand under the cover of her shawl and flirt with her.”

  Summer smiled. “Courting is much the same, isn’t it, no matter the culture?”

  Iron Knife laughed. “I suppose! My cousin plays the love flute long and late into the night and has even paid one of the heemaneh, the half men-half women who are such good love talkers, to speak to her for him.”

  “Will there be feasting and dancing?”

  “Of course! No culture seems to be able to put on a wedding without feasting and dancing. Now I must get ready to go and you should be practicing what Pony Woman has taught you.”

  She frowned. “I sew well enough that I think I will finally be able to do the fancy bead work, but I am having a hard time with the language. So few of these people speak English and, also, some of the customs and tabus confuse me.”

  He took her small face in his two big hands and turned it upward by putting his thumbs under her jaw. “These are your people now, Little One, and you will have to learn their language and their customs. What is it the Black Holy book of the whites says? ‘Where you go I shall go and your tepee shall be my tepee’?”

  “I shall try harder,” she promised, turning her head slightly so she kissed the hand that held her face. “If your people will accept me, I will learn their talk and customs.”

  “They will accept you, Summer Sky, if in your heart you truly accept them. You will need the friendship of the women when we leave for the Big Timber country to winter near Bent’s Fort in the territory whites call the Rockies.’”

  A shadow seemed to cross her face. “Will we never see white people again?”

  “So the regret begins so soon!” he said bitterly.

  “No, it is not regret,” she denied, but the doubt remained in his heart.

  “There are sometimes a few whites around Bent’s Fort,” he answered as he released her. “I have met the one called Jim Bridger there and the Bents themselves are married to Cheyenne women. In fact, George Bent’s wife is niece to the peace chief, Black Kettle.”

  “Do you have white friends there, too?”

  “Maybe my old friend, Kit Carson, the one we call the Rope Thrower.’ He has taken a Cheyenne woman in the past and he sometimes works as a hunter to provide meat for the fort.”

  “When will we be leaving?”

  “In a few days.” He decided not to tell her more, afraid she might be plotting to run away from him. Much as he yearned to, he was afraid to trust her declaration of love, afraid she didn’t really love him as he loved her and he would do anything to keep her. Even though she swore she cared for him, in the still, small hours of the night, doubts returned to haunt him that she might change her mind if given a choice.

  Dressed in his finest and wearing all the trappings of a well-known warrior and wealthy man of many ponies, he tied the gray eagle coup feathers and hammered silver coins in his black hair. Iron Knife placed many strings of the antique blue pony beads around his neck from the old days of the traders and he put on numerous brass bracelets to go with the brass cavalry button earring. His soft skin shirt and moccasins were adorned with the tiny seed beads and fine quill work. The beads and quills had been obtained by trading with the white men and the northern tribes.

  He gathered the gifts from his uncle and walked with great dignity across the camp, leading the ten ponies. He must be careful to keep Summer away from the fort when they moved up to the Big Timber country, he thought. Some trapper might question her and she might ask for help in returning to her people. He knew it was selfish of him, but he couldn’t let her go. He loved her too much. And yet he wanted her happiness more than anything, which caused great conflict in his mind. Maybe someday, she would love him enough that she wouldn’t want to run away. Until then, he would hold her a captive.

  He felt many eyes upon him as he marched solemnly across the camp toward Fierce Bear’s lodge. He knew the gossip of the marriage offer flashed like wildfire through the village. He tied the ponies before the lodge and stacked the other gifts there.

  “My nahnih, Two Arrows, wants Pretty Flower Woman for his wife,” he announced loudly before turning to leave with great dignity. He could feel Pretty Flower Woman’s eyes on his back and knew the family discussion would have begun before he had even turned
to walk away. The offer was mostly ceremony, seldom did the Cheyenne try to force their daughters to marry men the girls did not want. In that case, the girl would sometimes elope with the man of her choice or, if thwarted, had been known to hang herself.

  “But what if the ponies aren’t accepted?” Summer asked later as they discussed his role in this offer.

  “They will be accepted,” he promised her, stroking her yellow hair. “That is why I delivered the ponies because my uncle thought her family would be more impressed and as the father of the groom he couldn’t make the offer himself. Usually, though, the ponies are taken by some elderly person of the family but ours seems to have none left. Anyway, the marriage is a foregone conclusion. The whole camp has been watching this love bloom since sun dance season before last. My cousin has worn a path in the dirt following her when she goes to the river for water. Have you not heard his flute at night among the others as the young men serenade their sweethearts?”

  She smiled. “I have heard the flutes, but I didn’t realize they were being played for sweethearts.”

  “Do not white men do much the same? Are we such savages, then?”

  Her face colored. “I suppose men in love do many of the same things, no matter their color. When will we know if Two Arrows is being accepted?”

  “The ponies are tied in front of her father’s lodge now. If the marriage is welcome, her family will take the horses away and put them with their own ponies. It is bad manners to let them stand more than a few hours without being accepted. In fact, that almost never happens, for a brave would not humiliate himself by offering ponies he did not think in advance would be accepted.” He thought for a moment of Gray Dove. It was cruel of her not to let Angry Wolf know in advance that she was not interested in his offer and thus spare him the humiliation and laughter of the whole camp. Because of a girl, he and the man had become enemies. Finally it had led to this killing that stopped Iron Knife from becoming chief.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she said, placing her small hand over his big one.

  “What?” he asked, puzzled.