Читать книгу Her Cheyenne Warrior - Lauri Robinson - Страница 12

Chapter Three

The white women in the wagon cowered together, holding on to each other as fear filled their eyes. Except for the water woman. She had not covered her mass of curls with the black material like the others, and her stare was not full of fear. It was cold and directed at him. Returning her stare, Black Horse lifted his chin, and allowed the celebration to continue. Acquiring horses, no matter how small the number, was a great accomplishment for any warrior. Because all bands were preparing for the hunting season, raids on Crow or Shoshone for horses had not happened since Tsitsistas had started to move north, and his warriors were enjoying the reception as much as if they had brought home dozens of ponies.

Four other bands had joined his to follow the great herds of buffalo, which was the way their fathers and their fathers’ fathers had done it. Displaying the rewards of the day before other warriors caused great excitement for his entire band.

The bands would separate again after the hunt, each leader taking his people to where they would continue to hunt for deer and elk and then reside until the snow once again melted. As long as the white soldiers continued fighting each other far away, where the sun rose each morning, his people would have another peaceful winter.

A shiver tickled his spine and he hardened his stare at the white woman. More than one tribe had been led into a trap set by the white man. The massacre in Nebraska had been a trap, and the white man’s want of the yellow rocks had caused many other battles. Two winters ago in the land the whites called Minnesota a large number of Sioux had been killed and the survivors had been forced to move west, into Cheyenne land. This spring, after the tribal council, messengers had said the white man found more yellow rock north of Cheyenne land. There would be more battles. More tricks. More traps.

Black Horse lifted a hand. The reception had lasted long enough. “Nehetaa’e!”

His command was instantly obeyed. The warriors slowed their ponies and those gathered near quieted. He then commanded four braves who were married to each take a white woman to their lodges and have their wives look after them. Then he commanded others to take the wagons outside the last circle of lodges and search them thoroughly.

Mahpe he’e, water woman, as he’d aptly named her in his mind, was again the only one to protest, biting and scratching Rising Sun as he attempted to lift her out of the wagon. Black Horse turned away, knowing the warrior was much stronger. After dismounting, he handed Horse over to the young boy waiting for the duty.

“Hotoa’e?” the boy asked.

“Hova’ahane,” Black Horse answered, shaking his head. They had not found buffalo on this day, but soon would. Sweet Medicine promised a successful hunt. Not just to his band, but the others camped with them.

The boy, Rising Sun’s child, nodded and started to lead Horse away, but stopped at the sound of his father’s howl. Black Horse spun around to spy the woman launching herself into the air, claws out.

He caught her by both arms and held her in the air. She would have landed on his back and dug those claws deep into his skin if he had not turned around. Like a mountain cat. Poeso was a much better name for her. She was as wild and most likely as devious as a cat.

Her feet struck his shins as she shouted into his face, “Give me my gun, you ugly heathen!”

He spun her around, but that just made her kick backward. The heels of her boots made his shins smart. Grasping both of her arms in one hand, he wrapped his other arm around her waist to hold her close to his side where her feet could no longer meet with his legs. He lifted his head to shout for Rising Sun to come get her, but the warrior had dread in his eyes. His wife, Little Dove, who was wiping at the blood trickling down her husband’s arm, did not look at him. Did not need to. Black Horse recognized that she did not want the responsibility of the white woman any more than her husband, but they would take her if he told them to.

The white woman was still shouting, and squirming. Black Horse had had enough, and told her so. “Nehetaa’e!”

“Don’t shout at me in that wretched language!” she yelled in return.

Black Horse tightened his hold and glanced around, looking for someone to take the woman. Not a single warrior met his gaze. They all stood stock still, waiting to hear who he would command to take her. Except Sleeps All Day, who scurried away as if suddenly remembering an imminent task. The celebration must have awoken him. Sleeps All Day, along with those he oversaw, stood guard through the moon hours while others slept, and took great pride in his post. He was also unmarried, and therefore not one who could take the woman.

A just leader does not request others to do things he would not do himself, and Black Horse stood by that. Always had. It was part of the reason his band was so strong.

Turning slowly, Black Horse caught the gaze of the only person looking at him. She Who Smiles. His mother-in-law was a gentle woman, not one he could turn this wild poeso over to, even though She Who Smiles stepped closer, nodding.

It was a moment before the white woman stopped shouting long enough to hear She Who Smiles’s soft voice.

Poeso twisted and after giving his mother-in-law a cold glare, turned it on him. “What does she want?”

Black Horse had to bite his tongue to keep from answering in her language. There had been no fear in her eyes before, but it was there now. For no reason. She Who Smiles never raised a hand at anyone. Not even him. Not even after he’d killed her daughter. She Who Smiles did not blame him for Hopping Rabbit’s death. No one did. Except him. He had fallen for one of the white man’s traps, and it had stolen his family from him. If he had been a mere brave, he would have revenged the death of his wife and his son, but a leader had to think of what was best for all, not just for himself.

“What does she want?” the white woman repeated, this time with excruciatingly slow pronunciation.

Burying his thoughts in that dark and hollow grave inside him, he nodded. “Epeva’e,” he said, telling her it was all right for her to go with She Who Smiles.

Lorna shook her head. She had no idea what he’d just said, but understood she was to go with this woman. Not likely. She wasn’t about to go anywhere without her gun. As Black Horse’s hold lessened, she spun. During her fight to get away from the other Indian in order to retrieve her gun from him, she’d lost sight of Meg, Tillie and Betty.

The area that had been as crowded as a marketplace was now empty, and eerily quiet. Even the wagons were gone. She spun back around. Black Horse had completely released her, but there was no sense in attempting to attack him again. His strength was beyond her. Her ribs could very well be bruised from the hold he’d had on her a moment ago.

Softly, the tiny woman whispered something in their language. Coming from her, the words didn’t sound nearly as harsh or ugly as when he spoke. The woman had kind eyes and her long black hair was streaked with gray, which made her look soft and pretty rather than old as one would think.

“I don’t know what you are saying,” Lorna said, frustrated. “I don’t know what anyone is saying, or doing, or...” She pinched at the bridge of her nose in an attempt to hold back the tears. Crying would not accomplish anything, nor would it change anything. She’d promised herself she’d never be in this predicament again. Never be at the mercy of someone else. Ever. She’d crossed the ocean alone, and traveled from New York to Missouri alone.

Lorna lifted her chin. She could do this, too. Glancing between Black Horse and the tiny woman, she chose the woman. Escaping her would be easy. Then she’d find Meg, Tillie and Betty, and the wagons. By nightfall, they’d be well away from these heathens.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped away from the man and closer to the woman.

They said a few words to each other, things she couldn’t understand, but Lorna didn’t let that bother her. She’d find a way to get her gun back. It was still in the pouch hanging off his waist. Considering his strength, getting it back would not be easy, but not a whole lot had been easy the past year, and that hadn’t stopped her.

He gave her a nod before turning and walking away. Lorna watched to make note of which tent, or teepee as she had read they were called, he entered. As she’d informed Meg, she’d read about the American Indians while on the train from New York and wasn’t completely ignorant of their ways. However, the teepee he ducked down to enter looked no different from the dozens surrounding it. She tried counting from the end of the row, so she’d know which one was his, but there wasn’t a row. Instead, the teepees made a complete circle. Several circles actually. One large one with several smaller ones inside it.

The woman said something softly and gestured for Lorna to follow. She did, all the while trying to make sense of the layout and how to get back to the teepee Black Horse had entered. The farther they walked, the more confusing it became. The circles of teepees were not full circles, but half circles that formed another circle, and then another one. The entire area was a full circle of teepees. The layout was as symmetric as it was perplexing.

Other women and children, as well as a few men, went about their business, never glancing their way as she followed the older woman. The chatter that had once gone silent was about them again, but this time it wasn’t frightening, it just was. Like the noise at the market square or in a neighborhood full of children and good cheer. So were the colors. The teepees were brightly decorated, and Lorna couldn’t imagine where the Indians got the paint from, for it surely wasn’t something people on wagon trains hauled, and she assumed that was how the Indians got most everything they needed. They stole it.

Unless, of course, there was an army post nearby. Most of those had been abandoned, from what Meg said. The soldiers were needed back east to fight against one another. The thrill of having an army post nearby quickly dissolved. From what Meg had said, the few army men left in the west could not be trusted. Then again, she hadn’t been right about the Cheyenne Indians being friendly, so maybe there was a lot she wasn’t right about.

Friendly Indians would have chased away Lerber and his cronies and left them alone. Not have stolen their wagons and brought them here.

The Indian woman had stopped before a teepee and nodded slightly. Lorna glanced around a final time. While walking, she’d kept an eye out for her friends, but hadn’t seen a glimpse of any of them. She wasn’t a fool. Attempting to run away in the maze of tents would get her nowhere.

With a nod of her own, Lorna bent down and entered through an opening the Indian woman held apart. The interior was primitive. As had been her home the past few months, but while sleeping beneath a wagon, she’d been surrounded by familiar things. Here, she didn’t recognize much of anything. The teepee was circular, with tall logs that allowed her to stand once she’d entered. The narrow poles, at least twice as tall as she, were rather remarkable. They appeared to be identical in length and circumference and neatly fit together at the top, leaving a hole that allowed the sunlight to brighten what might otherwise have been a dark and confining space. Despite the sunlight, it was surprisingly cool inside, and much larger than she’d imagined.

“Nehaeanaha?”

Lorna turned to the other woman and shook her head while shrugging. “I don’t know what you are saying.”

The woman put her fingers to her lips. “Nehaeanaha?”

“Eat?” Lorna mimicked the action. “Nehaeanaha means eat?”

Repeating the action again, the woman nodded. “Nehaeanaha.”

“Why would it need so many syllables?” Lorna asked.

The woman frowned.

Shaking her head, Lorna said, “Never mind.”

“Nehaeanaha?”

Considering their lunch had been interrupted, food didn’t sound too bad. It would give her time to create a plan. “Sure,” Lorna said. “Why not?” Then, trying her best to copy the other woman’s word, she added, “Nehaeanaha.”

The woman’s smile never faded as she gestured for Lorna to sit on a pile of what looked like animal furs before she moved to where several things sat along the edge of the teepee—bowls and such. A few minutes later the woman handed Lorna a wooden bowl with chunks of jerky and a wooden tumbler full of water.

Once her thirst was quenched, Lorna took a bite of the jerky. It was hard and rather tasteless, but she ate it. That was one thing she’d learned since leaving home. Picky eaters went hungry, and hungry people had no energy. She needed all the energy she could get. There was a lot she had to do, and little time.

The woman refilled her bowl as soon as Lorna took out the last piece. Although her stomach could handle more, her jaw couldn’t. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve had enough.”

Still smiling, the woman nodded and took away the bowl.

“What is your name?” Lorna asked.

The woman shook her head and shrugged.

Lorna pointed at her chest. “Lorna.” Pointing at the woman, she asked, “Your name?”

The woman nodded and said a single word long enough it would have filled up an entire diary page.

“Uh?” Lorna asked. There was no way she could even attempt to pronounce what had been said.

Smiling brighter, the woman pointed at her lips.

“Happy?” Lorna asked. “You’re happy?” Shaking her head, she added, “I’m glad someone is.”

The woman pointed at her lips again, making her smile bigger.

“I see your smile.” She pulled up a fake one. “See mine?”

The woman giggled.

Lorna giggled, too. These were some strange people. Whether it was her name or not, Smile was a fitting name for the woman. Lorna drank the last of her water and held out the cup. “Thank you.”

Smile returned the cup to the edge of the teepee and then carried something else across the small area. To Lorna’s surprise, it was a hairbrush, a primitive one, but it would do the job. Her hair was a mass of snarls after swimming, and she reached for the brush.

With another ten-syllable word, Smile refused to hand over the brush. Instead, she sat down beside Lorna and started to brush her hair. Anna used to do that, but she’d been merciless when it came to wrenching apart the curls that twisted among each other, whereas Smile was gentle, brushing small sections at a time.

Other memories of England floated through Lorna’s mind. Of her mother. A memory she’d forgotten. Mother had never brushed her hair because once, when Lorna had been very little, Mother had cut it all off. Right to the nape of her neck. Her father had been furious and forbade her mother from ever touching her hair again. Mother hadn’t. Even after her father died. Lorna had been only seven, and didn’t remember a lot about him, considering he’d been absent more than not, but she did remember riding with him, and that hair-cutting incident. How mad he’d been over it.

Smile said something, and the memories disappeared as quickly as they’d formed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Lorna said again.

With her smile never faltering, the woman rose and crossed the small space again. This time toward a pile of things on the other side of the opening. When she turned around, she was holding a hide dress, much like the one she wore. She then pointed at how Lorna’s dress was still wet in spots.

Lorna shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said. “My hair needed to be brushed, but we aren’t playing dress up. Wet or not, I’m not putting that on. I need to find my friends.” It was clear Smile didn’t understand. Lorna rose and crossed the room. Taking the dress from the other woman, she folded it and placed it on top of a pile of other things. “My friends,” she repeated. “The other women with me. I must find them so we can leave.” Waving a hand toward the teepee surrounding them, she said, “We can’t stay here. We are going to California.” Since the other woman didn’t understand a word she said, Lorna added, “I need to check on an investment, one my father willed to me. I’ll be a very rich woman then. I could pay you to help me escape.”

Lorna sighed then, knowing the Indian woman had no idea what she’d said. “I’ve told you more than I’ve told the women I’m traveling with.”

Still smiling, Smile nodded again.

Lorna shrugged but she smiled, too, and nodded. It felt good to tell someone else, even if they didn’t understand. “When I find Elliot Chadwick—he was my father’s partner, and I met his brother in New York—I’m going to see my stepfather pays for what he did to me.”