Tales of Western Romance (20 page)

Within an hour, every warrior who still had a
horse was mounted and ready to ride. Winter Star begged Culhane not
to go.

“
I must,” he said. “Our people need
every man who can ride. We cannot let the Crow get away with
stealing our horses and killing our young boys. And what about
Beaver Woman? Would you have us abandon her?”

Winter Star shook her head, her heart torn
with emotion. She was glad to hear Culhane refer to the Cheyenne as
“our” people, glad he was concerned about Beaver Woman, but their
wedding was only a few days away, and she was afraid, so
afraid.

Her eyes were dark with anxiety as she
watched him ride out of the village. Then, her hands pressed over
her stomach, she returned to her lodge.

* * * * *

The Crow had not run for home. Instead, they
split up, half going north, half going east. Elk Hunter took a
group of Cheyenne and followed the northern trail. A warrior known
as Walks Far followed the eastern trail. Culhane and Young Hawk
went with him.

That night, they stopped near a shallow
stream. Culhane was spreading his bedroll when he heard a warning
cry, followed by the shrill notes of a bugle.

In a brief moment of clarity, he realized the
Crow had led them into a trap. You could never trust the Crow,
Culhane mused as he reached for his rifle. They sucked up to the
white man, licking at his boot heels like a whipped cur. And then
there was no time for thought. The soldiers, armed with repeating
rifles, quickly killed or wounded most of the Cheyenne, who were
armed with bows and a few ancient Spencer rifles.

Culhane felt his anger turn to rage as he saw
men he had come to admire shot down. He was fighting hand-to-hand
with a bearded Corporal when something smashed into the back of his
head, separating him from the rest of the world...

* * * * *

The warriors returned to the village by twos
and threes, carrying their dead and wounded with them. The women
poured out their grief in a long, keening wail as the bodies were
prepared for burial. The men who had remained in the village
listened with growing outrage as Young Hawk told of how the Crow
had split up and lead them into an ambush where the soldier-coats
waited to attack them.

Many of the young braves wanted to ride out
and take revenge immediately, but Elk Hunter called for patience.
They were few in number. Runners would be sent to their allies, the
Lakota. When Crazy Horse learned of the treachery of the Crow, he
would join with them. Together, the Lakota and the Cheyenne would
ride against the Crow.

The young men nodded. Elk Hunter spoke
wisely. Waiting would lull the Crow into thinking the Cheyenne were
too scared to retaliate.

Winter Star refused to accept the fact that
Culhane had been killed in battle. She questioned Young Hawk, who
said that Braves the Fire had last been seen fighting one of the
bluecoats. His body had not been found, and it was assumed that the
soldiers had discovered he was a white man and carried his body
back to his own people.

Winter Star was inconsolable. She did not cut
her hair or slash her flesh, for she clearly remembered how Culhane
had begged her not to disfigure herself if he died. Instead, she
covered her face and hair with ashes, refusing food and water,
refusing to be comforted.

And then, after weeks of grieving, a new
problem presented itself. She feared she was pregnant, and when she
knew for certain, she began to wonder how she would confront her
parents with the news that she was carrying Culhane’s child.

It was Young Hawk who solved her dilemma.
Strolling by the river late one afternoon, he found her weeping
uncontrollably. Going to her, he laid his hand on her shoulder and
whispered her name.

Winter Star glanced up, startled. Hastily,
she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“
What is it?” Young Hawk asked kindly.
“Why do you weep here alone?”

“
I cannot tell you,” Winter Star
sobbed. “I cannot tell anyone.”

Young Hawk dropped to his knees, facing her.
“You can tell me,” he urged. “I will keep your secret.”

Winter Star met his gaze. Could she trust
him? What if he laughed at her? What if the tender concern in his
eyes turned to scorn? But surely he would not hate her. They had
been friends for so long.

“
I am pregnant,” she murmured, her
voice so low he could hardly hear her.

Young Hawk gasped, as if someone had knocked
the breath from his body. “Is Braves the Fire the father?”

“
Yes.”

“
It is well he was killed by the
bluecoats,” Young Hawk exclaimed angrily. “If he were here, I would
cut out his heart.”

“
It was not his fault.”

Young Hawk sat back on his heels, his eyes
moving over Winter Star’s tear-stained face. She was lovely, so
lovely, and he had loved her for so long.

“
What am I to do?” Winter Star lamented
softly. “Soon everyone will know. My parents will be ashamed.” A
fresh wave of tears coursed down her cheeks. “Perhaps I will be
banished from our people.”

“
No!” Young Hawk took a deep breath. He
loved her, had always loved her, and now, at last, there might be a
way to make her his. “If you would agree to be my wife, no one
would ever know you shamed our people by lying with that
vehoe
.”

Winter Star stared at Young Hawk in
astonishment. “Marry you!” she exclaimed softly. “Why would you
want me now?”

“
I love you. I do not care that you do
not love me. Perhaps you will learn to care for me, in
time.”

Winter Star gazed into the distance. How
could she marry Young Hawk when her heart belonged to Culhane? And
yet, with Culhane dead, what other choice did she have? If she
refused to marry Young Hawk, she would be humiliated when her
pregnancy became known. Her parents would be ashamed; her child
would have no father.

“
I will not expect anything from you
until after the child is born,” Young Hawk said, not meeting her
eyes. “After that, I will want a child of my own.”

“
You are being most kind,” she
murmured. “I accept your offer.”

Young Hawk could scarce contain his joy.
Leaping to his feet, he shouted the Cheyenne war cry. “I will speak
to your father at once,” he announced jubilantly, and raced up the
path toward the village as though his feet had sprouted wings.

* * * * *

Elk Hunter readily gave his permission for
Winter Star to marry Young Hawk, and the marriage date was set for
the following week.

Winter Star moved through the next few days
as if in a trance. With her mother’s help, she erected the lodge
she once dreamed of sharing with Culhane. She laid out the sleeping
robes, made with loving hands, made from skins he had brought her.
She dug a fire pit in the center of the lodge, arranged the cooking
pots and utensils.

On the day of the wedding, she dressed
slowly, her eyes filling with tears as she smoothed the soft
doeskin over her slightly rounded belly. It didn’t seem real. None
of it seemed real.

She stood before her grandfather while he
said the words that made her Young Hawk’s wife, her gaze focused on
the distant mountains. And none of it seemed real.

Chapter 11

“
So, you’ve finally decided to rejoin
the land of the living!” the doctor boomed. “How do you feel? Head
still hurt?”

Culhane blinked against the light, his eyes
focusing on the face of the man standing beside his bed. “Where am
I?”

“
The stockade at Fort Hays.”

“
What happened? How’d I get
here?”

“
You don’t remember?”

Culhane frowned as he rubbed his forehead.
“There was a fight. I don’t remember much else. How long have I
been here?”

“
A little over a week. You took a nasty
blow on the back of your head. You’re lucky to be
alive.”

“
Yeah,” Culhane muttered. “Lucky.” He
glanced at the iron-barred window. “Why am I in the
stockade?”

The doctor gestured at Culhane’s buckskin
leggings. “I’d say those Injun duds might have something to do with
it. How’d you come to be dressed like that?”

“
It’s a long story, Doc. Do you mind if
we save it for another time?”

The doctor grinned as he headed for the door.
“No, get all the rest you can.”

Culhane swore softly as he glanced around the
narrow cell. From outside came the familiar baritone of Sergeant
Mulligan’s voice as he drilled the troops. He heard the sound of a
hammer striking steel as the blacksmith forged a new set of shoes
for one of the cavalry horses, the obscene holler of a muleskinner
as he loaded an ornery mule.

With a sigh, Culhane closed his eyes against
the dull ache in the back of his head. So, he mused, he was back at
Fort Hays, back with his own people. Back where he belonged. The
thought did not please him as it should have.

Two days later, the doctor pronounced him
well enough to get out of bed. The supply sergeant brought him a
new uniform and boots, and the following morning Culhane stood at
attention before the company commander.

“
I’m surprised to see you, Culhane,”
Major Harvey remarked. “We thought you’d been killed with Frye’s
patrol last year.”

“
No, sir.”

“
What happened to the rest of Frye’s
men?”

Succinctly, Culhane related the details of
the ill-fated skirmish between Frye’s command and the Cheyenne.

“
And you were the only
survivor?”

“
Yes, sir.”

Harvey nodded. Placing his elbows on his
desk, he made a steeple of his fingers and rested his chin on it.
His sharp green eyes studied the man standing before him.

“
Why were you dressed as an Indian when
you were found?”

“
I’d been living with them, sir. My
uniform was confiscated.”

“
I see. Perhaps you could tell me why
you were riding with them?”

“
The Crow had attacked our horse herd,
and I rode out with some of the men to try and get them
back.”

Major Harvey lifted one eyebrow. “
Our
horse herd, Sergeant?”

“
I meant the Cheyenne horses,
sir.”

“
I see.” Harvey raked his hand through
his hair. “Renegade is an ugly word, Sergeant.”

“
I’m no renegade, Major. I was taken
prisoner by the Cheyenne, tortured by their women. I was lucky
enough to be spared death at their hands. For a time, I was a
slave.”

“
Slaves don’t ride with the
warriors.”

“
No, sir. I saved the life of a child,
and the medicine man adopted me.”

“
And you made no attempt to
escape?”

Winter Star’s imaged flashed quickly across
Culhane’s mind. “No, sir. I was closely watched to make sure I
didn’t try to escape.”

“
Even after you were
adopted?”

“
Yes, sir. I don’t believe they trusted
me completely.”

Harvey grunted softly as he pushed back in
his chair and picked up a thick black cigar. “So, they didn’t trust
you?”

“
Not completely, sir.”

“
But they were willing to let you take
part in the Sun Dance ceremony which, I believe, is considered
highly sacred and not for non-believers.”

Culhane drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly.
“Yes, sir.”

“
Whose side are you on,
Sergeant?”

“
I’m in the Army, sir.”

“
That’s no answer. How are you going to
feel when we take the field against the Cheyenne? Will you fight
with us?”

Culhane experienced a brief sense of
deja
vu
. Elk Hunter had put a similar question to him not long ago.
If we are attacked by the soldier coats, where will your loyalty
be? Will you defend our people, or will you turn on us and seek to
return to your own kind?

Culhane drew a deep breath. He thought of Elk
Hunter and some of the other warriors he had come to know and
respect. “I’ll do my duty, sir,” he replied stiffly.

“
I hope so, for your sake,” Major
Harvey said, rising. “Renegades are still shot in this man’s army,
Sergeant. You’re dismissed.”

“
Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Turning on his heel, Culhane walked swiftly
out of the Major’s office.
Renegade
, he thought angrily. Is
that what he’d become?

Inwardly seething, he left the fort and went
to the saloon nestled against the foothills. Ordering a shot of
whiskey, he tossed it down and ordered another. The liquor burned a
path down his throat. It had been a long time since he’d tasted
whiskey.

Leaning on the bar, he stared at the man
reflected in the mirror behind the counter top.
Renegade.
He
looked much the same as always and yet, inside, he wasn’t the same
man at all. He had grown to like and respect the enemy, had fallen
in love with a woman. Winter Star. His arms ached to hold her, his
mouth yearned for the taste of her lips. He thought of deserting,
of going back to the Cheyenne, but the thought left a bad taste in
his mouth.
Renegade.

His enlistment was up in another six months,
he mused. He could wait six months if he had to. But would she?

Days passed, and Culhane settled back into
the routine of Army life. He felt the men watching him, wondering
if he was still one of them. When they rode out on patrol, he could
feel their eyes on his back. They knew he’d been with the Indians,
had participated in the Sun Dance. And he could feel them watching
him, waiting for...what? Did they expect him to light out for the
Cheyenne encampment if he got the chance? Were his thoughts that
transparent?