Tales of Western Romance (25 page)

Blue Hawk nodded, his anticipation and
excitement fading a little as he considered the possible dire
consequences of a seemingly harmless action.

“
Are you ready?” Fox Hunter
asked.

“
Yes.” Taking a deep breath, Blue Hawk
entered the hut. Undressing, he folded his clothes into a neat
pile, waited for Fox Hunter to do the same.

Fox Hunter gestured for Blue Hawk to sit down
on the blanket facing the doorway, a symbolic position for one who
hoped to make a journey.

Fox Hunter lit his pipe and offered it to the
four directions, to mother earth and sky above. He puffed on it
four times, then passed it to Blue Hawk, who also offered it to the
four directions, the earth and the sky before puffing on the pipe.
When he was done, he passed it back to Fox Hunter, who laid the
pipe aside.

Lifting his arms overhead, the aged warrior
began to chant softly, praying that
Heammawihio
would grant
Blue Hawk a safe journey.

As Fox Hunter continued to chant, he dipped a
brush made from the beard of a buffalo into the bowl, then
sprinkled the water on the hot stones. He did this repeatedly until
dense heat and steam filled the sweat lodge.

Blue Hawk stared at the deer hide that
covered the doorway, his heart pounding. Sweat trickled down his
face, neck, and chest. His body felt as though it were on fire; he
felt light-headed, and a little sick to his stomach.

Fox Hunter sprinkled more water on the stones
and as he did so, his chant changed in tone, the sound of his voice
fading.

Blue Hawk continued to stare at the hide, his
eyes narrowing as vague shapes began to move on the deer skin. He
saw men and women walking across the plains, their belongings
loaded on travois and lashed to large dogs. The scene blurred and
he had a sense of time moving forward and then he saw a handful of
warriors riding across the prairie in pursuit of buffalo.

Fox Hunter’s voice grew fainter still.

A woman’s image appeared on the wall of the
lodge. Her face was turned away from him, but Blue Hawk could see
that she was tall and slender, with dark hair that reached past her
waist. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt and a calico skirt. He
willed her to turn around so that he might see her face, but at
that moment Fox Hunter’s chant faded away into nothingness.

The stillness in the lodge was complete.

The image on the deer hide vanished.

Wanting to see the woman again, Blue Hawk
turned to speak to the old man, to ask him to summon her image once
again.

But the old man was gone.

Chapter 4

Blue Hawk wiped the sweat from his brow.
Waiting for Fox Hunter to return to the lodge, he stretched his
arms and legs, wondering how the old man had summoned the images he
had seen, wondering who the woman was.

As the inside of the lodge cooled, it
occurred to Blue Hawk that the old man had been gone for quite some
time. Frowning, he moved toward the door of the sweat lodge and
ducked outside.

He shivered as a cold chill slithered down
his spine.

There was no sign of the old man.

Their camp was gone.

His horse was gone.

He turned in a slow circle, but there was
nothing to see save for endless miles of undulating prairie grass,
the vast blue vault of the sky overhead, and the sweat lodge.

Blue Hawk frowned. Where was Fox Hunter? And
how had he left the lodge without being seen?

Blue Hawk was about to go back inside the
lodge when the earth shuddered beneath his feet. A sound like
distant thunder filled his ears. Looking away to the north, he saw
a dark cloud rolling across the prairie floor.

Frowning, he shaded his eyes with his hand.
As the cloud grew nearer, it broke apart and took shape and he saw
a herd of horses running across the prairie. A blood-red mare led
the way, but it was the stallion at the rear of the herd who caught
his eye. The horse was the most magnificent creature Blue Hawk had
ever seen, and that was saying a lot, considering that his own
father raised some of the best stock in the country. The stallion
nipped at the flanks of a mare who was lagging behind, ran
alongside a young colt, encouraging the colt to run faster.

Looking past the herd, Blue Hawk saw a
half-dozen men in pursuit.

It was, he thought, a beautiful sight to see,
with the wild bunch racing ahead, manes and tales flying in the
breeze, and the riders coming up hard behind. He could hear their
voices now.

In minutes, the herd had passed by and the
men were approaching the hill where Blue Hawk stood.

One of the men glanced up to where Blue Hawk
was standing. Before Blue Hawk realized what was happening, the man
reined his horse to a halt, and drew his rifle.

Blue Hawk reeled back as pain exploded along
the side of his head and shoulder. He stared blankly at the blood
dripping down his arm, felt himself falling into an endless black
void.

* * * * *

Lynette Richardson drew her horse alongside
Jase Abbott’s. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “What are you trying
to do, start another war?”

“
Dirty redskin’s on our property,
spying on us, probably planning to steal these horses.”

“
You don’t know that. We’re supposed to
be at peace with the Indians, or have you forgotten
that?”

“
I haven’t forgotten anything, Lynnie,
least of all the fact that your father was killed by those damned
redskins not so long ago.”

“
I haven’t forgotten that, either.” If
she had her way, every last Indian would be locked up where they
couldn’t do any more harm, but there were still Indians running
loose, and she didn’t want to give any of them cause to break the
uneasy peace.

She blew out a sigh. “You’d better go up and
see if he’s dead. If he is, we’ll have to take him to the
village.”

“
And if he isn’t?”

“
We’ll still have to take him to the
village.”

“
Like hell! Now who’s trying to start a
war? Dead or alive, the Cheyenne won’t be happy about this. That
chief of theirs has been looking for a good excuse to start another
war and you know it. Besides, you don’t even know if this redskin’s
Cheyenne or not. If he’s dead, we’ll haul his body back to the
ranch and bury it there.”

“
And if he isn’t?”

Jase looked at her, his brown eyes hard and
unblinking. “What do you think?”

“
I don’t like this, Jase. I don’t like
it one bit.”

With a shrug, Jase started up the hill.

Lynnie stared after him for a moment, then,
following some inner prompting she didn’t understand, she urged her
horse after his.

The Indian lay sprawled face down in the dirt
in front of a brush-covered tipi.

Lynnie frowned. She didn’t think she had ever
seen a tipi quite like this one before. Not that she had seen that
many, but the ones she had seen had been cone-shaped and covered
with buffalo hide, not squat and covered with branches and
brush.

With a shrug, she turned her attention to the
Indian. Blood had leaked from both wounds, making an ugly stain on
the windswept earth. “I wonder where his horse is,” she
remarked.

Dismounting, Jase glanced around. “Maybe he
didn’t have one.”

“
You think he walked up
here?”

Jase shrugged. “Who knows? All I know is that
I’ll have to pack his carcass behind me.”

“
You can wrap him up in your blanket,”
Lynnie said.

“
Not hardly. I don’t want his blood
ruining my bedroll.”

“
Maybe there’s a blanket in the tipi,”
Lynnie suggested.

“
Yeah, maybe.” With a grunt of
annoyance, Jase ducked inside the lodge.

Lynnie stared at the Indian, wondering what
he had been doing up here, stark naked. Surely he hadn’t been
planning any mischief while he was naked as a jaybird! She couldn’t
help noticing that he was long and lean, his arms and legs
well-muscled, his skin a dusky reddish-brown. And his hair; he had
the most beautiful hair she had ever seen. It fell to his waist
like a fall of ebony silk, the ends neatly trimmed, as if someone
had cut his hair recently.

She looked away when Jase emerged from the
lodge, her cheeks burning when she realized he had caught her
staring at a dead man.

With a shake of his head, Jase spread a
blanket beside the Indian and rolled him onto it.

Jase jumped back, his hand reaching for his
six-gun, when, with a low groan, the Indian’s eyes opened for a
moment before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Lynnie murmured, “Oh, Lordy, he’s not dead,”
and wondered why she felt such a wave of relief. She had no love
for the Indians.

With the death of her father, Jase had taken
over the running of the ranch. She had no quarrel with that. He was
the foreman, and a good one. But he had also decided it gave him
the right to ride herd on her, as well. Sometimes he treated her as
if she was fourteen instead of twenty-four.

Jase swore. “It would be a damn site easier
on everybody if I put him out of his misery right now.”

“
No!”

Jase might be the foreman, but she still
owned the ranch, still had the final say in whatever decisions were
made, though she usually acquiesced to Jase, since he had more
experience than she did.

Muttering an oath, Jase rolled the Indian
into his blanket and dropped him, face down and none too gently,
over his horse’s withers.

“
You’re gonna regret this day, Lynnie,”
Jase said, swinging into the saddle. “See if you don’t.”

* * * * *

The horses were in the corral and the hands
had all gone to wash up when Lynnie and Jase rode into the
yard.

“
Where do you want him?” Jase asked,
jerking his thumb toward the still-unconscious Indian.

Lynnie nibbled on her lower lip. The spare
bedroom was no longer usable, thanks to the Indian attack last
year. What with one thing and another, the repairs still hadn’t
been made. She could put the Indian in her room, but she didn’t
like that idea, nor did she like the thought of bedding him down on
the sofa.

“
The barn’s the best place,” Jase said.
“I can tie his hands and feet until you decide what you’re gonna do
with him.”

She didn’t like that option, either, but it
seemed the wisest. “All right. Ask Cookie to look after his
wounds.”

Grunting softly, Jase lifted the unconscious
Indian from the back of his horse and carried him into the
barn.

Lynnie stared after him, then, with a
troubled sigh, she went into the house. The housekeeper, Adele, met
her at the door. Reaching into her pocket, Adele withdrew an
envelope.

“
From your mother,” the housekeeper
said.

With a nod, Lynnie went into the parlor.
Taking a seat in what had been her father’s favorite rocker, she
stared at the envelope. Her mother, Jeanette, had never liked the
West. She had come to the ranch as a young bride, and hated it
immediately. When Lynnie turned eleven, Jeanette had insisted on
taking Lynnie back east, declaring the West was no fit place to
raise a young lady. Lynnie hadn’t wanted to go, and she had never
truly forgiven her father for giving in to her mother’s
demands.

Lynnie had hated the east as much as her
mother hated the west. She had endured five years of schooling at
Miss Pringle’s School for Young Ladies and on her sixteenth
birthday, she had told her mother that she’d had enough, she was
going home, with or without her.

Neither Jeanette’s temper or her tears had
changed Lynnie’s mind. Six months later, she was back at the ranch.
Her father had hired Adele Nolan to look after her and Lynnie had
cheerfully cast off her fancy gowns and frippery and spent her days
trailing after her father, whether he was riding the range or
breeding his prize heifer.

Soon after Lynnie had returned to the ranch,
her mother had sued for divorce and remarried. She lived in Boston
now, with her banker husband, Horace.

Lynnie read her mother’s letter quickly. As
usual, Jeanette rambled on and on about the parties she and Horace
were attending, the new jewelry Horace had given her, the plays she
had seen.

“
I’ve hot water waiting for you in your
room,” Adele called from the doorway. “You have just enough time to
clean up before dinner.”

“
Thanks, Addy.”

“
Mr. Russell came calling while you
were gone.”

“
Again?” Lynnie rolled her eyes. Henry
Russell was their neighbor to the south. He had been coming to call
on Lynnie for the last few months, totally oblivious to the fact
that she had no interest in him.

Upstairs, Lynnie sat on the edge of the bed
and removed her boots. She glanced around, thinking her bedroom
always seemed smaller after she had been out on the trail for
awhile. It was a nice enough room, with a canopied bed and a pretty
rosewood dresser. The walls were papered in a green and white
stripe, the curtains were white, as was the spread on her bed.

Her thoughts turned toward the Indian while
she changed out of her jeans and shirt and into a dress. She
wondered what he had been doing up on that mountain all alone and
where his horse had gone. And where his clothes had gone.

She felt her cheeks grow warm as his image
sprang readily to mind – all long, lean, coppery skin and corded
muscle.

She really should go out and see how he was,
she thought. Yes, she really should do that.

Dinner could wait.

Chapter 5

Blue Hawk woke with a groan, his hand
reaching for his head. He frowned when his hand refused to obey,
only to realize, with some alarm, that his ankles were lashed
together and his hands were bound behind his back. A rough, wool
blanket covered him from the waist down. Someone had slapped a
bandage on his shoulder, another was wrapped around his
forehead.