Wind Song (22 page)

"This Great Father day?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It's not the Sabbath, Lefty, but we're not having class today. I have something important to do. I want you to take me to your village."

Lefty slid from the back of his pony. "Why wildfire want to go village?"

"I wish to speak to Red Feather. He killed a little prairie dog that Matthew had adopted as a pet. Red Feather shot him with an arrow."

Lefty looked undecided. "Not wise to go village."

It was the second time in less than a day's time that she had been denied the right to speak to someone. "If you don't take me, I shall go by myself."

"Heap bad idea."

"Then I suggest you do as I ask." She mounted her horse and waited. Lefty hesitated for a moment, then nodded his head in assent before mounting his pony and racing off. If he meant to outrun her, he failed, for his pony offered no challenge for Rutabaga, who seemed to love nothing better than the chance to race across the grasslands.

It was less than a five-mile ride to the Cheyenne camp. The camp was concealed by a hill and it surprised Maddie to look down from the crest and see numerous tipis scattered below them along a winding creek.

Lefty led her along a narrow path that cut through the grass. "Buffalo path go north, south," he told her. "If you follow path long enough, you always find water."

Despite the heat of the midday sun, the camp was bustling with activity. A young woman, her raven hair streaming down her back in two thick plaits, was on bent knees, scraping a buffalo skin stretched upon a wooden frame. A small infant lay strapped to a fur-lined carrier by her side.

A group of robust Indians were strapping skins to a travois attached to a horse. Various campfires blazed beneath heavy iron pots. On the outer limits of the camp, a dozen or so dark-skinned youths took turns casting spears into a willow hoop.

One by one, the Cheyenne looked up from their activities to stare at the two on horseback. Work and play were halted as the Indians caught sight of the white woman in their midst. Soon an eerie silence swept through the camp.

Maddie gripped the reins of her horse with damp hands. Her heart pounded as she rode past stoic Indians. Intent upon proving she came in friendship, she tried to smile, but her mouth felt so wooden she could only manage a tightening of her lips.

She was greatly relieved when one young warrior whom she recognized from her calisthenics class raised his hand in greeting. But even he looked more surprised then friendly.

Leftly led the way to a small gathering of elderly men. No sooner had Lefty dismounted and joined the group than a lively conversation ensued. One of the men, with gray plaited hair and a granite-like face carved with deep lines, spoke in a thick, harsh voice. Maddie didn't need an interpreter to tell her that he objected to her presence.

After the older man had finished his barrage, he angrily stalked away. A warrior wearing a red-dyed roach upon a clean-shaven head pointed to a tipi that stood a distance from the others. Maddie recognized him as one of the Indians who had helped her put up her tipi. Since he gave no indication that they had met previously, she thought it best to follow his lead. She looked for Running Deer and Flying Hawk or any of the other Indians she knew by name, but they were nowhere in sight.

Lefty motioned for her to leave her horse and follow him on foot.

They were several yards away from the tipi when the Indian she recognized as Red Feather stepped outside, his arms folded across his chest. She had the feeling he was expecting them.

"Tell Red feather that I come in peace. I do not wish him harm."

"If you are sincere in not wishing to do us harm, you will refrain from teaching my people the white man's ways."

Red Feather's command of the English language was a welcome surprise. Encouraged, she glanced up at Lefty. "I wish to speak to Red Feather alone."

Lefty's disapproval was evident, but he made no attempt to dissuade her. "Me wait by your horse."

He turned and walked away, leaving Maddie alone with Red Feather. "In my classroom, we teach each other.

Lefty is teaching me your ways, and I am teaching him and his friends my ways."

"Your ways!" Red Feather grated out. "Is that why he walks around with his looking like white woman?" To demonstrate, he spun his wrists in circles at both sides of his head. His every action radiated contempt.

"It's by teaching each other and coming to understand each other's way that we can become friends."

"We will never be friends with white men! They make promises they do not keep. They lie."

"I do not lie, nor do I break promises,"

"But you live with a murderer."

Shocked to hear Red Feather suggest such a thing, she quickly denied it. "I live with no one. I stay on Mr. Tyler's property, and I can assure you that he is no murderer."

"If you believe what you say is true, then you are the worst kind of liar, for you are lying to yourself."

Stunned by his rebuke, she could only watch in silence as he turned and ducked into his tipi. She was tempted to follow him, but thought better of it. She was not going to change Red Feather's anger toward white men in one day. That much was apparent. It was obvious to her that his feelings were too deep-rooted to be changed by talk alone.

She turned and found herself face to face with a sharp-featured Indian. Along with the usual inadequate breechclout, he wore a deerskin vest. Recalling Red Feather's unfair accusations, she folded her arms across her chest. If she really wanted to change the Indians' ways, she would persuade them to exchange their breechclouts for a decent pair of trousers!

The Indian grinned and grabbed a handful of her hair, which he rubbed between his thick fingers. Startled, she cried out and tried to free herself, but he refused to let go of her hair.

Fighting panic, she called to Lefty, who immediately came running. "Quick, tell him he can't have my hair!"

Despite Lefty's attempts, the man refused to let go. She had no choice but to stand motionless while Lefty tried to persuade him to unhand her.

Lefty switched to English. "He say your hair color of red sunset."

"Lefty, listen to me carefully. You must explain that I will not take kindly to being scalped."

Lefty interpreted or at least she hoped he did. It was hard to know what was going through her captor's mind. He did, thankfully, let go of her hair, but his interest in her seemed no less ardent as he studied her from head to toe. He raised his hand parallel to ground to indicate her exceptional height. He then held his hand parallel to each other to indicate her slender frame.

Maddie watched him with growing horror. She was convinced he was measuring her for a cooking pot, and if that indeed was the case, it didn't much matter what plans he had for her scalp. "Why is he looking me over like that?"

"He never see such high and narrow squaw."

"You mean tall and slender." She corrected him without conscious thought, then immediately chastised herself; her life could be in danger, and all she could think about was the correct use of the English language.

The Indian continued his open assessment of her. "What's his name?" she asked.

It took much pointing and hand movement for Lefty to convey the name. After several wild guesses, she finally determined what Lefty was trying to tell her. "His name's Shooting Star!"

Lefty nodded his head, his mouth curved in a wide grin. "Shooting Star."

She turned to Shooting Star, who was still appraising her. "It's very nice to make your acquaintance, but I really must be going." She tried to step around him, but he blocked her path and continued to hold his hands this way and that to indicate her measurements.

Irritated by his rude assessment, Maddie decided to give him a bit of his own medicine. She moved her hand in front of her to indicate his large, rounded stomach.

Much to her surprise, Shooting Star laughed aloud and said something that sounded like he had a mouthful of rocks.

Lefty grinned. "Shooting Star joyful that you admire him."

"Admire…" She burst into laughter. She couldn't help herself. Unfortunately, her laughter seemed to please her admirer all the more.

Suddenly Shooting Star's face grew serious, and he said something to Lefty. A lively discussion followed that sounded to Maddie suspiciously like an argument. Since Shooting Star and Lefty kept pointing at her as they shouted at each other, she could only assume that she was the subject of their discord. A crowd started to gather around, glaring at her as if she had done something wrong.

Suddenly Lefty spun on his moccasined heel and walked away. Shooting Star tried to block her own departure, but he was accosted verbally by an old woman whose head was covered by a red woven blanket.

As the woman's voice escalated, Maddie used the distraction to make her escape.

It was all she could do to catch up with Lefty. "What was that all about? What did Shooting Star want? What were you two arguing about?"

"Nothing you want to know." Lefty took the reins of her horse and shoved them into hr hands. "Follow trail to main road."

She mounted just as the old woman came charging after them. She raised a gnarled hand toward the sky and glared at Maddie with glistening eyes, her voice crackling like fizzling firecrackers as she spoke. Mesmerized by the woman's rage, Maddie had no clue what she had done to incur such wrath.

Maddie gripped the reins in an effort to keep her horse from bolting. "What's the matter with her? What does she want?"

"She wants you to go," Lefty explained.

"Well, holy blazes, why didn't she say so?"

Chapter 19

Supper that night was smoked meat, goat cheese, and fresh-baked bread. Maddie had finally learned how to use the stove, but she held little hope of ever learning how to manage the fuel so that the fire would last until an entire meal was cooked.

Earlier she'd gathered a small bouquet of wildflowers and arranged them around a buffalo-tallow candle. Despite the chipped dishes and dented silverware, the table and centerpiece brought a dignity to the simple meal. Unfortunately, it did little to break the tension in the air. Luke said nothing, his full attention centered on his son, as if he expected another fit.

She looked across the table to Matthew, his untouched plate in front of him. He held himself unnaturally still, as if moving would shake loose whatever he held inside. Her heart went out to the boy, and she longed to take him in her arms and make up to him in some small way for all the terrible things that had happened to him.

She decided it she could divert Luke's attention away from him, maybe Matthew would relax enough to eat his supper. "Did you know that the Cheyenne village is only five miles away?"

Luke lowered his fork and lifted his gaze to meet hers. "How do you know that?"

"I was there."

His eyes widened in astonishment. "You were there? At the Cheyenne village? Are you out of your mind?"

She lifted her chin. "What else was there to do? Red Feather can't be allowed to go around killing…" She glanced at Matthew, who kept his eyes focused on his plate. "He can't be allowed to go around doing anything he

pleases to other people's property!"

"And what do you propose to do about it?"

"Discuss our disagreements like civilized people."

"Spoken like a true diplomat." He surprised her with a smile that softened the harsh lines of his face. Lord, she hadn't realized until now how defenseless she was against his smile.

"So what did you and this Red Feather talk about? And how did the two of you manage to communicate in the first place?"

"He spoke English," she said. "He called white men liars. He said we made promises we did not keep."

Luke thought about this a moment. "I remember now. Red Feather spent much time in Colton trying to assure the citizens that he and his people wished to live in peaceful coexistence. Catherine-Anne…" He stopped.

Her breath caught. "What about your wife?"

His eyes locked with hers. "She was frightened when that band of Cheyenne returned to the area. It hadn't been that long since the Indian raids. Some of the homesteaders in Colton had lost homes or family members in those raids."