No Other Man (14 page)

She spoke softly, very aware of Willow at her side. "If
you're expecting something from me, you'll be waiting until hell freezes
over."

"We'll see," he warned her. "We'll see."
He nudged Tor. The stallion suddenly took flight in the night. A dark, soaring
shadow, horse and rider disappeared across the plains.

But she knew well that Hawk hadn't gone that far.

And that as he had promised, he'd be waiting.

Eight

Across
the hills along the Powder River, Indian lodges stretched out along the
horizon. There were perhaps a hundred lodges here, where close to three hundred
warriors lived with their women and children.

When they reached the lodges, Blade and Ice Raven went to
their sister's tipi. Pretty Bird was a young widow who had recently lost her
husband during a raid against the Crow. She now lived alone with her four young
children and was glad that her brothers had come to stay with her. She lived
with the Crazy Horse people, not because they were one band or family but
because she and her husband had chosen to do so. Still, life for a woman with
young children could be difficult, no matter how seriously the rest of the
group might take its Sioux responsibility for generosity.

Yet they had barely greeted Pretty Bird and had a chance to
eat and slake their thirst from the ride when a warrior arrived, asking them to
come see Crazy Horse. Both men were glad to do so.

Crazy Horse was a warrior who commanded respect. He had never
suggested to others that they must follow him or become hostile. He led by
example and was respected be- cause his deeds in battle had always been so
extraordinary. Crazy Horse refused to leave his injured braves behind after a
fight. He was quick to lead and equally as quick to risk himself. He was brave
without being reckless of the lives of others, a brave man who could think as
well.

Crazy Horse had been a Shirt Wearer when
the practice had been revived among the Sioux, one of a very few honored men
among the people who had the power and authority to keep the young braves
together in a hunt or a fight.

There had been one period in Crazy Horse's life when he had
been reckless. He had been in love.

Black Shawl was a beautiful woman. Coveted by many men. He
had once courted her in the way many braves had courted her, coining to her
family home with his blanket and using his blanket as a screen while they
enjoyed a few brief moments of private conversation. But when he had been away
on a raid against the Crows, Black Shawl had married No Water. Crazy Horse
tried to respect that marriage. He traveled, spending time with other bands,
enjoying visits among the Northern Cheyenne. But in time, he came to see Black
Shawl again, and his heart swayed both his mind and his conscience.

He ran away with Black Shawl.

Wife-stealing did occur among the Sioux. Sometimes, it was a
simple matter. When the wife of a highly respected man ran away from him, pride
dictated that he take it lightly, that he should, perhaps, expect a few ponies
in exchange for her. But No Water let the matter strike his heart. He came
after Crazy Horse and Black Shawl, shooting Crazy Horse. The shot shattered
his jaw. No Water thought that he had killed Crazy Horse. But Crazy Horse
hadn't died. He recovered in his uncle's care.

Wife-stealing could be fairly minor; shooting, nearly killing
a fellow warrior, was serious. There might have been tremendous bloodshed;
there could have been irreconcilable breaks among the bands. But cool heads
prevailed. Crazy Horse was going to survive with a scar across his lower face.
His uncle accepted ponies from No Water. Crazy Horse said the matter was done,
so long as Black Shawl received no ill treatment because of the affair. Men
received little chastisement for adultery, but though it was rare, women could
have their noses slashed, among other mutilations.

The matter was settled. Black Shawl returned to No Water.
Crazy Horse endured his disgrace and went on again to prove himself a mighty
warrior.

Now he sat alone in his tipi, cross-legged before his fire,
smoking his pipe when Blade and Ice Raven arrived. Despite the scar that
marred his jaw, he was a striking man, tightly muscled, with dark eyes and
strong features.

"Welcome," he told them both.

They greeted him in return, sitting comfortably with him
before the fire. He asked them if they were hungry, but they told him they had
eaten. Then he asked them about the events taking place in the white world.
"How is my white-striped brother?" he teased, referring to their
cousin, Hawk.

"Mourning his father."

Crazy Horse nodded. David Douglas had been admired and liked
among the Sioux. He had never betrayed a promise—a rare thing for a white man.

"We talked a long time," Blade told Crazy Horse.
"He does not like what he sees coming in the future."

Crazy Horse waved a hand in the air. "That the whites
now blanket the Black Hills?"

Ice Raven shrugged. "What bothers Hawk is deeper than
that."

"He thinks that we should not be hostiles?"

Ice Raven shook his head strenuously. "No. He is Sioux;
he knows each man follows his own vision. But he believes that the whites now
see us as an obstruction which must be entirely removed. That they will want to
kill us all, decimate our numbers, as they have decimated the buffalo."

"They have decimated our numbers as well," Crazy
Horse murmured. Thousands of the Sioux were living on agency grounds now. They
tried to influence their hostile friends and relations, telling them that the
White Father, President Grant, saw to it that they were given cows for the
warriors to hunt down and the squaws to butcher.

Crazy Horse did not want to hunt cows. And he was well aware
from the many Sioux of different bands and groups who had left the agencies to
join him that the stories of abundance were lies. Most often, grain rations
were filled with worms. There were very few skinny cows, and those were often
diseased. There was tremendous corruption in the agencies, and even many of
those army men the Indians knew—some of them actually friends and some of them
leaders who had spoken with the Sioux seeking peace— often admitted the
corruption.

Crazy Horse wanted no part of it.

Now Red Cloud, who had once been a very fierce warrior,
dealt with the white men. Crazy Horse did not resent Red Cloud for his choice;
he simply didn't agree with it.

The whites wanted Red Cloud to sell them the Black Hills. Red
Cloud couldn't do so. He needed the majority of the Sioux leaders to agree to
sell the land. Crazy Horse was already aware that the agency Indians were
planning to bring many of the Sioux together so that they could talk about the
Black Hills. The people were divided. Some hostiles wanted to sell the hills,
some did not. Some agency Indians wanted to sell the hills, some did not. No
one agreed on what the price should be.

Crazy Horse didn't care.

They could invite him from now until the sun went down
forever. He would not go to any meeting.

Thunder Hawk had left the Sioux. He had embraced many of the
white ways, but his heart had remained Sioux. He always did his best to explain
what the whites said— and what they meant. He could explain all the words used
and translate true meanings. He warned the Sioux when he expected danger; he
told his friends and family when he thought it might be best to bend and when
not. He always remembered that he could advise, and that in the end, each man
followed his own vision, just as he did himself.

"They
will send out men from the agencies to ask you to come in and talk. And the
army will ask Hawk to come to us."

Crazy Horse nodded in agreement. He smiled.

"He will come," he said with assurance.

Blade
said, "Yes," in agreement. "Sloan—Cougar-in- the-Night—will come
for him, and they will ride out together, most certainly. We were beginning to
discuss this, but then he heard the woman."

"The woman?"

Ice
Raven nodded gravely. "A white woman, young, very beautiful. As we talked
at old Riley's stagecoach stop, she came in to eat. We could hear her. She
claimed to be Lady Douglas. Hawk was upset."

Blade
chuckled softly. "We played out an attack upon her stagecoach."

"She
fought with more spirit than many a Crow!" Ice Raven laughed.

Crazy
Horse arched a brow. Their traditional Crow enemies were certainly brave,
though naturally they mocked their enemies. But the woman must have been
interesting.

"Since
his father has died," Crazy Horse said, "and Hawk is one with the
white world, then he is Lord Douglas, as his father was called."

Blade nodded.

"So who was the woman?"

Ice
Raven looked at Blade and shrugged. "We rode with him and Willow to seize
the stagecoach, but from there, he wished to handle the matter himself. He took
her away on his horse, and we parted company with our brother Willow and
returned here."

"They're
sending his father's body here from across the land. When it comes, they will
bury David Douglas in the ground at Mayfair, as is the white way."

"I
will wait for Hawk to come here to tell him we all honored David," Crazy
Horse said. "I will not go near the whites."

"He knows what is happening. He will
not expect you," Blade said.

"Perhaps his good childhood friend, Dark Mountain, will
go," Ice Raven said.

Crazy Horse smiled. ' 'Good. I am anxious to hear about this
woman. Although..." He was silent a minute, then shrugged. "Men must
be careful where women are concerned."

"He was angry, nothing more," Ice Raven assured
Crazy Horse.

"She was very beautiful?" Crazy Horse asked.

"A man must like pale skin and blond hair. If he does,
then, yes, she was very beautiful. Eyes like silver. A fine, young, firm
body."

"If she was very beautiful, and he was very angry, ah,
well, then, it might well be dangerous," Crazy Horse said with a hint of
humor. "I hope that Dark Mountain chooses to go to see Hawk to help give
his father's body up to his god. Dark Mountain will be able to tell us about
the woman."

"Well, if she is Lady Douglas, perhaps Hawk will be bringing
her here."

"What white woman will come here?" Crazy Horse demanded.

Blade shrugged, grinning at his brother. "She has already
been attacked by Indians."

"Perhaps he will bring her. I would like to see a blond
woman who can fight like a Crow," Crazy Horse said.

He passed his pipe then, speaking about their need to be
close to Wakantanka, to keep in deep association with the White Buffalo Woman
who had taught them all things. Soon after, Blade and Ice Raven left him again,
to return to the home of their sister. They had agreed to form a hunting party
the following day.

When they were gone, Crazy Horse stood outside his tipi. He
looked to the east and the west, the north and the south.

As
far as he could see right
now, the world was his. The river, the earth, the night sky, dotted with stars.
It was a beautiful time of year. The nights were growing cooler. Fall would
come, then winter. Winter was hard, and harsh. Even then, he loved the
landscape when he looked forever, and all that he saw was Sioux.

What he saw, he knew, was a lie. For just within the hills,
the white men lived. They'd come so quickly! They were madmen over gold!

Custer, he thought with aggravation. Custer had opened the
way through the hills, Sa Papa. Custer, who fought the Indians. Who made
Indians his scouts, mocked them, used them. Custer knew the Indians well. Knew
that traditional enemies could be induced to prey upon one another.

So many army men in the West! When the white man had fought
him, they had been weak. By the white way of war, the brave, wise men were kept
in the East to fight one another. There were few men in the West who fought
well then, who could be respected.

But the white war was long over now. More and more men came
with the army to protect the settlers. They came, like a wave of giant white
worms, covering the plain.

He closed his eyes. He would ride against them. Fight them.
He would not give up.

But for a moment, he felt a curious shudder. He was not
afraid; he was not a coward. He knew Death, he had seen it many times. He would
never die afraid.

He wasn't afraid for himself, he realized.

He was afraid for the land. For the little children he could
hear crying softly from various tipis. For something he could not see that
stretched ahead of him.

He was not the only man to lead others against the whites. No
Indian sat with greater determination against them than Sitting Bull of the
Hunkpapas. He was older than Crazy Horse. A renowned warrior, a holy man. Crazy
Horse listened when Sitting Bull spoke. Together with the others who shared
their hearts, they would make a stand.

And still, he felt the shudder....

The whites were coming. Blanketing them.

He
shook the feeling away and entered his tipi, focused on more cheerful thoughts.
Like those of a half-white blood brother he called friend. He sighed, stirring
his fire to heighten it. He lay down to sleep. "Ah, Hawk, my friend! Trust
me as one who knows.

"Women are trouble!"

Nine

"My God!"
Skylar breathed.

Mayfair. The house was magnificent. It was nestled in a
valley surrounded by undulating ground, with the Black Hills rising in the
distance. Even by the moonlight in which they arrived, the lawn surrounding the
fine house seemed teeming with color, softened by shadows brought about by
dozens of different kinds of wildflowers. Mayfair itself was a large
whitewashed structure with massive white columns that framed a large porch filled
with rockers and other chairs. A barn stood to the far right of the house and
slightly behind it. Aside from those two structures, nothing broke the flow of
the natural beauty of the land. The house seemed almost like a castle in the
midst of a flowery Eden.

"It's so very elegant—in the middle of nowhere,"
Skylar murmured.

She felt Willow looking at her. She turned to him. "It's
very beautiful."

Willow watched her, nodding. "The mine is some distance
from here. Not quite in the Black Hills, the disputed land now, Sa Papa. Lord
Douglas came here many years ago. When he built his white man's house, he would
not do so on Sioux holy ground. Not even his gold mine rests on holy land. He
had too much respect for the beliefs of the people. But now .. ."

"Now?" Skylar
said.

Willow shrugged.

' 'Now the people are divided in factions. Red Cloud was once
a fierce warrior; now he lives in the agency and tries to coerce more food from
the whites. Many of the Indians live in the agencies, taking the government
stipends. Even there, some wish to sell the Black Hills, while others refuse to
do so. Some say that war with the whites has all but decimated other tribes and
that we must learn the white ways in order to survive. And if we do so, we
might indeed survive, but at what price? Others ..."

"Others?"

' 'Others join with Sitting Bull to our west and the north.
All that remains of our hunting territory. Men such as Crazy Horse and Sitting
Bull will not even come in to speak at the agencies. They feel we must draw the
line now and can surrender no more. Red Cloud went to Washington in the
summer." He smiled with a shrug. "Red Cloud sees the strength and the
might and the
numbers
of the white men and
their government. He enjoys trips to see the Great White Father, your
president. But on this matter, even Red Cloud despairs. Red Cloud went to ask
that the Indian agents quit cheating. That they buy good cattle instead of
rotten meat. Give us grain that is not laden with worms. No one would discuss
the problems that plague us. All they want is the gold in the hills."

"There's been a depression for several years now,"
Skylar told him. She wondered if she could try to explain the confusion of
economics when she barely understood it herself. "It's very bad for the
white men now, too. A few summer ago, there were grasshoppers destroying the
crops. So many, they say, that they darkened the sky and were several feet
thick when they landed on the crops. Food became very expensive. The president
was afraid of having too much money out that wasn't backed by gold, while the
farmers thought that we needed more paper currency to keep them going. In the
big cities, people were out of work." She hesitated. "After the great
war when the Americans fought the Americans, many came west for a new life.
Now they need to come west again to try to survive. Gold is to us what the
buffalo is to the Indians. White men think they need it to survive." I
need it at the moment, rather desperately, she thought.

Willow was studying her. He nodded with a grudging smile.
"Once, it was a great crime for any Sioux to even mention to a white that
there might be gold in the hills. They have known that the whites become madmen
over gold dust."

"Well, men do go mad over gold!" Skylar agreed. She
stared at the house, shaking her head again. "Lord Douglas came here,
years ago, and lived undisturbed by the Sioux?"

"He lived among the Oglalas, then returned to England.
When he came back here, he built Mayfair. Undisturbed." He lifted a hand,
seeking a way to explain. "Among my people, a man is expected to follow
his own path through life. Crazy Horse keeps his distance from all things
white. Young-Man-Afraid had been among his best friends, but they shook hands
and parted when Young-Man-Afraid became an agency Indian. Young-Man-Afraid is
now among the Indian police at the Red Cloud agency. Each man takes his own
path."

"Young-Man-Afraid," Skylar murmured.
"Interesting name. Is he—easily frightened?"

"Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses," Willow told her.

"He's afraid of horses?"

Willow laughed. ' 'No. His enemies are afraid, just of the
sound of his horses."

"Ah!"

Willow was still smiling. He shrugged. "I live in a log
house by the mining camp. My brothers went west to ride with Crazy Horse. We
have parted but are still blood."

"It must be very difficult," Skylar said.

' 'A tide has come. Like a great wave. Just since I was a
boy. By the time many more years have passed, everything I knew then will have
changed. But—"

"Yes?"

"Well, it's not over yet. Many have seen the future in
their dreams. There's blood ahead for us all—" He looked at her again,
then seemed to feel that he had spoken too freely and said the wrong things.
"I'll bring you into the house. Hawk will be waiting."

Willow lifted her down from the wagon. Wolf, aware that he
had come home, jumped from the back as well, barking excitedly. Even as
Skylar's feet touched the ground, three men appeared in the shadows, coming
toward the wagon. "Lady Douglas," Willow said, pointing to each man
as he spoke, "Jack Logan, who runs the cattle herd." Jack was a tall,
wiry white, quick to tip his hat to her. "Rabbit works with Jack."
Rabbit was nearly as tall but heavily muscled and pure Indian. "And this
here small fellow with the gaping grin is Two Feathers." Two Feathers, as
well, was Indian. He was a boy of about twelve, and he did have a wonderful,
friendly smile. Skylar returned it. "Hello," she said to them all.

"We weren't expecting no bride out here," Jack
Logan told her awkwardly, "just his Lordship back," he added,
sorrowfully inclining his head toward the coffin. "But anything you need,
Lady Douglas, you come to any of us."

"Thank you."

"You go on up to the house now, ma'am. We'll be bringing
in his Lordship."

Willow held her arm, escorting her up the steps to the porch
and then to the huge wooden doors that opened to the foyer of the house. She
stared at just the doors, at their size and obvious weight.

"He had 'em brought over from Scotland. Things came by
steamship, by railroad, then overland on wagons through hostile territory.
Quite a feat."

Skylar agreed but said nothing because the doors had opened.

"Do come in."

It was Hawk's voice that greeted her. As she stepped into the
grand foyer, newly amazed by the pure beauty of the house, she wondered how
long he had been at the mansion. He had changed into a white shirt with
slightly frilled sleeves, a black frock coat, and pants. He seemed every inch
the absolute master of his domain, drawing her into the entry where her
attention was drawn from him to May- fair itself. The entry floor was marble,
surrounded by highly polished hard wood. A curving staircase also made of marble
led to the second floor, while double doors on either side of the entry led to
other rooms. It was immense; it might have been opulent, but everything that
might have been overdone was subdued instead, giving the place a feel of both
elegance and comfort.

"The master bedroom is that second door off the main
hallway leading from the staircase," Hawk said to her, looking past her to
the coffin being borne to the house by the men. "Sandra!" he called.
An exotic young woman in a simple calico frock and apron came from the left
doorway, drying her hands on her apron, and looking curiously at Skylar.
Skylar was certain she returned the scrutiny, for she didn't think she'd ever
seen a woman quite as different—or beautiful—as this one. There was Oriental
blood in her as well as white and Indian. Her eyes slanted slightly upward,
their color unbelievably dark. Her hair was loose, hanging down past her
shoulders in blue-black skeins that glowed in the dimmest light. Her face was a
gamine's, heart-shaped, intriguing as it was lovely.

"Sandra, Lady Douglas has arrived. If you would be so
good as to show her to her room ... ?"

Sandra ceased staring at Skylar to made a small bow toward
her. "Lady, if you will... ?"

"Your trunk will be brought up," Hawk told her.
"Sandra will see to anything you need. When you're settled, someone will
bring you back down."

"As you wish," she murmured.

"No, my dear, as you wish," he said, mockery
tinging the polite words. She felt him watching her as she followed Sandra up
the stairway.

"This way, Lady Douglas," the
girl told her, opening the door to the room for her. Skylar stepped into it,
amazed once again at the old-world elegance that had found its way into a
hostile land.

The bedroom was huge, with double doors leading to a porch. A
huge four-poster bed with dragon claws and wings was the centerpiece for the
room, which also contained a dressing table and two heavy bureaus. The brocade
bedcover was crimson and forest green, showing hunting scenes. The pattern was
repeated in the drapes. The hardwood floor was clean and polished but mostly
covered with a Persian carpet that picked up the crimson colors in the bed
clothing and draperies. An Oriental dressing screen stood in the far left
corner of the room next to a cherry wood wash stand. Against the wall opposite
the bed was a large fireplace with a marble and gilded mantle, bronze wall
sconces on either side of it to light the room. A copper bath was in front of
the fireplace, steam rising from it, while a rack with heavy linen bath sheets
had been set close enough to it for the fire to warm the sheets. She could scarcely
believe that she was at the very edge of the civilized world.

"Is everything satisfactory?" Sandra inquired
politely.

Skylar nodded, awed. "Very."

There was a tap at the door. Two Feathers had arrived,
carrying her heavy traveling trunk. "Where would you like this, Lady
Douglas?"

"Down!" she said, laughing. "It must be very
heavy."

"It is not so heavy," the boy said indignantly, but
setting the trunk down as he had been bidden. He looked at Sandra, then back to
Skylar. "We didn't know you were coming. We could have—done more."

"Everything seems fine."

"Hawk didn't know you were coming."

"Things have been very—confused."

She thought that Sandra sniffed derisively, but when she
turned to stare at the exotic woman, she had taken hold of young Two Feathers'
arm and was leading him out of the room. "There is a bellpull by the bed,
Lady Douglas." She said the last words as if they caused her great pain.
"You may call when you wish to go down."

"Thank you," Skylar told her, watching her
curiously. What role did the girl play in the household?

The two left the room, closing the door behind them. For a
moment, she simply stared around the room again, awed. She walked toward the
fire, suddenly needing to warm her hands, then she spun around to stare at the
room again. She closed her eyes, remembering how she had sat with Lord Douglas
at his table at the inn in Baltimore. She had needed to move fast, really fast,
and she had known it. But after the friendship they had shared, she couldn't
just desert him and disappear. She hadn't even wanted to sit, she had been so
anxious and so nervous, so very aware that she had to flee. But he had insisted
that he had to understand her, understand what had happened. Then he had been
grave. "I've suggested you come with me before—"

"I can't do that; it wouldn't be right. And if someone
were to waylay me along the path, you might be implicated. I—"

"I'll take that chance. I am not without my own influence,
young lady. I'm Lord Douglas, and even if you Americans did win the Revolution,
most are still impressed with British titles. Ah, Skylar, you're so accustomed
to crime and corruption on the part of your fellow man that you can't trust an
honest offer. My health fails me. I need help—you know that. Nothing other than
your kindness will be expected of you in return. Change your name, change your
life. You've no choice anymore. It's the perfect answer. We must conduct a
marriage service; you must come with me. Don't be afraid."

She could remember smiling and reminding him, "I'm not
afraid. But, Lord Douglas, it is dangerous territory. It's Indian
country—"

"Umm," he said lightly, "so there are a few
Indians around; you'll grow accustomed to them." He winked.

' 'You
may even like them. If the greedy Petes in Washington would hold to a single
treaty, there could even be peace among them. Skylar, you've no choice now.
Where else will you run? Where will you go? You will love the house, May- fair.
It's airy, comfortable, solid. My home. I love it dearly. You will, too. I will
not be with you long—"

"Please don't say that."

"My heart is all but gone. I've known it, I've accepted
it. The doctors have told me so time and again. I came east for a miracle, but
there's no miracle to be had. You've been such a strength to me so far. Please
don't look at me with those tears in your eyes. You've added the greatest happiness
to my last days. To know that you would go directly to Mayfair with or without
me would ease my days and delight me. That I may somehow be of service to you
when your kindness and tenderness have so belied the travesty you lived! Come
what may, you will love Mayfair. No matter what dangers you face, there you
will be safe. I swear, it will be your home."

It will be your home....