Sweet Savage Surrender (13 page)

In between bites of food
,
Skyraven told her grandfather, briefly and as quickly as she could, all that had happened
—the voices and vision that haunted her, the man whose life she had saved, her feelings of love for the man with golden hair. “So you see, when Lone wolf asks for me to become his wife, I cannot do so, Grandfather.”

His tone was stern as he answered. “As spiritual leader I will give you the same advice I would give to any other member of our tribe. We must all learn from experience. You are starting on a new turn of the medicine wheel’s way, now that you have ventured into the spirit world. You must follow this inner voice, but remember that as far as Lone Wolf is concerned, nothing fires a man’s blood more than competition.”

“It is not a matter of winning a price,” she sighed. “Besides, my heart is already taken. I do not want Chief Left Hand’s son as my husband. I want to choose my mate, and that will be the yellow-haired man whose life I saved.”

“Skyraven, he is not…..”

“One of our kind. Yes, I am all too aware of that. But I ask you. Why would the Great spirit have brought us together if it was not meant to be?”

“There are times when we do not understand all, Granddaughter. We must let wisdom rule.”

“Wisdom. Agreed.”

A look of pain, as if he were wounded, flitted over Buffalo Brother’s face. Skyraven reached out to take his hand. “Please, Grandfather, do not feel an ache in your heart when I feel so much love for John Hanlen in mine. I do not wish to hurt you.” She reached out and entwined her long, tapered fingers with his firm, strong ones. “Your daughter, my mo
ther, also fell in love with a white man, so I thought you would understand.”

“I do, but…” Suddenly he seemed to be transformed before her very eyes, as if he had aged. He looked worried. “It pains my heart that the
very
thing I dreaded has happened. I thought you would have learned, would use caution.”

“I did, but there are just some things that can not be controlled, Grandfather. I couldn’t keep from loving him. I’m sorry if that has hurt you.”

He was silent for a long moment, then said, “I must think about what you have told me and decide what is to be done.” Skyraven was wide-eyed as she listened to every word, waiting as her
grandfather looked
lovingly at her, then dropped his hand from her own and lifted it to the sky. “I implore the spirits to be with you while I am away.”

"You ar
e leaving again, grandfather?”

"Yes.  Tomorrow Chief Left Hand
and some of the lesser chiefs--
Galloping Shadow, Caught-the -Enemy , Spotted Pony, along with some of the other elders must go with me to have council with our fri
end,
Lean Bear
and his Cheyenne
.  We will meet at the
Cheyenne
village just south of here
to discuss the white men.”

“And will the villagers be expected to go, too?” the fear that John Hanlen might come back and not be able to find her seized her violently.

“It is possible. Since returning from the scouting party, Lone Wolf and his companions have reported that the buffalo are moving farther south
toward
the sandy creek area.”

Skyraven’s heart caught in her throat. “The sandy creek?” she did not want to leave here. Not now. How could John Hanlen ask for her hand in marriage if he did not know where to find her?

“We must go where the buffalo make their home. You know that.” Cupping her chin with his hand, he looked deep into her eyes. “If that is to the sandy creek, then that is where we, too, will go. We just keep the buffalo in sight.”

He explained that he would join with
Lean Bear
and the
Cheyenne
to scout the buffalo. If they were found in sufficient number a the creek, then there would be nothing to do but brak camp and move there also.

“Then it is possible we might leave here when you return and move to the
Smoky
Mountains
near the sandy creek?” Skyraven asked.

Yes, Skyraven.  That is what I am telling you.
” Though his voice was stern, his eyes were gentle. “I will be away from three days. While I am away, you must fast, search your own heart, and ask the spirits for the answer to your inner conflict. All the while you must remember what I am about to tell you now.” Folding his arms across his chest, he looked forbidding.

“You know I always listen to you and do what you ask of me, Grandfather.” Skyraven dropped her head, feeling sorrow that she
had
disappointed him. He most certainly did not approve of her relationship with a white man

"Your white soldier may ask that you throw off your savage customs and follow the ways of the white man.  They have tried to get us  to settle down and
cultivate the soil.  We Arapaho
can never do that.  We are hunters not farmers.  We are free and will al
ways remain so. A caged bird can never be free. Think on that.”

“Caged?” It was an unpleasant thought. “I do not think that John would ask me to do that, Greandfather. He seemed interested in our Arapaho customs."

"Perhaps he would not
mean to subdue you. But you are foolish if you think for even one minute he could become like an Indian!”

She flushed as she
realized
she had been hoping just that.

“Your own father was a high-minded, kind-hearted Englishman. Even so, he spoke words he did not mean. Your mother did not believe it when she found that the easy acquis
ition of a squaw form our tribe had given your father the right to trap and hunt on our tribe’s range.”

“John Hanlen is different. He does not want….”

“Your father bought your mother with a horse, some fine English cloth, a few beads, and a white man’s rifle. As if she were one of our fine buffalo robes, he bought her.
Bought
her, Skyraven.”

“John Hanel
wouldn’t
…..”

“
He would trade our tanned skins, moccasins, thongs of buffalo leather, braided buffalo hair and fresh or dried buffalo meat for other things that he wanted .  No tribe is as adept at dressing
robes as
our Arapaho tribe.  They bring
a fine price in the white man's market.   W
hen the fur trade diminished, your father
sold his trading post on the
Platte
River
  and left for
Saint Louis
.  Your mother died a
little
each day that he was gone
,
and when he never returned she gave up her life.  She wasted away for love of him. 
Think,
Skyraven
.   You are part white but you are more Indian.  You have been raised here with your mother's people, not among your father's .  Might your young soldier not feel the same toward his
Indian wife were you to marry?"

“No!” she might have further explained her feelings had not Lone wolf appeared at that moment. The haughty brave approached them, his eyes flashing fire as he looked upon Skyraven. Obviously, Whispering Wind had told him something but Skyraven could only guess what had been said. Lone wolf said nothing to her but addressed her grandfather as if she were invisible.

"
Wise One,come
you are wanted
. 
It is time to bury the buffalo hump to ensure good hunting.” Though Skyraven expected him to speak further, Lone Wolf walked away instead, though he did look at her over his shoulder, an assessing stare that made her face flush.

Buffalo
’s Brother pushed himself up from his reclining position beside the cottonwood tree and followed Lone Wolf’s steps.. "Think on what I have said,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
 

For a long
while Skyraven sat
Silently
with down cast eyes
. Though her grandfather had not been scolding, neither had he easily been swayed. He had set her thoughts upon a road that needed to be traveled. She did have much to think about. How was she going to exist with the white man at her side? Would she leave her people and follow him into the white man’s world or plead, scold, and try to talk him into living as an Indian.
Neither way seemed right.  But neither could they shu
t out the world. Give him up? No
! Never that.
What then? Her thoughts were disturbed as she at last walked toward the circle of tribesmen.

Chapter Thirteen
             

John
rode at breakneck speed over the immense tract of land, looking behind him from time to time for any sign of Indians,
satisfied that
he was not being pursued. His senses were alert, knowing well the dangers whi
ch lurked behind each tree, every
ridge, each rock.  He had vowed that never again would he be taken unaware
s,
as he had been by the Utes.  If death were to come, it would come
, it would come to h
im on the run
,
for he would  not  stop for anyth
ing, at least until he had to.

The mare seemed impatient, eager to run. He was amazed at the strength and speed displayed by Running Antelope.  Not one of the soldier horses, as cavalry mounts were called, could match the paint for strength and quickness of pace.  She was the finest horse he had ever ridden.  Her mane and tail streamed in the wind like a flowing banner, her muscles rippled under her sleek brown and white hide.  It was little wonder that she had been Skyraven's pride.  And she had given the animal up to him.  What greater show
of love could there be?

"Oh Skyraven," he whispered to himself, "you will miss her dreadfully.  But not possibly as much as I miss you."  His thoughts were at war as he rode on, anxious to join with the cavalry yet yearnin
g to see Skyraven once again, t
o hold her,
and make
lov
e to her.  She would forever be
branded on his heart, his soul.
             
As Running Antelope's hooves thundered over the ground taking him farther and farther away from the woman he loved, John's thoughts retu
rned to Skyraven
.   He could almost see her beautiful face before him, feel her softness.   Skyraven was  unique, a rare treasure.  Though he had known well that he would miss her
,
he hadn't reckoned on the gut-stabbing pain that shot through him whenever he whispered her name.  No other woman would  ever
take her place in his heart.  Of that he was very certain.

And yet there are going to be problems
, he thought.  He would have been a fool not to realize that.  But then was love ever really
simple?  "Hell no,"  he said aloud
. Or at least so he'd heard and read.  He supposed that in some ways  they were a bit like Romeo and Juliet, then thought with alarm that he certainly hoped thei
r story had a happier ending.

His thoughts sorted themselves out as he rode monotonously over the rocky and rutted ground.  He'd never meant to make love to her, not really.  She had been a fantasy, a dream.  He'd wanted to hold her,  for what man seeing her would not, kiss her, touch her perhaps.  He would have held back, but she had given herself so openly, so completely
,
that he had been caught up in spell without letting reality intrude. Now it did.  She was an Indian,
or at least half Indian
, brought up in Indian ways.  He
had strong feelings for her,
God knew he did, but he had to go into a union with her with completely open eyes.  Loving her would change his
life.  Indeed it already had.

Listening to the clip clop of horses' hooves against the hard ground, John reflected a bit on his life.  Skyraven had been totally unexpected.  Of course he'd drea
med of meeting a woman someday--what man had not?  Nearly every
man wanted a woman to walk beside him, have his children, share his bed and bring him the warmth of love and affection.  It was just that he had envisioned meeting her in the future
,
when his life was secure and he had something to offer a wife.  A soldier's life was uncertain at best, and yet he had made a commitment, one he truly di
d not want to break.

"Somehow we will make it work.  Someway."   He
had a cousin Reeve up north
had married a southern belle.  Surely there could not be any more strain on a marriage than that!
And yet so far the marriage seemed to be a happy one.
             

John was headed south to the valley of the Arkansas River, leaving the rolling foothills, canyons and bluffs of the
Platte
River
behind him . He had a good
three days travel ahead of him which
would give him more than enough time to think about what he was going to do.  Bring Skyraven with him to the fort?  It seemed to be the only answer and yet somehow it seemed rather sad to t
ake her away from her people.

He tried to put the whole situation out of his mind as he concentrated on the terrain
,
yet repeatedly his thou
ghts darted out of control. 
Skyraven was
with him. 
Indeed he could almost hear her voice explaining to him which directi
on to go. Skyraven had directed him
to follow the buffalo trails.  With no compass to guide him, that made it much easier.  The buffalo trails ran almost directly n
orth and south;
some of the trails  pounded down into the soil nearly a foot deep.   He glanced up toward the sky which was beginning now to shed its  morning light and prayed that it would not rain.  A rainstorm could tu
rn this trail into a quagmire.

For a moment he thought he heard the muffled thud of hooves.  With reflex action he reached for his gun only to remember
he no longer had one.  W
hat he wouldn't give for a breech-loading rifle and a chest of needle cartridges.  Skyraven had given him the only two weapons she could find, a large knife and  bow and arrows.  The bow was made of buffalo bone wrapped with leather thongs, a strong bow which had been given to her grandfather.  She had explained to John that her grandfather had never used it
,
for he was a peaceful man.  It had merely been cast aside and he would never miss it.  He couldn't hold back a smile  when he recalled how she had gone about preparing him for this trip.  The l
ittle imp was an adorable thief--
or more accurately
a
borrower, pilfering the necessary items for his journey little by little.  Some
day he would see that each item
was r
eturned to its rightful owner.

Once again he heard the rumble. 
Slowing
for just a moment, stiffening in the saddle he listened.  Even with a bow as strong as the one he had
,
he knew that he would be no match for any Indian he might encounter
,
but at least he had some protection
.
He surveyed his surroundings as he prepared himself for ambush.

Suddenly a
streak of light lit up the sky.  Lighting and...."Thunder!"  Relief swept over him.  It would be far better to have to outride a storm than to face a g
alloping swarm of red-skins. 

John nudged Running Antelope to run until her sides heaved, then he slowed the mare down.  Wind howled around him,
and clouds shrouded the sky, but
he had outdistanced the rain.  He smiled with satisfaction as he looked back from where he had come and watched the lightning streak through
the ominously darkened clouds.

The part of the country he was now entering,
north west
of
Denver
City
was unlike that settled part of the territory he had once visited. It was wild, without any sign of human habitation, Indian or white.
The sparse grama
had been trampled down by buffa
lo hooves.  As he galloped over the rolling terrain, he sighted
a large herd of wild mustangs kicking up the dust.   The bellowing of a herd of buffalo could be heard, carried on the wind in the distance. He was cutting through the heart of buffalo country, ju
st as Skyraven said he would.

Looking over a ridge to the south of
Prairie
Creek
, he saw them.  Their dark  massive shapes
blackened the horizon
, creating an
appearance of a huge black rain cloud in the distance.  There were hundreds of them.  He had seen wild grouse, sage hens, hare and even wolves along the way
,
but this was the most splendid sight of all.  For just a moment John was awestruck, realizing in that moment just why the Indians held these animals in reverence.  They symbolized strength, life.  He remembered Skyraven telling him that the Indians used every part of this magnificent animal for their needs and
thus held the buffalo sacred.

"And we hunt them just for sport."  It was a thought that bothered him as he rode along.  The white man always thought he was in the right. John
had thought so too until
Skyraven had opened his eyes.  There were good and bad in both peoples
, he supposed--r
enegade
Indians but peaceful ones also, and o
utlaw whites
,
yet those who we
re honorable.
             

The day seemed to fly by as he galloped
onward
, pushing at a furious pace.  When he could stand no more, when his body was exhausted beyond endurance, he pulled at the reins to urge the horse to a halt.  Somewhere near
Bajou
Basin
  he came to a small area sheltered by a few overhan
ging rocks, reined in the horse and
hobbled he
r with a leather thong. T
hough h
is bow and arrow skills were
lacking
, he
managed to bag a fat sage hen for his supper, then set about digging a pit where he cou
ld cook his supper.. 

Skyraven had given him some dried buffalo meat, some tallow and some berries.  The look on her face, when she had apologized for not being able to contribute more, had been  such a sad look.  As if she hadn't given him enough, she who had saved his life.  She had said over and over again that she knew that it  would  not be enough to assuage his appetite. She had done the best she could and how he loved her for her efforts to help him.  Now it was up to him to see to his survival.  In this harsh country
,
what he needed most was endurance.  He was on his own and far away from any help.  Just one mistake could mean disaster.  He would
take no unnecessary chances. 

Cautiously he set about making camp for the night.  He had learned much from Skyraven and  her  Indian ways.  She  had told him that a pit would not give off as much smoke as an open fire, especially if it were lined with rocks.  The hot  rocks would cook the food but would not give off as much  smoke .  She had also instructed him to kick dirt over any fire when he was finished with it.  The ashes should be covered over  so that his trail could not be easily followed.   As he moved about he did everything that Skyraven had told him to do, feeling a strange sense of her presen
c
e beside him.  As he ate
,
he remembered her laughter, her smiles, the way her eyes widened as she told him about her people.  Could he take her away from her grandfather?  Would she even want to le
ave once she thought about it?

"If only life could be simpler," he muttered.  Once again
,
the problems they would face assailed him.  Even s
,
the idea of giving her up was unthinkable.  But how would she fare in the
white
man's
world wearing calico and ribbons instead of buckskin?  Wearing her hair in carefully coiled curls instead of hanging freely down her back?  Somehow he couldn't imagine Skyraven wearing corsets.  No doubt she would wrinkle that cute little nose of hers in distaste if she viewed the
white
w
oman's
instrument of torture.

John was bone-tired, in need of rest. Perhaps dreaming about his
love
would bring him solace. With that thought in mind, he returned to Running
Antelope’s
side to get the buffalo robe
Skyraven
had
given him. He scanned the horizon one last time before making camp for the night.

“What the hell?” he said aloud. What was causing that dust cloud
upon
on the ridge just behind him?  D
ear God
,
he
was not prepared for another Indian confrontation again, so soon.
   The memory of his
recent ordeal with those painted savages and the mutilated bodies of his fallen comrades was still too fresh in his mind.
Was he going to run, fight, or hide? Pulling himself up on running Antelope’s back, he made the decision to flee. He was far enough away to outride them.

John took one more look.
As the dots on the horizon came closer he
made a startling discovery—not Indians riding on the ridge, but soldiers!