Chapter 22 #3
The site had been chosen by two of the major Indian reservations, so that all traveled the same distance and none of the major chiefs would be insulted.
Seated upon Nutmeg, at a place somewhat back from where the action was to take place, Skylar watched as the meeting formed.
She had seen the Indians, of course. Seen them all day.
Walking and riding along the hills above the valley, some sitting as if they, too, had come to observe and awaited the spectacle of the day.
But then, as the United States commissioners and their army guard along with their Indian scouts set out and waited before their command tent, the warriors began to arrive in earnest.
The sun was high in the sky. It was noon.
They came out of the hills, and though they frightened her, they were a fantastic display. Their ponies raced, churning up dirt and dust and earth and grass. They galloped, reared, cantered, the first chief leading his men, perhaps a party of two hundred, down a sloping hill.
They whooped and cried out. Their voices rose in a tremolo. They burst down upon the waiting commissioners, circling them in a dramatic, awesome, terrifying display. They took their places before the commissioners. Their chief dismounted from his horse and came forward, taking his place.
Then the next group rode down from the hills.
Then the next, and the next. The riders were magnificent.
Some more heavily clothed, some nearly naked.
They wore feathers in their long dark hair, some with one or a few feathers, some with beautiful bedecked, long, glorious bonnets.
They were incredibly disciplined in their display.
And when they had all congregated before the commissioners, there were thousands of them.
They called out, shouted, raised their weapons, shook their fists.
“Think we may have trouble?” Hawk asked Sloan.
Sloan shrugged, his dark eyes slanting toward Skylar. He smiled. Shook his head.
“Not even two hundred whites. Thousands of Indians. Why would there be trouble?” she asked sweetly.
Hawk looked out over the assembly. “They know what will happen if they slaughter these commissioners and the army officers.”
“A lot of innocent men will die,” Skylar murmured.
“The whole army would come after them, with the complete blessing of every citizen in the United States. So far, there are still those back home who frown on the wholesale slaughter of native peoples in the pursuit of Manifest Destiny,” Hawk said coolly.
“Red Cloud is getting ready to speak,” Sloan said.
A warrior, dark and leathered from his life in the sun, yet with a strong, dignified bearing, stood before them all.
Yet before he could begin to speak, it seemed that the crowd of Indians began to undulate, breaking apart, giving way.
Skylar heard a screech rising high on the wind.
She turned from Red Cloud to see that another man was racing into the crowd.
She thought that she knew him. He was the one they had called Little-Big-Man—he had been one of the warriors who had ridden with her husband against the Crow when they had rescued her that night.
He was completely naked upon his pony except for a small breechclout and the war bonnet he wore, created of feathers, streaming like a banner in the wind as he burst his way through the Indians, past Red Cloud, to the open space before the commissioners.
He carried a rifle and lifted it high, shouting.
“What’s he saying?” Skylar asked anxiously. She could see that the Indians were growing restless. A low sound was building among the warriors as they talked among themselves.
They didn’t answer her. Hawk, Sloan, and Willow had grown very tense as they listened. Now they mounted their horses and flanked her.
“What—?”
Willow, at her husband’s side, gave her the answer. “He says that he has come to kill the white men who are stealing Indian lands.”
Skylar clamped her hand over her mouth, silencing a scream, as she saw the warrior take aim at one of the white commissioners.
But he never fired a shot. Young-Man-Afraid, a warrior who had joined with the agency Indians, rode through the crowd with a small group of his Indian police behind him.
He spoke very quickly, disarming Little-Big-Man before the indignant warrior could fire at anyone.
“Thank God!” Skylar breathed.
“Trouble,” Sloan said softly.
“But—”
Hawk had suddenly turned in the saddle to Willow. “Stay with Skylar,” he said.
And raced into the grouping of Indians, Sloan quickly following behind him. Yet even as they rode, cries, tremolos, and shouts were rising among the Indians. The sounds were menacing.
Thousands of Indians.
Only a couple hundred whites.
The Sioux were raising their weapons. The shouts were growing more furious.
Hawk burst in among them, calling out.
“What is he saying?” Skylar cried worriedly.
Willow looked at her, not wanting to tell her.
“Willow!”
“He’s telling them that they must not murder the whites gathered here. If they do, the whites will come by the tens of thousands and slaughter them all in turn. They mustn’t let violence happen today.”
“Will they listen?” Skylar demanded.
“I hope so,” Willow said.
Sloan was in the midst of the agitated Indians as well. Young-Man-Afraid shouted to them, crying out.
“I should get you out of here, back to where we camped,” Willow said.
“But—”
“Skylar, don’t make him worry about you in the midst of this!” Willow said.
She nodded to his wisdom. She turned her horse and started to ride.
But then she heard a thudding sound. Willow gasped out.
She turned back and saw him clutching his head.
“Ride!” he commanded her, then toppled down to the ground.
Just behind him, Skylar could see a mounted Indian—and on the ground the heavy rock he’d cast at Willow.
She didn’t know what kind of Indian he was, but he was dressed in splendid regalia, with all manner of paint on his face. He let out a cry and started toward her.
She kneed Nutmeg, well aware that there was so much cacophony around her that no one would notice a single Indian chasing after a single rider. Yet she realized she would be best off racing toward the fray, rather than away from it. She circled Nutmeg, with the rider close behind her.
“Help me!” she cried out, but the din around her was too loud.
She remained on the outskirts of the crowd. The Indian suddenly leaped from his horse, bringing her down to the ground. She lashed out at him, shrieking. His fingers closed around her throat. She didn’t know if he was trying to silence her…
Or kill her.
She heard the sudden whip through the air of a knife.
The Indian stared at her, falling toward her. She pushed his body from her person, scrambling her feet in a desperate rush to avoid his blood. She looked behind her, from where the knife had come.
Sarah stood there. Blessed Sarah. Skylar had had no right to mock the woman—she’d seen the trouble and gone for Hawk regardless of the melee around them. Hawk stood at her side. Hawk had hurled the knife. And now he walked past her to kneel down and study the brave on the ground.
“Who is he?” Skylar demanded.
“Elk-Who-Runs. A Sioux from the Red Cloud agency.”
“A Sioux?” she whispered.
He looked up at her, his green eyes veiled. When he spoke, his words were deep and brittle. “Yes, an agency Sioux. This will not sit well today.”
“I’ve never, never seen anything like this!” Sarah exclaimed. “Never. In the midst of something so important as this council, a warrior trying to take down a woman!”
“Sarah, this isn’t over,” Hawk said. “Will you go with Skylar back to the camp? Some of the soldiers will escort you.” They were ringed now by a number of men who saluted their agreement.
Sarah nodded. She came forward, taking Skylar’s arm. The dead Indian remained on the ground. Hawk remained kneeling by his side.
Skylar was hurt and humiliated. She’d never seen Hawk so cold, and she didn’t begin to understand him. But she went along with Sarah, awkwardly smiling a thank-you to their impromptu guard. “I think you just saved my life,” Skylar told Sarah. “Thank you.so much.”
Sarah nodded in simple acknowledgment, not terribly impressed with herself. “I saw what happened—I was amazed. I sent David to Willow and went for Hawk. Come on, let’s get Willow ourselves now and go back to camp.”
“Willow is—”
“Hurt with a terrible headache and a gash against his temple. His pride is wounded to the core. Let’s go.”
“Oh, God, I’m afraid to leave!” Skylar said, turning back. Hawk was gone—the dead man was gone. The Indians were still shouting, moving about on their horses in a menacing way.
A Sioux was dead. A man who had attacked her.
“The men are still in danger—”
“The men will do their jobs. Our job is to let them do theirs.”
And to worry, Skylar thought. Worry sick…
Yet as Sarah urged her away, it seemed…seemed…that the situation was coming under control. Young-Man-Afraid was speaking again. He was surrounded by his police, Hawk, Sloan, and others who were desperately urging peace.
“Why would a Sioux have attacked me?” Skylar whispered.
Sarah sighed. “Dressing up in buckskin doesn’t make you Sioux. Please, Skylar, please come on.”
Skylar remounted Nutmeg and rode with Sarah.
She was in her own tent, curled up in the camp bed when Hawk finally came back. She’d waited and waited and half dozed. When he came in, she forgot how cold he had been to her before. She leaped up and threw herself into his arms.
“My God, you’re back! I was so frightened—”
“What the hell is going on?”
He was shaking, she realized. His voice was harsh, furious.
She pulled back from him. “I was worried—”
“You were attacked again! Willow was struck, injured. And you were nearly throttled.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been where I was.”
“Skylar, what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean!”
“What have you done? What were you running from when you met my father?”
She pulled away from him completely. “Not the Crows, I can assure you!”
“That man was Sioux!”
“I did nothing to any Indians. You attacked me, as a matter of fact. Add that to the number of attacks I’ve suffered in the Dakota territory!”
He was suddenly on top of her, shaking her. “You could have been killed.”
“You could have been killed!” she retorted. “We could all have been killed. It was an explosive situation!”
“And it’s still a damned explosive situation!” he assured her.
“Hawk, shush! The entire camp can hear—”
He lifted her by her upper arms, throwing her back down upon the cot.
“You could have been killed. And I was nearly helpless to do a damned thing about it. If Sarah hadn’t come for me …
Tomorrow—tomorrow we head back to Mayfair, and so help me, Skylar, so help me!
You’re going to tell me what’s going on! ”
“I don’t know what’s going on!”
His fingers squeezed her arms painfully. His features were dark, constricted, his eyes gleaming with a furious green fire. He looked as if he longed to throttle her himself.
“Damn you, Skylar!” he hissed.
His hold upon her eased. Then he rose, swearing heatedly.
He walked out of the tent.
Skylar tossed. Turned. Lay awake. Tossed and turned again. Where was he? Why wasn’t he coming back? Why did he think she could possibly have an explanation for the strange behavior of Indians?
At last, in exhaustion and misery, she dozed. Then she slept deeply.
No monsters troubled her dreams.
No monsters. Her dreams were sweet. She felt his touch. Featherlight. Erotic. Sensual.
His fingers…along her thighs. Palms, cradling her breasts. His lips upon her bare nape. Lower. His hands again, smoothing around her hips. Pressing downward. Stroking. His lips lower against her back. Lower. His touch, turning her. His lips. The fiery hot liquid stroke of his tongue…
She moaned. Writhed. Awoke…
He was no dream.
She remembered to be angry. Too late. He had taken his time seducing her from sleep. He took his passion quickly. She couldn’t deny her response.
But when it was done…
She turned her back on him.
She simply didn’t have the answers he was demanding.
And he…
He was refusing to believe.
“You can’t do this!” she choked out to him.
He was quiet a moment. “I did do this.”
“You can’t do this to me!”
“Skylar, you do not know what you have done to me,” he told her.
And he turned his back on her.
The next morning, the army doctor said that Willow could travel. He’d have a bump on his head for a few weeks from the rock that had knocked him senseless from his horse, but other than that, he seemed fine.
With very little conversation between them, Skylar and Hawk started home with Willow and Sloan.
The meeting had yielded what they had feared it would.
Nothing.