Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
“Ai, that is true,” Weasel Tail agreed. “They cannot sit quietly together. They have so much to say: ‘Do you love me? Why do you love me? Will you always love me?’ Such are the questions they ask each other, over and over again, and never tire of answering.”
— JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ, MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN
Fort Leavenworth
“This is what them two look like, gov’na.” Hat in hand, Jack Hooper extended the writ and the wanted posters toward Colonel Davenport. “They’s brother ’n’ sister.”
The colonel paused, then frowned. “Yes, they were here at the fort. The young man was hired as a scout for the wagon train that left for Santa Fe, oh, about a month ago. His name was…well, I can’t seem to recall it, but his sister’s name was Angel, or something like that.”
“That’s them. They’s wanted criminals back home.”
“Are they? What have they done?”
“Murder, sir.”
“Murder? It hardly seems possible. Both so young, good manners—seemed to be nice folks.”
“Well.” Hooper fiddled with his hat. “It’s almost murder.”
“Almost?”
“Man that them two shot’s on ’is deathbed. Should be dead any day now, way I figure.”
“On his deathbed? Which is it, man? Murder or attempted murder?”
Hooper cringed. “Don’t rightly know. Man should oughta be dead by now. Takes a while, now, ta get here from Mississippi.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “What is known for certain then is that they attempted murder?”
“Ah…ah.” Hooper scratched his head. “Could be.”
“And there is a five thousand dollar bounty for them?”
“Ah…aye, gov’na.”
Colonel Davenport rose to his feet and paced, his boots clacking against the hardwood floor. Lost in thought, he moved to a nearby window, where he stood silently gazing out over the parade grounds. “Mr. Hooper, that is your name, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“You must know that you have no jurisdiction here.”
“But—”
“And you have no authority to do more than bring this brother and sister back here for trial.”
“But—”
“That is not a federal warrant you have offered me as evidence.” Spinning away from the window, Colonel Davenport stepped across the room to stand behind his desk. “Five thousand dollars?” He took a seat. “That’s a mighty huge sum of money to offer for an attempted murder.”
“But like I was sayin’, the man should be dead by now, or right near. ’Sides, do it really matter? They tried ta kill ’im. An’ someone’s willin’ ta pay fer their return.”
The colonel squinted at the man. “Mr. Hooper, let us get one thing straight between us. It does matter. It’s a matter of the law, and I am here to preserve the law.”
“But I reckon they’ll get theirselves a fair trial back in good ol’ Mississippi.”
“Will they?” Colonel Davenport brought his gaze to Hooper’s. “Hear me. I will hold you personally responsible to bring the both of them back here to await trial—that is, if you do find them. They’ve several weeks’ advance on you.”
“But I gotta bring ’em back ta Mississippi ta Mister Riley.”
“What was that?”
Hooper thought for a moment. “Ta collect the bounty.”
“I see. Well, in due time. In due time.” Colonel Davenport dropped his gloves on his desk. “Now, that is all.”
“That is all?”
“Yes. That is all.”
Jack Hooper scowled at the colonel and gritted his teeth. Damn military. Damn colonel.
If he had the courage, he’d tell this officer exactly what he thought of him. But Jack Hooper hated confrontation. After all, why risk one’s neck when a shot in the back would do as well as anything?
The colonel glanced up from his desk. “Will there be anything else?”
Hooper scowled at the man, but all he said was, “Naw,” and slamming his hat on his head, turned and trudged toward the door.
Once outside, Hooper wasted no time in heading toward the livery where he had left his horse.
“This is my ’orse, I’ll be takin’ him now,” he said to the liveryman, and grabbing hold of his horse’s reins, he led the animal away from the fort, out onto the plains.
Damn the military and their laws, thought Hooper once again, as he stamped over the ground, looking for the beginnings of the Santa Fe Trail. Hooper had his orders from Riley, and they certainly weren’t to bring the brother and sister back to Fort Leavenworth.
But this colonel presented Hooper with a problem. Elmer Riley expected the girl delivered straight to him—the boy to be killed.
If Hooper didn’t deliver or if something went wrong, Riley would put a bounty hunter on Hooper’s own trail. And Lord knows how many crimes Jack Hooper had committed to plague his everlasting soul—enough to fill out a good wanted poster.
Naw, he wouldn’t be bringing the brother and sister team back to Fort Leavenworth.
After all, this was the West. Out here anything could happen. Men were known to die, if not by Indians, then by as little as a simple accident.
Yep, in this land anything could happen. And perhaps he, Hooper, might see to it that this time it did.
Swift Hawk didn’t sleep. How could he when she was beside him, with her body huddled into his? With her breasts nestled up against his side, with her leg thrown over his?
He drew in a deep breath, wishing he had a shirt in which to clothe her. He tightened his arms around Angelia, intent on enjoying the moment. She shivered, and he realized she still wore her shoes, the wet leather of them perhaps contributing to the coolness of her body temperature.
Reaching down, he carefully removed each shoe and her hose.
It was an exquisite activity, for her feet were slim and delicate.
Briefly he rubbed them, listening to her soft sighs.
Lying back, he took her once more in his arms and rubbed her up and down, as though by friction alone he would warm her.
Closing his eyes, he experienced a sensation of well-being. How good this felt. How good this was for his soul. If only he could keep holding her, if only she were his.
Maybe the future held a chance for them. Was it not possible that once his obligation was discharged, he could do all he wished for her?
Yet the desire to brand her with his lovemaking now was almost irrepressible. His body did not understand why he hesitated. Alas, regardless of his own scruples, his body seemed to be ever alert to any opportunity.
But she was asleep.
Yet, it would take little to awaken her. And here they were…alone. It was almost perfect, for the storm raging outside would ensure they would not be disturbed.
But, he cautioned himself, it was not perfect. As individuals they were divided on a very important matter—marriage.
Afterward, he would say to her, We are married.
And she would respond with, No, we are not, and have never been.
It was a conversation they had already held, and one which had ended badly.
No, as he saw it, his only option was to place strict control over himself. Yes, strict control. But how to do it?
“My son.” Swift Hawk heard the voice of his adoptive father as though it were yesterday. “Know that honor often demands that a man withhold himself from his woman. And yet, his desires may be many.
“The wrong path, my son, is to choose another woman, unless she be another wife to help your first wife. But even on this, the two of you must agree. Keep in mind that if you break this first pledge to your wife, your home will be filled with conflict, and your peace of mind will be shattered.
“The better way is to control your manly instincts, and there is a way to do this. Focus your passions into action. There are many ways to exhaust the body so greatly that a man does not think of lovemaking so much. Hunting, running, fighting, wrestling, warring—these are all good things. Remember, my son, sometimes a man needs to cure himself of his desires, and he does this with extreme action.”
Action. Yes, that was it, activity.
And yet, here he lay, with the object of his affection wrapped securely in his arms. Was it any wonder that he felt so greatly tested?
Haa’he, he knew what he would do. As soon as she slept deeply enough that she would not awaken easily, he would take whatever steps were necessary to build a fire.
Perhaps, too, he would check his stores of pemmican, for if they were low, he would seek to find food, if not some animal in hiding, then he would fish.
Yes, such was a good plan.
If only there were as workable a remedy for his heart.
Angelia awoke amidst a soft bed of grass and the trade-blanket, which Swift Hawk had laid under her.
She felt the ground in front of her, only to find herself alone.
Not only that, the blanket, which was fragrant with the scent of horseflesh as well as that of grass, was wrapped around her.
And in the air was the scent of… Could it be?
She opened her eyes. Was it…? Yes, she was right. There at her feet, toward the opening of their lean-to, was a fire. Was something cooking there? And how had Swift Hawk managed to build a fire in such weather conditions?
Above her, she could hear the falling of the rain, yet her bed was unusually dry.
Glancing upward, she noticed that the buffalo robe, their ceiling, was only a few inches from her head.
But because the ground below her angled downward, there at her feet, the lean-to was perhaps a good three and a half, maybe four feet high.
Tall enough to allow a person to sit upright.
Tree branches, bushes and long grasses were positioned against the lean-to so that these became their walls on both sides, and though drops of moisture fell through their barrier, any that were caught in the shelter seemed to dry rather quickly.
At present Swift Hawk’s back was toward her, his weapons off to the left of him.
There was a fire in front of him, and beyond him was the gray curtain of rain, which was now falling more gently.
The entire picture that was presented to her was greatly endearing.
As it was reminiscent of home and hearth, a feeling of warmth swept over her.