Hawke's Pride, page 20
"I am Chief Wise Owl," the Indian said in an aged, cracked voice as he ran contemptuous eyes over Sly. "Is it not unusual for the white man to sell one of his own race?"
Sly's face paled. He hadn't expected such a question. He had thought that the red man would eagerly snap Rue up, be taken with her beauty, caring less why she was being sold.
"We whites would never sell one of our own," he blustered, "but this woman is a stranger to us. The wives don't want her around because of her beauty."
"I don't know." The chief looked thoughtfully at the ground. "Winter is almost here and it would mean another mouth to feed, more hunting by the braves."
"But she don't eat much," Sly said hurriedly. And as if in a nightmare, Rue listened to Sly discuss her as though she was chattel with no will of her own.
He pointed out that she was young, promised that she would work hard for the chief, that she was mild-mannered, and best of all, she was well versed in how to please a brave in bed and that he had taught her himself.
This last claim by the fat man made Rue want to lose her breakfast. She felt shame that even a red savage would think that she had ever been involved with this repulsive man. From her peripheral vision, she could see that the chief was studying her, his eyes narrowed on her averted face. She gave a small jerk when he ordered harshly, "Look at me, white woman."
When Rue didn't obey the order immediately, Sly advanced on her, his hand raised. She stiffened, marshaling her courage, then met the old Indian's hard gaze unflinchingly, although inside she was amass of screaming nerves.
The chief closed the short distance between them and she made herself stand still when he lifted a swatch of her red-gold hair and let its softness slide through his knotted, arthritic fingers. "Free her mouth." He looked at Sly.
Sly hurried to obey, giving Rue a warning look to be careful of what she said. When the filthy kerchief was removed, the Indian asked, "What are you called?"
Rue worked her jaws up and down, loosening them, then after licking her dry lips, answered with cool dignity, "My name is Rue Masters."
A gleam of admiration flickered in the black eyes. This white woman had spirit. She would not whine and cry as most of her white sisters would. A man could be proud to call her his woman. He let Rue's hair slide from his hand. "This man who has brought you here looks on you with hatred in his eyes, is this not true?"
Rue nodded. "For a long time he has hated me."
Sly's face clouded and he stirred uneasily. He did not like the turn of this conversation. He grabbed her arm, sinking his nails into her flesh. "Tell him why I hate you, you little bitch. Tell him what you did to me."
"She will tell me later," the chief spoke sharply. "If I decide I want her," he tacked on. He turned his attention back to Rue. "Do you have family, a husband who will come looking for you?"
Rue wished with all her heart that she could answer yes. But it would be a lie, and Sly would be quick to tell the old chief.
She shook her head and answered dispiritedly, "There is no one."
"I find that very strange," Wise Owl spoke as if to himself "I would think that one so good to look upon would have a man."
While the elderly man talked to her, the young brave who had spoken with Sly came to stand beside the chief Rue thought she could see a resemblance between the pair, then put it from her mind when the old warrior pinned Sly with a narrow look, and said abruptly, "How much for the golden-haired woman?"
Sly took an eager step forward, avid greed shining out of his fat, squinted eyes. "A hundred dollars, and that's cheap for someone with her looks." When Wise Owl frowned, he added quickly, "When you get tired of her, you can sell her across the border for a good sum of money. The men who own bordellos there are always lookin' for a fair-haired woman."
The older Indian looked at the younger one as if for guidance. Sly waited nervously, shifting his feet while the pair talked to each other in their native tongue. The chief fro wned once as if not in total agreement of what the younger man said. Finally, as the brave continued to press his argument with flashing eyes and motions of his hands, the old man reluctantly nodded his head. He spoke a few more words to the young brave, then turned back to Sly.
"My son wants the woman. There will be a wedding ceremony tomorrow."
While Rue bit her tongue not to cry out, Sly's fat lips parted in a smile. If the son was set on having the bitch, there would be no arguing over price. He would take the money and get the hell out of this country—after he had collected from Lillie. He had accomplished what he'd set out to do and, besides, he didn't want to tangle with Hawke Masters should he ever learn what had happened to his wife.
Sly's smile died when the old man spoke again. "As in Indian custom, you may choose six horses from our herd." At Sly's angry start, he pointed out, "Usually only four horses are offered for a woman, but my son is quite taken with the golden-haired woman and does not want to waste time bargaining for her."
His face twisted with rage, Sly cried out. "I don't want your damned horses! I want money! One hundred dollars."
"You are not the woman's family and we need not give you anything if we do not want to," the young brave said coldly, a threat in his eyes that the enraged Sly failed to see as he grabbed Rue's arm and shoved her toward the mare. "Then I'll just take her back," he growled.
A smile devoid of all mirth stirred the corners of the young brave's lips as he stalked toward Sly and Rue, a knife held low in his hand. "Release the Golden One," he ordered, stopping a foot away.
For just a moment Sly's grip tightened on Rue's arm, then reluctantly he moved away from her. His face drained of color, fear bulging his eyes, he croaked, "You can have her. I'll just be on my way." He started walking toward his mount.
The chief motioned to the braves gathered round and Sly was quickly surrounded. "Take him back in the woods. I would know the whole story of why he brought this woman here. I do not think he tells it all. He is of small brains and I think someone else tells him what to do. This may all be a trick of some kind, a ruse to bring trouble to our village."
Sly was led away, blubbering his innocence, denying that he meant any harm toward the chief and his people. His voice faded away as he was taken deeper into the woods. Rue started to ease her tired body to the ground, then stiffened as a man's scream pealed. She held her breath, wondering what was happening to her old enemy.
Her body jerked when a few minutes later Sly screamed again, and again and again. She stared aghast when suddenly the fat man burst from the forest, running toward the chief She gaped in horror at the blood running from numerous cuts on his body.
He was within two yards of his destination when he fell face forward on the ground. He twitched a moment, then lay still, the hilt of a knife sticking up between his shoulder blades. Blood trickled from between his lips and ran out on the ground and Rue knew that her old enemy was dead. The young brave stood over him a moment, then walked to his father.
They conversed in low tones with many glances sent Rue's way. They were arguing, she could tell from the stubborn look on the son's face and the dubious one on the father's. Finally the father shrugged, as if to say, "Have it your way," and the young man returned to Sly and retrieved the knife from his lifeless body. She began to tremble when he turned toward her, the blood-stained knife still in his hand. Relief whistled through her teeth when all he did was slice the sharp blade through the ropes that bound her hands together.
In a daze she felt him take her arm and lead her away from the others. Was he going to attack her now, rape her? The question made her tremble all the more.
When they came to the edge of a small growth of pine, she was pushed down beneath a tree. As she stared up at the Indian, preparing to fight him until her last breath, he brought her arms around the tree trunk and tied her hands together. She willed herself not to cringe from him, not to let him know how terror-stricken she was when he squatted in front of her and ran his fingers through her hair.
She almost lost the battle when his lean fingers unbuttoned her jacket, then started on her bodice. She tried to remove herself from it all, to make believe it was happening to someone else. But she gave up the pretense when cold air hit her bared breasts. She saw his hands come up to them and closed her eyes. What cruelty was he going to inflict on her?
But strangely, the young man only stroked the firm white mounds with gentle fingers. Then a moment later, while she held her breath, he rebuttoned her blouse, then stood up, and walked away. A sigh of relief shuddered through her lips, then she shivered violently. This wasn't the end of it. She knew with sickening clarity that later he would return and then…
Rue sank back against the tree trunk. How did Indian men treat their wives? She had heard terrible stories of brutal rapes and torturing of their white women victims. Would that be her fate because she was white, or would she be treated less harshly because the brave married her?
She stared unseeing at the sky, cold and hungry, filled with a dread she had never known before. Tomorrow she would marry an Indian whose name she didn't even know. She forced back a hysterical laugh. She had known her first husband's name, but like this impending marriage, she had known nothing about the man. She hadn't known anything about the deceit that lay in Hawke Masters, the mental cruelty he could, and would, impose upon her.
A lone tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. And because Hawke Masters had taken advantage of her, marrying her only to take care of his niece and nephew, tomorrow she would become a member of this renegade tribe which had broken away from a reservation to escape the white man's rule. Could she bear their rigorous lifestyle, or would one winter with them be the death of her?
Her gaze swept over the part of the village she could see from her spot beneath the tree. Children, shy and wide-eyed, watched her from their teepees and the half-starved dogs wandered around, stopping to sniff at Sly's body where someone had dragged it into a patch of weeds. She studied the women moving noiselessly, preparing the evening meal over small fires. There were no smiles on their faces, she noted, but then thought, what did they have to smile about, living a life that kept them mostly on the run, doing all the manual work, never having enough to eat.
Jeb had said once, as they discussed Indians and their habits, that there was a great deal of intermarriage among the Arapaho tribes. That polygamy was practiced, with the men often marrying sisters and their brother's widows. And as for the mother-in-laws, husbands didn't even look or speak to them. She remembered that at the time she had thought that Indian men had no respect for the female species of their world.
Noisey conversation drew Rue's attention to a large campfire in the center of the village. The men sat around it, her future husband among them. He, it seemed, was the center of their attention as they spoke loudly to him, punctuating their remarks with loud laughter and crude gestures as they looked knowingly at her. Her skin crawled and she squeezed her eyes shut. She could imagine what they were saying about her, and what the young brave's answering remarks were.
I've got to get away! she screamed inside. And though her mind raced with possibilities, no solution came to her. She could only wait, be on her guard, and if the slightest chance of escape occurred, she must take advantage of it. Even if it meant a knife in her back. She would prefer death to a living hell.
The hours dragged by and Rue's arms ached from being stretched and her fingers cramped unbearably. She thought of her grandparents, Jimmy, her father-in-law, the children, anything to keep her mind off what awaited her tonight.
Suddenly, like a drape being closed, the sun sank and night arrived, dark and fearful, as a wolfs lonely yowl drifted down from the mountains. The leaping flames of the large campfire threw shadows on the bronzed faces, giving them a cruel, grotesque look. Rue shivered and looked away from the Indians.
A short time later, however, when the men were called to supper, a full moon rose, chasing away most of the darkness. Rue's stomach rumbled from hunger, although it made her nauseous as she watched the men dip their fingers into the bowls of stew. She tried to turn a deaf ear to the obnoxious noises they made, slurping and chewing with open mouths.
Finally the men had sated their appetites and moved back to the fire where one man brought out a bottle of whiskey and passed it around to the others. As the women and children took up bowls and scraped the bottom of the pot for their share of the meal, Rue wondered if anyone would bother to bring her anything to eat. No food had passed her lips since breakfast this morning, and her body screamed for nourishment.
She learned a short time later that she was not to be fed as the women carried the empty bowls and pots to a waterfall to wash them.
Was she to die from starvation? she wondered. When shortly the men staggered around drunkenly, she wondered if that wouldn't be preferable.
Rue's uneasiness of the drunken men grew to fear and dread as they grabbed women, and disappeared into the teepees. She tried to shrink within herself, to disappear, not to draw her future husband's notice.
She drew a deep breath of relief when she saw him lead a young woman toward his teepee. He seemed to have forgotten his captive momentarily.
Rue relaxed a bit, hoping that the tall brave would be occupied for the night. She felt intuitively that none of the other men would bother her, at least not until her intended had had her first. After that, she would probably be fair game for any man who wanted her.
The wind changed suddenly, and the air became sharp, making Rue thankful for her heavy jacket. There would be no blanket for her, she knew, and there was no doubt that it would start snowing before too long. She could almost smell it.
She shivered, thinking of the snow piling up on top of her, smothering the breath from her body. The women wouldn't care, and the men were too drunk to notice.
Rue had just curled her feet beneath her for extra warmth when there came a rustling of leaves, the crackling sound of careful footsteps. She looked over her shoulder and saw the bushes behind her quiver. Something or someone was there, creeping up on her. Was it an animal, or one of the men brave enough to use her before her marriage?
She gave a small cry of surprise when the brush parted and a small, brown face peered out at her. "Little Star!" she whispered. "Is this your village, your people?"
The little boy she had given cookies to crawled over to her side. "Yes," he whispered back, casting a nervous glance at the fire where those who had not yet fallen into a whiskey stupor continued to drink. Then the moonlight glinted on the blade of the knife that slashed through the ropes that held her to the tree.
"Grandfather said to cut you free," Little Star continued to whisper as the ropes fell away. And while Rue rubbed the circulation back into her wrists, he added, "We cannot give you your mount, but here is a strip of pemmican to chew on. It will give you strength."
Rue wanted to kiss and hug the child in her relief, but knew she dare not. The boy would be greatly embarrassed by such an action. She laid a hand on his shoulder and looked solemnly into his eyes. "I will not forget you and your grandfather's kindness," she said, rising to her feet. "I pray that someday I will be able to repay you."
"Where will you go?" the lad asked. "Back to your man?"
"No!" Rue hissed. "Never there! Point me in the opposite direction from his ranch."
"You go east then." Little Star threw another uneasy glance at the men sitting around the fire. "You go now while they drink firewater."
Rue squeezed the narrow shoulder, looked at the men fleetingly, then darted away.
No one's face was turned in her direction as the little boy watched her disappear out of sight. He picked up the piece of rope, then crawled back under the brush, very pleased with himself. Golden One was a good woman, she did not deserve the treatment his red brothers would have given her.
Chapter Twelve
Hawke sat his mount on a lush grassy patch overlooking the river. He looked up at the sky that had turned dark gray with lowering clouds. The grass that reached past the stallion's knees wouldn't be green and tender much longer, he thought. If he was any judge of the weather, they would get snow tonight, covering and freezing everything it touched.
Tonight. He grinned wickedly as he felt a stirring in his loins. He'd gone around all morning in a fevered sweat, thinking of the delights in store for him once he and Rue retired to bed.
His grin widened. He'd get a little appetizer before that though. After he and Rue had a quick lunch, they would lock themselves in their bedroom and make love until Pa pounded on the door, demanding to know if his hoggish son was ready to go back to work. Rue would blush prettily, and he'd just have to take her one more time, no matter who was waiting for him.
His lips twisted sadly. He and Rue's bodies had honed down considerably from their turning to each other so often during the night.
That was another thing he loved about his wife. If she felt the need of his strength inside her, she didn't hesitate to let him know it. He'd awakened to the soft stroking of her fingers, and in seconds he'd be ready to oblige her.
"I just can't get enough of her," he said out loud, marveling at the truth. It had never been like that with any other woman. An hour or so with one would last him for a week or more.
Hawke looked up at the overcast sky and saw that the sun was directly overhead. A slow smile swept across his face. Was Rue watching the clock, counting the minutes until she saw him riding in for lunch?
"Let's go see, Captain." He chuckled and headed the stallion down the back side of the small knoll.
As Hawke rode up to the house, he saw his father and nephew just disappearing inside. He rode on to the stables and, stripping the saddle off the mount, turned Captain into the corral where Jeb and Tommy's mounts were already munching a pile of hay. When the three of them returned to the range later, each would ride a fresh horse.
