No Other Man (38 page)

The lieutenant smiled sheepishly up at Skylar, "Good day
to you, Lady Douglas—Skylar!" He gaped at her a second longer, then seemed
to come to his senses. He lowered his voice quickly. "Hawk, Major,
Willow, I think it's a hard time to be Sioux, indeed. Why, it seems to me folks
in Washington must be blind. They can't keep a promise to save a life, and
that's a sad fact. They're tense as rabbits about this conference. The general
is just about gnawing on his own hat, awaiting your report, Major. Though what
anyone is meeting about, I don't know. The folks from Washington want the Black
Hills burst wide open. And it's happening!"

They neared a cluster of tents where Skylar saw officials in
civilian dress, military men in uniform, and Indian scouts in their mixture of
Plains dress and army issue. Suddenly a young woman with long pigtails came
hurrying forward. "Bless me!" she exclaimed, staring at Skylar. She pressed
her hand to her heart. "Bless me!" she repeated.

"Minister's wife, Sarah," Danby said, making the
introduction as if it were a warning.

Skylar realized that it was her doeskin dress the woman was
staring at in horror. She had forgotten her apparel until now. How foolish.
There weren't many women at the camp, but those she saw were respectably
dressed, in petticoats and skirts that had been somewhat modified for prairie
conditions, but they were all quite feminine and fashionable, nonetheless.

"You poor, poor dear!" she exclaimed. "Lord
Douglas, has this darling creature been a prisoner among the Sioux? Have you
brought her back to the bosom of her own people? Does she speak English?"

"Quite well, Sarah. This is my wife, Skylar."

Sarah's jaw dropped, much as Danby's had done. "There
was a rumor from up your way that you had married, Hawk, but—oh, God, I am
sorry. Lady Douglas. Er, Lady Douglas ..." she broke off, extremely
uncomfortable. "Lady Douglas, the sutler has some lovely gowns, if you're
interested."

Skylar glanced at Hawk, amused.

He
smiled in return. "I imagine my wife is quite interested. Skylar, I
assure you, you'll be ... fairly safe in Sarah's company."

"Lord
Douglas, you can be very bad!" Sarah chastised him.

"Bad
can be good upon occasion, Sarah," Sloan assured her.

Poor
Sarah flushed crimson. ' 'Danby, can you please escort these men to the
general? He'll get them into some
civilized
clothing, and perhaps they'll learn to mind their manners and quit taunting a
naive little spirit like me!"

Hawk
laughed. "Don't let her fool you, Skylar. She's a tigress."

"Danby!" Sarah cried. "Will you please!"

"Major, Lord Douglas, please follow me."

Danby
seemed happy enough with his task as escort. "Lady Douglas, if you wish to
accompany Sarah, I'll care for your horse."

Skylar
thanked him. She slipped down from Nutmeg, well aware that Sarah was staring at
her. Sarah suddenly regained her own manners. "I'm so sorry. Your hair is
just so—"

"Blond?" Skylar suggested.

"For that outfit!" Sarah gasped.

"I'm
afraid I gave my 'civilized' clothing away," Skylar told her, emphasizing
the word "civilized."

Sarah
didn't notice. She shuddered. "You've just come from the East? And been
cast among the heathens!"

"My husband is half heathen."

Sarah
crossed herself. "Hush now! We've worked hard to bring him into the proper
fold."

"Oh!"
Skylar said. She hurried along with Sarah, who could walk very briskly. She
felt the eyes of soldiers, civilians, and the scattered women here and there
upon her. She straightened her shoulders, wondering with more than a trace of
amusement how many of them thought that she had been a prisoner of the Sioux,
recently released by Hawk, Sloan, and Willow.

Then she felt guilty, well aware that many
people here had had friends and family slaughtered by the Indians. She had
found it very easy to take the Sioux side in this battle, perhaps because she
had seen the Sioux side of it for the first time.

War was tragic for both sides, she reminded herself.

In a matter of moments, Sarah had her to the sutler, and in a
matter-of-fact way, had quickly managed to go through every single one of the
man's garments, bargained outrageously for everything Skylar could possibly
need, and managed to get it all folded and in a basket.

"The general will make arrangements for your tent tonight,"
Sarah assured Skylar. "For now, you must come with me. David—my husband—is
out among the men. You can wash and divest yourself of that dreadful
garment—"

"This dreadful garment is a cherished gift," Skylar
said firmly.

"Oh." Sarah didn't exactly say the word. Her mouth
rounded into it. She stared at Skylar. Then she started walking again.
"Well. Well. One day, we'll reach the Indians. David says so. Then they
won't be heathens any longer, and they'll learn that they can't do murder and
that they must settle down to white ways. You can just... change your clothing.
Fold up your, er, gift, and pack it for home."

Sarah hurried on. Skylar followed her, considering the woman
a rather pompous but well-meaning creature.

Two hours later, she had washed. Her flesh carried the scent
of Sarah's lavender soap, and she wore a dress of calico cotton, silk
stockings, and leather shoes. David, young like his wife—just as pompous,
Skylar thought, but just as well meaning—had come back to the large tent he had
set up at the campsite. Hawk, Sloan, Willow, the general, and many of his
aides had come to the ministers, and Skylar sipped sherry while she listened to
the men worry about the question before them. She realized that the soldiers
among them seemed to realize that the treaties thus far made with the Sioux had
been nothing more than promises made to be broken, and that half of them were
sick about what duty required them to do.

A serious, middle-aged captain named Clark was especially
interested in querying Hawk, Sloan, and Willow.

' 'Is it definite, then, that none of the Crazy Horse people
will come?"

"It is definite that Crazy Horse will not attend,"
Sloan told him politely.

The captain seemed deeply depressed. "I see trouble
ahead. Great trouble."

"The whites just don't want to see how far they're pushing
the Sioux," Hawk said.

"The whites! The whites!" Captain Clark exclaimed
unhappily. "We group
them
all together
as savages. I suppose it is only fair that they group us together in return. I
find our policies appalling! But if we wind up in battle, no brave will stop to
ask me if I approve of American policy before he takes my scalp."

"He wouldn't understand that you weren't part of
it," Skylar said quietly. "The only reason he will go into battle
against you is because he
chooses
to do so.
He assumes you have made a similar choice."

She had spoken so softly. She realized that despite that,
everyone in the tent was staring at her. Her husband in particular. He smiled
at her and set down the glass of sherry he had been drinking. He turned to the
general and the minister and his wife.

"We've had a long ride. If I understand correctly,
you've accommodations for me and my wife?"

"Of course, Lord Douglas! Danby will be glad to escort
you to your tent."

Skylar said her goodnights, thanking Sarah. She paused by
Sloan. He smiled and very elegantly and properly kissed the back of her hand.

Danby, talking away, brought them to their tent.

It was fairly large, with a decent enough camp bed. It was
closely surrounded by many other tents. Hawk sighed

softly,
removing the white shirt he had donned since she had seen him before the party,
tossing it over the back of a folding camp chair.

He
sighed. "I guess we'd better get some sleep," he said.

Skylar
nodded, stripping down to her chemise. She climbed into the small cot. He
doused the lamp on the crude table in the center of the tent, getting in beside
her. He scooped an arm around her, holding her close.

"Comfortable?" he asked her.

"Yes."

He was
silent a minute. "You know, you've actually done quite well in a house, a
tipi, and a tent."

"I'm
so glad you think I can handle 'hardship' competently."

He laughed softly. "I'm very ..."

"Yes?"

"Proud of you," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you."

His arm tightened around her.

"We've no ..."

"Privacy?"
he finished for her. He must have felt both her comfort—and her discomfort.

"No privacy."

"We
need some sleep anyway," he said politely. His hand moved very gently
through her hair. "Goodnight.. . wife."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

He didn't close his. Somewhere in the night, very late in the
night, he noted a shadow.

The
fire just outside the tent had burned low. Perhaps he imagined the shadow.

No. No
matter how low the light might be, the canvas of the military tent was light
and thin, reflecting any form of shadow.

And
someone was moving just beyond their tent. Lifting the flap.

He
leaped up in a silent flash, prepared this time, ready to follow .. .

"Hawk?"

She
whispered his name, frightened, only half awake, clinging to him.

The shadow was gone.

"Hawk, what is it?"

"Nothing.
Nothing, Skylar. I'm so sorry I woke you. Just a—a dream," he said. He
smoothed her hair.

She lay
back again, her cheek against his chest. So trustingly. He stared at the
canvas ceiling, entirely frustrated.

"Monsters,"
she murmured, falling back asleep. Her fingers moved over the bare flesh of
his chest. He bit back a groan.

They'd
be home soon. Back to Mayfair. He'd be in complete control there; she'd be
safe from Crow attacks.

He
wondered why he had the feeling that monsters just might follow them anyway.

The actual meeting was to take place some distance from where
they had camped.

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 gal- loped, 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."