Tales of Western Romance (14 page)

Winter Star stayed with Culhane until first
light. Then, as the sky slowly changed from indigo to pale gray,
she took her blanket and walked swiftly back to her lodge lest
someone discover she had spent the night falling in love with the
white man.

“
He is a brave man,” Winter Star
remarked to her mother later that same morning. “Do you not think
so?”

“
Brave?” Eagle Woman mused, looking up
from the moccasin she was mending. “What makes you say such a
thing?”

“
He has been our prisoner for many days
now, but never has he shown any sign of fear at what awaits him. He
does not plead for his freedom, or whimper for mercy. Do you not
call that brave?”

“
I suppose so,” Eagle Woman agreed,
perplexed by her daughter’s extraordinary interest in the
vehoe
.

“
It seems a shame to kill such a man,”
Winter Star ventured slowly.

“
The man is our enemy. Have you
forgotten it was a white man who killed your older brother last
winter, a white man who crippled your grandfather? Brave man or
coward, the prisoner deserves to die.”

“
But this man did not kill my brother,
or wound Yellow Shield,” Winter Star argued softly. “Why should he
be punished for something he did not do?”

“
Winter Star, do not question the ways
of the People,” Eagle Woman admonished in exasperation. “I know it
is hard for you to accept what sometimes seems like cruelty, but
the man will die tomorrow night. It is the will of the People, and
you cannot change it.”

“
My mother,” Winter Star said
hesitantly. “Would you not save him for me?”

Eagle Woman dropped the moccasin she was
mending and stared at her daughter in open-mouthed astonishment.
“Save him!” she exclaimed, aghast. “You cannot be serious.”

“
Please do not let him die.”

“
Do you know what you are
asking?”

“
Yes.”

Eagle Woman shook her head slowly as she
contemplated her daughter’s forlorn face. As a child, Winter Star
had tried to save every hurt or wounded creature she found. She had
mended broken wings, treated injuries on rabbits and squirrels,
painstakingly raised a litter of puppies when the mother dog died,
set a fawn’s broken leg. She had cried when horses had to be
destroyed because they were sick or lame, or had to be killed
because the tribe was hungry. She had wept bitter tears when a tiny
bear cub she found caught in a trap died. But this, it was too
much. The
vehoe
was not a wounded animal, but the enemy.

Still, Eagle Woman found it hard to ignore
the silent plea in her daughter’s brilliant black eyes. “I will
think on it,” she promised reluctantly. “Now, run along and do not
bother me with it again.”

“
Thank you, my mother!” Winter Star
exclaimed happily, and after giving her mother an exuberant hug,
she ran out of the lodge, too excited to stay inside.

* * * * *

Culhane sat alone in the bright sunlight,
basking in the touch of the sun on his face. His gaze wandered to
the distant mountains, and he noticed how the craggy peaks changed
color as the sun climbed in the sky. He watched the Cheyenne
children playing near their lodges and felt a twinge of regret that
he had never married, would never have children of his own. He
thought of the women he had known. Most had been women of easy
virtue, saloon girls and the like. But there had been others who
would have made him a suitable wife. One woman had even proposed to
him. She had been pretty and wealthy, but he had not been attracted
to her. He had never found a woman to love, one he wanted to share
his life with. Now, looking back, his life seemed empty,
meaningless.

A great heaviness settled over Culhane as the
sun began to drop behind the mountains. Tomorrow would be his last
day on earth. He wondered what the actual moment of death would be
like. Would there simply be an end of pain, an end of awareness, or
was there really another life beyond this one? And if there was,
would he find himself in heaven or hell? He knew the Cheyenne
believed the spirits of the dead traveled the Hanging Road to
heaven where everyone lived happily ever after. There were no
rewards or punishments for the Cheyenne, and all who died were
equal. Only those who killed themselves were denied the good life
in the hereafter.

Culhane grunted softly. He had learned about
the Cheyenne afterlife from an ancient squaw who had lived near the
fort. She claimed that once she had been very sick and she had died
and gone to
Seyan
, the Place of the Dead. She did not quite
reach the camp of her people, she said, but she came within a short
distance. She said the lodges were white and handsomely painted.
There were people walking about and racks filled with drying meat.
All those she had known who had died were there. She claimed to
have seen men hunting spirit buffalo and other game. It had been a
beautiful place, with green grass and clear blue rivers and
streams, and everyone had been happy. But when she got closer, her
mother met her and told her she was too early and must go back. She
had been sorry to leave, the old woman had said, because it had
been so beautiful and peaceful.

Soon, Culhane mused, soon the mystery would
be over. He would know the answer to the question which had haunted
mankind since the dawn of time.

He watched the women of the tribe as they did
their chores and tended their children. They appeared to be much
like women everywhere, concerned for their young ones, always busy,
sewing and mending, cooking and tanning hides. He heard them laugh,
heard them argue with their husbands. For the most part, they were
a handsome group of women, tall and slender. They did not seem like
savages, yet tomorrow night they would take knives and sharp sticks
and carve his flesh until he died of the wounds they inflicted on
him. It would not be a pleasant way to die, and he wondered if he
would die well, or if, instead, he would scream and beg for
mercy.

His mind filled with morbid thoughts and
grotesque images, and he closed his eyes, trying to shut them
out.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil
thereof.
He grunted softly as a scripture learned in a faraway
Sunday School class flitted through his mind.

“
Culhane. Culhane!”

He came awake to find Winter Star kneeling
beside him.

“
I have brought you something to eat,”
she said.

“
Thanks.”

“
Do you wish to eat?”

“
Why not?” he retorted sarcastically.
“No sense dying on an empty stomach.”

Winter Star did not reply as she offered him
a slice of succulent tenderloin.

The meat was good, moist and juicy, but to
Culhane it tasted like ashes. Nevertheless, he ate everything she
had prepared for him, washing it down with a cup of black tea. She
had been kind to him, and he did not wish to hurt her feelings.

Winter Star did not hurry away on this, his
last night. Sitting beside him, she placed her hand on his shoulder
and smiled into his eyes, willing him to smile back.

“
I’m obliged to you for taking care of
me,” Culhane said.

“
Obliged?”

“
Grateful,” he explained, and even as
he said the word, a little voice in the back of his mind told him
all his troubles would have been over by now if she had been a less
capable nurse. “I... I appreciate your concern.” He uttered a
short, self-conscious laugh. “I’m not much good at this kind of
thing, but what I’m trying to say is thanks for everything. You’ve
made my time here easier to bear.”

“
I would free you if I
could.”

“
I know. Don’t grieve for me when I’m
gone. I can’t abide the thought of you cutting off your hair or
slashing your flesh. Promise me.”

“
If it is your wish.”

“
It is.”

They sat together as the campfires died out
and the Indians turned in for the night. Feeling drowsy, Winter
Star leaned against Culhane, resting her head on his broad
shoulder. Feeling his lips move in her hair, she raised her head,
her eyes meeting his in a long, lingering glance more eloquent than
words.

For stretched seconds, they caressed each
other with their eyes; then, slowly, Culhane leaned forward, his
mouth claiming hers in a kiss filled with promises that could never
be kept.

A delicious warmth crept through Winter Star
as his mouth pressed against her own. A thousand fireflies seemed
to be trapped inside her stomach, their wings fluttering wildly,
and she curled her toes in delight as his kiss deepened.

Culhane groaned softly as heat surged through
his veins. Winter Star’s mouth was soft and yielding, sweeter than
any nectar.

A moment stretched into eternity before they
drew apart. Stunned by the magic between them, they gazed at each
other in wonder. Then, eyes shining, Winter Star touched her lips
to his, her arms twining around his neck. Closing her eyes, she
ignored the storm of emotions raging within her heart as she moved
closer to Culhane, wanting to feel his body next to her own.

Somehow, they were lying side by side on the
ground, their bodies straining together, their lips fused in a kiss
that joined heart to heart and soul to soul.

Winter Star knew she should be ashamed of her
brazen behavior, but she could not resist the urging of her body,
or her heart. Never before had she felt so alive, so vibrant. Never
before had she desired a man, or craved his touch. She longed to
free Culhane’s hands, to feel his fingers moving in her hair, but
she dared not.

In a brief moment of sanity, she knew she
should return to her father’s lodge before it was too late. She
would be ostracized by her people if she were caught with her arms
around a man who was the enemy. Perhaps she would be banished, but
she could not bring herself to leave him. Tomorrow night they would
kill him. This night, these few precious moments, were all they
would ever have.

Culhane murmured soft words of love in her
ear, his voice husky, deep with passion. Her upper body lay over
his, and she felt her senses come alive as he kissed her eyes and
nose, the curve of her cheek, the sensitive hollow behind her
ear.

Culhane cursed his bound hands as Winter Star
moaned softly, her arms tight around his neck. She wanted him,
wanted him as much as he wanted her. The knowledge sparked an idea
in the back of his mind, one he was hesitant to pursue in light of
her kindness to him, and yet, if he could convince her to free his
hands, there was a slim chance he might be able to escape.

He swore softly as he felt her tears on his
cheek. “Star...”

She sat up, her dark eyes filled with
anguish, and then she reached behind him, her fingers fumbling with
the knots. They could banish her, they could kill her in his place,
but she could not let him die.

Culhane felt a surge of exhilaration as he
realized she was going to untie him, and then he froze.

“
He’kotoo’estse,”
he whispered
urgently. “Be quiet. Someone’s coming.”

Winter Star froze, eyes wide with fear. Her
courage, so strong a moment ago, deserted her in the face of
reality. With a muffled cry, she scrambled to her feet and ran for
the cover of the trees. Then, on silent feet, she made her way back
to her father’s lodge.

Safe inside, with her sleeping robes drawn up
to her chin, she stared into the darkness, her throat thick with
unshed tears. Tomorrow night he would be dead. Never again would
she feel the touch of his lips on hers, or hear him whisper her
name, his voice filled with longing.

Never again.

Chapter 6

Culhane woke sluggishly the following
morning. For a moment he lay huddled on the ground, staring blankly
at the sky and then, abruptly, he remembered. This was to be his
last day and his senses were suddenly sharp and alert.

Rising to his feet, he relieved himself, and
then he began to pace back and forth, his whole body tense, like
that of a wolf caught in a trap.

Today, the people did not ignore him. The
women eyed him speculatively as they passed by, and he could see
them wondering how he would react to the thousand cuts to be
inflicted on him that night. Would he scream like a frightened
child, or wail for help like a woman deep in the throes of
childbirth? Would he grovel and plead and weep for mercy? Or would
be die well?

Winter Star did not bring him breakfast on
this, his last morning. Instead, an old woman with iron-gray hair
and skin like wrinkled paper squatted before him and spooned a
sticky concoction into his mouth. When he tried to ask about Winter
Star’s whereabouts, the old woman shrugged and walked away.

It was both the longest and the shortest day
of his life. Sitting on his heels, his eyes focused on the distant
mountains, he reflected on his past. Other than acquiring an
unwanted reputation as a fast gun, he had accomplished very little
in his twenty-seven years. He had been constantly in and out of
trouble with the law until a wise old judge “persuaded” him to
enlist in the Army. Doing a stint as a dogface seemed preferable to
doing time in prison, although in the beginning, he hadn’t been so
sure. He resented taking orders, resented the monotony of drilling.
The petty squabbles between the men seemed childish, the snobbery
of the brass hard to swallow. He was promoted to sergeant three
times, and busted back to private three times.

Only after his transfer to Fort Lincoln in
Dakota Territory, had he finally settled down. He loved the West,
loved the vast empty spaces, the towering mountains, the endless
prairie. It was a wild and beautiful land, unkind to those who were
not prepared to accept its harsh lessons.