Tales of Western Romance (16 page)

Culhane turned to Winter Star, a puzzled
expression on his face.

“
My mother has chosen you to be her
slave,” Winter Star explained happily.

“
Slave!” Culhane spat the word out as
if it tasted bad.

“
Yes. Stay here.”

Smiling, Winter Star ran into the lodge and
threw her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you,” she said
fervently.

Elk Hunter turned a sharp eye on his
daughter. “Was this your idea?” he demanded.

“
Yes, my father.”

“
Why did you wish to spare the life of
the white man?”

“
I... I did not want to see such a
brave man die such a horrible death.”

Elk Hunter frowned. His daughter’s words rang
true, yet he sensed she was not telling him everything.

With an effort, Winter Star met her father’s
probing gaze. He must never suspect her real motives for saving
Culhane’s life. Elk Hunter hated all white men. He would not be
pleased to know his only daughter had fallen in love with one.

“
I will go now and tend his wounds,”
Winter Star said, hoping her voice did not betray her eagerness to
see Culhane.

“
Very well,” Elk Hunter agreed, his
expression thoughtful.

Gathering water and clean cloths, Winter Star
hurried to Culhane. She treated the deep cut in his right thigh
first, felt him flinch each time she touched him. The other cuts
were mostly superficial. She washed them carefully, applied healing
herbs, then bound the wounds with strips of cloth to keep them
clean. Hopefully, most of them would leave no scars.

“
What now?” Culhane asked as she washed
his blood from her hands.

“
You must do whatever you are told
without question. If you refuse, you will be whipped. If you try to
run away, you will be caught and the women will finish what they
started tonight.”

“
Great.”

“
You are alive, Culhane. Can you not be
thankful for that?”

“
I suppose so.”

Winter Star gazed deep into his eyes. “Do not
think it will be easy to escape,” she warned. “My people will watch
you very carefully. There are sentries in the hills. No prisoner
has ever escaped.”

Culhane nodded. “I understand. Thanks for the
warning.”

Winter Star stood up as her mother stepped
out of the lodge. Drawing her knife, Eagle Woman cut the rawhide
thong binding Culhane’s wrists. That done, she tossed a pair of
buckskin leggings into his lap.

“
Cover yourself,” she said
curtly.

“
Yes, ma’am,” Culhane
replied.

Winter Star turned her back as Culhane pulled
on the leggings. They were a near-perfect fit, soft and
comfortable. Rising, he flexed his arms and shoulders. His wrists,
tightly bound for over two weeks, were chafed and sore, but he
didn’t care, so good was it to have his hands free again.

“
You will sleep here,” Winter Star
said. “I will bring you a blanket.”

“
Thanks. Why are you looking at me like
that?”

“
I am afraid you will not make a good
slave,” she answered sadly. “I think you will resent taking orders
from my mother. I think you will earn many whippings.”

Culhane shrugged. She was dead right, he
thought ruefully. He wouldn’t like taking orders. But then, he
never had.

“
What else?” he asked.

“
I think you will try to escape,”
Winter Star remarked. “Do not try it, Culhane. Please do not try to
run away.”

“
Would it matter very much to you if I
were killed?”

“
Very much.”

“
Stop worrying, Star. I promise you I
won’t run away.”

“
I will get a blanket for you,” she
said, and hurried away lest he see the tears shining in her
eyes.

Chapter 7

Winter Star had been right. Culhane did not
take well to being a slave. Not only was he expected to do whatever
Winter Star’s parents told him to do, but he was expected to do
everyone else’s bidding, as well. Some days he was on the go from
dawn until dark, fetching wood, carrying water, picking fruit and
berries, digging for roots, running errands, pulling weeds. As a
slave, he was scorned and ridiculed by men and women alike,
belittled, and mocked at every turn. Few of the Indians spoke more
than a smattering of English, but he had no trouble understanding
the Cheyenne words of derision hurled at him.

More than once, he felt the sting of the lash
across his back; once, when he refused to wash an old woman’s
cooking pot, she broke a tree branch over his shoulders. The welt
it raised lasted for days.

First thing each morning, he drew water and
collected the day’s firewood for Winter Star’s mother. When that
was done, Eagle Woman sent him to do the same for Yellow
Shield.

As the days passed, Culhane developed a
genuine affection for the old man. Yellow Shield patiently taught
Culhane the Cheyenne language, helped him to understand the Indian
way of thinking. During the first few days when his wounds were
still healing, he spent many hours in the old man’s lodge listening
to the stories and legends of the Cheyenne people, including the
story of Sweet Medicine, their greatest prophet.

As Culhane listened to how the Indian people
had been deceived and cheated by the white man, he began to
understand their hatred for the settlers crowding westward.

“
We know our days are numbered,” Yellow
Shield remarked during one such conversation. “Sweet Medicine
foresaw the decline of our people in visions, but we will not
surrender without a fight.”

Culhane was thoughtful when he left the old
man’s lodge that afternoon. More and more, he learned to respect
the Cheyenne. They were not inhuman savages, as he had been led to
believe, but a race of people who lived in harmony with the land,
never taking more than they needed. They did not hunt for sport or
trophies, but to provide their families with food and shelter and
clothing. They did not kill the buffalo and take only the hide and
the tongue, as the white hunters did. The Indians used every part
of the shaggy beast. The hides provided the people with clothing
and lodge covers, and shrouded their bodies in death. The horns
were used for spoons, the hair was used for thread, the hooves were
made into glue, the paunch could be used for a cook pot. Nothing
went to waste, not even the tail, which made an excellent fly
whisk.

The Cheyenne laughed and cried and mourned
their lost loved ones. They swam and danced, played games, and had
a passion for gambling that rivaled any he had ever seen. They fell
in love, married, and had children; adorable children with straight
black hair and dark inquisitive eyes. Boys who grew to be brave
warriors. Girls who grew into lovely young women. Women like Winter
Star...

She was the only bright spot in his
captivity. No matter that his life was no longer his own, no matter
that he lived outside, no better than one of the camp dogs, no
matter that he was held in bitter contempt by the rest of the
tribe. When he was with Winter Star, he felt light-hearted and
free.

They met as often as possible in the woods,
away from the prying eyes of the tribe. At first, they only kissed,
their lips tasting, touching, exploring. Winter Star lived for the
moments when she could be with Culhane. The hours they were apart
seemed like years; the few moments they shared were never
enough.

Culhane, too, cherished the time they spent
together. He was touched by her honest concern for his welfare,
awed by her extraordinary beauty, captivated by her guileless
charm. She was everything he had ever hoped to find in a woman and
he thought Fate must be having a good laugh at his expense. He had
turned his back on women with social position and wealth only to
fall in love with a woman he could never truly call his own.

It was on a day in late July when Culhane
learned another lesson about the Cheyenne. He had met Winter Star
at their usual place. As always, she had run to him, her arms
twining around his neck as he caught her close, his mouth covering
hers in a long kiss filled with yearning. His hands slid over her
back, then moved to draw her hips against his. Bending, he let his
hands slide down her thighs, and then he paused.

“
What’s that?” he asked as he explored
the odd bulge beneath her skirt.

He felt her stiffen in his arms.”The
rope.”

“
The rope?”

“
All maidens wear it.”

“
What’s it for?”

“
Protection. All girls wear the rope
when they reach the age of womanhood. Women wear it, too, when they
leave the village.”

“
What’s it supposed to protect you
from?”

“
You.”

“
White men?”

“
All men. No man dares violate the
protection of the rope.”

“
Sort of an Indian chastity belt,”
Culhane muttered. “I guess the punishment for violating a virgin is
pretty severe.”

Winter Star nodded solemnly. “But there would
be no punishment if we were married.”

“
Be serious. Your father isn’t going to
let you marry a slave.”

“
Perhaps you will not always be a
slave.”

Her words quickly sparked Culhane’s interest.
“What do you mean?”

“
Long ago, a white man was captured by
our people. He, too, was made a slave. But, in time, he proved to
be a brave man and he was adopted into the tribe and became a
warrior. He married one of our women and had many sons.”

“
What happened to him? Is he still
here?”

“
No. He was killed by the
Crow.”

* * * * *

Later that night, Culhane pondered Winter
Star’s words. If he could get adopted into the tribe, he might yet
gain his freedom. It was a heady thought, and for the first time
since his capture, he felt a slim ray of hope.

He began to change his attitude the very next
day. He quickly did whatever he was told to do and applied himself
to learning the Cheyenne tongue. Begging an old bow and some arrows
from Yellow Shield, he spent an hour or so each afternoon trying to
master the intricacies of the bow. At first, his attempts were
comical, but after a few weeks, he managed to hit the target more
often than not.

He asked Elk Hunter if he could look after
his horses, and when the warrior reluctantly gave his permission,
Culhane threw himself into the task. Soon, Elk Hunter’s horses were
the talk of the village. In a gesture of gratitude, Elk Hunter gave
Culhane an old buckskin mare. Culhane was pleased with the gift and
set about learning to ride as the Cheyenne did. It was not easy,
guiding a horse with the pressure of his knees, or hanging over the
side while the horse ran at a gallop across the plains. Culhane,
always a good horseman, soon mastered the art of riding Cheyenne
style.

He showed the proper respect to the elders of
the tribe, played with the children, was courteous to the
women.

He never complained about the work he was
required to do, nor did he ask for any favors. As the days passed,
he found himself thinking less often of escape. The longer he lived
among the Cheyenne, the more he came to like and respect them. And
always, there was Winter Star. What good would life be without
her?

But Culhane was not the only man in her life.
Young Hawk continued to court Winter Star. Nights, he played his
flute outside her lodge, the notes clear and sweet, telling her of
his love. Mornings, when she went to the river for water, he often
waited along the path, hoping to catch her alone. He came often to
her lodge, still under the pretense of visiting Elk Hunter.

About this same time Swift Antelope also
began to court Winter Star, for she was of an age to be married and
a lovely young maiden. He passed her lodge often, hoping to catch a
glimpse of her. Nights, he prowled nearby, hoping she would come
outside with her courting blanket over her arm. Inevitably, Young
Hawk would also be there, waiting and hoping to see her alone.

But Winter Star had eyes only for Culhane.
With each passing day, she loved him more. He had a ready smile, a
quick wit. Constant exposure to the harsh Dakota sun turned his
whole body a deep golden brown, and she considered him the most
handsome man in the whole Cheyenne nation. Most of all, she loved
the way his storm-gray eyes caressed her, making her feel warm and
weak as a newborn child.

If only he were not a slave. If only he could
court her. How wonderful to stand within her courting blanket, its
heavy folds covering their heads, shutting out the rest of the
world.

With both Young Hawk and Swift Antelope
courting her, it grew harder and harder to steal a few moments
alone with Culhane, making the time they spent together all the
more precious.

It was August, the Month of Ripe Plums, when
Young Hawk brought six ponies to Elk Hunter’s lodge.

“
I have looked on your daughter with
favor,” the young warrior declared. “I would have her for my
wife.”

Winter Star’s heart went cold at Young Hawk’s
proposal. Turning troubled eyes toward her father, she shook her
head, silently beseeching her father to refuse Young Hawk’s
offer.

“
You are a brave warrior, honored and
respected among our people,” Elk Hunter said. “Our lodge would be
proud to acknowledge you as a son, but my daughter is not yet ready
for marriage.”