Tales of Western Romance (17 page)

“
She is old enough,” Young Hawk argued.
“I will give you eight horses for her, and the skin of a mountain
lion.”

“
That is more than generous,” Elk
Hunter allowed, “but Winter Star is my only daughter, and she has
expressed no desire to marry.”

With as much good grace as he could muster,
Young Hawk left the lodge, aware of the sympathetic smiles and
good-natured teasing that followed him through the camp. It was not
unusual for a suitor to be turned down, but it was humiliating just
the same.

“
Thank you,
neyho,”
Winter Star
said earnestly.

“
Young Hawk is right, my daughter. You
are of an age to be married. Do none of our young men appeal to
you?”

“
No, my father.”

“
Look again,” Elk Hunter chided with a
smile. “I would like to have grandchildren before I am too old to
lift them.”

* * * * *

The tribe sweltered under the blazing August
sun. Little work was done during the heat of the day. The warriors
sat in the shade, gambling or repairing their weapons, while the
women gathered at the river with the children, playing and
splashing in the cool water.

Only the ancient ones basked in the sun,
letting the warmth ease the aches in their joints.

It was on a day in late August that Culhane
changed forever his status with the tribe.

He was sitting in the shade of Elk Hunter’s
lodge, alone, when a sudden scream rent the sultry afternoon.

Springing to his feet, he ran toward the
sound, swore under his breath as he rounded the corner of the
lodge. The tipi next to Winter Star’s was on fire and from within
he heard a shrill cry. Without thinking, he took a deep breath and
darted through the smoke-filled doorway.

Inside, a small boy was huddled against the
rear of the lodge, sobbing hysterically. A quick look around told
the story. The boy, waking from his nap, had been playing near the
fire pit when he upset a pot of bear grease. The grease had
trickled into the pit, igniting the baked coals. The fire quickly
lapped up the grease, then spread to the reed mats covering the
dirt floor.

Eyes and lungs burning, Culhane scooped up
the sobbing child, tucked him under one arm, and ran out of the
lodge, gasping for air.

The boy’s mother came running up seconds
later. Spying Culhane with her son, she let out a shriek and
grabbed the boy to her ample breast, crying and scolding him at the
same time.

The quick action of some of the warriors soon
had the fire extinguished, though the lodge and its contents were
destroyed.

Later that afternoon, the boy’s mother sought
Culhane. “I have come to thank you for saving my son’s life,” she
said, speaking slowly so he could understand her words. “My husband
has many horses. It is our wish that you look them over and take
those that please you.”

Culhane nodded. He recognized her now. She
was the warrior woman who had plunged her knife into his thigh with
such enthusiasm.

“
I am sure the decision will be
difficult,” he replied. “You are most generous.”

“
We will be forever in your debt,” the
warrior woman said.

Culhane smiled as he watched the woman walk
away. How hard it must have been for her to thank him, he mused,
for it had been her knife that had cut the deepest and caused the
most pain.

Culhane’s place within the tribe changed
after that. The people no longer looked at him as if he were less
than human, nor did they belittle him. The women smiled at him
warmly now, for he had saved the life of a child, and children were
greatly prized among the Cheyenne. The warriors no longer ignored
him, for he had proved his heart was good toward the People.

But the biggest surprise came from Yellow
Shield who, after discussing the matter with Elk Hunter, declared
he wished to adopt Culhane as his son.

Winter Star was ecstatic. As the adopted son
of Yellow Shield, Culhane would no longer be a slave. He would be
one of the People, free to court her openly.

So it was that on a day in late summer, Riley
Culhane became a member of the Cheyenne tribe. The ceremony was
simple and beautiful. Yellow Shield stood before the people and
declared that the white man known as Culhane would now be known as
Braves the Fire, son of Yellow Shield. Taking a knife, the old
warrior slashed Culhane’s palm and then his own. Then, their two
hands pressed tightly together, they became one blood.

That night, after hours of feasting and
dancing, Culhane moved into Yellow Shield’s lodge.

Two days later, Eagle Woman presented Culhane
with a new set of clothes. He accepted them graciously,
complimenting her skill as a seamstress. The buckskin shirt was
soft, fringed at the sleeves and along the back. The leggings, of
heavier buckskin, were fringed along the outer seam. There was also
a pair of exquisitely wrought moccasins.

Clothed in his new apparel, his skin now as
dark as any Cheyenne’s, his brown hair near shoulder length,
Culhane looked more Indian than white.

That evening, he intercepted Winter Star as
she made her way to the river to bathe.

“
Well, what do you think?” he
asked.

“
You are very handsome,” she replied.
“Already, the other maidens are casting their eyes in your
direction.”

“
I want no other woman,” Culhane said
huskily. “Only you.”

Pulling her into the cover of the woods, he
took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. She surrendered readily
to his touch, her body pressing against his, her arms wrapping
around his waist to hold him close.

“
You’re a lusty wench,” Culhane
murmured.

“
You turn my blood to fire,” Winter
Star answered boldly.

“
Shall I quench that fire?”

“
You will never quench it,” Winter Star
replied tremulously, “though you may lower the flame.”

“
If I brought ponies to your father,
would he turn me away?”

“
I do not know.” She smiled up at him,
her eyes bright. “How many ponies do you think I am
worth?”

“
More than the six Young Hawk offered.
I have ten fine horses. I will offer them to your father
tonight.”

* * * * *

Elk Hunter’s copper-hued face remained
impassive as he listened to the white man ask for Winter Star’s
hand in marriage, but inwardly he was far from calm. Though he had
developed a certain degree of respect for the
vehoe
, he
could not forget that it had been a white man who killed his son, a
white man who crippled his father. White men could not be trusted.
They had proved it at Sand Creek when they attacked a peaceful
village flying the flag of the white eyes, and a flag of truce.
They made promises they did not keep.

And yet, Elk Hunter had only to look at
Winter Star to know his daughter was deeply in love with Culhane.
There was music in her voice when she spoke to him, a softness in
her eyes, a gentle warmth in her face. As much as he loved his
daughter, that was how much he hated all white men.

“
I will take good care of her,” Culhane
vowed. “I will do all that is expected of a Cheyenne
husband.”

“
You are not a warrior,” Elk Hunter
said, unable to completely mask the contempt in his
voice.

“
Then I will become one.”

Elk Hunter studied Culhane for the space of
several moments. Then, eyes burning into Culhane’s, he said, “Tell
me, white man, if we are attacked by the soldier coats, where will
your loyalty lie? Will you defend our people, or will you turn on
us and seek to return to your own kind?”

Culhane shook his head slowly. “I don’t
know,” he answered truthfully. “But one thing I do know, I would
defend Winter Star’s life with my own, if necessary. I would not
hesitate to kill anyone, red or white, who attempted to do her
harm.”

“
I believe you. Now hear my words. We
will not speak of marriage now. We will wait one year. If you have
proven yourself to be a warrior in that time, and if you still want
my daughter for your wife, and she wants you, then we shall speak
of it again.”

“
A year!” Culhane exclaimed.

A year!
Winter Star thought in
dismay.

“
A year,” Elk Hunter repeated. “You
have not been with us long. You still have much to learn of our
ways. If you truly love my daughter, a year will not be too long to
wait.”

“
Very well,” Culhane agreed. “One year,
but not a minute more.”

Chapter 8

Winter Star sat beside the river, idly
tossing pebbles into the current as she waited for Culhane to find
her.

She looked up expectantly at the sound of
footsteps, felt a keen sense of disappointment when she saw that it
wasn’t Culhane but Young Hawk.

“
May I join you?” he asked
politely.

Winter Star shrugged. “If you wish.”

“
I was looking for you.”

“
Why? Is something wrong?”

“
No. I wanted to speak to you about the
vehoe
.” Young Hawk’s eyes searched hers intently. “You know
he will never truly be one of us. Why do you wish to marry a man
who is our enemy?”

“
He is not our enemy. Every day, he
becomes more Cheyenne, more like us.”

“
You should marry a man of your own
blood,” Young Hawk insisted quietly. “I have looked on you with
love for many years, but always you have rejected me. Will you not
reconsider before it is too late?”

Winter Star looked away. She had no desire to
hurt Young Hawk; indeed, she was fond of him, but she did not love
him as she loved Culhane. Young Hawk was a handsome young man, but
he seemed like a boy when compared to Culhane. Young Hawk was tall
and broad-shouldered, but compared to Culhane, he was like a
sapling beside a sturdy oak.

“
Winter Star, I will offer your father
all of my horses. I will provide for your family and give you many
sons, if only you will be mine.”

“
I am sorry,” she murmured. “I love
Culhane. I want no other for my husband.”

“
And what will you do when he tires of
our ways and begins to yearn for his own people, for a woman whose
skin is as pale as his? The
vehoe
cannot be trusted. He will
tell you he will stay with you forever, but one day he will change
his mind. What will you do then?”

“
It will not happen,” Winter Star
retorted, leaping to her feet. “He is not like other white men. He
will not leave me!”

Young Hawk shrugged. “And what if the Long
Knives attack our village? Do you think he will fight against his
own people?”

“
Yes!” she declared boldly, but doubts
crowded her heart. She glared at Young Hawk, hating him for
speaking of things she had refused to consider, for making her
doubt the depths of Culhane’s loyalty.

Turning on her heel, she ran back to the
village.

Chapter 9

The days passed quickly. Culhane had much to
learn and Yellow Shield was his teacher. From the old man, Culhane
learned how to track the deer and the elk and the bear. He learned
how to follow the trail of the wily mountain lion, and the crafty
wolf. He learned to read the signs of the moon and the sun and the
stars, to find water where none was visible. He learned to fight
with a knife, how to throw a lance. Yellow Shield presented him
with a good strong bow made of mulberry wood and a dozen
beautifully fletched arrows, and then instructed him in the proper
way to use and care for such weapons.

The old man taught Culhane the chants and
prayers of the People, as well as some of the ancient tribal dances
and rituals. At first, Culhane felt a little silly, sitting back on
his heels each morning, chanting Cheyenne prayers to a heathen god.
He had never been a religious man. You were born, you lived, you
died, and that was that. He never thought much about God, or the
Hereafter, figuring that, if there was a Heaven, he’d never see it,
and if there was a Hell, he’d find out about it firsthand soon
enough. But from Yellow Shield, he learned that the People believed
in many gods. There was
Maheo
, the chief god, and
Heammawihio
, and countless others. Every living thing had
its own spirit, thus no animal was ever killed for sport. For to
take a life—any life—was a serious thing and not to be done
lightly. Prayers were offered to the spirit of animals slain for
meat, asking their forgiveness, leaving a little of the flesh
behind to nourish the earth.

In spite of their earlier treatment of him,
he realized the People were not as cruel and bloodthirsty as
Culhane had thought. They had a reverence for life, a keen sense of
humor, an open honesty he found refreshing. They laughed and played
practical jokes on one another. They mourned their dead, cried when
they were hurt, grew angry when they were wronged, avenged their
enemies.

He was aware of the change in himself, a
change in his thinking, in the way he looked at life and death. He
began to feel a oneness with the People, began to think that,
perhaps, someone was really listening when he prayed to
Maheo
.

Winter Star watched Culhane’s progress with
interest and excitement. Almost before her eyes, she could see him
becoming more and more Cheyenne in his thinking and actions, less
and less like the white man.

He excelled in riding and wrestling. And if
he was only a fair hand with a bow, he made up for it by being an
outstanding marksman with pistol and rifle.