slyly. “We will clean her up in the stream and use her for our whore. We have been many suns without a woman. True, the woman is ugly, but she need not be pleasing to look at to appease our lust. Unlike our Cheyenne brothers,” he said disparagingly, “Sioux men are not accustomed to long periods of celibacy.”
“The woman is mine,” Wind Rider insisted. It annoyed him that he was too weak to offer more than token protest if they ruled against him. “I have need of my slave. It is my right/’
Cut Nose tried not to display his disappoint ment, realizing that Runs-Like-A-Deer would probably decide in Wind Rider’s favor. It sur prised him that he wanted the woman; she was dirty and plain and thin as a stick. But some thing about her made her desirable to him in a way he could not explain.
Before the other warriors departed they went through their belongings and generous ly offered Wind Rider what they did not need. Wind Rider had lost his horse and other items necessary to survival, and he was grateful for the water pouch, cooking kettle, gourd cup, leggings, moccasins, shirt, and small supply of pemmican and parched corn. Someone even added a parfleche in which to carry everything. Fortunately, Wind Rider still carried his medi cine bag around his neck, with his personal talisman and good-luck items, his knife and his rifle.
Hannah sagged in relief when the warriors rode off in a cloud of dust Cut Nose frightened her. She’d take her chances with the devil she knew rather than with the group of blood thirsty Sioux she didn’t. Once they were out of sight Wind Rider untied Hannah. Weaving from side to side, he stared at her through fever-shot eyes.
“Find more wood,” he ordered as he dropped down beside the fire. “I will drink Coyote’s remedy.”
Hannah’s eyes brightened with speculation. Wind Rider was ailing; it wouldn’t be difficult to escape. But escape to where? she wondered dul ly. She had no idea where she was. Wind Rider had spoken of Powder River country, wherever that was, and the fact that it was inhabited by many, many Indians. Was she already in the middle of Indian country? Would she be safer striking off on her own into unknown territory or remaining with Wind Rider?
“If you’re thinking about escaping,” Wind Rider said, reading her mind, “it would be most foolish of you. After the massacre at Sand Creek most Indians would kill you on sight, or torture you in the most horrible way imaginable.”
If he had intended to frighten her he had succeeded. Hannah’s face turned white beneath the dirt. “Does that include you? Are you taking me to Powder River country to torture and kill me? If you are, kill me now. I cannot stand the waiting.”
Wind Rider frowned. What did he intend to do with the woman? In the village she would be treated with the utmost contempt, tortured by the women of the tribe; starved, maybe, or hurt when he wasn’t around to protect her. That thought led to another: Why did he even care? Except for her vibrant green eyes and lilting voice there was nothing outstanding about Hannah McLin. Small, plain, and colorless, he compared her to a little brown sparrow. She wasn’t even fit to serve as whore to the tribe. White men had strange tastes, indeed, if they would pay to bed so lackluster a creature. Yet a whore was exactly what the woman was, for he had heard her master label her as such when he had been in Denver, posing as a white man.
“I will not kill you .. . yet,” Wind Rider said in a menacing manner. “I have need of you. Fetch the wood, but stay where I can see you. When you return bring me water so that I can boil the herbs Coyote gave me.”
Hannah thought about turning and fleeing, but the flash of cold steel in Wind Rider’s eyes changed her mind. He might be feverish and unable to keep up with the furious pace set by his friends, but he was far from helpless. And like it or not, he was the best protection she had at the moment. For some
“The woman is mine,” Wind Rider insisted. It annoyed him that he was too weak to offer more than token protest if they ruled against him. “I have need of my slave. It is my right/’
Cut Nose tried not to display his disappoint ment, realizing that Runs-Like-A-Deer would probably decide in Wind Rider’s favor. It sur prised him that he wanted the woman; she was dirty and plain and thin as a stick. But some thing about her made her desirable to him in a way he could not explain.
Before the other warriors departed they went through their belongings and generous ly offered Wind Rider what they did not need. Wind Rider had lost his horse and other items necessary to survival, and he was grateful for the water pouch, cooking kettle, gourd cup, leggings, moccasins, shirt, and small supply of pemmican and parched corn. Someone even added a parfleche in which to carry everything. Fortunately, Wind Rider still carried his medi cine bag around his neck, with his personal talisman and good-luck items, his knife and his rifle.
Hannah sagged in relief when the warriors rode off in a cloud of dust Cut Nose frightened her. She’d take her chances with the devil she knew rather than with the group of blood thirsty Sioux she didn’t. Once they were out of sight Wind Rider untied Hannah. Weaving from side to side, he stared at her through fever-shot eyes.
“Find more wood,” he ordered as he dropped down beside the fire. “I will drink Coyote’s remedy.”
Hannah’s eyes brightened with speculation. Wind Rider was ailing; it wouldn’t be difficult to escape. But escape to where? she wondered dul ly. She had no idea where she was. Wind Rider had spoken of Powder River country, wherever that was, and the fact that it was inhabited by many, many Indians. Was she already in the middle of Indian country? Would she be safer striking off on her own into unknown territory or remaining with Wind Rider?
“If you’re thinking about escaping,” Wind Rider said, reading her mind, “it would be most foolish of you. After the massacre at Sand Creek most Indians would kill you on sight, or torture you in the most horrible way imaginable.”
If he had intended to frighten her he had succeeded. Hannah’s face turned white beneath the dirt. “Does that include you? Are you taking me to Powder River country to torture and kill me? If you are, kill me now. I cannot stand the waiting.”
Wind Rider frowned. What did he intend to do with the woman? In the village she would be treated with the utmost contempt, tortured by the women of the tribe; starved, maybe, or hurt when he wasn’t around to protect her. That thought led to another: Why did he even care? Except for her vibrant green eyes and lilting voice there was nothing outstanding about Hannah McLin. Small, plain, and colorless, he compared her to a little brown sparrow. She wasn’t even fit to serve as whore to the tribe. White men had strange tastes, indeed, if they would pay to bed so lackluster a creature. Yet a whore was exactly what the woman was, for he had heard her master label her as such when he had been in Denver, posing as a white man.
“I will not kill you .. . yet,” Wind Rider said in a menacing manner. “I have need of you. Fetch the wood, but stay where I can see you. When you return bring me water so that I can boil the herbs Coyote gave me.”
Hannah thought about turning and fleeing, but the flash of cold steel in Wind Rider’s eyes changed her mind. He might be feverish and unable to keep up with the furious pace set by his friends, but he was far from helpless. And like it or not, he was the best protection she had at the moment. For some
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