barren one he married before., she still lives? I thought white men were not allowed two wives.”
Hawk quirked a crooked half-smile. “Yes, Lola still lives, but Noah has divorced her. If a white man does that, he may take a new wife.”
“Then you will live with the People, not with him. It is a bad thing to drift alone, coming and going from one place to another, belonging nowhere. Our lodges are open to you, and our hearts.”
Hawk felt a tightening in his throat as he looked at the earnest old man who loved him. Yes, Iron Heart would welcome him, and so would many of the others, but he would still be a half-blood, one used to the other way of life, not quite fitting in. Several of the younger men had already made that plain. His own feelings were not clear either.
“I will think about it, Grandfather. I do not know my own heart. If I can stop Noah in some way, I must try. Then...” He let the thought trail off unspoken. Truly, he did not know what course he would take.
* * * *
There was feasting that evening, for Iron Heart was an honored chief of the Cheyenne and his grandson was welcomed home. As they sat around the blazing fire in the center of the encampment, Hawk watched a maiden with a group of women on the other side of the leaping flames. She was young and delicately built with fine features, not the strongly hewn ones that were characteristic of the People. The bold sculptured faces of Cheyenne men were strikingly handsome, but the counterpart on women made most of them too heavy-featured for Hawk's taste. This young woman was distinctly enchanting, however.
He recalled seeing her that afternoon when he left Iron Heart's tent. A sharp war cry had been sounded, and all the young men had quickly rushed out of camp as if to do battle. However, it was not a real war. Hawk recognized the false warhoop that was made by a girl. Often, as a sort of courtship ritual and for just plain fun, the young women on their way home from a day's food gathering would issue the war cry. The single men then rushed to respond, and a mock battle ensued. The maidens pelted the braves with turnips and other roots they had gathered. The braves responded by returning the vegetables and then “capturing” the invaders.
From the sidelines, he had watched them come gamboling back into camp in groups of two, three, and four, laughing and teasing innocently. The girl across the campfire had caught his eye then as she broke free of several attentive young men and rushed toward the lodges across the way. She had collided with him in her flight and seemed startled, knowing he was Iron Heart's half-blooded grandson. Yet she had lingered for a fleeting moment when her eyes met his and saw his appreciative look.
“Grandfather, the maiden who stands next to Calf Woman, who is she? I do not remember her.” Hawk's curiosity was piqued by the lovely Cheyenne.
The old man's eyes lit up. Y es, it might be a sign. It would be good. “Her name is Wind Song. She is the daughter of Standing Bear. He went to her mother's band when you were a small boy. Now, since her mother is dead she is returned among us with her father. Few of Black Reed's people are left alive. The remnants are among our lodges.”
Hawk nodded in understanding. Smallpox had virtually wiped out many bands of Cheyenne. “She is very lovely, Grandfather.”
The old man smiled. “Perhaps the blood calls you.”
Hawk looked quizzically at Iron Heart, who chuckled and said, “Her grandfather was a French trapper who came to live among her mother's band in the old days. She, too, has a small bit of white blood in her.”
Hawk shrugged, not wanting to confront his mixed heritage despite his grandfather's goodwill.
That night he dreamed of Wind Song with her delicately blushing dusky
Hawk quirked a crooked half-smile. “Yes, Lola still lives, but Noah has divorced her. If a white man does that, he may take a new wife.”
“Then you will live with the People, not with him. It is a bad thing to drift alone, coming and going from one place to another, belonging nowhere. Our lodges are open to you, and our hearts.”
Hawk felt a tightening in his throat as he looked at the earnest old man who loved him. Yes, Iron Heart would welcome him, and so would many of the others, but he would still be a half-blood, one used to the other way of life, not quite fitting in. Several of the younger men had already made that plain. His own feelings were not clear either.
“I will think about it, Grandfather. I do not know my own heart. If I can stop Noah in some way, I must try. Then...” He let the thought trail off unspoken. Truly, he did not know what course he would take.
* * * *
There was feasting that evening, for Iron Heart was an honored chief of the Cheyenne and his grandson was welcomed home. As they sat around the blazing fire in the center of the encampment, Hawk watched a maiden with a group of women on the other side of the leaping flames. She was young and delicately built with fine features, not the strongly hewn ones that were characteristic of the People. The bold sculptured faces of Cheyenne men were strikingly handsome, but the counterpart on women made most of them too heavy-featured for Hawk's taste. This young woman was distinctly enchanting, however.
He recalled seeing her that afternoon when he left Iron Heart's tent. A sharp war cry had been sounded, and all the young men had quickly rushed out of camp as if to do battle. However, it was not a real war. Hawk recognized the false warhoop that was made by a girl. Often, as a sort of courtship ritual and for just plain fun, the young women on their way home from a day's food gathering would issue the war cry. The single men then rushed to respond, and a mock battle ensued. The maidens pelted the braves with turnips and other roots they had gathered. The braves responded by returning the vegetables and then “capturing” the invaders.
From the sidelines, he had watched them come gamboling back into camp in groups of two, three, and four, laughing and teasing innocently. The girl across the campfire had caught his eye then as she broke free of several attentive young men and rushed toward the lodges across the way. She had collided with him in her flight and seemed startled, knowing he was Iron Heart's half-blooded grandson. Yet she had lingered for a fleeting moment when her eyes met his and saw his appreciative look.
“Grandfather, the maiden who stands next to Calf Woman, who is she? I do not remember her.” Hawk's curiosity was piqued by the lovely Cheyenne.
The old man's eyes lit up. Y es, it might be a sign. It would be good. “Her name is Wind Song. She is the daughter of Standing Bear. He went to her mother's band when you were a small boy. Now, since her mother is dead she is returned among us with her father. Few of Black Reed's people are left alive. The remnants are among our lodges.”
Hawk nodded in understanding. Smallpox had virtually wiped out many bands of Cheyenne. “She is very lovely, Grandfather.”
The old man smiled. “Perhaps the blood calls you.”
Hawk looked quizzically at Iron Heart, who chuckled and said, “Her grandfather was a French trapper who came to live among her mother's band in the old days. She, too, has a small bit of white blood in her.”
Hawk shrugged, not wanting to confront his mixed heritage despite his grandfather's goodwill.
That night he dreamed of Wind Song with her delicately blushing dusky
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