Chieftain (Historical Romance) by Nan Ryan Page A

ball!
    To show his respect for Shanaco’s position as leader of his People, the post commandant—her father—should invite the chieftain to the ball as the honored guest.
    Lois turned over onto her back and giggled happily. She would put a bug in her father’s ear that very evening. She’d insist he should invite Shanaco to the ball. Shanaco would feel obligated to attend.
    The officers’ snooty wives would shun him, of course, but she wouldn’t. She would make him feel welcome, would offer him a glass of punch. Would dance with him. And once she had him on the dance floor, she would work her magic.
    Loissmiled, pleased with herself. By the end of the dance the haughty half-breed would be so hot for her he wouldn’t say no to anything she proposed. She’d work him up into a lather and then carefully whisper to him where he was to meet her later that night.
    The smile left Lois’s face as quickly as it had come. She sighed heavily. The officers’ ball was two weeks from tomorrow night. How could she ever wait that long to be in Shanaco’s arms?
    She fretted and frowned until she remembered. Tomorrow was ration day! Lois sat straight up and her eyes began to gleam. She wouldn’t have to wait for the officers’ ball to see Shanaco. He was a Comanche chieftain. He would definitely be present at ration day.
    She fell onto her back laughing happily. He’d be there and he would be dressed in that skimpy little breechcloth that covered nothing but his groin.

Thirteen
    O n ration daythe entire population of the fort turned out for the fun and festivities. Ration day took place every fortnight and was always on a Saturday. For whites and Indians alike it was a day-long carnival and an occasion not to be missed.
    All the tribes came into the agency from their scattered, far-out settlements. In tepees all across the huge reservation, the People awakened with the dawn. Excited. Eager to get dressed and to go to the agency. Indian braves, squaws and children rode in under the watchful eye of armed troopers.
    The cavalcade began in the early morning. Long columns came in a steady stream from the furthermost reaches of the preserve. Well before noon everyone had arrived and the fun and merriment had begun.
    This particular Saturday was a perfect fall day. A chill to the air, but a bright sun shone down from a cloudless indigo sky.
    Maggie attended, as she did each fortnight. Regretfully she had to make Pistol stay behind at the cottage. She hated to do it, but she had taken him to ration day once and he had worn her out. When he’d seen the Indian children running about with their dogs, he had chased anxiously after them, barking incessantly and darting away from her. So now he had to stay home.
    Maggie wentwith Katie Atwood, since Katie’s husband, Blakely, was away from the fort on patrol.
    Dressed in light woolens, Katie carrying a wicker picnic basket and Maggie, a blanket, the two young women walked freely among the Indians, laughing and talking as they made their way among the men. The onetime warriors were dressed in buckskin shirts, leggings and moccasins. Some sported pipe-stem bone breastplates, others had bright-colored bandannas knotted around their necks. Their thick black hair was smoothed back with grease and neatly braided down each coppery cheek.
    Most of the men were standing about, talking and gesturing. Others were crouched on the ground in circles, gambling. Some played cards, others tossed dice. They had quickly learned such vices from the white men. Maggie clucked her tongue. Too bad they couldn’t learn to read and write as quickly as they had learned to wager on games of chance.
    The excited gamblers shouted and argued and slapped one another on the back. Hearing the Comanche tongue being spoken, Maggie looked curiously around.
    She didn’t see Shanaco.
    She mentally shrugged. Since he seemed to have little interest in showing support for his People, he probably wouldn’t bother coming out today.