Apache Protectors: Running Wolf Part 7

His thank-you sounded wooden to his ears. He wanted to find his mother. Wanted to be rid of this burdensome captive. Wanted to be alone with her.

What was happening to him?

"Will you share a platter with me?" asked Spotted Fawn.

If it got rid of her, he would agree to almost anything.

"Yes."

She grinned, and he saw that her smile was pretty enough. Why then did it light no fire in his belly? Why did he not yearn to touch her hair, her face, her neck?

Spotted Fawn giggled and then skipped away like a child. Her father said she was a woman. Perhaps only her body was that of a woman, for she still seemed more like a child to him.

He faced Snow Raven in the darkness cast by the moon's shadow on the tepee to his right. The murmur of voices came from the center of the camp. Soon the feast would begin, and she must not be there in case the news that she was not a witch caused Red Hawk to cause her harm.

"Go to the place where I saw you set your last trap. Sleep there tonight. Do not come back to my mother's lodge until dawn."

"You trust me alone in the dark?"

"I do not. But I do not trust Red Hawk, either. If enough believe his charge it will go badly for you. Do you wish to die?"

"I have answered that."

He offered her a warning. "Our horses are more carefully guarded than the Crow's."

He knew that her tribe's horses might have been better guarded if most of the men had not been out scouting for sign of the Sioux.

Running Wolf lifted her chin and stroked his thumb along the downy soft skin of her cheek. He wanted to bring her into his arms, feel her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed tight to his hard body. Here in the darkness, none would see.

He drew her in. Her soft body pressed to his. He heard her gasp, but she did not struggle. He wished he did not wear his war s.h.i.+rt. It was not the clothing made for holding a woman, but perhaps the right choice for holding an enemy. She stiffened for a moment and then she yielded, resting her head upon his chest. He tucked her beneath his arm and stroked the tangle of her hair.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head in a kiss and spoke in a whisper. "The war chief of the Sioux cannot choose a captive. I do not know what is wrong with me."

"Nor I."

Did she mean she also did not know what was wrong with him or that she did not know why she let him hold her in the night?

She sighed, her breath warm against his neck, her face tipped up to his. He knew that he could kiss her and that she would let him. But did she wish his touch or only wish a protector? The notion that she was willing to use him for his position soured him.

He pushed her gently aside, turned her and gave a little push against her back. His fingers tingled and his flesh itched as he watched her vanish into the night.

If she ran, he would find her.

Chapter Seven.

Running Wolf attended the feast and danced with the men and listened to the stories of their latest triumph. Then he ate a great meal and thought of Snow Raven sitting alone in the dark. Was she eating what she had taken from their stores? Was she even now sneaking around their herd trying to steal a horse?

He stood and then sat again. He could not go himself, but he sent Crazy Riding with instructions to see if the gray mare was still with the others. Iron Bear stood to present the eagle feathers. Weasel and Running Wolf were called to the center of the gathering. They stood beside their chief as Big Thunder told of Running Wolf's prowess. For his courage, Iron Bear presented him with an eagle feather with one red spot at the top to indicate he had wounded an enemy in battle, then another for his leaders.h.i.+p.

Yellow Blanket spoke of Weasel's skill at fooling the enemy in broad daylight and said that even the coyote would be proud. Weasel received a feather for his craft at deception. His friend made a joke about the way the Crow tufted their hair like frightened porcupines and everyone laughed.

Running Wolf glanced about the group, searching for his friend Crazy Riding and found instead Red Hawk, scowling at the proceedings. This warrior came away with a handful of beads, the shame of attacking an old woman and of being unseated by a younger one. He received no feather, though he was the husband of the chief's sister, while Running Wolf had many feathers and would soon have enough to make a war bonnet. Their gazes locked and Running Wolf saw the fury burning there.

Crazy Riding appeared near Red Hawk and Running Wolf's attention s.h.i.+fted. He nodded. Yes, the horse was still there. Running Wolf blew away a sigh of relief until it occurred to him that if he were to flee captivity, he might not take his own horse. After that it was hard to listen to the stories of famous battles won against the Crow. He just wanted to go and find Snow Raven and be sure she had not run.

Running Wolf did not enjoy the feast or the ceremony or the dancing. He especially did not enjoy sharing an eating trencher with Spotted Fawn, whose giggle rang out like hoofbeats on stone. This was the first time in his memory that he had not savored the sweetness of earning another feather. All he could think about was Snow Raven. Where was she? What was she doing?

He had never thought of what a captive did during the feast celebration before. He had never cared. But now he did and he didn't understand why.

He was just trying to think of a way to leave the circle of men when Red Hawk spoke to the gathering.

"You have all heard of the captive that our war chief brings back to our tribe. Some of you have heard that she is a witch."

There was a collective gasp from the gathering. Clearly some of them had not, despite the efforts of Red Hawk's wife.

"She used her magic to bring me from my horse. Turtle Rattler has seen her. He can tell you."

Big Thunder muttered, "She brought him from his horse by diving on him like a wolverine on a bear. I will tell them."

But Turtle Rattler spoke first. All eyes turned to their shaman as he nodded to Red Hawk.

"I have spoken to this woman and she is not a witch."

Running Wolf's shoulders relaxed.

"But she is still dangerous. Still enemy."

Running Wolf's jaw tightened.

"I need time to seek the answer in the Spirit World on what is to be done. You have brought your concerns to me. I have heard them."

It was a rebuke and all knew it. Turtle Rattler did not like being pushed or prodded like a pack animal and had let Red Hawk know this publicly.

"He deserved worse," said Big Thunder.

Weasel took that moment to leap to his feet and pretend to ride a horse. He was waving something in his hand. Running Wolf peered and saw a strand of beads. Weasel made a full circle and then made an elaborate show of falling to the ground. The warriors who had returned from the raid knew what this was. The village did not. After Weasel had come to rest he lay still for a moment and then thrust the hand with the beads up toward the night sky.

"Red Hawk looks as mad as a wounded bull buffalo," said Big Thunder. "I would not be surprised if blood starts pouring from his nose any minute."

A lung wound would cause the bulls to rage, Running Wolf knew. It was when they were most dangerous.

"Weasel," said Running Wolf. "No more riding now."

Weasel grinned and made his way to Red Hawk, offering the beads. Red Hawk lifted his hands as if he would strike them from Weasel's hand but instead he took them, gripping them so tightly the strand broke. Then he dropped them in the dirt.

"You should become a heyoka, Weasel," said Red Hawk, referring to the sacred clowns who taught the people how to behave by doing the exact opposite.

"You don't like my show? Why don't you tell them I am a witch?"

Red Hawk rose to challenge Weasel, but Yellow Blanket put a hand on Weasel and asked him politely to tell the story of how he tricked the Sioux again. Weasel now had the attention of everyone. It was usual that another warrior, a witness, would tell the story, and earlier Crazy Riding had told the tale, but no one told a story better than Weasel.

Weasel began, engrossing all in his story. Running Wolf noticed Red Hawk withdrawing from the gathering. His wife, Buffalo Calf, wearing the multiple strands of beads, followed a moment later.

Running Wolf did the same. He had not intended to follow Red Hawk closely. He only wanted to get to the place he had told Snow Raven to rest, and Red Hawk and his wife were between him and his objective. That was the reason Running Wolf heard Red Hawk's words to his wife.

"She is the cause of this embarra.s.sment. If she were not unnatural I would never have been unseated."

His wife's murmured reply was not audible but Running Wolf thought her tone sounded soothing.

"I don't want you to wear them any longer. And I want you to tell the other women to beat her."

Running Wolf paused in the darkness. It was as he'd feared. Weasel's antics had made things worse, and he knew he would not always be there to protect her. Could she protect herself?

He hurried on his way and came to the general place where her snare was set. At first he could not see her, then the silvery moon revealed a spot where the gra.s.s was absent, as if a deer slept in the field. He crept forward and found her curled like a child, her joined hands tucked beneath her chin, her arms tucked to her chest. She was s.h.i.+vering. Why had he not given her a blanket?

In sleep, her mouth was parted slightly. Her skin shone bright and pale in the moonlight. Her hair gleamed silver with dew. He paused, finding himself again of two minds. One part of him wanted to wake her and get rid of her before the women found her. But the selfish part wanted to lie down beside her and draw her into his arms. He wanted to feel her soft, pliant flesh pressed to his.

But he did neither of those things.

He did not wake her or join her. Instead, he released the blanket he wore about his shoulders and dropped it over her. If Turtle Rattler deemed her a threat, he would bring her to safety. He wanted her to stay, and it angered him more than all reason to think of her returning to the Crow warrior, especially now that he knew this was the son of Six Elks. But he would not see her sacrificed. For it served no purpose. In the meantime, he would see how much her father had really taught her.

Snow Raven woke to find the moonlight on her face and a red blanket draped over her body. She thought she heard something, but when she sat up it was to find herself alone. She clutched the blanket to her naked breast knowing that Running Wolf had been here, given her this.

She had listened to the drums and the chanting from her place among the tall gra.s.ses. She had gone exactly where Running Wolf had told her to go, and this bothered her. Why hadn't she chosen another place in the meadow? She drew the blanket about her shoulders and lay back down in her bed of gra.s.s. The wool helped against the chill. Now that the night held the land, the biting flies and mosquitoes had vanished. She wrapped the blanket twice about her and lay on her back, chewing on the pemmican she had taken from his mother's stores.

Raven gazed up at the stars and prayed for her brother's recovery and the safety of her family. Had they reached the Black Lodges or Shallow Water people?

Then she thought of what the shaman had said. Something about hard choices and losing her love and then forsaking her people. He was wrong, of course. She had no love but her people. They were one and the same and she would never forsake them. What else had he said? She could not remember. Her eyelids were so heavy now and her brain did not work. She yawned and turned to her side and thought no more.

She slept soundly but woke in the blue hours before dawn to a rustling near her head that ceased the moment she moved. She had fallen asleep with the pemmican still in her hand. Had a mouse smelled the bounty?

Raven gazed up at the fading stars, seeing only the brightest remained. She could no longer see the Sky Road cast across the sky. But the moon shone bright and in the silvery glow she could see her own shadow. The Hunter's Moon, she thought, was a good time for a hunt. Raven ran her traps, finding five long-legged jackrabbits waiting for her. She removed the limp bodies and reset the traps, thinking she might catch another before the dawn broke. When she returned to her place she saw a man wrapped in a buffalo robe waiting there.

She paused and glanced about. There was no good cover here, or anywhere on this plain. One had to run far to be swallowed up in the rolling hills and shallow valleys. How she missed her forests and mountains.

Was this Running Wolf? Even if it was her captor, she did not care to speak to him in the darkness, alone, away from the village.

"Come here," he said, and she knew it was Running Wolf from his voice.

He seemed larger in the darkness, with the moon casting his shadow out before him.

"Where were you?" His voice sounded gruff. Was he angry, or was this just the sound of his voice upon waking from sleep?

"I have been here. Thank you for the blanket."

He ignored her thanks and pointed at her catch. "What do you carry?"

She lifted the five lanky carca.s.ses in answer.

"What will you do with these?"

"Eat, perhaps. Skin them for their coats as I have none of my own."

"You are a captive. You cannot have anything that the people do not give you. You cannot keep them."

"Then, may I keep the blanket?"

"For now."

She offered the rabbits to him. "Now why don't you give them back to me?"

He took the rope holding her catch but did not return them. "You may keep the skins of what you catch. Bring the carca.s.ses to my mother."

Her throat burned as she realized what he had done. He had given her a way to cover herself and a chance to survive, perhaps even feed the other captives. Impulsively she threw her arms about him. She felt his body stiffen and she recognized too late what she had done. The gift he'd offered was great, but why had she embraced him?

She drew back her flaming face. "I am sorry. I only meant to offer my thanks."

His eyes narrowed and then he snorted, a sound that was either amus.e.m.e.nt or dismissal. She did not know. She only knew that she could keep the skins because of him.

"I will not give you a knife."

That was wise, she thought, but said nothing.

"But you may have a sc.r.a.per."

She gaped at this and waited for him to think better of the offer. But when he did not, she felt obliged to warn him.

"I could cut your throat with that."

"Will you?"

"I should."

"It was not what I asked."

"No," she whispered. "I will not."

"Why?"

"I still owe you for my life."