As she stared ahead of her, focusing upon his back, she realized it no longer mattered to her if he was Indian. His was a courageous heart, and he had been brave enough to come to her aid again this very day, regardless of any danger to himself. Indeed, this day might have become his last had he not bested the Crow magician.
Truly, whether she wanted to think this way or not, this young man was her hero.
****
Although he seemed in no hurry to flee from his enemy, Sharon's hero had so far called only two breaks as they traveled over the hot and dry, brown prairie.
Their first relief had been done because of the need to water the horses. Sharon had also satisfied her thirst at the same time, but, oddly, she hadn't seen her hero take a drink. Instead, he had guarded her while she had gulped in as much of the sparkling liquid as her stomach would allow.
Then they had mounted their newly acquired ponies and had ridden for the rest of the day—unhurriedly, it was true. Yet, he had put a good distance between the two of them and their enemy.
Night came, and still they rode on, not stopping except once more to allow both her and their horses another drink, this time from the delicious and refreshing water of a fast-running stream. It wasn't until the morning of the next day when, off in the distance, she beheld the small encampment of Indians.
Where was the fort? And, why did the lodges in the camp ahead of them appear to be temporary?
Although her questions were not immediately answered, she could not remember seeing anything that more resembled an oasis than the sight of the small Pikuni encampment. Before they stepped into the tiny camp, however, her hero stopped one more time, picking a spot next to a knee-high stream—a perfect place where they could water their horses.
Motioning to her with exaggerated movements of his hands, he asked if she might like to bathe before entering the camp.
She shook her head, embarrassment creeping over her. Never would she be able to bathe while in this man's presence. Indeed, she would not disrobe in front of him. Although she had more than a little dirt and grime upon her person, she would have to return to camp as she was.
It surprised her, however, whenhestepped into the water and quickly ran the glistening liquid over his body, though he was still dressed.
But, he wore only breechcloth, leggings, moccasins and, of course, his quiver full of arrows, along with his bow strapped across his shoulders. He was also adorned with a great deal of masculine jewelry, including a long, looping necklace made from what appeared to be white shells. Shell earrings also dangled from his ears. His hair was quite long and he wore two long braids at each side of his face—braids that reached down almost to his waist. Unlike the Blackfoot Indians, however, this man sported only two braids instead of the three the Blackfeet favored. Her hero also wore a kind of topknot, or bangs, which were combed straight up and parted on the right side of his face. Oddly, the style looked to be much like the French pompadour hairstyle of the old world. And, on each side of his face hung a slender piece of buckskin, it being the support for several small shiny white shells; these framed his face and hung down past his neck.
The coloring of his skin was darker than hers, but only slightly so, looking as though God had blessed him with a permanent tan. The color of his eyes was a deep, dark brown—almost black—and his nose was well-shaped and only faintly aquiline. His lips were full, and his chin was strong and masculine.
Tall and slim, he was quite handsome. This puzzled Sharon. She had not expected to find the young Indian men of the Plains tribes to be attractive, and yet she was confronted every day with the manly beauty of these braves. There were many times when she had thought the figures of these young Indian men might rival a Greek statue.
Her hero once again motioned for her to bathe, but again, she refused. However, she was tempted to do it, especially when she saw he took no aggressive action to remove his clothing. Instead, he was accomplishing his task while remaining dressed. Still, it wasn't right for her to do the same, especially when the simple act of wetting down her dress might augment the curves of her figure. No, she couldn't, she shouldn't, do it.
She reminded herself that, although this man might be handsome as well as heroic, he was also foreign to her in many ways and she had best be alert to what she did when he was near. What if she were to engage in some activity or take part in speaking to him in a way he might interpret as inviting him into her life?
No, she couldn't take the chance. She was still very much in love with, as well as engaged to, David, and she had already committed herself to him physically, although they had not yet "tied the knot" conventionally. And so, the very idea of looking upon and studying another man was not to be borne; indeed, becoming attracted to a different man other than David was contrary to her moral fiber.
It was David, after all, with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. And, the sooner they were married and returned to St. Louis and to civilization, the better for her.
But, oh, how she wanted so much to put society's conventions aside and wash off the dirt and grime covering her body. However, it simply wasn't right. She would hold firmly to her resolve.
