It was not that these were bad things. Did not Swift Hawk desire such things himself?
But Swift Hawk’s life demanded more from him than any woman would ever permit. His was a life alone, a life of wandering, a life of searching. In truth, his life was such that he would not be able to give a woman the things she needed.
And so it was that since that time, Swift Hawk had gone without love. Difficult to accomplish at first, his life of abstinence had become easier, until now his celibacy was no longer a state of mind or of body that he wished to challenge.
It was possible that he and the white woman would become friends, although Swift Hawk snickered at the idea. He knew no man who kept such a woman unless that woman be his wife. No, to the Indian frame of mind, to be with a woman meant either to marry her or shame her. There was nothing in between.
Perhaps this was why his initial reaction to the whitewoman had been less than amicable. Alas, her charms were many.
It was a blessing that this woman was worlds apart from him. Because of this, even if he were able to woo her, he would not do so. No, he was more than aware that she would not accept a suit from him, since he would represent something the white woman would not understand.
Hova’ahane.He must put away these manly desires, for his was a nobler cause. His purpose was pure and one that must remain so.
And yet, true though he meant to be, he could not rein in his thoughts, and again he found himself envisioning the rosy tint of the white woman’s lips, the delicate shape of her nose, the balmy fragrance of her femininity, the vibrancy of her presence.
Taking in a breath, Swift Hawk frowned. Perhaps he should stop thinking altogether, for his thoughts betrayed him.
But of one thing he was certain—if this woman and her brother from his vision were to make that trip into Santa Fe, then so, too, would he. And he would ensure that whatever were his physical responses to the woman, he would suppress them.
In a moment of rare insight, he knew what he must do. He, like his friend Red Fox, would go out onto the highest rise in the prairie, that he might be closer to the Creator. There, he would throw open his arms and make the sacrifices to the Above Ones, that they might guide him in the accomplishment of his task.
Haa’he, yes. This was a good plan.
Breathing out with care, Swift Hawk knew a tremendous relief in his heart, and turning away, he disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter
Six
They often had balls at the fort, and Blair would sit up all night playing the banjo in the “orchestra.”
—FROM THE LETTERS OF GEORGE BENT, GEORGE E. HYDE,THE LIFE OF GEORGE BENT
A few days later
The sounds of music, of gay laughter, of the stomping of feet in time to the beat of a low-pitched fiddle, spilled out between the pioneers’ and the merchants’ pitched tents. Accompanied by the scents of roasting meat, freshly baked bread, vegetables and sweets, the festivities were too loud and too fun to ignore, especially when the evening ahead loomed large and full of promise.
As the moon began its early ascent into an evening sky, Fort Leavenworth, as was custom, closed its gate to the outer world, including in its exclusion the tents of the pioneers, tents that were scattered far and wide across its lawn. If this bothered any of the settlers or merchants who frequented these shelters, it was not seen upon their countenances.
Laughter and the hum of conversation could be heard from all quarters of the camp as the pioneers, merchants, soldiers and even the Indians intermingled.
However, the Indians, most of the Mexicans and some of the shyer soldiers hung back from the general crowd, each group keeping to the shadows that were cast over the land by the tents. Here, if one observed closely enough, the Indianscould be found to be frowning, while the Mexicans appeared somber. Most of the soldiers, however, were smiling, though within all three groups could be seen a fellow or two hurling a wistful glance toward the dancers.
Indian women, white and Mexican women stepped lively, keeping time to the triple-time beat of the jig, no man or woman appearing to discriminate against the feminine persona, regardless of her age or color of skin. When it came to the male dancers, clearly the white men dominated the celebration. True, a scattering of Mexican men could be seen dancing, but due to the lack of Mexican women at Fort Leavenworth, these couples were very few indeed. And so, it could be said that only the braver of the Mexicans and the more courageous Indians dared to draw in closer to the dancers.
Swift Hawk was one of those few.
Though Swift Hawk would have liked to believe that he had been drawn to this place by the promise of a feast, he knew he would be speaking in half-truths. Deep in his heart, he sensed that the real reason he was here was because he needed to seeheragain. Perhaps he would discover that he had merely imagined her beauty. Or maybe, if he were lucky, he would discover why this woman had appeared in his vision and was now haunting his dreams.
Picking up a single, though rather large buffalo rib, Swift Hawk took a bite of the delicacy and gazed right at her.
It was not simply her whereabouts that he had committed to mind. At what might appear to be a casual glance, Swift Hawk, in the time-honored tradition of the Indian scout, had taken note of many things in his environment—of the southerly wind and the warm, dry weather conditions; of the two guards who stood sentry over the dance floor; of the fact that the grass had been cut short this day; that the men had imbibed too much of the white man’s firewater, making them boisterous and maybe incapable of sensible judgment. He had seen that there were thirty-five men here total, that they were all armed, and that their firearms were primed and ready.
Also, within Swift Hawk’s short look, he had sized up each man as a possible antagonist, had stared surprisingly at the group of musicians, noting that no one seemed concerned that no sacred drum accompanied their songs. And last but not least, he had seen thatshewas flirting.
Swift Hawk frowned as his attention lingered over this particular detail, while mentally he cursed himself for his attraction to her. Anger at himself filled his soul, though a good bit of that same emotion was aimed toward the man who was the recipient of the angel’s banter.
Shaking his head, he could only wonder at himself, at his naïveté. Truly, what had he been thinking to come here? Surely he should have known that she would be as beautiful as he remembered her to be—more so. And certainly he should have realized what his very male reaction would be to the sight of her beauty. Even now, that part of him that was wholly masculine twitched as though it alone understood what she might mean to him, even ifherefused to acknowledge it.
