Soaring Eagle's Embrace Page 5

  All at once, Kali straightened and dropped her hold on her father’s arm. The smile faded from her lips, but she didn’t look away from the Indian. How could she, when two orbs of midnight-black eyes stared back at her, his glance filled with a look akin to…hatred…

  Involuntarily, Kali gasped, bringing up a black-gloved hand to cover her chest. He had come here, the one from the mountain…

  Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he sent a fierce glance up and down her, appraising her, looking for all the world as if she might be some cheap trader’s bargain. Under that glance Kali felt exposed, vulnerable. Her knees threatened to buckle, and much to her own chagrin, her pulse rate picked up a beat.

  Perhaps to hide her reaction more than anything else, Kali raised an eyebrow, sending the Indian back what she felt was as furious a glance as he was bestowing upon her. And with all due regard, she turned her back on him, giving her father her undivided attention.

  “Father,” she said, “have you ever seen that particular Indian before?”

  “Which one, Kali?”

  “The one behind me. The one on the black pinto.”

  “I’m not certain which one you mean, m’dear. Several of the Indians are riding pintos.”

  Impatient, Kali snorted. “The young one, Father. The one who is riding a horse with red handprints covering the animal’s flanks. Do you see it? There’s also a white circle painted around one of the pony’s eyes.”

  “Ah yes, m’dear. I see him, and I must say, he certainly is staring at us. Handsome horse; handsome figure of a man, too, I would venture.”

  “Yes, perhaps. But have you ever seen him before?”

  “No, I’m afraid I have not, Kali. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “No real reason. Just curiosity, I guess.”

  “Kali,” her father began, “have you noticed that the man appears to be angry about something…”

  “Yes, I know. It’s why I—”

  “Look at that. What an unusual saddle. Quite pretty, actually, don’t you think?”

  Kali had no choice now but to turn around and look. Thankfully, the man appeared to have lost interest in both her and her father, for he had directed his sights elsewhere. Kali took a moment to gaze at the saddle in question. “It looks to be no more than a pad saddle, Father,” she said. “Elaborately decorated with fringes and beadwork, to be sure, but really the same kind as we’ve seen most Indians use.” She didn’t add that this one seemed to cushion the man’s nether regions as he rode…exactly so.

  Kali, realizing where her eyes, as well as her thoughts, were taking her, turned away. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so, she glanced straight up…at him…and this time, he was staring back at her.

  Had he seen her look at him there? Could he tell what she had been thinking?

  Kali felt her face fill with color, though she knew that any embarrassment on her part was wasted. The man had upon his countenance such a look of hostility, Kali wondered if she had somehow misplaced a step with him, or perhaps another member of the tribe.

  No, she thought at once. She had only just arrived…impossible for her to have neglected some custom or forgotten her manners so soon… Or had she?

  If this were truly the same man she had witnessed on top of Chief Mountain, then perhaps he did have cause for rancor. After all, she knew enough about these tribes to realize that the man might have been seeking a vision. And if that had been the case, she had certainly interrupted it.

  She drew in a deep breath and looked away from him. Should she apologize?

  Of course not. Why should she? She had been completely within her rights…completely. Although, she thought on a more honest note, the mountain did belong to the Blackfeet, and she had been treading where perhaps she ought not.

  She frowned. Had she done something already to alienate these people?

  Well, fine. She was certainly big enough to admit it, wasn’t she? In faith, she realized on a note of some alarm, if she wanted to nurture the goodwill of these people—and she did—she had better apologize.

  Fine. That settled it.

  Drawing a deep breath, Kali squared her shoulders, picked up her skirts, took a step toward him and grimaced. Darned if he wasn’t watching her, his glance at her as threatening as if he were issuing a challenge. Well, so be it. She’d render him an apology as quickly as possible, show the man her back and get on with the rest of the evening. After all, he wasn’t the only Indian chief here.

  Securing what she hoped was a pleasant look upon her face, she said, “Excuse me, sir, but I would like to apologize for interrupting you the other evening.”

  He narrowed his eyes, staring at her down his long nose as though she were no more than a mere pesky insect.

  Despite herself, Kali fidgeted. “You remember, don’t you? The other evening, on top of Chief Mountain?”

  But again, he said not a word.

  “You…you do speak English, don’t you?”

  For an answer, he pulled on his reins, maneuvering his horse until its hindquarters faced her. Kali gasped. The insult was obvious.

  Now, perhaps she should have let it go at that. After all, she had been trying to make amends for any mistake on her part, no matter how slight it might have been. Mayhap another, and probably a wiser woman, would have simply walked away from a confrontation. But for good or for bad, Kali had not attained her position as her father’s most trusted business associate because of any lack of assertion.

  Caution and experience might have urged her to tread carefully, but Kali ignored them. Picking up the hem of her long skirt, she stepped down from the agent’s porch, her slippers slapping against the firm, rocky ground, where a few of the sharp rocks bit into the leather of her shoes.

  She ignored the discomfort, stomping around the horse’s flanks. Without due regard for any audience she might be attracting, she grabbed hold of the Indian’s reins and gave them a yank. “Sir,” she said, “I am speaking to you.”

  The man stared down at her, and for a moment she thought he might be a little startled at her behavior. Good, she thought, let him realize what his impertinence has brought him.

  But upon second glance, she realized her mistake. If the man had experienced any surprise at her boldness, he hid the fact well. No; at this moment he was bending toward her ever so slowly, with nothing but the gleam of menace in his eye.

  Instead of speaking to her, however, or rising to the bait she might so amply be providing, he slid off his mount. And with what might have been a malicious quirk, he threw the reins at her.

  Kali caught them, and, opening her mouth, she would have said more, but he silenced her with a quick motion of his arm. In sign language, he said, “Brush down my horse.”

  “Br-br-brush down your horse…?” Kali stammered in English. But if the man heard her, she would never know.

  Turning his back on her, he strode away from her so quickly, Kali was left feeling as though the breath had been knocked out of her.

  Warily, she glanced around her surroundings. Great. Perfect. Every other chief who remained in the yard was staring at her with more than a little curiosity. And though not a single smile was evident upon their weathered faces, Kali was certain that later tonight, when the party was over and these men were huddled around their own fires, they might share a joke or two at her expense.

  She should do something, she realized; something before that man disappeared altogether. Kali opened her mouth to utter a rejoinder. Surely she could think of something witty to say to the man’s fast-disappearing back.

  Unfortunately, nothing came to mind quickly enough. With a huff, she spun around, presenting her back to the yard. In doing so, her shoulder brushed the man’s pony. Looking up, she stared into the curious eyes of the animal. Kali raised her chin a notch and, stretching out her hand, petted the pony. “What a fine-looking horse you are,” she said. “But I will have to admit that if we ever get to know one another, you will have to tell me how on e
arth you put up with him.”

  In answer, the animal snorted.

  Chapter Four

  Free grass, no income tax, no county tax, only a small state tax, no feed bills, small losses, open range from the reservation north to the state line…

  —Will S. Hughes, Rancher in the early to late 1890s

  The evening was not going well. So much for the Indian agent’s influence over these people—an empty boast. Truth be told, the chiefs seemed to have little interest in speaking with Kali on any subject, let alone on the matter of her work. Even her father was having little to no influence.

  It wasn’t that the Indians were impolite. Not by word or manner had any one of them made her feel slighted or even unwelcome. No, it was more a matter that they were simply not interested. Alas, these Indians chiefs were keeping to themselves, so much so that Kali was beginning to fear the evening might end before she accomplished her purpose. And then what would she do? She would need some other means, some other reason to visit them, which of course she could invent. But it would set her schedule back considerably.

  Grimly, her gaze skimmed the figures of each of the chiefs until, with a start, she realized that one of them was returning her scrutiny. It was he. Darn! Why did he look at her as though he wished her off the planet?

  It was a shame the man was so antagonistic toward her. Particularly since she would have liked to talk with him, if only to reaffirm that he was, indeed, the same person she had seen on the mountain. It would make her feel better somehow—realizing that there was a logical explanation for what she had seen, what she had experienced. Turning her head away from him so that she might appear disinterested, she studied him from out of the corner of her eye.

  He was tall, she would have to give him that, for he was probably a good seven or eight inches taller than she was. Broad-shouldered, muscular, he was a big-boned man, yet fashionably slender. Unlike the other chiefs, however, this man wore no headdress, though he had affixed a single feather at the back of his head.

  Soaring Eagle. This was the name she had overheard the agent use to address him. Briefly she wondered how he had attained the name, having read somewhere that Indian names meant something. If he ever spoke to her—which might never happen—she would have to ask him about it.

  He wore his hair strangely, she noted. Forming the length of it into three long braids, one at each side of his head and one in back, while his bangs were pulled up and away from his face. This style appeared to be a Blackfeet fashion, she thought, for she had not witnessed it in any of the other tribes she and her father had thus far visited.

  More curious still was the ornamentation that he wore. On each side of his face fell a single strand of blue and white beads, with a shell placed at the top and bottom of the strand. There was a shell earring hanging from each lobe of his ears and around his neck was a beaded blue-and-silver choker with a lone, large, pink shell placed in the center. The effect of these adornments was quite fierce.

  His shirt and leggings were of white buckskin, and upon both were intricate geometric designs. A single red and white flower had been beaded into a circle at the center of his shirt, which covered a broad chest. Hanging from each of his sleeves were long strips of fringe, repeated at the bottom of his shirt, alternately hiding, then exposing the top of the man’s breechcloth. On his feet were black moccasins, though they, too, were beaded in the same colors and design as the rest.

  His cheekbones were high, his nose straight, his lips full and sensual. Kali gulped. Where had that thought come from?

  Straight, black eyebrows sat above dark eyes that, when he wasn’t appearing hostile, looked out upon the world with what appeared to be a wisdom far beyond his age, which she guessed to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

  “How are you getting along, Miss Wallace?”

  Startled, Kali turned toward the feminine voice and, taking a moment to compose herself, smiled. “Oh, I’m doing well, Mrs. Black. Simply splendid, really. This is a wonderful party.”

  The other woman leaned toward Kali, whispering, “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “The young Indian man you were staring at.”

  Kali snorted. “I wasn’t staring—”

  “Weren’t you?”

  Kali raised an eyebrow. “There is a saying, I think, that is most apt, if one were to discuss that young man”—she gave him a brief, rather antagonistic nod—“and that is, ‘Handsome is as handsome does’.”

  Mrs. Black cackled loudly. “Oh, but I would have to agree with you,” she said. “I will have to remember the way you said that, and if I might, I would venture to tell you how glad I am to know that you are appreciating the natives for what they are. So many of your kind come out here with ridiculous ideas of romanticism. Why, I’ve even met a few artists who insisted on capturing the Indians’ likeness in a way that makes them appear proud, even noble…as though they weren’t mere savages.”

  “Oh? Really?” Kali frowned.

  “Why, yes.”

  Kali raised an eyebrow. How Mrs. Black managed to look wise yet stealthy, all at the same time, she might never know.

  But the woman was continuing, “I’m so glad to find a champion in you, dear girl. And here I was so wrong about you, for I had truly considered that you and your father, like the others, had come to our post to immortalize them… But one never knows, does one?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Now, mark my words. There is no good to be found in these heathens, even among their very best. I would know, too. None of them can be trusted.” The woman opened her fan, brought it up to cover the lower part of her face and said conspiratorially, “I have learned to my detriment that an Indian would sooner give you his word and break it tomorrow. And he’ll do this without the least hesitation or conscience.”

  Kali, taken aback, stared hard at this woman, who was engaged in the height of carping gossip. She grimaced.

  This was the Indian agent’s wife? How, she wondered, could a man represent a people to the best of his ability when his wife held such negative opinions?

  Perhaps he and Mrs. Black rarely talked? No, that was too fanciful a thought.

  Shame, she thought. These people deserved better than this—at the very least, real justice. Mustering up her voice, she said, “You speak about the Indians as though they were alike, one to the other. I was only referring to that one man.”

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Black. “But the characteristics that you see in that one probably apply to them all, don’t you see? Savages, the lot of them. And I would know.”

  This last was said so irresponsibly, Kali found herself staring at the woman as though she had taken leave of her senses. Didn’t the woman know that by her chatter, she cast a rather dim reflection on her husband?

  Hoping to change the subject, Kali said, “Tell me, do the Indians usually dress as beautifully as this for most gatherings?”

  “Oh yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Black. “These are their best clothes. And I suppose the costumes are pretty in their own way, though horribly unstylish. Mind you, what you see here tonight is very different from what you’ll discover on the reservation once we take you there. Why, this is my husband’s second post at an Indian reservation. Our first was in South Dakota.” The woman cleared her throat. “And do you know, my dear, in all that time, there’s one thing that I’ve learned about the Indians.”

  “Oh?” Kali ventured cautiously, looking about the room for a possible escape. “If you’ll please excuse me—”

  “The Indians only dress in their best when forced to do so.” Mrs. Black grabbed hold of Kali’s wrist and frowned before muttering, “Most of them are beggars or drunks or lazy no-goods who grub around in filth and dirt all day long.”

  Kali couldn’t have been more startled by these words if Mrs. Black had suddenly stripped off her outer garments and danced about the room. Kali shook off the woman’s hold, wondering again how an agent could justly represent hi
s charges when his wife so clearly hated them.

  Bu it wasn’t until the woman added, “Heathens,” with a such derisive sneer that Kali couldn’t help but reply. “The Indians are hardly heathens, Mrs. Black. As I understand it, they are quite religious in their own way and practice their devotion to their religion daily…quite different from some of our own, wouldn’t you say, who only deign to remember the holy teachings one day of the week?”

  Mrs. Black sent Kali a derisive look. “Oh, so you are one of those sorts, after all, are you?”

  “And what sort is that, Mrs. Black?”

  But the woman didn’t answer the question, stating instead, “And here I was, thinking you were different from the usual idealist who comes here. Indian lovers, the lot of you.”

  Mrs. Black spat out the word “Indian” so nastily and looked so righteously contorted that Kali thought the woman might be suffering from a bad case of “ants in the drawers.” The thought caused Kali a brief moment of humor, though she was careful to hide it. Problem was, Kali would have liked to laugh outright. As a guest in this house, however, good manners forbade her such an outlet. In the end, Kali observed straight-faced, “I would have thought that, seeing as your husband is the person who is supposed to keep the best interests of these Indians in the forefront, you should qualify yourself as an ‘Indian lover’ and be proud of it.”

  “Proud?” Mrs. Black’s face turned so red, she looked as though she might burst a blood vessel. “Never would I advocate for them. Leave it to you Easterners—”

  “I have traveled extensively.”

  “Then you should know better.” Mrs. Black stiffened her spine, then chortled. “Have you ever seen their ceremonies?”

  “No, I haven’t,” answered Kali, “but I would like to. It’s why I’m—”

  “Huh! Then you don’t know what you’re talking about. You Easterners like to idealize—”

  “A good quality.”

  “But then,” the woman continued as though Kali hadn’t spoken, “you don’t have to live with the Indians as I do. You’ll see soon enough. Like the rest of us, you’ll come to know that the Indians are nothing more than the spawn of the devil.”