Read Online Follow the Wind by Don Coldsmith - Free Book Online Page B

considered that his was an almost ideal existence. A loving wife, fat children, plenty to eat, good horses, and loyal followers. There was little now to remind Heads Off, chief of the Elk-dog band of the People, that he had once been a young Spanish officer named Juan Garcia.

13
    Cabeza lay in his blankets, a little apart from the others. He was concerned about the manner in which this meeting with the Head Splitters was proceeding.
    These people were exceedingly friendly. Many gifts had been exchanged, much feasting had taken place. Their hosts were professing friendship forever and Lizard had become tired from translating endless complimentary speeches.
    Cabeza had needed time to think and had retired from the group at the council fire. He was concerned that there had been very little said about the hair-face they sought. Direct questions brought only vague reassurances and reaffirmations of the promise to help.
    He could not forget that, according to the Growers, these Head Splitters were the tribe who had most cause to hate the hair-face. Rumor suggested that he might be in this general area. Why, then, did their hosts seem to avoid the subject?
    He had approached Sanchez with the question, only to have it shrugged off.
    â€œWhat do we care of their local politics? Relax, Cabeza!
Look how toothsome some of these wenches are!” Sanchez leered at a couple of dark-eyed maidens who happened to pass.
    The lieutenant was not satisfied, but did not know where else to turn. Don Pedro was so starry-eyed at the prospects ahead that he would ignore all reason. Cabeza took the precaution of a quiet warning to each of his lancers to remain on the alert and then excused himself to his bed.
    Sleep would not come. He tossed and turned, hearing the sounds of the dance drums and the singing from near the council fire. He was painfully aware that no plans had been made for departure or travel on the following day.
    He heard a sound and turned his head quickly to see two figures approaching softly. In the moonlight, he saw that one was a native warrior. The other appeared to be a woman. The man shoved her roughly forward, turned abruptly, and walked away.
    The girl regained her composure, came a step closer, and stood stiffly, almost at attention. Cabeza rose to an elbow, watched her a moment. She did not move. He raised a hand in question, the all-inclusive query in sign talk.
    â€œWhat?”
    The slender girl seemed surprised for a moment to be addressed in the sign language by a foreigner. Then she quickly rallied and answered in a flurry of hand signs.
    â€œI have been given to you for the night. In the morning, I return to Lean Bull.”
    Cabeza’s first thought was, what fantastic luck! He had seen the girl near the fire and had marveled at her grace and beauty. He tried to tell himself that it was only because he had been on the prairie so long. Finally, as she had walked past in the combined flickering glow of the fire with silvery moonlight, he had had to admit the truth. This was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She carried herself like royalty.
    She was tall and straight, her shapely form filling the buckskin dress to perfection. Slim ankles rose to shapely calves which disappeared in the buckskin fringe of her skirt at knee level.

    He realized that he was staring. He sat up and motioned her to him. Perhaps, he thought, he should make an effort at conversation.
    â€œIs this the custom of your people?” he signed.
    To his amazement, she drew herself up proudly, almost defiantly. The large dark eyes flashed fire.
    â€œThese are not my people! I am a prisoner! My people know how to treat women.”
    She came to him and sat, but there was still the haughty pride, the unyielding defiance that reminded him of the look in the eye of a captured falcon. Caught, imprisoned, it said, but not defeated.
    Cabeza began to feel twinges of remorse. He had no aversion to a bed partner. A moment ago, he