Read Online Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirl Henke
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not boast. I warned him to stay away from the white woman, that is all.”
* * * *
Roxanna finished packing the travois, which groaned under its heavy load. One of Forked Ear's little boys sat crying nearby while his harried mother and sister strapped a heavy cook pot onto their load. Roxanna approached the toddler and sat down, offering the consolation of her lap. Eagerly he climbed onto it and cuddled, sucking his thumb contentedly.
As she stroked his shiny black hair, she gazed across the crowded camp, her eyes straying until they rested upon Cain. He looked even less civilized this morning, having changed into the buckskin breeches and shirt so often favored by frontiersmen. The soft worn leather clung indecently to his slim long-legged body, the decorative fringe fluttered in the breeze, seeming to beckon seductively with every move he made. His shirtfront was open, revealing that black hairy chest, and his feet were ensconced in high laced moccasin boots with soft soles. If he could walk so silently with hard-soled riding boots, how much more soundless would he move now! Just thinking about the humiliating scene in the water yesterday brought stinging heat to her cheeks. How would she endure their forthcoming trip together?
Suddenly, feeling someone watching him, Cain turned and his dark eyes collided with Alexa Hunt's disturbing pale ones. “White eyes,” he murmured, tipping his hat in mock politeness. She raised her chin and looked away, every inch the haughty heiress even if she sat cross-legged on the prairie grass clutching a naked Cheyenne baby on her lap.
The day was long, hot and dusty as the column of people wended their way west toward the headwaters of the Niobrara. Small children rode on the heavily laden travois while the women and old people walked patiently beside them. Youths were responsible for keeping the large herd of horses under control. All the warriors were mounted, some riding point while others formed a strong line of defense from the head to the rear of the snaking train. Everyone remained watchful for the Pawnee, but when they neared the outer perimeter of the vast buffalo herd and camped on the banks of a wide creek, there was no sign of the ancient foe.
* * * *
The sound of the crier echoed across the arc of teepees as the sun inched its way above the horizon, sending rays of rosy golden light filtering inside the open door flaps of each home. Although she could not understand the crier's words, Roxanna knew he must be proclaiming the Elk Warriors' instructions for the hunt, for their society was in charge. The women boiled a porridge made of roots and served it to the hunters, who ate, then quickly prepared themselves for the day's activities.
“Come. We will watch,” Sees Much said to Roxanna as she observed the warriors riding out of camp. Cain, bare-chested, rode his big chestnut with a stripped-down saddle. Although his hair was shorter and his horse saddled, his skin was bronzed and his cheekbones and nose hewn in the same strong mold as the other warriors. Still, the aquiline cast of his features set him apart, as did the dark shadow of a beard across his jaw and the hair on his chest.
He’s an Indian yet not an Indian, she thought as she nodded, following the old shaman. An Indian yet not... The thought seemed to echo something Sees Much had once told her, but she quickly dismissed the idea as they crossed the shallows of the creek and walked up a steep rocky rise. When Roxanna looked down on the flat bowl of the plain, her breath caught in her throat.
Spread below them lay a vast herd of bison, just as the eastern newspapers described it, a milling bawling sea of dark brown, undulating endlessly to the distant skyline.
“Once all the lands from the great Staked Plains below the Red River to the land of the Mother Queen to the north
* * * *
Roxanna finished packing the travois, which groaned under its heavy load. One of Forked Ear's little boys sat crying nearby while his harried mother and sister strapped a heavy cook pot onto their load. Roxanna approached the toddler and sat down, offering the consolation of her lap. Eagerly he climbed onto it and cuddled, sucking his thumb contentedly.
As she stroked his shiny black hair, she gazed across the crowded camp, her eyes straying until they rested upon Cain. He looked even less civilized this morning, having changed into the buckskin breeches and shirt so often favored by frontiersmen. The soft worn leather clung indecently to his slim long-legged body, the decorative fringe fluttered in the breeze, seeming to beckon seductively with every move he made. His shirtfront was open, revealing that black hairy chest, and his feet were ensconced in high laced moccasin boots with soft soles. If he could walk so silently with hard-soled riding boots, how much more soundless would he move now! Just thinking about the humiliating scene in the water yesterday brought stinging heat to her cheeks. How would she endure their forthcoming trip together?
Suddenly, feeling someone watching him, Cain turned and his dark eyes collided with Alexa Hunt's disturbing pale ones. “White eyes,” he murmured, tipping his hat in mock politeness. She raised her chin and looked away, every inch the haughty heiress even if she sat cross-legged on the prairie grass clutching a naked Cheyenne baby on her lap.
The day was long, hot and dusty as the column of people wended their way west toward the headwaters of the Niobrara. Small children rode on the heavily laden travois while the women and old people walked patiently beside them. Youths were responsible for keeping the large herd of horses under control. All the warriors were mounted, some riding point while others formed a strong line of defense from the head to the rear of the snaking train. Everyone remained watchful for the Pawnee, but when they neared the outer perimeter of the vast buffalo herd and camped on the banks of a wide creek, there was no sign of the ancient foe.
* * * *
The sound of the crier echoed across the arc of teepees as the sun inched its way above the horizon, sending rays of rosy golden light filtering inside the open door flaps of each home. Although she could not understand the crier's words, Roxanna knew he must be proclaiming the Elk Warriors' instructions for the hunt, for their society was in charge. The women boiled a porridge made of roots and served it to the hunters, who ate, then quickly prepared themselves for the day's activities.
“Come. We will watch,” Sees Much said to Roxanna as she observed the warriors riding out of camp. Cain, bare-chested, rode his big chestnut with a stripped-down saddle. Although his hair was shorter and his horse saddled, his skin was bronzed and his cheekbones and nose hewn in the same strong mold as the other warriors. Still, the aquiline cast of his features set him apart, as did the dark shadow of a beard across his jaw and the hair on his chest.
He’s an Indian yet not an Indian, she thought as she nodded, following the old shaman. An Indian yet not... The thought seemed to echo something Sees Much had once told her, but she quickly dismissed the idea as they crossed the shallows of the creek and walked up a steep rocky rise. When Roxanna looked down on the flat bowl of the plain, her breath caught in her throat.
Spread below them lay a vast herd of bison, just as the eastern newspapers described it, a milling bawling sea of dark brown, undulating endlessly to the distant skyline.
“Once all the lands from the great Staked Plains below the Red River to the land of the Mother Queen to the north
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