Chapter One
The man slapped the woman across the room, the sound echoing through the general store. One lady saw it and left the store immediately. The woman landed near Lone Wolf's feet with a loud thump, he reached to help her up, and she stared at him with such light brown eyes that took him in with one quick veil of her long lashes. Blood trickled down the side of her head. He reached to wipe it away and she moved away from him.
Unmindful of her wound she stood, with trembling limbs.
"Thank you," she murmured under her breath, and she quickly disappeared behind the counter.
The man that hit her was the owner of the store, and her husband, Lone Wolf eyed him with contempt. He was tall, lean, with a full beard, and black eyes that raked her with sullen indifference.
Why would any man look upon her with such indifference, she was beautiful?
The store was empty now of people, it was around noon and Lone Wolf always came at this time. The less white people he ran into, the better. Not that he couldn't get along with them, but they didn't always want to get along with him. Most everyone had seen him coming to town for supplies before. He spoke such clear English, many spoke to him now as he was a familiar face to them.
He glanced around the room, the shelves were filled with all kinds of everyday supplies. From blankets neatly folded on the shelves, to canteens, lanterns, and weapons of all sorts, knives, guns, rifles, even a couple of bows and arrows. Lone Wolf realized that this one room held everything his people would need for the cold winter that was coming. He saw blankets of every color, canteens of different sizes, guns, pickles in a large barrel of vinegar. He saw peppermint sticks on the counter, peanuts in another huge barrel. Jerky hung everywhere. Oats and flour decorated one corner. Sugar and honey from many sized containers made an interesting collection. One corner even held chickens and chicken wire to fence them in with. There was also homemade Johnny Cakes and fudge.
There were so many things here that would make his people happy. Since the move to the Oklahoma reservation, his tribe was friendly with the whites, and all other settlers. Even though the Indians had become friendly with them, the spirit of giving was not in them. It was trade for trade. Beaver, bear and buffalo hides they would trade for. But the buffalo were few now. It was more deer skins and rabbit furs, even some fox, but few buffalo.
At one time his people had traveled with the buffalo an taken only what was needed for food and hides. But the white man followed too and killed for the sport of it, leaving many carcasses in the wake. When too many died, the buffalo was very hard to find.
He briefly remembered the thunder of their hoofs and the sound of a victorious kill. The days of the huge buffalo kill was far behind.
These days deer, elk and moose were hunted, but the further south, the less moose and elk. Deer were still plentiful. Just after the Sand Creek Massacre in '64, Lone Wolf and his small tribe of Arapaho moved toward the Kansas border then south into Indian Territory.
Lone Wolf shot the owner of the store a disgusted glance, the man paid no heed.
"Get this damn place swept out woman, before I lay into you good."
The white woman moved swiftly taking the broom from behind the counter and sweeping briskly.
Lone Wolf watched her carefully. She did not complain, nor talk back. She simply swept the room and quietly disappeared.
Getting his supplies, Lone Wolf took them to the counter, where she took his money and glanced at him with those topaz eyes. She never asked where his money came from, and he never said. He traded deerskins and mocassins and berries the squaws collected. Clearing his throat, he carried the supplies in the burlap sack to his horse out front. He wound the string around the saddle horn and rode toward the back of the building.
Again, he saw the woman hanging clothes on the line and studied her a moment as he rounded the building. She peeked between the sheets and stared at him with a somber expression. He smiled and waited to see if she would too. She looked away. Even though she was beautiful beyond compare, Lone Wolf knew a few more years of mistreatment and she wouldn't be beautiful any longer, at least not on the outside. He liked her unto a beautiful horse, with a strong spirit.
From her long golden curls that hung in ringlets down her back, to the sadness that was hidden behind those topaz eyes, he couldn't take his gaze from her. What kind of wife was she? His people did not abuse their wives. Why did this man treat her so? He did not understand. Her sadness haunted him.
The man came to stand in front of him, "What are you gawkin' at Indian? Be on your way."
Lone Wolf stared the man down. He noticed the long scar across one cheek. Lone Wolf wondered what woman did that to him.
The man disappeared through the back doorway.
Lone Wolf came closer to observe the woman, but the man came out of the back door, hollering at her again.
She quickly moved inside without a word.
He'd never known a white woman that did not sass, or talk back, but this woman was silent.
It was not his concern, but he hated to see a woman treated so. This woman was a slave to her husband, she did not deserve the obvious beatings. The woman hadn't talked back, hadn't said a word. She was obedient, and it made no sense to treat her so.
He tried to concentrate on other things, like how this winter would be harsh and unforgiving to his people who had made a peace with the white man.
Government issue of blankets and food was of little help, as he had a large tribe and it promised a bad winter.
He should be finding ways to provide for his people
. He was an excellent hunter, and a very good shot with both bow and arrow and the gun.
Living on the reservation, many of his people would starve this winter. But still, peace was better than war, he had learned that the hard way. Fighting the white man was futile. They had too many guns and too many men. More came. More destroyed the land for lack of respect.
The promise of schools, doctors and supplies for his people was still weak, but the days of war were over now.
Again, his thought lingered on the white woman. He had seen suffering in her eyes and pain. Yet like an Indian she had not shown her pain. He liked that about her. She had not rebuked the white man, nor scorned his treatment of her. She was strong. Silently strong. And yet when he looked into her eyes something touched his heart. He had looked upon her many times, all of her, from the top of her beautiful hair, to her feet, and if he were truthful it was the reason he rode so far to buy his supplies. That was his secret, and no one else knew it.
To look upon her was pure pleasure.
Perhaps it was wrong of him to do so, but he was drawn to this woman.
He had no time for such thoughts. He could not free her from her bondage, she was white.
He rode on, making himself forget her. And yet he couldn't get the image of her out of his head.
He traveled many miles to this store each week, to buy what little supplies he could afford. He hired himself out as a horse trainer for a ranch near his tribe's encampment. The old man that owned the ranch paid him to break his wild horses and help train them, so he could sell them to the army. It was a fair bargin and Lone Wolf could help feed his tribe with the money he made.
Son of the chief, Lone Wolf did everything he could to help his people survive the harsh winters they faced on the reservation. There was little game to hunt during the winter, and the supplies the army furnished his tribe was never enough.
Still, it was better than war. He'd seen his two brothers killed in battle in retaliation for the Sand Creek massacre, seen his mother die of the small pox. He'd seen the deaths of many, and peace was better.
That's what he told himself every day. Peace was better. But did he believe it? The whites of Washington promised much but delivered little. Oft times the warrior inside him rebelled. But his father believed in peace and he followed his father faithfully.
Educated in the mission schools where his father sent some of the tribe to learn, he knew he must find ways for his people to survive. He thought education was a good thing and encouraged the children of the village to listen to the educators. For the white man prospered and perhaps his people could too, with education.
A hawk flew above him, and he stopped long enough to watch his flight. It was a beautiful site, to see a bird in flight, free.
A rabbit scurried in front of his horse and the horse moved.
"Easy Blackfoot. The rabbit means you no harm."
He smiled and continued on his way.