Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) by Shirl Henke Read Free Book Online

scabbard. Neither did he miss the .44-caliber Smith and Wesson Model 3 on Cain's hip, nor the expensive hand-tooled leather boots. “You have prospered among your father's people, leaving behind a life that has become hard. Game is scarce and our children cry with empty bellies. Our women gash their arms in mourning for warriors cut down by the white eyes' bullets. We fight your Iron Horse, but we cannot defeat it. We would move north to the Yellowstone country of our brothers the Lakota, far from the belching smoke, away from the Blue Coats. But we must have guns for our warriors to hunt with and protect the women and children.”
           “And to fight your way past Sherman's army,” Cain added. “I have brought guns.”
           “You have said,” Leather Shirt said to Sees Much, “and it is true.”
           The older man merely nodded, studying Cain with his penetrating sight. Then he spoke. “You must spend time with the People, relearn our ways.”
           “I am called Not Cheyenne, a cut hair. The People will not welcome me.”
           “It has been five winters since you killed High-Backed Wolf. Your banishment is ended,” Leather Shirt replied. “If your heart did not belong with your father, you could join us.” The bleak expression on his face indicated his awareness that Cain would refuse.
           “My heart does not belong anywhere.”
           “It is not a good thing to belong nowhere,” Sees Much said softly.
           Leather Shirt gave a snort of disgust. “He is just another white man, brother. I told you this was a dangerous thing to undertake.”
           “Do not be so swift to judge, Leather Shirt,” Sees Much rebuked gently.
           Leather Shirt nodded and said to Cain, “Lark Song will provide you with a place to eat and rest while Iron Kite sees to your horse and mules. Then we will talk of the woman...and other things.”
           From across the campgrounds, Roxanna watched the exchange between the old men and their visitor. He was dressed like a white man, but he looked as hardened and dangerous as any of her captors. His long lean body was draped with an arsenal. A gunrunner or whiskey trader, perhaps? His straight black hair and bronzed skin suggested that he was a mixed-blood. Yet his features were sculpted, almost classically handsome if one made allowances for the prominent nose and high cheekbones. There was a narrow scar along his cheek that somehow added a raffish allure rather than detracting from his good looks.
           Roxanna had observed him ride in, hoping he would be her deliverance, but something had held her back from rushing out to him. Those hard glittering eyes had swept the camp in pitiless assessment. Instinctively she knew they would scorch when fastened on her. She had won a place for herself among these strange, savage people. There was no sense squandering it precipitously on a hardcase like this man. Best to wait.
           Looking back over the past three weeks, Roxanna could scarce believe how she had survived the ordeal. After they dragged her from the coach, her captors had done nothing to harm her, only bound her hand and foot and tossed her across the back of one warrior's horse. She was forced to ride like a sack of grain for two days, with only hard chewy strings of meat washed down with muddy creek water to sustain her. Filthy, frightened and exhausted, she was brought before the village chief at last, the old man known as Leather Shirt. His English was adequate, that of his medicine man far better. The chief turned her over to Sees Much, who was surprisingly kind.
           Roxanna quickly learned that they planned to ransom her at some point. They were vague about exactly when, but considering the options of torture, rape or death, she decided she wouldn't quibble over details. Several young women were assigned to care for her. Lark Song and Willow Tree could speak