“What is it?” Hawk demanded.
“I don’t know. It’s just so strange. This one…” Sloan said, striking a match against his boot to better illuminate the body and indicating the man Hawk had killed himself, “He’s dressed like a Crow, painted like a Crow. But I don’t think he is a Crow.”
“What do you think he is?” Hawk demanded. He was going to jump down to study the dead brave himself, but Skylar clung to him so tightly he didn’t want to rip himself away from her. Besides which, he knew and trusted Sloan’s opinion.
“He’s a mixed race. And I think he’s half Arikara.”
Crazy Horse spoke up. “The Arikara have been known to be our enemies as well. This man, though…he pretends to be what he is not. It is very strange.”
Sloan spoke again, slowly. “I agree. I think I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?” Hawk asked.
“Hanging around Fort Abraham Lincoln. Trying to get a job as an Indian scout.”
“So he didn’t get work with the white army, and he started to run with the Crows,” Crazy Horse said. “What does that mean?” He spat down on the body.
“I don’t know,” Sloan said. “Any ideas?” he asked Hawk.
Two of the Sioux warriors with them had leaped down from their horses.
They were going to take the scalps, Hawk realized. A woman had been abducted from their very camp, and they had taken a war party out in the night to bring her back. The scalps were theirs. And these were no-good warriors, sneaking into a camp, attacking a brave from the back, abducting a lone female. They would be maimed so that they would not play so foolishly in the afterlife.
He needed to move on with Skylar and ponder the problem of these strange “Crow” attacks later.
She was silent as they rode and still. She didn’t even wince as she heard the tremolos and cries go out as the Sioux took the Crow’s scalps.
He nuzzled the top of her head. “Are you alright?” he asked her very softly.
Her hair was as soft as silk against his chest as she nodded.
She wasn’t all right. She was as strong as steel. She would defend herself to the death, he knew, but even steel could be bent.
“Thank God!” he murmured, urging Tor in a steady walk along the trail. He drew the backs of his fingers over her cheeks. “You’ve got to be all right tonight. I don’t want you to miss the sight of me on my knees when I know you’ll enjoy it so much.”
She jerked slightly away from him and turned around to look at him. Her face was smudged. The beautiful doeskin dress wasa mess. She had put up quite a fight. He drew a line over one of the smudges on her face, smiling.
“Earth Woman admitted to the pepper.”
Her eyes widened. “Why, that—bitch!” she exclaimed.
He smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
“Really sorry.”
“Still not good enough.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait a bit,” he said gruffly. “But then, you owe me an apology as well.”
“I owe you?—”
“For this morning. I was never with Earth Woman.” When she said nothing, he prompted, “Well?”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“You didn’t believe in me.”
