Page 15 of A Groom for Heather
The sheriff’s eyes snapped to hers. “How do you know that?”
“That is where Red Hawk would cross when he visited Jackson.”
“You are friends with Indians?”
Heather gave the man a pointed look. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
She watched the lawman shake his head and turn back around to watch the ferry.
Heather couldn’t see who was pulling the ropes. She could tell the man was white, even though he wore deerskin breeches. He didn’t move with the grace of the Indians. She wished she could see what tribe it was coming across the river.
Heather moved further down the ferry landing. The Indians had dismounted from their horses apart from one, who sat proudly on the painted pony beneath him.
“Is that war paint?” one of the men asked, lifting his rifle to his shoulder.
As the party came closer Heather saw the white man lift a piece of fabric and wave it around like a flag.
“What in tarnation?” someone asked.
“It’sMakhpia Luta!” Heather yelled. “Put your guns down. It’s Red Cloud.”
“Who is Red Cloud?” the sheriff asked.
“He’s Red Hawk’s father. Chief of the Lakota people. Their tribe lives near the hunting grounds. It must be something important for him to ride all this way.”
As the ferry drew nearer, Heather bounced on her toes, waiting for the barge to reach the shore.
She could finally see the man dressed in buckskin with fringe on the edges. His dark hair was cut short, revealing several bald spots. Perhaps this man was a slave of the Indians?
There were parts of his skin that were black, indicating frostbite. His face was red and scarred, almost as if a large animal swiped its paw across the delicate skin. He was surrounded by Indian braves dressed in matching buckskin with intricately beaded breastplates.
The Indians looked at the people along the shore and spoke to each other in guttural tones. Finally, the man on horseback gestured with the edge of his spear to one of the men. The Indian brave walked forward.
“Makhpia Luta, great chief of the Lakota people, comes in peace.” The Indian gestured to the horses behind him. “We bring food for the friends ofLuta Cetan.Chief Red Cloud brings horses to pay his respects.”
“Respects for whom?” a voice called.
“Chief Red Cloud seeks the squaw ofHinhan, friend to the Lakota people.”
Murmurs went through the crowd.
Heather glanced around and gave a little gasp. The cowboy from earlier was standing on the edge of the crowd, watching the entire exchange with immense interest.
The chief muttered something in short tones. Jackson had taught Heather a few words and Red Hawk laughed but humored her attempts at to the Lakota language.
The sheriff moved forward. “Who isHinhan?”
Heather stood up on one of the logs blocking the water from racing up into the town. “Hinhan means White Owl. It is what Red Hawk called Jackson.”
“Hinhan’ssquaw has hair the color of sunlight. He told us so.”
“And who is this?” Sheriff Darcy gestured to the non-native man standing on the ferry.
The scarred man moved forward. “I was on the buffalo hunt with the men from Last Chance. Chief Red Cloud’s hunters saved me. They took me to their home along the Grand Platte where they nursed me back to health.”
“You lived here?”
“Yes. My wife is Charity Green.”
