Overkill (Sundance #1) by John Benteen

Author:John Benteen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: old west, sundance, western fiction, piccadilly publishing, john benteen, benjamin haas
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Six

There was silence as Sundance and Barbara Colfax stared at one another. Then Tall Calf arose. “Magpie Wing has things to do in here, and I am not as young as I used to be. I crave my bed. I have told Walking Bear that the two of you must talk, and that he is not to interfere.” The Cheyenne gestured. “I think you should walk down by the river. There is no wrong in it; she is wearing the rope.” He meant the chastity belt of the Cheyennes, wound around the waist, through the crotch and wrapped around the thighs; all unmarried young women wore it to guard their purity, more valued among Cheyennes than any other tribe. “Talk as much as you like, but bring her back here when you are through. I think you will want to talk American, and it makes me nervous to hear a lot of talk that I do not understand, so go.”

“Yes.” Sundance hitched at his belt, adjusting the weight of the Colt and knife. “You heard him, Barbara. Will you go with me, talk to me?”

She looked reluctant, but she nodded. “Yes.”

Outside, the village was flooded with moonlight, the lodges cones of silver, their owners’ prize horses tethered outside them. Dogs slunk hither and yon, and the women and children guarding racks of fresh meat from their depredations threw chunks of wood at them. Voices murmured in the surrounding teepees, and probably there would be other couples walking by the river.

Barbara fell in step beside Sundance. “They’ve told me all about you,” she said. “My father sent you to bring me back.”

“That’s right. He gave me money to buy you from them.” They nodded to two “half-men half-women” who were giggling outside a lodge. There were a few in every band, men who chose to live as women and wear women’s clothes and do women’s work; and they were considered sacred. “You say you don’t want to go. Suppose you tell me why.”

“Of course. But I’ll have to go back a long way. You’ve met my father . . . and my stepmother.”

“Yes.”

“Then you ought to understand already.” She broke off as a man painted red from head to foot, carrying a strange bow strung with two strings, one end extended into a lance, crossed their path, smiled at them in the moonlight, and said: “Good morning.” He was an Hohnuhke, a “Contrary,” who had taken a sacred vow to do everything backward. There was room in the Cheyenne philosophy for all sorts of people, and Contraries were big medicine, too. When he had passed, Barbara went on.

“My mother, my real mother, was a wonderful woman. When she died ten years ago, I missed her very much. Then there was a whole parade of nurses and governesses.” Her voice was bitter. “They were all the parents I had after that. My father was too busy making money to have time for me.”

“I see.”

“Oh, I had everything he could give me, except himself.

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