The Savage

“Haa, that is true. I ask your help in finding my wife’s sister. She was taken by the Comanche from Texas when the moon was last full. I have an arrow shaft belonging to one of her captors.”

Lance rummaged in a pouch and brought out the broken arrow he’d found at the Grice ranch. He showed it to his brother, who studied the feathers and painted markings at the end. “This is not of your band, I think.”

“No, the markings are not familiar.”

“I wish your help in locating the owner of the arrow.”

Fights Bear scowled. “You ask much for one who has turned from the ways of the People.”

Lance returned his brother’s hard gaze. “I follow the laws of the Comanche. This is my woman, my wife. It is a warrior’s responsibility to protect and provide for his wife’s family.”

Fights Bear crossed his sinewed arms over his bare chest. “I do not wish to aid a white woman against the Comanche.”

“Perhaps we can strike a bargain. In exchange for assistance, I would give you ten horses and a hundred Yankee dollars.” He stopped at the other man’s sneer. “I see your scorn, my brother, but the white man’s money can be used for trade, to provide food for the young ones when the buffalo are scarce.”

For a long moment, Fights Bear was silent. After a hard glance at Summer, though, he nodded. “We will hold a council and share a pipe to discuss the matter. But the woman will not be welcome.”

Lance nodded dispassionately. “Aho, thank you.” He turned to Summer, who had been listening without comprehension, and briefly explained that the tribal leaders were to meet to decide their action. “It may take a while. Go with Fights Bear’s wives. They’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Grateful that their request hadn’t been denied outright, Summer offered a tentative smile to his brother, and rose obediently. When she ducked through the entrance flap, she found the Mexican woman waiting outside.

“Do you understand Spanish?” the woman asked in that language.

“Sí,” Summer replied. “A little. The nurse who raised me when my mother died taught me, but I am not fluent.”

The woman grinned broadly. “My name is Kwasutu, Short Dress. I am the third wife to Wasape Naaohrutu, Fights Bear.”

“I am Summer.”

“You will share my lodge, Summer.” Turning, Short Dress led the way to a tepee a short distance behind her husband’s. Someone had taken care of their horses and picketed them outside, Summer noticed as she followed the woman inside. The tepee looked similar to the one she’d just left, except that this was smaller and more sparsely furnished.

She settled herself on the ground near the entrance, where Short Dress indicated, and watched as the woman unrolled a bundle of buffalo blankets and began fashioning a bed.

“How is it that you speak Spanish so well?” Summer asked.

“I came here from Mexico when I was a girl.”

“You were a captive?”

She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice, but Short Dress merely nodded pragmatically. “Yes. They beat me at first, especially Wasp Lady, until I learned to work hard.”

“Wasp Lady?”

“The grandmother of Fights Bear and Sharp Lance. Very likely she will visit here tonight. She wishes to observe you.”

Summer noticed the use of the word “observe” rather than meet,” but before she could ask about it, Short Dress went on chattering. “Fights Bear sometimes calls on me to speak to the whites who come to our village, for they often know Spanish, and he will not learn English. Fights Bear is a good husband—strong and brave and wealthy, with many horses. I have my own lodge with my two sons. Fights Bear summons me when he wishes to sleep with me. My sons will come soon, and you will see how they resemble their father—and their uncle, your husband. They will be happy to see their uncle, Kanap-Cheetu, for they have heard many stories about his bravery.”

“Kanap…Cheetu…” Summer tried to pronounce the awkward words. “Is that my husband’s Comanche name?”

Pausing in her task of building a fire of buffalo chips, Short Dress looked at her in surprise. “Why, yes. Did you not know your own husband’s name?”

“Lance doesn’t talk much about himself,” Summer replied contritely.

Short Dress nodded in approval. “It is good. Men’s deeds should speak, not their words.”

“His name—what does it mean?”

“Sharp Lance, of course. What else?”