Tykota's Woman(9)

Did Indians have the same feelings as white people? She had always thought of them as completely alien, needing no one, raiding and marauding, killing and scalping their enemies just for the sport of it.

The Indian had removed his coat and unbut toned the collar of his white shirt, which opened to reveal a smooth, bronze chest. Again, she was struck by his handsomeness and the power he exuded.

She watched as he released his hair from a black cord, and it fell dark and heavy to his shoulders. Makinna's heart began beating wildly. Never had she seen such a man. There was something thrilling about him that captured her attention, yet at the same time something dangerous and frightening. More than mere handsomeness, there was a wild, savage beauty about him, a strength of spirit that seemed to reach out to her.

She closed her eyes to steady her heartbeat. She wondered about his life. He was unlike anything she imagined an Indian to be. His diction was aristocratic, and he had a superior manner about him. His expensively cut suit would have been at home on the finest plantation in Louisiana.

It seemed strange that he chose to dress like a white man, and stranger still that he was traveling on the Butterfield stage.

Feeling guilty for watching him, Makinna moved away from the window and prepared to wash the dust from her face. But her thoughts kept returning to the Indian.

What, exactly, was his story?





Makinna recognized the voices of the station manager and his wife just outside her window. Mrs. Browning's voice was high-pitched with indignation. "I don't care if he is a Butterfield passenger. I told him, and I'm telling you, I ain't gonna serve no Injun. It's too much for anyone to expect. Land sakes, Jack, we could all be scalped in our sleep!"

Her husband replied in an irritated tone. "Nonetheless, he gets hungry like everyone else, and he deserves to be fed. He seems harmless enough, Edna. Almost civilized."

"He'll not eat at my table, and that's that! You didn't see the way he looked at me when I told him where we stood-I swear, Jack, he's think ing up something terrible to do to us during the night."

"It does seem kinda strange to see a savage pretendin' like he was a white man. What the hell kind of Indian is he, anyway? I've never seen one so tall, or with his sharp, clear features. I wouldn't mind askin' him a few questions to find out what he's about."

"Well, if you ask me, he's up to no good. You tell him he's to sleep in the barn, and I want him gone tomorrow."

Makinna approached her window in time to watch Mr. and Mrs. Browning walk toward the barn. Her gaze went to the Indian, who had melted into the shadows, almost becoming a part of them. She realized he'd heard every word the Brownings had uttered, and she felt a rush of pity for him.

Without pausing to think, she headed out of her bedchamber. The main room was crudely furnished with a long wooden table, a potbellied stove, and dirt floors. Mr. Rumford and Mr. Carruthers were sitting at the table talking amiably, their empty plates in front of them.

They both looked up when she approached. Makinna realized she had forgotten to put on her veil, but she was too angry to care about that at the moment.

She went directly to the table, found an empty tin plate, and begin spooning beans into it. She speared a chunk of meat and plopped it onto the plate, then added a slice of cornbread to the mound.

Mr. Carruthers nodded at the heaping plate. "You must be hungry, Mrs. Hillyard."

"It's not for me," she answered sharply.

"Didn't think a young, pretty thing like you could eat that much in one sitting," Mr. Rumford observed in a jovial if patronizing way. "If you don't mind an old man's compliments," he added.

"I am in no mood for compliments, Mr. Rumford. As a representative of the Butterfield Stage Line, how could you allow that man and woman to work for you? Aren't they supposed to see that your passengers are fed and sheltered?"

He looked taken aback. "Are you speaking of Jack and Edna Browning?"

"I am."

He assumed an official-sounding tone. "Obviously, they have done something to offend you. Tell me what it is, and I'll speak to them about it immediately."

"I'll tell you what they did, if you don't already know. They refused to feed the Indian," she said angrily. "What is he to do, starve to death?"

Mr. Rumford looked uncomfortable. "Well, he should have known what might happen when he boarded our stage. My only obligation is to my legal passengers."

"That's right," Mr. Carruthers spoke up. "If you let one Indian ride the stage, they'll all want the privilege."

Mr. Rumford nodded. "No need to worry about that possibility. I've already informed him that he won't be leaving with the stage in the morning. Can't think how he got aboard in the first place. In spite of his fine attire, he's still a savage."