Cheyenne Caress

by Georgina Gentry

  “That’s why I’m here. I just came from the office. This wire came in just a little while ago from Major North at the fort.”

  “Did he say anything about money? Did they find it?”

  “Sometimes even I’m surprised by you, Manning.” He leaned against an ornate dining chair. “Couldn’t you have asked about your daughter first? The Cheyenne hit that stage, probably with rifles we supplied them.”

  Manning swore. “I suppose that’s poetic justice, isn’t it? Don’t look so upset, Billy. You developing a conscience in your old age? And here I thought you were just exactly like me.”

  “I must be.” Billy went over to the sideboard, poured himself a whiskey, and looked out the window at the darkness, “Or I wouldn’t have gotten mixed up in this latest deal. Selling weapons to hostiles is the lowest of the low.”

  “But profitable.” Manning grinned. “Now read me the wire.”

  Billy read it to him.

  “They must not have found the money,” he mused.

  “He wouldn’t mention that, not knowing it’s yours.” Billy sounded exasperated.

  Maybe Billy wasn’t like him after all; maybe he was a little too soft and decent to fill Manning’s shoes. “Anyway, Billy, she’s okay. You were worrying for nothing.”

  “So you’re going to Fort McPherson?”

  Manning had not felt so annoyed and put out in a long time. “Can’t they just send her later when the stage begins to run again?”

  Leaning against the sideboard, Billy sipped his drink. “You aren’t too popular in Denver. It would look better to everyone if you went after her.”

  Manning yawned. “Why don’t you go, Billy? You’re supposed to marry her.”

  “But nobody knows that yet, Manning. I haven’t even met the girl.”

  Manning laughed. “You’re right, Billy. It would look good in the papers if I went. The Rocky Mountain News has been after me on their editorial page; they’d have to back off if all the citizens sympathized with me because my poor daughter had survived an Indian raid. Then later they can do a story entitled: ‘Rescued Heiress Weds Prominent Young Businessman.’”

  Billy shook his head. “You have an angle for everything, don’t you?”

  “That’s how I became so rich, my boy, and as my protégé, I’m going to teach you how it’s done. Now I’ll hire a private coach and take shortcuts to reach that fort.”

  “And what am I supposed to do?” Billy sipped his whiskey.

  “You ride out, find the wrecked stage, and save that hidden money for us.”

  “Me?” Billy’s voice rose in sheer disbelief. “Why me? That’s hostile country out there!”

  “Because you are the only one I trust, that’s why.” He fiddled with the carved head of his cane. “Before someone else finds it, you take a wagon, go out to that site, and bring the money back for safekeeping. A tough saloon brawler like you shouldn’t be afraid of a few Indians!”

  “I–don’t even know where it wrecked or how you hid the money–”

  “God damn it to hell, sometimes I wonder if you really are like me! Think!” He tapped the side of his head. “Didn’t you hear what the man said? The state line! Just follow the route. And the money’s in three big crates, packed under a layer of Bibles.”

  “Bibles?”

  Manning shrugged irritably. “Doesn’t the Bible say something about laying up treasure in heaven?”

  “I don’t think you got it right–”

  “What the goddamn hell difference does it make?” Manning roared, waving his cane. “I may be gone awhile Billy, and business’ll have to go on as usual.”

  “It can’t without you, Manning.” He took his drink back to the table and sat down.

  “Sure it can, my boy.” He reached out with one frail hand and patted Billy’s sleeve. “You and Lily can keep this all running while I’m gone.”

  Billy rubbed his chin. “Thought you said, ‘Never trust a woman.’”

  “I don’t; but I trust you.”

  “Smart, boss! Since we hate each other so much, each of us would be happy to tattle on the other.” Billy grinned, sipping his drink. “I’d love to catch the bitch doing something wrong, so maybe you’d dump her–”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Billy, knowing how much you hate her.” Manning smiled with satisfaction. “But after all, she’s just a woman, and brainless like the rest. She serves my needs, so I’ll keep her–at least ’til one comes along to replace that stupid whore who drowned in the bowl!”

  Billy ran his tongue around his gapped teeth. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Manning. The French slut’s not to be trusted.”

  “No woman is. But Lily knows which side of her bread is buttered. And you’ll make sure she toes the line.” He looked at the lion on the head of his cane. “Billy, you’re more like me than my own son would be if I had one; all I’ve got is two daughters–that I know of.” He winked at Billy.

  “Two? You never told me about the other one–”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Manning stood up, leaning on his cane. “She didn’t count anyway-just a pup by one of my Injun gals. Now you make the arrangements and I’ll leave for Fort McPherson. But first, you let the newspapers know about the distracted father and his beautiful daughter who escaped death–”

  “Maybe you should wait until you know–”

  “Know what, God damn it to hell! I need a few kind stories about me so the crusaders will back off screaming about how I run Denver! Call my stupid housekeeper to pack my bag and see if Owens can get the coach ready–”

  “I mentioned it to him on my way in. He’s afraid to go, boss, what with five children–”

  “Then go fire the cowardly bastard and hire me a private coach!” Manning banged his cane on the floor. “And Billy, you get out to that wrecked stage and save that money for us!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Luci knew that the people of the fort held her partly to blame for what had happened to Winnifred Starrett because Luci was Cheyenne.

  Women of the fort gave her withering glances when she passed by, then gathered in little groups to whisper and make sneering remarks. Many of the soldiers now switched to another laundress, despite the fact that Luci had a reputation for turning out the most crisply washed and ironed shirt of any girl on the post.

  She began to wonder if she was going to be able to make enough to live on. Since she was back at the trading post for want of anywhere else to go, old Mr. Bane began charging her rent on that miserable room for the first time. When Johnny tried to talk to her, she carefully ignored him and went on her way.

  Worst of all, when she ran into poor Winnifred crossing the parade grounds, that unfortunate girl took one look at Luci’s dark face and broke into screams that brought everyone running.

  Luci was too proud to go to Johnny Ace for help or to even tell him how people were treating her. She didn’t see that much of him anyway. He seemed to be busy conferring with the officers about equipment and poring over maps as the Fifth Cavalry made plans for its campaign against the Dog Soldiers.

  Late May settled over Nebraska with its heat, wild flowers, and ripening sand plums and choke cherries. Word came every few days of more killings. The Dog Soldiers were on the move, striking random settlements, raiding ranches, stealing the stock, and murdering the inhabitants. The Fifth could do nothing but swear vengeance as it waited for reinforcements and better guns and equipment to arrive.

  Luci became desperate, wondering what she was going to do. With the soldiers giving their laundry to other girls on Suds Row, she was not sure she would even be able to buy enough food. She began to see how hungry Indian women gradually gave up the precarious fight to exist and became some soldier’s squaw. She thought then of her beloved mother and wondered about the handsome officer who had deserted Sunrise Woman.

  What was it her mother had said at the last? You named for your father . . . he name sound like Morning Star. Well, of course that was ridiculous, Luci though
t with a shake of her head. White men didn’t have names like that; they had names like Brown or Jones.

  When Johnny rode past her on patrol, she stared after him wistfully, wishing she could forget he was an enemy. She thought of the white man’s saying: Blood is thicker than water. In the long run, that fact was something that maybe love wasn’t strong enough to overcome. The only thing for her to do was forget him.

  Mercy, how to do that? Every time she saw him riding past, once again, she remembered being in his bed with his dark body ramming between her thighs. There was only one way to keep from seeing him constantly–she had to leave. Move on to another fort or go back to her people.

  But how would she find them? The Dog Soldiers were raiding closer now, emboldened by the army’s lack of retaliation. Every day, new reports came in of a ranch burned, a settlement attacked. It had been less than a week since Winnifred had been brought in, but with her unhappiness and the hostility of the post toward her, it seemed like centuries to Luci.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have to find them. Maybe they would find her. If she rode out across this prairie, with the Dog Soldiers riding in a dozen small raiding parties all over Nebraska, Kansas, and Colorado Territory, maybe their paths would cross–if they just didn’t kill her before she could explain who she was.

  Very carefully she laid out her plans. One day, she talked David Van Schuyler into loaning her a roan horse so she could go berry picking. Along with the horse, she got a lecture on waiting until someone had time to accompany her. With the Indian trouble, it was loco to venture even a few hundred yards from the fort alone.

  She nodded obediently, but rode out almost immediately at a leisurely pace. When she was certain she wasn’t being followed, she turned and galloped off to the southwest.

  How she would find the Cheyenne in this vast wilderness, she couldn’t be sure; she’d have to hope they found her. One thing was for certain: anything was better than remaining at Fort McPherson. Not only did the whites treat her badly, but she had to see that Pawnee scout and yearn after him, knowing how hopeless it was.

  She hid out for the rest of the day in the first grove of trees she found, knowing how visible she would be against the flat, open prairie. After dark, she continued on her way.

  The hours passed as she rode. Luci was beginning to have doubts now. Suppose she didn’t cross the trail of the Dog Soldiers? Suppose her food and water gave out before she found them? To make her food last long enough and conserve her water, she would have to search out ranches where she could earn a meal cooking and cleaning. Even that could be risky. Luci wasn’t too sure any white ranchers would be glad to see her Indian face. With all the tension, some of them might shoot first and ask questions later.

  It was just after dawn when she stumbled onto the burned-out ranch house. The wreckage still smoldered and the family sprawled dead and scalped, striped feather arrows sticking out of the bodies like strange pin cushions. Luci went off into the bushes and got very sick. Mercy! Could her people have done this terrible thing? Maybe white renegades or enemy tribes had done this, using Cheyenne arrows to misdirect the blame. On the other hand, the Dog Soldiers were desperate and fighting for their very existence. Men fought, and women and children on both sides died.

  She found a shovel in the ruins of the barn and set out to bury the man, woman, old grandmother, and young boy. Her back ached and she had blisters on her small, work-worn hands by mid-morning. It occurred to her that she should ride on and let the cavalry or whoever happened on the scene bury the family, but it seemed indecent to just ride off and leave them exposed to the flies and weather. It took a long time, but she did it.

  The roan had been munching grass in the yard all this time and Luci watered it well at the pump, then filled her canteen. In the burned house, she found a little corn bread and a hunk of smoked bacon that she could take with her.

  She rode off again toward the southwest, watching for pony tracks, an occasional broken blade of grass, or anything else that might give her a clue.

  When she found tracks of unshod ponies farther south, she knew Indians had been there lately. Finally she began to have a feeling of being watched, but when she stood up in her stirrups and looked around, she saw nothing. Still the feeling persisted.

  It was two days later that she came up over a sudden rise and found herself face to face with a large war party, all painted and armed with shiny new rifles.

  She had found her mother’s people at last–or had they found her? Looking into the solemn, scowling faces, she reined in her horse. At that instant, Luci didn’t know whether to feel happy– or terrified.

  The warriors rode out to meet her. She held up her hand in greeting, trying to remember the little bit of Cheyenne language she knew. “Pave-voona o. Good day. I am Morning Star, niece to Ta Ton Ha Haska.”

  There had to be twenty-five or thirty of them. She was too nervous to count as the war-painted braves rode slowly to surround her and stare at her. One of them was a boy with a crippled leg, not more than fifteen winters old.

  The ugly leader scowled at her. “You have blue eyes,” he said in halting English. “I think you are only a white man’s pup, a fort Indian.”

  She drew herself up haughtily. “Does a white man’s Indian speak Cheyenne? Has not Tall Bull spoken of his sister, Sunrise Woman, who became a bluecoat’s woman and so disgraced herself? Take me to my uncle, who will tell you.”

  There was a ripple of excited discussion among the braves. Yes, some remembered seeing her in camp with her mother many years ago.

  The ugly one nodded finally. “Yes, now I remember Sunrise Woman, as do some of these others. I am called Snake. We ride now to join your uncle and raid the white settlements between here and the Indian Territory.”

  Suddenly, Luci wanted to be anywhere but riding with these war-painted braves, especially the ugly leader. She had found her people whom she had not seen in many years, and should be happy and relieved, but she wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t belong with the Cheyenne either.

  She brushed that thought aside as she fell in beside Snake and the war party broke into a lope. “We are going to Kansas?”

  He looked over at her, puzzled. Obviously the word meant nothing to him. “We ride to join Tall Bull to the south.” He gestured that direction. “Many Cheyenne have escaped from the Indian Territory in defiance of the treaty. The Dog Soldiers gather strength. Soon we will run the white men out of our country!”

  She started to tell him it was a foolish goal–that there were too many white men with a sophisticated civilization that the simple Indians couldn’t even fathom–but she kept silent. These Cheyenne braves had no idea of what they were up against. It was both sad and futile.

  Now that she had joined them, she realized that she belonged with them no more than she did the whites. Luci was tempted to leave them, then had a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t be that easy. If she tried to ride away, she suspected they would stop her. She had wanted to find Tall Bull; they were going to see that she did.

  The sun beat down on the rolling prairie as the war party rode south. In the heat, the crimson and ochre war paint on the dark faces mingled with sweat and smeared. Many of the braves carried war shields painted with sacred symbols. The barrels of the new rifles glinted in the light as did the lance points and arrowheads. Where had they gotten the repeating rifles?

  “Snake,” she asked, “your men are well armed. Where did they get the new guns?”

  He laughed softly. “Some white men sell out their own kind for silver coins and trinkets.”

  “Where do you get silver coins and trinkets?”

  He glanced over at her as if she were a stupid child, then gestured to the fresh scalp swinging from his pony’s bridle. “By raiding white farms and settlements and stagecoaches, of course!”

  For the first time, she noticed a pink lace parasol tied to a brave’s saddle. Winnifred Starrett. This war party had hit that stage.

  Luci felt sick at the pit of her
stomach. She didn’t belong with these primitive people. It had been a crazy dream. How could she escape?

  Snake seemed to take her silence for awed respect. “We also attacked a Pawnee camp lately at the holy place of the balanced rock.”

  Luci felt her eyes widen in horror. “You dared spill blood at Castle Rock? Even I know that is taboo!”

  The other warriors had caught some of her words as they rode along. The crippled boy said, “I am called Bear Cub. You are right, niece of Tall Bull. Many of the men are worried about angering the mistai, the ghosts, by spilling blood at the holy place of the lightning and thunder. They think it will bring us bad luck.”

  Snake struck at him with his lance, but the boy dodged his white pony away. “Crippled, worthless one! How dare you question my leadership! Besides, we killed many Pawnee there. It is never bad luck to kill our old enemies!”

  Some of the men must have agreed with him, for she saw a few heads nod. But others looked troubled.

  It was only then Luci noticed the curly brown scalp dangling from Snake’s lance as he shook it at Bear Cub. There was something familiar about it. . . .

  “Yes, it belonged to a white officer.” Snake grinned proudly. “When we made the deal for the guns, he rode with the whites.”

  That couldn’t be Carter Osgoode, she thought dazedly, and yet, there was something about that curly hair. . . . “A bluecoat officer rode with the white gun runners?”

  “He must have done something wrong, because they turned him over to us before they left, with him begging and screaming for them not to leave them. We made him beg and shriek a lot more!”

  Snake smiled in satisfaction and the other braves laughed as they remembered, except for Bear Cub, who looked sick and uneasy.

  Luci reined in. Immediately the others did, too. She had to get away from this primitive savages. What had ever made her think she might belong among them?

  Snake frowned. “What is the matter?”

  “I–I’ve decided I don’t want to ride the war trail,” she said. “I think maybe I’ll go looking for a peaceful camp of Cheyenne farther north.” she gestured vaguely behind her.