Back in the clearing, Tobin was stunned. How in hell, he wondered, could the Cheyenne steal out of camp and lead five horses away without making a sound? He must have dozed off sometime during the night, but he could have sworn that he didn’t. Then he got mad. Little Wolf had made a fool of him. Tobin counted no man a better tracker, no man a more skilled hunter, and no man cunning enough to outsmart him. He hurried to saddle the buckskin, not pausing to eat any breakfast.
12
After two days, when it appeared that Broken Wing’s patient was not going to make it, Rain Song suddenly began to recover from the severe wound in her side. On the third day, her fever cooled, and she was able to take some nourishment in the form of a thin soup made from prairie turnips and seasoned with some bits of rabbit meat. Although her first three days in the Nez Perce camp were a blur in her mind, she came to recognize the smiling face of Broken Wing, and was conscious of the occasional stern countenance of Two Horses peering down at her.
Broken Wing had done her work well, and before a week had passed, Rain Song was able to sit up by the fire outside the lodge. Her benefactors questioned her extensively, curious about her people and how she happened to be so far from the land of her tribe. Rain Song, reluctant at first to talk of her husband, was eventually worn down by Broken Wing’s insistent questioning, and the Nez Perce woman soon came to know Rain Song’s story. Still burdened with the grief of Little Wolf’s reported death, she held no desire to live without him at her side. But her natural sense of survival dictated a fight for her life as long as Yellow Hand was absent. Broken Wing said nothing to her about her husband’s fearsome nephew, but she overheard Two Horses telling his wife that the girl was Yellow Hand’s property and there was nothing he could do to change that.
As yet another day passed with no sign of the feared Nez Perce scout, Rain Song and Broken Wing began to talk more and more. Two Horses’s wife soon developed a genuine feeling of compassion for the wounded girl, especially when she learned exactly how Rain Song had come to be stabbed. As she felt herself growing stronger each day, Rain Song decided she must escape before Yellow Hand returned to get her. She had no notion as to where she could run. She only knew that she must flee from the reservation village. In her desperation, she also knew that she had to confide in someone, and she sensed that she could trust Broken Wing. It was obvious that Yellow Hand was not held in high regard by Two Horses and Broken Wing. And, while Two Horses hesitated to risk Yellow Hand’s anger, Broken Wing did not. Counting on this, Rain Song told Broken Wing of her plans to escape.
“He will surely come after you,” Broken Wing warned.
“I know, but I will die before I go with him. My only chance is to run.”
Broken Wing studied the young girl’s face for a moment, thinking hard on what she was about to say. “Very well. If you are sure. I will help you. I know of someone who may help you escape, but I will have to go to talk to them first.” She got up to leave. “Say nothing of this to my husband. He is a good man, but he fears Yellow Hand.”
Broken Wing was gone for almost an hour. When she returned, she met Rain Song’s anxious stare with a smile. “They will help you. There is a man here, Wounded Bear. He and his sons have decided to leave the reservation and make their way to King George’s land to the north. With their women and children, there will be this many.” She held up all ten fingers twice. “They say you are welcome to join them.”
Rain Song’s spirits soared. It was the first sign of cheer Broken Wing had seen in her new friend. The Cheyenne girl took Broken Wing’s hands in hers and spoke, almost in a whisper. “Why don’t you and Two Horses come too? This is no place to live.”
Broken Wing smiled but shook her head sadly. “Two Horses would not go. He did not choose to go with Chief Joseph and the rest of our people when they made their brave march to the buffalo country. He says it is useless to resist the white soldiers. They are too many. I miss the old ways, but I must stay with my husband.”
Rain Song was disappointed that Broken Wing would stay, but her heart was light with anticipation of her escape. However, her elation was shattered later that afternoon when Yellow Hand’s surly cousin Hump rode into the circle of tipis. Rain Song and Broken Wing quickly slipped into the tipi to avoid catching the brute’s eye. Sighting Two Horses talking in a group of men, Hump rode directly toward him and dismounted. A few minutes after, Two Horses came to the tipi to tell the women the news.
“Yellow Hand is dead!” He paused a moment for the news to fully register. “The white Cheyenne killed him.” He looked into Rain Song’s eyes, which were wide open in disbelief.
“Little Wolf?” Rain Song gasped. Her eyes even wider, she looked at Broken Wing and then back at Two Horses. “Little Wolf killed him? Then…” She could not finish. Her throat choked with emotion, she simply stared at Broken Wing for a long moment. Finally, when her emotions were under control again, she said, “They told me he was dead!”
Two Horses shook his head. “He is not dead. The soldiers still search for him, and they have sent for a special tracker to hunt him down.”
Before Rain Song could speak again, the flap of the tipi was suddenly thrown aside and Hump pushed into the lodge, startling everyone. He stood in the center of the lodge, staring down at Rain Song, a triumphant sneer etched into the usually thoughtless countenance. “You are my woman now. Get on your feet!”
Broken Wing quickly stepped between him and Rain Song. “She cannot go with you. She is not well yet.” Taking her cue from her friend, Rain Song sank back upon the buffalo robe she was seated on. “She will not be strong enough for several days.”
Hump was undecided. He looked at his uncle, only to meet a blank stare. He returned his gaze to the Cheyenne woman. “She looks well enough to me. I will take her now.”
Broken Wing was adamant. “No. She is too weak to go with you. She cannot cook or work. Wait a few days and she will be strong enough.”
Confusion was written on Hump’s face. He wanted the woman now, but he didn’t relish the thought that he might have to care for her until she was well enough to do his bidding. He stood there saying nothing for what seemed an eternity to Rain Song. Finally he turned back to Broken Wing. “Make her well. I must return to the soldier fort now, but I will be back for her in three days’ time. She is my woman now.” Turning his attention back to Rain Song, he glared down at her. “You are my woman!” He made a gesture to reach for her but Broken Wing intercepted his arm and turned him toward the entrance.
“You go now. She must rest.” The simple brute allowed her to lead him outside. “You must be hungry. Sit down here by the fire and I will get you some food before you go.”
Inside the tipi, Rain Song sat terrified. Moments earlier, she had been elated to hear that her husband was not dead, only to have her hopes dashed to the depths of despair by the ugly savage, Hump. She lay down on the robe, pulling it up around her, afraid to move while Broken Wing and Two Horses played host to their unwelcome guest outside. When he stuck his head inside the entrance for one more look at his prize before leaving, she pretended to be asleep, not moving until Broken Wing came in to tell her he was gone.
Rain Song was immediately up on her feet. “Little Wolf is not dead!” she exclaimed, walking frantically back and forth, oblivious now to the soreness in her side. “Why does he not come for me?”
Broken Wing put her arm around Rain Song’s shoulders, seeking to calm her. “He thinks you are dead. That’s why he doesn’t come for you. Hump said the soldiers think Yellow Hand killed you. That’s the reason he brought you here, to hide you from the soldiers. Yellow Hand was afraid the soldiers would make him give you to them.”
“I must find Little Wolf! He thinks I am dead! Little Wolf…” The words trailed off as a picture formed in her mind of her husband, hunted by the soldiers and thinking her dead, disappearing into the mountains where she could never find him. She could not bear the thought. “I must get away from here!” Frantic, she realiz
ed, “I don’t know where to look for him!”
Broken Wing did her best to calm the stricken girl. “The soldiers think he is heading for King George’s country. Wounded Bear is going there with four lodges of his family. You can still travel with them, and maybe Little Wolf will be there.”
Rain Song struggled with her dilemma. She didn’t know what she should do. She was sure that if Little Wolf was truly alive, he must surely think she was dead. Otherwise he would have come for her already. She could not stay in the village, hoping he would come. Hump would be back for her in a few days. There was little choice, she decided. She must leave here with Wounded Bear and hope to find her husband in the land to the north.
* * *
“You sent for me, Sir?”
Brice Paxton put aside the army Colt he had been cleaning. “Yeah, Baskin.” It registered in his mind that the sergeant did not salute when he reported. Not that Brice cared—Baskin never saluted unless reporting to the colonel. Brice supposed Baskin figured his years of service added up to equal status with any lieutenant. It rankled Paul Simmons a little, but Brice laughed about it. “Get the troop ready to ride on an extended detail. Draw rations and grain for twenty days.”
“What’s up?”
“A band of about twenty or so left the reservation. The agent thinks they’re trying to head to Canada. We’ve got to go after them and bring ’em back.”
“Who are they? I mean, men, women, who?”
“The colonel said it was ol’ Wounded Bear and most of his family. Probably only about six or seven men. The rest are women and children.”
Baskin scratched his chin whiskers. “That don’t sound like it oughta take twenty days.”
“I hope it doesn’t. But they’ve got a full day’s start on us. We didn’t find out about it until today and the agent said he figures they’ve been gone since sometime yesterday.”
“Light marching orders?”
Brice paused to consider. “Yeah, except they can carry cooking utensils. One blanket and a hundred rounds of ammunition per man. No tents: Hell, the weather is warm enough to sleep outside.”
Baskin nodded after each item called out. “How many Injun scouts we taking?”
“Take Charlie Rain Cloud. Let him pick two others.” Brice started to leave but Brice stopped him. “Tell him I don’t want that damn Hump. I can’t depend on that moody brute. He’s dumber ‘n a stump.”
Baskin nodded and said, “I don’t think he’s in camp anyway. I saw him riding out earlier this morning.”
* * *
It was a little past noon when the column of twenty-eight regulars, headed by Brice Paxton, filed out of the fenced area of Fort Lapwai and struck out for the Nez Perce reservation. Brice planned to bivouac near the village that night and start early the next morning on Wounded Bear’s trail.
There had been no rain for a week, so it was a dry and dusty column of troopers that made camp that night across the shallow creek from the gathering of Indian lodges. It was still light enough to see, so Brice and Sergeant Baskin, along with Charlie Rain Cloud, rode over to the circle of tipis to question the Indians. Two Horses and Broken Wing were among a small gathering that stood silently watching the soldiers approach. Brice noticed that Broken Wing’s lip was bruised and swollen. Upon coming closer, he could see that it also had been bleeding. He knew Two Horses to be a kind man and didn’t think him likely to be a wife beater. Aside from that, he knew Broken Wing too and, if Two Horses beat her, she would probably have shoved a knife between his ribs. He raised his hand in greeting. Two Horses nodded in recognition. Broken Wing made no reply.
“What happened to you?” Brice asked in sign and laid his finger on his lip.
Broken Wing flushed, embarrassed. Then, with the hint of a spark in her tone, she answered, “Hump.”
“Hump?” He looked quickly beyond the group of Indians, half expecting to spot the surly Nez Perce scout. But he was nowhere to be seen. He told Charlie Rain Cloud to ask Two Horses what happened. While Charlie talked to Two Horses and his wife, Brice walked over to where Baskin was standing, looking at a wide open space in the line of tipis. There were four worn-out circles where Wounded Bear’s lodges had stood. As they were speculating on how long it had been since the lodges were taken down, Charlie rejoined them.
“Hump was here today but he’s gone after Wounded Bear already.”
Brice was startled by this bit of information. “Gone after him? You mean he’s running too?”
Charlie went on to explain that the Cheyenne woman had been in the camp, recovering from a severe wound. It was Yellow Hand’s doing but, with Yellow Hand’s death, Hump figured the woman belonged to him. He had gone to overtake them and get the woman back.
“That lying son of a bitch,” Brice said, thinking of Yellow Hand. “He snatched the woman and hid her out here somewhere after all.” He pictured the frightened little Cheyenne woman as he had last seen her, locked in the room behind the hospital, her only crime the fact that she was an Indian. And now these two Indian scouts were passing her around like she was a piece of property. She deserved better than that—any woman did. Brice shook his head slowly as if to clear the picture from his mind, turned to Sergeant Baskin, and said, “Too late to do anything else tonight. We’ll pull out at sunup.”
Approximately twenty miles north of the cavalry bivouac, Wounded Bear had made camp near the banks of a deep stream still swollen with runoff from the mountains above. The valley they were passing through was split at the north end by a river that forked a few hundred yards above his chosen campsite. Wounded Bear saw to his horses while the women started their cookfires. He turned to see his eldest daughter’s husband approaching, a short, blocky man named Blue Otter.
“We have not gotten far since leaving the reservation,” Blue Otter started. “If we don’t make better time, the soldiers will be after us before we get to the land of the Salish.”
Wounded Bear nodded solemnly to the younger man. “I know. But we don’t have horses for everyone so we must do the best we can. I think it will be several days before the soldiers know we are gone. If the spirits are with us, we may cross over the mountains before they catch us.”
Blue Otter did not always agree with his father-in-law on matters pertaining to their escape to Canada. “I know you have said we will hold to the western fork of the river and find a new way through the mountains, and that is a good plan. But I wonder if it wouldn’t be quicker to take the east fork and strike the old trail to the buffalo country.”
Wounded Bear patiently reiterated his reasoning to his young son-in-law. “I think what you say is true. That way might be quicker. But it would be quicker for the soldiers too. That way is an old trail, and they would expect us to go the way hunters have always gone. If we take the west fork, we may be able to lose them in the mountains.”
Blue Otter nodded his head in understanding. “You are probably right.”
Blue Otter said nothing more, but Wounded Bear knew the brash young warrior still questioned the wisdom of the older man’s decision. Like most young men, Blue Otter was in favor of taking the quickest route, no matter the dangers. As it turned out, the decision would be made for them.
Rain Song, strong enough now to help Wounded Bear’s wife prepare the food, was busily making a corn paste to fry over the fire when Wounded Bear returned from the horses. She waited for the old man to situate himself before the fire before she spoke.
“I am much stronger today. I think tomorrow I will be able to walk with the other women.” Rain Song knew the horse she doubled on with Wounded Bear’s wife was poor and almost broken down. If she continued to ride, the animal would not make it through the mountains with the two of them.
By his expression, she could tell her words were good news to the old chief. But he only nodded and said, “We shall see what the new day brings.” Hers was not the only horse that was in bad shape. It had been a hard winter. The grass was lush now in the early days of summer, but the hors
es had not had time to fatten up from winter because of the poor quality of the grass on the reservation. Wounded Bear knew they were not in any condition to make a run for it and that was another reason for not choosing to take a trail familiar to the soldiers. He needed time to rest the horses. He might have chosen to wait until later in the summer to make their escape, but all the people at the reservation were ready to leave then. For that reason, the soldiers were much more alert to the possibility of their flight.
The old man’s thoughts were interrupted by a shout from one of the warriors. Someone was coming. He immediately got to his feet and looked around to see where he had laid his old Henry rifle. Finding it propped up against a willow, he grabbed it and ran to the edge of the stream. In the fading light, he could just make out a single rider, approaching at a gallop across the grassy floor of the valley. Upon seeing the people gathering at the streambank, the rider called out when still a hundred yards away, and they recognized the greeting as Nez Perce. It was not until the rider splashed through the stream and bounded up the bank that Wounded Bear recognized Hump.
He was immediately alarmed. The presence of Hump could only mean bad news of one kind or another. Hump was on the payroll of the army as a scout. Was a column of soldiers close behind? Or was he here because of the Cheyenne woman? Hump did not make him wait long before declaring the purpose of his visit.
“Where is the woman?” he demanded, stepping down from the saddle even before his horse had fully halted. When no one spoke, he lashed out at a young man standing closest to him with his whip, laying a raw welt across the unfortunate man’s neck. The young man recoiled from the stinging blow and gathered himself to retaliate. Hump quickly leveled his rifle at the young man’s stomach and gestured for the man to come at him.
Medicine Creek Page 16
