“But man ruined himself and fell away. And that tore us in two. All of us, we’re two things—we’re sinful men, but with a spirit that God made and put into us. We’re broken; we’re divided against ourselves. But God fixed it when He sent His Son here to die for us.” Zoan fell silent.
Finally Con leaned forward and asked urgently, “We’re—torn in two? I don’t understand that, Zoan.”
Zoan returned Con’s intense gaze, and Con felt as though Zoan could see his darkest thoughts, his most deeply buried fears and longings, just as he could pierce the darkness. His next words proved it to be true. “Captain, inside yourself you feel pain, you feel confusion, and worry and fears gnaw at you all the time. That’s because you walk according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, and that spirit works great harm in the children of wrath. It hurts.”
As if a light was dawning behind his eyes, Con sat back and stared into the distance. “Yeah . . . it’s—funny, Zoan, because your words . . . are strange . . . but I know what you mean. I—I do feel that way. I’m—I can’t find any peace at all.”
“You’re torn in two,” Zoan repeated softly. “But Jesus Christ is our peace, for He made both one, and He breaks down the wall that divides us, that makes us our own worst enemy. His blood is our sacrifice to our Father God. You understand shedding of blood in sacrifice for another, I know, Captain. And Jesus did it for us all.”
Unheeding now of military protocol, Ric spoke up. “But, Zoan, what does that—how does that help us? I mean, I accept what you’re saying. I understand the concept of sacrifice. But— I’m not trying to be cute, I just really want to understand—so— then what?”
Slowly Zoan, struggling with his trouble with group conversation, turned to focus on Ric. “When we tell Jesus that we know He died for our sins and ask Him to forgive us, then we’re reconciled to a holy God . . . and He adopts us. And we need that, all of us need that, even strong men like you, Lieutenant Ric. We need our Father, we need Him to love us, we need Him to make us feel secure, and maybe most of all, we need Him to give us peace.”
Ric and Con glanced at each other. Slowly, then, the captain nodded. “Okay, Zoan, what’s the drill?”
“I don’t know what that means,” Zoan said.
Con shifted uneasily. “I know you don’t, and I’m sorry. I— don’t understand why it’s so hard, Zoan, for us to admit that we need God. I’m sure not ashamed to say that I love my father and need his love.”
Zoan nodded. “I know. Your nature wars against God, always. It’s part of the way that sin makes us miserable.”
“Yeah,” Con agreed quietly, “I’m pretty miserable, Zoan. So how do I come to God? How do I—get adopted?”
Once again, Zoan’s smile lit up his face. “Easy. Just pray and ask Him to forgive you for your sins. Tell Him that you want Jesus to be your Savior and Lord. Then you’ll become a child of God instead of a child of wrath.”
“That’s it?” Concord Slaughter was a cautious man.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” Con said firmly. “What about you, Darmstedt?”
“Sir, I’ve been ready,” Ric answered. “I’m—tired.”
Con nodded. “I’ll go first.” He bowed his head and prayed, “God, I’m lost, I’m tired, I’m confused, and I know that whatever I do, however good I am, it’s nothing because I’m just a sinner. I ask You now, Jesus, to come into my heart, to save me from my sin and misery, to give me some peace. Amen.” He looked up at Zoan and asked anxiously, “Is that good enough?”
Zoan answered, “You have the heart of a lion, Captain Con, and now you have the heart of the Lion of Judah.”
“Okay, I can do this,” Ric said eagerly and bowed his head.
“Lord, I need help. I need You. Save me, forgive me, and thank You for dying for me. Amen.”
Zoan said, “Well, thank God. Now I’ve got two more brothers. And you’ll see. Being adopted by almighty God is even better than having a mother and a father.”
“For my part, Zoan,” Con said, rising to go to Zoan and shake his hand, “I’m proud to be adopted by God, but I’ve gotta say that it’s an honor to be your brother, too.” He swallowed hard. “I—I love you, brother.”
Zoan looked up at the tall, rugged soldier, and for the first time in his life, his lustrous dark eyes were filmed with tears.
“I think we’ve got all we can haul. Let’s pull out.”
Cody looked over the two buckboards that the four of them had found on the Navajo reservation. They were in good condition, like new. It was rather jarring to Cody that the crude wagons were so valuable to them, while all the expensive toys in the world were piles of useless junk.
The half-wild mustangs, who were as docile as pets with Zoan, had to be fought long and hard, but finally Ritto and Cody managed to get them harnessed. Both buckboards were piled high with deerskin breeches and jackets, fancy beaded dresses and fringed skirts, moccasins for outdoor and for indoor wear, and hundreds of blankets woven of all the intense hues of the desert.
Ritto drove one buckboard and Bluestone the other, while Cody and Little Bird rode ahead. As they left the reservation, Ritto turned and looked back. “This is bad, Bluestone,” he said, but instead of his usual hard voice, he merely sounded weary.
Cody heard the remark but paid no heed. He drove the horses hard, for Cody, too, felt forebodings, and he was glad to get away from what was now miles and miles of burial grounds.
The Indians traveled during the day, for they were not concerned with German helicopters or commissars. They had long been forgotten, dismissed from America’s mind. As soon as the twilight began to veil the east with a dusky gray, Cody stopped at the first likely place he saw, which was a tumble of boulders at the base of a soaring butte.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” he told his companions. “We could probably make it back to camp, but the horses are tired.”
They pulled the wagons up, freed the horses, and fed them with the feed they had brought with them. Ritto and Bluestone quickly built a fire and fried some salted antelope they’d brought with them from camp. It was tough and stringy, but they were tired and hungry, glad that they didn’t have to hunt for their supper.
Little Bird talked about the lovely clothes—she’d already picked out a couple of pairs of breeches and one skirt—and what fine weavers the Navajos were. She and Cody had also taken some of the silver jewelry the Navajos had made with the distinctive coral and turquoise stones. Little Bird had insisted that they could give it to their people for Christmas presents. She didn’t seem to feel any discomfort at the idea that they were violating sacred ground.
But Ritto and Bluestone had almost nothing to say. Cody knew they were still upset, and he sympathized, for he was starting to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake. The gravity of the deserted old trading post, piled high with dusty treasures of the dead, weighed on him. Little late to be getting squeamish, he mused. “Ritto, you and Bluestone take the first watch. Wake us up at midnight.”
The two men, without speaking, picked up their rifles and walked out into the darkness.
“We’d better get what sleep we can, Little Bird,” Cody said, interrupting her midsentence. Wrapping himself in his old blanket, he lay down before the fire and instantly fell into a heavy sleep.
Little Bird did not go to sleep at once. She draped her blanket around her shoulders and sat cross-legged before the fire. Her eyes were dreamy as she stared into it, her thoughts drifting. Finally her eyes fell on Cody’s face. The chiseled features were plainly highlighted by the flickering amber light of the fire. She studied him a long time, which was something she couldn’t do when he was awake.
Cody Bent Knife knew instantly when someone’s eyes lit on him.
I’m in love with him. There, I said it. At least, I admitted it to myself.Fine. Now what? Now nothing. He’s—unreachable. He’s not for me. He’s too—spiritual or something. He’s kind to me, h
e’s comforted me when I’ve been afraid and felt weak, he listens to me and talks to me . . . and he loves me about as much as Zoan loves those two silly kittens.
Finally she shook herself as if to rid herself of a memory, wrapped up in her blanket, and went to sleep. It seemed she had only dropped off when she heard a voice and felt a light touch on her shoulder. “Time to get up, Little Bird.”
Coming awake, she saw that Cody was already standing with his boots on and rifle in hand. Quickly she pulled her boots on, shivered in the coldness of the desert air, and then pulled the low-crowned hat down over her black hair. “Ready,” she said.
They moved out, and Cody called out, “All right. We’ll take it from here.”
The two saw the shadows of Ritto and Bluestone emerge from the darkness. “Anything?” Cody asked.
“Nothing,” Ritto said shortly.
He and Bluestone headed toward the small fireglow.
“They’re angry,” Cody sighed.
“They’re superstitious, so they’re afraid. But they act angry to keep us from knowing they’re afraid.”
Cody eyed her with amusement. “You know a lot about men.”
She shrugged. “Most men aren’t hard to understand. They’re just big babies, really.”
“Thanks,” Cody said dryly.
“I said most men,” Little Bird said evenly and left it at that.
They walked until they were well outside the camp perimeter, along the rough base of the butte. Cody stared up at the flat heights. “So you aren’t afraid, Little Bird?” he asked with real interest.
“Afraid of spirit ancestors taking revenge on us? No. I don’t believe in those old superstitions, Cody. Do you? I mean, really?”
He was troubled and didn’t answer for a long time. Finally he replied, “I don’t know. I guess I’m confused sometimes. I do believe in spirits. I do believe that there is something after we die, that we don’t just—return to meaningless dust. And so the real question is, Are these spirits good or evil? And shouldn’t we fear them if there are evil ones?”
His words chilled her suddenly. “I—I don’t know. And I— now I’m sorry I asked. Do you want to split up?”
He shot a shrewd look at her face. The rather flat planes of it were stark in the cold starlight, and her eyes were black pools. The smooth skin of her forehead was drawn; she looked worried. Quickly he answered, “I don’t think so. We might as well stay together. I don’t expect any trouble.”
Why have a guard then? Little Bird wondered, but she kept her sudden strange apprehensions to herself.
The two circled the camp, occasionally glimpsing the flickering firelight on their left. A thin sliver of a moon grinned crookedly down at them as they walked, their eyes always searching the darkness on the outside of the camp. They came to a large rock, and Cody leaned up against it, stretching and rubbing his neck and eyes.
“What was your life like, Little Bird, before I knew you?”
“It wasn’t much fun.” She pulled off her floppy wide-brimmed hat and looked down at it, fidgeting with it. Even under the faint trace of moonlight he could see the black sheen of her hair and the sturdiness of her form covered by the bulky coat. “I made it worse on myself than it should have been.”
“Your parents?”
“I didn’t know them too well. But I knew my grandfather. He was a great man.” She hesitated, still looking down at her hat.
“You knew that he was a good friend of Jesse Mitchell’s? David’s grandfather?”
Cody nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him. “Your grandfather, Cholani, was the last chief of the Apaches, wasn’t he?”
“He thought so. I guess I thought so, too.”
“And was he a dunkhead?” Cody asked with elaborate casualness.
“Yes. Brother Mitchell—he—saved him, or whatever it is.”
“So this Brother Mitchell, David’s grandfather, he drew Cholani, our last chief, to God? Do you really think they knew Him? God, I mean?” Cody sounded interested, as he always did.
She took a deep breath. “Yes. They knew Him. And they were both great men, strong in God,” she answered awkwardly.
Quietness flowed over the land. Far away a coyote howled, and then another answered him. It made a plaintive sound, but it was one that Little Bird had always liked.
The two were standing side by side. Cody slowly reached out and turned her to him. The moon lent its silver light, and he saw that her eyes were watchful, full of knowledge, alert, but not wary.
For a long time he simply looked at her. He noted the full turn of her lips, the wash of faint gray light against her prominent cheekbones, the dark hollows underneath. She was not a pretty woman, but she had the wild beauty of a child of the desert. The moonlight was kind to her, showing the full soft lines of her body, and her hair, blacker than the night itself, was intensely beautiful.
They were so alone. Each of them was enclosed in a great circle of uncertainties, fears, longings. Without planning to, he reached out and brought her to him. He half expected her to resist, but she did not. And when he kissed her, he was aware of a desperate hunger— something that seemed to leap into him, shaking his mind. He knew then that this woman had a power over him that no one woman had ever had, and for one moment in his arms he held a sweetness and a richness that filled all his emptiness. He knew that this would be only a short fragment of time, that it was something he desperately longed for, although he had not known it. He drew back and found her dark eyes, unblinking, staring back at his face.
Little Bird did not speak. She watched him, waiting for a sign from him, a break in his impenetrable reserve, an opening into him.
But the moment didn’t come, and the door into Cody Bent Knife’s hidden heart closed. He turned away from her, and she thought she would—must—cry out. But then he took her hand, and she knew she must accept another defeat.
For a long time they stood together, holding hands like two children. But they were still alone, except for the mirthful moon.
The remains of the night passed quickly. Little Bird and Cody were intensely aware of each other, but he did not touch her again nor did she attempt to make him do so. About an hour before dawn they were back at the tumble of great boulders where they’d kissed. Both of them were very tired and cold. Cody looked up at the sky; it was turning a dim gray, the stars fading to dull specks. “Why don’t you go back and get us some coffee, Little Bird?” he asked. “By the time we finish it, it’ll be about time to break camp.”
“That sounds good,” she said in an oddly thick voice. Her lips were numb with cold, which made it hard to speak. She turned and headed back toward the camp, but a quick, primitive sense of danger flared up in her, and she whirled around to stare back at Cody.
He was standing, his head thrown back, his rifle held limply in one hand. “What . . . what is that?”
With an unreasoning fear rising cold within her, Little Bird looked up.
Against the dim grayness of the sky, shapes were outlined on the flat crest of the butte. As if she were a schoolchild, Little Bird counted them: six . . . six . . . wolves . . .
Her eyes went back down to the slim form of Cody.
“Cody!” she screamed and began to run. “Cody!”
It was as if the wolf had dropped from the sky. He fell on Cody from the rocks soaring above his head.
Before Cody could get his rifle half raised, the wolf struck him.
He saw blazing yellow eyes and white fangs, and all he could hear was the guttural snarl that sounded like no animal he had ever heard. He smelled blood and the rotten-meat odor of the animal’s hot breath. Cody was driven backward, stumbling, dropping his rifle. Desperately he threw up his hands, reaching for the wolf ’s throat. The wolf was tearing at his arms, and he felt the razor-sharp fangs rip through his clothing and rip through flesh. I am going to die now, he thought with strange detachment. But he fought savagely, grabbing and tearing at the wolf.
Before Little B
ird’s first scream had died away, Ritto and Bluestone had rolled out of their blankets, grabbed their weapons, and run to the awful scene. Neither could get a shot, for the wolf and Cody were rolling furiously on the ground. The wolf ’s snarls were deafening in the frozen air.
Little Bird, seeing that no one could possibly shoot the wolf without hitting Cody, snatched up a large burning branch. She smelled the hot coals burn through, but she felt nothing. Running up as close as she dared, she rammed the blaze right into the wolf ’s face. For a moment she thought he would turn on her. She held the blaze in front of her, shoving it savagely, almost ramming it down the wolf ’s red mouth.
And then the beast, giving one screeching, unearthly cry, turned and fled. He disappeared into the predawn shadows.
Little Bird’s heart grew cold as she saw Cody’s blood, black and thin, spread out over him and run into wide pools on the desert sand.
Desperately she looked up at Ritto and Bluestone, who seemed frozen, as unmoving as statues.
“Help me,” she groaned, unaware that tears were flowing down her face. “Help me.”
EIGHTEEN
ADREARY DAWN BEGAN with dirty gray tufts of thick clouds that heralded a snowstorm. The sun was glorious for only a moment, low on the eastern horizon. Then it disappeared. It was bitterly cold in the desert.
Ritto drove the cart into the canyon at a crashing run. Little Bird and Bluestone—now riding bareback, having left the other cart at the camp—charged in behind. All of the horses were grunting with exertion, their haunches lathered.
“Go on, Ritto!” Little Bird ordered. It was almost a scream. “Take him to the whites! They’ll know what to do!”
In the cart, lying on a pile of colorful Navajo blankets, was Cody Bent Knife. He was covered with blankets, too, up to his chin. One-half of his face was swathed in thick white bandages.
Fallen Stars, Bitter Waters Page 26
