“On a night such as this, they may not have any guards posted. Only fools would be out and about. Here, can you carry this?” He handed her the bundle of bread, then returned the heavy iron bar to its place and replaced the padlock. “I don’t want them to know its gone.”
“What happens when they do find out? Won’t they guess what happened to it?”
“I’m hoping they’ll blame some of the civilians wandering around. Or the Blackfoot camped outside. Maybe even some of the soldiers.” He bent to his task, dragging the heavy cooking vessel.
“How will we get this in to them?”
“When they had me in there I checked it out. Good thing they didn’t build with logs and chinking, we’d be out of luck. Most of the buildings are planks, and I’m hoping we can pry away some at the back corner where they won’t be noticed. I can get help from those inside. They broke out once, they’ll know what to do.”
“Wessells probably has a key to the prison as well,” she said. Gasping in the frigid air, she didn’t say anything more for a while, just bent to help him move his burden along over the frozen snow.
He thought they were making too much noise and stopped once in a while to listen to the stillness. Gazing up at the lightening sky, he urged her to hurry.
“It’ll be daylight soon, we have to move faster.”
“When are we going to get the supplies Meeker bought at the mercantile? He left them there for me to pick up.”
“I’d forgotten all about them. I wish he’d figured a way to carry them off himself. They’re bound to ask questions when you go in to get them.”
“I guess he didn’t think of that.”
Suddenly Stone Heart held up a hand. “Hush. I hear something.” Conversation, footsteps, grumbling. More than one person coming their way.
“Quick, over here,” he said and shoved the big pot of frozen soup into an alleyway between two buildings.
She scurried into the shadows with him, so frightened she could scarcely breathe. He pulled her close, sheltering her within his arms. She could feel his heart drumming against her ear. Her breath froze a circle on the woolen uniform jacket.
Four soldiers hurried by. Perhaps cooks headed for the mess tent, for they certainly didn’t appear to be on guard duty. Hunched against the cold, they almost ran past the buildings to disappear between two of them further down the row.
Pulse pounding in her temples, she followed Stone Heart back out into the open. “How far is it?”
“Yonder.” He pointed to a long, low structure, a black shadow in the snowlit pre-dawn.
It seemed to take them forever to get there. No one watched the doors. If guards had been posted, they’d abandoned their duty and sought warmth somewhere.
“They may be nearby, but we can’t wait. It’s getting light. Come on.” He gave the vat one last shove, sent it careening toward the door. It too would be padlocked. If she was right and Wessells had a key to that lock as well they’d be in luck. Otherwise, they would have to rip off some planks, making too much noise in the silence that would at any moment be broken by the trumpets of reveille and the hue and cry of hundreds of soldiers racing to formation.
Taking out the keys, he began trying them with stiff fingers.
She grabbed his arm. “Someone’s coming.”
“I can’t...how close?”
“I don’t know. I hear footsteps.”
He continued to work the lock, fearful that perhaps Wessells didn’t have a key after all.
“Around the corner, down there,” she whispered, pointed.
A lone figure started across the yard. He hadn’t seen them yet, but he would any minute.
Muttering, Stone Heart put the last key in the lock and felt it drop open. At that very moment the soldier spotted them.
“Hey, you. You, there. What’s up?” The man started to run toward them, and they saw he had a rifle.
Stone Heart swung open the door, shoved the food inside and her after it. “Stay there. You’ll be safe.” He shut the door, and raced to meet the soldier.
“You stop right there. Halt,” the man yelled, head swiveling as if he expected to be attacked by someone as yet unseen. He finally made the decision to point his weapon at the only one he could see.
“Stand down, Private. Is this your post?”
“Sir, I don’t think...”
Squaring off at the private, Stone Heart barked, “You don’t think what, Private? It’s not your place to think. Were you supposed to be guarding the prisoners?”
The confused man saluted, fumbled with the rifle so it was no longer pointed at Stone Heart. “Sir, yes sir, I had to...had to...take a leak, sir?”
“And you left your post?”
The boy settled on remaining mute, waiting out this rapidly growing problem.
“You report to your senior officer, private.”
“Now, sir? Pardon me, sir, but he’s asleep, sir.”
“At his earliest convenience, then.”
“What about...?” The soldier gestured toward the prison barracks.
“I’ll take care of this.” Lowering his voice, Stone Heart leaned toward the private. “Look, son. I know it’s colder out here than a well-digger’s bones. I can understand you deserting your post. Tell you what, why don’t you go to breakfast and I’ll explain what happened. I’ll cover for you, but just this time. Don’t let it happen again.” Lord, he sounded just like a white man. How easily it had all come back.
“Huh? I mean, sir, yes, sir.”
Practically running, the boy took off in the general direction of the infantrymen’s mess.
Inside, Aiden hunkered near the doorway until the private left. Before she could shove open the door and rejoin Stone Heart, a hand grasped her arm tightly.
She turned, and in the smoky, firelit room, gazed into the bottomless eyes of a most ferocious Cheyenne brave, face smeared with what looked like blood. Covering her mouth, she let out a muffled squawk.
At the same moment, the padlock on the outside of the door snapped closed with a solid thunk.
Chapter Sixteen
Minutes after Stone Heart locked Aiden in with the Cheyenne, the fearsome brave continued to stare at her. She wanted to claw at the door, kick it out. The urge was so great she could scarcely contain it, but managed to for the instant it took to think in a rational way. Stone Heart wouldn’t put her in danger, of that she was sure, so with teeth gritted she stood her ground.
To convince herself she was safe, she smiled tremulously at her terrifying adversary and dragged her gaze from his black-as-night eyes to take a quick look around. Smoke from a fire in the center of the drafty room burned her eyes and throat. Breathing through her nose didn’t help because of the horrid smell of humans too long penned up with no facilities. Cold air sifted in through gaps in the planking, all that saved them from choking to death.
The warrior’s intense concentration continued and finally took her mind off her discomfort. In an effort to distract him, she patted the vat. “Food. Cook.”
He drew a threadbare blanket tighter around his shoulders, appeared not to so much as blink. Maybe he didn’t understand. She reached to slide off the lid, but his arm shot out to block the movement, and she jerked away in fear.
If she laid hands on Stone Heart she’d fix him good for shutting her up in here. But she might not get the chance. He could very well leave her here while he finished whatever it was he had to do. He was quite an adamant man. She should have agreed to remain in her quarters, not been so stubborn. What if these people decided they didn’t want her here and killed her? Certainly a possibility, the way a few of them were staring at her. Death might be the better of the options left open to her. Still, no matter what else she might believe, Stone Heart would not let her come to harm. She clung desperately to that knowledge.
One consolation was that many of the Cheyenne paid no attention to her at all. They sat or lay, wrapped in tattered blankets and soiled animal skins, more concerned with
surviving another night than dealing with an interloper. Especially a white woman who could obviously do them no harm.
“I will cook it, shall I?” she finally asked the silent warrior. His eyes barely flickered.
A young boy, possibly ten or eleven years old, scrawny body layered in rags, crawled to her. With eyes dark as a starless night he glanced toward the warrior, spoke in his native tongue. The man answered sharply.
“Come, then,” the boy said to her, and grabbed one handle of the cooking vat. “We will put this on the fire. Help me.”
Warily, Aiden studied the stoic Cheyenne who appeared to ignore her, then glanced at the boy. “Me?”
He nodded, gestured.
She helped him drag it to the flames where, with a stick, he raked out a bed of hot coals. Together they hefted the cooking vessel onto the glowing embers, and the boy added more wood. Cautiously, she lifted the lid, removed the bread and, replacing the cover, lay it on top to warm.
Most of the Cheyenne moved closer and hunkered in a circle to watch. An old woman with a stiff leg hobbled over and sat on the floor between Aiden and the warrior, regarded her with a toothless grimace.
Aiden nudged the boy. “Tell them it is food. Stone Heart brought it for them.”
As the boy spoke, a young woman with a crying baby cradled at her breast, made a grab for one of the loaves of bread. The warrior held her back, spoke a few soft words. The baby continued to mewl like a lost kitten and nuzzle at the girl’s tiny breast. It was obvious she had no milk. The child would surely die. How it had ever been born in the first place was a mystery.
While the people discussed what the boy told them, the flames licked higher up the sides of the iron cooking vessel. After a while steam escaped carrying the mouth watering aroma of cooking stew.
The warrior broke off a piece of bread, lifted the lid and dipped it in the bubbling soup. Aiden thought for a moment he would eat the dripping morsel himself, but he gave it to the old woman who handed it to the young mother. She chewed a bite ravenously, swallowed, then bit off another piece. After she had chewed it, she fingered a small amount from her mouth and fed it to the child. She continued to share it that way until it was gone. Though her sunken eyes remained focused on the food, she didn’t ask for more as others lined up to claim a portion, doled out by the ferocious warrior as if he were a kindly father. Each time he handed the old woman a share, she passed it on to others.
Watching the starving people ration the offering, tears filled Aiden’s eyes and she turned away.
These were Stone Heart’s people, once known as the Beautiful People, and her own kind were killing them in the most cruel of ways. It would have been kinder to line them up and shoot them. From what he’d said, they’d done that as well, out there in the icy wilderness where those desperate to return home hid behind rocks and in caves awaiting their fate in the brutal and frigid weather.
She felt their pain cut sharply into her innermost self, where her beliefs in a kind humanity suffered a bad blow. A compassion she had never felt for anyone, no matter the circumstances, enclosed her soul, and she wept for them. Wept as if her heart might shatter.
****
At the very moment Stone Heart turned to fetch A’den from the prison barracks where he had hidden her from the guard, he heard the noisy crunch and squeak of many feet on the frozen snow. At least ten soldiers carrying rifles came around the far corner of the barracks and headed straight toward him, marching in a loose, rather awkward formation. In light of this development he had only one choice. Secure the padlock before they discovered it open, and play his part. So he snapped it shut, locking A’den inside. She would be safe, though she might not know it. When he let her out, he had a feeling he would loose a spitting wildcat.
A sergeant led the group of soldiers, and he threw a quick glance at Stone Heart, took a couple more steps, and halted the group, as if only then realizing what he had seen.
He snapped a sharp salute toward this lieutenant he obviously did not recognize. “Sir, where is Private Holcomb?”
To the east the sky gleamed like polished gun metal, outlining the man’s gaunt cheekbones and making dark sockets of his eyes.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Stone Heart returned the salute which he’d learned well enough at West Point.
“I relieved him, Sergeant. Sent him to breakfast.”
Cocking his head, the sergeant opened his mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again. “You did what, sir? I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t get your name.”
“Lieutenant Stone. And you are . . .?”
“Sergeant Holt, sir. Stone. Hmmm. Whose regiment are you in, sir?”
Stone Heart swallowed and stiffened. If he had to fight this man, the others might be confused enough to hesitate before they killed him. Or they might not. Fresh in off patrol, where they imagined savages lurked in every shadow, it wouldn’t take much to set them off. He did all he could do under the circumstances. He lied, using information he’d overheard at the dance. The thing about lying well, you attacked your opponent with just enough facts to confuse him. And if you could, you scared the very britches off him in the process.
“I’m here with Colonel Evans of Fort Laramie and General Crook’s aide, Lieutenant Schuyler. To investigate the breakout. It’s no wonder these people escaped once already. I came out to take my early morning stroll and what do I see?” Without giving the man time to answer, he went on. “I see, Sergeant, the prison barracks completely unguarded. You’ve sent one young man out here in this cold all night, with no relief and expected him to remain alert. It’s an outrage. This entire thing is an outrage, Sergeant.” Stone Heart drew himself up, so that his chin was even with the bridge of the astounded sergeant’s nose. Drawing on his experiences at West Point, he pointed a glower at the pond-muddy eyes that held only a flicker of rebellion.
“Did you know that every newspaper back east is calling for cessation to this brutal treatment of these poor, starving people? Are you aware that President Hayes himself has ordered an immediate investigation? Heads will roll, Sergeant, and yours may be one of them.”
Before the dumbfounded sergeant could call up a response, Stone barked, “Dismissed. I will remain here until you can assign guards who aren’t worn out from firing upon helpless Indians.”
Snapping another salute, the sergeant marched his men toward the common and the distant call of a bugle. The poor man hadn’t even attempted to summon a reply to the verbal attack.
Releasing a huge sigh, Stone Heart quickly inserted the key in the padlock and swung open the door.
Through the smoky gloom, he called her name.
She didn’t reply and he stepped inside. From somewhere in the shadows came her lilting, clear voice and the song that had so enraptured him during the blizzard when he’d thought her lost and frozen. The music of her people, he supposed. The burr of her accent was more pronounced with the singing of the moving words that promised a love so strong it defeated sorrow and loss, even death. He located her then, sitting cross-legged near an old woman with a stiffened leg extended in front of her. In A’den’s arms lay a baby wrapped in a faded scrap of blanket. With wide eyes it stared up into her face while she sang.
He moved to stand over her as she finished the final strains, and when she looked up he saw tears on her cheeks. He had not found the angry woman he’d expected.
“He will not live,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“No.”
“Oh, how can this be?” The wail of her question awoke some of those who had eaten and fallen asleep, and they stirred, making startled noises in their native tongue.
Stone Heart spoke to them until they settled, then to her, amazed that he had so quickly grown used to shifting from Cheyenne to English. “Leave him now with his mother. She will see to him. We have to hurry. I don’t want you caught here.”
“Is there nothing we can do?”
He drew himself up as tall as he could, met the questioning gazes of some of
the men. “It is being done,” he said, first in Cheyenne then in English.
Nearly sobbing, A’den lay the motionless child in the arms of its mother, grazed the wind-roughened cheek with trembling fingers, then rose and took Stone Heart’s offered hand. Released from her earlier fear, she felt an intense grief for these people. And for this man forced to face a reality that might well destroy him.
“Hurry,” he urged.
She turned for one last look. “Goodbye,” she said. “Goodbye.”
Only one answered her, and she saw it was the young boy who had cooked the stew.
Then they were outside, the door closed between her and that dying world. The shock of the frigid air made her dizzy and she gulped great drafts into her smoke clogged lungs. When she lifted her face toward the sky, tiny snowflakes kissed her cheeks and melted into her tears.
He would remain with her, had chosen not to stay behind to die in a hopeless effort to change something that could not be changed. A deep sorrow settled within her, lifted only by knowing that this man loved her and she loved him.
For a long while she couldn’t speak, but hurried along beside him, struggling to match his long strides. Finally, she voiced the thoughts that crowded her mind.
“Out here we can surely do more for them. More than we could do if we remained in that dreadful place.”
“They are going to be sent to the Red Cloud Agency. Those that don’t go back to Kansas to stand charges for murder. It’s something, I suppose. It probably means the army has given up on sending them down to Fort Reno and on to Indian Territory.”
“At least we can demand they give them food and water, some blankets and more wood for their fire.”
He squeezed her hand, stepped onto the wooden planks that ran along the front of the barracks where her quarters were located. He halted at her door. “I want you to get some sleep. You’ve been up all night.”
Lying her palm alongside his icy cheek, she replied, “You too.”
He shrugged and the cold look turned his eyes to ice, frightening her. She wanted to soothe him, but wasn’t sure how. “What will you do?”
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