Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  “Thank you, sir.” David and Muldoon saluted, joined by the soldier carrying the two flags, and turned to canter out into the bare, half-frozen prairie, the cloth flapping in the cold morning air.

  In the distant rocks, Glory stood by Two Arrows’s side and watched the soldiers in the distance, wondering whose troops these were? “Look, there’s a trio riding out.”

  Two Arrows frowned. “Want to parley, no doubt. Get down, Proud One. The soldiers have no qualms about shooting women.” He put his hand on her shoulder, pushed her gently down behind a boulder.

  She tried to peek over the edge of the rock, but could see little. She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she had to know. “You’re not going to be the one they send out again?”

  He nodded. “We’re only buying time; there’s no honest negotiating with the whites. They’ll insist that we return to the reservation, and our people will die fighting first.”

  “They chase you because of me.”

  “No, they would chase us anyway.” Two Arrows hesitated as he reached for his horse’s reins. He turned his head and looked at her with an emotion in his dark eyes that warmed her to her very soul. “Proud One, I can no longer hold you against your will, I care too much for you. If you want to return to the whites, I will take you with me when I ride out under the white flag.”

  “No!” She caught his arm. “I don’t want to leave you. Besides, no matter what they say, I fear once they have me, they will attack the Cheyenne without mercy.”

  He patted her hand absently, nodding toward Wild Hog, and Tangle Hair, leader of the dog soldiers, who waited a few yards away carrying dirty, ragged white banners. “I must go now, Proud One. You might want to rethink your choices. Look at who is in that truce party.”

  She peered up over the rock, staring at the trio of bluecoats cantering out into the middle of the prairie. One she didn’t recognize; but the other two were David and old Muldoon. She felt no emotion, no rush of feeling. Instead, she tightened her grip on Two Arrows’s arm. “If I rode out, met with them, and told them I was staying of my own free will, perhaps they would stop chasing us—”

  “If you rode out there and said that,” Two Arrows frowned, “they’d think you’re temporarily insane, grab you, force you to go back with them. I’ll ride out.”

  “No!” she protested again. “David is liable to shoot you on sight—”

  “I don’t think so.” Two Arrows shook his head. “The lieutenant hates me, but he’s an old-fashioned officer who plays by the rules. He would think it dishonorable to kill me as long as I ride under a flag of truce.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like you admire David.”

  Two Arrows put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. “I can respect the lieutenant and still dislike him. Choose carefully, Proud One; this may be your very last chance!”

  Their gazes locked for a long moment, and she knew in her heart that she had found the man destined for her, the man she loved more than life itself. She reached up and put her arms around his sinewy neck. “No, I want to stay with you, my love. Never again do I want to be Glory Halstead, the white woman. From now on, I am Proud One of the northern Cheyenne!”

  “Ne-mehotatse,” he murmured and pulled her close, kissed her. “I’ll tell the lieutenant that his woman is now mine.”

  She reveled in the strong warmth of his embrace. “Come back to me soon, my warrior.”

  “Nothing can keep me from your arms,” he whispered, “not after the love you gave me last night.” He kissed her again, swung up on the paint stallion and galloped to join Tangle Hair and Wild Hog, riding out to meet the soldiers under the ragged scrap of white cloth.

  When David realized who was riding toward him, he took a deep breath and laid his hand on his holster, then remembered he was unarmed. Truce parley or not, he intended to kill this scout.

  The Indians rode up and reined in, Two Arrows holding up his hand in the age-old sign. “Hou.”

  David fought for self-control. “The proper sign from you is a salute.”

  The other’s lip curled in disdain. “I salute only those I respect.”

  How he wished he had his pistol! However, besides the fact that it was dishonorable, to kill these envoys under a white flag would endanger Glory. The other two sat like stone, impassive and expressionless. Perhaps they spoke no English. “You—you still have the woman?”

  Two Arrows nodded. Was that just a trace of triumph in his dark eyes? “I have her. She says she does not wish to return to the whites.”

  “You lie!” David shouted, losing control. “She would never say that! You’re holding her against her will!”

  The other’s face darkened with anger. “One thing I do not do is speak with a forked tongue; I leave that to the whites.”

  Two Arrows looked cold sober, David thought, then remembered there was no place the scout could get liquor out here. “I have no proof except your word that she is all right. Bring your people in; the soldiers have plenty of food and supplies, whiskey for you.”

  Two Arrows spit in disdain. “I do not want the liquor, and my people are not willing to trade freedom for food.”

  Muldoon cleared his throat. “Two Arrows, you and me was always on good terms.”

  The other nodded, and his expression warmed. “Your heart understands the Cheyenne, Muldoon.”

  “Aye, your people and the Irish have both been mistreated; we both know what it is to hunger for freedom. Still and all, you know how the lieutenant cares about the lady. Can you not find it in your heart to return her?”

  “I would if she would come,” the warrior said gravely, “but she will not.”

  It was all David could do to keep from throwing himself at the arrogant brave, grabbing him by the throat, choking the life from his lying lips. He glanced up at the white flag flapping in the cold wind over his head. He was bound by honor. “You offer no proof that she’s alive, that she’s well cared for?”

  “She’s all right,” Two Arrows said firmly. “Believe me. I have protected and cared for her myself.”

  “What does that mean?” David said, suddenly upset by the expression in the other’s eyes.

  Two Arrows shrugged. “Exactly what I said. I will not trade her for food or even weapons and ammunition. For her sake, will you stop pursuing my people?”

  “You know I have no authority to agree to that!” David snapped.

  He saw a new, grudging respect in Two Arrows’s dark eyes. “You could promise with no intentions of keeping it as other white men have always done. Yet you do not. Why not, Krueger? After all, no one expects you to keep your word to a savage.”

  “I am an officer in the United States Cavalry,” David said through clenched teeth, “and I am honor-bound, even though I have vowed to kill you, and make no mistake, I have made that vow.” David glared at him, imagining Two Arrows groveling on the ground, begging for his life, while David coldly put his pistol barrel against the black hair and pulled the trigger.

  In that long moment, the big chestnut stallion stamped its hooves and the banners snapped in the wind overhead. In the distance, the first orange edge of the sun peeked over the horizon; blurring in the early-morning fog. David shifted uneasily in his saddle, more than a little aware of the mounted soldiers behind him and the armed warriors up in the rocks ahead. “Let Glory ride out here and tell me herself she doesn’t want to return to the whites.”

  “The Proud One offered to do that,” Two Arrows said, “but I told her the whites had no scruples, they’d grab her and force her to return to the fort.”

  The Proud One, David thought; what a perfect description for Glory. Even if the Indian was mistreating her, she wouldn’t beg; she’d never begged anyone for anything in her whole life. It wasn’t in Glory to bend to anyone for any reason.

  David took a deep shuddering breath. “Is this your final word then, you will not return the woman or let us speak with her?”

  “I told you it w
as her choice.”

  “I will not believe that unless I hear it from her own lips,” David snarled. “You leave me no alternative but to report to my major; he will order an attack; many will die!”

  Two Arrows shrugged. “We all die sooner or later. It is only important how we die and what we are willing to die for. Freedom and the love of a woman are worth fighting for.” Two Arrows turned and looked over his shoulder at the rising sun that bathed the frosted landscape and the drifting fog with a pale orange glow. “It is perhaps a good day to die.”

  “Listen to me!” David shouted. “Do you people not understand you cannot walk all the way to the Dakotas?”

  Two Arrows smiled ever so slightly. “We seem to have no other choice except to starve in the Indian Territory.”

  “Be reasonable”—David looked around at the three warriors, knowing the other two probably did not understand a word of English—“frost already coats the ground every morning; soon the snow will be too deep, and you will all freeze to death. I don’t want that to happen to Mrs. Halstead.”

  “I don’t want it to happen to her, either,” Two Arrows said softly, “but time is our enemy, and the soldiers waste our time.”

  “Damn you, Two Arrows, you know I can’t just let your people ride out! We’ll have to try to stop you!”

  “Then it is a good day to die,” he said gravely, nodding to the other two silent warriors with him. They wheeled their horses and cantered back toward the rocks. It almost seemed to David that the arrogant Cheyenne was deliberately offering him the target of his broad back.

  David gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt. “That arrogant son of a bitch! I ought to—”

  “Aye, but you won’t,” Muldoon said softly. “Well, lad, I ken there’s naught to do now but report to the major. I was hopin’ in my heart of hearts we’d find a way out of this.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, Muldoon.”

  “No, but I’m like the rest of the men, lad. We hate the killin’ of women and small ones, and see no harm in lettin’ them go home.”

  “Damn, Muldoon, you’re an Indian lover sure enough. Well, let’s report.” With a heavy heart and a sense of dread, David wheeled Second Chance and galloped back to his own lines, followed by the other two. Glory. Oh God, Two Arrows still had her, and Major Lewis would insist on launching a full assault! David loved her more than life itself, and he was going to have to fire on her.

  With a sense of relief, Glory watched Two Arrows returning. To judge from his set features, the news hadn’t been good, but then nobody had expected the army would let the Cheyenne ride out in peace. She had recognized David out there. Almost, she had been tempted to call to him, tell him she didn’t want to return to her own people, that she was where she wanted to be, with Two Arrows and his people.

  Behind her, she heard a soft chuckle, glanced back. Broken Blade stood just behind her, and he was bringing his rifle to his shoulder. “We’re going to fight the whites anyway, pretty white girl, I might as well begin the battle now!”

  Only then did she realize he was aiming for Two Arrows. “No!” She screamed out and grabbed up a rock, running at him even as he pulled the trigger.

  Her shout seemed to startle Broken Blade as he fired. She glanced back just in time to see Two Arrows react; whether in surprise, or because he’d been hit, she couldn’t be sure. Firing broke out from both sides; each side obviously thinking the other had begun the fight. She ran at Broken Blade, her heart full of murder. “Trying to kill your own warriors! I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing, white girl!” Broken Blade caught her, twisting the stone from her hand as he dragged her into the rocks. “The two of us will escape while the cavalry and my people fight it out!”

  Glory raked her nails across his ugly face as they struggled. “Two Arrows will stop you! Wait ’til Dull Knife finds out you’re a traitor!”

  “Everyone else is too busy fighting!” He clapped his hand over her mouth, his other pawing her body as they struggled.

  Glory fought with all her strength, but Broken Blade dragged her toward two horses tied in the shadows and the fog. Around her, confusion reigned, while shots and shrieks echoed through the coming dawn.

  Two Arrows felt the bullet rip through his shirt and automatically shied, swearing under his breath as he fell from his horse, rolling behind a boulder.

  That white coward! He would have sworn David Krueger was too honorable to shoot him from behind. However, the lieutenant was looking back, his expression as shocked as Two Arrows felt. Did he think Two Arrows had fired at him? Yet if the soldiers hadn’t fired prematurely, who had?

  All hell had broken loose after that first shot shattered the dawn; both sides firing wildly. Two Arrows hunched behind the rock, assessing the situation. He was pinned down here for the time being. His first thoughts were for Glory’s safety, but he’d left her up in the rocks; maybe she’d be safe enough until warriors diverted the bluecoats’ bullets so that Two Arrows could escape. Until then, he was powerless to move.

  David galloped back into his own lines, swearing mightily. “Damn it, who fired that shot? I’ll see that man court-martialed! Who fired on a flag of truce?”

  Muldoon galloped up to him, shouting, “It came from the other side, lad! I’d swear it wasn’t aimed at you but at the scout! ”

  “Impossible!” David answered over the thundering rifle fire, his fine chestnut stallion snorting and stamping its hooves. “The Cheyenne wouldn’t shoot at their own!”

  Quickly, David looked around in the gray dawn, assessed the situation. Major Lewis was down, the soldiers firing in confusion. In the distance, the Cheyenne seemed to be pulling back into the foggy gray light of dawn. By the time full daylight came, they would have faded into the distance if someone didn’t stop them. He had to stop them and save Glory.

  David hesitated, trying to make a plan. David didn’t see Two Arrows anywhere, but he had seen him fall when that first shot rang out. Maybe the big scout was dead.

  David held his stallion in, looking over the Cheyenne lines with an experienced eye. There was a weak place in the Cheyenne defense to the left. Maybe, just maybe, he could get behind the warriors. If Glory was in that camp somewhere, this might be his only chance to take them by surprise and save her. He spurred the great stallion to one side, giving Second Chance his head as he galloped along a low string of bushes. Behind him, he heard Muldoon cry out in protest at his foolhardy action, but David paid him no heed, thinking of nothing but Glory’s safety. Several times in the past, Indians had killed captives when the army tried to recapture them.

  Hunching low over his stallion’s saddle, David swung wide and galloped to one side of the Cheyenne lines. Maybe because it was a foggy dawn, no one seemed to notice him. Good! He’d get behind the Cheyenne, and—

  What was that in the distance? A Cheyenne warrior struggling with an Indian girl. Puzzled, David slowed. Why would the brave be trying to drag the girl away and why would she be fighting him? Once she broke away and the warrior brought his knife up as if he intended to kill her. David brought his rifle up and fired instinctively. The warrior whirled, firing just as David fired. David saw the sudden spurt of blood, and the warrior crumpled even as David felt the bullet tear into his own shoulder. Almost in a daze, he watched the Indian girl running away from the dead warrior. David brought the rifle up again, hesitated. As much as he had reason, to hate the Cheyenne, he couldn’t kill a woman. He swayed in his saddle, fighting the pain as the rifle fell from his numb fingers. If he didn’t make it back to his own lines, the Cheyenne might torture him if they captured him alive.

  “Take me—take me back, boy,” he whispered to his horse, and struggled to rein the horse around. Second Chance was the best and fastest horse on the plains, David thought, reeling in the saddle. His shoulder seemed to be on fire and he could feel warm blood running down his arm. Around him, shots echoed and reechoed; horses whinnied, and men screamed and died. He wasn’t goin
g to make it; he was losing consciousness.

  It seemed almost from a long way away that he heard that rough Irish voice shouting encouragement. “Hang on, lad, I’m coming! ”

  Muldoon. Good old Muldoon. In a daze, David hung on to the saddle. He had never been in such pain and his blue uniform seemed wet with blood. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stay conscious and keep moving back through the line of fire. Then that ruddy Irish face was close to his as the other grabbed David’s reins. “Hold on, lad!”

  “No, got to go back . . .” he protested, “Glory! Got to save Glory!” He swayed in the saddle as Muldoon led the chestnut stallion back toward the soldiers.

  The next thing he remembered was the ground coming up to meet him and Muldoon by his side, lifting him. “You’ll be all right, Davie lad. Major Lewis is hit, too.”

  David opened his eyes. Around him, shots still rang out and men screamed. “Muldoon, she—she must be there somewhere.”

  “Did you see anything of her?” The old Irishman bent over him, stifling the flow of blood.

  He was slipping into unconsciousness, but he shook his head. “Killed a warrior, only saw an Indian girl....” He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  “Take it easy, lad,” Muldoon whispered. “Cheyenne are riding out, but we’ve too many men hurt to follow!”

  Glory. Two Arrows still had her, and David hadn’t rescued her. “Got to save her,” he whispered, “got to—”

  “You and Major Lewis are both in a bad way, lad.” Muldoon held a canteen to his lips. “You aren’t goin’ anywhere except to the nearest fort hospital!”