The next several days were a blur to David as he floated in and out of consciousness. When he awakened in an iron bed in a sparse room, a plump, frowning man leaned over him. “Good to see you coming around. We thought we’d lost you like we did poor Major Lewis.”
“Where—where am I?”
“Fort Dodge infirmary. I’m Dr. Bell,” the other said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
David moved, then moaned aloud.
“Be careful of that shoulder, young man.”
David remembered the fight with the Cheyenne then. “Major Lewis didn’t make it?”
The doctor shook his head.
“How—how long have I—?”
“Almost a week, Lieutenant.”
Glory. What had happened to her in that week? He wanted to ask about her, but he couldn’t seem to speak. David licked his cracked lips, and the doctor bent, held a cup to his mouth. David drank gratefully. The water tasted cold and good. He stared at the window and saw the frost there. “Corporal Muldoon?”
“He’s here and worried as an old mother hen about you.” The other grinned. “I understand you two are both up for promotions and medals for your bravery against the Cheyenne.”
Glory. “I—I have to get back,” David muttered, and tried to sit up which sent a spasm of agony through his body that made him cry out.
The doctor grabbed him. “Sorry, Lieutenant, you’re not going anywhere for a few more days. Maybe by then, you’ll be in shape to travel.”
David sighed with relief. “Good, maybe we can still catch the Cheyenne and—”
“No.” The doctor scratched his bald head. “I meant home. You’re a lucky young man, son, you’re getting holiday leave so that shoulder can heal. We’ve already notified Colonel Krueger to be expecting you.”
David tried to get up, but he was too weak to move. “You don’t understand. I—I’ve got to get back. Glory; the Cheyenne have her.”
“Easy, son,” the surgeon soothed him. “Would you like to see your corporal?”
David nodded. “He’s—he’s here?”
The doctor was already walking toward the door. “Hey, Corporal, he’s finally awake and asking for you.”
“By the Holy Mother, it’s about time, I’d say!” Muldoon came bursting through the door, leaning over the bed. “Hey, Davie lad, I was worried you wasn’t going to make it. In fact, I was takin’ bets—”
“I thought you swore off gambling.” David grinned, glad to see the older man.
“Ah, I still can’t pass up a sure thing.” The Irishman rubbed his hands together and grinned. “It’s colder than hell here, lad, I wish we was down south.”
“Thanks, Muldoon”—he reached out and took the other’s big, rough hand—“thanks for coming after me.”
The other blinked rapidly. “Got something in me damned eye; makes a man tear up.” He cleared his throat and looked embarrassed. “We’re heroes, did you hear? We’re goin’ get our rank back, and medals besides.”
Only one thing mattered to David. “Glory?” he whispered. “When the Cheyenne pulled out, did you find any trace of Glory?”
The other hesitated, shook his head. “The Cheyenne have disappeared like ghosts again; nobody knows where they are.”
“We—we’ve got to look for Glory,” David insisted.
There was something tragic in the other’s eyes. “Me, I’m bein’ sent to Fort Robinson up in northern Nebraska, wouldn’t you know? And me with my rheumatiz hatin’ the cold and all?”
The plump, bald doctor had moved to stand by the bed, listening.
“Where am I being assigned? I’ve got to find—”
“Davie, don’t you understand?” The old Irishman spoke gently. “You’ve been bad hurt; nearly died. You’ll be lucky to be back on duty by January. They’re sending you home for the holidays to mend.”
“I don’t want to go home,” David insisted stubbornly. “I can’t stop looking for her as long as there’s any hope.”
Muldoon sighed. “Then, lad, there’s something you should know.”
The doctor shook his head, “I think that information can wait, as weak as this man is.”
David saw the looks that passed between the other two men. He reached out and caught Muldoon’s hand. “What is it?”
“The Doc’s right,” the corporal said, and smiled a little too cheerily. “We’ll talk later.”
“Now, Muldoon, now. Oh, please, if you know something!”
Muldoon looked desperately up at the doctor, back to David. “Aw, lad, you’re puttin’ me in a bad spot.”
He knew then, knew from the looks that had passed between the other two. “It’s bad news, isn’t it? You—you know something? She was killed in that last attack?”
The doctor sighed. “You might as well tell him, Corporal; I have a feeling he won’t settle down and rest until he knows.”
Muldoon swallowed hard and reached in his coat for a small bundle. “Lieutenant, a rancher found something floating in a creek down in Indian Territory, no telling how long it’s been there or where it came from; could have washed for many miles.”
He was afraid to ask. Briefly, David closed his eyes, waiting. “I—I can take it.”
“Mother of God, forgive me,” Muldoon muttered and opened the bundle ever so slowly. Tears trickled down his weathered, ruddy face. “The rancher heard about the missing captive and brought this in.”
Very slowly, Muldoon held up a torn, stained rag. David stared at it. It was difficult to know what it might have been, but he recognized the dark stain as blood.
David reached out and took it between numb fingers. In his mind, it was that night he had been invited for dinner. Afterward, Glory leaned on the piano while David sang to her. He would always remember her lovely profile silhouetted against the glow of lamplight as she played with a beaded bracelet an Indian child had given her. In the gloaming, oh, my darling, when the lights are dim and low, when the flickering shadows falling, softly come and softly go. . . .
“Where—where did you get this?” David whispered, not wanting to believe what this damning evidence must mean.
“Floating in a creek.”
Glory was dead, David thought in dazed confusion; she had been dead for weeks. That villainous Two Arrows had tricked David into believing she was still alive so the army wouldn’t attack full force, and all the time, she had been lying dead back in Indian Territory. No doubt they had murdered her only a few days after they abducted her.
“I’m going to kill him for this!” David vowed. “I’m going to kill Two Arrows very slowly and painfully!”
He tried to get up and fell back onto the bed, too weak and ill to move, the blue rag clenched in his hand as he drifted off into unconsciousness. The last thing he remembered was Glory’s beautiful face on the night he had sung to her and how lovely she had looked in that blue calico dress.
Sixteen
Glory was relieved when Two Arrows crawled back through the rocks to her amid the thunder of gunfire. “Thank God you’re alive! I was afraid Broken Blade—”
“That sorry—! Are you all right?” He pulled her against him protectively.
She nodded. “He—he’s dead.” Glory buried her face against Two Arrows’s powerful chest. “Broken Blade tried to kidnap me when a soldier shot him; it might have been David. The soldier had a chance to kill me, too, but he hesitated.”
two Arrows brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “He’s more honorable than I gave him credit for,” he murmured, grudging respect in his voice. “I saw him take a slug, and Muldoon risking his life to rescue him.”
“Oh dear God!” Glory winced. “I hope he’s not hurt badly. I don’t love him, but I don’t want anyone killed.”
The din of battle swept over them. Two Arrows turned to survey the fight. “I don’t know if he’s dead; maybe not. There’s confusion on their side; I think their commander’s been hit. That gives us a chance to clear out.” He threw back his head and howled softly, a signal tha
t could be heard in spite of the thunder of guns. It echoed across the lonely northern Kansas plains; that song of freedom, the call of the wolf and the Cheyenne. Immediately, another warrior picked up the signal and passed it on. Within minutes, the Indians were melting into the fog, slipping away, one or two at a time until the confused and disorganized soldiers were firing at shadows, not even realizing the Cheyenne had disappeared, heading north again.
For the next few days, no one interfered with the Cheyenne as they moved near the Kansas-Nebraska border. Now and then, an old one or a child died, but the stoic Indians hardly paused for a quick ceremony. Nothing must stop the northward march because winter was coming hard now. Most mornings, when the people took the trail, the frost crunched under their moccasins. There was never enough food, and horses were worn out from the relentless pace. When a horse fell, the Cheyenne built small fires and gobbled the half-raw meat.
Two Arrows saw to it that Glory and her little group of friends was fed. She dare not ask where the supplies came from because she knew the warriors were fanning out as the group moved, taking what they needed from any ranch they crossed and killing anyone who tried to stop them.
Although she was sometimes hungry and cold, Glory was satisfied to be alive and relishing the free life that was Cheyenne; riding with her warrior, and spending her nights asleep in his strong arms. They had not been attacked by soldiers again, but Glory knew it was only a matter of time before the army picked up their trail and tried to head them off. She learned to live for the moment, not expecting that they would make it to the Dakotas, but the dream and the love her man gave her made it all worthwhile.
There were days that Glory was so exhausted, she could hardly move, but she kept going, determined that she wouldn’t hold her adopted people back. And on those nights when Two Arrows took her in his arms and made love to her in their blankets out under the stars, nothing else seemed to matter.
“Proud One, I have done wrong by you,” he whispered against her hair.
She felt a sudden alarm. “You’ve decided you don’t love me?”
They lay naked, wrapped together in his blanket. “You know better than that.” He kissed her face tenderly. “But I’ve let you in for hardship when the lieutenant could have offered you so much more.”
“Not more love.” She slipped her arms around his neck and held him close, feeling his great brave heart beating against her breast. “I am glad I made this choice, and I would follow you anywhere, my love, anywhere, no matter the danger.”
“Ne-mehotatse,” he murmured against her hair and began to stroke her naked body.
She arched herself against his seeking hand, reveling in his touch and the heat of him. “Maybe the soldiers have given up and won’t chase us anymore.”
“You know better than that,” he murmured. “We’ve made fools of the government, and so they’ll stop at nothing to catch us. But until they do, we have all these nights together.”
“And I wouldn’t trade whatever time we have left for all the luxury as a respectable white wife.” She pressed bare flesh against bare flesh as he kissed her and made love to her for the long, chill night while the big lobo wolf sang from his hilltop. “It is a good sign, Proud One, that he is still with us.” His hand stroked her breast.
She arched herself against his touch, her pulse pounding faster as he molded her against him. “Surely some of us will make it.”
Even in the moonlight, she could see the wistfulness in his dark eyes. “If I could hope for anything, it is that the army would let us go in peace and that next year, you would give me a fine, strong son.”
She held him close, thinking of the children he had lost on the Washita so many years ago. “Oh, my dear one, I hope so, too. You and the others have suffered enough at the hands of whites. It doesn’t seem too much to ask for; there are so few of us, and we want so little out of life.”
He began to kiss her breasts. “No man could ever love a woman as much as I love you.”
David had said those very words to her, she remembered. She thought of David then, a little sadly, and wished him well, but she was in the arms of the man she loved. She never wanted to be any place else but in Two Arrows’s embrace. For him, she had turned her back on David’s money and social position, but she didn’t regret it.
“Tomorrow,” Two Arrows murmured, “tomorrow, we’ll be near Sappa Creek.”
Sappa Creek? What was the significance of that? She started to ask, but when she opened her mouth, he put his tongue inside, caressing her mouth even as his hands caressed her body. At his touch, she forgot about everything else except the way he held her and made love to her. Then Two Arrows placed himself inside her body and began the slow rhythm of passion. Now she had no time to think anymore, only to feel his hard, throbbing maleness inside her, his hot mouth dominating hers, the warmth of his powerful body protecting hers as he mated with her.
Glory arched against him, excitement building, and loving him as she had never loved anyone else. When he poured his seed into her and she went into spasms of pleasure, clasping his maleness with her own body, she was doubly certain she had made the right choice. She did not know if they or any of the Cheyenne would survive this relentless trek, but these glorious moments in this warrior’s arms made her choice worthwhile.
She caught the excitement the moment her eyes opened before a cold, brisk dawn. “What is it?”
Two Arrows was painting his face red and blue and yellow, putting on a magnificent feather bonnet. “I told you last night; the Cheyenne attack Sappa Creek today; we have waited a long time for this revenge, more than three years as the white man counts.”
She looked around and saw the other warriors polishing their weapons, painting their faces. “This is crazy, we must keep moving north. This delays us.”
“We owe it to them.” Two Arrows brushed her hand away and reached for his war shield made of tough buffalo hide and painted with magic symbols. “In the spring of ’75, the soldiers attacked our camp on the creek and slaughtered our women and children without mercy. Then they threw our wounded into the fires they built to burn our tipis and supplies.”
Glory put her hand to her mouth, almost sick at the thought. “But this will alert soldiers,” she protested. “They’ll be after us again.”
Two Arrows frowned. “I knew you were too soft to be a warrior’s woman. I should have returned you to the lieutenant.”
“It’s only that I love you,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”
“The warriors have not forgotten they promised vengeance,” Two Arrows answered. “A hundred years from now, the white settlers will remember that the Cheyenne returned and evened the score for Sappa Creek.” He turned and raised his bow, shouting out to the others.
As Glory watched, he swung up on his paint horse, so resplendent in war paint and carrying his bow and rifle, his fine war shield hanging from his saddle. The war party rode out at a gallop, shouting their war chants. Only after they disappeared into the cold dawn did she remember that Howard’s brother, Nat, lived near Sappa Creek. She gritted her teeth, remembering. Maybe she should welcome revenge, too. Nat deserved whatever he got for what he had attempted to do to her.
Howard Halstead stood by his brother, smiling as he watched the glowing flames consuming the homesteader’s cabin. “You find anything else to steal?”
Nat laughed and held up a small bag. “A little gold, that’s all. This was a great idea, brother, paintin’ ourselves up like Injuns, killin’ and robbin’. Those damned Cheyenne who are on the loose will get the blame for it.”
Howard wiped at the war paint on his face. “And in the meantime, we’ve hit a dozen ranches and homesteads this past week, gathering up gold and horses. The women weren’t bad, either.”
“You finish with the woman inside?”
Howard nodded and held up a blond scalp. “She had nice tits on her; too bad we couldn’t keep her.”
Nat sighed. “She was a pure pleasure for a man t
o lie on, wasn’t she? ’Course we couldn’t leave her alive to tell on us. Never mind, brother, there’ll be more homesteaders’ wives and daughters. We can expect to play hell for another month and let the Injuns take the blame.”
“You take care of the man?”
Nat looked over his shoulder toward the barn and held up a scalp. “Sure did. Another poor homesteader killed by those damned Cheyenne!” He laughed as he tucked the scalp in his belt.
“Well, then, let’s round up the horses and clear out before anyone sees the smoke from this burning cabin and comes to investigate.”
“Right!” Nat wiped his bloody knife on his pants and stuck it in his belt. “You’ll be rich again, brother, and the Injuns will get the blame.”
“Then I’m going down to Indian Territory and get my woman back,” Howard grumbled. “Glory was a real challenge; I always thought if I beat her enough, I could break her; she was too damned proud. She might not be proud anymore; I heard her pa died, and she’s strugglin’ to make a livin.’ ”
“She won’t want to come with you.” Nat kicked through the rubble for anything else worth stealing.
“Aw.” Howard made a gesture of dismissal. “Nobody’s gonna stop a man from taking his own wife with him so he can talk some sense into her.” He pulled the small oval, daguerreotype from his pocket. “See, I still carry the uppity little bitch’s picture.”
“She was uppity all right,” Nat agreed. “Imagine her squawking just because we wanted her to take us both on; after all, we’re brothers.”
They started toward their horses.
“Damned bitch,” Howard complained, “humiliated me to death with that divorce. When I get her back, I’ll make her wish she hadn’t of done that.”
They strode through the burning rubble, kicking things out of the way, the bloody scalps hanging from their belts.
“And then we’ll share her?” Nat asked.
“Hell, why not?” Howard laughed. “If I can’t breed her, maybe you can and we’d keep the whelp in the family.”
Cheyenne Song Page 23
