Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  “Don’t even think that!” David commanded, gnashing his teeth in fury. “Even if—if that’s what happened, it doesn’t count; leastways, not to me. I’m going to kill that arrogant, drunken bastard, and then I’m going to marry Glory and take her away from all these terrible memories.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Up ahead in the snow lay a small body covered with blood. David’s heart lurched in fear, and then he realized it wasn’t Glory after all. It was a young Indian boy, sprawled as if he’d been running when he was shot down. The heat of his thin body had melted the snow beneath him.

  “Holy Mother of God,” Muldoon whispered, “we’re killin’ children.”

  David blinked, staring down at the pitiful form. The boy couldn’t have been much younger than his brother, Joe. He swallowed hard and urged his stallion forward. Up ahead lay another body, a young woman. David rode over and looked down. Glory? No. In his mind, he saw Susan dead on the prairie. White men could kill women and children, too, he realized, just as Indians had done. “It shouldn’t have come to this,” he whispered. “What drove these people to such desperation?”

  He must not show pity; these were enemies, courageous and daring as they might be. David had vowed to track down one of them and execute him as coldly as if he were the colonel shooting a colt with bad legs. Absentmindedly, he reached to pat Second Chance’s neck.

  David looked around. They must be at least a mile from the fort, coming up behind the infantry scattered through the woods and across the prairie. Gunfire echoed ahead. People were dying out here in the cold night, some of them only wounded and freezing to death. He didn’t hate Indians enough to do that to women, children, and old people.

  “Sergeant Muldoon, order the men to fan out and search; back up the infantry, gather up any wounded Indians and take them to the fort infirmary. Then you come with me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The old Irishman turned the fat buckskin and rode back to shout orders while David pulled his hat down farther on his pale hair and waited, his breath hanging like icy fog in the bright moonlight.

  Oh, Glory, I’m so worried for you. He looked around, wondering where she might be. The countryside would have been beautiful in spring perhaps, but now it was stark and windswept and so very cold. David shivered in spite of his heavy fur coat, thinking about the Indians who were out there without coats or boots or horses. For the most part, it was going to be like tracking down helpless rabbits as they floundered through the drifts, struggling vainly to escape the well-armed cavalry coming relentlessly behind them.

  Muldoon rejoined him. “The men are spreading out, as you ordered.”

  David nodded, looking around him. “What’s up ahead, Muldoon?”

  “A creek and some bluffs, sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  They rode through the snow, their horses at a walk because of the drifts until, in the distance, they could see the looming shadows of the bluffs.

  “If the Cheyenne could reach the top, they might be able to make a stand,” David thought aloud. “But I doubt they have much in the way of weapons or ammunition.”

  “I imagine the poor devils aren’t worried about makin’ a stand, Davie boy. They’re just tryin’ to get away.”

  “I know one that’s not going to get away,” David said through clenched teeth, urging his horse through the snow again. “I’m going to kill him!”

  Up ahead, David saw a little knot of soldiers gathered around. Oh God. He could only pray they hadn’t found Glory’s body. After all they’d been through, she just couldn’t be dead, not when he’d finally arrived to rescue her. He reined in and dismounted. “What’s the story, men?”

  They saluted. A young, red-faced corporal, pointed to the ground. An old Springfield single-shot rifle lay in snow that was scarlet with blood where someone or something had fallen. David leaned over. The outline of a woman’s very small footprint showed clearly. He picked up the weapon. “Is this the best they’ve got?”

  “Most of them only have clubs or knives, sir. If they’ve got guns, they don’t seem to have any cartridges. One of them dropped this.” The man held out a small daguerreotype. In the bright moonlight, David recognized that proud, lovely face immediately. Glory. His heart seemed to twist in his chest. Oh, Glory. “What—what happened here?”

  The corporal said, “We was close on their heels, sir, and this big buck was running way ahead of us; we never would have got him; but there was a woman laggin’ behind.”

  David looked down at the blood-smeared ice. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  The corporal, encouraged by his silence said, “The woman tripped and fell. We thought we shore ’nuff would get her; but then she screamed out. That big Injun was almost to safety, but when she screamed, he turned and came back for her, swinging this empty rifle at us; biggest man I ever saw!”

  There was a murmur of agreement from the others.

  David took a deep breath. Two Arrows, they had just described Two Arrows. “And then what?”

  “We was layin’ down a deadly fire,” another said, “but that Injun came right through it. He must have knowed he’d get hit, but he kept comin’ until he got to her. He dropped this weapon and this here picture when he was hit. Pretty, ain’t she?”

  David looked at it again. For a moment, he could not speak, only nod. “The—the most beautiful woman I ever saw,” he said.

  “The big Injun was hit more’n once, I reckon,” the corporal volunteered, “but still, with her screamin’ and reachin’ for him, he kept comin’!”

  “No.” David shook his head. “You must be mistaken; she’s his hostage. She was trying to get away; screaming for help from you soldiers—”

  “Beg your pardon, sir,” said another trooper, “but I don’t think so. She was reaching for him like a drowning person reaches for a life preserver, and he kept coming, even after he was hit. You should have seen the look on his face as he scooped her up.”

  “Never saw anything like it,” the corporal said with awe. “Him bad hurt and coming back for her, right through a line of gunfire. He must love that squaw something fierce.”

  David didn’t attempt to correct the soldiers this time; they didn’t know about the white hostage and how Glory must have been attempting to escape. Of course Two Arrows wanted to hang on to his hostage. Poor thing, she must be terrified. David’s anger waxed even hotter. “So did you lose them?”

  The corporal pointed at the bluffs. “They went up there, sir; didn’t think they’d make it with him hurt so bad, but she seemed to be encouraging him, urging him up the trail.”

  Muldoon didn’t say anything.

  “Corporal,” David snapped, “I don’t think you men know exactly what you saw. Why didn’t you go after them?”

  The young man gestured toward the top. “I think there might be a few up there with guns; not certain how they got them, but we don’t know how much ammunition. We was waitin’ for reinforcements while we tried to decide what to do. That’s a pretty steep climb with someone shootin’ at you.”

  The others nodded agreement.

  Muldoon blew on his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. “Did you blokes see an old woman and a little girl?”

  “Seen lots of them,” one said. “Some dead, some just hurt; dirty shame.”

  A murmur of agreement from the soldiers. Their expressions betrayed that they were not happy about being out in the cold darkness shooting women and children.

  Muldoon described the pair he meant and a private said he might have seen them climbing that trail earlier.

  David took no part in the discussion, his mind busy assessing the bluff. It was suicide to attempt that trail if armed men waited at the top. Worse than that, he didn’t want a stray bullet injuring Glory. He only hoped Two Arrows didn’t die of his wounds before David could find him. He didn’t want to be done out of the pleasure of killing him.

  “Corporal,” David said, “scatter out and look around; there may be some Indians h
iding in these ravines.”

  The younger man saluted. “Yes, sir; if you don’t mind, we’d like to try to pick up some more of these wounded and get them back to the infirmary.”

  David saluted. “Permission granted. Come, Muldoon, let’s see what we can do about trailing Two Arrows.”

  Muldoon urged his buckskin forward, but he looked none too happy. “Davie lad, suppose she was reachin’ for him?”

  “Have you taken up liquor along with your gambling habit?” David was incredulous. “Glory’s a hostage, trying to escape and—”

  “Captain, I didn’t tell you how I knew she was with the Cheyenne.”

  “I figured she managed to slip you some desperate note or—”

  “He told me,” Muldoon said. “Two Arrows told me and asked me to contact you, get you to come after her.”

  “Muldoon, you’ve been on the sauce. Why would that savage do that?”

  “He loves her, Davie; he wanted her to be safe; he wanted you to take her away from here.”

  “No”—David shook his head—“he was trying to get me to this fort where he might have a chance to kill me. He’s holding Glory as a hostage against her will.”

  Muldoon sighed and shrugged.

  David turned his attention to the terrain as they rode closer. “There must be a path up the back side of these bluffs that the others don’t know about. Muldoon, you know about this bluff from the Indians, don’t you?”

  “Davie, why don’t you let the poor devils go? There can’t be many of them left alive up there—”

  “Because I’ve got a man to kill and a woman to rescue. I can’t believe my ears, Sergeant. I think you’re actually trying to thwart me.” He glared at the older man, his temper rising. “Muldoon, if you know a way up the back of these bluffs, I order you to take me there.”

  “Yes, sir.” Muldoon sighed and rode past him, his shoulders slumped in resignation.

  So Muldoon does know, David thought, and fell in behind him as Muldoon swung in a wide circle. How he had dreamed of this moment! David reached for his rifle, checked to make sure it was fully loaded, balanced it in the crook of his arm as he rode. He wanted to be ready for any danger. His poor Glory! Even now, she might be begging her kidnapper for mercy—no, Glory was proud, David remembered, she wouldn’t beg anyone for anything; not even her own life. His arms ached to hold her, take her to safety.

  The path began to wind up the rear of the bluffs. Good, David thought with satisfaction, staring at Muldoon’s back, they’d be coming up behind any unsuspecting Indians. That gave him a better chance to get Two Arrows before the savage could harm her. He had waited a long time for this moment!

  She was resigned to dying as long as they died together. She lay holding Two Arrows, attempting to keep him warm. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness as she stared out at the snowy terrain and awaited the inevitable.

  A movement caught her eye and she tensed. Three horses appeared suddenly, coming up the back trail. In the moonlight, she recognized David and Muldoon and the horses. Almost she shouted out in relief, then noted the grim expression of David’s square, calm face, and the way he carried his rifle at the ready. He hadn’t come to help; he had come to kill. The wind carried his faint words to her as he dismounted.

  “Look around for footprints, Muldoon, they must be up here somewhere.”

  “Yes, sir.” Muldoon dismounted, began to search farther away, finally disappeared over the rise.

  Glory held her breath, pressing herself against Two Arrows, who lay still as if he might be unconscious. Perhaps David would find nothing and leave.

  Instead, he tied the two horses to a bush only a few yards away and looked around.

  Misty. Thank God the wind was blowing toward Glory; if her beloved horse smelled her, the filly might nicker a welcome and alert David to her whereabouts. Glory stared at the two horses wistfully, noting the canteens, the blankets, and the saddlebags, no doubt full of food. Everything she and her love needed to escape and make it to safety was out here—and between her and all that was a grim man with a loaded rifle, looking for tracks. The silver bars on his shoulders gleamed in the moonlight. Captain Krueger. So he, like Muldoon, had finally gotten another chance. She was glad for him.

  Glory hesitated, watching him as he squatted, studying the terrain, looking for tracks in the snow. Maybe she could make a deal with him; maybe if she went with David, he would let her lover go.

  At that moment as she tried to decide what to do, David leaned over and picked up a dead leaf and smiled in triumph. In the moonlight, she could see the bright blood on the leaf. “He’s hit!” David said, and smiled in triumph as he clicked the safety off his rifle.

  Her heart fell at the hard look of vengeance on his face; David would give no mercy.

  She tried to keep from breathing, fearing David might hear her. He walked a few steps closer, leaned over and picked up something, held it up. Her little beaded bracelet. Even from here, she saw the expression on his face soften.

  David stared at the little object in his hand. For a moment, he was seated at the piano again while Glory leaned on it, her lovely face profiled in the dim light. She was wearing that blue calico dress and this very bracelet, and she smiled sweetly. In the gloaming, oh, my darling....

  David’s vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly to clear it, reached inside his coat to put the bracelet in his shirt pocket. They were up here, all right; he imagined Glory held captive and terrified. David would kill that disrespectful son of a bitch for everything he’d done to her.

  He looked around the bluff, his rifle at the ready. Good, Muldoon had disappeared over the rise, searching around. David didn’t want any witnesses nearby in case he stumbled onto the wounded scout. He intended to execute Two Arrows with no more guilt than he’d expend on a big rattlesnake. Like rattlesnakes and just as dangerous, the Cheyenne could be holed up here in these rocks; except that rattlesnakes would hibernate in all this cold, and Cheyenne were always deadly.

  He hefted his rifle again, eager to have this long rivalry between him and the disrespectful scout over and done with. The promotion and reward would be nice; his father would be proud; but none of that mattered. This was personal.

  Ahead lay a rock outcrop. Yes, that would be a good place for a wounded predator to hole up. David moved to one side of the outcrop so the moonlight would light up the shadows. At that moment, David saw them. The pair were lying under a rocky ledge, Glory’s eyes staring back at him, wide with fear. Except for those beautiful dark eyes, he might not have recognized her, dressed as she was in buckskin and braided hair.

  Then Two Arrows moved ever so slightly, and David realized just how hurt the man was. The big Indian was all but helpless; no weapon, he might not even be conscious. There weren’t a dozen yards between David and his quarry.

  I’ll save you, Glory, don ’t worry, my love. Very slowly, David brought the rifle to his shoulder, smiling a little. He had the Cheyenne’s forehead in his gun sights now.

  In that split second before David could squeeze the trigger, Glory threw herself across the half-conscious man, shielding him with her body, putting herself between danger and the Cheyenne. She looked up at David in the moonlight, and her lips moved silently. Please, her lips and her eyes begged. Oh, please don’t kill him!

  Glory begging? No, she was too proud, and this man was her kidnapper, yet she lay so that David couldn’t shoot without hitting her.

  David blinked, saw the tears running down her beautiful face, please, she begged silently, oh please, I love him.

  Abruptly, David knew. She wasn’t a hostage. Back there when she fell and could have been rescued by the soldiers, she had instead reached for Two Arrows, who loved her enough to run through deadly gunfire to reach her side. David had thought no man could ever love Glory as much as he did. He’d been wrong. Tears came to David’s eyes and blinded him. She was lost to him forever, lost.

  Two Arrows opened his eyes slowly, too wounded
to even move, looking without fear into the cocked rifle; yet injured as he was, he tried to pull the girl into the protection of his embrace.

  David had waited a long time for this, dreamed of this moment. He stared down the rifle sight, looking into the other man’s eyes. “This is for Glory,” he whispered. Then, very slowly, David lowered the rifle to his side.

  Glory began to sob silently, relief on her beautiful, blood-smeared face, still shielding the wounded scout with her own body. Her love for that man was there in her eyes for all the world to see.

  David stared at her, seeing that love reflected in her face, a love that was not for him; imagining the Cheyenne running through deadly gunfire to return for her and Glory reaching for him. Two Arrows was the man she loved.

  David had never felt such inner pain. For only a moment, David considered, then he made his decision. He pulled off the buffalo coat, hung it across the chestnut’s saddle. He threw his arms around his stallion’s neck; knowing the sacrifice he would make. “Good-bye, Chance, boy, take care of them; they’re depending on you.”

  Then he turned to walk away, leaving the two horses behind. It was cold without a coat. David shivered and kept sloughing through the snow, his rifle in the crook of his arm. He turned once and looked back. The pair were wearing the fur coats now, mounted on the horses. The expensive fur hood framed her features, and she had never looked as beautiful to David as she did at that moment, sitting that gray filly in the moonlight.

  Her lips moved silently. Thank you, she said.

  He nodded to show he understood. I love you, he whispered, and the cold wind took his words away and lost them on the wind. Have a wonderful life.

  Two Arrows sat the chestnut stallion, staring at David almost in disbelief. Then very slowly, he raised a bloody, trembling hand, snapped David a salute.

  David paused only a moment, then he returned that salute. They looked at each other a long moment; two men who had reached an understanding of mutual respect. “Take care of her,” he whispered, and the other man nodded.

  David was suddenly so blinded with tears, he could not see. He turned again and strode away. If he looked back, he might weaken and not be able to let her go. Muldoon was out here someplace. He heard a step crunch through the snow, and the sergeant came out of some trees. He was without his fur coat and afoot, carrying his rifle in one hand, a small object in the other.