Black Eagle

by Charles G. West

  All at once, the boy looked up and saw the scout. There was a spark of recognition and a quick smile but, just as quickly, he looked back at his new brothers and happily resumed his play. Jason smiled. Well, he sure ain’t pining away for me, he thought. Instead of disappointment, he felt relief and a slight easing of the guilt he had felt. It appeared that the boy had sent down roots quick enough in the short time he had been with his new family. Jason and Lark were already fading in his memory. Jason felt content with the situation.

  “Well, are you going to get down? Or are you gonna set there on your horse all evening?” Ruth Woodcock’s voice cut through his reverie.

  “Evening, Ruth.” Jason stepped down and stood before the short porch. “I just thought I’d stop by to see how the youngster is doing—see if you wanted to get shed of him yet.”

  “You just try to take him,” she scolded. “I swear, Jason, that youngun fits this family like a glove. He’s already got Wes wrapped around his little finger and the boys are fighting over who gets to take care of him.”

  “I reckon that’s all I really wanted to hear.” He turned to take up Black’s reins.

  “Ain’t you gonna stay for supper?”

  “No. Thank you just the same, Ruth. I reckon I’d better take care of a few things. I just wanted to see if the boy was all right.” He paused to look once more at the child playing beside the cabin before stepping up on his horse. He tipped his hat and turned away toward the sutler’s store.

  * * *

  One day behind the two scouts, a lone figure stooped low over the remains of an antelope kill. They had stopped to butcher and eat here, he thought. The trail he followed did not lead to Laramie as he had anticipated. Instead, the two scouts were riding on a line that would take them to Fort Fetterman. This was much better in his mind. Fort Laramie was too much a white city, too many soldiers, too many whites, too many wagon trains. He had seen Fort Fetterman from a distance and it offered easier access to him. There were some Sioux and a few Cheyenne and Arapaho camped near the fort, supposedly under the protection of the soldiers. He could find protection there in one of the lodges while he searched for Coles.

  He had been disappointed in not overtaking the two white men before they reached the fort. They had traveled fast and he had been unable to make up the distance between them until they had stopped to hunt and eat. Even then he only shortened the distance to one day and they would have surely reached the soldier fort by now. This was not as he would have wished but it changed nothing. He would hunt Coles down and kill him. Coles was a thorn under his blanket and he could not rest until he tied Coles’ scalp to his lance. When that was done, he would find the child, the son of Stone Hand, and return him to the people.

  * * *

  Jason entered the sutler’s store to find Shorty Boyd already there and engaged in deep conversation with Harvey Singleton, his vocal cords having been liberally lubricated with the sutler’s version of frontier whiskey. Shorty paused when the door opened and they watched Jason enter the room.

  “Jason, you better get over here and wash the dust outta your gizzard before I drink it all up.”

  Singleton nodded at Jason. “By the glass or by the bottle?” he asked.

  “Glass,” Jason replied. “I can’t handle much more than a drink or two of that poison. Shorty handles that department well enough for both of us.”

  “Shorty’s telling me your old friend Bone ain’t coming back no more. That a fact?” He blew the dust from a glass and filled it with whiskey.

  Jason nodded. “Reckon so.”

  It was obvious that Singleton wanted more details than that. There weren’t many new stories to tell in a hard-luck post like Fetterman and he was always eager to hear a new one. “What happened? You know, when he was around, he was a pretty good customer. You ain’t killing off my customers, are you?”

  Jason shrugged. “I reckon he met with an accident,” was all he offered.

  Singleton waited expectantly but, after a few moments silence, it was obvious the solemn scout was not going to embellish on his simple explanation.

  Jason had exactly two drinks of the near paralyzing elixir and decided he’d turn in. He left Shorty to entertain the sutler and two troopers who had joined in the conversation.

  * * *

  Out on the prairie, a lone rider approached the lonely military post. He paused and hovered over the collection of tents and log buildings. The man he sought was somewhere among those structures. There was no fear in Black Eagle’s heart. He felt no alarm from the nearness of a concentration of soldiers. Neither did he underestimate the power of the famous scout, but he was confident in his own strength and power. In the weeks that followed Stone Hand’s death at the hands of Jason Coles, Black Eagle had spent many hours in meditation. He had fasted and cleansed his body in the sweat lodge and then sought a vision, asking the spirits of the rocks and trees, of the sky and water, for the power of Stone Hand—so that he could carry on the mighty Cheyenne warrior’s battle against the white man. Black Eagle was convinced that the spirits smiled on him and he had been granted the medicine he had prayed for. For proof, he had only to look back on the battle at the river. Had he not been in the thickest of the fighting? . . . Where the bullets flew like a swarm of hornets all about him? Yet not one threatened him. Now he prayed once more to the spirits to bring him Jason Coles.

  He sat on his pony and stared at the glow of the camp for a long time. Then he kicked his heels in the nearly exhausted pony’s ribs and turned him toward a circle of tipis a few hundred yards from the fort.

  Black Eagle made his way quietly into the small cluster of Cheyenne tipis, gathered on the shallow banks of an almost dry stream. He was in luck, for he was told that an uncle of his, Man Who Sings, was in the village. He was directed to his uncle’s tipi.

  Man Who Sings recognized him at once. “Black Eagle! Why do you come here? Don’t you know the soldiers look for you?”

  Black Eagle’s face took on a contemptuous smile. “I go where I want to go. I do not do the soldiers’ bidding.”

  Man Who Sings was stung by the obvious insult but he extended the traditional hospitality. “Black Eagle, you are welcome in my tipi. We have very little food but my wife has some corn meal and she will make you some bread.”

  When Black Eagle had eaten the bread, he and his uncle sat before the fire and talked. In response to Black Eagle’s questions, Man Who Sings explained that they had been given permission to camp here near the fort until they could be moved to the reservation. Black Eagle did not attempt to hide his contempt for his uncle’s people.

  “Why do you surrender your soul to the white man? He will starve you until you are dead. Many are leaving the reservation to join Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse to live as we have always lived. I, myself, have left the reservation. I will never go back.”

  “But you have come back here,” Man Who Sings pointed out.

  Black Eagle stiffened. “I have come here to avenge the death of Stone Hand.”

  Man Who Sings shook his head sadly. “Black Eagle, I am much older than you and I have known the fire of anger, just as you do now. But our time is over. The white man is too many. Stone Hand was consumed by anger and blood lust. He was feared even by his own people. He is dead now. Take my advice and forget your lust for vengeance or they will kill you too.”

  Black Eagle’s response was laced with anger, his voice soft but menacing. “Your words are hurting my ears. It is far better to die fighting these hair-faced vermin than to live under them as slaves. Stone Hand’s spirit will never die, it must be avenged. I have vowed to Man Above to place Jason Coles’ head on my lance.”

  Man Who Sings could see there was no use to try to persuade his nephew to give up his quest. He had made a vow to the spirit world. “This man, Coles, he came to the fort yesterday.”

  “I know. I have been tracking him.”

  “I will help you if I can. You are welcome to stay here until you kill him but then yo
u must not return to my tipi. The soldiers will follow you and kill us all, women and children as well.”

  Black Eagle nodded agreement. “You have seen Coles? Where does he camp?”

  Man Who Sings paused while his wife put more sticks on the fire. He waited to see if the wood caught. “I have seen him at the store. I don’t know where he sleeps.” He thought for a moment more. “He goes to the house of the older soldier, the one with the many stripes on his arm, to visit the baby.”

  This caught Black Eagle’s attention immediately. “The baby? He goes to see a baby? What baby is this?”

  “The baby he gave the soldier’s wife.”

  Black Eagle could not speak for several moments. The spirits of the rocks and mountains—Man Above, who watches through the eyes of the eagle—all the spirits of the water and trees—all are smiling down at him. How else could he explain this good fortune? The man he must kill and the child he must save, both placed before him. It was surely a prophecy.

  “You have seen this child?”

  Man Who Sings replied, “He lives with the big soldier.” Black Eagle’s excitement caused his uncle to worry. It would not do for this young renegade to bring trouble to this peaceful band of Cheyennes. “It is a baby, a white child, brought to the soldier by the white scout, Coles.”

  “It is the son of Stone Hand,” Black Eagle announced solemnly.

  CHAPTER XI

  Martha Lynch smiled sweetly at the hospital orderly who jumped to open the door for her. She swept through the hospital beds in the open ward and made her way straight to the partitioned area reserved for officers. She found Thad sitting in a chair by the window, his arm still in a sling to keep strain off of his shoulder. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned and, seeing her, his face broke out in a broad smile. He started to get to his feet but she stopped him with a motion of her hand.

  “Please, Lieutenant, don’t get up.” She seated herself on the side of his bed. “And how’s our patient today?”

  “Fine, really. The wound’s still tender and I can’t move my arm much, but I’m really all right.” He could feel the sunshine of her smile washing over his face. He couldn’t help it, she would always make him blush. “I watched you walking across the parade ground. I was hoping you were coming to see me.” His blush deepened and he immediately regretted saying it.

  She pretended not to notice his embarrassment. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I talked to the doctor and he gave me permission to take you out of here for a while to get a little fresh air.” Seeing the obvious excitement he was unable to disguise, she hastened to add, “Now, I don’t want to rush you to do anything you don’t feel up to.”

  “Oh, no,” he blurted. “I’m up to it. I must confess, I’m probably well enough to return to duty. And I would have, only I didn’t want to miss your visits.” Damn, he thought, I did it again. Every time I open my mouth, I blurt out something totally childish. She’s bound to think I’m a bona fide ninny.

  If she thought him too bold, she did not show it. In truth, it pleased her to see the confusion she caused him. “Good,” she said. “The doctor said it would do you good to get outside. I’ll be back to pick you up in about an hour. Robert has arranged to have a buckboard hitched up for us.” She caught his look of concern. “Don’t worry, I know how to drive a horse.” She got to her feet and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “In about an hour.”

  Thad sprang to his feet. “I’ll be ready,” he said and stood at the partition and watched her as she swept back through the ward. He was aware of an increased beating of his heart with the exciting thought of an afternoon alone with her. What he had told her, that he was deliberately malingering in order to spend time with her, was totally true. His troop, along with H and D Troops, had pulled out the day before, heading back to Fort Fetterman. The surgeon could have released him from the infirmary and returned him to duty. Thad was well aware that he could thank Robert for that. He was well enough to ride but he knew that there would be little chance of seeing Martha again once he left Laramie. There had been really nothing between them, but already the thought of not seeing her again was distressing to the point of misery. He almost wished she had not come to Laramie to visit her sister. At least before she came, he was unaware of his loneliness. Damn this miserable country, he complained. Why did I ever leave Virginia?

  * * *

  It was actually closer to two hours before Martha drove the buckboard up to the infirmary door. She could not afford to appear to be overly anxious so she was deliberately late. It served her purpose nicely for Thad was eaten up with anticipation before she finally arrived. She smiled warmly at him while he climbed aboard and she offered no excuse for her lateness. “I brought some fresh bread Florence just baked this morning. If we get hungry we can have that with some cheese I bought at the sutler’s store.”

  It was a lazy, sunny afternoon and they drove over toward the river. Martha had no trouble handling the horse, a fact that surprised Thad. He had thought her too delicate to control a cantankerous army mount. After a pleasant ride of about three quarters of an hour’s time, she stopped the horse under a large oak that hung like an umbrella over a small stream. The stream ran down to the river below them. It was close enough to the fort to see the activity but far enough away that the sound was no more than a gentle murmur in the background.

  “Robert said you will probably have orders to return to duty tomorrow,” she stated as she spread a blanket and took some bread from a basket behind the seat.

  “Oh?” he asked. “I hadn’t heard.” The news brought a sinking feeling in his heart.

  She looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.” She smiled. “I guess that’s an advantage of living with the post adjutant.”

  “No matter,” he said, the disappointment evident in his face. “I figured Robert couldn’t keep me here for much longer.”

  “He tried to get you transferred back to Laramie but Colonel Fleming didn’t want to release you from Fort Fetterman. He must count you as a valuable asset.”

  Thad smiled. “I think he just doesn’t have a replacement for me.” He took the bread she offered. “I do appreciate the extra time Robert managed to get for me. I thank him for that.”

  “I thank him for that too.” She smiled up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “After all, I’m the one who suggested it.” She saw him flush but before he could stammer a response, she continued, “Actually, I have two people to thank for keeping you here, Robert and Mr. Jason Coles.”

  This surprised him. “Jason? Why Jason?”

  Now it was her turn to blush. “Before you went out after those hostiles, I made him promise to look after you and bring you back safely.”

  “You did?” He was almost speechless. Could he believe what he was hearing? At this moment, he dearly hoped that her words were not merely harmless flirtation. A feeling of panic was building up inside him. He did not want to misinterpret her actions but he wanted desperately for her to feel for him the same way he ached for her. There is no time . . . a voice deep within him shouted although the only sound heard was a gentle rustle of the wind in the oak leaves and the busy hustle of the stream. He would be receiving orders the next day. He might not see her again. He must speak now or remain silent forever. “I would have come back to see you no matter what. Nothing could have kept me away.” Having said it, it seemed his words were hanging in the air between them, raw and naked, revealing his innermost soul.

  The look in her eyes told him that he had nothing to fear. She took his hand in hers and whispered, “I think I’ve become too fond of you, Lieutenant Anderson. Maybe that’s not a wise thing for me to do.”

  The panic returned. “Why?” he blurted. “I mean surely you know by now how deeply I care for you.”

  “And I for you,” she quickly returned. “But I may never see you again. What kind of future can there be for us? . . . You out here in this wilderness . . . me back in St. Louis.” She sho
ok her head sadly. “It just wouldn’t work.”

  He felt he had come too close to lose her now. “It could work. We could find a way. If you could live out here, like your sister . . . she doesn’t find it so bad to be an officer’s wife. Maybe it wouldn’t have to be for long. My enlistment is up in two years. Maybe we could get transferred back east.”

  “Thad, are you asking me to marry you?”

  “What? . . . Why yes, I guess I am . . . Will you?”

  “Oh, Thad, don’t ask me to answer that. I do love you but I don’t know what to do.” She read the disappointment in his eyes and she moved close to him to comfort him. “You’re such a little boy,” she cooed. “Who could help but love you?”

  Their lips met briefly, then again cautiously before the fire of passion ignited in both hearts at the same time and she pressed herself hard against him. They paused for a moment when she pressed too hard against his wounded shoulder. She shifted around and they came together again. The kiss was long and warm and he was almost consumed by his desire for her. He pulled her tightly against him with his one good arm until she had to push away in order to breathe. And then it ended.

  “We mustn’t,” she whispered breathlessly, pulling away from him. “We can’t . . . I don’t trust myself.” He released her and she placed her hands on each side of his face and kissed him again. “Damn you, Thad,” she whispered and kissed him again. It took a great deal of resolve on her part but she finally moved away from him, sighing as she did so. “Now, let’s eat this damn bread and cheese before I become a fallen woman.”