Climb the Highest Mountain

by Rosanne Bittner

  A private crept over to him, crouched low. The boy reloaded his rifle with shaking hands. “You scared, Lieutenant?” the boy asked.

  Dan pushed his hat back, studying the boy, remembering his own first days in the Army and the Mexican War. “Sure I’m scared. A man would be a fool not to be. I’ve seen what the Sioux do to some of their captives. But help is coming, Private. Don’t you worry. It’s good to be scared. Keeps you alert like you ought to be. There’s a difference between being scared and being a coward, Private.”

  The boy grinned a little. “I suppose.” He finished loading his gun. “You married, sir?”

  Dan pulled a last cigar from his pocket. “No,” he answered quietly. “I was. My wife is dead.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Dan lit the cigar. “You couldn’t know.” He puffed on the smoke for a moment. “I have a little girl. She’s coming out next month with a Regiment out of St. Louis.”

  The boy grinned again. “That’s real nice. I hope she makes it safely. How old is she, sir?”

  Dan stared at the cigar he held between his fingers. “Jennifer is almost nine.”

  The boy turned to peek out over the trench. “I have a girl back in Illinois that I’m going to marry. I’ve been wanting her to come out, but with the Indians at war like they are, I’m afraid for her.”

  Dan puffed the cigar again. “Don’t be, Private. Send for her. Believe me, a few years of being with your love is a lot better than many years apart. More and more wives are coming out all the time. Send for the girl and marry her. Don’t waste your time leaving her back East when you’re out here.”

  The young man frowned. “I don’t know. She could die young out here.”

  Dan lightly pressed out his cigar, wanting to save as much of it as he could. “She could also die young back East like my wife did.”

  A bullet hit the dirt just in front of them, sending sand and tiny rocks flying. They ducked.

  “Do me a favor, Private, and get around to all the others if you can. Give me a count of the dead and wounded, and tell them to guard their ammunition. I don’t want them wasting it on targets that can’t possibly be hit. We must make every shot count.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy scooted off as a new band of Sioux and Cheyenne swooped out of the hills for another attack, screeching and war whooping and raising their lances. Some braves had crept forward ahead of them, and they let off a volley of shots to keep the soldiers down and unable to fire as the mounted Indians circled closer, shooting arrows in arcs so they came down like rain on the soldiers. The painted warriors shot the arrows while riding, sometimes hanging from the sides of the horses facing away from the soldiers so that the horses provided protection for them. Dan never ceased to admire their riding ability and the feats they could perform while on a fast-moving pony. He had seen Zeke perform similar tricks, and Swift Arrow and Wolf’s Blood. He wished the days of peaceful visiting had not ended.

  The thundering hooves came closer, charging in when they knew most of the soldiers had fired and had to reload. They were getting braver now. They wanted to ride in close and count coup—touch their enemy. This was considered an act of bravery by their kind. Now a young warrior charged toward Dan’s trench, his face painted, feathers of conquest tied onto his long, black hair, his Appaloosa sure-footed. The boy looked familiar, and Dan’s eyes widened with surprise. Could it be? He called out without thinking.

  “Wolf’s Blood!”

  The warrior stopped short, his horse’s hooves digging into the soft earth as he stared at Dan, who rose up slightly from his trench. A shot rang out and a hole exploded in the boy’s upper left chest. He was hurled from his mount, grasping at the reins as he fell and bringing the horse down with a crash beside him. He lay still.

  “Jesus Christ!” Dan swore. “Cover me!” he ordered the sergeant several feet from him. He set down his rifle and scrambled out of the trench, crawling on his belly toward his nephew, memories of Shiloh reeling in his mind, of the terrible belly wound he had suffered there. He prayed he would not feel that pain again. The Appaloosa reared and stood up, running off. Wolf’s Blood lay panting and bleeding badly, his eyes wide and staring when Dan reached him. He pulled his knife when he saw the bluecoat moving toward him. He tried to rise but could not. The most he could do was raise his arm, in a determined effort to plant the knife his father had given him into the white man coming toward him. But the man’s hand grasped his wrist and pushed the arm down. Wolf’s Blood was too badly wounded to resist.

  “Don’t struggle, son!” Dan ordered. “You’re badly hurt. It’s me, Dan, your father’s brother.”

  The boy just stared at him, the wound making his mind hazy and confused. Dan carefully took the knife from the boy’s hand, while bullets and arrows sang past him. He put the knife in its sheath and placed an arm under Wolf’s Blood’s shoulders, wrapping another around his chest. “It’s all right, Wolf’s Blood,” he assured the boy. “I’ll get help for you.”

  He began pulling, and the boy groaned pitifully. He uttered something in Cheyenne, and Dan recognized the word for father. Dan wished Zeke were there. He wondered if Zeke was even alive, whether he had found LeeAnn. He had not heard. He struggled backward, pulling the boy into the trench, holding him with one arm while he dug at the dirt sides with the other hand to cover over the water so there would be a place to put the boy without getting him wet. The private was returning then, and he stared at the young warrior wide-eyed, while the sergeant also looked on. The private pulled a pistol.

  “No!” Dan ordered. “Don’t shoot him!”

  The private frowned, still pointing the gun. “But, sir—”

  “No! He’s my nephew!”

  Both soldiers showed their surprise. They looked at each other, then back to their lieutenant. “Nephew!” the private exclaimed.

  Dan removed his neckerchief and pressed it against the boy’s wound. “I have a brother who is half Cheyenne. We share the same white father. This is his son.”

  The private crept closer to have a look at the wild Indian in the lieutenant’s arms. “I’ll be damned!”

  “Help me get my blanket under him,” Dan ordered. “And give me your neckerchief. I’ve got to stop this bleeding! This boy means everything to my brother.”

  The private moved quickly to his officer’s command. Dan prayed inwardly that he could help the boy, but unless they could get back to the fort and a doctor soon, he knew Wolf’s Blood would not live.

  “Damn!” he kept swearing. “I shouldn’t have called out to him!” His eyes teared. He hadn’t seen the boy for a long time, but Wolf’s Blood could be Zeke’s twin, in younger form. He had known instantly who he was. It was like seeing Zeke again.

  The firing continued for several minutes, then the Indians suddenly drew back and things quieted down. Several minutes passed before the sergeant crawled over to Dan.

  “Sir, some of them are riding off. I don’t understand it.”

  “One of them is coming in!” someone shouted. “He’s carrying a white flag of truce!”

  Dan frowned. Why this sudden change? He looked down at Wolf’s Blood. The change had come after the boy was shot. “Swift Arrow!” he whispered to himself. Of course! Where Wolf’s Blood’s was, there would be Swift Arrow. He rose from the trench.

  “Hold your fire!” he ordered loudly. “Any man that shoots will be shot by me!” He climbed out of the trench, and the other men stared at him in wonder as he removed his weapons and walked toward the approaching Indian. The Indian man rode a grand Appaloosa—one of Zeke’s, no doubt. The handsome warrior came closer and stopped before Dan. “Swift Arrow.” Dan put out his hand and Swift Arrow took it. They grasped wrists, brothers through Zeke, but not blood brothers. Zeke and Dan shared the same father; Zeke and Swift Arrow shared the same mother.

  Swift Arrow studied the blue eyes of Zeke’s white brother. They were honest. “My nephew’s horse returned without him,” he spoke up.

  “I saw him
go down. I have him, Swift Arrow. He’s badly wounded. Let us go and I’ll take him to the fort where he can get help. It has to be soon or he’ll die.”

  Swift Arrow nodded. “My heart is heavy. I will be a broken man if he dies. Take him. We will let you go. I am a leading Dog Soldier. They will listen to me.”

  Dan nodded. “Thank you, Swift Arrow.” The man didn’t seem any older than he had when Dan had met him years before at the signing of the Laramie Treaty in 1851. He wondered how some Indian men remained so strong and solid in spite of aging. The man was about forty, but he looked no more than thirty, if that, still hard muscled and handsome.

  “Tell me quickly. How is my brother … and Abigail?”

  Dan frowned. “I don’t really know, Swift Arrow. I got a letter that LeeAnn, their blond daughter, had been stolen away by Comanche renegades and Zeke had gone off to find her. I have no idea if he found her or if he got back. Then I recently got a letter telling me another daughter, Lillian, had died of pneumonia. Needless to say, Abigail is suffering.”

  Swift Arrow’s eyes softened. “She is a woman born to suffering. She does so because she will bear anything to be with my brother.” How his heart ached for her! What burdens she had to bear! “Do not tell her her son has been wounded. It would be too much. Make him well first, so that you can send her good news, not bad.”

  “I will. There’s no sense worrying her until I know how the boy’s going to fare.”

  Swift Arrow breathed deeply, his chest aching. “Save him!” he said in a voice gruff with sorrow.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Swift Arrow nodded. “In one moon, I will send a runner to learn of the boy’s health and to find out if you have heard from Zeke. I will pray to the spirits for my brother and his family. The boy should go to his father. It will relieve Zeke and Abbie’s suffering some, for the boy and Zeke are close. Convince him he should go home for a while.”

  “I’ll do my best, Swift Arrow, and I’ll get word to you. Zeke and Abbie are always inquiring about you, but I can never find you to tell them how you are. Now I am glad I can tell them you are alive and well.”

  The man backed his mount. “Tell Abigail… I think of her often. Tell my brother I am with him in spirit, but I cannot come and see him. Not now. It has gone too far. I will let you go, bluecoat, because you are blood to my brother and because I know you to be an honorable man. You have good doctors at the fort. You can help my nephew. Go now.”

  As he turned his horse, Dan noticed the Z branded into the animal’s rump. He turned and walked back toward his men, again shouting at them not to fire. Swift Arrow rode hard, his long, black hair flying, the feathers tied onto his horse’s mane dancing in the wind. Soon he disappeared over a low hill and everything was quiet.

  Edwin Tynes walked into the kitchen, where Abbie was already ordering things prepared for Zeke’s trip to Denver. He frowned and watched quietly, studying the savage-looking man who stood near his tiny wife eating a piece of venison. Tynes noticed that Abbie’s hair had fallen free of the combs, and when she returned, her face was stained from tears. Zeke followed her gaze to meet the Englishman’s eyes. There was a moment of quiet, and Tynes wondered what sort of torture Zeke Monroe was considering inflicting on the white man he stared at. Zeke had put his buckskin shirt back on, but it was not laced, and part of the raw, red line from his self-inflicted mourning wound showed. Tynes glanced at the handle of the huge blade at Zeke’s weapons’ belt; then he swallowed and stepped a little closer.

  Zeke finally nodded. “Tynes.”

  Edwin looked at Abbie’s sorrowful eyes before he returned Zeke’s gaze. “I’m glad you made it back, Zeke, glad you found your daughter. From the looks of things, you are planning to leave again.”

  Abbie turned away, picking up some potatoes and putting them into Zeke’s parfleche.

  “I’m going to Denver to get Margaret,” Zeke answered.

  Edwin frowned, concerned for Abbie. Something was amiss. “Surely you will wait until morning.”

  Zeke began to lace his tunic. “No. There’s some daylight left. I’ll leave as soon as my gear is ready and I’ve talked to all the children again.”

  Their eyes held. “Then at least come to my game room and let me share a drink with you.”

  Abbie turned to look at them both, her eyes resting on Zeke pleadingly. He reached out and put a hand to the side of her face. “Go on up with LeeAnn,” he told her. “Then bring all of them to the kitchen. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She grasped his hand. “Zeke, please wait until morning.”

  He shook his head. “Go.”

  She blinked back tears and rushed past both of them. Zeke watched the way Edwin looked at her when she went by, with great pity and concern. Tynes looked back at Zeke, running his eyes over the Indian’s magnificent frame, well aware that he must be very careful about what he said. He turned and went out of the room, and Zeke followed him to a huge room where a pool table and a chess table sat. Tynes went to a buffet and removed the stopper from a bottle of bourbon, pouring two shots. He turned and handed one small glass to Zeke, then held his own in the air. “To Abigail,” he said quietly.

  Zeke stared at him silently for a moment and Tynes held his breath. Then Zeke raised his own glass. “To Abigail.” They both drank down the whiskey.

  “Another shot?” Tynes asked.

  “Just one. Whiskey and Indians don’t mix, remember?”

  Tynes grinned a little. “Yes, I have heard such stories.” He walked back and poured two more shots, handing Zeke’s back to him. “I am trying to figure you out, Zeke. The way you look at me makes me wonder if you intend to sink that blade into me.”

  “The thought has occurred to me.” Zeke slugged down his second shot. “But circumstances prevent me from doing so. I owe you a great deal, Tynes. I can never repay you for the way you’ve watched over my ranch and my family.”

  Tynes smiled. “Payment is not necessary. Just having the children around has been a great pleasure.”

  Zeke walked to the fireplace and set his glass on the mantel. “Tell me, Tynes”—he turned and faced the man, his power filling the great room in which they stood—“just how much do you love my wife?”

  Tynes’s arm froze as he was raising it to down his second shot. He lowered it slowly, meeting Zeke’s eyes squarely, suspecting the best way to deal with Zeke Monroe was honestly and openly.

  “Look around you,” he answered. “I would trade all of this for that little cabin of yours, if I could have her. I have offered her all of this, and she doesn’t even want it. I must say, she’s not like any woman I have ever known. I envy you.”

  Zeke studied the man. He was handsome, tall and well built but not quite as big as Zeke, a worldly man but not a coward. “Have you touched her? Kissed her?”

  Tynes’s eyebrows arched and he cleared his throat. “Do you expect me to tell you if I have? I’m too young to die, and I know I’m no match for you.”

  “I want the truth. I have no intention of harming you.”

  Tynes frowned, confused. “The truth is I have held her a couple of times, only in friendship and because she was suffering. That’s all. But she knows how I feel. I have told her, fully knowing it would be of no use. But when you love someone that much you have to try, right? I tried.” He nodded toward Zeke and drank his second shot. “My best to the better man. You chose well. Considering what I have waved under her nose, her love for you is greater than I imagined.”

  Zeke walked to a huge window that was draped with red velvet curtains. “I want your promise on something, Tynes.”

  The man folded his arms. “If it has anything to do with Abigail, I will gladly make it and keep it.”

  Zeke sighed deeply. “If I should for some reason … be killed”—he swallowed—“I need to know she would be … looked after, that my children would be cared for. I need to know she won’t be alone and vulnerable in this damned land. I need to know someone will see that she
gets settled someplace in the East, or if she stays here, someone will care for her.”

  Tynes dropped his arms and stepped a little closer. “If you want to know whether I would be willing to do those things, I most certainly am. If she would have me, I would marry her. If not, I would never let anything happen to her. But I fail to understand why you are talking this way. You just came back from a foray against Comanches and outlaws. You are safe now. What do you think is going to happen?”

  Zeke turned to face him. “I’m not sure I’ll stay once I return from Denver.” He looked around the room. “Here she would have all the things she deserves, a good life for her remaining years. She has suffered enough from being married to me.”

  Tynes almost laughed. “Do you think that with you alive she would ever come to me—ever be happy anywhere with anyone but Zeke Monroe?”

  “If I were dead, she would have no choice but to try.”

  Tynes studied the pain in Zeke Monroe’s eyes, realizing to his utter amazement just how deeply this man loved his wife. “Why would you be dead?”

  Zeke smiled sadly. “Death has been at my doorstep all my life, Tynes, and I have always worried about what Abbie would do if she were left alone out here. When I get back, I may go north to see about Wolf’s Blood. I might even join Red Cloud and Swift Arrow. I want to die the only way a man like myself can die—in battle.”