Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  “How is that, father? Why is he different?”

  Caleb felt a piercing pain at the memories of Terrence Sax and Kyle Wiggins, the contempt he had seen in their eyes.

  “They judge men by the color of their skin, for one thing. And they think money is worth killing people for. They put money above all else. But a man must be judged by what is inside, by his courage and honesty. Many white men lie. They tell you one thing but mean another, like the men who tricked James into settling that land and then took it back from him. A man should say what he means.”

  “Do you think Stephen Austin is an honest white man?” Lee asked. Lee was eleven, a solid boy who was obviously going to be very big when he got older. He was handsome, by Cherokee standards or any other, with a bright smile and compelling dark eyes. He had the strength of older boys, and he and Tom were becoming the new “men” of the family. They were a great help to Caleb.

  “Yes. I do see honesty in Mr. Austin’s eyes. You can tell a lot by a man’s eyes. His father was a dedicated man who believed in freedom and loved this land he wanted to settle. He died before he could do so, and Stephen Austin brought people here because it was his father’s wish. He is a good man. He did not have to do it, but he loved his father and has honored his memory. For me that is a sign of a good man.”

  “I feel good here, father, even though it is hard and dangerous,” Tom said. “It’s exciting, and so much will be ours. I hope the Mexicans let us stay forever. I feel like… like it’s mine now. If the Mexicans tried to take it away, and if I were old enough, I think I would fight to keep it.”

  The statement hung in the night air, and Caleb ignored the uncomfortable premonition the words stirred in him. There had been no trouble with the Mexicans. They welcomed American settlers, deliberately opened up their land to them. He had never even met any of the Mexican leaders, including the one called Santa Anna that a few people talked about. They were far away and had not bothered the settlers. Their biggest worry was Indians, not Mexicans, and Caleb tried, whenever possible, to befriend the Indians, not be their enemy. But the Comanche was not easily befriended, and there had been many attacks on the settlement. When he was gone, Caleb insisted that Marie and Ellen and the two babies stay with others closer to the settlement.

  He wanted to lose no more loved ones. He wondered if he would ever really get over losing Sarah, but knew instinctively he would not. He would simply have to live with the pain of it. He could sometimes see her as vividly as if she were standing right in front of him. Sometimes it seemed she was not dead at all. But she was, and now he had Marie and his sons, and he was in Mexico, far away from Saint Louis and all that went with that world. Occasionally he thought about Emily, wondered if she even still lived. He had kept his vow to never contact her, for it had been her wish. But sometimes he felt guilty about it. Perhaps he should write her, tell her of his marriage to Marie and his life in Texas.

  The pain moved through his heart again. No. Emily was a part of a past he had been struggling to forget. He would put it all behind him and think only of Texas and how he would protect all the land he had claimed. Life would be good now, in spite of the fact that it had been a dry spring and it looked as though it would be another hard year. But spring also brought more settlers to San Felipe de Austin. The tiny community was growing, while Santa Anna’s power also grew, or so they heard. He would be the next man to govern Mexico. But no one worried about who headed the Mexican government. The American settlers had enough worries just staying alive and keeping food on the table.

  Sarah sewed as the mantel clock ticked quietly. Sometimes she wondered if she would go crazy with the silence. Mary was long buried and she was alone now, with only the dress shop to keep her going. The sudden hope she had felt when she first learned Caleb might be alive had dwindled when time had passed and there were no replies to any of her ads. She had even paid a scout to go into Indian country to try to find Caleb, but to no avail. She had to face the fact that perhaps he was dead after all.

  When someone knocked on the door she rose wearily and set the sewing aside. It was dark out and she picked up a pistol. Saint Louis was growing rapidly, and one never knew what to expect from the many strangers passing through. A lady friend had advised her to get someone to live with her, but Sarah liked living alone. For the first time in her life she was on her own, making her own decisions.

  She moved to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Emily Stoner,” a woman’s voice answered.

  Sarah frowned, trying to remember where she had heard the name.

  “We knew each other at Fort Dearborn when we were young,” the voice added.

  Sarah’s eyes widened. Of course, the preacher’s strange daughter. The last Sarah knew the girl had been taken prisoner by Potawatomi Indians and had never been heard from again. Sarah opened the door, and for a moment their eyes just held.

  Emily looked Sarah over, her smile warm. “May I come inside?”

  Sarah stepped back, realizing instantly what Emily was, though Emily had tried to dress more demurely. Her eyes and lips were too painted, and she had a hard, used look about her that gave away her profession. Her perfume smelled cheap, and her pale blue eyes were dull. Sarah closed the door.

  “Emily! I… I heard the Indians took you—”

  She stopped and gasped when Emily pulled back her hood, revealing the scar on the side of her face. “Yes, they took me.” She held her chin proudly. “I will be quick about this, Sarah. I can see by the look in your eyes what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I sleep with men for money—in New Orleans. And if I took the time to explain all the reasons we would be all night. I hope no one saw me come into your house. I wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation. I only came—” She swallowed. “I came because I saw your ad in a newspaper. I came to tell you I saw Caleb. I nursed him back to health in New Orleans. He’s alive, but I have no idea where he is now. He went to get his son, and that was the last I saw of him.”

  She saw Sarah grow pale. She took hold of her, helping her to a chair.

  “I guess I threw all that at you awfully fast, didn’t I? But what’s going on here? I thought you were supposed to be dead. That’s what Caleb told me.”

  She helped Sarah to a loveseat. Sarah grasped her forearm so tightly that it hurt, forcing Emily to sit down beside her. “Tell me. Tell me all of it. He was alive? Caleb was alive? Truly?”

  Emily took hold of her other hand. “He was when he left me. He had been shot, paralyzed. I wasn’t sure he’d live at all. He was dumped in the river and some men found him. He muttered my name and they brought him to the place where I work. He’d been there before.”

  Sarah blinked, her eyes tearing.

  “Oh, it wasn’t what you think. Caleb saw me in the street when he was in New Orleans for that thing with the British. We talked, that’s all. He was surprised to see I’d survived the Indian attack and was glad to see someone from Fort Dearborn, just like I was.” She studied the trace of innocent trust that still dwelled deep inside Sarah Sax’s eyes. She decided not to mention the reason Caleb had fled Fort Dearborn. Perhaps Sarah didn’t know. What was the use of telling her? “At any rate, we talked and he left. And the next thing I know he shows up on my doorstep badly wounded, muttering about you being dead.” She squeezed Sarah’s hand. “He was in a bad way, Sarah. At first I thought the wound would kill him, then I thought maybe his sorrow over you would do it. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of returning to his son. He finally got well enough and he left. That was the last I ever saw of him. I wish I had better news—”

  “Better?” Sarah hung her head, crying quietly. “My God, he’s alive. At least I know that much. Caleb is alive!” She bent over and broke into deep sobs.

  Emily felt sorry for her, realizing from talking to Caleb how much they had loved each other. If only Caleb knew Sarah was still alive. But he could be anywhere. He could be all the way out in California for all they knew, or up in Canada. He was
a wandering man who had had little purpose left in life but to keep his son and protect him.

  “Stay,” Sarah muttered. “Stay the night. Talk to me.”

  Emily looked around to see if all the shades were drawn. “I don’t know. If anyone knew I was here… I walked the last two blocks from the carriage because I didn’t want anyone to see where I was going. That’s why I came after dark. When I saw the ad, I knew it was you. When I arrived I asked a couple of people if they had ever heard of you and one had. I don’t think in the dark he could see how I really look—”

  “Oh, Emily, don’t. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but Caleb.” She straightened and suddenly hugged Emily, weeping with joy. “Oh, thank you. Thank you for coming all the way from New Orleans. Just knowing Caleb is alive helps. I might never find him, but the important thing is knowing he lived.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Take off your cape, Emily. I’ll make some tea and we’ll talk. We’ll talk all night if necessary. I want to know everything, about your own terrible ordeal, about the first time Caleb visited you, and what happened when you found him wounded. Everything.” She rose from the loveseat. “Stay right there and relax. Please say you’ll stay, Emily.”

  The woman studied the terrible loneliness in Sarah’s eyes. She was so beautiful, but already so defeated.

  “All right. But only if you promise to tell me what the hell happened to you. You were pronounced dead right in front of Caleb—by a doctor.”

  Sarah clasped her hands together, trying to stop the shaking she felt coming on. “It’s a long story, Emily. I’ll get the tea first.”

  Emily saw her shaking and rose, putting an arm around her waist. “Sarah, is something the matter with you?”

  “Just a little problem I have sometimes when I get excited. I lost Caleb’s baby, and I’ve not been, well since.”

  Emily felt a chill. “Caleb’s baby? You were pregnant?”

  Sarah nodded. “Caleb never knew.”

  Emily closed her eyes. “My god,” she whispered. “You poor thing. Come on. I’ll go to the kitchen with you. We can talk there while you make the tea. I’ll stay, but just the night. I must leave before anyone realizes I’m here.”

  Emily helped Sarah to the kitchen, chilled by the fact that all that had happened could in a way be blamed on her. But how could an almost insane young girl driven by her father’s abuse have known? How different she was from Sarah, yet they had both loved the same man. Emily had never admitted it aloud and never would. What was the use? But she could not help wondering what her life might have been like if her father had allowed her a normal childhood, if he had not beat her and made her a prisoner in her own home. Life at Fort Dearborn seemed a hundred years away, and their lives had taken so many different directions, three young people growing up together, yet growing so far apart, their dreams never realized.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  CALEB, sixteen-year-old Tom and seventeen-year-old Lee lay hidden amid the rocks overlooking Blue Valley, where Caleb’s horses grazed. After years of struggling against starvation, Indian attacks, drought, hurricanes and sicknesses without doctors, Caleb Sax’s horse ranch in San Felipe de Austin was developing into a profitable enterprise. Ships came to the gulf from a number of eastern ports and Mexico, sending buyers up the Brazos River to the American settlement to trade for or buy the goods settlers had to offer. Caleb’s ware was his fine horses, which were such good quality that their reputation was spreading. He could ask top dollar for the carefully bred steeds, and all the hardships they had encountered over the years in Texas were beginning to pay off. His cattle were also a benefit, but his horses were his most valuable asset.

  But new problems had developed recently. Although Indians continued to be the major problem to all the settlers, they also had to contend with squatters, theives, and outlaws. The Mexican government was centered much too far away to protect the settlers, and in this area of Texas there were not even a great number of Mexicans, since more and more Americans were coming in.

  Caleb’s immediate problem was a band of rustlers he and Tom and Lee were now watching. Below they could see the dead bodies of two men Caleb had hired to help watch the animals.

  “I count seven of the bastards,” Caleb said quietly. “Do either of you see any others?”

  Tom and Lee, both strong, sturdy boys, watched quietly.

  “No,” Tom replied.

  “We’ll go down to the north outlet. That’s the way they’ll go, across the Brazos and on into the States. They are too far away for us to get them from here. Shoot to kill when you get close enough.”

  “If they’re caught they get hung anyway,” Tom said as they crawled down the hill to their horses, standing up as soon as they were out of sight. “Might as well save the government the trouble.” He mounted his horse excitedly. As tall as his father now, he was broad shouldered and slim, looking every bit like Caleb except for his mother’s dark eyes.

  Lee was shorter, with broad shoulders and a more solid build. Both were handsome and energetic. The two young men made quite a pair, sometimes troublesome in their antics, but they always pulled through in the end.

  “I’ll race you, ‘Uncle’ Lee,” Tom teased. He thought the term amusing, since Lee was only a year older than he. But Lee was, after all, Tom’s stepmother’s brother.

  The whole family often laughed about the grand mixture they were with their different mixtures of Indian and white blood, joking about which Indian blood was the bravest or strongest or smartest. Tom kidded that John and David had the best advantage: the intelligence of the white man, the bravery of the Cheyenne and the strength of the Cherokee. Then he would add that all Lee had was the strength, but not enough intelligence to know how to use it, and not enough bravery to use it to its fullest advantage. Then would come the wrestling to prove who was truly the stronger, with neither knowing for sure because they never wanted to hurt each other. All of it was in fun, and watching his sons and wife and brother-in-law gave Caleb a feeling of warmth, of finally belonging.

  They mounted and rode hard, hoping to get to the valley’s narrow outlet before the rustlers. They were three big men on three big horses, sod and rocks flying as they rode. They were fine horsemen who knew their animals and knew the land, and they fit the wild territory as well as the bobcats. They spread out when they neared their destination, each knowing what to do. Each dismounted and lay down to wait.

  Tom thought about his father and tales Caleb had told of the days he warred against the Crow in revenge for Walking Grass’ death. The boy often wished he could have known her, and it seemed ironic that Caleb had never known his own mother either. He wondered sometimes about the blue quill necklace. Caleb spoke of it occasionally, over night campfires when they were alone and Caleb would talk about the woman called Sarah. He blamed himself for her death, and Tom knew his father had loved the woman very much by the way he spoke of her.

  At sixteen it was difficult for Tom to fully understand how a man could love more than one woman, but his father had. Tom sometimes wondered, had Walking Grass not been killed, if all three of them would still be living with the Cheyenne. There were times when he longed to live with the Cheyenne again, to know that side of himself. But those feelings were overshadowed by his love for his father, a man he worshipped. His father had chosen this place called Texas, and Tom had grown to love the land. They had suffered many deprivations to stay here and make it work. Nothing and no one would take it from them now, and no rustlers were going to steal Caleb Sax’s valuable horses.

  He heard the whistles and shots of the rustlers and readied himself, praying quickly to Maheo that his father would not be hurt. As part of their permission to settle in Mexico, Caleb and the family had taken a vow to abide by Mexican law and convert to Catholicism. But in his own heart and Caleb’s, the Catholic God was no different from the Cheyenne God Maheo, and Caleb still secretly worshipped his own way, still smoked the prayer pipe, still drew on his own Indian
spirit for strength and guidance, as Tom was learning to do. Lee and Marie had taken up the Catholic faith, but there were no arguments over religion. To Caleb, each must have his own belief, and their gods were the same God.

  Tom rested his musket on a rock, shouldering the butt. He was to take the man in the lead, Caleb the second man who appeared, Lee the third, so that no shots would be wasted. Having no time to reload their muskets, they would ride down on the rest.

  The first man appeared and Tom took careful aim. His musket exploded and a moment later the man flew back off his horse, immediately trampled by the Sax horses he was in the process of stealing. Almost simultaneously second and third shots were fired, and two more rustlers fell from their saddles. The ambush was working. Tom quickly mounted his horse, as did Caleb and Lee, and all three let out war whoops, yipping as they rode down on the other four men, who took off in startled flight.

  Tom aimed his pistol at one but missed. Lee got a man, leaving three. Caleb fired, grazing one across the shoulder, then rode his horse into the side of the rustler’s horse, swinging his tomahawk and knocking the man off his mount. The man fell under the thundering hooves of the stampeding horses, and Caleb kicked his own horse into a faster gallop to move out of the herd. He circled around the herd and saw through the billowing dust that Tom was wrestling on the ground with one of the rustlers. Lee came riding back through the dust, and both had nearly reached Tom when Tom thrust a knife into the rustler’s chest.