“I’ll take Mother, you take baby Johnnie,” Josie said. “Let’s head upstairs to my bedroom.”
Shiloh forced herself to calm, imitating her friend’s surprising strength of mind. She grabbed up Johnnie and held him close.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
It was slow going for Arvilla, who at sixty-four was still feeble after a fall two years ago that broke her thigh. Finally, though, they made it to Josie’s room. Gunfire was still reverberating around them, and a few stray bullets shattered the bedroom window.
Josie ran over and lifted the bed skirt. “Let’s get under my bed. It’ll be safer there.”
Shiloh climbed under the bed first, with Johnnie. Josie helped her mother get down and crawl under next, with her following. About then Flora Ellen, May in her arms, ran up the stairs from the unlocked front door and into the room, followed by Frank Dresser with a Winchester in his hand. He helped Flora Ellen and May also climb beneath the bed, then locked the bedroom door and stood guard.
For a time, the sound of gunshots and window glass shattering was the only thing that filled the air. Then, ever so gradually, the scent of smoke began to trickle into the room. The longer they waited, the stronger it grew. Finally, Frank stooped down beside the bed and lifted the bed skirt.
“I’m afraid they’ve set fire to this house,” he said, his expression grave. “We need to get out of here.”
“But where can we go to be safe?” Mrs. Meeker asked as Flora Ellen and May crawled out. “They’re still firing off their guns outside. They might shoot us if we make a run for it.”
Josie climbed from under the bed, then assisted her mother. “The milk house is close. I’ve got the key to it and the walls are good, solid adobe. We’ll be safe there from any bullets.”
After handing baby Johnnie to her friend, Shiloh scooted from beneath the bed. “It’s the best of all options,” she said in agreement. “Besides the thick walls, there’s only that one small window up high. No one can look in and see us very easily. And any bullets that might fly through it will be well above our heads.”
Frank Dresser cautiously led the way down the hall and the stairs. When the coast was clear outside, he signaled them to join him.
“Josie, you go first and unlock the milk house door,” he said. “Just as soon as you get the door opened, Shiloh, you head on over with Johnnie. Then next, Flora Ellen with May. I’ll bring up the end with Mrs. Meeker.”
All the women silently nodded. Frank gave one more quick glance around. Thankfully, it seemed the Utes had given up shooting and were now down at the storeroom, looting the annuity goods.
“Go, Josie!” he whispered.
She shot off like a deer and swiftly covered the distance across the street to the milk house. Once the door was unlocked, she waved. Shiloh took a quick scan around her, and when she saw no Utes, she raced across the street with baby Johnnie in her arms. Flora Ellen and little May soon followed, then Frank, one hand clutching his rifle, the other supporting Arvilla.
Once inside, Josie locked the door, then stacked milk cans against it as a barricade. Thanks to the adobe walls and small, single window up so high it didn’t let in any discernable breeze, the milk house was damp and the air felt close and stifling. To further hide themselves from anyone who might try and get up to look in the window, they all hid under shelves placed against the walls.
It was miserable and warm, but there was nothing to be done for it. Periodically, Shiloh would hear another round of gunfire. Despite their mother’s attempts to quiet them, both May and Johnnie wept for a long while until they finally cried themselves to sleep. Shiloh doubted anyone would easily hear them anyway, with the milk house’s thick walls and all the gunfire, but she was still glad when the two children ceased their soft wailing. It was just one more stressor, in a day already filled with terrible stress.
Time plodded by, too much time in which to consider what was happening outside. Shiloh knew the Utes were likely killing the rest of the Agency employees. Eventually, she feared they’d find them as well and finish up by butchering all the women and maybe even the children. Frank Dresser’s life, for certain, was forfeit when the braves got to him.
Please, Lord, she silently prayed, save these dear people. I’ll gladly be the one to die in their place, if it’s Your will. Just please, spare them, I beg You.
Over and over, Shiloh lifted her thoughts and petitions to God, until she was so exhausted she finally began to doze. After a time, Josie shook her awake.
“W-what time is it?” she asked groggily.
“I’m not exactly sure,” her friend replied, “but from the way the light’s slanting in, I’d say we’re about a half hour or so from sunset.”
So, it’s close to 6:00 p.m., Shiloh thought. We’ve been hiding in the milk house almost four hours.
A curious sound, like snapping twigs, caught her attention. She noticed the scent of smoke, but it was much stronger than it had been all day. Looking up, she could see flames licking through the roof. For the first time, she realized it was becoming hard to breathe.
“Josie!” Shiloh grabbed her friend’s arm. “The milk house is on fire!”
“Yes. It’s why I woke you. We can’t stay here any longer. We’ve got to make a run for it.”
Panic filled Shiloh, and with a great effort she tamped it down. “But where? Where can we go?”
“Frank thinks we can head west and hide in the sagebrush. We’ll cross the street, then go through the Agency office for cover, then out the back door toward the sagebrush.”
It wasn’t the greatest of options, but Shiloh knew it was likely the best one they’d have. And the sagebrush was fairly high and should offer good cover. She crawled from the shelf she was crouched beneath and took Johnnie back in her arms.
“What’s the plan, then?” she asked, looking from Josie to Frank.
“I’ll go first to make sure the coast is clear and no Utes are inside the Agency office,” Frank said. “Josie will follow with her mother, then you and the baby, along with Flora Ellen and May. Once inside the office, we’ll decide when to make our break for the sagebrush.”
Between the cover of smoke now billowing from the flaming milk house roof, and the fact the Utes still seemed to be occupied looting the annuity goods, they all made it safely into the office. Briefly, they considered hiding there but decided it was only a matter of time until this building was also set on fire. So, Frank leading the way, they ran, using the other buildings to shield them and headed toward the plowed field north of the Agency.
The women were slowed by the children and Arvilla, who was lame. They covered a good hundred yards when some of the Utes discovered their escape. Frank shouted, “Run, run! Now or never!” and fired his rifle at the approaching Utes.
Undaunted, the braves kept on coming, shooting at all of them in return. Shiloh’s heart was pounding in her chest, but she ran as fast as she could with baby Johnnie in her arms. Bullets sprayed around them, sending up puffs of dirt. She tried to protect the baby as best she could but felt certain she’d be hit anytime.
Up ahead she saw Frank Dresser reach the sagebrush and disappear in its dense foliage. Behind and far off to her left, she heard the Utes still firing their guns and yelling “Stop, squaw! White squaw stop!” and “We no shoot. Come with us!”
But there was only one Indian Shiloh would’ve ever stopped for, and he was nowhere to be found. Though her breath was ragged and short now, she forced her tired legs onward. The sagebrush . . . she was almost there!
Then she heard Arvilla cry out. “I’ve been shot,” the older woman screamed. “They’ve shot me!”
Shiloh stopped, wheeled about. Mrs. Meeker lay there on the ground, Josie hovering over her, trying to pull her up. At that instant, the Utes caught up with Flora Ellen and May, straggling far behind. Then they reached Josie and Arvilla. Two braves stopped and aimed their rifles at Shiloh while the others grabbed hold of the three other women.
For a sp
lit second, Shiloh considered taking a chance and heading for the sagebrush, now so near. Some of the braves were quite evidently not very good shots, as evidenced by all the bullets fired that had missed their mark, until one finally caught Arvilla. If she hadn’t had the baby in her arms, Shiloh would’ve tried to run for it. But she did, and she wouldn’t take a chance on his life. Odds were, even if the women might eventually die, the Utes would likely take the two Price children and raise them as their own.
The sun was setting over the westernmost peaks as the Utes caught up with Shiloh. She suddenly noticed how fast it was turning chilly. Two of them took her by the arms and led her back to join the other women and little May. They all then headed to the Agency office, which had yet to be set on fire, to meet up with Chief Douglas.
Arvilla was shivering. “It’s so cold. May I please have a blanket?” she asked Douglas.
He stared at her for a moment, then ordered one of his braves to fetch Mrs. Meeker a blanket. The man soon returned with a blanket, hood, and shawl. Arvilla wrapped the shawl around her, then the blanket.
Shiloh would rather freeze to death than ask for anything from Douglas, so she just walked along with the others. Josie took May, and Flora Ellen finally found a way to walk beside Shiloh.
“Thank you for carrying Johnnie all this time,” she said. “But I’ll take him now. He’ll need his mother’s milk, and if they eventually split us up . . .”
She hadn’t thought of that. The consideration filled Shiloh with a renewed surge of fear. What would become of them, now that they were captives of the Utes? Though death wasn’t a pleasant thing to look forward to, some of the other possibilities were even more horrifying. And if they were all separated and sent off with different groups of Utes, they’d lose the comfort of each other’s company, and it would make it all the harder for all of them to be rescued.
As they rounded the corner of the Agency office, a man lying on the ground caught Shiloh’s eye. He was stretched out, hands at his sides, and naked except for his shirt. As they drew nearer, she could see blood running from the corner of his mouth.
Arvilla must have recognized him at almost the same instant Shiloh did. With a soft cry, she broke free of the grip of the brave who held her and ran to her husband. She knelt beside him, leaned over to kiss him. Then as her gaze locked with her Ute captor, she hesitated and apparently decided it might not be wise to kiss her husband. Instead, she stood and, face stoic, walked back to join them.
Though Nathan Meeker’s body didn’t look mutilated, Shiloh nonetheless felt sick to her stomach. He may not have been the most effective Indian agent, but he had tried to do the job he’d been sent to do. He didn’t deserve to die like that.
But then, neither did the other eight Agency employees whose bodies were strewn about. Many of them were young men with families still living in the Greeley colony where Meeker and his family had resided prior to coming to the White River Agency. They, truly, were the most innocent of all the victims of this tragic turn of events.
Before all this was over, she, Arvilla, Josie, Flora Ellen, and her two children might also be sacrificed on the altar of the US government’s ultimate plan to steal all the Colorado lands from the Utes. Or, Shiloh amended that grimly, all the worthwhile lands anyway. And they would. Sooner or later, they would.
Perhaps the Utes knew this on some level, and it was part of the many reasons that had led up to this terrible expression of their deepest fears and frustrations. They had known the soldiers were on their way. The only uncertainty was the true reason for the army being called to the reservation. Had Nathan Meeker requested them solely to help keep the peace and settle the problems growing between the agent and the Utes? Or was the army’s real purpose to round them all up and force them from their beloved mountains and out farther west to the Indian Territory?
Well, none of it mattered just now, Shiloh thought as they approached another group of Utes. Persune, upon seeing Josie, stepped forward and clasped her by the arm.
“Come, Josie,” he said. “I take you with me.”
She reared back, trying to break his grip. “No, please. Let me stay with my mother and friends.”
He shook his head and jerked her toward him. “White squaws not stay together. You see.”
As if on cue, Douglas grabbed Josie by the other arm and in Ute demanded Persune give Josie to him. Persune angrily refused, and for a moment, Shiloh thought the two men would tear Josie apart between them. Then, after another angry exchange of words, Douglas released her and stomped away. As he departed, however, he called to some of his own braves to bring Arvilla with them.
As Shiloh and Flora Ellen huddled there together, Arvilla and Josie shouted encouragement to each other as they were dragged in opposite directions. A Ute whom Shiloh knew wasn’t of the White River band moved to stand before her and Flora Ellen.
“You squaws go with me.”
“Where will you take us?” she asked him in his language.
“To Jack’s camp.”
As they all followed their captors down toward the White River, they passed burning buildings and Utes loading food, blankets, cooking utensils, and other contraband onto the Agency horses and mules. Eventually, the twenty or thirty Utes who’d participated in the massacre all joined down by the river. Knowing the soldiers would come sooner or later to punish them for what had transpired this day, they readied themselves for their retreat into the southern wilderness. And, late that evening, their captors put the two women on horses and headed them into the White River.
As they forded the gently flowing waters, Shiloh looked back at the Agency. All the buildings were burning now, and leaping tongues of fire lit the darkness. At the sight, a great sorrow filled her.
Meeker and all his men, save perhaps Frank Dresser, had perished. Tragic as their deaths were, at least their travail was over. But not so for her and the other women. The terror and uncertainty of their eventual fate would surely follow them for a time to come. It was a nightmare pure and simple, but a living one that would now dog them both awake and asleep.
They rode for five miles until they reached Jack’s camp. Then the Utes took a short break in which they ate their meal. The women were all offered coffee, cold meat, and bread.
Though Shiloh had no appetite, she forced herself to choke down the food and coffee. The food would give her needed energy, in case there was ever a chance for escape. And escape was foremost in her thoughts, now that she’d had a time to calm down and think things through.
Indeed, she was the most likely one with a good chance of getting away. Arvilla was too old and feeble to run anywhere far or fast. Josie now had custody of little May, and Flora Ellen had baby Johnnie, both of whom would only slow them down.
The break soon ended, and they followed their captors back out into the night, lit fortunately by a bright moon and blessed with mild weather. As they had done while eating their supper, the Utes kept talking and laughing about how many soldiers had been killed at Milk Creek, as well as the men they’d killed at the Agency. From their conversations, Shiloh pieced together that the soldiers had crossed the reservation border at Milk Creek late that morning and were soon set upon by the Utes who fired at them from the surrounding hills.
Apparently, Major Thornburgh, the leader of the soldiers, had been killed. The rest of his men were now trapped behind their supply wagons, outnumbered with no hope of escape. It was but a matter of time, according to her captors, before they’d all be dead.
She offered a silent prayer for the soldiers, begging God to spare them for their own sakes as well as for her and the other women. The soldiers were the closest help right now. If they were slaughtered, it would be a long while before any more help could get to this remote area, and the Utes could be long gone by then.
Around the middle of the night and after another fifteen-mile ride, they reached Douglas’s camp deep in a canyon. It soon became evident this was where all his camp’s women, children, and old men h
ad moved to, that day they’d taken down their tepees near the White River and departed. Only a little over two days ago, Shiloh mused, and yet that event already seemed like weeks ago.
There were about eighty tepees there, and as Shiloh slid from her horse, exhausted and sore, much talk swirled around them. Some of the Utes seemed in favor of keeping their captives alive, in the hopes of using them as hostages in case the soldiers caught up with them. Others were adamantly opposed, wishing to put the women to death by torture. Douglas, Shiloh noted with some dismay, was one of the most vocal advocates of death by torture.
“He doesn’t like us much,” Flora Ellen, her eyes swollen and red from weeping, whispered as she settled down beside Shiloh and began to discreetly nurse a whimpering Johnnie.
Shiloh saw the direction of her gaze, and knew she spoke of Douglas, who was loudly arguing with some of the more seemingly peaceable of his tribesmen. She chose, however, not to reveal the true extent of the Ute chief’s ire against them. Fortunately, Flora Ellen knew little of their language. Josie would’ve been able to understand enough, but she and Arvilla were sequestered somewhere else in camp.
“No,” she softly replied, “it seems not, though we fed him often enough at our table, worked hard to try and school his son, besides Arvilla taking care of the boy when he was ill. But then, Douglas stinks of whiskey, as do many of the others. Let’s just hope they don’t decide to harm us while they’re drunk.”
“If it weren’t for my children, I’d almost wish I were d-dead.” The other woman’s voice caught on a sob. “They k-killed my Shadrach. Killed him, stripped him n-naked, and left him lying there for the vultures!”
With a soft murmur of compassion, Shiloh turned and wrapped an arm around Flora Ellen’s shoulder, pulling her close to lean against her. “I know. I know,” she crooned. “I still can’t believe it all happened. It was horrible. Just horrible.”
For a long while, Flora Ellen, Johnnie still clutched to her breast, laid her head on Shiloh’s shoulder and sobbed. Shiloh, in turn, just held and rocked her, her own emotions so chaotic and conflicted she thought she might be on the verge of losing her mind. But she fought her way back, knowing that a clear head and strong resolve would be their only hope.
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 50
