“Hush, now,” she said at last. “Time enough later to mourn family and friends. We’ve got to make plans. Plans to save our lives.”
Flora Ellen reared back and stared up at her. “What can we possibly do, save try to escape?”
“Escape, at least for now, is likely out of the question.” Shiloh inhaled a deep, considering breath. “I was thinking more like how to ingratiate ourselves with the Utes, so they’ll view us more kindly. Not all of them are cold-blooded killers, or hate us, you know.”
“Like that handsome half-breed you were friends with? I haven’t seen him at all. Is he gone, fighting the soldiers then?”
“No—or rather, I hope and pray not.” Shiloh shook her head. “From what Josie told me, Jesse’s off in Wyoming with a hunting party. He should be back soon, though.”
“Maybe when he returns, he’ll rescue you and keep you safe.” The younger woman smiled. “I always thought he cared very much for you.”
Shiloh had tried as best she could not to pin her hopes on Jesse’s return. Though part of her indeed wanted him to rescue her and keep her safe, another part feared what his reaction would be when he rejoined the others. He had made it more than clear that he considered himself a Ute and that his loyalties now lay with them. But she also knew he cared for her, and that might well place him in a difficult if not very dangerous position.
“We were friends once,” Shiloh said by way of response. “After all that’s happened of late, though, I don’t know if we can be anymore.”
Flora Ellen sighed, then paused to move her baby to her other breast. “Indeed, a lot has happened. It would be a sad thing, though, if he turned his back on you.”
Hot tears stung Shiloh’s eyes. It would indeed be a sad thing, but she didn’t dare count on Jesse even returning in time. The Utes were drunk and half crazed with fear and bloodlust. She and Flora Ellen might not live to see the morrow.
“The loyalty of any man isn’t what matters,” she said. “Our lives are in the Lord’s hands now. And I trust, whatever happens, that it’s part of His plan for us.”
“I wondered at your bravery, and now I know from whence it comes.” The younger woman reached out and clasped Shiloh by the hand. “Your faith is so strong. I envy that.”
“Not as strong as you might imagine.” Shiloh squeezed Flora Ellen’s hand. “But I keep trying, over and over, to surrender my will and place my trust in the Lord. That’s all any of us can do. I think, though, He values even our smallest efforts, and that gives me comfort.”
Baby Johnnie stirred. Flora Ellen pulled her hand free and gently patted him on the back, making little cooing sounds. Finally, Johnnie quieted and resumed his suckling.
“I cherish that thought—that the Lord loves and values us far beyond our true worth. Well, at least our true worth in our own eyes and the eyes of others,” she said with an ironic chuckle. “I pray that I remember that, when things turn difficult or frightening.”
“We’ll both do that,” Shiloh vowed, her heart swelling with a quiet but deep joy. “And we’ll pray for the grace to be brave no matter what. No matter if all others desert or fail us. No matter what . . .”
16
Late the next morning, Shiloh awoke to much commotion in camp, as most of the men readied themselves to ride out to join the others in fighting the soldiers trapped at Milk Creek. She was greatly relieved to see that Douglas was in the group preparing to leave. Without his hostile presence, the odds improved that she and the other women would survive at least a few more days. And the longer they could stay alive, the greater their chances of rescue became.
At long last, their rifles in hand and loaded with a generous supply of ammunition, the Ute braves departed camp. In their possession, Shiloh could make out the latest models of Winchester rifles, as well as Sharps, Henrys, and Remingtons. She wondered where they had managed to purchase such weapons, as Meeker had always refused to sell arms to them. But then he’d also refused to sell them whiskey, and yet she’d seen liquor bottles in their possession from time to time.
People who didn’t have the Utes’ welfare at heart had sold them the illegal weapons and liquor. Sold them solely to make a tidy profit for themselves, never thinking of the long-term consequences of their actions. Actions that now put every miner, settler, and soldier within hundreds of miles in danger.
The soldiers at Milk Creek were likely fighting for their lives right about now, and no help for her and the other women would soon be forthcoming from them. Shiloh whispered a silent prayer for the beleaguered men’s safety and that they might eventually overcome their Ute attackers. Then she turned her attention to the day ahead.
Squaws from Jack’s camp soon took charge of her and Flora Ellen. With fists shaken in their faces and shouted insults, they were led down to a creek to draw water to fill the cook pots. After an hour or two of doing that, they were finally fed breakfast of biscuits and coffee. Then she and Flora Ellen gathered firewood and were told to bake bread. The weather was pleasant, the sun warm, but that was about all that could be viewed in any sort of positive way. The horrors of yesterday and the potential ones yet to come cast a gloomy pall over everything else.
Shiloh slept soundly that night, partly from the lingering stress and weariness of the long ride the night before, and partly because, as the time passed, she became ever more hopeful that the Utes wouldn’t kill them. Though several squaws and even some of the children were cruel, taunting them and poking them with sticks, others—Jack’s own wives, who had taken Shiloh into their tepee, while a squaw of one of Jack’s subchiefs had offered hospitality to Flora Ellen and baby Johnnie—were quite sympathetic and kind. Some even wept over what had happened at the Agency, and for the loss of Flora Ellen’s husband.
Wednesday, the next day, Chief Johnson came to Jack’s camp and took Flora Ellen and baby Johnnie to live with him, claiming he’d made it all right with the other Utes. Though Shiloh was sad to see her companion leave, she was hopeful that, once safely away to live with Johnson and his wife Susan, Flora Ellen would be safe and receive even better care. From the start of their captivity, Shiloh had heard talk that Susan, behind the scenes, had been their champion, arguing against killing them.
Late that afternoon, after another full day of chores that seemed all the harder without Flora Ellen’s sweet presence, Shiloh was finally able to sit down and eat a meager supper. As she did, several Utes rode into camp. One of them was Jack and another Broken Antler, one of her former suitors. From the bits of conversation she could pick up, they’d only come for the night and to resupply before returning to the battle.
The fact that the soldiers must evidently still be alive heartened her. She prayed they’d been able to send someone back to Fort Steele near Rawlins to get reinforcements. Otherwise, according to the Utes, the soldiers were greatly outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before they were all killed.
After putting up his pony, Broken Antler walked over and squatted beside her. She managed a friendly smile and greeted him, but when he reached out and stroked her face, Shiloh froze. When his hand next went to her hair, which had begun to fall loose from her braid, she couldn’t help her instinctive response to pull away.
The Ute brave frowned. “Don’t be afraid, pretty one,” he said. “You’re safe with me. I spoke with Jack, and he’s agreed that you should be mine.” He took her by the arm. “Come. You’ll share my tepee this night.”
Shock, then horror, swamped her. There was only one interpretation anyone could take from that statement. Broken Antler intended to bed her and make her his squaw.
Her mind raced, searching for some reason not to obey him. Her situation was still precarious. If Broken Antler was to take offense . . .
“I cannot,” she said, resisting his pull. “I’m promised to another.”
The brave released her and straightened. “Who are you promised to? I care not if you’ve made your vows to some white man. You are our captive now and we don’t have to hon
or—”
“It’s no white man,” Shiloh cried, as a sudden, desperate inspiration struck her. “I’m promised to Jesse. Jesse Blackwater.”
Broken Antler eyed her with disbelief. “How can that be? I never saw him court you.”
“It happened when we journeyed to my home in the southern mountains. In the days we spent together, we fell in love.”
The tale she spun, on the spur of the moment, wasn’t entirely a lie, she told herself, though she did experience a twinge of guilt. She had fallen in love with Jesse. And, though he might not have fallen in love with her, on the journey he had admitted to his desire for her. Surely that was enough reason to claim she was Jesse’s woman. Surely, he would take her into his tepee based on that desire, if not their old friendship. And surely it was enough to counter Broken Antler’s claim to her.
“He never said anything about you when he returned without you those months ago.”
“Jesse didn’t need to,” she said. “He knew I was coming back to the Agency, just as soon as my sister was better. It just took longer than either of us planned.”
Hesitation, then indecision, flared in the Ute’s eyes. “He’ll return soon from his hunting trip. We’ll talk it over then. I have many ponies and blankets now. If he’s wise, he’ll let me trade those for you.”
She could well imagine where Broken Antler had gotten the extra ponies and blankets. She’d seen him that day at the Agency, along with many other Utes she’d recognized. Killing . . . burning . . . looting.
Jesse wouldn’t want any of those ill-gotten gains. Shiloh knew him well enough to know that. But whether he would lie and claim her for his own was another matter entirely. Likely he would, if for no other reason than to protect her from Broken Antler. He was, after all, a good and honorable man.
At any rate, she was safe from Broken Antler until Jesse’s return. When all was said and done it might not matter, but at least it would buy her some time. And, in that time, there was always hope some other plan would come to mind. There was always hope that she might even be rescued.
The long hunt had been good for him, Jesse thought as he and the other braves drew near Jack’s camp. He’d had time to think as well as distance himself from the issue of what to do about Shiloh’s return, helping him clear his head sufficiently to sort out his true feelings about their relationship. Out in the striking mountains of northern Colorado and southern Wyoming, the sharp, tangy scent of pine trees, the crisp bite of the autumn weather, and the vast blue sky stretching overhead soothed and comforted him. And everything finally fell into its proper perspective.
The easy camaraderie of his fellow hunters, as they all engaged in the very important task of providing meat for the rest of their band, reminded Jesse how deeply he cherished their ready acceptance of him, and of the traditional ways that bound them all. These were things that mattered, that he deeply cherished. Things that he would gladly share with Shiloh, if she was willing.
Out there in his beloved mountains, Jesse had soon come to an admission that he loved Shiloh Wainwright. Truly and deeply loved her. The decision to actually acquiesce to the forging of a permanent relationship with her, however, had taken him a while longer. Though part of his hesitation had been his fear of what others would think of their mixed-blood marriage and eventual children, a part had also been his indecisiveness over whether he could give up the Ute ways and family for a life with Shiloh living as a white.
Now, though, he knew he could never leave the People. And, though he had finally discarded his concern for the opinions of others regarding their marriage, Jesse also knew it’d hardly be an issue amongst the Utes at any rate. The solution to almost all their problems had always lain with staying with the People. He just had to convince Shiloh of the logic of that choice.
Jesse’s musings faded as he became acutely aware of the unnatural silence. By now, they should’ve heard the everyday sounds of camp life. They should’ve long ago smelled the scent of cookfires.
He glanced at the brave riding beside him at the front of their party. “Something’s wrong.”
The other man nodded and urged his pony forward with Jesse’s. The two men rode hard toward camp, and the closer they got, the greater the certainty arose that everyone was gone. Finally, they arrived at the big area where once had stood ninety tepees. The area was deserted. The pony pens were empty, the campfires long extinguished.
Gradually, he realized that all the talk and angry arguments over what to do about Meeker had finally progressed to some form of action. And there was only one reason to move camp at this time. Something terrible had happened.
Shiloh!
Unbidden, her name flashed through Jesse’s mind. His heart twisted within his chest. And he knew. Knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was in mortal danger.
He reined in his horse and turned to his companion. “It looks like you and the others need to pick up the trail and find our camp. They’ll be needing the meat and hides.”
“Sounds like you’re not going with us,” the other brave said. “Why’s that?”
“I’ll catch up with you later. I want to see what’s going on at the Agency.”
His friend laughed. “By the look of things, I’m thinking there’s not much left of that place. Father Meeker likely pushed Jack one time too many.”
For some reason, the other man’s laughter didn’t sit well with him. “Nonetheless,” he gritted out, “I want to see it with my own eyes.”
“Then be off with you.” The brave pulled his pony about. “And catch up with us as soon as you can.”
Jesse watched him rejoin the others and briefly explain things. Then the group turned around the ponies laden with deer and elk carcasses and slowly rode away.
He kneed his own mount forward and was soon riding hard and fast back toward the Agency. Less than an hour and a half later, before he even caught sight of the neatly aligned buildings north of the White River, he smelled the smoke lingering in the air. His pulse quickened.
The sight that greeted him, when he topped the last hill, sent ice coursing through his veins. All the Agency buildings lay in ruins, black heaps of burned wood and ash. Bodies were strewn around the buildings, and as he drew near, Jesse noted that nine of them were white. Some were unrecognizable, faces bloodied and bruised, and most were nearly naked. To his relief, however, he soon ascertained that they were all men.
No sight of any of the women or the two children. That could mean only one thing. They’d been taken captive.
By the looks of the buildings and bodies, the massacre had been recent, likely no more than two days ago. That heartened him. The odds were good that Shiloh might still be alive. How much longer, though, was the question.
He’d heard enough of the talk going around among the different chiefs and their braves to know emotions were high. High enough that some were eager to kill any and every white person who crossed their path, be they man, woman, or child. And the Utes knew, when they’d attacked the White River Agency, that there was no turning back. If soldiers weren’t already on their way, they soon would be. A few more lives lost, even if they were helpless women and children, wouldn’t change anything.
Jesse didn’t know if he could save Shiloh and the others, even if he did make it in time. Only one thing was certain. If it came to it, he’d die trying.
Late the next afternoon—and several hours ahead of the rest of the hunting party—Jesse rode into the big encampment hidden in the canyon. Though he looked for a sign of Jack’s camp, he didn’t find them among all the other groupings of tepees. Finally, he caught sight of Douglas’s elderly uncle, rode over to him, and dismounted.
The other man gave him a disdainful look. “Where have you been? We could’ve used you in fighting the soldiers.”
So, Jesse thought, the plan long bandied about among the chiefs had come to fruition. Things were getting uglier by the moment.
“Jack sent me and seven other men out hunting over a week ago,”
he replied. “We’ve been far up north.”
“Well, likely it’s a good thing you brought back fresh meat. We’ll be on the run for a while and will need it.”
Jesse frowned. “Is anyone chasing us?”
“Not yet, but you can be sure the whites will, sooner or later. They’ll want their women.”
Relief flooded Jesse. The women from the Agency were still alive.
“Where are these women now?” he asked, trying to feign just a curious interest in the information.
“The agent’s daughter is with your friend Persune. My nephew has the old mother. Johnson has the young one with the children.” The old man paused, a knowing light in his eyes. “And Jack has the red-haired one you so admire. Not that it’ll do you any good. Word has it that Jack’s given her to Broken Antler.”
Any lingering weariness fled Jesse in one sudden rush. “Where are they?” he snarled, grabbing the elderly brave’s arm. “And when did Jack give Shiloh to him?”
The Ute’s gaze narrowed, and he pointedly looked down at where Jesse still grasped his arm. For a fleeting second Jesse considered doing more than just grabbing him to get the information he desired, then decided against it. He released the man and took a step back.
“I ask you again,” he said, burying his antagonism toward Douglas’s uncle beneath a thin smile. “Where and when?”
The elderly Ute shrugged and rubbed the offended arm. “Jack’s camp is about a mile south of here, down by the river. And, from what I heard, it happened last evening. So you’re too late.”
Jesse turned and lithely vaulted onto his pony. “Perhaps,” he said, gathering the reins. “And perhaps not.”
Without a farewell or backward glance, he urged his mount forward. As he guided his pony around tepees and people going about their work, Jesse seethed with barely contained anger. If Broken Antler had harmed Shiloh in any way . . .
Heart of the Rockies Collection Page 51
