Native Wolf

by Glynnis Campbell

  “Me? Why?”

  Chase looked with unflinching accusation into the man’s eyes. He’d been thinking about this confrontation for days—facing the demon, exacting his revenge. He wanted Samuel Parker to feel every bit of the Konkows’ pain, to pay for every soul that had suffered and died on the march.

  Finally, he chewed out the bitter words. “For Nome Cult. For what you did to my people.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes at her father. Chase’s words had startled him. He looked as if he’d suddenly aged ten years. Was there something to the claims after all? Had her father split up Chase’s family and allowed Konkow people to be marched off? Had he kept Yoema as a slave?

  “You’re making a mistake,” her father said.

  Frank jerked his head toward Chase. “Looks like the Infantry made a mistake. They forgot to put a bullet in this one.”

  “Frank!” Claire scolded.

  But what troubled her was not so much Frank’s venom as the fact that he too seemed to know about the march. Was she the only one in Paradise who’d never heard of Nome Cult?

  Then Chase must be right. Her father had kept it hidden from her. And she could think of only one reason for that.

  “Is it true?” she breathed, staring aghast at her father, who had turned pale and was staring off into the woods, as if his mind had traveled to a long time ago. “Is it?”

  Frank spit into the leaves. “If you ask me, they should have killed them all when they had the chance. It’s what my daddy always said. If you don’t cut the head off the snake—”

  “Stop it!” Claire shot to her feet with fists of blind fury. “You don’t know what you’re saying! That’s Yoe-, my spirit mother you’re talking about!”

  “Your what?” Frank said with a chuckle.

  Claire was so angry, she had to resist the urge to give Frank a solid kick in the teeth. Instead, she picked up his rifle and took aim at the back of his head.

  “Claire!” Chase shouted in alarm.

  Claire ignored him. “You apologize.”

  “Claire?” Frank squeaked. “Sweetheart?”

  “You heard me. Tell. Him. You’re. Sorry.”

  “Look, honey,” Frank said, nervously licking his lips, “it doesn’t matter what this savage did to you. Your hair will grow out, and I can look past your indiscretion. We can still get married.”

  “My indiscretion? What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s just that you might have gotten some peculiar notions into your head, reading those rags of yours and being raised by that Injun woman—”

  She jabbed him in the back with the barrel of the rifle. He yelped.

  Chase tensed his jaw. He didn’t know how good Claire was with a gun, but if he was reading her right, she wasn’t far from shooting her foul-mouthed fiancé. He had to do something to stop her. The last thing he needed was for Claire to get blood on her hands.

  To Chase’s chagrin, her father spoke up. “No need to waste a bullet, Claire. You’ve got him hogtied already.”

  Claire’s nostrils were still flaring with anger, but she nodded and slowly lowered the rifle.

  Whether Parker had spoken out of concern for his daughter or his partner, Chase didn’t know. But he was glad to have the situation defused.

  “Besides,” the rancher admitted, his shoulders drooping, “this fellow is probably right. I should have come clean with you about the march a long time ago. I guess you’re old enough to know now.”

  Claire looked suddenly bewildered, like a lost child, and Chase felt a pang of regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up. He didn’t want to upset Claire. Then again, how could he bring her home to his parents without her knowing the truth about what had happened to his family?

  Parker stared down at his folded hands for a long while before he began, reminding Chase of the elder storytellers of Hupa. When he finally started speaking, there was a distant sound to his voice, as if he were not only relating, but reliving the events.

  “It was 1863,” he said. “You were six years old. Things were never exactly peaceful between the settlers and the natives. But in ’63 the situation grew worse. The Hickok and Lewis children were killed by Indians—vengeance killings, they said—and even though five Indians were hanged at Helltown for it, people were shaken up and wanted the natives gone, all of them. So they called out the Infantry to round them up.” He paused, as if the words were stuck in his throat and he had to force them out. “Your mother was ailing. This news didn’t help any. She always liked the Indians. They were good to her. They were also some of my best hands.” He glanced meaningfully at Chase and then lowered his eyes to stare at the ground. “She asked me not to let the Infantry take them away. She begged me to hide the Indians. So I did. As many as I could. Then she started growing very ill, and all I could think about was her.” He swallowed and looked off into the trees, but Chase could glimpse raw grief in the man’s eyes. “I’m afraid I wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been. Some of my hands were rooted out and taken. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. The Infantry was shooting the ones who didn’t surrender. My neighbors would have turned me in as a traitor if they’d known I was harboring Indians in the barn.”

  Chase was stunned. This was a possibility he’d never considered—that Parker had tried to help his people.

  He glanced at Claire, whose brow was furrowed in dismay. No wonder her father had kept the march a secret from her. His little girl was about to lose her mother, and he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were.

  “Shortly after,” Parker confirmed, his voice catching, “your mother passed.”

  Claire nodded and bowed her head. “What happened to the Indians?”

  “They were marched off to a reservation called Nome Cult,” he told her. “Not all of them made it. Some were too old to make the journey. Some were too young. Some managed to escape and returned to the ranch. But those who got caught were killed.”

  There was a long silence, and then Claire asked, “What about Yoema?”

  Her father gave a single sad chuckle. “She showed up at the door after your mother was gone and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She said a vision had told her she was to be mother to a little white dove. That was you.” He sighed. “I had the ranch, a herd of cattle, a bunch of fugitives for ranch hands, and a little girl I didn’t know how to take care of. So I let her stay.”

  Despite the grudge Chase had been carrying for days now, he couldn’t keep holding it. As much as he wanted to hang on to his hatred and to repay someone for the injustice his people had suffered, he knew now that Samuel Parker was no villain. The rancher had been as sympathetic as he could be, given the circumstances. He’d been an ally of the Konkow, not their enemy.

  But Chase still had one important question.

  “Why did no one tell her family? We thought she was dead.”

  Parker perked up at that. “You’re Yoema’s kin?”

  “Yep.”

  “The truth is she rarely spoke of her family,” Parker said. “She thought it was bad luck to speak of those who were gone. She said her place was with Claire now. But once I knew she was dying, I sent off a letter to Nome Cult in case any of her kinfolk were alive. I expect that’s why you’re here?”

  Claire explained. “Chase is her grandson.”

  The old man studied him for a moment. “I can see that—family resemblance. Well, son, you should know we did the best we could for her. She had a good doctor. And Claire fetched her all the Indian remedies she could get her hands on. I expect it was just her time.”

  Chase nodded, but it felt like someone had rearranged all the furniture in his brain, and he couldn’t go anywhere without bumping his shins. The picture of his grandmother’s life was completely different than he’d imagined, and it would take some time to adjust to this new portrait of Samuel Parker as hero, not slaveholder.

  “I told you he was a good man,” Claire said.

  “You did,” he agreed.
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br />   Samuel Parker cleared his throat and stuffed his feelings back into his gut where they belonged. He felt better having told Claire the truth, but there was no need to dwell on the past. The past was filled with pain.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked the young half-breed with the rifle and Yoema’s eyes.

  From the ground, Frank muttered, “Well, now that you two have smoked the peace pipe, how about untying me?”

  The man freed Frank, but he held onto his gun, which was probably wise. It couldn’t be easy for Frank to accept a broken engagement, and nothing would give a man an itchy trigger finger like having his replacement in range.

  Of course, Yoema’s grandson wasn’t really Frank’s replacement. There was no way Samuel would let his daughter marry a half-breed. And at the first opportunity, Samuel would let Frank know that.

  It was really too bad. The half-breed was admittedly forthright and brave, trustworthy and protective. He’d been resourceful enough to keep Claire’s belly full and make the rabbit fur boots she was wearing. Samuel was impressed by his even demeanor and his levelheaded handling of a tough situation. He’d seen honor and wisdom in the man’s actions. And Claire was obviously all cow-eyed over the handsome youth.

  But that was only because she fancied those silly books that painted Indians as dashing and romantic figures. Once the reality of marriage to a native hit her, once she understood how she’d be shunned from decent society, she’d see the folly of her ways.

  Samuel had learned that harsh lesson when he’d brought Yoema into his household. His neighbors had wagged their tongues, speculating that she was sharing his bed. Some folks accused him of being an Indian sympathizer. A few buyers started getting their stock from other ranchers. For Claire, it would be even worse. He’d never let her subject herself to such rejection.

  Besides, Samuel had groomed Frank to take over the ranch. Nobody could buy and sell cattle like Frank. He’d be a good provider for Claire. Maybe he was a little rough around the edges and didn’t quite understand Claire’s affection for dime novels and wild Indians, but the young man could learn to curb his tongue to keep her happy.

  And Claire would learn to love Frank. Once he gave her babies, once she had little ones to look after, her harebrained notions of running off with an Indian would fade away.

  The wedding would have to be rushed, of course. Though it soured his stomach to think of such things, it appeared that Claire had been intimate with the man, and if she was already with child…

  He hoped not, because it would be glaringly obvious that the child wasn’t the offspring of blond-haired, blue-eyed Frank. And if word got back to the town about Claire’s…activities…she’d be branded a fallen woman. He couldn’t let that happen. But that was a problem he’d have to deal with when the time came.

  “I buried your grandmother in a pretty spot on my property,” he said to the half-breed. “I’m sure you’ll want to pay your respects.” It was a statement, not a question. He needed to convince Claire to come home before she tried something rash like running off with the savage.

  Fortunately, the young man agreed. And thankfully, they wouldn’t be arriving in Paradise before dark, because they made an odd-looking group as they hiked across the canyon and up the ridge to Dogtown. The last thing he needed was a bunch of nosy neighbors questioning Claire’s state of dress and wondering about her strange companion.

  “You can bunk in the barn tonight,” he offered. “I’ll show you Yoema’s grave tomorrow.” And then, he added silently, I’ll send you on your way.

  Chapter 19

  Chase had always intended to go back to Paradise. He had to pick up his brother. But he had a bad feeling now about returning.

  It had been too easy. Frank and Parker had been too quick to forgive and forget. Claire’s fiancé, initially upset, had been soothed by something Parker said to him privately. And Parker hadn’t said a word about the shocking state in which he’d found his daughter. There was too much unspoken. Something ugly was bubbling under that silence, something that might erupt when they got back to the safety of the Parker Ranch.

  Chase didn’t trust either of them. He supposed it was because his tribe had taught him not to put faith in white men. They broke treaties and used trickery to get what they wanted. If bribery didn’t work, they used wiles, and if wiles didn’t work, they used force.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to get caught with his eyes shut and his trousers down…again.

  Parker didn’t say much at all until midday, when he offered to share his jerky and biscuits. Frank, in what was obviously a competition for Claire’s affections, casually took off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, displaying a lily-white belly he might have been wiser to hide. Chase kept his mouth shut, realizing he could say nothing to make the situation less uncomfortable.

  The sun gradually crossed the naked blue sky, shifting the shadows of the pines and leaving a vague orange glow at the horizon as it sank. It was late evening by the time they reached Paradise, when most of the townsfolk were either tucked in at home or bellying up to the bar of one of the local saloons.

  Unfortunately, as they trudged down the main street, they spied the last man any of them wanted to see. A man with a silver star pinned to his jacket was pacing in agitation along the boardwalk in front of the Parlor.

  He spotted them instantly.

  “There you are, you cheatin’ son of a gun!”

  The men exchanged glances. Who was the sheriff talking to?

  He hopped down from the boardwalk and came forward at an eager clip.

  “It’s all right, boys,” he said, drawing his forty-five. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Chase clamped his jaw. The sheriff was coming for him.

  “Now hold on a minute, Campbell,” Parker said, raising his palms. “What’s this all about?”

  The sheriff nodded at Chase. “This two-bit half-breed stole my poker winnin’s is what.”

  Frank wasted no time, chiming in. “I told you he was no good, Mr. Parker. See, Claire? He’s a gambler. You don’t want to be getting tangled up with—”

  “That’s enough, Frank,” Parker interjected.

  Chase knew that the rancher didn’t like spectacles. The last thing he wanted was for the town sheriff to know that his daughter had been “tangled up” with a half-breed.

  Campbell waved his revolver. “So if you fellas will stand aside…”

  “Sheriff Campbell,” Claire said, resting a palm on the man’s forearm. “There must be some mistake. This man can’t have stolen your winnings. He’s been with me.”

  “With us,” Parker corrected. “He’s been with us, up in Dogtown.”

  Campbell nodded. “So that’s why I haven’t been able to find him. He must have skedaddled right after he took my cash.”

  “That makes sense, sir,” Frank volunteered. “He probably hid it somewhere and then hightailed it into the hills.”

  “Father, you know that can’t be true. He—”

  “Hush,” Parker snarled as a well-dressed man came out of the Parlor. After he’d gone, Parker said, “I think you’ve got the wrong man, Campbell.”

  “Oh, I’ve got the right man.” He pointed the gun at Chase’s belly. “I could never forget the face of the half-breed who cost me my fortune and lost me my Maggie Ellen.”

  “Maggie Ellen?” Claire asked.

  “She left me. Said she had no use for a man who was up to his eyes in gamblin’ debt.”

  Chase furrowed his brow.

  His brother.

  Campbell was confusing him with his brother.

  Drew must have beaten the man at poker. Drew never cheated, but he usually won, and some didn’t take kindly to being beaten, even when it was fair and square.

  He looked past the sheriff. The Parlor was the last place he’d seen Drew. Was he still there, or had he smelled trouble and left?

  “Father?” Claire asked.

  Two more men drif
ted out of the establishment, and Parker tensed. Once they moved out of earshot, he intervened, looking Chase in the eye. “You don’t seem like the cheating type. You got anything to say in your defense?”

  Chase clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted was to be at the mercy of an armed white man with a grudge. But he had to protect Drew. They’d always watched out for each other.

  “Nope,” he said, handing the rifle to Parker.

  Claire gasped.

  “I told you!” Frank crowed, right before Claire turned and slapped the smug smile right off of his face.

  Everyone blinked in surprise.

  But Parker didn’t believe Chase was guilty. Chase could see it in the narrowing of the man’s eyes. “What will you do with him?” he asked the sheriff.

  “Lock him up.”

  “That all?”

  “Well, he may have an accident on the way to the jail,” Campbell confided with a chuckle to Frank, whose cheek now bore the red imprint of Claire’s hand.

  Parker stabbed a finger in front of the sheriff’s face. “You listen good, and you tell the jailer, too. If there’s one mark on him tomorrow morning, you’ll have to answer to me.”

  Campbell compressed his lips. He clearly didn’t like to take orders from civilians. But Chase could see that Parker was like a miningxa’t’enk—a chief—full of power, and the sheriff was forced to back down.

  “Fine.” He put away his revolver and whipped out a pair of handcuffs.

  “No!” Claire cried.

  “Don’t make a spectacle, Claire,” Parker growled.

  “It’s all right, whililyo’,” Chase told her, using the endearment no one else would understand.

  “I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” Parker promised, “and we’ll straighten this all out.” To Campbell, he repeated, “First thing.”

  The sheriff clapped the handcuffs around Chase's wrists, and Chase gave Claire what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

  “Well, I guess every man has the right to a speedy trial," Frank groused. He purposely bumped Chase as he passed him, muttering, "And this’ll be the speediest trial you ever saw."