To Tame A Rebel

by Georgina Gentry

  Billy Bowlegs said, “Perhaps we could trade her to the enemy for food and supplies.”

  Smoke snorted. “You would trust the graycoats enough to parley with them? They are sure to betray us, no matter who gives their word.”

  “That’s right,” Yellow Jacket said, “we cannot trust them enough to try such a trade.”

  The Creek leader began to cough again. “Still, Yellow Jacket, she is our last hope. If things get worse, we must try to use her to bargain with.”

  Yellow Jacket wanted to protest, but he dare not. He knew that the captain might still desire Twilight enough to make any kind of a deal to get her back. He pictured her in the white man’s arms, in his bed, and his soul cried out against it. “We’ll see,” he said, and stood up. “Right now, all we can do is keep moving north.”

  Days passed as they stumbled forward. Even Twilight had forgotten everything except keeping herself and the two children alive. The cold weather did not let up as they traveled, and always behind them was the threat of pursuing Confederate soldiers. Yellow Jacket looked wearier and grimmer each day, yet he encouraged the others and often rode behind, putting himself in danger to round up the stragglers so the rebels wouldn’t capture them. Some of the time, he found enough game to feed their little ready-made family. Sometimes there was nothing but hot water with bones boiling in it to make a thin broth. At night the four of them huddled together under their blankets, attempting to keep from freezing to death.

  Every morning, when they arose and started north again, they saw others lying very still in their last, long sleep. For them, the terrible journey north was finished. But they had died free, Twilight thought. A few weeks ago she would have wept like any protected Southern belle to be amid so much misery, but she had changed. All that mattered now was surviving and getting these two young children to the safety of Kansas. She no longer asked to stop and bury the dead they passed; the moving tribe could not spare the energy or the time on those who were past caring for. Always the Indians, under their weakening leader, Opothleyahola, kept their eyes on the north and listened for the sound of the pursuing Confederates.

  On December 26, the rebels caught up with the fleeing Indians again, at a place whites called Patriot Hills. Only this time, the Muskogee could not win. They were out of ammunition, their warriors exhausted or wounded and vastly outnumbered. On this, their third major battle as they fought their way north, the Union Indians lost.

  No one needed to tell Twilight that the Creeks had lost. All day she had listened to the Confederate cannons booming through the cold air and the screams of the dead and dying. Now Yellow Jacket galloped back into camp, where she and the two children had taken refuge in the bushes.

  “They are right behind us,” he shouted as he dismounted. “Give me a scrap of your petticoat; then get on my horse and let’s move out!”

  “My petticoat?” Around them were confusion and cries as women and children fled before the oncoming Confederate forces. Asking no questions, she tore off a scrap and gave it to him. Surely her brave warrior was not going to surrender. His stern face forbade her to question him. Instead, she mounted up and let Yellow Jacket hand her the two children.

  “I’ll cover the retreat!” he shouted. “Get the children to safety!”

  She started to protest but realized she must save the children. Ahead of them, frantic people were running or whipping up tired mounts or thin mules pulling wagons. “Surely we must be within a few miles of the Kansas border.”

  He nodded, but he did not smile. Like the others, he had finally realized that Great Chief Lincoln was not sending anyone to help them. A handful of starving Union Indians with only the barest of supplies and primitive weapons would have to save themselves. “Get out of here!” he shouted, and whacked the big pinto horse across the rump. It took off at a gallop.

  Yellow Jacket watched them ride away before turning back to the fight. He had already made his decision about Twilight. He was going to return her to the rebels because he couldn’t stand to see her killed in the massacre that must surely come the next time the graycoats attacked. He held his position until almost dark, giving the slow and the wounded a few precious hours to escape, and then he took the scrap of white fabric, put it on a broken lance, and walked boldly toward the rebel camp.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” the guard challenged.

  “I come under a flag of truce,” Yellow Jacket shouted back. “I must see Captain Wellsley.”

  “Drop your weapon.”

  Yellow Jacket raised his free hand slowly. “You can see, I have none.”

  The reb looked at him suspiciously. “Got a lotta grit comin’ in this way.”

  He didn’t care if they killed him as long as he could save Twilight and the children, maybe slow the attack. “It’s a matter of great importance.”

  “Come ahead, then.” The other gestured with his rifle.

  Yellow Jacket walked ahead of the sentry into the rebel camp, holding his ragged white flag high. Curious gray-clad soldiers began to gather.

  “We should hang him,” one of the soldiers muttered, and others took up the cry.

  And then Yellow Jacket’s old friend, Cherokee Jim Eagle, stepped out of the crowd. “No, and I’ll shoot the first man who tries. He’s here under a flag of truce. Clem, go get the captain.”

  Yellow Jacket nodded in gratitude to his old friend and watched the mixed-blood Cherokee scout run for the officer. In moments, Captain Wellsley, followed by Harvey Leland, strode into the crowd. “What’s going on here?”

  The sentry saluted. “Injun wants to see you, sir.”

  The three men looked each other over. Yellow Jacket was suddenly jealous of Captain Wellsley, the man who would end up with Twilight, but he must think of her safety. “Can we talk?” Yellow Jacket asked.

  Harvey frowned. “Don’t trust him, Captain. You know these Injuns—he’s probably got a knife hidden and he’ll try to kill you.”

  Yellow Jacket took a deep breath to control his anger. “I gave my word I carried no weapon, and I am not like the whites—a Muskogee warrior keeps his word.”

  “But—” Harvey began.

  “Shut up, Leland,” the captain snapped. “We’ll talk. Yellow Jacket, let’s go into my tent and parley.”

  Yellow Jacket nodded, and the three went into the tent. Outside, a muttering crowd of rebel soldiers gathered.

  The captain frowned at Harvey. “This is a private conversation, Leland. I don’t need any civilians.”

  “But, Captain—”

  “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Leland hesitated, frowned, and went out.

  Inside, the two men looked each other over.

  “Coffee?” the captain said.

  Yellow Jacket hesitated. He had not tasted coffee in several weeks. “If you are having some.”

  The other nodded, poured two tin cups full, and handed one over. Yellow Jacket wrapped his cold hands around it and sighed at the warmth.

  The captain sipped his. He looked older, more mature somehow than he had when this chase first began. War and bloodshed would do that to a man, Yellow Jacket knew. “Is she all right?” he asked anxiously.

  There was no need to ask who the captain was speaking of; it showed in his face.

  Yellow Jacket sipped the strong, hot brew and nodded. “She’s all right. Do the rebels intend to harry us all the way to the Kansas border? We are out of food and ammunition; it is becoming a terrible slaughter.”

  The captain played with his cup, not looking at him. “That isn’t my decision to make. I’d like to see it end, too. The slaughter of helpless women and children sickens me, and they pose no danger to the Confederacy. But about Mrs. Dumont—”

  “That’s why I’m here; I want to arrange to exchange her for some food and medicine. Opothleyahola is slowly dying. We are almost to the Kansas border, but I think, if he dies before my people reach it, they will lose all hope, sit down in the snow, and die, too.”

 
“Is Mrs. Dumont all right?” the captain asked, and his love for her shone in his pale eyes.

  Yellow Jacket looked away, afraid that his own eyes might betray his love for the girl with the sun-streaked hair. “She’s all right.”

  The captain stared at him. “You care about her, too.”

  Care about her? She meant more to him than his own life; he realized now what he had been unwilling to admit to himself all these weeks. It would be like tearing his heart out to give her up, but it was for her own good. He tried to shrug carelessly. “We need the food and blankets of the ransom; that’s all.”

  “You’re a poor liar,” the officer said gently. He opened his mouth, started to ask something, then stopped. The silence hung heavy on the air. Perhaps he did not want to know the answer; perhaps he dare not ask if Yellow Jacket had made love to her. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I can’t promise anything,” Captain Wellsley said. “I’ll have to see what my senior officer says.”

  “At least you speak with a straight tongue.” Yellow Jacket felt growing respect for this officer. He was a good man and a rich one. He would take care of Twilight, and she need never want for anything again. “The fact that you willtry is enough for me.”

  “She wants to return?”

  “Of course,” Yellow Jacket said, “why would she not?” He did not know whether she did, but of course she would. The captain offered safety and security. Any white girl would want that. “She—she belongs with you, and I know that.” He looked away. It hurt him to think of her in this white man’s embrace, but he must not think of that now. He would sacrifice his own feelings for her safety.

  “I—I thought perhaps you two might have . . . never mind.” The captain pushed his hat back and did not look at Yellow Jacket. “Yes, I think my senior officer will be willing to ransom her. I can’t offer ammunition,” he said, “but I might work out an exchange for food and blankets.”

  This proud Southerner might not want Twilight if he realized she had been in Yellow Jacket’s arms, so now the warrior lied. “She means nothing to me. I kept her because I thought the army wouldn’t attack us with her as a hostage.”

  The captain looked relieved. “I want to marry her, but I was afraid—”

  “Your personal feelings for her are nothing to me,” Yellow Jacket scoffed, and put down his cup. “You set up the exchange. There’s a grove of trees about halfway between the two sides, several miles up ahead, only a little distance from the border. Clem Rogers or Jim Eagle will know where it is. I will bring her there at dawn. Come alone.”

  “All right.” The young officer looked relieved. “You have my word we won’t set up an ambush.”

  “I trust you, Captain, but I don’t trust the others. About Mrs. Dumont . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Be good to her; she deserves happiness.”

  “I intend to spend the rest of my life taking care of her, if she’ll have me.” The captain nodded and hesitantly held out his hand. They shook awkwardly.

  Yellow Jacket’s eyes blurred suddenly, and he felt as if his heart were being ripped out. He turned to leave.

  Behind him the captain said, “I want you to know, if it were up to me, we would let your people go without slaughtering them.”

  Yellow Jacket paused and looked back. “Thank you for that. I will bring Twilight to the grove in the morning.”

  “I’ll be there, no matter what I have to do to get those supplies,” the captain promised.

  They went outside, where the curious soldiers had gathered. “Rogers,” he ordered, “give this brave as much food as he can carry, and see he gets out of our camp safely. He is under a flag of truce.”

  There was grumbling, but Yellow Jacket straightened his shoulders and took the supplies the rebel scout gave him. Then he pushed through the crowd, headed out of camp. He had to blink hard to keep his eyes from misting. Tomorrow morning he was going to return his white love to the life she should lead, once again a protected Southern belle who would marry the rich captain and return to an elegant life. It was better this way.

  Once he left the camp, he set off for his own lines at a gallop. It was almost dark, and he had the little bit of food Rogers had given him to share around. In a few precious hours, he would have to give Twilight up, never to see her again. He would not think about that; he would think about the moments she had spent in his arms, and those memories would have to last him a lifetime.

  Behind him, Harvey Leland rejoined Captain Wellsley, and they stared after the Indian as he faded into the darkness.

  “Damned savage,” Harvey muttered, “ought to have shot him in the back.”

  “We’re men of honor, remember?” the captain scolded him. “I gave him my word as a Southern gentleman.”

  Harvey squelched a smirk. To hell with gentlemen and all that honor crap. Still, he must not anger the officer if Harvey hoped to gain anything. “He still got Twilight?”

  The officer nodded and sighed. “I’ve made a deal with him to ransom her in exchange for food and supplies.”

  “Now, where you gonna get extra food and supplies?” Harvey groused.

  The officer glared at him. “I believe you have a wagonload with you, Mr. Leland, that you thought you’d sell to the Confederate army at big prices when we ran low. I’m confiscating that.”

  “What?” Harvey squawked, “and payin’ me how much?”

  “Why, I thought you’d be happy to provide the ransom for your sister.”

  Harvey hesitated. He must not look greedy, not if he might end up as this man’s brother-in-law. “Why, of course, Captain, I never meant anything else.”

  “Good,” the officer said curtly.

  “I want to go along on the exchange,” Harvey said, thinking he would have his revenge on that damned savage yet. Besides, he wasn’t about to hand over a free wagon of goods to Injuns.

  “No.” Captain Wellsley shook his head. “I promised I’d come alone and there’d be no soldiers. He’s afraid of a trap, and I gave him my word.”

  “I understand,” Harvey said. To himself, he said, I didn’t give my word. I’ll follow behind and bring some soldiers with me. We’ll set a trap and kill that damned savage!

  Chapter 12

  Yellow Jacket rode into camp after dark and dismounted.

  Twilight came to meet him. “I was getting worried. Where did you go?”

  “I went to see if I could steal some rebel supplies,” he lied, and began to untie the packages from his saddle. “I got a few things. Here, give some of this bread and meat to the children, and I’ll take what’s left over to Opothleyahola and some of the other campfires.”

  She took the package with a nod. “I’ll try to ration it so we’ll have some for tomorrow.”

  She wouldn’t be here after tomorrow, but he did not tell her that. “I think maybe I can work a bargain with some corrupt rebel to get more.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said, looking up at him with those big, dusky lavender eyes. “I’m afraid for you.”

  He did not answer, merely dismissed her with a curt nod. This was their last night together, he knew, but he did not tell her that. After they shared the food around, they put little Pretty and young Wasko down to sleep in the shelter of some bushes. As the fire dwindled, he watched his white love, thinking she had never looked so beautiful. His heart was so full, it threatened to break, knowing that he must lose her forever tomorrow. “At least we have tonight.”

  “What?” Twilight looked up.

  “Nothing. I am sorry that I forced you to come along and share our hardships.”

  She put her hand on his broad shoulder. “I am glad I came,” she murmured, and rose to kiss his cheek.

  “Don’t,” he said. It would not be right to make love to her tonight, as he yearned to do, and then send her back tomorrow to the white officer who would marry her.

  “You’re worried.”

  He nodded, wondering if tomorrow’s swap would go off without a hitch. He would
have to steel himself not to back out of the bargain. “We need to get some rest.” He took his blanket and lay down by the fire.

  Twilight was puzzled. He seemed distant tonight, as if he hid something. Well, no doubt after this last terrible defeat at the hands of the Confederates, all the Creeks and their allies were facing the very real and grim possibility that they might not make it to Kansas—and it was only a few miles away. It would be so tragic if they did not, she thought; the Union Indians had fought hard and risked much. They deserved to win. More than that, she didn’t want Yellow Jacket killed or captured by the other side. He deserved to stay free forever.

  She took her blanket and curled up next to him, snuggling against his broad back. “I am cold,” she whispered.

  “I’ll give you my blanket.”

  “Why do you not talk to me? Is it something I’ve done?”

  “Don’t ever think that.” He turned toward her then, his rugged face grave and serious. “Twilight, if I could arrange to get you back to your people safely, you’d want to go, wouldn’t you?”

  She blinked in surprise. “Of course.” So he did expect that tomorrow there might be another battle and he would be killed and the Creeks defeated. The thought saddened her, and she felt a hot tear make a crooked trail down her face.

  “Don’t cry; I can’t stand it,” he murmured, and kissed the tear off her cheek.

  She turned her head ever so slightly so that her lips found his. For only a moment he hesitated, and then he was kissing her, while she thought of the uncertainty of their fate. Neither of them might survive through tomorrow. She put her arms around his neck, kissing him with a fervor and a passion that surprised her because she had never been passionate about anything.

  “At least we have tonight,” she promised aloud as she kissed him with even more passion, and he gasped and pulled her into his protective embrace.