To Tame A Rebel

by Georgina Gentry

  “Lieutenant, I would have sworn I saw a track back there,” a soldier said.

  “We’ll spread out and look around. Be careful, men.” A familiar voice, Jim thought—an old friend from the Lighthorsemen: Yellow Jacket. He hadn’t seen or heard of the Muskogee warrior since that long ago snowy day in ’61.

  “Smoke,” the familiar voice ordered, “take the men and spread out along the river. See if you can find anything.”

  A murmur of assent, and then the horses scattered, moving away from where he crouched in the brush.

  Only Yellow Jacket paused and dismounted, looking around. He was so close, Jim Eagle could almost have reached out and touched him as the warrior walked up and down the trail, looking about with keen eyes. Jim held his breath. Any moment now, his old friend would discover him hiding here and shout the alarm. The others were some distance away, searching along the river.

  At that moment, Yellow Jacket turned and paused, looking straight at Jim. Jim tensed, ready to fight or run when the other called to his patrol. For a moment, the only sound was both of them breathing. At that precise instant, Yellow Jacket stared straight at Jim, seeming to recognize him. He hesitated only a moment; then he smiled very slowly.

  In the distance, one of the Yankees yelled, “Hey, Lieutenant, there’s nothing here. You see anything?”

  For a heartbeat, the Muskogee officer looked at Jim, and then he made a gesture. He saluted Jim, and, stunned, Jim returned the gesture.

  “No,” Yellow Jacket yelled back, “don’t see a thing. I think we’d better be getting back to the fort.” He smiled at Jim, then mounted up and rode off down toward the river to join his patrol.

  Jim lay there, finally taking a deep breath, and realized his clothes were plastered to him with cold sweat. He lay there a moment longer, listening to the fading hoofbeats as the patrol rode away. Finally, he got up and began to walk. With any luck, he’d be back at camp before dawn. If he ever caught up with that Cherokee whore again, he’d make her wish she’d never been born. The bitterest part was that he’d found himself attracted to her in a way he’d never felt before. Damn her anyway.

  April rode though the forest toward Fort Gibson, not daring to look behind her in case Jim Eagle had come to, found another horse, and was in hot pursuit. She wasn’t sure of the time except that she knew it was near dawn. What was she to do? She dare not ride into the fort in this ragged uniform on a horse with a Confederate saddle and bridle. There’d be too many questions asked.

  Up ahead on a ridge, she saw the faint outline of a log cabin. Maybe she could get help here. April felt in her shirt pocket. Good. She still had the silver dollars Jim Eagle had given her. She hoped he felt he’d gotten his money’s worth. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of him. She was torn between attraction and hatred that he had taken her virginity and hadn’t even appreciated her sacrifice. She hoped a Yankee patrol caught him and threw him in some awful prison camp. She had left him without weapons or a horse—he was defenseless if a Union patrol should find him. She didn’t care; he deserved it, she thought defiantly, angry at herself because she was having misgivings about what she’d done.

  A dog at the cabin began to bark, and the faint light of a lantern flickered inside. Quickly April dismounted. Suppose these settlers were Yankees? She didn’t want to be caught with a Confederate horse or weapons. There would be too many questions to answer. Instead, she turned the horse back toward the Confederate camp and whacked it across the rump. “Go, boy. Go find Jim.” The horse took off at a gallop. April watched it leave and then walked up on the cabin’s porch and pounded on the door.

  “Who’s there?” A quavery old woman’s voice. “Go away. I’ve got a gun.”

  “It’s just me and I’m alone. I’m lost and hungry; can you help me?”

  Very slowly the door opened, and a tiny Indian woman peered around the door, holding a shotgun. “Who are you?”

  “I’ve lost my horse,” April said, “and I’m stranded and afraid of bushwhackers.”

  “Me, too.” The elderly woman smiled as she opened the door and gestured April in. “Come in. I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to share.”

  With a sigh of relief, April went inside, and the old woman closed the door, asking, “Girl, why are you dressed like that?”

  April held up her hands to show they were empty. “It’s a long story. I’m lost, was captured, and this old uniform is all they gave me to wear.” She looked about in the dim light and realized how poor the woman was. “Have you got anything to eat? I’ve got money.”

  “Real money or worthless Confederate dollars?”

  “Real silver.” April reached in her pocket and brought out the silver dollars. “If you’ve got some clothes I can change into, I’ll pay for those, too.”

  The old woman put down her shotgun. “I haven’t seen real money in a long time. I’ve been hoping to find a way to buy supplies. I’m almost out of salt and flour, too.”

  “Coffee?” April asked.

  The old woman shook her head. “Just a little bit, but I can make it do.” She began to bustle around the kitchen.

  April sat down on a stool before the fire, abruptly realizing how exhausted she was. “You support the North or the South?”

  The old Indian woman paused, looked at her, and laughed. “What difference does it make to me who wins? One son has died on each side. I only hope to survive till it’s over.”

  She dished up corn pone with sorghum syrup poured over it, and a pot of weak coffee. April found herself wolfing it down. “Don’t you want to know what I’m doing out here in the middle of the woods?” April asked.

  The old lady shook her head. “The less I know, the better. When you finish, I’ll fill a tub and let you wash up. I might be able to find you an old calico dress.”

  “I’d be so grateful,” April said, “and a little sleep would be nice, too.” She laid most of the silver on the table, and the old lady’s eyes got big and round.

  “I’ll be able to buy enough for months at the sutler’s store at the fort.”

  April looked out the window. The sun would be coming up soon. If she could get a little rest, she’d go on to the fort. The mysterious major might be waiting for her there. With all her needs met, she curled up on a small bed in a corner of the cabin and dropped off to sleep. Jim Eagle might come searching for her, but right now April was too weary to care.

  The dawn light was just breaking in the east at Fort Gibson when Will Eagle swung into the saddle. “Sergeant, mount your patrol.”

  “Yes, sir.” The short, hairy man saluted in an almost arrogant way. It was evident that this white man felt he was too good to serve under an Indian officer.

  The patrol rode out just as last night’s patrol rode in, headed up by Yellow Jacket. Will paused and saluted him. “Run across anything out there?”

  Yellow Jacket hesitated. He didn’t like the younger brother as well as he liked the elder. Will was shorter and not as handsome as Jim, and there was something ruthless about Will, as if he didn’t care whom he stepped on to achieve his ends. Yellow Jacket didn’t regret not killing or capturing Jim Eagle last night. After all, he owed Jim his life from an earlier time, in ’61.

  So now he shook his head. “If there’s any rebs in those woods, they’re all back in camp asleep, which is where I mean to be in a few minutes.”

  Will nodded and grinned. “Haven’t had a chance to talk to you, really, since you were shipped in last week. “How are things in Kansas?”

  Yellow Jacket sighed. “The Union troops didn’t treat us that good when we arrived in ’sixty-one. I reckon so many refugees overwhelmed them.”

  Smoke said, “I’m afraid the Union cares no more about us than the rebels.”

  “We’re Indians.” Will shrugged. “I only hope the Union treats us better in the long run than the Confederacy, because we know how the rebels treated all our tribes when they ran us out of the South.”

  Yellow Jacket nodded as he wi
ped the sweat from his brow. The blue uniforms were hot in the late June dawn. “Let’s hope the Union keeps its word.”

  “Me, too,” Will said with a nod. “I only wish I could convince my stubborn brothers of that. I reckon Jim is still clinging to that forlorn hope that the Confederates will give the Indians their own state. We disagreed on that.”

  Yellow Jacket watched the other’s angry face, thinking of his old friend, Jim Eagle, who was now the enemy. “You seen Jim since the Keetoowa came over to our side in ’sixty-one?”

  “No, but I know he and Tommy are alive.”

  Yellow Jacket glanced at him. “How can you know that for sure?”

  The other hesitated. “I—I just hope so, that’s all.”

  Smoke glanced toward the fort. “Maybe you brothers can make up after the war finally ends.”

  Will laughed without mirth. “I doubt it. I think Jim feels I’m a deserter because I crossed over. I’d do anything to shorten this war, end it before any more people are killed. The South can’t win, so it’s foolish for them to keep fighting.”

  “I want it to end,” Yellow Jacket said, “so I can get back to my woman and family. Twilight’s in Kansas waiting for me to return. We’ve got a baby boy and two other little kids we saved on the trip to Kansas.”

  Will Eagle grew quiet, his eyes wistful. “There was a girl I fancied once, but she was ashamed of being Indian. She went up north to go to school and never came back. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. For that matter, I’m not even sure if Mother’s alive, what with all the fighting and bushwhackers roaming the Indian Territory.”

  Yellow Jacket didn’t say anything, but he saw the pain in the other’s eyes. “Things will work out with your brothers; you’ll see.”

  The other shook his head regretfully. “I doubt it. Jim was your friend, too; now he’d kill you on sight because you wear a blue uniform.”

  “I doubt that,” Yellow Jacket said, remembering. “In the early days of the war, he found me cornered without a horse or weapons.”

  “And?” Will asked.

  “He pretended he didn’t see me and let me go.”

  “Jim was always the one with principles,” Will agreed. “Me, I’ve decided the end justifies the means; whatever it takes to end this war, I’m going to do.”

  Yellow Jacket frowned. “That’s not a moral choice.”

  “Don’t talk to me about morality and war in the same breath,” Will snapped.

  “You’ve changed, Will.”

  “Have I?” the other said. “Hell, this war would change anybody. All that matters now is ending it.”

  “In an honorable way,” Yellow Jacket said.

  “In any way I can,” Will snapped. “Whatever it takes.”

  Will realized suddenly that the black Indian and the Muskogee officer were staring at him. He’d said too much. “I’ve got a scouting mission to ride. Sergeant, see to your men.” He saluted the other officer and rode out into the summer dawn while Yellow Jacket’s patrol rode into the fort.

  Next to Will, Sergeant Henley’s voice was contemptuous. “If you want my opinion—”

  “I didn’t ask for it,” Will snapped, and looked straight ahead as he rode. He didn’t like the squat sergeant, because Henley was a toady who shirked work and responsibility and drank and gambled too much. Besides that, he was aware the white man hated serving with Indians.

  They rode for several hours, seeing nothing unusual. It was the last days of June, and the blue uniforms were hot. Will ordered his men to spread out along the river miles ahead, searching for anything unusual while he and Henley rode together into a small valley.

  For a mile they saw nothing, and then a shot whizzed past his head, and his horse reared and whinnied. “Damn, Sergeant, we’ve got a sniper in the brush. Come on!”

  They galloped to where Will thought the shot might have come from, and dismounted as the firing continued. “See if you can get behind them,” Will ordered as he pulled his rifle from his scabbard.

  “Sir, the patrol will be coming now that they’ve heard the shots,” Henley whined. “Shouldn’t we wait until—”

  “And have the snipers get away?”

  “But we can’t be sure how many of them there are, or anything else.”

  “Sergeant, are you disobeying my order?”

  “No, sir. I’ll go.” Henley rode out.

  Now Will smelled the faint scent of smoke. What the . . . ? Was the rebel setting the woods on fire? Will crept through the dense brush. In the distance, he heard Henley yelling that he was behind the snipers. The cornered men would surely realize they were trapped and surrender. Instead, the unseen enemy continued to fire at them. Will had now surmised it was only one man and that he wasn’t going to surrender without a fight. It might be easier to wait him out, but Will was hot and tired and didn’t want to take any chances. “Come out with your hands up!” Will yelled.

  Instead, there was another volley of shots. In the distance now, he could hear the patrol coming. They’d soon surround the rebel sniper. Will crept closer. Now he could see just a partial view of the sniper’s head. He could yell at him again to surrender, but Will was angry that the man had ignored his first offer. Will aimed and fired. The man fell. He waited for a moment to make sure there was no more danger, then stood and waved to Sergeant Henley. “I got him. Come on in.”

  The two of them ran into the clearing.

  Henley paused, his eyes wide. “Oh, God, Lieutenant, you’ve made a big mistake.”

  Will gasped as he got a good look at the dead man lying crumpled near a small fire. A dead officer in a blue uniform. Will cursed. “We’ve killed one of our own.”

  “Not me,” the sergeant corrected, “you.”

  Will Eagle cursed again and bent to turn the dead man over. The sunlight reflected off the blue uniform and brass buttons of the cavalry major. His eyes stared sightlessly into eternity. “Why in the hell was he shooting at us?”

  Henley grinned as he stared at the dead man. “Maybe he couldn’t see we were Yanks and panicked, started shooting.”

  Will Eagle looked around. “There’ll be hell to pay back at the fort for this. Funny, I don’t recognize this man, and I thought I knew all the officers.”

  Henley picked up a small scrap of paper smoldering by the fire. “What’s this? Looks like he was trying to burn something when we closed in.”

  Will Eagle grabbed it up and examined it. There was not enough left to know what it had been. “Maybe he thought we were Johnny Rebs and he was carrying important dispatches.”

  In the distance, they could hear the rest of the patrol coming. Henley grinned. “Looks like you’re in big trouble.”

  The body lay on the edge of a gully. Will felt sweat breaking out on his dark forehead. He had killed a Union officer, and Sergeant Henley knew it. At the very least, there’d be an investigation. As an Indian, he couldn’t count on a fair trial if he went to court-martial. “Maybe,” he thought aloud, “we could throw him in the gully and forget we ever saw him.”

  “Well, Injun, I believe I could help you out of your pickle—for a price.” The white man’s tone was contemptuous and condescending.

  “That’s no way to speak to an officer,” Will snapped. “I’ll have your stripes for that.”

  “Sure, Lieutenant, and I’ll testify at your court-martial. But for a price—”

  “Okay.” Will conceded defeat. “I’ve got a little money put away. Now, help me roll him into the gully.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way, Injun.” The squat sergeant strode over and helped him roll the body off the edge and into the deep ravine. With all the vines and brush, no one would ever find the missing major.

  “Hey.” The sergeant turned back toward the fire. “The major left a knapsack.” He walked over and picked it up.

  Will Eagle watched him. He knew Sergeant Henley had the means now to make his life miserable, forever blackmailing him. He couldn’t allow that. “What’s in the k
napsack?”

  The squat white man was bending over it, opening it. Will Eagle pulled his pistol, clicked back the hammer.

  The sergeant glanced up at the sound. Terror filled his ugly face in that split second before Will fired. Henley raised his hand in a silent plea as he fell dead.

  Will ran over, grabbed the knapsack, and looked inside. A Confederate major’s uniform? What in the hell was a Yankee officer doing with that? Was the dead man a Yank or a rebel spy? There was no way to know without questioning him, and it was too late for that. “I might have been a hero who captured a spy instead of being drummed out of the service for killing a Union major by mistake.”

  It was too late now that he’d just murdered his own sergeant to cover up the killing. Cursing, Will strode over to the ravine and tossed the knapsack down the hill and into the brush. He heard the drumming of the patrol’s hoofbeats. Quickly Will walked back to bend over the sergeant as his patrol rode into the clearing.

  “Lieutenant, what’s happened?” The lanky corporal yelled as he dismounted.

  “Bad news.” Will answered somberly. “The sniper got away, but before he did, he killed Sergeant Henley.”

  The soldiers dismounted and gathered around, muttering about bad luck and damned rebels.

  “Well,” Will sighed, “it happens. Let’s take him back to camp, boys. We’ll see that he gets a hero’s burial.”

  They threw Sergeant Henley across his saddle and rode back toward the fort. Will Eagle breathed a sigh of relief. He could only wonder about the major with the two uniforms. He would see that face in his mind forever: the crooked nose and the big mole on the major’s cheek. If he were a Union officer, eventually someone would miss him, but they’d never find him now, and there was no way to trace his death to Will.

  The end justifies the means, he thought as they rode back toward the fort. Anything I can do to end this war sooner, I’m willing to do. He had never been his mother’s favorite; she loved her oldest and youngest best, but Will would show her he could be the most successful of her sons. What Will wanted was to have an important career as an army officer at a prestigious post, such as guarding the White House. Tommy had dreams about getting rich and moving to a city, but in the end, his spoiled little brother would stay on the ranch, where Jim could look after the kid and Mother, too. Maybe Will should be ashamed of what he’d been doing to hurry the Union’s victory, but he wasn’t. He’d do whatever was necessary to achieve his goal.