Kit hurriedly mounted and gave the orders to the soldiers. They rode long and hard, and when evening was drawing nigh, with its dark and brooding shadows across the land, Kit was finally at the base of the mountain.
Moving onward, Kit soon found the vast peach orchards, the fields, the grazing sheep. High above this valley was the true encampment of the Navaho.
Upon further investigation, Kit discovered it would be impossible to travel the paths that led so high up, into the Navaho camp, without being picked off one by one by the Navaho sentries. The straight cliff walls rose more than a thousand feet above the valley floor.
Kit studied his options and came to the conclusion that the only way to dislodge the Indians was to starve them out. He quickly decided to institute a “scorched earth” policy. He would burn the crops, destroy the orchards, and kill or capture the sheep.
As Kit saw it, it was not his business to kill the Navaho, but simply to move them. He would go about doing this in a way that would save the most lives. Instead of hunting down the Navaho any further, especially Sage, he would make them come to him.
He would make Sage give up his captives.
Kit turned to the soldiers. He raised his rifle in the air. “Go to work destroying, burning, and taking . . . !” he shouted.
Chapter 21
We vowed we would never—no never forget,
And those vows at the time were consoling.
—MRS. CRAWFORD
Leonida was washing the wooden dishes in a basin of water just outside her hogan door, glad that Pure Blossom had felt well enough to eat her morning meal. Leonida already had food cooking for the noon meal, having learned quickly that it was best to prepare meals early in the morning instead of during the heat of the day. On this mountaintop the sun was more intense, and even the brisk breezes were not able to alleviate the heat that it created.
“I will be in council with the elders the remainder of the morning,” Sage said as he stepped out of the hogan, attired only in his breechclout and moccasins. “Runner is at Adam’s?”
Leonida turned to Sage, warming through and through with the remembrances of what they had shared throughout the entire night, it seemed.
“Yes,” she murmured, drying her hands on the tail end of her skirt. “He came home long enough to give me a big hug, then ran back to Adam’s lean-to. Sally has changed. Not only is she allowing Runner in her lean-to but she also allows several other young Navaho braves. The braves are teaching Runner and Adam some games.”
She glanced up at the glaring sun, wiping a bead of perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand. “Those boys have the right idea,” she said, laughing softly. She gave Sage a teasing smile. “Perhaps I will join them in their fun and games instead of working so hard.”
Sage placed his hands at her waist and drew her against him and kissed her.
Leonida wrenched herself away from him, her face flooding with color as she looked guardedly from side to side. “Sage, not out here for everyone to see,” she murmured. She then looked up at him, slowly smiling. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to kiss me. I would even invite you back inside our hogan—that is, if you wish to postpone your council meeting until later.”
“Your suggestion is tempting,” Sage said, his eyes twinkling down into hers.
“Fire! Fire below!”
Those words, and the desperation in the voice of the Navaho sentry, sent spirals of chills up Leonida’s spine.
She glanced quickly up at Sage, seeing fear in his eyes and knowing that the threat today was real, perhaps explosive.
Sage stiffened, knowing that fire was almost as bad an enemy as Chief Four Fingers, and now Kit Carson and his soldiers.
Fire could wipe out the entire crop of the Navaho. Fire could kill their sheep. Without those things his people could not survive.
Breaking away from Leonida, Sage met several of his warriors and ran with them through the village toward a cliff where they could look down upon the valley below. They saw wisps of smoke rising. Sage knew that the tall grass and brush surrounding the orchard, garden, and grazing pastures of the sheep were as dry as tinder, and a breeze was rising. In the freshening morning breeze, the whole valley could quickly become a raging bonfire.
Leonida broke into a mad run and caught up with Sage. “How could a fire get started?” she asked, breathless as she walked briskly to his side. “There has been no lightning. And it is midmorning. In the valley dew should still be on the grass.”
“An enemy would start the fire purposefully to ruin the Navaho,” Sage answered back, glaring down at Leonida. “There is only one enemy who knew where to set the fires. That is Four Fingers. I was wrong to allow him to escape my vengeance. Now he has gotten his, over the Navaho.”
“I feel responsible!” Leonida cried, finding it hard to keep up with Sage as he stamped on toward the cliff. “Four Fingers wouldn’t have become this bitter with you had it not been for his interest in me. I wish that I had stayed hidden from him when he came to trade with you. I should have known to. The moment he looked at me I knew what to expect from him. I shouldn’t have lingered so that his interest in me would not soar to such ungodly heights.”
Sage frowned at her. “Never blame yourself for what others do,” he growled. “Your heart and your intentions are pure.”
“I never meant anyone harm,” Leonida said softly. “Especially you.”
“Wait for me,” Runner cried, running after Leonida and Sage. “I want to see. Let me see.”
Sage’s full attention was on the smoke billowing up past the cliff just ahead. He broke into a faster run as Leonida stopped and waited for Runner. Even though the child was almost too large for her to carry, she swept him into her arms.
A coldness seemed to seize Leonida’s heart when she saw more dark billows of smoke rise into the sky from the valley below. In her mind’s eye she was remembering the peach trees in the valley, and the rich pastures, and large fields of corn, beans, and squash.
She was recalling the animals, both goats and sheep alike, that had grazed on the abundance of spring-fed grasses in the valley. These animals were surely now either dead or captured by the enemy.
It sickened her when she came to stand at Sage’s side and peered over the ledge at the devastation below.
Everything was on fire.
There was a stiff breeze blowing. The brush in the thicket was powder-dry, and as it burned it set the tall grass afire. Flames were leaping high, the breeze sweeping them straight into the midst of the thicket. Animals were scattering, and then Leonida saw something else.
Soldiers.
She gasped. Even from this high vantage point she could recognize Kit Carson among those who were still setting fires along the valley, while others were beginning to round up the animals, herding them away from the fire.
“Kit Carson,” Leonida gasped, her voice drawn. She looked quickly up at Sage. “Do you see? It’s Kit Carson. It isn’t Chief Four Fingers. Kit Carson found your stronghold.”
Sage was watching the destruction, his muscles tight, knowing that there was nothing that could be done to stop the devastation below. It had begun too quickly for his warriors to go down the steep sides and paths of the mountain to kill the white pony soldiers. He could tell that Kit Carson had methodically scouted both sides of the canyon and had stationed soldiers to cut off the escape of the Navaho from any side exits. He was not trying to keep his troops concealed but was letting the Navaho see what he was doing. He knew that the Navaho were too high up on the buttes to be able to shoot and kill the soldiers.
Sage knew that Kit Carson was not clever enough to have found the stronghold of the Navaho. He had been led there by someone who knew where it was—and who hated Sage and his people. There was only one man: Chief Four Fingers.
Sage’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, as he vowed revenge.
For now, there was only one thing to do. He would most definitely not bow down to defeat. He woul
d go elsewhere and begin a new life.
Those who believed in him would follow. Those who did not would surrender to Kit Carson and allow themselves to be placed on a reservation where men became children again in their hearts, minds, and souls.
“Sage?” Leonida said, stepping closer to him. “Darling, you didn’t answer me. What are we going to do?”
Sage turned to her, his eyes no less proud and confident than before he had seen the devastation below. “We are powerless against the fire,” he said. “But I know an escape route on the back side of the mountain. I know another canyon, untouched and undiscovered by the white man. I will take my people there. Kit Carson will not have informants this time to lead him to the Navaho. Only I know of this place. I have kept it a secret within my heart just in case of such a tragedy as today’s.”
“Then you aren’t devastated, darling, over this?” Leonida murmured, weaving her fingers through Runner’s thick hair as he stared down at the fire below.
“What Kit Carson has done today is an act against all humanity, not just the Navaho,” Sage said, his jaw tightening even harder. “It is a coward’s act that destroys food, animals, and land. He thinks this will force us out, to beg for mercy at his feet? He is wrong. He is the one who will be forced—forced to live with his decisions today. The Navaho will be elsewhere, planting new crops. Somehow we will also find sheep to fill the fertile valleys of our new home. It will take time, but it will be done. My people will never have cause to lose hope in their future. Not as long as I am there to chart it.”
Runner began coughing and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t like the smoke,” he whined. “Take me away from here.”
Sage put an arm around Leonida’s waist and led her away from the cliff. His warriors followed, their expressions drawn, some even looking as though they had lost not only crops and animals but also hope.
Leonida felt drawn to them as never before, wanting to be able to help them in their time of hardship and loss. But she couldn’t find the words to say to them, and she thought perhaps that was best. Her skin was white. Those who were destroying the Navaho’s crops and animals were white. The Navaho just might decide that she was at fault somehow, because of her presence in their village.
They might look to her as a bad omen—as bad luck.
As they entered the village, Leonida eased Runner from her arms and watched as he joined the silent group of children. Everyone had left their hogans, stopping to stand in a circle in the center of the village, around Sage and Leonida.
Leonida looked slowly around her, feeling out of place as the Navaho were standing so quietly, gazing only at Sage, looking desperately to their chief for guidance. She was glad when he once again placed a comforting arm around her waist, as though he sensed her uneasiness.
“My people, this is a day we shall look back upon with much anguish in our hearts,” Sage finally said, his voice booming above the silence of the crowd. “But it is not the end of the Navaho. It is a beginning. It is a new beginning for those who put trust in me. Those who feel as though we have failed and do not want to try any longer—those who wish to surrender to the white man’s ways—go! Go to them. Those who don’t wish to submit to the white man’s ways ever, flee with me to a place far away, known only by me. Live in peace and harmony with me and my family there! Those who wish to surrender to the white pony soldiers, go now without looking back. Those who wish to travel with me, go to your hogans and pack up your belongings. But make the load light on your horses. It is a dangerous path down the back side of the mountain to get us free of the white men. Make haste. We leave soon.”
Leonida clung to Sage, scarcely breathing, as several of his people walked lifelessly away, their heads hung, toward the paths that led downward, to Kit Carson. It was apparent that they had given up—that they did not believe that such a place as Sage had described existed.
She watched as others rushed into their hogans, readying themselves for this new land of promise.
“Pure Blossom,” Sage said, his tone worried. “I must find a way to travel with Pure Blossom so that she will be comfortable. The paths are narrow. It will be hard to travel with a travois. But that is the only way.”
Sage turned to Leonida and framed her face between his hands. “I vow to you, my wife, that this is only the beginning of our happiness,” he said. “No white man is going to win against Sage now or ever.”
He sealed the promise with a kiss.
Leonida clung to him, yet she was so afraid, she felt sick to her stomach.
When he drew away from her and they started walking toward their hogan, another thought came to Leonida. She grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Darling, what about the captives?” she asked. “Are they going with us, or are you going to set them free and allow them to join Kit Carson? You did promise their release.”
Sage glowered down at her. “Yes, I promised their release,” he said, his voice flat. “But that was before Kit Carson decided to destroy all that is precious to the Navaho. So now Sage will keep that which is precious to those soldiers who have set the fires and who have stolen the Navaho animals. The captives will accompany us down the back side of the mountain. Those who live through the dangerous ordeal may be released at a later date. Those who die, die . . .”
Leonida paled at the tone of his voice. Never had she heard it so filled with hatred. She thought it best to say nothing against his decision, for deep down inside herself she understood.
* * *
Kit Carson paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind him, and watched the flames roar through the tall grasses. He flinched when he heard the scream of another animal dying amid the fire; he had not been able to save them all, as he had planned. A Navaho sheepherder stood by, blackened by the smoke, his eyes dull and empty as he stared in space.
“Damn it, Sage,” Kit mumbled to himself, wiping beads of perspiration from his brow. “Why’d you force me to do this? Why?”
He stopped in his tracks when one of his soldiers began shouting, saying that some of the Navaho people had been seen on the paths, coming down from the mountain. It was obvious that they were surrendering.
Kit Carson mounted his horse and rode through the smoke and flames, up to the paths where there was clear passage. He maneuvered the steep, winding paths until he reached the first group of Navaho.
Swinging himself out of his saddle, nervously twining the reins around his fingers, he met the approach of the Navaho. “You are now my prisoners,” he said stiffly, nodding at one of the soldiers who had accompanied him up the mountainside to place ropes around each of their waists so that they could walk in single file the rest of the way down the mountain. The fire was abating. The smoke was thinning. By the time they reached the charred valley, the fire should be completely out.
Kit Carson looked from one Navaho to the other. “Did your chief release the white captives?” he questioned. “Are they coming down behind you? Where’s Sage? Is he also surrendering?”
He became disgruntled when no one offered a response. He could see that they remained loyal to their leader even though they had lost their freedom as they had always known it.
Kit Carson stared up at the high cliff overhead. He no longer saw any Navaho looking down from it. In fact, he saw no activity whatsoever.
Kit shook his head slowly and slipped back into his saddle. He was not going to walk into any of Sage’s traps. If he had to, he would camp out at the base of the mountain until Sage and the remainder of his people were starved out.
He regretted that Leonida was among those who were being forced to follow the orders of the powerful Navaho chief. He knew that General Harold Porter would not take this news civilly in the least.
Chapter 22
Keep thee today,
Tomorrow, forever.
—EMERSON
Pure Blossom was safely on a travois, wrapped snugly in pelts to keep her from rolling off the traveling apparatus. Horses and mules were loaded down with the personal
belongings of the Navaho. Some preferred to walk. Others chose to ride on horseback down the narrow paths. Leonida was on horseback, Runner on the saddle before her, tied to her with a rope that reached around each of their waists.
Tumultuous emotions flooded Leonida as she watched Sage take one last walk through his village while everyone waited for him to give the order to start. She wanted to go to him, to be with him in his time of sorrow, yet it seemed inappropriate at this time. It was a private mourning of sorts for her husband, having to leave his home behind because of the cruel, insensitive plans of white men. At this moment Leonida was ashamed of her heritage. To see such innocence taken away from such a beloved band of Indians tore at her heart. Would it never end? This constant choice of destroying the lives of innocent Indians to make things better for white people?
Her eyes widening, Leonida wondered why Sage had called many of his warriors to his side as he gazed down into the valley below, where occasional belches of smoke still rose from the destroyed crops. Her back stiffened when each of Sage’s warriors picked up torches that she had not noticed lying at the edge of the cliff. She gasped as the torches were lit, then tossed down the sides of the mountain, igniting all of the trees and grass that clung to the sides of the mountain, setting them all ablaze. The fires were fanned by the breeze, and a mile-wide line of flames soon swept down the sides of the mountain like a giant scythe.
Sage and his warriors hurried to their horses. Sage mounted his close beside Leonida’s. Before they left, she reached to grab his arm. “Why did you set the fire?” she asked, wishing that she could remove the pain in his eyes.
“It is a fire wall of sorts,” Sage said, his voice emotionless. “We will escape behind the cover of the dense smoke that rolls ahead of the flames. Also, it is to give Kit Carson cause to wonder about the fate of our village. It is best to draw him to the village rather than to us. By the time he reaches my stronghold, we will be long gone, safe from the man who was once a friend, now turned tyrant.”
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