Wild Splendor

by Cassie Edwards

  “As Sage’s wife, I could not be happier,” Leonida murmured. “Whatever obstacles get in the way, Sage and I will work them out together.”

  Runner burst into the wigwam, crying. Leonida caught him up into her arms as he made a lunge for her.

  “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she asked, brushing tears from his cheeks.

  “Adam is leaving,” Runner wailed. “He can’t leave. He’s my best friend!”

  Leonida felt trapped, not knowing what to say that might alleviate his pain. He had already lost his mother. And now his best friend was leaving him? To a small child, a best friend was something like a lifeline. They depended on each other for sharing their secrets and for so many more things.

  And she was afraid that his next words would be—to allow him to go with Adam, to return to the ways of the white world instead of living like an Indian!

  “You should be happy instead of sad that Adam and his mother are able to return now to their loved ones,” Leonida tried to explain. “Don’t you know that Adam’s father is worried sick over him? If anything happened to you, Sage and I would hardly be able to bear it. It is the same with Adam. His father will be so happy when he has his son back with him. Adam will be as happy to be with his father. And Adam’s mother. You want her to be happy, don’t you? She’s going to be reunited with her husband. That is like if I had been gone for a long time and I was finally able to return to Sage. Can’t you see? It is the same for Adam and his mother and father.”

  Kit smiled from Leonida to Runner, then left the wigwam.

  Runner sniffed and gazed up at Leonida. “Will I ever see him again?” he asked in his soft little voice.

  “I’m certain of it,” Leonida said, relieved that he, as usual, was adapting quickly to change. “In fact, I will see to it, my darling Runner, that one day you two will play again together. It might be several years before this can be achieved, but, sweetie, you will see Adam again.”

  Runner snaked his tiny arms around Leonida’s neck and hugged her. “I love you,” he said, then wriggled free of her arms. “I’ve got to go and tell Adam that we will see one another again. That will make him so happy!”

  Leonida smiled, inhaled a relieved breath and gave a small prayer of thank-you to her Lord, then left the wigwam. When she got outside, she stood watching for a moment as the women and children packed up things that the Indian women had given them as gifts of remembrance. Tears came to her eyes as she watched these women of different skin colors hug one another, some crying, truly hating to leave one another.

  Then Sally came to Leonida and embraced her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so wrong about so many things,” she murmured. “Forgive me?”

  “Forgiven,” Leonida said, returning the embrace. “This isn’t a final good-bye. I’ve promised Runner that he will play with Adam again. I’m not certain how, or when, but I will see that my promise is kept to that youngster.”

  “I will look forward to the day we meet again,” Sally said, hugging Leonida again. Then she fell in step with the other women as they began walking toward the horses assigned to them, their children riding in the same saddle with their parents.

  Leonida rushed to Sage’s side. Runner came and clung to Leonida. His eyes were wide and he was biting his lower lip to keep from crying as he waved a last time to Adam.

  Kit turned and saluted Sage, winked at Leonida, then urged his horse into a soft trot through the camp, the women and children behind them, the Navaho warriors riding alongside, in groups of threes.

  Soon the horses’ hooves could no longer be heard. The Navaho women stood silently craning their necks to get a last look, and then returned to their chores of cooking, washing clothes, and putting wood on their campfires.

  “Well, that’s that,” Leonida said, sighing. She smiled up at Sage. “It’s going to work out, darling. I know it is.”

  Sage did not respond. His jaw was tight and he was staring into the distance. Leonida had to wonder if he was already regretting his decision to let Kit Carson go. Sage had to know that without Kit, he no longer had his trump card.

  Chapter 30

  I am desolate and sick of an old passion,

  Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire.

  —ERNEST DAWSON

  The journey to Fort Defiance had been a long and grueling one for Kit Carson. Halfway there, he began to feel ill, yet he could not put his finger on what was wrong. Slowly his energy drained from him and he needed to stop more often than he wished to catch a wink of sleep. He was needing more rest than had ever been required of him before.

  He was sitting in Harold’s office listlessly as they discussed the events of the past few weeks. Kit scarcely heard what Harold said, and his temples were pounding.

  Harold sat behind his desk. He noticed Kit’s lethargy, yet thought it was because of the long journey and the imprisonment that he had endured.

  “When it was discovered that you had been abducted from the camp, the men went immediately in search of you,” Harold said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desktop. “When they couldn’t find you, they thought it was best to travel on to Fort Defiance, since they themselves feared an attack by renegades. They had no idea it was just one man that took you away.”

  “Sage is not just one man,” Kit said, cold perspiration lacing his brow. “He’s got more fortitude and courage than ten men. I can’t help but admire him.”

  “You said that he took you to his temporary camp,” Harold said, his eyes narrowing. “Tell me where that is.”

  “Telling you that won’t help you find him,” Kit said, evading Harold’s demand. “By the time you get to the campsite, Sage would already have reached his destination, and from what he has told me, no one but Sage has ever been there. Give it up, Harold. You’ve got more to worry about than one man and his few warriors.”

  “That’s true,” Harold said, his voice even and smooth. “Leonida. You said that she was in the stagecoach that had been hijacked. Well, damn it, you’ve returned the women and children and Leonida was not among them. I’m sure you know the reason why. I couldn’t get any of the women to give me any answers about Leonida. They just ignored me when I asked them. So, Kit, it’s up to you to let me know what’s happened to Leonida.”

  Kit looked carefully over at Harold. “Are you certain you want to know?” he asked.

  “How many times must I tell you?” Harold said, his voice rising in frustration. “Tell me, damn it. Now.”

  Kit shrugged. “Alright, I’ll tell you,” he said. “But you aren’t going to like it one damn bit.” He paused, then blurted. “She’s married to Sage. She’s his wife. And Carole Harrison’s son, Trevor? He’s staying with Leonida and Sage, being raised as their son in the tradition of the Navaho.”

  Harold’s eyes widened. “How can that be?” he stammered. “She was my betrothed. And how could you allow the boy to stay—”

  Kit interrupted. “Don’t ask me to explain anything else about any of that,” Kit said in an agitated grumble. “All that I can say is that I’ve given my word to Sage that I’m going to do everything within my power to see that he’s not bothered anymore. He’s going to be given a chance at freedom again. As long as they are far away from land that is wanted by the government for the settlers, why should we want to bother him?”

  Kit took a handkerchief from his rear breeches pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow. When his finger touched his flesh, he flinched, realizing that he had a fever.

  His thoughts returned to Pure Blossom’s burial. He had announced to the Navaho that her body had been ravaged by prairie fever. At that very moment he himself had been exposed. He knew that, since he was so tired and drained of energy from the heat on those long days of travel and from pushing himself beyond his endurance, his resistance to disease had been diminished.

  Kit looked over at Harold, and foreboding grabbed him in his gut. Only during the stage when the person with prairie fever had a temperature was i
t contagious.

  At this moment he was exposing Harold.

  He pushed his chair back so quickly that it fell backward and crashed onto the floor. Lightheadedness overcame him, and be had to grab the desk to keep from falling to the floor.

  “Good Lord, man, what’s the matter?” Harold gasped, rising quickly from his chair. He went around and, placing an arm around Kit, attempted to lead him to another chair, but Kit brushed him away.

  “Get away from me,” Kit said, his throat suddenly feeling parched.

  “What?” Harold said. He took a step back. “What is this all about?”

  Still gripping the desk hard, Kit looked at Harold. “Forget Sage and Leonida for a second and take a good look at me,” he said, his voice breaking. “What do you see?”

  “I see a man in dire need of medical attention,” Harold said, inching away from Kit.

  “I’d say you are right,” Kit mumbled, his knees trembling as he rose slowly from the desk. “I’ve got prairie fever. I would imagine you don’t truly have to take precautions to stay away from me, after all. You’ve already touched me. You have been exposed to my breath. I would wager that you will start to feel poorly even as soon as tonight. Slowly you will feel drained of energy, and then comes the fever. Yes, Harold, I’d say we’ll be sharing the same room in the infirmary here at the fort.”

  Harold paid little heed to what Kit was saying He was unable to forget his obsession with Leonida. With Kit too ill to know what was going on, Harold would have free rein to do as he damn well pleased. He would go against Kit’s recommendations and find Sage’s new stronghold, no matter how long it took. He would take his most valuable men, who could withstand the punishment of many days’ travel.

  A loud thumping sound drew Harold back to the present. “Good Lord,” he gasped. Kit was unconscious on the floor. Not wanting to touch him, afraid of further exposure, Harold ran from the office. Outside, he was glad to find some of his soldiers loitering beside the building, talking and smoking fat cigars.

  “Kit Carson has fainted dead away in my office,” Harold shouted, waving his hands frantically. He did not give the soldiers a hint of what was wrong with Kit, not wanting to frighten them. “Two of you. Go and get him. Take him to the infirmary. And be quick about it. He’s sick as hell.”

  The men hesitated. They began backing away from Harold.

  Harold’s eyes narrowed angrily as he reached out and grabbed two of the soldiers by the arms. “Get in there, you yellow-bellied cowards,” he hissed. “Get Kit to the doctor so he can be looked after.”

  The two men rushed away.

  Harold went storming around the barracks, shaking men out of their bunks and wrenching others away from their poker games.

  After they were all standing at attention out in the middle of the courtyard, Harold began pacing back and forth, glowering at them. Occasionally he looked toward the infirmary windows, hoping that Kit was still too ill to hear his orders. Kit was the only one standing in the way of his determination to find Sage and—ultimately—Leonida.

  He would not accept the fact that she had been running from him in the stagecoach the day it had been attacked. All she needed was a little convincing! And Harold knew ways of convincing that would turn her no to yes.

  “Men, we’ve a job to do,” he shouted, clasping his hands behind him as he continued pacing. “Since neither you nor Kit was able to capture Sage and his runaway Navaho, it’s time to try again.”

  He glanced at the fenced-in Navaho, waiting for their long walk to New Mexico. He had to leave enough able-bodied men to escort them, and he had to leave enough soldiers to protect the fort.

  “Those who traveled with Kit Carson while searching for Sage, step out of line and prepare yourselves to escort the captive Navaho to New Mexico,” he ordered.

  He began walking stiffly before the men, tapping one and then another on the shoulder. “You men that I’m choosing will travel with me,” he said flatly. “The remainder will stay behind and guard the fort.”

  After a short while Harold was on his horse ready to travel, his assigned soldiers lined up on horses behind him, other horses packed well with provisions for the many days’ journey. He looked over his shoulder as the Navaho captives began walking in the opposite direction, their heads hung, children wailing and clinging to their mothers. He ignored their frailty and the fact that they were being forced to go all the way to New Mexico on foot. He did not have horses to waste on them. As far as he was concerned, the more who died while making the long trek to the reservation, the fewer would have to be fed and cared for once there.

  Wheeling his horse around, Harold rode away at a hard gallop, his soldiers dutifully following. He saluted a young officer who was standing guard outside the wide gate of the fort. Then he gazed straight ahead, a smug look on his face.

  Soon Leonida would be his again, and Sage would be hanging from a tree, a noose around his red neck.

  It was just turning dusk when Harold saw several horsemen up ahead, obviously unaware of him and his soldiers. They were riding hard into the pale light in the same direction that Harold was traveling, the noise of their horses’ hooves surely drowning out that made by his soldiers’ mounts.

  Harold motioned with his hand to advance quickly on the horsemen, who were close enough now that he could tell they were Indians. His heart pounded within his chest at the thought that Sage might possibly be among them, yet it did not seem reasonable that he would not be with his people—and Leonida.

  “Then who?” he asked, idly scratching his brow with one hand while the other gripped the horse’s reins tightly.

  When he overtook the four Indians, Harold’s eyes widened and a smile broadened on his lips. His soldiers surrounded the Indians, their rifles aimed at them. Harold moved away from the soldiers and drew up beside one of the Indians. “Well, if it ain’t my lucky day,” he said, chuckling. “It’s none other than Chief Four Fingers.”

  The Kiowa looked guardedly at the soldiers, one by one, and then glared at Harold. “Is Four Fingers your reason for traveling with an entourage of soldiers?” he said in broken English. “Or is it someone else? You would not think it luck that you find Four Fingers unless you wish to use Four Fingers’ services.”

  “Exactly,” Harold said, squaring his shoulders. He put a hand on Four Fingers’ arm. “You know this land like the palm of your hand. I want you to take me to Sage’s new stronghold.”

  “Four Fingers knows nothing of Sage’s new stronghold,” Four Fingers grumbled. “Four Fingers no longer cares. Nor should you.”

  “Well, I do care,” Harold growled. “I care plenty. Now do as you are told or you’ll get shot on the spot. Take your pick. A bullet or my thanks once we’ve found Sage.”

  Chief Four Fingers glared at Harold, then nodded. “I will do this thing if you promise my freedom after the deed is done,” he said, tired of bargaining over and over again for his freedom.

  “You have it,” Harold said, nodding. He gave Chief Four Fingers’ warriors a troubled glance. “How about them? Will they cooperate? Or should we shoot them?”

  “These are my most devoted warriors,” Four Fingers said, looking guardedly from side to side at the rifles now aimed mainly at his men. “Lower your rifles. They will ride with us, if you will also promise them their freedom once Sage has been found.”

  Harold nodded again. “Agreed,” he said. “They’ll be given their walking papers along with you. I have no need for you Kiowa after that.” He smiled slowly. “Not after I have my woman with me again.”

  “The white woman is your reason for hunting down Sage?” Four Fingers said, arching his eyebrows.

  “You’ve guessed it,” Harold said, laughing softly.

  Chief Four Fingers smiled. “She has beguiled many men, I see,” he said.

  “Just don’t you get any ideas about taking her for yourself,” Harold warned, then wheeled his horse around and rejoined his soldiers.

  Harold ordered his men
to disarm the Kiowa, then shouted at the Kiowa chief. “Take off, Four Fingers,” he said. “Lead the way. But don’t try anything. Your back is an easy enough target.”

  * * *

  Leonida smoothed a blanket up over Runner after her bedtime stories sent him into a peaceful sleep.

  “He sleeps soundly,” Sage said, coming to Leonida’s side. He took one of her hands and drew her against him, gazing down at her. The firelight gave her skin a golden, satiny glow. “Woman, are you ready to warm my blankets?”

  The moon was high. The breeze was soft and smelled sweetly, for a pine forest stretched out behind the Navaho’s night camp. Leonida smiled up at Sage and ran her fingers through his thick, black hair, his headband having been placed with his rifle beside his spread blankets.

  “I’d like to take a walk,” Leonida murmured. “I’m too restless to sleep.”

  “What bothers you, my wife?” Sage said, releasing her from the circle of his arms, then putting one of them around her waist again as she began walking beside him away from the campsite.

  “Although Kit Carson gave his word that he would do everything within his power to assure your continued freedom, I fear that he will become powerless against those who are above him in authority,” Leonida said, frowning up at Sage. “And Harold? Lord, when he finds out that I’ve married you, he’ll be angry enough to bite nails in half.”

  “He will get over it,” Sage said.

  “He is not the sort to give up all that easily,” Leonida further worried aloud, stepping over a branch that had fallen from a tree, blocking their path. “I’m afraid he’ll come looking for us, Sage. He’ll bring many soldiers. What if he finds us?”

  “We are many days ride ahead of him,” Sage reassured her. He stopped and turned, putting his hands on her shoulders and stopping her. “We will soon be at my new stronghold. Once we are there, no one can find us, especially the white pony soldiers.”

  “They found your other stronghold,” Leonida murmured, gazing up at him with worried eyes.