by Tim Tingle
“Yes,” Danny said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes and staring at the moon and stars overhead. “I need to see my grandfather. He can heal me and stop these bad dreams.”
“I have great respect for your grandfather, Danny,” Rick said. “Now, let’s get settled down for the night.”
He climbed to the front seat, snapped the reins, and led the mules to a small clump of trees by the roadside.
Soon Rick and Danny were rolled up in their blankets on the ground.
“Good night, and no more nightmares, Danny Blackgoat,” Rick said.
“What if I dream of your daughter, Jane, and she doesn’t like me?” Danny said. “That would be a nightmare.” Right away he wished he hadn’t said it.
“Most of your nightmares are not real, Danny. Maybe get some sleep,” Rick said, laughing.
Danny slept the remainder of the evening with no nightmares, and long before sunrise he and Rick were once more on the road to Fort Sumner. With the first hint of crimson on the clouds to the east, Rick looked over his shoulder.
“You awake, Danny?” he asked.
“Yes, for a long time.”
“Whoa,” he said, pulling on the reins and easing the mules to the roadside. “We can take a little break if you want to, Danny.”
“Thank you, Rick,” Danny said, stepping from the wagon. He climbed a nearby hill and said his morning prayer, tossing corn pollen to the sky.
When he returned to the wagon, Rick handed him a strip of dried beef and patted him on the shoulder. “I am proud of you, son,” he said. “And I’ll do my best to keep you safe. We need to remember, both of us, that the soldiers know you are close by. They’ll do everything they can to catch you. I hate to say this, Danny, but they won’t wait to watch you hang. These men will shoot you dead first and bring your body back to Fort Davis.”
“They’ll sling my body over a horse so I won’t bloody up their wagon,” Danny said.
“You know how that feels, don’t you?” Rick asked.
“I rode for days like the saddle on a horse,” said Danny. Without thinking, he ran his hands over his back, over scars of his blistered, wrinkled skin.
“We cannot let our guard down, not ever, if we want to live.”
“They won’t hurt you, Rick,” Danny said.
“They will if they find out I’m helping you escape,” said Rick. “Besides, I have many enemies among the soldiers.”
“Why?”
“I married a Navajo woman, Danny.”
“Why do the soldiers hate us?” Danny asked.
“I wish I had the answer,” said Rick. “I know what they say. The soldiers say you are savages, and that allows them to do anything they want to your people.”
“I never saw a Navajo kill an old man and lay his body by the roadside for everyone to see.”
“People are afraid, Danny, of anyone different. My wife was afraid of me for the longest time. I never thought I’d win her trust.”
“How did you do it?”
Rick drove without speaking for a long moment, snapping the reins and whistling at his mules. Just when Danny was convinced the conversation was over, Rick took a long breath and patted him on the knee.
“I was kind to her, Danny. I treated her with respect. While the soldiers barked orders at her—knowing she didn’t understand a word they were saying, not at first—I spoke to her.”
“You said simple words to her, didn’t you?” Danny asked. “You pointed and made shapes with your hands so she could understand. That’s what Jim Davis did for me when he was teaching me English.”
“That’s right, Danny. You understand too much for a little boy,” Rick said, with a serious look on his face.
“I’m a little boy that’s about to save your life,” Danny said. Before Rick could reply, Danny leapt to the rear of the wagon and climbed under a blanket. “Soldiers are coming,” he said.
“What! Where?” Rick said, startled into action. He jerked the reins and the mules stomped and whinnied. “Where are they?” he asked, standing to look over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone, Danny.”
From under the blanket, Danny pointed to the trees by the roadside. Rick saw a flock of birds disturbed by something and soaring across the desert.
“The birds didn’t fly away when they saw us coming,” Danny said. “They saw something that scared them. I am guessing it’s soldiers.”
“Danny Blackgoat,” Rick whispered to himself, “you are an amazing young man.”
Soon a cloud of dust rose from the road a mile behind them. When the dust cleared, Rick saw a small platoon of soldiers, twenty or more, coming over the rise in the road. He pulled his wagon to the roadside.”
“Easy, boys. Take it easy,” he said to the mules. “They’ll be gone soon.” He started to warn Danny, but then realized Danny had already warned him. “I guess you’re smarter than a mule,” he said.
“I am if you’re the mule,” Danny replied.
Chapter 7
By Bullets or Hanging?
The next half hour became the worst nightmare Rick had ever experienced. But this was no nightmare. This was real. The soldiers did not ride by without stopping, as expected. They approached Rick as if he were the man they were looking for.
The officer in command waved his arm at his men and shouted, “Surround the wagon and shoulder your rifles!” The soldiers, still on horseback, circled the wagon and pointed their rifles at Rick.
“I work for the army,” Rick said to the officer. “This is a supply wagon. I’m on my way to Fort Sumner.”
“We know who you are,” the officer replied. “You’re Rick, and you’re married to a Navajo woman. We suspect you of treason.” Rick said nothing in reply.
“What supplies are you carrying?” asked the officer.
“Nothing,” Rick said. “I’m on a return trip from Fort Davis.”
Ignoring Rick, the officer pointed to one of his men. “Corporal, see what’s under that blanket.”
“Wait!” shouted Rick, standing and waving his arms at the soldiers. “There is nothing in my wagon but food supplies for my trip. Stay out of my wagon.”
The officer pointed slowly to Rick, his jaw set in a look of anger.
“Ready!” he shouted.
All twenty of the soldiers lifted their rifles and aimed at Rick.
“Aim,” said the officer. The soldiers placed their fingers on the triggers.
Rick lowered his arms to his sides. In the long silence that followed, he turned his head, pleading with the soldiers, staring deep into their eyes. What he saw terrified him. The soldiers wanted more than anything to fire their guns and watch him die. Rick placed his palms on top of his head and pulled his chin to his chest.
“Lower your rifles,” the officer said, satisfied that Rick fully understood who was in charge. “Now, see what’s under the blanket.”
“I am sorry, Danny,” Rick whispered to himself. “I could not save your life.”
“There is nobody here, sir,” a soldier said. “He is telling the truth. Nothing but supplies, food, and clothing.”
Rick lifted his head and tried not to show his surprise on his face. The officer was disappointed. He tightened his lips and spat on the ground. “Show him what we had planned for him and the boy both,” he said.
The corporal lifted two thick hanging ropes from his saddle.
The officer pointed to a leafless tree by the road. “My hope was to hang you two and leave your bones for the buzzards. Your skeletons would swing on that tree limb as a warning to everyone who passed by—do not help the savages.”
“I understand,” said Rick.
“You’d better,” the officer said. “We will see you at Fort Sumner.” He turned to his men and shouted, “Get ready to ride!”
They soon rode away, leaving Rick standing in the wagon and choking on the dust from their horse’s hooves. As they topped the hill, he gazed at the sky, waiting for someone to appear and tell him what had just happened.
“I think it’s safe now, Danny,” Rick said, sobbing as he spoke. “Are you there? Are you still alive? Maybe we are both dead. Maybe. What is happening, son?”
The silence was broken only by the beating of wings, as the birds returned to their nests. “Please say something, Danny. Let me know where you are.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Danny’s soft voice rose from beneath the wagon.
“Danny Blackgoat!” Rick jumped from the wagon and fell to his knees. He saw Danny clinging to the front wagon axle.
“I couldn’t hold on much longer,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done if they shot you.”
“Danny,” Rick said. “I think I know what your life has been like for the last year. I have never been so scared in my life.” He took a long breath and wiped the tears from his face. “But don’t climb on the wagon. Not yet. Let’s sit under the trees for a while.”
He led the mules to the shade of a scraggly clump of mesquite trees. Danny rolled a bundle of straw from the rear of the wagon to feed the mules. Rick nodded a silent thank-you and leaned against the trunk of the stoutest tree. He bowed his head and wrapped his arms around himself till his whole body shook.
When Rick finally opened his eyes and took a breath, Danny hurried to the wagon, returning with a bag of dried beef sticks, a canteen, and two cups.
After pouring a cup of water for himself and Rick, Danny stood tall and lifted his cup to the sky.
“I would like to offer a toast,” he said.
“What? What are you doing, Danny Blackgoat?” Rick asked.
“I’m doing something I have never done before,” said Danny. “But I saw Jim Davis offer toasts, and Mr. Grady too. So now, I want to offer a toast.”
“Fine,” Rick said. “What are you toasting?”
“Life,” said Danny. “I am offering my toast to a long life for my friend Rick.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Rick said, nodding and raising his glass to his lips.
“I would like to offer a toast as well, Danny. Do you mind?”
Danny shrugged his shoulders and sat down. No white person had ever asked his permission before.
Rick rolled to his knees and slowly stood, while Danny filled both of their cups.
“This toast is for you, Danny,” Rick said, as he held his cup to the sky. A single ray of sunshine peeked through the clouds, and Rick closed his eyes and nodded at the blessing from the heavens.
“I offer this toast to the long and happy marriage of my daughter, Jane, to the finest young man I have ever met, Danny Blackgoat of the Navajo people.”
Danny was so surprised he almost dropped his cup.
“Will you drink to it?” Rick asked.
Danny’s mind raced with Navajo tradition—who must give their permission, the proper way of arranging a marriage.
“I will do everything I can,” he said, staring into his cup, “to make this happen. I would be honored to marry your daughter, Jane.”
Chapter 8
Road to Nowhere
Rick and Danny rode without speaking for most of the afternoon. Several times Rick glanced at Danny, riding behind him in the open wagon bed. It’s nice to get that wedding idea out in the open, he thought to himself.
As they approached Fort Sumner, Danny’s mind burned like a wildfire with thoughts of the dangers ahead. He had been gone so long without hearing from his family, and now Jim Davis would be living at Fort Sumner.
I hope they are all still alive, he thought. If the soldiers follow Jim Davis and catch us talking, will they hurt my family?
As the sun sank below the mountains to the west, Rick pulled the mules to a halt. “Danny,” he said, “the fort is only a few miles away. If we camp out here, we’ll have to find a place for you to hide in the light of morning. Can you find your cave from here?”
“Yes,” Danny said. “It’s not far.”
“Put together enough food and water for several days for yourself. You can hide out near the cave tonight, and I’ll drive on to the fort. The soldiers will be less likely to look for you after dark, so we should be safe.”
Danny filled a sack with dried meat and fresh water. “Rick, will you tell Jim Davis about the drinking water? People who drink it are dying.”
“I’ll warn him,” Rick said. “Now, you be careful and take no chances. Here’s a plan. If you see myself or Jim Davis come looking for you, don’t run out of hiding right away. If it’s a trick and the soldiers are watching, we will button our shirts tight at the collar. I’ll tell Jim. That will be our sign, our warning for you to stay away. Understand?”
“Good idea,” Danny said. “I’ve never seen you button your collars at the neck, but the soldiers won’t think anything of it.”
“That’s what I’m hoping, Danny. But be very careful who you trust.”
“Rick, will you do something for me?” Danny asked.
“Of course. What?”
“Would you ask your wife if she would be all right, if she would mind . . .” Danny hung his head, embarrassed to continue.
Rick smiled. “Come here, son,” he said. He pulled Danny close to his chest and gave him a warm hug. “You want me to ask my wife if she is all right with you marrying our daughter?”
Danny nodded, still staring at the ground.
“What would you say if I told you it was her idea?” Rick asked.
“That would make me very happy,” Danny said.
“Then be happy, Danny Blackgoat. Be happy and careful both.”
Without another word, Danny leapt from the wagon and disappeared into the moonglow of early evening.
“Be happy and careful both,” Rick repeated, whispering the prayer to himself.
Danny climbed over a small hill, crouching as he moved in case any soldiers were nearby. The sun is down but the moonlight casts shadows, he thought.
He circled the cave and settled in a small grove of bushes, watching the cave for any sign of life. “The rattlesnakes will always be there,” he whispered.
After the long day of travel and trouble with the soldiers, Danny was more tired than he thought, and he nodded off to sleep. He was soon startled to hear a bugle call, echoing across the lake waters from the fort.
He jumped to his feet before realizing that was a very dangerous thing to do. He flopped face-first to the ground, breathing hard and casting his eyes back and forth from one hillside to the next, as if he were under attack.
Assured that no one had discovered him, Danny dusted the desert sand from his shirt and pants. Facing the morning sun, he whispered the Diné prayer and tossed his corn pollen to the sky.
“I must be careful,” he said aloud, “but I must also remember why I have returned to Fort Sumner. My family needs me. I have come to rescue my family.” Curious to see what lay below the fort walls, to the west, Danny tied his food and water sack around his waist and began the long walk around the lake. “We can never escape on the roads. I must find a path through the canyons and hills.”
By midmorning he climbed a steep hillside and entered a thick forest overlooking the fort. This must be a lookout spot for the slave traders, he thought. The ground beneath the trees was covered with horse tracks, the remains of campfires, and piles of dried horse dung.
I was right, he thought, and I must leave no sign that I was here.
Suddenly he heard men approaching, and he knelt down at the base of a tree, hoping the riders would not enter the woods. When they passed by, he peered over the hill and spotted two soldiers, a sergeant and a private, guiding a small, open wagon. They topped the hill and led their horses down a rocky wagon road.
Where are they going? Danny asked himself. The road came to a sudden end, with no building in sight, no corral or reason for being there. “A road to nowhere,” he whispered.
A cold shiver crept down his spine as he saw what the wagon carried. Two coffins.
Chapter 9
What Was He Thinking!
The soldiers par
ked at the road’s end and dragged a long wooden box to the rear of the wagon.
“Can you lift it?” asked the sergeant.
“Not by myself,” said the private. “It’s too heavy. Must be one big Indian inside.”
“Let’s drag him over there and bury him,” the sergeant said, pointing to a mound of dirt among dozens of stone markers. The soldiers carried the coffin to the gravesite, along with two shovels, and began to dig.
“A graveyard,” Danny whispered. “This is very bad. The first day of my journey to rescue my family, and I stumble across a graveyard.” He lay on his back and remembered the long night in the graveyard at Fort Davis, when he lay in the coffin. Without thinking, he stretched his hands behind his back, half-expecting to feel the body of Jim Davis.
A slow smile crept across his face as he remembered how afraid he was. But I came out of the coffin alive. Jim Davis was alive, and now we’re both here at Fort Sumner. Maybe this is a good sign.
He rolled on his belly and crept to the top of the hill, watching and waiting for his chance.
“We better take that empty coffin back to the carpentry shop,” the sergeant said. “We were supposed to pick up two bodies, but one of ’em hadn’t died yet.”
“Have you seen that new carpenter work, the one from over at Fort Davis?” asked the private. “I heard he’s a rebel prisoner.”
“Yes, he’s a rebel,” said the sergeant, “but a hardworking one. I’ve never seen anyone take a pile of boards, a saw, and some nails, and throw a coffin together in a few hours. We’ll be bringing this extra coffin back to his shop.”
They are talking about Jim Davis, thought Danny. They are going to Jim Davis’s shop when they leave the graveyard. This is my chance to see my old friend.
“Seems like a waste of good boards to me,” the private said. “Don’t know why we can’t throw these Indians in a pit like we used to.”
The sergeant said nothing, and the two dug the hole in silence. They lowered the coffin into the ground and began tossing dirt into the hole.
“I never did like graveyards,” said the private. “Let’s get out of here.”
