Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  He turned and left before Zeke and Abbie could reply. Zeke looked at Abbie and grinned. “Give him time,” he told her. “You’re some woman, Abbie.” She smiled and sat back down while he finished dismantling the tipi. This life was not so bad after all.

  The wheels of Jonathan Mack’s coach bounced and jolted over rough Kentucky roads, but the plush interior and the leaf springs of the Carroll Coach in which he rode made Mack’s ride a comfortable one. He sat back and lit another thin cigar, grinning at the thought of the wealth that lay waiting for him in Santa Fe. Senator Garvey had given him complete license to loan, invest, and purchase in any way that would bring the biggest profit. But the pay he would receive for such work would be only part of his profit. For at this very moment, two very large, well-packed wagons were on their way to St. Louis, where they and Jonathan Mack would ride a steamboat across the Missouri River to Independence. There, Jonathan would hire another coach, with guards for his own safety, to take him to Santa Fe. The wagons would go to a point farther south, where the smuggled rifles and dynamite they carried would be sold to the Mexicans for pure gold.

  It was all arranged. Reliable men were being well paid to watch the wagons until they arrived at Independence. There, Mack would hire a good man who knew the back country to take the wagons to Santa Fe by an alternate route. Other men, paid by Mack, were already on their way to Mexico to make a deal for the exchange of gold and rifles and to set up the place where the wagons were to be intercepted before reaching Santa Fe.

  The Mexicans were desperate for rifles, for they knew it would not be easy to defeat the Americans and neither their government nor their army was organized. If this deal was successful, Mack planned to arrange for more smuggled shipments. When the war with Mexico was over, perhaps the Indians would trade valuable skins and gold for the firearms.

  The only hitch might be finding a good scout to take the guns from Independence to the rendezvous point. It had to be a man who was very familiar with the rugged southwest back country, as well as with Indians. There was not such a man among those he had hired, but he was certain he could find one in Independence, where such men congregated to lead the wagon trains West. And perhaps it would be best if the scout he hired did not know the wagons carried smuggled rifles. That way he and the second driver would not be tempted to do their own dealing on the side. Mack would make certain the drivers he hired would think the wagons carried only whiskey and piano parts for the fancy saloon he planned to open in Santa Fe. After all, the wagons would indeed carry those items. It was just the “extra” cargo the drivers would not know about—not until the Mexicans intercepted them at a place called Devil’s Pits.

  He looked out at the mountains of Kentucky. The mountains of the great West were supposedly much higher and more majestic than these. But Jonathan Mack cared little for the beauty of the land. To him it was of no importance. He did not like the idea of living in the rugged, hot, and dusty West, with few Eastern comforts; but he knew that anyone who got in on the ground floor there could become a millionaire because of the explosive settlement that was sure to occur.

  And so he would bear the heat and filth and snakes and thorny plants; for all that mattered was to get rich. Perhaps he could open a dance hall and a whorehouse. Nothing brought more money in the West than good whiskey and loose women, for both were hard for a man to come by. The few women that were already out there were prim pioneer wives and their few chaste daughters. The thousands of men who had gone west to find their fortunes needed women, the kind that were fast and easy. Jonathan Mack would find them and supply them—for a percentage of the profits, of course.

  He thought of Anna for a moment. Few women would be that good or that pretty, but he would find some. He wondered if perhaps he should have asked Anna to come along. But then the senator would not have liked that. Anna was his favorite.

  It was the middle of May when Zeke and Abbie and their small party reached the sprawling Cheyenne and Arapaho village. They crested a rise, and Abbie’s heart pounded with apprehension when she looked down on over four hundred lodges. She pulled her mount to a halt, and Zeke could feel her doubts and fears. He motioned for the others to go on ahead of them.

  “I will tell our mother you are coming,” Black Elk told Zeke. “She will be happy.” He rode forward, yelping like a wild dog, and galloped into camp, causing a stir among the women who sat stitching and visiting and the men who were busily preparing their weapons for the hunt. Runners had been sent out, so most of the Southern Cheyenne were congregated for the buffalo hunt, as were many Arapaho.

  Swift Arrow rode up and stopped beside Zeke. “I will prepare the village to receive your white woman,” he told his brother. “The chiefs will want a council, I am sure.”

  Then Swift Arrow rode forward with the others, and Abbie watched them ride into the village, becoming lost among the fifteen hundred or so Cheyenne and Arapaho who immediately surrounded them, including children of all ages and the ever-present dogs. Abbie turned to Zeke, her face pale.

  “Zeke, there are … so many! Is that … all of them?”

  Zeke grinned. “No, Abbie girl. That’s just part of them, a small part. There are a lot of Arapaho down there as well.”

  She swallowed and looked back at the village. “I… don’t know if I can go down there, Zeke.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “Do you think they’re going to behead you and boil you in a pot?”

  Her eyes teared. “Don’t joke about it, Zeke.” She turned to face him. “Don’t you realize how somebody like me feels in a situation like this? I … I didn’t expect … so many!”

  He squeezed her hand. “Abbie, I was once the only Indian among hundreds of whites, remember? And I was just a little boy, with no one who loved me the way I love you. No one was willing to protect me, not even my white father. I know exactly how you feel. But you have me, and you don’t have to be afraid, Abbie.”

  “I’m not afraid, really. I’m just … oh, Zeke, I want so much for them to accept me. I know how important it is to you. What if Swift Arrow says something bad about me? What if—”

  “He won’t. He knows he doesn’t have the right. He’ll leave it up to their own judgment. It’s the band chiefs who have to approve, and the dog soldiers and priests.”

  She looked at him again. “And what if they don’t want me there?”

  “Then we’ll just have to leave. That’s all. They won’t harm you, Abbie. They’re just people, and they’re a beautiful people, Abbie. Understanding. When they know about you, they’ll let you stay. They may ask you to stay away from tribal ceremonies and religious gatherings. But they won’t ban you, because you belong to me.”

  She looked back at the lodges, noticing they were set in neat groups of circles, the entire group making up one large circle.

  “How do they know where to put up their tipis?” she asked. “Do they argue over the best spots? There are so many of them!”

  Zeke let go of her hand and pulled a cheroot from a small pouch on his weapons belt. He lit it and slung one leg crosswise over his horse’s back in a relaxed position. He took a puff on the cheroot and pointed.

  “See the opening—where the circle is incomplete?”

  “Yes.”

  “The lodges are always arranged in one large circle, and the camp opening always faces east, toward the rising sun, the greatest power. The village is always placed on the south bank of the river. The Tribal Council assigns the locations of each band within the bigger circle, and each band then builds its circle of tipis, also with the openings facing east. The larger circle is nearly a mile around. Each band is made up of one to four clans—family units—sometimes more. We will be with my mother’s clan. Most Cheyenne women remain with their mother’s clan when they marry, and the man leaves his family clan, unless for some reason that can’t be done. Each band has a chief who is over all the clans within the band.”

  She shook her head. “I hope I’ll remember all of this some da
y.”

  “You will.”

  “Do the dog soldiers live apart from the others?”

  “Not usually. They’re the primary warriors, the most respected and honored of all the fighting men. Swift Arrow is a dog soldier. My other two brothers want to be, but they haven’t gone through the sacrifices yet. Red Eagle will suffer the Sun Dance ritual this summer. At any rate, the dog soldiers usually live among their own clans, but they don’t answer to a band chief. They answer only to their own military chiefs. But there are soldier societies within the bands. They are fighters, too, but not dog soldiers. They answer to the band chiefs, and they are the ones who plan the hunt. All those who participate in the hunt must do exactly as the soldier society tells them. To disobey could mean a whipping, and to disobey more than once could get a man’s tipi burned and his horses shot.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, my!”

  Zeke grinned and watched her, knowing what a difficult thing it would be for her to ride into a village of dark-skinned, half-naked people who appeared savage and violent to her. Aside from Swift Arrow’s cool attitude, the few they had been with up to now had been friendly and kind, but their number had been small. This was an entirely different matter.

  “Were you ever a dog soldier?” she asked Zeke.

  He puffed the cheroot. “I’ve suffered the Sun Dance ritual. And I’ve proven my skills. They all know better than to go against me with a knife, and they know I can fight as good as any of their best dog soldiers. But I’m half white, Abbie. I can’t hold the title of dog soldier, especially since I’m also gone a lot of the time. Nevertheless, they show me the same respect as their better warriors receive. I feel very honored. It’s only because I’ve had a vision and have a Cheyenne name, and because I successfully accomplished the Sun Dance sacrifice.”

  “You never told me what you had to do. I’ve only seen the scars it left.”

  He frowned. “I’ll explain it sometime. I don’t think you want to hear it right now. I’m not even sure you should ever see it, Abbie. To an Indian it’s a great honor … an important and religious ceremony. To a white person … well … I suppose it would seem … barbaric … as you once said about the fighting among the tribes. You have to have a very deep understanding of the Indian to understand the Sun Dance.”

  “I want to understand.”

  “I know you do. But let’s take one thing at a time. This is today, and for today we simply have to go on down there and meet the Cheyenne—and my mother. And when I’ve told them about you, you’ll be accepted. I have no doubt.” He threw down the cheroot and picked up the reins of her horse, starting to lead it down.

  “Oh, Zeke, let’s go back!” she spoke up.

  He turned to look at her. “What is there to go back to, Abbie?”

  Their eyes held. “Nothing,” she replied in a near whisper.

  “Then let’s ride forward, Abbie girl. You just sit proud and tall on that horse. Cheyenne Zeke is coming home to his people. My brothers just herded my prize horses down there for me. Now I’m coming, with my wife who’s carrying my child. I’m proud to take you down there.”

  They rode forward, toward the sea of brown faces already gathered at the edge of the village and staring up at Cheyenne Zeke and the white woman he had brought home.

  Abbie sat proudly on her mount as Zeke had instructed her to do. When they reached the edge of the village, Zeke dismounted and walked, leading both her horse and his own into the huge Indian settlement. Little children ran merrily around the animals and dogs yipped and leaped about the horses’ legs. An ocean of dark, curious eyes stared at Abbie, a few of the children lightly touching her ankles to see the contrast of her skin against their little, dark hands. Women laughed and jabbered and pointed, and men stood stalwart and silent.

  Abbie clung to the pommel of her saddle, her knuckles white from her firm grip. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to stand once she got off the horse, for she knew her legs would feel weak because of her nervous state. She thought for a moment about Tennessee, and her mother and father, her sister and younger brother, all of them dead now. She remembered being a little girl playing in the tall grass behind her parents’ log cabin and daydreaming about a handsome prince coming for her on his white horse and taking her away to a grand castle. She did not know then that her prince would truly come—that he would be as dark and handsome as she had pictured, but that he would wear buckskins and ride an Appaloosa, and that the castle he would take her to would be a tipi, surrounded by a people totally different to her.

  But it did not matter. For the man who brought her to this place was as much a prince as any she had dreamed of, as brave and handsome and honored. And now he reached up for her, lifting her down from her horse with strong hands and keeping a reassuring arm around her waist as he led her toward a handsome Cheyenne woman with graying hair.

  The commotion around Abbie all seemed a blur, for she was lost in a myriad of thoughts, trying to remember Tennessee one moment, and Cheyenne words and etiquette the next, while voices and laughter and movement surrounded her. But Abbie’s thoughts became centered and focused the moment the handsome woman reached out and took her hands.

  “Welcome to our village, wife of Zeke,” the woman told Abbie. Her hands closed warmly around Abbie’s, and a great strength seemed to emanate from them and from the woman’s beautiful eyes and warm smile. Abbie knew she had to be Zeke’s mother.

  “I’m proud to meet you, ma’am,” she told her.

  The woman nodded and looked up at Zeke, letting go of Abbie’s hands for the moment and reaching up to her half-breed son, who enveloped her in his arms for a brief moment, ignoring the Cheyenne custom of showing little emotion in public.

  “I was afraid you would not come back this time,” Abbie heard the woman tell him. “Always when you leave me I see the little boy who was taken from me.”

  “You know I always come back, Gentle Woman,” he replied. He released her, and put an arm back around Abbie. “And this time I bring a wife, Gentle Woman. This is Abigail. Already she carries my child.”

  The woman looked Abbie over now, reaching out and touching her hair. Then she looked back up at Zeke. “She has no Indian blood at all?”

  “None,” Zeke answered. “But her heart is Indian, Gentle Woman. She thinks with an Indian’s courage and honesty, works with an Indian’s strength, and speaks with a straight tongue. She is alone, Gentle Woman. I’m all she has. And both of us want the Cheyenne to be our family. You shall be her mother. Her parents and family are dead.”

  Gentle Woman took both Abbie’s hands. “In my heart, I want it to be as Zeke wishes. But it is for the council to decide, my child. If they should say you cannot stay, my heart will be heavy.” She looked back at Zeke. “Come!” she told him, pulling at Abbie’s hand and leading them inside a tipi. Others congregated around the entrance, eager for Abbie to reappear so they could study her.

  Inside the tipi a man stood, a tall man with nearly white hair. His arms were folded in front of his chest, and he wore only a breechcloth, like most of the men Abbie had seen so far. Zeke immediately went to the man and grasped his wrist in a handshake.

  “Welcome, son,” the man told him. “What is this Swift Arrow tells us about a white girl you have taken as a wife?”

  Zeke smiled proudly and turned to Abbie. “This is she, my father. This is Abigail, and the only thing white about her is her skin.” He nodded to Abbie. “Abbie girl, this is my Cheyenne father, Deer Slayer.”

  Abbie bowed slightly, not sure what else to do. “I’m glad to meet you, sir,” she told the man. Deer Slayer eyed her closely, and there was a momentary silence before he turned to Zeke.

  “Why a white one, Zeke? It is good that you have finally taken another woman, but you vowed not to marry another white one.”

  “I know that, Father. But Abbie is different. I have asked Swift Arrow to call a council so that I can tell the chiefs about her and ask that she be allowed to live here among the
Cheyenne whenever I am here.”

  The man nodded. “A council is being arranged. You have caused much commotion throughout the village this day, my son. Come. We will go out and help make preparations. The smoke must first be offered to the gods.”

  Zeke nodded, stopping near Abbie before leaving. “You wait here until I come for you. My mother will remain with you.” He quickly kissed her forehead and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t be afraid, Abbie.”

  “I … I think I might faint!’ she whispered.

  He smiled and led her to a stack of skins, telling her to sit down. He looked at his mother. “Get her some water and calm her down. She’s pretty nervous. I don’t want her losing the baby. She’s been sick with it.”

  “I shall watch over her. You go with your father. She will be ready when you return.”

  Zeke bent down and kissed the top of Abbie’s head. “I love you,” he whispered. He left hurriedly, and Gentle Woman brought a gourd of water over to Abbie.

  “Drink this,” she told the girl, kneeling in front of her.

  Abbie took the gourd with shaking hands and drank, then handed it back to Gentle Woman. “You’re very beautiful,” she told the woman sincerely. “I knew you would be, because Zeke is so handsome.”

  Gentle Woman smiled. “Ai. I am very proud of all of my sons, so handsome and brave, all of them. But my Zeke, he is special, for he was taken from me when he was just a small boy, and my heart cried for him for many years. Then the spirits smiled upon me and brought him back. In spite of the three Cheyenne sons I had by then, I was never happy until my Zeke returned.”

  Gentle Woman rose and replaced the gourd, then walked to the tipi entrance to look out. “They are almost ready,” she told Abbie. “They have assembled quickly, for they are excited about your presence!” She turned to Abbie and smiled kindly. “You are lovely.”