Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny)

by Rosanne Bittner

  Jason Trent, Kelsoe and the others walked back in a group to where Zeke stood drinking his coffee.

  “We … uh … we’ll seriously consider hiring you, Cheyenne Zeke,” Trent spoke up, rubbing his chin again. “But we have a right to know a little more about you—like how you can have a father from Tennessee and a Cheyenne mother. Quite a distance between Tennessee and Cheyenne territory.”

  “Long story,” Zeke replied. “My pa come out to the plains years back, married a Cheyenne woman, then left again. Went back to Tennessee. Took me with him. Guess that’s when I learned to talk like a Tennessee man. At any rate, my pa was a wandering man; that’s what led him out West to the mountains. When he went back to Tennessee, he married a local girl. I have three half brothers in Tennessee. Lived there myself a lot of years. Had some bad experiences and came back out here to find my real ma. Been out here ever since.”

  “No family other than that? No wife?” Kelsoe asked.

  Zeke just stared at him a moment, looking as though someone had stuck a knife in his chest. Abbie’s own heart tightened, for the pain in his eyes was evident. She felt sorry for him in that instant, and then secretly chastised herself, warning her heart that the man she was staring at would probably violate and scalp her in the dark if he got the chance. Why should she feel sorry for a half-breed Indian she’d known five minutes? But no—Cheyenne Zeke would never hurt a woman. Her own intuition told her that. And there was that awful pain in his eyes!

  “Had one,” he replied quietly. “Wife and son. They’re dead. I’m not answering any more questions about it.”

  “White?” Connely spoke up, suspecting by the previous answer and by the fact that Zeke had lived in Tennessee that he could have married a white girl. The man seemed to detest Indians, and more than that, he seemed to enjoy rubbing them the wrong way. The word “white” was sneered haughtily.

  “It’s not your business,” Zeke replied. “She’s dead, so what’s the difference? I came here looking for work. Like I said, I’m good. Now do you want a scout or not? I don’t have all night!”

  Abbie felt like hitting Connely for making Zeke angry. The remark about his dead wife had seemed to cut deeply into the man, but to her own surprise, Abbie found that she was glad Cheyenne Zeke was now unattached. The realization that he was a widower and had lost a son besides only melted her heart even more. Jason Trent turned to the others.

  “I say we hire him. Like he says, he knows both sides, and he knows the land. Looks like a good fighting man to me—a brave man. I say we use him. God knows none of us knows his way around out there.”

  “Well,” Kelsoe answered, rubbing his neck doubtfully. “I don’t know. Half-breeds can go either way. Folks say you can’t trust them.”

  “Ain’t so with this one!” The voice had come from outside the circle. It belonged to a big, burly man dressed in skins and a beaver hat who was making his way closer—a white man, overweight but mostly muscle, with a bearded face. He appeared to be about forty, and he was smiling now and putting out his hand to Cheyenne Zeke. “How are you doin’, old friend!”

  Now Zeke broke into a full smile, and Abbie’s legs felt like water. It was just as she suspected. That smile brought a disturbing handsomeness to his face, and her heart pounded so that she put a hand to her chest.

  “Olin!” Zeke replied. “Where in hell have you been?”

  “Just about everywhere—same as you,” the man replied as they shook hands firmly. The new man turned to Trent. “Mister, I’m Olin Wales,” he said, putting out his hand to Trent. “Zeke here—he’s a good man. A good man. Saved my life once. You can bet your very lives that he’ll be one damned handy man to have along on a train. He knows all about everything out there, including the Indians. He’d never abuse a woman or be dishonest or lead you wrong. I’ll vouch for him. I’d stake my life on Cheyenne Zeke. In fact, I wouldn’t mind going along myself—give me and Zeke a chance to catch up on old times, and two scouts are always better than one. I’ve made that trek before, and I’ve trapped in the Rockies for years. How about it?”

  Trent looked relieved, as did Kelsoe. But Connely began to look a little worried. Abbie liked the man less and less, yet she was not sure why. Perhaps it was the way he had of not looking straight at people, as though he had something to hide. At any rate, once it looked as though Zeke might scout for them, Connely lost some of his cockiness and appeared suddenly uneasy.

  “All right, Zeke,” Trent told the man. “You’re hired. By the way, I’m Jason Trent.” They shook hands, and Zeke’s eyes moved to Abbie again. She felt herself blushing.

  “She going along?” he asked. “And that blond girl I saw?”

  “They’re my daughters,” Trent replied warily.

  “Risky business,” Zeke told him. “Pretty young girls can mean trouble. Best to watch them close.”

  Abbie’s heart pounded even harder. Pretty! He’d called her pretty!

  “I keep a good eye on them,” Trent replied. “And they’re Tennessee bred. They can fend for themselves. And they know how to use rifles.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Zeke replied, the odd pain returning to his eyes. “But the fact remains … well … a lot of bad things can happen to a woman out there. And it’s not Indians I’m talking about. It’s your own kind. I’ve seen what your own kind can do. There’s men out there who haven’t seen anything prettier than their horse’s—” He stopped short. “Just watch them close,” he finished. “What about their ma?”

  Trent’s face clouded. “My woman died last year—some kind of cancer,” he told the man. “There’s just the two girls—and my son Jeremy. He’s asleep. This man here beside me is Mr. Kelsoe, and he’s got three other men with him—four wagons in all. The … uh … older gentleman there is Morris Connely. Don’t know his business and haven’t asked. It’s his affair.”

  “That’s right!” Connely snapped, turning and stalking off to his wagon. Trent shrugged and looked back at Zeke.

  “We aren’t all like him,” he added. “I … uh … I want you to know I didn’t yell at my daughter because you’re part Indian. I’d have done the same with any stranger. Abbie’s a little too trusting—too young to know the difference, I guess.”

  Zeke smiled a little and Abbie looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

  “I expect there will be more at Sapling Grove when we get there tomorrow,” Trent added.

  “I expect so. And I understand about your daughters, Mr. Trent. I’d do the same.”

  To Abbie’s relief, her father finally smiled at Zeke. “The one who got you the coffee is Abigail. She’s fifteen. The other daughter is LeeAnn. She’s seventeen. But it’s Abbie who’s kind of taken over since their ma died. She’s the strong one of the two.”

  Zeke looked over at Abbie again, seeming pleased with the remark. “I sensed that,” he told Trent. Abbie blushed again and turned around to climb into the wagon, where LeeAnn sat in a robe brushing her hair.

  “Abigail Trent!” she said right away in a loud whisper. “I was peeking and I saw you hand that coffee to that half-breed! How could you do such a daring thing!”

  “I think he’s wonderful,” Abbie replied, unbuttoning her dress.

  “Abbie! Why you don’t have any sense at all?” LeeAnn scolded. “You stay away from that one, or he’ll be making a woman out of you before you’re wanting to be one, and he’ll have that long hair stuck in his belt!”

  “That’s hogwash!” Abbie shot back. “He’d do no such thing! I’m not one bit afraid of him!”

  “You make eyes at that half-breed, and you’ll be sorry; mark my words!” LeeAnn answered. “Besides, he’s got no more than the clothes on his back, I’ll bet. There’s no future in a wandering, penniless half-breed, who’s probably twice your age, I might remind you!”

  “Twenty-five,” Abbie replied with a grin. “I already figured it out.”

  “You see? He is almost twice your age!”

  Abbie giggled. “Oh, LeeAnn, a ma
n like him wouldn’t look more than once at something like me anyway. But I can still dream. You can have your fancy men. Me, I’m not after fancy, perfumed, ruffled men. When I take a man, he’ll be all man, strong and brave, a man who’d die for me in a second if it meant saving my life and my virtue. I’ll bet that’s the kind of man Zeke is.”

  “You’re talking dumb!” LeeAnn replied. “You don’t know beans about men!”

  “And what do you know!” Abbie shot back, suddenly jealous of her sister’s looks.

  “A lot more than you do!” the girl replied. “I’ve been kissed, and that Leonard Brown touched my breasts once.”

  “LeeAnn!” Abbie chided. “What a brazen thing to let a boy do to you!”

  LeeAnn smiled smugly. “A girl has to learn a few things, doesn’t she? When the right man comes along, now I’ll know how to handle him. A woman has to have a little experience if she’s to be able to handle a man. I don’t intend to be a bumbling nincompoop when my fancy man comes along. I’ll be a real woman for him.”

  “A man of experience would surely understand when a girl hasn’t ever had a man before. He wouldn’t blame her or laugh at her. If he was really in love with her, he’d be patient and kind with her. And if he was all that experienced, then he wouldn’t be in a hurry to rush at her and scare her to death.”

  LeeAnn’s eyebrows went up. “Well, aren’t you the big know-it-all. If you think that’s how a man like Cheyenne Zeke would be, think twice. Half-breeds are always panting after white women, and don’t forget they’re part savage! So they’d make love like a savage, and they don’t wait around to find out if you’re willing or not. They don’t give their women any choice!”

  “Oh, what do you know?” Abbie said quietly. “So what if you’ve been kissed and touched,” she pouted. “Those were stupid, back-hill boys who don’t know what they’re about.”

  LeeAnn giggled and climbed under her quilt. “I declare, Abbie, for a girl who this morning didn’t want anything to do with boys, you sure did change your thinking of a sudden! Now quit talking. I want to sleep.”

  As she snuggled down into the quilt, Abbie sat staring at the lamp.

  “I changed my mind because it isn’t a boy I’m thinking about,” she replied in a near whisper.

  “That’s a fact,” LeeAnn teased. “It’s a man—too much man for the likes of you, little sister!” She giggled again, and inside, Abbie felt like crying. LeeAnn was probably right, and she wished with all her heart she could grow up overnight and emerge a full-grown woman from the wagon in the morning. She sighed and, snuggling down under her own quilt, closed her eyes and thought of Zeke. She dreamed she was walking up to him, smiling, and she put out her hand and he took it. She told him he had a friend, and that she didn’t hate Indians; and he smiled his handsome smile and was grateful. Then he kissed her cheek and told her he was glad to have a friend, and they walked away together. But then she fell asleep, and that was the end of the dream.

  Two

  The next day found them at Sapling Grove, but to Abbie’s disappointment, Cheyenne Zeke was not there to greet them. She watched for him the rest of the afternoon, as they made camp and met the others who began to congregate and introduce themselves.

  The Trents had arrived with the four Kelsoe wagons and the Connely wagon, and among the six wagons there was a total of thirty-two mules, six horses, and four oxen. Most of the mules belonged to Kelsoe, who had six hitched to each of his wagons, plus four extra mules and four horses. Connely’s wagon was pulled by four mules, and the Trent wagon was pulled by two oxen, with two spare oxen and two horses along.

  Connely still appeared nervous and spoke to hardly anyone, but the rest of them were soon sharing stories of why they were there and what they intended to do in Oregon. David Craig kept watching LeeAnn, but she paid him no heed. For one of the new arrivals at Sapling Grove was a smooth and handsome man named Quentin Robards. LeeAnn could not help but be attracted to him, for in her mind, Robards was just the man she had been seeking. His dark hair was slicked back tidily, and his well-tailored pants and long coat complemented his lean, attractive build. But there was a prettiness about him that Abbie did not like. His skin was too clean, his hands too white, as though he had never worked hard. She guessed his age to be thirty or so, and thought it humorous that just the day before LeeAnn had been warning her about older men. It was possible Robards was even older than he looked, for he had apparently led a soft life and had pampered his looks.

  Robards spotted LeeAnn’s flirtations immediately, and quickly introduced himself when a group gathered around the Trent campfire. Abbie tried to keep from making a face at the man’s perfumed smell, but LeeAnn smiled beautifully and fluttered her eyelids as he gave his name and bowed in a gentlemanly fashion. He spoke well, as though he was educated, but in spite of her youth and inexperience, Abbie suspected he was a ladies’ man, who had cared for no woman in particular in his whole life, and who cared mostly about himself. He wore flashy rings, and earlier she had seen him smoking an expensive-looking cigar. She wondered if he was a gambler. She had already heard whispers to that effect, and it angered her to see her scatterbrained sister mooning over the man. Robards had no wagon. Instead he rode alone on a horse, a grand, shiny, black stallion that carried two fancy carpetbags on either side of the saddle.

  As Robards smiled prettily and introduced himself to the others, they were joined by another man, sober of face and stern looking, who introduced himself in very pious tones as Wendell Graydon, a preacher. But to Abbie, Preacher Graydon did not seem like a preacher, for in his unattractive face and narrow eyes she could see that the man had no real love for others. He was middle-aged, tall and spindly, with a large, sharp-hooked nose and an extremely white complexion that was already reddening from the day’s sun. There was a coldness about him that made her stomach quiver when he shook her hand with his own cool, bony one, and she decided this was not the kind of preacher she would ever turn to for help. He also had no wagon, and rode only a horse with his supplies in his saddle bags, informing the others that all he needed was the Good Book and prayer to get by on. But Abbie suspected he would need more than that.

  Her apprehension was relieved by the arrival of another woman, a Mrs. Harriet Hanes, who appeared to be in her late twenties, and who was traveling with her farmer husband, Bradley Hanes, a stocky, blond, and bearded man, who was short, broad-chested, and rather plain looking. They were a friendly couple with three children, which made Abbie’s little brother happy, since two of the children were boys: Jeff, who was ten, and Mike, eight. The third child was their six-year-old daughter, Mary. They drove one wagon, pulled by four oxen, with three horses tied to the back.

  The last to join the group was a schoolteacher, a man named Winston Harrell and a widower like Abbie’s father. He had a ten-year-old son with him, a quiet boy named Philip. Harrell carried a number of books in his wagon, and Abbie wondered if he would get over those high mountains she’d heard about with such a heavy load. They had already been talking about not being able to take along too much weight. Now she grew worried, for her father had brought along her mother’s grandfather clock, and Abbie would rather die than to lose the precious heirloom.

  And so their group had grown, some of them going to the West for known reasons, and some for unknown reasons. Preacher Graydon spouted off about saving the “heathen” Indians, and Mr. Harrell spoke with sincerity about setting up a school for settlers’ children. The Haneses intended to settle in and to farm one of the rich valleys of Oregon they’d heard so much about. Robards was evasive about his intentions, and Abbie suspected that he planned to get rich off gambling. Connely still gave no indication whatsoever of his reasons for heading beyond the Missouri, while Kelsoe was going to set up a trade line to the West. Now their group was big enough to travel, with eight wagons, twelve men, three women—if Abbie and LeeAnn could be considered women—and five children. There were twelve oxen, fifteen horses, and thirty-three mules.


  Abbie felt safer now, knowing that two of the twelve men would be Cheyenne Zeke and Olin Wales. Her father had already told the others they would be their scouts and had explained that Zeke was a half-breed Cheyenne. Some expressed doubts, but the more Jason Trent explained, the more at ease they seemed to be, except for the preacher, who openly protested. He promptly declared that all must remember that Indians were not among “God’s children” and could not be trusted; he added that Indians were not a part of the “Manifest Destiny” of America. Abbie recognized that term as one used to claim that the white man was destined to conquer and rule all of America. She detested the preacher for his words, and knew she’d been right in fearing that there would be trouble between Preacher Graydon and Cheyenne Zeke. For Abbie was certain that everyone was equal in God’s eyes, including the Indians; and she felt there were probably some Indians who were more “Christian” than the preacher. His comment even seemed to rub some of the others the wrong way, and her heart swelled with love when her father spouted back that a man’s worth should be based on his honesty and his actions, not on his race, be that white or Indian. If Cheyenne Zeke could get them where they were going, that was all that was important.

  Talk turned to who would be captain of the wagon train. Neither Jason Trent nor Bradley Hanes wanted the job because each had his family to look after. The fancy Quentin Robards didn’t know enough about such travel to be a leader, and neither did Connely, who seemed too preoccupied with himself to care anyway. The preacher declared he would tend to God’s matters and let someone else do the leading of the train, and the schoolteacher preferred to spend his spare time studying his books instead of thinking about the trail ahead. That left Bentley Kelsoe, who said he’d be glad to take the job, since he had no family and since he had the most wagons and men. They all knew the real leading would be done by Zeke and Olin Wales, but they needed someone from their own group to keep things organized in camp, to settle arguments, and to supervise the mending of broken wagons and such, since much of Zeke and Olin’s time would be spent scouting the trail ahead.