He stopped a moment, and they all could hear drums, their rhythmic pattern putting fear in their hearts. The Crow were working themselves up for battle.
“They’ll never change!” Connely hissed. “Animals and savages—that’s all they are! After my father started mixing with them he turned into a drunk and a wife-beater. And finally one night that slut of a Cherokee woman he slept with came to our house and threatened my mother with a knife, telling her to leave or die! My mother took me and left, and she was never happy again!”
“That’s just one incident!” Zeke spoke up. “And it sounds to me like it was your father’s fault! You can’t blame a whole class of people for that! Just like I try not to blame all whites for what happened to my wife!” He whirled on Connely. “You call the Indian savage! Let’s talk about the white man! The Indian never knew the kind of deceit and savagery the white man can deal out until he began moving in on Indian lands, with all his greed and lust for more and more and more! It’s the white man who has started all the problems—men like you! And prejudiced, hateful men like those who killed my wife!” He looked around at the others. “Stick up for him if you want! But Connely represents the worst kind of white man, the kind the Indian hates the most, because his tongue is split and he can’t tell the truth! He has helped drive the Cherokee out of the southeast. Do any of you know what those marches were like? I was along on one of them! Civilized, educated, wealthy Cherokees were robbed of everything they had worked for, and herded into filthy barracks on hot, treeless temporary prison grounds until they could be disposed of. I saw true, unmerciful savagery! Men and women and little kids being treated no better than pigs! I was with some Cherokee and Choctaws back in thirty-eight. They were made to walk—even the old and sick ones! Sometimes they crawled! We ran into blizzards that winter, and half the Indians were practically naked because the government had stripped them of everything they owned! They traveled with what they had, most of them sick from already being in prison after being robbed of the land that belonged to them! And hundreds and hundreds of them died on that trail: frozen to death, starved to death, or dying of white men’s diseases. Little kids, old people, women—dying off like flies! And nobody helped and nobody cared! I carried a little girl in my own arms for six days, and that’s where she died—right there in my arms! The ground was so frozen they couldn’t dig to bury her, so we had to just leave her. The soldiers wouldn’t even let us take the time to build her a platform to keep her up and away from animals and such. So she was just left behind on the ground! You’ve all heard about it! You know about the Trail of Tears! And that’s just what it was! It’s a fitting label! And a shameful one for the government!”
“Not everyone had a hand in that, Zeke,” Kelsoe spoke up, while Abbie watched Zeke with an aching heart. “A lot of us didn’t know they were being treated like that until later, when the stories started leaking out about it. Some of us really thought the government was doing the Indians a favor, giving them land farther West where they could live peacefully farther away from white civilization and that those who remained got the chance to own and farm land and mix in with the white settlers.”
Zeke closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s where the white man’s ignorance comes in,” he replied resignedly. He glanced at Abbie, then turned back to Kelsoe. “The white man just doesn’t understand that the Indian can’t live like the white man. The Indian has to be free! He can’t be confined by fences and wood walls. Most of them aren’t farmers; they’re hunters. And those that were banished didn’t want the land farther West, no matter how they would be allowed to use it. The Indian has a deep relationship with the land he’s always known. Removing him from it is like—like removing a piece of his heart. Those southeast Indians who were removed will never be happy again—never. And those who stayed were willing to compromise and at least to try to live like their white neighbors. But the white man won’t give them a chance! They got cheated and lied to, but they got no real help from their neighbors or the government - and then men like Connely came along and completely destroyed whatever trust they might have had in the whites. It’s men like Connely who will never let the Indians rest! Men like him will continue to round them up as the white man moves westward. Indians will be hounded and hunted and murdered and cheated until they’re driven to the edge of the land and into the Pacific Ocean!”
“But you’re helping us settle some of that very land, Zeke!” Hanes spoke up. So far Willis Brown had said little, and the preacher had said nothing at all. Both had learned not to argue too much with Zeke.
“Sure, I’ve helped a few wagon trains,” Zeke replied. “I’m not stupid enough to think that one man can stop thousands from doing what they’ve got a mind to do. I may be Indian, but I have enough white in me to know the white man won’t stop—that this is just the beginning of a migration that will run over the Indians like a herd of unstoppable buffalo. Leading these wagon trains is just my small attempt to seeing that at least some of the whites get through Indian territory without making too much trouble for the Indians—and to see that things go smoothly so that whites don’t start something up and then go back with tales about Indian cruelty and uprisings. There’s trouble coming—lots of it. If I can do some little thing to stop some of it, some small thing to help bring some understanding between Indians and whites while all this moving and settling is going on, then at least I’ve tried. I have the blood of both races in my veins, Mr. Hanes. I have enough knowledge of white man’s thinking to know nothing can stop the movement, and enough Indian in me to want to weep because of it! Don’t think I don’t wish to hell I was all one or the other! It would make life a whole lot easier for me! But I can tell you where my heart lies—especially after what happened to my wife. It lies with the Indian. However, I’m here as your guide and scout, and I’m here to help because I do understand both sides. And I can tell you right now I understand the Indian enough to know those Crow out there won’t rest until they have Connely in their hands—and that’s one area of their thinking with which I have to agree!”
“You can’t turn me over to them!” Connely shouted, backing up now. “It’s murder! Murder!”
“You don’t deserve any more than that!” Zeke growled.
“You half-breed scum!”
“Stop it!” Mrs. Hanes shouted. Abbie watched helplessly, wanting to drag the cowardly, cheating Connely out to the Crow herself and wanting to run to Zeke’s side. But she could do neither. “There must be a solution to this without turning over Mr. Connely!” Mrs. Hanes continued, turning her eyes to Zeke. “I know the man has done wrong—a terrible wrong! But we’re Christian people. It goes against everything we believe in to just turn the man over to those Indians, knowing what they’ll do to him! Can’t you do something, Zeke? Can’t you talk to them at all? Perhaps you could offer the Cherokee some or all of Mr. Connely’s money as recompense.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Connely shouted in outrage.
“You’ve no say in whatever we do!” Kelsoe snapped. “You got us into this mess, Connely!”
“How did I know that damned Cherokee would run across me out here? I never dreamed such a thing could happen!”
Zeke still stood looking at Mrs. Hanes. “That Cherokee doesn’t want the money, ma’am,” he told her. “Think how you would feel if a man came and told you you had to get off your own land, land promised to you, land you were forced to renounce your own people to keep, land you love more than your own life—especially after you’d decided to stay on it rather than to subject your little children to the horrors of prison and starvation and deportation to a new and strange land. Then you find out you’ve been cheated by the very government that promised you could stay put and settle and be happy. You find out that in spite of your hard work and sacrifice, you still have to leave and to subject your family to the very things you promised them would not happen. You’ve been tricked and made a fool of, and soldiers come and haul you out of your home. You have to leave
behind all your worldly goods. You’re taken to a prison camp where you are forced to live in starvation and filth. Maybe your wife or daughter is raped by the soldiers. Then in the dead of winter you’re forced to go to a strange land, forced to walk the whole way without shoes or the right clothing for warmth. Some of your family, maybe your whole family, dies on the way.” He shook his head sadly. “No, Mrs. Hanes. That Cherokee doesn’t want money. He has his pride and honor to think about. He needs revenge, and all the money in the world can’t change that! I understand the need for revenge, Mrs. Hanes!”
Mrs. Hanes just sighed and nodded, blinking back tears of resignation and experiencing a growing fright for herself, her little daughter, and her young sons. Zeke glanced at Abbie again. He wanted to run off with her to keep her from harm. But he had a duty to this small group of people who had hired him in good faith and who had remained loyal to him after discovering his past. He moved his eyes to Kelsoe.
“You’ve always voted on these things,” he told the man. “I suggest that’s what you do now. I say you have no choice but to turn Connely over to them. But that’s not my say. It’s up to you.”
“What are our chances if we stand and fight?” the man asked.
Zeke smiled sarcastically. “Next to none,” he replied. He paced silently for a moment, stopping to look disgustedly at Connely. Then he turned to the others. “Would you really risk your life and the lives of the women and children for a man like Connely?”
Kelsoe closed his eyes and shook his head. “My God, man, we can’t just… turn him over! It’s barbaric!”
“What the Crow will do with the women is also barbaric!” Zeke snapped. “And what Connely did to Tall Tree was barbaric! It’s a cruel, barbaric world, Mr. Kelsoe!”
“A half-breed ought to understand about barbaric things!” Connely snarled. “Don’t listen to that animal!”
“Shut up, Connely!” Kelsoe growled, turning on the man. “You’re treading on very thin ground!”
“You can’t hand him over like Christians to the lions!” the preacher spoke up haughtily. “Now perhaps all of you understand what heathens these Indians really are!”
“And doesn’t what Mr. Connely did matter?” Abbie spoke up, unable to hold her tongue any longer. “What he did can be tolerated—just because he’s white! Does the color of his skin mean he should be allowed to get away with his crimes, and that all of us should suffer for them? Why is it so wrong for that Cherokee to want his revenge? Why is it wrong for the Indian and not for the white man?”
Zeke shot her a warning look, afraid to have her sticking up for the Indians.
“You would talk that way,” Connely sneered. “You’ve been around the half-breed too much. You’ve been brainwashed.” He looked her up and down. “How do any of us know what went on out there while you were alone with him?”
Zeke moved so quickly Connely had no time to move away. In the next second the man’s vest and shirt were split open by Zeke’s blade, his bared chest and fat stomach popping out. Zeke’s blade was flat against the side of his face by then, and Zeke held the thin hair on the back of Connely’s head grasped in his fist and pulled painfully tight.
“That could have been your whole midsection—guts and all!” Zeke hissed, moving the blade over the man’s face enough to tingle Connely with pain but not cut him. “You apologize to Miss Trent for that remark, or the next swipe of my knife will go deeper—much deeper—and I’ll save that Cherokee a lot of trouble!”
Connely’s eyes widened, and his whole body shivered.
“Apologize, Connely!” Zeke growled. “My patience is growing short! You’re only alive because of these other people here, but I’m likely to forget about them any minute!”
“I’m … sorry,” the man mumbled.
“Louder!” Zeke roared.
“I’m sorry!” Connely shouted. Zeke let go and pushed him viciously to the ground. He turned to the others and shoved the big blade back into its sheath.
“As for Connely,” he told the others, “I say he gets delivered to that Cherokee. You go ahead and take your vote. If you intend to keep him here and defend his life with your own, I’ll help you do battle. But you’re all fools! All of you! I know how the Crow think! That Cherokee isn’t going to let this go, and the Crow are his friends now. They all want Connely, and they’ll come for him! I’ll tell you right now that when it looks like they’re winning, you men had best kill off your womenfolk and your kids before they get through!”
He walked toward his horse, and the others looked at each other in terrible indecision.
“Go ahead and make camp!” Zeke ordered them. “It’s getting on to dark. They won’t do anything more today or tonight. They’ll dance themselves up into a war mood first.”
Everyone began to move, slowly, their hearts sick at the sound of the war drums in the distance. All of them wondered what else could go wrong. Their journey had been plagued with tragedy and death. Still, up until now Zeke had been able to help them. But now even Cheyenne Zeke could not make things right. Connely crawled into his wagon to nurse his wounds.
Seventeen
The decision was made. They could not bring themselves to turn Connely over to the Indians. They would stay and fight. Abbie had to sit by and watch quietly, while Zeke seemed to be everywhere at once, giving orders, checking out rifles, riding out and back again several times, trying to decide just how the Crow would come at them, and trying to explain a few things to the farmers who had had no experience in fighting Indians. She worried about his health, for surely the gunshot wound he’d suffered from Givens was not yet fully healed, and Zeke looked tired. She knew he worried about the women more than anything, and he especially worried about Abbie herself. Yet he would not come close to her or speak to her, for he’d made up his mind to end all rumors and never speak of his love for her again. To be held up in the pass by the Indians would only prolong the inevitable, his departure at Fort Bridger—if they ever got there.
“They’ll tease us first,” he was telling the men now. “They won’t give us their all in the first attack. They’ll just try to scare us into handing Connely over, show their force, come at us without really doing a hell of a lot of damage. They aren’t as bloodthirsty as you think, but they’ll get worse if we don’t give up Connely.”
He was obviously perturbed that they had decided to risk their lives for Connely, yet he respected their decision and their Christian feelings. Abbie was certain that Connely did not appreciate what these people were doing for him. She had never liked the man in the first place, and she had reluctantly voted not to turn him over to the Indians, only because of her own fear of God’s punishment if she voted otherwise. But in her heart she had no desire to suffer at the hands of the Crow for a cheating, lying, prejudiced man like Morris Connely.
Night came, and they could do nothing but try to sleep, something that did not come easily to any of them. Abbie lay awake well into the night, thinking about how Connely had not even thanked them for their decision and wondering if Zeke would sleep at all. It was early morning before she dozed off lightly, and it seemed she’d only slept an hour or so before she heard a light tapping at the back of her wagon. She opened her eyes to see the sky just beginning to lighten with dawn.
“Abbie?” It was Zeke’s voice. She sat up quickly and moved to the back of the wagon, quickly running her fingers through her hair to straighten it a little; then she opened the canvas flap. Their eyes held a moment, then his darted around to be sure no one was looking. She reached out to touch his face, but he pulled back. “Don’t do that!” he said quietly. She pulled her hand away.
“You look so tired, Zeke,” she said lovingly. “How about that wound in your side?”
“I’m all right,” he replied. He looked around again, then back at her. “I just … I wanted you to know I’ll be watching out for you when they come.”
She smiled softly. “I didn’t doubt it.” Their eyes held again, and then he turned awa
y.
“You … uh … you stay under the wagon, not in it. It’s hard to shoot underneath a wagon, whether it’s arrows or guns. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. And you watch yourself. I’m scared for you.”
“If you want the truth, I kind of look forward to shooting a few Crows. It’s just the women and children I’m worried about. If not for them, the situation wouldn’t be so bad. I still say they should just hand Connely over and be on their way.”
“I agree. But I voted to keep him. I guess I have too much Christian white in me. Keeps a person from being practical sometimes.”
He smiled a little. “That’s true.” Bradley Hanes climbed out of his wagon and Zeke stepped farther back. “Load your Spencer and get under the wagon,” he said quietly. “They’ll come soon as the sun is full up.”
She nodded, wanting to hug him and stay close to him, but he quickly disappeared. Her heart ached with love and worry as she quickly rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face, and checked out her gun. She climbed out of the wagon, grabbing a stale biscuit to soothe her growling stomach. People were moving about now, and Mrs. Hanes was quickly and quietly feeding her children while the men congregated to make last-minute plans. Connely did not join them. He stayed beside his wagon, his face pale with fright, holding his rifle tightly in his hand and waiting.
All too soon they could hear the thunder of horses and the distant hoots of Indians. Mrs. Hanes crawled under her wagon with little Mary, while ten-year-old Jeff loaded a rifle of his own. Abbie kept six-year-old Mike Hanes under the wagon with her, pulling the little boy close and crouching behind two barrels that sat just alongside the wagon.
Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) Page 31
