When the Indians came closer, none of them were ready for what happened next. The men positioned themselves at various places around the circle of wagons, and the yelps and war cries of the Crow chilled Abbie’s blood as she prayed for Zeke and the others. Then suddenly Bradley Hanes yelled out.
“What the hell! What’s that crazy son of a bitch doing?”
Abbie peered through the crack between the barrels to see the Indians coming, and Preacher Graydon running out to meet them, waving his arms and holding a Bible.
“Repent!” he yelled. “Repent, you heathen sinners! Come to Jesus, and He will cleanse you and make you as pure as the white man! God is my protection! Come to Jesus, you lost people.”
“Sweet Jesus, he’s lost his mind!” Abbie whispered to Mike.
“Will the Indians kill him?” the boy asked her.
“Most likely,” she replied. “You’d best not look.” He closed his eyes and covered his face and she hugged him close.
“Get back here, you crazy hypocrite!” she heard Zeke holler. The preacher turned to look back as the Indians came closer.
“You’ll burn in hell with the rest of them!” he roared. “I’ve come out here to do what I can to save the souls of these heathens, and I—”
He did not finish the sentence. In the next moment an arrow pierced his back, and he fell forward. Abbie closed her eyes, yet could not quite feel badly about the man’s death. He had been a hypocritical and sorry excuse for a preacher, and he’d even raped Yellow Grass. Soon there was not time to worry about him anyway, for the Indians were upon them. She heard the sharp report of Zeke’s rifle, and one of the warriors riding in front fell dead. Then they were circling, around and around, yelping and screeching. She heard someone cry out somewhere, and she hoped no one had been hurt too badly.
She jumped as Zeke’s rifle fired again near her, and a Crow warrior screamed and fell from his horse, rolling right toward her and Mike. When he landed no more than six inches from the barrels, Abbie screamed and scooted back. The Indian’s hand twitched a couple of times, then stopped.
“Abbie?” Zeke hollered out anxiously.
“We’re all right!” she shouted back. The firing continued for several more minutes, but it was obvious the Crow were doing just what Zeke said they would do. They were making more noise and show than actually shooting and killing, and soon they rode off with a couple of Willis Brown’s cattle and a few horses. Dust rolled for a minute or two, and when it settled, the Crow were gone.
It seemed the fighting had ended as quickly as it had begun. At first they all stared at each other, not sure if they could relax. A lot of dead Indians lay outside the circle, a gruesome sight.
“Anybody hurt?” Zeke called out, as the women and children crawled out from under the wagons.
“I think just me,” Kelsoe replied. “Grazed my arm. Nothing serious.”
“Come here and let me have a look,” Zeke told him.
“Looks like we lost our preacher,” Kelsoe told him as he walked up to where Zeke stood.
“No great loss as far as I’m concerned,” Zeke answered bluntly. He looked past Kelsoe at the others. “Two of you men go on out and get his body. Bury it quick. They won’t be back for a while—maybe not even until tomorrow.” The men left and Zeke tore open Kelsoe’s shirtsleeve to study the wound. “Not real bad.” He looked over at Abbie. “Put some whiskey on it for him, will you? And bandage him up.” He looked around the circle. “Where in hell is Connely?” he asked. They all searched around, at first thinking the Crow had somehow got hold of the man; but then Connely came crawling out from under his wagon, and it was obvious to them he’d not even joined in helping with the fight.
“You yellow-bellied skunk!” Willis Brown blurted out. “Here all these people are risking their lives for you, and you cower under your wagon like a woman!”
Connely swallowed and looked around. “I … I had to stay low,” he tried to explain. “If they see my face, they’ll ride inside the circle and take me. Surely you all realize I couldn’t let them see me!”
Zeke’s jaw flexed in anger. He stormed over to the man and backhanded him hard, making Connely’s body spin around and fall flat. Zeke turned to the rest of them.
“I say I take him to them right now!” he growled.
Kelsoe frowned, holding his wounded arm. “I have half a mind to myself, Zeke. But we took a vote. And we still have to do the Christian thing. Let’s wait it out. Maybe they won’t come back.”
“They’ll be back, all right! And they’ll be thirsty for blood! And if one person—just one person—gets hurt bad, I’m taking Morris Connely out there to them, and that’s my final word! I don’t give a damn what any of you think! You were supposed to take my advice on these things. And I’m telling you it’s Morris Connely or all of us! They deliberately let us think we have the upper hand. The second time around will be worse. Then they’ll come at us harder and harder! And you’d best go easy on the water! If they can’t drive us out by fighting, they’ll starve us out and keep us from getting fresh water. Before long you’ll understand that out here all that counts is being practical. The word is survival, people! Survival! That’s all that matters! You’ve come West, and now you’re going to have to learn to live by a different set of rules!”
He stalked off to help bury the preacher, and Connely picked himself up and climbed sullenly into his wagon.
The day lingered for what seemed an eternity to the frightened and anxious settlers. Occasionally each would glance out at the grave of Preacher Graydon with mixed emotions. He had been a hard man to like, and a foolish one for exposing himself as he had, pompously believing that God would protect him from the “heathens.” And there had been his shameful attack on Yellow Grass. Still, the man was dead, and some of them could not help but be sorry for him. But all knew that what bothered them most about the grave was their own fear that they, too, would soon be dead.
The rising sun brought a warmer than usual day to the high mountain pass, and there was little movement or talking—only endless waiting for the hated sound of renewed Crow war cries.
Bradley Hanes had suggested they just pick up and move on, but Zeke warned them that breaking up the circle would leave them too vulnerable.
“They want you to think they aren’t coming,” he told them. “They want you to start moving and break into a straight line. You’d be playing right into their hands.”
“But this could go on and on!” Willis Brown complained. “They could keep us here until we all—” He stopped short, not finishing the sentence.
Zeke nodded. “That’s right. But you folks made the decision. Apparently you think Morris Connely is worth dying for.”
Connely remained inside his wagon, unwilling to face the others and afraid to be out in the open at all. Yolanda Brown lay weeping and fretting in her own wagon, occasionally becoming hysterical and screaming that the Crow were going to cut her baby out of her stomach. Zeke ordered Willis Brown to pour some whiskey down his wife’s throat to quiet her down.
The day melted into afternoon, and now Zeke slept beneath the shade of the Hanes wagon. Only Abbie and Olin knew just how badly the man was probably hurting. Abbie had noticed him occasionally rub his side as he rested. She was sure he had not slept at all the night before, and she worried about his still-healing wound, longing to go to him, to hold him, and to assure herself that he was all right. It was torture to watch him and not be able to care for him. She wondered if violence was something that would always follow someone like Cheyenne Zeke. Surely to live with him would entail always fearing for his life; yet the worry and fear would be worth it if she could be his wife. She tried to imagine what his mother and half brothers must be like. Full-blooded Cheyennes. How well would they accept a white woman into their clan? That question sent shivers through her blood. Were the Cheyenne any different from the hated Crow who lurked out there in the hills now?
She sighed and walked a few feet from her wagon to
gaze out at the green foothills. Perhaps he was right. To think she could live among a people so different was just the daydream of a foolish young girl. And yet, to live without him …
She stared at the gray, snow-capped peaks of the Rockies, standing silent and magnificent, always far off and untouchable. She wished life could be as sure and dependable as those mountains. They had probably been there for millions of years and would still be there thousands of years after her own small self was dead. No matter what happened to the Indians, no matter how the white man’s progress affected the West, the mountains would never change. She decided this land was probably the most beautiful place God had ever designed. It was splendid and immense, painted in beautiful colors. Yet it could fool a person. For it was also dangerous and threatening. It beckoned a person on, like a witch beckoning children into her home so she could eat them. Abbie felt that it was eating her, piece by painful piece. Yet she knew that no matter what this land did to her, she could not leave it. Tennessee would never be the same.
“You’re straying a little too far,” Bobby Jones stated from behind her. She jumped and turned, startled by his voice, and surprised to see that she had absent-mindedly wandered away from the wagons as she stared at the Rockies. Bobby Jones had spotted her and hurried up behind her with his rifle.
“Oh!” Abbie replied, blushing slightly. “I…the mountains are so beautiful… I guess I just kind of lost myself.” She glanced back at the train to see Zeke still asleep, then looked around at the distant foothills. “There’s nothing out here but a few rocks anyway,” she went on. “If those Indians come again, we’ll hear them in plenty of time.”
“Zeke says they’re tricky. They can sneak up on you right easy, Abigail.”
She glanced around again, crossing her arms in front of her nervously, then looked back at Bobby. “You scared, Bobby?”
He shrugged. “Some. I guess all of us are—except maybe Zeke.”
She smiled a little and blushed. “I think he just acts first and gets scared later,” she answered. “Sometimes there just isn’t time to be scared. You just dive in and do what needs to be done and don’t think about being scared.”
“I guess.” Bobby sighed, watching her closely. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Abigail … well… we might not live through this … and just in case we don’t, I want you to know … I watch you all the time and I … like you a lot, Abigail. You’re awful pretty, and I’m damned sorry for the terrible things you’ve suffered on this trip.”
Her stomach felt fluttery at his compliment, and she blushed more, unaware he’d had such feelings for her. She smiled nervously. “Thank you, Bobby.”
“I … uh …” He sighed again. “I thought maybe, once we get to Oregon … if we get to Oregon … maybe I could … see you?”
She glanced at Zeke again. It would be foolish to say no to Bobby Jones. What kind of future was there for her if she didn’t at least consider someone else? Cheyenne Zeke had apparently said his last word on the subject. There was no future with him. Yet how could a boy like Bobby Jones compare to the man who had been first to make love to her?
“I guess that would be … fine,” she replied, turning away to hide the tears in her eyes. Her heart ached for Zeke. And she knew that to take another man to her bed would be to deceive him, for in her mind and heart she would be lying with Zeke. “Oregon … is still far off, Bobby. A lot could happen.”
“I know that.” He put a hand to her waist and urged her a little farther away. “I just…well…it helps a man fight better when he knows he has something to fight for, something he can think about in the future to stay alive for.”
She turned to face him, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Bobby, I can’t promise—”
“Hell, I know that,” he answered with a smile. “And I’ve seen … how you look at him.” Her eyes widened in surprise, and he caught her hand. “It’s all right, Abigail. I understand. I just … just wanted you to know I care … and that if—Well, Cheyenne Zeke is wild and half Indian. It’s not likely he’ll keep you with him. I know I’m not much by comparison, but I don’t want you to be alone, Abigail. So I just want you to know that if things don’t work out, if you get to Oregon and you’re alone, I’ll stay around. I won’t go back East. I care about you and I want to be with you.”
She hung her head. “That’s very nice, Bobby. I appreciate that. I truly do. I’d be … honored to see you, if things happen like you say. But I… care very much for him, Bobby. And you must know, I’m hoping things will work out differently, although Zeke is determined they won’t.”
“He’s a wise man.”
She looked up at him, unable to deceive his goodness. “Bobby, you … you might not want to see me. I mean I… I kind of belong to Zeke.” He frowned a little, and then a rather sorrowful disappointment flashed through his eyes. But she saw no anger. “Do you know what I mean?” she asked boldly, her face reddening.
“It’s something I already suspected,” he replied. “Fact is, some of the others probably do, too.”
She turned away. “I don’t hide my feelings too well, I guess,” she answered. “And Zeke is so determined nobody should know. Seems kind of silly, doesn’t it? Trying so hard to hide something everybody already knows. But that Zeke, he’s stubborn and immovable as those mountains out there. And I guess nothing will change his mind. He’s determined it could never work with another white girl, and when we get to Fort Bridger, he’s … he’s leaving the train.” Her voice broke slightly. “He’s going back … to his people on the Arkansas River, and I expect that’s the last … Ill see of him.”
She sniffed and her shoulders shook. Bobby grasped her shoulders in his hands. “Don’t cry, Abbie,” he said softly. “And don’t be ashamed. I understand. A girl so young and so lonely, she’s bound to turn to a man who’s older and strong and sure of himself. A man like him would be easy for a girl to …to love, but I expect he’d be hard to live with, Abigail.”
She nodded, wiping at her eyes and blowing her nose. Bobby turned her around.
“Abigail?”
She looked up at him.
“In case we all… die right here, I wonder if … you’d let me kiss you.”
She smiled bashfully and looked down. “Bobby, I can’t kiss somebody I don’t love, I mean …not that way.”
“Oh, I don’t mean anything disrespectful, and I don’t even mean it has to be any kind of promise. I just … want to kiss you. Sometimes friends kiss, Abbie. And I’m your friend. I just want you to know … how sorry I am about all you’ve been through. Lots of times I just wanted to hold you and tell you not to worry.”
She sniffed again and looked up into his handsome but boyish face. Their eyes held a moment, and then he hesitantly bent down, meeting her lips and kissing her sweetly. But suddenly his body jerked, his grip on her shoulders tightened for a moment, and he pulled back a little.
“I … love you, Abbie,” he said in a strained voice. “Run! My God, run, Abbie!” He slumped to the ground, and she stood there frozen for a moment, staring down at Bobby, who had an arrow in his back. A cold shiver passed through her.
“Bobby!” she screamed. “No! No! No!” She looked up to see a black-faced, white-eyed Crow looking back at her as he moved out from behind a large boulder where he’d been hiding. He was grinning. She quickly picked up Bobby’s rifle, but the Indian just stood there, still grinning, apparently sure that the white woman would not know how to use a gun. Abbie quickly cocked and fired the rifle, and the Indian jerked backward, looking wide-eyed and stunned as blood poured from the center of his chest. Then he fell backward. Abbie looked down at Bobby again, turning him on his side.
“Bobby!” she screamed. “Bobby! Bobby!” She knew he was dead. For some reason his death hit her as hard or harder than those in her own family, for it was like seeing all hope for her future die with him. Here lay the nice boy who had quietly loved her. In him there had been a chance she could be happy without Zeke. Now everyt
hing would end for her at Fort Bridger. She screamed his name again desperately, shocked and somewhat maddened by the thought of sweet Bobby’s lips on her own at his death.
She felt a darkness swimming around her, but a bloodcurdling screech from another Crow Indian brought her back to reality. As she stood up, she saw Zeke running toward her from the wagon train. She wondered how she and Bobby could have been so foolish as to wander so far from it, and she suddenly realized her own danger. She whirled to see that the second Indian who had screamed was running toward her, hatchet raised. She tried to fire Bobby’s rifle again, but it jammed. So she threw it down and started running, keeping her eyes on Zeke, who was headed toward her, yelling at her now to run and run fast.
“Zeke!” she screamed. “They killed Bobby! They killed Bobby!”
She ran hard, but when she got within a few feet of Zeke, a horrible pain ripped through her left shoulder, all the way through her and to just above her left breast. As she gasped and staggered, she saw Zeke pull out his side arm and start firing. Then she could hear the Indian behind her cry out. There was the sound of distant horses, their hooves thundering; of Indians hooting and hollering, and then of guns being fired from both sides. Zeke and Abbie were caught in the middle of the cross fire, and he grabbed her and pulled her down to the ground. Glancing down at her painful shoulder, she saw an arrowhead sticking out of the left side of her chest.
“Zeke! Zeke! Zeke!” she screamed, gunfire all around them. “Oh, God, help me!”
“Hang on, Abbie girl,” she heard him say lovingly as blackness began to envelop her. She felt herself being lifted and knew he was running with her in one arm, while shooting with his other hand. She hated herself for getting into such a mess and for putting Zeke in such danger. She clung to his buckskins while he dragged her back.
Soon she sensed they were inside the circle of wagons. She felt herself lying on the ground, and the horror and agony of the ugly arrow in her body overwhelmed and frightened her.
Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) Page 32
