Lakota Surrender

by Karen Kay

  “I believe I know our daughter better than you do. And I don’t agree she’ll get over this savage on her own. She loves him—can’t you see that? The only way to handle this is to end it now. Otherwise, she’ll ruin her life just as I ruined mine.”

  “Maggie!”

  “Surely you know that’s true!”

  The major reeled away from her as though slapped. “You regret your life with me?”

  Margaret Bogard actually hesitated. And perhaps that moment of uncertainty was the only thing that redeemed her. Resolutely she lifted her chin. “Regret my life with you?” she asked. “Yes, I do. And I would make a better life for Kristina.”

  Wendall Bogard clenched his fists at his sides. “I see,” he murmured. “In that case, I will arrange passage for you both as soon as possible. But that may not be until the spring. I hope that will satisfy you.”

  “If that’s all you can guarantee, perhaps I should ask another.”

  Major Bogard sighed. “I’ll see what can be done.”

  “Ensure that you do.”

  With nothing left to say, Major Bogard twisted around toward the door and quit the room. And as he closed the door behind him, he felt as though he had terminated a vital chapter of his life. It was a mistake. He felt this deeply. What Maggie contemplated would not bring happiness, but could he convince her of this? Somehow he doubted it. Besides, at the moment he lacked the courage to try.

  The pinkish-red rays of dawn had not yet fallen upon Fort Leavenworth. Three wild Indians still remained within those same walls, having obtained entrance the night before and hidden themselves until now.

  One of those Indians now painted himself while the other two men looked on.

  “Why were you gone all night?” Neeheeowee demanded.

  Tahiska had just painted white dots below his left eye and a slash of the same color from cheekbone to chin. He took his time, and setting the white paint aside, he then reached for the black.

  “You know what is said about a warrior who spends the night before a fight with a woman,” Neeheeowee persisted.

  Wahtapah grinned. “Sometimes,” he signed, “a man will risk much for love.”

  Neeheeowee snorted, causing Wahtapah to place his hand over his lips, a sign of silence. Then, he gestured, “Would you have the whole fort know we are here? Besides, why do you worry? You begin to sound like an old woman.”

  “It is not wise to ignore the wisdom of our fathers,” Neeheeowee returned.

  “She is not just any woman,” Wahtapah defended his cousin. “She is his wife, and it had been too long.”

  “But look at him now, he has not cleansed himself for battle nor has he danced or…”

  “Enough!” Tahiska’s hand sliced through the air. “While you two argue about me, have you noticed that we have not recovered our weapons? We hid them here at the time of the party not long ago; we need them now. Why are they not here?”

  “We were waiting for you.”

  Tahiska nodded. “Then let us find them now, before dawn.”

  Neither Wahtapah nor Neeheeowee could fault such reasoning, and nodding toward each other, the threesome crept through the fort.

  Kristina awoke feeling more than a little unsettled.

  She stared at the window. Something was wrong, something was teasing her senses. What was it? Early morning sunlight flooded into the room and it took Kristina little time to decipher the smell that accompanied the start of the day. Smoke. Gunsmoke.

  Kristina tensed, her gaze sweeping into every corner of the room.

  “Tahiska?” she called, her voice no more than a mere whisper.

  No answer. Kristina felt her muscles tense involuntarily, the pit of her stomach churn. Something was wrong. She’d sensed it even as she had awakened.

  She arose, throwing the covers back, then just as quickly replaced them as she was reminded of her nudity. Where was he? Just then the distant whoop of a war cry reverberated through her room like an omen and Kristina’s stomach took an instant, deep plunge.

  Trouble. She’d innately known it. Tahiska was in danger.

  She leapt out of bed and, no longer conscious of her nudity shot to the window.

  “Oh!” The scream tore from her throat. She bit down hard on her hand to keep herself from yelling and, wheeling away from the window, pressed her body up flat against the wall. Then, softly she murmured, “Oh, dear Lord!”

  She’d glimpsed them in the distance, the three Indians facing out against a multitude of soldiers. And even as removed as she was from them, she’d seen their grim expressions and the ominous markings of the war paint.

  What could she do? She had to think; she had to try something.

  Again her earlier observations about Tahiska returned en masse, but she couldn’t make the pieces fit. Why had he come here in the first place? Why was he now challenging every soldier at the fort? And where did she fit into the scheme of things?

  She didn’t even dare to think about this last question. She knew he loved her. She couldn’t be mistaken about that, or could she?

  Refusing to dwell on it, she dashed to her wardrobe. Scattering clothes everywhere, she cautioned herself to breathe deeply, to think, to act with purpose. Yet just the same her heart beat loudly in her ears, and she knew she was close to hysteria.

  The thought came out of nowhere and Kristina nearly swooned. He could die. Right now, he could be lying lifeless, the victim of some soldier who considered an Indian life no better than that of an animal. She gulped in air, attempting to calm herself. She’d be of no use to them if she were hysterical.

  No, if she were to be of any assistance at all, she had to keep her wits about her and act quickly. Her toiletry forgotten, her intense grooming neglected, she stepped into slippers and without a second thought, fled to the street below.

  He stood in the sunlight, the black and white war paint declaring his intention more than mere words ever could have communicated. Watapah and Neeheeowee stood close to him, ready to give their lives for his cause if the need arose. All three were painted. All were armed. How was this possible? No Indian was ever allowed into the fort with weapons, let alone decorated in war paint.

  Most of the infantry, who had been awaiting morning muster, confronted the Indians as the enemies they seemed determined to be. Fingers clutched at the triggers of shotguns, hands at the hilt of swords. No one dared to move. No one dared to bat an eye.

  “Murderers!” Tahiska’s voice rang out courageously, his words in English. “You…I accuse…and you!” He pointed to the two men responsible. “My father…you slayed. We fight now…to death, if you are man enough!”

  Kristina heard it as though from far away, although she now stood only a few yards from the confrontation. Some soldiers had killed his father?

  Why had Tahiska never mentioned this to her? Didn’t he trust her? Her thoughts hit her hard, but none was more unsettling than her final question: Had he merely dallied with her while he waited for the return of the trade wagon bearing the guilty men?

  Kristina scrutinized the Indians while they, in turn, scowled at the accused. Dressed only in breechcloth and moccasins they confronted the multitude of soldiers without wincing.

  Kristina couldn’t stand here doing nothing, afraid that if she didn’t act, her friends and her husband would die. She refused even to consider what life would be without Tahiska She held back while she considered her options. Where was her father? She had to find him; he could do something about this. Scanning the crowd her gaze landed on Tahiska, and suddenly she was incapable of movement.

  A flash of metal gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Watch out!” she screamed.

  McKlinsley had pulled his gun, but before he could shoot it, Wahtapah hurled his knife into the gun. Both weapons dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  “Kristina! What’s happening here?” Julia practically shouted in her ear.

  “Julia, thank God you’re here. Please be quick; go fetch my father!”
>
  “He’s already on his way,” Julia assured her.

  “Then please hurry him along. I’m afraid if he doesn’t come soon, our friends may lose their lives.”

  Julia needed no further incentive. She fled. But Kristina, in agony, stood paralyzed, wondering what she could do. She saw little chance of the Indians’ surviving the fray. There were only three Indians and more than a hundred soldiers. Didn’t Tahiska know that even if he fought the two soldiers and won, though the fight were fair, he still stood to lose his freedom, if not his own life? Kristina wondered at his strategy in confronting the murderers in front of the entire fort. It might be a heroic move but she could see little value in it if it cost him his life. Why hadn’t he caught the two responsible in a weak moment and been done with it? It didn’t matter if the soldiers had killed his father or even if Tahiska fought heroically and won; he would still die, if not immediately, then by the slow death of confinement.

  What could she do? She tread slowly forward, listening, thinking.

  “You…” Tahiska pointed to McKlinsley, then signed, “You killed my father. To him you gave no chance to defend himself. You are a murderer. But I am not the same. To you I will give that chance you denied him. But make no mistake. One of us will not walk away from this fight.”

  “Did ye iver see such jebberish?” McKlinsley’s laugh echoed with insanity. His glance, as he searched the crowd, was tinged with fear. “Be ther’ anyone who can understand this Injun?”

  Kristina gulped. This was her chance. She peered at the assembly of soldiers before stepping resolutely forward. She glanced hesitantly at Tahiska before clearing her throat and at once, before she changed her mind, declared, “I do.”

  Tahiska, poised to fight, suddenly recoiled. The entirety of his emotions, before directed to the two murderers, fell in full onto Kristina. She gulped. His frown, had it been from anyone other than himself, would have sent Kristina scurrying away. And even knowing this warrior was her husband, she hesitated, but her course of action was set; she was certain if she didn’t act, he would die. She did her best to ignore his scowl and as she stood before him, Tahiska’s gaze at her became fierce, almost threatening.

  “Hanta!” he shouted, jerking his arms toward her, the movement demanding her withdrawal.

  “I will not!” Her words were in Lakota and sounded much braver than she felt.

  He turned on her, the two murderers momentarily ignored. “You will do as I say! Now go!”

  Kristina choked on a reply, merely looking at him.

  “I said go! You will obey me!”

  “And stand calmly aside while you kill yourself?”

  “You know nothing of this. I will not listen to you, a woman, with only weak, womanly ways! Now go!”

  Perhaps she should have thought well before she next acted. Perhaps she should have stepped back. And though she would later come to regret it, Tahiska might as well have waved a red flag at her. Kristina reacted, leaping forward in front of McKlinsley. “I will not see you die. While there is still life within me, I will not allow you to fight!”

  Kristina didn’t realize it, but McKlinsley and Charlie saw relief. With the Indians distracted by the woman, the two murderers retreated, slinking away through the crowd of soldiers, who, seeing no fight was to ensue, began disbursing. All three Indians noted the withdrawal but, short of overcoming Kristina, were powerless to prevent it.

  Tahiska’s gaze met hers, his glance ablaze with raw emotion.

  “You have no right to interfere in my affairs. You have time and again denied that we are married. Why should I listen to you at this moment? What I do is honorable and right and now because of you, the murderers have fled. Was this your intention? Are you truly white inside and out? Do you think only of your kinship with them? Was it your wish to save their lives at the expense of my honor?”

  “Your honor!” Kristina shouted back. “You would kill yourself because of honor!”

  Tahiska glared at her. Sparing her no time, no words, he deliberately turned his back on her. “The men have retreated,” he spoke calmly to Wahtapah and Neeheeowee. “They will try to escape; follow them. I will find the major and get this settled.”

  He never looked back at her. Ignoring her completely, he strode away, leaving Kristina to stare at his back.

  “I will not allow you to fight in my home!” she shouted after him in Lakota.

  Tahiska kept walking. He paid her absolutely no heed.

  “Tahiska!”

  “Do not speak my name!” He whirled around, stalking back to her until he was only inches away. He put his face right up to hers. His nostrils flared. His eyes, had they been fire, would have scorched her. “You have no right to use my name. Your loyalty is in question! You have already cost me an honorable fight. Perhaps you have cost me more. You will speak no more to me until I desire it!”

  “I will not allow you to fight!”

  “I said you will speak no more!” Tahiska was shouting. Kristina shivered in the wake of his anger, and she watched in awe as he drew himself up straight and regained his composure. His chin jutted out and he glared down his nose at her. “You cannot prevent my revenge! It is an honorable thing that I do. I will have the scalps of the two men who killed my father!”

  “Scalps! Honorable! You think that this is honorable? To kill? You would scalp these men? Here in the fort? What sort of man are you?”

  “I am Indian!”

  “You are a savage!”

  Tahiska’s head went back as though he had been slapped.

  Kristina’s hand flew to her lips. Her eyes widened.

  He didn’t say a word. He stared at her as if he didn’t know her. At length, he turned and without once looking back, trod silently away.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Major Bogard glowered at the young Indian who only last evening had shown his daughter such attention. And though personally he liked the young man, the Indian was also at the root of all the major’s troubles.

  But Tahiska was in no mood to be diplomatic. He glared first at the major, then at the colonel. The look in his eye was fierce and proud.

  Major Bogard swallowed hard. The painted warrior made a ferocious impression. And even though he found exception to the Indian’s attentions to his daughter, the major couldn’t help admiring the young brave, discovering it took a lot of courage to return that look. The major sighed, then asked in sign, “What is all this trouble? Why are you painted for war?”

  Tahiska hesitated, and scowling at the major, he signed, “I have found the men who killed my father and my uncle. I have come here to seek justice from the two white soldiers who committed this crime. I have challenged each to a fair fight, which is more than they allowed my father and friend. I demand revenge! I would fight to the death! Only the two white soldiers are cowards and steal away from me like old women.”

  “How do you know that it is these two men who killed your father and uncle?”

  “I have their descriptions,” Tahiska gestured in sign. “But also I heard them bragging of the murders several nights ago when we camped. It is enough.”

  “Slam the savage in jail!” the colonel interrupted.

  “And have the entire Sioux nation descend upon us to discover what has happened to their messengers?” Major Bogard retorted, glowering at the colonel. “Do you realize that this Indian has come to our fort to seek vengeance? His father and uncle were unjustly killed.” The major translated the Indian’s gestures briefly. “You must remember, Colonel, that our orders here are to see that the rights of whites and Indians are protected. Where are these two men?” He thrust the question to the Indian.

  His chin lifted, Tahiska studied the two soldiers. Finally, in sign, “They try to slip away like the snake, but my friends are trailing them. They will not elude us.”

  “Take me to them.”

  Tahiska paused. “I will guide only you! This washechu must stay behind.”

  Wendall Bogard darted a glance at the col
onel, wondering if he had any idea of the Indian’s opinion of him. He thought a moment before signing, “It is done.” Then, addressing his commanding officer, Bogard stated, “Colonel Wheeling, sir. I will accompany this Indian to his friends. I will report to you when we have found these two soldiers who committed this crime.”

  The major saluted and strolled away so quickly with the Indian beside him that Colonel Wheeling had no one left with whom to disagree.

  “Justice will be done, but you must allow me to administer the white man’s justice.”

  “Why should I allow this?”

  “Because these men are white and you are in a white man’s fort.” The major carefully chose his signs. “If we were in the Indian camp, would revenge not be settled your own way?”

  “Perhaps,” Tahiska returned in sign. “Though I am certain you would try to change it. Tell me, what is this white man’s justice?”

  Both men came to a halt. They stood in the middle of the grassy street, their communication relayed in gestures.

  “We hold a council,” the major signed. “Each person, even the guilty, is allowed to speak while a group of people listen to determine if the accused is blameworthy or not. If these men are found guilty, they will be sentenced to death. However, if they are found innocent, they will go free.”

  Tahiska nodded that he understood. “Your words sound good but the decision is not mine alone. I would hold council with my friends. I will then tell you of our decision. But be warned, if we bend to your system and still these men go free, I will administer the justice your method lacked.”

  It was the major’s turn to acknowledge. He did so, then signed, “Lead me to these men.”

  “The two washechu have escaped,” Watapah stated. “But our friend, the Cheyenne, is following. He will leave an easy trail to guide us.”