“Were they Lakota?” Owl-That-Cries asked.
“Yes,” Hays answered. “All the signs tell me they were of your people. But I know it would be only a bunch of young men, not the whole tribe.”
“Young men like to fight,” the Sioux said. “When I was a young man, I fight all the time.”
“Have you seen a white woman captive in this village?” Hays asked. “Or have you heard of one?”
Owl-That-Cries shook his head. “No. But I am old, I don’t hear everything anymore. Nobody talks to me. I think we can talk to my grandson Eagle Talons. He know what all the young men do. He will not lie to you, Dar-Say.”
“I know Eagle Talons,” Hays said.
Owl-That-Cries turned and called out to his nearest wife, giving instructions. He looked back at Hays. “That woman will bring Eagle Talons to us.”
The two old friends fell into silence. Hays sat there knowing that all passersby looked at him, some with glances of hatred, others with only a bare amount of tolerance. A few moments later a tall, muscular warrior approached him and Owl-That-Cries.
The newcomer was a handsome, dignified young man with a proud, almost arrogant countenance. His name was Eagle Talons and he was the grandson of Owl-That-Cries. He sat down with the two older men, saying nothing in greeting to either one.
Owl-That-Cries spoke rapidly under his breath to Eagle Talons, taking care that no one nearby could hear him making an inquiry about the attack and capture.
Using a combination of the Sioux tongue, sign language, and his knowledge of English, Eagle Talons spoke to Darcy Hays.
“I know of what you speak,” he said. “A wagon of whites was attacked several sleeps ago. Everyone was killed except for a young woman. She was taken captive and is now with the warriors who did the deed.”
“Do you know where they are holding her?” Darcy asked.
Eagle Talons shook his head. “The warriors have been away from the village for a long time. They do not come here often, except on special occasions. They are called the Wolf Society.”
Hays was thoughtful for a few moments as he digested the information. “Are you in that society?”
“I am not a Wolf,” Eagle Talons said. “One time I wanted to be a Wolf, but no more. I do not like them. They drink whiskey. When they killed the white people, I think they were drunk or wanted to get things to trade for whiskey.”
Now Hays was worried. “Is there a whiskey peddler in these hills now?”
“Yes,” Eagle Talons answered. “A curse on him, on all you whites, and on your liquor! The firewater is as bad for our people as are the poxes you whites brought with you. It is poison to Indians. It makes them stupid and crazy. The Wolves are all whiskey drinkers.”
“I think you are right not to like them,” Hays said. “Will you help me get the girl back?”
“No,” Eagle Talons replied.
“I will catch the whiskey peddler and punish him,” Hays said.
“Will you kill him?” Eagle Talons asked.
“If I have to, I will,” Hays promised.
“The whiskey peddler has many men for protection,” Eagle Talons said. “There are Indians who do not want him harmed or they will not have whiskey.”
“I am not afraid,” Hays said, now realizing who the men were his patrol had fought with earlier. No doubt they were liquor smugglers who fought to avoid detection and arrest. “I have already killed three of his men. Are you afraid of his men?”
Eagle Talons’ eyes opened wide. “You killed some white whiskey men?”
“Three,” Hays repeated. “Will you help me find him and get the young woman back from the Wolf Society?” Eagle Talons was silent as he thought over the situation. Finally he said, “I will scout for you and I will fight with you against the whiskey peddler. And I will fight the Wolf Society too, if I must.”
“Can you leave tomorrow with my men and me?” Hays asked.
“I will do it,” Eagle Talons answered. Then, without further comment, he stood up and walked away.
Owl-That-Cries watched his grandson until he was out of sight. The old Sioux looked at Hays. “Let us go to my sweat lodge, Dar-Say. It is between the village and the place where you have your camp on the bluff at the river.”
Hays smiled to himself. The location of the dragoon bivouac was already well known to every inhabitant of the village, even to an old fellow who stuck close to his lodge. “Yes. I must speak to my men and I will join you there.” Owl-That-Cries smiled. “By the time you get there, the women will have the fire going and the rocks hot. We will smoke and sweat and dream.”
Hays got his horse and left the village. When he reached the dragoon camp, he found Lieutenant Tim Stephans and Sergeant Sean O’Murphy waiting for him. Though not worried, the two still seemed a little nervous.
“We didn’t hear no Injuns yelling over there, sir, so we figgered they wasn’t roasting you alive,” the sergeant said.
“Unless you decided to display your courage by remaining silent during your tortures,” Tim said with a wink.
“Never worry about that, young Mister Stephans,” Hays assured him. “If I am ever tortured by the Indians, you can count on my screaming bloody murder.”
“At any rate, sir, did you find out anything useful?” Tim asked.
“I certainly did,” Hays said. “Those men we fought are evidently part of a liquor-peddling gang operating in the Black Hills. A warrior society of the Sioux had managed to develop a fondness for rotgut whiskey and are dealing with him. They killed the people at the wagon, and also have the captive. She is a young woman, just as we suspected.”
“Well, that makes things a little easier,” Tim said. “Now all we have to do is search out a few hundred thousand square miles of trackless wilderness for the young lady, find her, and arrest the killers. It certainly shouldn’t take us more than twenty or thirty years to accomplish that.”
Hays chuckled. “As you know, young man, I have already spent my thirty years. So to speed things up, I’ve enlisted the help of a warrior named Eagle Talons to scout for us. He has a pretty good idea where we can find everything and everyone we’re looking for.”
“Good!” Tim exclaimed. “When do we leave?”
“First thing in the morning,” Hays said. “Meanwhile, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join my old friend Owl-That-Cries for a few hours of the physical comfort in his sweat lodge.”
“Maybe you’ll have a vision in there and won't need this Eagle Talons fellow,” Tim suggested.
“I think only Indians can have visions,” Hays said. “So you can count on Eagle Talons being an interesting and indispensable companion in this adventure.”
The old soldier waved a goodbye, and rode off to his rendezvous with the old warrior.
Five
When Darcy Hays arrived at Owl-That-Cries’ sweat lodge, he found the old warrior and his two wives waiting. For the army captain, the thought of having the heavenly warmth of steam sweep across his fatigued, rheumatic body had a near sensual pleasure to it.
“Come, Dar-Say,” Owl-That-Cries urged him. “We lose ourselves in the sweat lodge.”
“I can’t wait,” Hays said.
Owl-That-Cries again took note of Hays’s limp. “You will walk better, old friend. The steam is kind to stiff bones.”
Once more, the army officers horse was taken care of by one of the Indian women. She took the animal to an area where good grazing was available within a thin stand of trees.
“When last did you eat, Dar-Say?” Owl-That-Cries asked.
“It’s been awhile,” Hays answered. “My belly is empty.”
Following his usual fashion, Hays hadn’t had a midday meal. He had also skipped the evening meal in order to visit Owl-That-Cries sooner. The army officer wanted to spend as much time as possible sitting in the vapory heat.
“That is good,” Owl-That-Cries said. “With no food in your belly, maybe you will have a vision.”
“I’ve been in sweat lod
ges many times with you, Owl-That-Cries,” Hays said. He and the old Indian had spoken of the possibility of his having a spiritual experience before. But the army officer always discounted the chance. He figured he had too much education and science in his life for such hocus-pocus. “I never had a vision. That is for Indians.”
“Who knows?” Owl-That-Cries remarked with a laugh. “Maybe you are the only white man with enough spirit.”
“Let’s stop the talk and get in the sweat lodge,” Hays urged him.
The small structure, in which rocks heated to the point of cracking open were stacked in a pile on one side, was ready to be used.
Normally, Hays would have balked at stripping to the buff in front of members of the opposite sex, but there in the woods in the savage splendor of the Sioux Nation, he felt no shyness whatsoever in revealing himself to the two Indian women. It seemed a natural thing to do, completely outside of shame and modesty. He quickly shucked his outer clothing. When he’d finished throwing off longjohns, stockings, and boots, he stood there looking like most naked white men—sunburned face, neck, and hands, with a lily-white body.
Old Owl-That-Cries, on the other hand, was the same color all over from nude swimming and going for long periods in nothing more than a loincloth. “Get in quick, Dar-Say,” Owl-That-Cries said to his dragoon friend.
Hays wasted no time in kneeling down and crawling into the cramped interior. His knees and hips flared up with pain, but eased quickly when he assumed a sitting position.
The sweat lodge was already filled with a dry, baking heat that almost took his breath away. He was joined by Owl-That-Cries, who wasted no time. He immediately took a gourd and began dipping water with it from a wooden bucket he’d gotten in trading with white trappers many years before. He flung the water on the hot stones, causing steam to boil up and fill the lodge.
Hays, like his Sioux friend, sat cross-legged with his eyes closed as the temperature grew with each toss of water. Within moments, he began to sweat. The perspiring continued to increase until it beaded up and flowed from his body, drenching him.
Owl-That-Cries began to chant under his breath, the words rhythmic and repetitious as he called on his spiritual guide to take him into a trance in which he might have a vision.
The clouds of vapor continued to roll over the men. Hays, though not uttering a sound, soon fell under the spell of Owl-That-Cries’ words. He felt himself become drawn into his body as a feeling of great relaxation came over him. This went on for several moments, then a sense of dizziness swept over him. The sensation frightened him somewhat, and he opened his eyes. His Sioux companion continued chanting, and within a few short moments, Hays felt himself slipping once again into unconsciousness. But this time there was more of a feeling of becoming lightheaded. The feeling of uneasiness returned, and he forced himself to open his eyes once again.
The glow from the rocks cast a dull, red light in the confined space. The reflections off the clouds of steam danced in a scarlet color. With his empty stomach and the chanting taking over, Hays succumbed to the sensation of slipping away. This time it was quite pleasant, and his consciousness eased away as he dropped off to sleep.
Then he was awake.
He opened his eyes and stared in wonder around him. Not only was Owl-That-Cries gone, but he was no longer in the sweat lodge. Instead he was in a cloudy non-world where no solids existed and there was peacefulness. He could not even see himself as he looked down to find out if he was still perspiring heavily. Rather than frighten him, the sensation was pleasant, almost giddy. Never in his life had he felt such an overwhelming sense of contentment.
A shadowy form appeared in the distance. It wavered like a reflection in water as it drew closer to him. Hays felt no threat from the unknown thing. Patient and unworried, he waited until the entity drew close enough to be recognized.
It was his dead wife Chandra.
He felt no shock or surprise. Instead, he smiled at her, and they exchanged greetings without speaking. Still maintaining silence, Chandra let him know she was happy to see him and was content with where she’d gone since dying. She also let him know that both she and the children waited for him. He told her, speaking only in thoughts, of how he was leaving the Army, but could not return to their home in North Carolina. He was not welcome there because it was felt he was responsible for the tragedy that took Chandra and the children. She was sad to learn of that, but told him not to worry. Any problems on earth were but short and meaningless when compared with the eternity of the hereafter.
“Dar-Say!”
Owl-That-Cries’ voice woke him up. Hays looked around and saw that the Indian was outside the sweat lodge, beckoning to him to crawl through the opening.
Hays went into a crawling position and was able to get through the exit with absolutely no sensation of rheumatic pain. The penetrating, wet heat had loosened him up considerably. When he got outside, he noted that it was dark. The moon was full and high in the sky. He stood up, glad to find he could even take steps without discomfort. He knelt down and straightened up again, feeling as if he were years younger.
“You had a vision, Dar-Say,” Owl-That-Cries said. “I looked at you and saw that. What happened? Did a spirit guide come to you?”
“I didn’t have a vision,” Hays said. “I went to sleep and had a dream. That is all.”
“You had a vision,” Owl-That-Cries insisted. “Did a spirit guide come to you? Tell me. I want to know.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea of what a spirit guide is,” Hays said.
“My spirit guide came to me long ago in a sweat lodge when I was a young man,” the old Indian told him. “It was an owl that called out. That is how I got my name. Are you sure no spirit guide came to you? Something visited you in your trance, Dar-Say, it is always that way.” Hays began to dress. “It was my wife. She’s been dead thirty winters now.”
“Ah!” Owl-That-Cries said, understanding. “To come to you like that is to know she truly had love for you. She was your spirit guide, Dar-Say.”
“It was a dream,” Hays insisted. “A good dream, but just a dream.” He suddenly wanted to stop talking about it. “Did you have a vision? Tell me about it.”
Owl-That-Cries shook his head. “I had no vision. It was not time.”
“Too bad,” Hays said. The memory of Chandra in the dream was on his mind. It was so real, and her features were easy to see in the weird light in which she appeared. He felt some happiness in thinking about it. But he also experienced a sensation of great melancholy. He wanted to get back to his blankets and be as much alone as possible in the bivouac. He finished dressing and pulled on his boots.
“You had a vision, Dar-Say,” Owl-That-Cries said. “You are the only white man I know that had a vision.”
“Maybe,” Hays said, not wanting to argue. “Will you tell your grandson Eagle Talons to come to me tomorrow?” he asked. “I will wait for him with my soldiers at the place where the bluff looks over the river.”
“I will tell him,” Owl-That-Cries said. “Are you sad?”
“Yes,” Hays said.
“Was the woman your favorite wife?” Owl-That-Cries asked.
“She was my only one,” Hays said. “I will see you again when I can.” He turned and walked to his horse, mounting up and beginning the careful ride through the dark forest back to the dragoon camp.
As his mount picked its way through the trees, Hays’s mind turned to his past life and he remembered his beautiful wife, Chandra, whose family owned the plantation next to the Hays’s property.
Darcy Hays first kissed Chandra Davenport when he was twelve years old and she was ten. It wasn't the first time he’d kissed a girl. In fact, he’d been doing it regularly for several months before he finally had the opportunity to plant a wet one on Chandra's cheek. Most of the girls squealed and slapped him for his efforts, which added to the fun, but Chandra's reaction to his boyish buss left him nonplussed, confused, and more than a bit pleased.
/> Chandra grabbed him and kissed him back.
The incident occurred at her birthday party when, during a game of hide-and-seek, the youngsters accidentally ended up hiding within the confines of the same weeping willow. It was to be the start of regular kissing between them. Later, during other times when the opportunity presented itself, the two would peck away.
As they grew older, their customary kissing came to a stop because of both convention and a lack of privacy. Young ladies in their teens were not afforded the same chances to be alone with the opposite sex as they had been when just young girls.
Meanwhile, Hays drifted into the wild ways common to young scions of plantation wealth. But his escapades in that crowd of young hellions passed all normal bounds. He even fought a duel when sixteen in which he shot another youngster in the arm. He was well known at several brothels and engaged in numerous brawls in which the law was brought in to quell the disturbance. Finally, however, he noticed Chandra again. It was at a ball held at a mutual friend’s plantation house. He danced with her at every opportunity, and the old affections came back for both of them. But this time the feelings were stronger. The situation calmed him some, but only during those times he didn’t go over to the Davenport mansion to visit her.
Darcy finally developed a serious crush on Chandra Davenport that eventually evolved into love. He courted the young lady in his own way by dancing with her at the balls, calling on her now and then, and seeing her at social events held by the wealthy families of Cumberland County.
Finally, he decided the time was right; at the age of eighteen, Hays declared his love for her. It was near the time he was leaving for West Point' and not too surprisingly, she returned his affections. They decided that Hays would ask her father for her hand in marriage when he graduated and became an army officer. Thus secure in the affections and faithfulness of his ladylove, Darcy Lafayette Hays went off to the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York.
It didn’t surprise anyone who knew him that Cadet Hays did not have an easy time at the school. The young North Carolinian went through his chaotic academy career with plenty of trouble and many close scrapes. On several occasions he had been on the verge of being expelled, but the intervention of a couple of senior cadets from his home state resulted in grudging pardons from the academy administration. That was the only reason that he managed to hang on until he graduated and received his commission as a second lieutenant of dragoons. In the spring of 1825, he traded in his uniforms of cadet gray for those of army blue.
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