by J. R. WRIGHT
“Coming,” Luke responded. “I’ve been to the Black Hills. I’m on my way to Kearny presently. Is Bordeaux about?”
“He is in the back. I see you brought a woman with you this time, Tom.” Cola eyed Bright Moon through the open doorway. “She is a looker. I see some French in that one.” She smiled broadly.
“She does not belong to me,” Luke quickly responded, seeing the inference behind the smile. “She’s the reason I need to speak with you and Bordeaux. It seems she was abducted from the Ojibwa by a young Lakhota. The chief asked me to take her away. If not, they would kill her. So now I need to find her a place until the boy can smooth things over. But I don’t know as that will ever happen. He is white.”
“White? How did that happen?”
“I wish I knew,” Luke said, looking to the back and hoping to get a glimpse of James Bordeaux.
“Bring her in, Tom. Of course we will take her in. The poor thing!” Cola went around the counter and headed outside. “I don’t know Ojibwa. How do I communicate with her?”
“And she doesn’t speak Lakhota. She has a narrow knowledge of English, though.”
“Hi, honey.” Cola went up to her on the horse.
“Hi, honey?” Bright Moon looked to Luke to decipher.
“Hello,” he returned.
“Hello!” She focused on Cola with a smile, leaving the impression there was an instant liking for this woman, who had similar features to her own.
“What’s your name, girl?” Cola glared up at her.
“Bright Moon. Chaska call me Bright Moon.”
“Got yourself a woman, Tom?” Bordeaux, a man in his mid-forties, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in merchant’s clothing, said coming from the store.
“Not exactly,” Luke said and repeated the story he’d just told to his wife. By the time he was finished, Cola already had Bright Moon in the store and enjoying a twist of liquorish.
“It seems Cola has taken to her,” Bordeaux said. “And we could use the extra help around here during the summer months. The trains will begin arriving soon.”
“I saw a column of soldiers leaving the fort as I arrived,” Luke said with concern. “Why are they going out so early in the season if there are no wagons on the westward trail yet?”
“The Indians in the area are getting restless, Tom. Especially the Brule. They haven’t received the annuities promised in the treaty of fifty-one. They’re hungry. It’s been a rough winter for all of them, the Brule and Oglala.”
“Why the delay?”
“I blame Washington. Most of those eastern congressmen couldn’t care less about the Indians out here. They’ve always been slow in delivering, but not this late. Little Thunder came here yesterday. He’s concerned they won’t be able to control their people much longer. According to him, there isn’t even a rabbit within fifty miles of the Brule camp, let alone something more substantial like a deer or an antelope. Of course the buffalo won’t be back this way for another month. Some have resorted to butchering their horses, and that doesn’t sit well with them. I’m worried, Tom.”
“Worried for your safety?”
“Not so much us. Cola being Indian affords us some favor. It’s the farms scattered about and the trains when they come through. I hear Meek has a five hundred wagon train underway as we speak. They left Independence around the middle of April.”
“How do you protect something like that? It must string out for miles.”
“Ten miles at least. Fort Kearny will have to help. Laramie is too small an outpost for that task.”
“How long will Tom Hill be staying this time?” Cola asked, coming from the store.
“In light of what James just told me – not long. I’ll be needing to get back to Kearny.”
“You’ll stay for supper, yes?”
“Yes,” Luke returned. “I wouldn’t miss one of your spreads, Cola.” He smiled down at her pretty face. No doubt she was ten years younger than Bordeaux, he estimated. “How’s Bright Moon doing?”
“I’ve got water on for a bath. Right now she’s having a good time trying on dresses from the store. She’s been asking for you. Seems she’s worried you’ll leave without saying goodbye. She calls you Tom Dawn.”
“Yep, that and Just Tom. Then, sometimes when she’s angry with me, it’s White Man Tom.”
“What’s the Dawn part all about?”
“It’s a name that Lakhota camp she came from attached to me. Ahu poh.”
“Ah, the Dawn.” Cola recognized the dialect.
With fresh supplies on the pack horse, Luke left out for Fort Kearny the following morning before daybreak. If there was an Indian uprising on the horizon, Colonel Snively needed a heads up. No doubt time was of the essence.
On the afternoon of the sixth day, with expired horses, Luke rode up to the stable at Fort Kearny on the Platte. Looking about for the stable boy, he spotted him coming from a stall, pitchfork in hand.
“Double ration of oats. And take a look at the shoes, Kinney. I think they both need a new set, if the farrier isn’t too busy.” Luke eyed him as he approached. Kinney Hardy was a red-headed kid from the streets of New York City, who was having a tough time adjusting to army life on the plains.
“Hey, Tom,” Kinney said, with the same depressed look he always had on his face, and took the reins from Luke. “Have an easy trip?”
“Nothing’s easy. But I’m still living, and that’s got to account for something. Did you talk to Snively about an early discharge?”
“Won’t do any good.” Hardy dropped his head.
“Maybe not, but if you don’t ask…”
“O’Reilly asked and got put on latrine duty for a whole month. No thanks. Forking horse shit every day is bad enough.”
“Suit yourself,” Luke said and headed for Henri Snively’s office across the cavalry yard.
“Glad you’re here, Hill,” the colonel said as Luke entered unannounced. “We’ve got a problem with the Indians on the plains near Laramie.”
“You’ve heard?”
“Lieutenant Fleming sent a courier. You know the chiefs of most of those tribes. I want you to go up there and talk some sense into them.”
“Talk is cheap. Hunger is a horse of a different color, sir.”
“I get where you’re coming from, Hill. But I don’t know what else we can do until those annuities arrive, outside of an all-out war.”
“In that case we wouldn’t stand a chance, Henri. In case you don’t know it, there are at least five thousand warriors among those tribes. Total count is about twenty-five thousand people.”
“Well go up there and see what you can do anyway. Like I said, I don’t know what else we can do for now.”
“I’ll be needing two fresh mounts. Mine are spent.”
“Take what you need,” Snively said. “Now, about those Indians in the Black Hills. Who are they, and why are they there?”
“They call themselves Lakhota. And from what I hear, some Dakotah are among them. As far as why, it seems their chief, Brave Fox, has a dislike for whites. He was a chief when they were driven from Minnesota. They were one of those tribes affected by the treaty of thirty-eight. He moved for the same reason he has always moved, to avoid blood mixing. He wants his people to remain pure.”
“Old, huh?”
“Very. He speaks English, but he forbids it to be spoken in the village by others.”
“How many?”
“I’d say less than five hundred. They do have guns though. I saw several old French flintlocks.”
“I guess they’re peaceful?”
“To a point. Try to move them, and we have a serious problem.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Chaska made it back to the village with the help of the crutch after only two weeks of absence. Once Bright Moon had gone, he saw no purpose in lying about the cave, waiting for the cracked knee to heal. He cooked up a supply of the fresh killed doe Luke had left him and headed out.
Even though Brave Fox had given no order to search for him, there wasn’t a day that he wasn’t concerned for his safety. He knew the boy had gone off in search of the Ojibwa girl and feared also that he would return with her, against his wishes. Thankfully that was not the case, for here he was, broken and haggard before him, quite alone.
“My son returns like young eagle that has fallen from the nest.”
“I was hurt, Father. Take many days before Chaska can walk back to village.”
“I see you have used your great mind to create a new leg for the journey.”
Chaska looked down at the crutch, but dared not tell the old chief he had not made it himself. He was sure, though, he would have thought of it, had white man Tom not beat him to it. Therefore, the old chief’s compliment was deserving, he rationalized.
“Yes, but now that I am here, I have no woman to care for me,” Chaska said as a reminder to Brave Fox that not only did he no longer have Taloma, but Bright Moon had been taken from him as well.
“My son must find good woman from among our people. There are plenty of healthy ones here to choose from.”
“Chaska only want one woman!” he shouted.
“The Ojibwa of mixed blood?” he spat to the ground. “She not good woman! The evil that flows through her veins will someday destroy you. Already she has weakened you. You cry like little boy who has become lost.”
“Bright Moon not make Chaska weak. Give strength like mighty buffalo. It is because she is not here that my heart is heavy and I am weak.”
“A woman of the tribe will do as well. It is not only this woman that give strength like bull in rut. I will have Spotted Horse find you a woman from among the many here.”
“Spotted Horse, not friend! Spotted Horse want Bright Moon killed. I must go now to place of Taloma, ask her spirit for guidance. Taloma, wise mother, saw good in Bright Moon – not evil. I must go now to her scaffold, wait for wisdom to come.”
“What wisdom can her spirit offer you? She was not your birth mother.”
“And Brave Fox not real father,” Chaska said, angry now.
“Who tell that story?” Brave Fox said accusingly.
“Taloma tell of white woman who come to camp and of Indian woman who switch babies. Mother white, she say. Father too, she think.”
Brave Fox looked to the sky for inspiration, then lowered his eyes to his feet. He’d known the truth all these years. He had attempted to fool himself, as well as the others of the tribe, but failed miserably on both fronts, he knew. Now perhaps it was time to be truthful, as Taloma had been with Chaska before she died. Surely his remaining days were running short, and there may not be time for a death song to purge the soul of lies told. Dying could be sudden. He’d seen it happen that way many times among the old.
“White woman come to village captive of two warriors of another tribe. She was frightened and very sick. Taloma worked hard to save her and was successful in her efforts. Later she have baby, but think baby born dead. Indian woman switch babies in night. Then when Indian woman die of terrible fever that took much of tribe, Taloma became your mother.
“Your white mother was a gentle woman. Brave Fox spoke much with her. She made old chief laugh often.” His deeply wrinkled face showed the twinkle of a smile. He looked away as if savoring the thought. “She went away then, with man we call Tanglute (Red Beard). I never saw her again,” he concluded sadly and looked away again.
“What was my real mother’s name?”
“She called herself… Bree-anne,” Brave Fox said, as if struggling to remember.
“Bree-anne?” Chaska repeated it questioningly.
“I do not know what that means. I know of no animal or thing with that name. Not even in the tongue of the wasichu (white man).”
“If you knew I was white, why did you not send Chaska away?”
“Taloma fool old chief for long time with coal dust in baby’s hair. Old woman was very clever. Once find out, too late. Already fond of boy.”
“Then Brave Fox must understand why I feel as I do about Bright Moon. Already fond, so can’t let go.”
“You must! The other chiefs want the bitch killed. Brave Fox makes decision against their wishes, must save face by sending her away. If Chaska take her for his woman, the others will not respect you as chief when Brave Fox die. You will have no power at the council, be chief in name only. Like shell that has no turtle, it can do nothing, go nowhere.”
“Father speaks wisely. Chaska will be great chief. I will do as you ask. If it is your footsteps I must walk in someday, then it is best I follow in them now for practice. Let Spotted Horse find woman for Chaska. I will be in the tepee of Taloma. Tell him to bring her there. I will expect a hot meal from the bitch before nightfall.” With that, Chaska whirled on the crutch and hobbled away. All the while he was thinking, as soon as the old chief died, he would go for Bright Moon, with or without the blessing of the other chiefs.
If need be, he would divide the tribe, taking only those with him that wished to follow. That number could be substantial, for he was respected by many who worshiped him for his golden hair. Taloma and the old chief had done a good job of making believers of many of them over the years.
Later in the day, Spotted Horse showed up at the tepee and shouted for Chaska to come out. “I have brought woman. She is daughter of Chief Napa lute (Red Hand) of the Dakotah. Her name is Hehaka Kitala (Little Elk).”
At first Chaska considered rejecting her, not because of her appearance, for she was quite beautiful, but because she was of the Dakotah. After more thought, however, he reconsidered. This union would surely bring him more respect among the Dakotah, therefore giving him even greater powers once he was chief.
For two weeks he did not bed with his new bride, complaining his knee was not healed enough for the act of love making. Instead he kept her very busy answering to his every beck and call. Finally, when she threatened to go back to her people, he gave in for fear she would complain in public. Of course everyone was waiting for news of how the marriage was progressing, so now he needed to make a good showing for a while – put a smile on Little Elk’s face for all the women of the village to see.
Many an Indian brave had been shamed because his woman spoke around camp that he was incapable of satisfying her. And if the opposite was true, she pranced about bragging to the other women what a great lover she possessed, as was the case with Little Elk, after that first two weeks. From then on it was every night and morning, for a time.
Before long, Little Elk’s periods of bleeding stopped. She then proudly reported to Chaska, and the village, that she was with child.
Chaska would rather this baby have been forthcoming from Bright Moon, but that day would also come. The day when he could turn Little Elk away, take Bright Moon to his bed, and make many strong sons.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Many of the plains Sioux tribes have gone north to the Powder River country in search of enough game to feed their people,” Luke said, pointing to the map on the wall as Colonel Snively looked on. “But then, there are three other tribes in that area already to compete with. That includes the Cheyenne. They never signed the treaty, so they’re not entitled to annuities. That also means they don’t have to allow free passage of travelers across their portion of the Oregon Trail.”
“You expect trouble from them?”
“Not unless something sets them off. The Sioux shouldering in there can’t be sitting too well with them right now.”
“Let’s hope nothing does. We don’t have the manpower to stretch that far.”
“I spoke to Conquering Bear and Little Thunder of the Brule and Oglala Sioux tribes. Their people are restless, of course, but getting by mostly on horse meat from their rapidly dwindling herds. I saw old women digging for roots along the river while I was there.”
“Are they angry?”
“What do you think, when they’re surrounded by hungry children, crying day and night? A butchered horse provid
es only so much fat for the young ones to chew on, as opposed to other animals like the buffalo. Especially since their horses have just gone through an unusually bad winter. They are, however, boiling noodled hides. Not much nutrition there, but it serves as a pacifier. Where are those commodities, Colonel?” Luke said out of frustration.
“Word I got, Indian Agent Whitfield is due to leave St. Louis on or about June first. Supposedly, he’ll have a hundred wagons or more, mostly barreled pork, bacon, corn meal and such.”
“That should put them into Laramie about the end of July or first week in August, barring little trouble in route,” Luke said. “All hell could break loose before then. That’s a month away, for Christ’s sake.”
“How many Indians camped near Fort Laramie?”
“Double last year. I’d say near five thousand now. So many outlying tribes have moved in recently, anxious for a hand out. I spotted a village of Miniconjou, near the Brule, while circling the encampment, counting lodges.”
“Miniconjou? They weren’t part of the treaty of fifty-one.”
“None of their chiefs signed. But since the Oglala claim them as cousins, they feel they have a right to annuities. After all, they share in the land too. Hell, even this fort sits on Indian land, Kearny and Laramie, as well as the others up the line. Everything from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains, the treaty of thirty-eight said, and they haven’t forgotten it. I just heard tell of it again at that Lakhota village in the Black Hills. How they were screwed in that treaty. But now that they have this land in exchange, they intend to keep it.”
“Do you blame them?” Snively said.
“Not at all. But it would be nice if the government would honor the agreement by keeping squatters out and delivering the annuities on time. These peoples are tired of being pushed over, and pushed around.”
Back at the stables to gather his own horses, Luke, again, bumped into Kinney Hardy. “When do you get out of here for the day?”
