by J. R. WRIGHT
“And it was a good one, Mary. Thank You. At least now I know I’ll never be alone.” Luke joined up with White Bird, to go back to the house. “Great-grandfather, huh!” He smiled.
“White Bird be great-grandmother, too?” she asked.
“Sure! Why not?” He pulled her in close and placed an arm around her shoulders.
Back in his office, Luke remembered the letters he’d picked up in Cheyenne and reached for his saddlebags on the floor near his desk. Of the three letters one was from Henri Snively, U.S. Congressman from the State of Ohio. Luke opened the letter and began to read.
Dear Tom,
Knowing your concern for the fair treatment of plains Indians, I thought you may want to know what is being discussed in the halls of Congress. It seems most here are feeling the pressure to open northern Wyoming Territory to settlement. That cannot occur because the Treaty of 1868 granted the area between the Bighorn Mountains and the Black Hills to all the tribes currently residing there. And because of this, Congress’s hands are tied, which suits me fine, as likewise I’m sure it does you. Now here is the stickler. Because Congress can’t act, it seems the Army has plans to do the job for them. It is rumored that President Grant is behind it. Orders have already been handed out that Indians of the area be moved to a newly established reservation in the Pine Ridge area of northwestern Nebraska Territory. If the tribes involved do not comply, they will be forced, if that is possible.
Now that brings me to the Black Hills of Dakotah Territory. As you must know, gold has been discovered there. Just the mention of that word makes heads turn here. Again the military will play a part because of the same treaty, however, not as you may expect. Rumors are the troops assigned to keep miners out of the hills will in the future be removed, leaving the Lakhota and other tribes there unprotected against a horde of miners that will surely come.
Believe me, Tom, when I tell you these new developments have left me disgusted and angry, but what can one man do? Maybe it’s best we all stay out of it, allowing history to take its course. I’m sure Twiss would have something to say about that, if he were still around. God rest his soul.
Take care,
Henri Snively
Luke was saddened to hear of the passing of his old friend Thomas Twiss. But where it came to what Snively said at the end of the letter, Luke was more than disgusted and angry, he was also very frightened. And as far as him letting history take its course, no way would he follow that advice. But then Snively never knew Luke had a son living with the Lakhota. Chaska would need to be told. And this time, when he went, Luke was determined to use every means possible in convincing him it was time to think of the future safety of his family over that of a handful of Indians in his tribe, determined to battle the inevitable.
He would drop his old friend Henri Snively a line, thanking him for the information. But first he would read the letter from Anne Budd.
Dear Tom,
I was happy to hear of your wonderful family and of the marriage of your granddaughter. It’s these times in life that make it worth living. I don’t know if Sarah told you, but I have two daughters of my own. The eldest is married, but sadly no grandchildren yet. My youngest daughter has followed in the footsteps of her father and is presently in the Oregon Country working at the mission her father helped establish there decades ago.
Thank God the eldest lives here in Hannisville, or I would be totally without companionship; with Harry being so sick, he’s of very little comfort. I don’t know as he will survive much longer, which is saddening as well. But then he is considerably older than myself.
So much for that! I didn’t write to cry on your shoulder. But to be honest, the reason I do write is you may very well be the only unrelated person I can talk to. And I do love getting your letters, Tom. Please promise me, now that you have introduced me to your family, you will keep me updated on any new events that may occur from time to time.
Having said that, I’m feeling a little guilty. I’m sure the meager offerings served up in my letters, because nothing new ever seems to happen in my life, will in no way measure up to all that is happening in yours. What I mean is, feel free to write anytime, Tom, regardless of the timing of mine in return. Take mercy on a lonely woman. Please!
Sincerely,
Anne Budd
Luke supposed, since she was so interested, he could write her now of Bree being with child. Maybe he would. He kind of enjoyed having an invisible correspondent to confess his innermost feelings to. Someone he may never meet. Someone so alone she had no one to tell his secrets to anyway, so he needn’t fear them being spread around. Well, perhaps most everything, except that his real name was Luke McKinney, and that he had been hiding from the law for having deservingly shot Jeb Dunlap and his deputies in St. Louis, thirty-five years ago.
Now he could understand why Sarah had corresponded with this woman all those years. She had a way of getting under your skin, almost as if he’d known her much of his life.
The third letter was from Truman Rainford, inviting him to become a member of the exclusive Cattleman’s Club. What had taken so long, Luke wondered? Reading on he found out why. It seems the club, when established, put in its bylaws to limit membership to two hundred. And until now that quota had been filled. A member had recently died, freeing up a slot, if Luke was interested. And he was. He planned to draft a letter accepting today.
Truman’s letter went on to thank Luke for Andy Hayes and how pleased he was with the way Andy managed the stock. Because of him the Rainford Ranch had shown profits far beyond previous projections.
That’s nice, Luke thought. He was happy for Andy; a finer man he had never met. Too bad he couldn’t have stayed on at the Tea Cup.
Luke then went on to a letter from Gustovus Swift, of Swift and Company. It was an invitation to come to Chicago, at a time of his convenience, with the purpose in mind of touring Swift’s most modern meat processing plant. While there he would be a guest in Mister Swift’s home and be shown around that marvelous city for however long he wished to stay.
Even though it was good to be acknowledged, as far as visiting Chicago, he didn’t expect that to happen any time soon, with so much going on here. As it were he would be heading to the Black Hills again tomorrow. Even if he wasn’t successful in changing Chaska’s mind about staying there, he and Bright Moon ought to know their daughter had married and was expecting a child.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Chaska and Bright Moon were thrilled beyond words their first born daughter had married. And then took to dancing around the night fire when Luke got around to telling them she was also pregnant.
“What is he like?” Bright Moon finally asked.
“Well, he’s a little older…”
“White?” Bright Moon asked, then looked to Chaska with a blank expression on her face.
“Yeah! White.”
This brought a faint smile to Bright Moon’s face as she glared into the fire.
“Brown eyes,” Luke added to the description. “Mustache.”
“Bree’s eyes are blue,” she quickly refocused on Luke.
“All whites don’t have blue eyes,” Chaska said. “Bordeaux’s are not blue.”
With that, Bright Moon’s upper lip curled as it did when she and Luke first met, after tasting some of his bitter coffee. “What of the baby?”
“The baby will be beautiful like her mother, no matter the color of the eyes,” Chaska said.
“Yes,” Bright Moon said and again smiled into the fire. “Beautiful.”
“The soldiers have driven away many who come already,” Chaska said, changing the subject. “Blue has been watching them from afar with that glass you gave him two seasons ago.”
“The soldiers will not stay forever.” Luke warned. “Then what?”
“Then we will join the Oglala, Brule, and Dakotah to kill all that come. The solders do no good with their chasing away. They just return in another place. Kill and they will never come a
gain.”
That kind of talk coming from his son sent a chill up Luke’s spine. He’d never known him to kill before. But then what did he really know about his past? Surely Chaska was trying to kill him when he was taking Bright Moon away years ago.
“Red Cloud’s people have been moved from the Platte south of Fort Laramie to a new agency called Camp Robinson in an area south of here called Pine Ridge. Bordeaux told me that when I passed through there on the way here. I plan to go by and see him on the way back.”
“His people are ready to pounce also, if we have trouble here. Sitting Bull of the Hunkpapa and Dull Knife of the Cheyenne have offered to help as well. Runners come to the Lakhota village near every day with word of what is happening around us.”
The Hunkpapa, Luke could understand. They were distant cousins to the Lakhota, Oglala, Brule, and the Dakotah. But the Cheyenne?
“Why the Cheyenne?”
“They are being harassed by bluecoats where they are. Many smaller villages have already been destroyed. Many Cheyenne are moving into the south end of the Paha Sapa for the protection offered by the hills. You must not travel through that way any longer, Father. They may mistake you for a gold seeker.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Luke said, thinking how it was starting already, just as Snively said in his letter. Bastards!
“That Custer that was here, I am told, was the one who killed many Cheyenne at Washita,” Chaska mentioned, looking about in the night. “That’s why they are so angry. No one told them he was here before. They would have come to kill him then.”
Luke had heard of the Washita Massacre back in sixty-eight. There was an uproar in the eastern papers at the time over the number of women and children senselessly killed there, as well. Similar to what Harney had done in 1856 that nearly got Luke hanged for trying to stop it. But since this had all happened in Indian Territory (Oklahoma), so far away, Luke had paid little attention to who was in command of the evil doers at the time.
“Maybe they’ll get another chance,” Luke returned. Before this was all said and done, he was sure Custer’s seventh cavalry, and every other available command, would converge on the Black Hills and Powder River country in an effort to rid the area of the red man once and for all. That is, if there was any truth to what Colonel Snively said in his letter, which he had no reason to doubt.
Luke stayed with Chaska another three days before riding out in darkness, as he had rode in. He determined that to be the safest way to travel the area, considering all the soldiers and hostiles in the area. It was with heavy heart that he departed, after failing again to convince Chaska to leave this place of so much uncertainty. He now feared he may never lay eyes on his son alive again.
Tom Too never surfaced all the while Luke was there. He spent the entire time high in the hills keeping a close eye out for any approaching danger. The village became accustomed to seeing his smoke signals and acting accordingly. One long string of smoke signaled soldiers were in the area, whereas several short puffs served as an alert to run for the hills. The latter had not yet been used, however. But all expected it would, someday, perhaps sooner rather than later.
After a cordial but short visit with Red Cloud at the newly established Camp Robinson the following day, which produced nothing of value, Luke rode on to Fort Laramie. Arriving there three days later, he settled in for a long talk with James Bordeaux over his concerns.
“Red Cloud appears not to be overly concerned. His village is quite relaxed into reservation life, with their cattle herd grazing the hillsides nearby. I figured to hear him complain over having to leave the Platte River camp, but he didn’t.”
“You know better than to underestimate Red Cloud, Tom. How many years have you known him?”
“He’s not the same person as he was when traveling with Little Thunder. Back then he went out of his way to be a sonofabitch!”
“Exactly! Don’t forget he was the one that led the charge against Grattan and his men. Right down there near twenty years ago,” Bordeaux said, and pointed below from the porch of the store. “I can still see it like it was yesterday… so vicious and ugly, it was.”
“He tried to kill me once,” Luke said. “And he would have if it wouldn’t have been for Little Thunder stepping in.”
“I believe the man has an engrained hatred for all whites. That just doesn’t go away with age,” Bordeaux said. “He’s up to something.”
“What?”
“You tell me? His warrior-hunters used to bring in furs for trade. Not so much anymore.”
“Maybe that’s because they’re further away now?”
“We’re still the closest trading store. Besides, what’s a few days’ ride for traveling hunters? Normally they’d be close by anyway. My thoughts are the younger Oglala are not with Red Cloud any longer. He’s craftily sent them off to join other tribes in the Powder River country, where they can do some killing of bluecoats if anything breaks out.”
Luke thought this over for a second, wondering which side he was on in this tug of war over legally occupied lands. Of course the government was in the wrong if they were up to what Snively said they were. And of course he wanted Chaska’s little tribe to retain their right to the little piece of paradise they occupied. But most likely that wasn’t going to happen under the circumstances. Not with the gold discovered in the Black Hills, and the plentiful pine timber there, soon to be a valuable commodity if settlers were allowed into the area.
“Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing an awful lot of young men around Red Cloud’s camp,” Luke said. “Frankly I’m worried, James.”
“No need for that yet, Tom. I get considerable information from soldiers that come in from the fort. What I’m hearing is Washington is leaning more toward finding a peaceful resolution to this matter, rather than gearing up for war. All that action with the Cheyenne is in retaliation for their frequent raids on white settlements further south. It really doesn’t have anything to do with the other thing. Go on home, Tom. Run your ranch. I’ll send word if anything new develops.”
“Okay, I will. But first I need some supplies. With all the kids at the ranch, it’s hard to keep enough candy on hand for when they come around. Liquorish sticks seem to be their favorite.” Luke followed Bordeaux into the store. “And some toffee for Mary. She likes that. White Bird asked that I bring some bacon. Ever since having it in Cheyenne, she can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
June 1875
For ten days straight, Luke and Calvin had been rising before daybreak to relieve the ranch hands on birthing duty with the first calf heifers so they could go in for a hot breakfast. But on this day, the action was so brisk they stayed on long after the four returned to the pasture. With each new calf pulled, they told themselves things had to ease up soon, but it didn’t. So here they were at noon, tired and hungry, doing their best to assist every heifer that needed it.
“Do you think it would help if we used smaller bulls next year?” Luke suggested. The pulls required seemed to be way up from previous years.
“Maybe.” Calvin Tinkman gave that some thought. “I think it was the mild winter. The fat that would have been burned by the heifer in the process in the process of keeping warm instead went to the calf.”
“You might have something there, Tink.” Luke crept up behind a heifer and slipped a rope around the exposed forelegs of the calf. He then passed the tail of the rope to Calvin. But Calvin didn’t readily take it, as he always did, to assist in the pulling of the calf. Looking up, Luke saw Calvin was preoccupied with something off in the distance.
“What the hell!” Calvin then said, leaving his mouth agape as if he’d just seen the devil.
Fearing a wolf pack was approaching, as they often did at calving time, Luke stood to take a look for himself. What he saw was White Bird’s red Appaloosa cross horse racing along a ridge toward them, apparently with her in the saddle, her rav
en hair flagging behind.
“She ought not to be going so fast across that ridge. There are a thousand badger holes up there…. Oh, God!” Calvin ran for his horse.
“Judas Priest!” Luke exasperated and raced for his horse as well.
They had both just witnessed White Bird’s horse take a tumble, spilling her somewhere into dust that immediately clouded the area, a quarter of a mile distant.
Having the faster horse, Luke got to her first, dismounted on the run, and dropped to his knees by her side. She was on her stomach. He gently turned her, cradling her head in a hand as he did. He then brushed hair and grass from her face. “White Bird!” he shouted frantically. With that, her big brown eyes flashed opened and locked onto his.
“Tom,” she said softly, a smile coming to her face briefly, deepening her dimples.
Calvin came up then, but hung back a ways. “Is she okay?”
“Baby… boy…” White Bird forced out. “Bree…” A smile came again for a time. Ever so slowly then it faded. The glaring eyes went still, and soon thereafter saw no more.
Tears poured down Luke’s face as he painfully drew her to his chest. God knows he had seen death enough times during his life to know what had just occurred. Then, almost Indian like, he began rocking White Bird and audibly grieving. This continued until Calvin spoke moments later.
“Do you want me to take her, Tom?”
Luke sobered a bit then rose to his feet with White Bird in his arms. “I’ll take her myself.” He went to the red stallion and managed to climb aboard without assistance. Then, allowing the horse his head, started the slow walk back to the big house, where obviously everything had been so happy just minutes ago. One came into this world today – one went out, all in the span of a few thousand heartbeats.
Calvin raced ahead to prepare Mary and the others for what was about to take place. Someone could just as well get started digging the grave. It seemed gruesome, but something that needed doing, and the sooner the better. Calvin didn’t think it fitting White Bird be put down under the big cottonwood next to Sarah, so he figured to have the men start digging next to Abigail, on the other side. There was some lumber in the barn left over from building the house. He would make the box as he had done for Abigail and then Sarah. Calvin Tinkman was always one step ahead of every situation, no matter how painful. That’s why he was foreman of this great ranch.
