The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

  “Mag-gie?”

  “I’m here!” She whirled around to see Hawk gazing up at her, his beautiful dark eyes clear and rational. She placed her hand on his forehead, relieved to discover it was cool and damp. The fever had broken, thank God! She felt tears on her cheeks. Glancing up, she saw tears sparkling in Winona’s eyes, as well.

  Three days later, Hawk watched his mother move about the lodge, rinsing out the dishes he’d used earlier in the day, stirring a large pot of mostly meatless stew, adding wood to the fire.

  She looked older, thinner, wiser. Only twenty-three people, most of them women and young children, had survived the attack on the village. The soldiers had looted the village, burned the lodges, confiscated the horses and weapons. Hawk felt his hatred for the whites expand within him until there was no room for anything else. His people, once proud and free, had been slaughtered, the few survivors forced to become beggars and thieves to provide for their families.

  The night before, after Maggie had returned to the fort, he had told his mother about Heart-of-the-Wolf’s death, about emerging from the cave to find himself in another time.

  “And what did you see there?”

  “Wonderful things, Iná,” he had replied, and he had told her of the wonders he had seen in Maggie’s time, of cars and stoves and refrigerators, of soft beds and pillows, of chairs and tables, of electric lights and machines that washed clothes and dishes, of grocery stores where fresh meat was neatly cut and wrapped in shiny packages.

  He paused, thinking of the things he’d seen on the reservation. Should he tell his mother of the poverty that awaited them in the future, of the loss of their homeland, the diseases that plagued them, the drunkenness?

  “My son? Are you in pain?”

  “Yes.” He placed his hand over his heart. “In here.” He shook his head as she bent toward him, her face lined with concern. “I am not sick, my mother. There is nothing you can do for me. I hurt for our people.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I have seen things that I cannot forget, heard things I do not want to believe.”

  “In the future?”

  “Yes.”

  Winona shook her head. “I find it difficult to believe that you have traveled to another time. Are you sure it was not another medicine dream?”

  “It was real, my mother. The Spirit Woman is real. You have seen her.”

  “Yes. Rest now, my son. There is nothing to be done until you are well again.”

  Shadow Hawk nodded. His mother was right. There was nothing to do until he was well again. And perhaps not even then.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Maggie stared at Major Neville, her fingers worrying a fold in her skirt as she waited for him to speak. This was the man who had flogged Hawk, the man who would have killed Hawk if he’d had the chance. What did he want with her?

  “Miss St. Claire?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  Maggie shrugged.

  “What, exactly, is your relationship to the Indian who was brought in with you?”

  “I believe I explained all that to General Sully.”

  “Of course, but the general was called back East, and I’m in command now.”

  “I see. Hawk is…was my husband.”

  “You lived with him in the Indian camp?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  “Not long.”

  “It’s of vital importance that we find Sitting Bull. Do you know where his camp is?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you don’t understand. Since the red stick escaped, you’re the only lead we have left.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “Perhaps I can help you refresh your memory. Snider!”

  A quick shiver of apprehension skittered down Maggie’s spine as the corporal entered the room.

  “Yessir?”

  “I’ve been questioning Miss St. Claire about Sitting Bull’s whereabouts.”

  Snider nodded, one hand caressing the whip coiled over his arm.

  Maggie stared at the whip, remembering how it had seemed to float through the air before striking Hawk’s back, remembering the sound of it, sibilant and deadly as it sliced into her husband’s flesh.

  “She says she doesn’t know where Sitting Bull’s camp is.” Neville leaned forward, his elbows on the desk top, his chin resting on his folded hands. “It would mean a great deal to my career if I could locate Sitting Bull,” he said, his pale blue eyes boring into hers. “I’d do just about anything to find him. Anything.”

  “I wish I could help you,” Maggie said, unable to still the quiver in her voice, or the shaking in her hands. “I’m sorry. I, uh, could I talk to Lieutenant Collins, please?”

  “Collins is out on patrol. He won’t be back for at least a week, perhaps longer.”

  She felt caught, helpless, like a rabbit in the jaws of a coyote. With the general and Collins away from the fort, she had no one to turn to.

  “Snider, why don’t you escort Miss St. Claire to the interrogation room?”

  “Yessir.” Snider saluted, then stepped aside.

  Rising, Maggie walked out of the major’s office, her back rigid with fear.

  Her heart began to pound with dread as she realized Snider was taking her to the same building where Hawk had been imprisoned.

  She stepped inside, and her blood seemed to turn to ice as Snider closed and locked the door. Surely the major didn’t intend to whip her. I’d do just about anything to find him, Neville had said with conviction. Anything.

  Swallowing hard, Maggie went to the narrow barred window and gazed into the darkness. She refused to believe the major would abuse her. He was only trying to frighten her, nothing more.

  And he was doing a heck of a job.

  Shadow Hawk’s gaze kept wandering toward the door of the lodge. It was far past the time when Maggie usually arrived and as the minutes passed, and she still didn’t come, he began to worry that something was wrong.

  With an effort, he stood up, panting from the effort. Knifelike pains caused by his broken rib accompanied each breath, each movement.

  “What are you doing?” Winona exclaimed as she entered the lodge with an armload of wood.

  “I must find Mag-gie.”

  “She will be here as soon as she can.”

  “No. Something is wrong.”

  “Shadow Hawk, you are not well. You must not move around or you will cause your wounds to bleed again.”

  “She needs me, Iná. I can feel her fear.”

  “But the soldiers…”

  “They did not come looking for me today.”

  “Shadow Hawk, these are her people. Surely they will not harm her.”

  He did not argue with her further, only gave her a quick hug before leaving the lodge, a striped trade blanket over his head.

  No one paid any attention to him as he walked toward the fort. His people were broken, beaten.

  Silent as the shadow of a hawk, he made his way through the fort, skirting the parade ground, keeping out of sight as much as possible.

  Maggie had told him where she stayed and he found her cabin without any trouble. The door was unlocked and he ghosted inside, pausing just inside the door.

  The cabin was empty. He knew it even before he checked the bedroom.

  Where would she have gone?

  He stood there in the dark cabin, his eyes closed, his heart and spirit searching for Maggie, reaching out to her through time and space. Maggie…

  Major Neville rocked back on his heels, his pale blue eyes void of compassion as he stared at Maggie. But it was Snider who held Maggie’s attention, or rather, it was the long black whip in Snider’s hand.

  “How’s your memory, Miss St. Claire?” Neville asked, his tone indicating he would wait all night for her answer, if necessary.

  “My memory’s fine,” Maggie replied. �
�But I’m not familiar with this area,” she said, shrugging helplessly, “so I’m afraid I can’t tell you where the Indian camp is.”

  “I see.” Neville pulled a cigar out of his pocket, unwrapped it, sniffed it appreciatively. “Was it near a river?”

  “A river? I…yes, I think so.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow night. And I know you’ll be able to tell me exactly where that village is, won’t you?”

  Maggie nodded, her gaze still on the whip in Snider’s hand, her mind already working on the lie she was going to tell Neville when he came back.

  Shadow Hawk paced the floor of his mother’s lodge. For days he had been confined to this small place and now he felt restless, weak from lack of exercise. And in the back of his mind was a growing concern for Maggie. Where was she?

  Abruptly he turned to face his mother. “We are leaving this place tonight.”

  “Leaving? Where are we going?”

  “North, to the Land of the Grandmother.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our people are going to be involved in many battles in the next few years. We will win some of them, but in the end, our people will be defeated. I have seen the future, Iná. We must leave here. It is the only way our people can survive.”

  Winona shook her head, not wanting to believe.

  “I know it is hard for you to accept, but I speak the truth. I have seen the future. I have been there! Maggie told me of the wars that will come, of the defeat of the Lakota and our allies, the Cheyenne. Our only hope for safety lies in the north.”

  Winona nodded, knowing it was useless to argue, knowing, too, that her son was right. “I will tell the others.”

  Shadow Hawk gave his mother a quick hug, then, drawing a blanket over his head, he made his way toward Maggie’s cabin, praying that she would be there, knowing even as he opened the door that the cabin was still empty.

  She could not be with the paleface lieutenant. Everyone knew that Collins had ridden out of the fort several days ago. Had she made other friends among the wasichu?

  Leaving the cabin, Hawk stared up at the sky. The moon was full and it seemed to be shining on the small building where he had been imprisoned only a few days ago. Could she be there? It seemed unlikely, yet he felt himself being drawn toward it.

  There was a light inside the building and as he drew near, he could hear voices: Neville’s, harsh and impatient, Maggie’s hesitant and afraid.

  His moccasined feet made no sound as he approached the door and peered cautiously inside.

  Maggie stood against the far wall, her arms crossed over her breasts, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. Snider stood to the left, Neville to the right. Both had their backs to Hawk.

  Shadow Hawk saw the hope that flared in the depths of Maggie’s eyes when she saw him and he shook his head, warning her not to give him away.

  “Sitting Bull,” she said, her words tumbling over themselves. “You want to know where Sitting Bull is? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you anything you want, do anything you want, but please don’t let him whip me.”

  The thought that Neville was going to let Snider whip Maggie drove all rational thought from Shadow Hawk’s mind and he wanted only to kill the man who dared threaten his wife.

  Maggie kept talking as Hawk crept up behind Neville. “The Powder River,” she said, her voice growing louder and more agitated, “that was where Sitting Bull was camped.”

  Neville frowned, confused by her sudden turnabout, by the expectant look on her face.

  Too late, he realized that someone had entered the building. And then that someone was yanking his gun from his holster.

  “Snider!”

  Neville’s warning came too late.

  The first shot drilled into the major’s heart, killing him instantly. The second plowed into Snider’s gut promising a slow, agonizing death.

  “Let’s go!” Shadow Hawk said. Shoving the major’s pistol into his belt, he grabbed Maggie by the hand and pulled her toward the door, stopping only long enough to knock over the oil lamp that illuminated the building.

  The dry wood floor caught almost immediately and Hawk heard the sentry’s cry of “Fire! Fire!” as they ran out of the fort.

  Red Arrow had horses waiting and in a matter of minutes, all those who’d had enough of the white man’s charity were following Shadow Hawk and Maggie across the plains, their escape swallowed up in the dark of the night and in the pandemonium caused by the roaring blaze.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Bobby stood at the mouth of the Sacred Cave wondering if he had the guts to take the first step inside.

  That afternoon, he had called Veronica and told her what he was going to do, hoping, perhaps, that she would be able to talk him out of it.

  And she had tried; perversely, all Veronica’s arguments had only strengthened his resolve. The need to be a warrior, to prove himself in battle, had been stronger than all her arguments, and in the end, she had begged him to be careful and promised to pray for him.

  Jared and Joshua had volunteered to stay at the ranch until Bobby returned, and that tied up all the loose ends.

  Staring into the cave’s darkness, Bobby took a deep breath. He wore the clout and moccasins he’d worn on his vision quest. He carried no weapons. He’d fasted for twenty-four hours. He’d prayed for help and guidance. He carried a handful of sacred pollen to offer to the gods. All that remained was to take the first step.

  The brassy taste of fear rose in his mouth, not fear of the cave, but fear that he didn’t have what it took to be a warrior; that he didn’t have the fortitude to step into the cave and face the unknown.

  Raising his arms overhead, he prayed for courage, for guidance, his heart pounding a quick tattoo as he stared at the full moon that brightened the night sky.

  It was time, he thought. If he was ever going to do it, the time was now, on the night of the full moon.

  His mouth felt dry, his palms were damp, his whole body quivered with excitement, and fear—fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of the death that awaited him if he was not worthy to enter the cave. Hawk had told him what to do, what to wear, how to behave. All that remained was finding the courage to do it.

  “I am Proud Eagle.”

  His voice was hardly a whisper and he repeated the words again, louder this time, stronger.

  “I am Proud Eagle.”

  He closed his eyes and thought of his vision, of the power he had felt as he became one with his spirit guide. And then, in his mind, he heard again the words he’d heard in the Sacred Cave.

  Proud Eagle, you must follow the Hawk.

  And he knew it was time to enter the Sacred Cave and follow the Spirit Path that would lead to his destiny.

  With a final prayer for guidance, he lowered his arms and took his first step into the enveloping darkness of the cave.

  It was still and silent as the grave. The sound of his heartbeat roared like thunder in his ears as he took another step into the cavern and then another.

  I am Proud Eagle.

  He said the words in his mind as he took another step into the Sacred Cave.

  Sensations assailed him. The cave was cool but not cold. The ground at his feet was smooth and covered with sand. He took a deep breath, faced toward the east and reached for the small bag of pollen tied to his belt. As Hawk had instructed, he offered a pinch of pollen to the sacred winds, to Man Above, to Mother Earth, and then he sat down on the ground and concentrated on his people.

  Fear rose within him, primal and unreasoning, as he felt the darkness close around him, exploring him with hands that had no substance, sniffing him, reading his mind and his heart.

  I am Proud Eagle. I must follow the Hawk.

  He repeated the words over and over in his mind.

  The darkness was all around him now, alive, breathing, a living entity with a mind and a heart of its own.

  It was pulling at him, dra
gging him deeper into the darkness, into the very heart of the cave.

  Knowing it was useless to fight, Bobby Proud Eagle surrendered to the blackness, felt himself falling down, down, into a swirling vortex that carried him into oblivion.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  They rode all that night and into the dawn and when it seemed Hawk would ride nonstop until they reached Canada, Maggie began to complain of being tired. Hawk called a halt immediately, as she had known he would. In truth, she was tired, but it was Hawk’s well-being that concerned her. He looked pale and on the verge of exhaustion, and though he had traveled without complaint, she knew his broken rib must be causing him a great deal of pain.

  In a matter of minutes, the women had small fires burning and were passing out jerky and pemmican. Maggie sat beside Hawk, studying him surreptitiously. Were his eyes too bright? Did he look feverish, or was it just her imagination?

  He caught her worried look and grinned. “Mag-gie, I am all right.”

  “Are you sure?” She placed her hand on his forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch.

  “I am sure. Do not worry.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Get some sleep. We will rest only a few hours.”

  “How long will it take us to get to Canada?”

  “We are going to Sitting Bull.”

  “Sitting Bull? But why?”

  “It will be winter soon. We will not make the journey to the Land of the Grandmother until spring.”

  Maggie nodded. He was right, of course. They’d had to leave their lodges and most of their belongings behind, and they didn’t have enough warm clothes or enough food to see them through a long winter. It was now, in the fall of the year, that the Sioux would be hunting, storing meat to see them through the winter.

  Maggie let her gaze wander around the small camp. Six men, four in their prime; nine women, most of them past childbearing age, and eight children under the age of ten.

  She couldn’t help but wonder how many of them would survive the long journey north.