Song Of The Warrior

by Georgina Gentry

Deek shook his head and clung to the saddle horn as the horse swam. If he had waited, it would have been safer, all right, but in the meantime, Billy Warton might double-cross him, figure out how to steal the gold before Deek could return. Also, that Injun, Bear, might have told someone else who would come after it.

  The gelding’s hooves touched bottom as it finally reached a shallow place and began to walk out, breathing heavily. Deek took a deep breath of relief himself as he guided the bay up on the bank and dismounted. His clothes were soaked and he was exhausted, but none of that meant anything to him; all he could think of was gold.

  Taking a big chaw of tobacco, Deek rode the horse toward the canyon near the lake. When he reached it, he tethered his mount where it could graze and began searching the rocks of the canyon walls. Could that Injun have lied to him? Deek spat tobacco juice and grinned, shook his head. Bear was too noble and worried about Rainbow to lie, Deek had read that in his dark eyes. That was where Billy Warton had erred. By the time Billy figured out that Bear had told the truth, Deek would have found that gold and be long gone.

  He must have searched for almost an hour before he saw the odd-shaped rock; it was just the size and shape Bear had described. If he hadn’t been a big man, Deek wouldn’t have been able to move it. As it was, he had to find a stout tree, use it as a lever to roll it away from the cave opening.

  God, it was hot out here in the sun. Even though his clothes were still damp, the sun was drying them fast. Deek stuck his head in the cave. It was dim at the entrance, but cool, and smelled dank. Deek stepped in, moving gingerly, waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the cool darkness.

  Near his head, he heard the sudden rattle and a shape blurred, moving fast. Deek jumped backward, pulse racing as he grabbed for his pistol. The big rattlesnake lying up on the rock ledge had missed his face by a fraction. Deek was close enough to smell the rank scent of it as he aimed and fired.

  It fell at his feet, writhing around his boots, its head blown away. God, that had been a scare! If he’d been bit by a rattler that big, Deek would have died before he could get back across the river for help. Well, he’d always been a lucky bastard! He was meant to have that gold, that’s all there was to it.

  His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and Deek scratched his beard and looked around. The dim light revealed an iron kettle over by a rock. For a moment, as his heart pounded, he didn’t dare hope. Yet here it was. After all these years, he’d found the legendary Nez Perce gold. It had been worth the trouble to risk his life to return to the West for it.

  Even though he was stronger than an ox team, he could barely lift that kettle. Deek had to use all that strength to half carry, half drag that kettle outside into the sunlight. When the sun hit those gold nuggets, it reflected so brightly, it almost blinded him.

  “Hot damn!” Deek stopped to run his hands through the nuggets, plunging his arms into the kettle up to his elbows. “Gold! Real gold! I’m rich! Oh, God, I’m richer than one of them New York bankers!”

  He began to dance around, playing with the nuggets, kissing them. Oh, it was better than his fantasy! Already he could imagine himself duded up, a diamond stickpin in a red cravat, maybe a silk top hat. A fine hat, pulled low on his forehead, would hide the ugly scar made long ago when he’d lost that duel with shovels on a Missouri chain gang. Deek would live like a king with the best of everything. However, first, he had to get his find safely out of this canyon. Easier said than done, Deek thought as he took off his hat and scratched his tangled, greasy hair. How to do that?

  Good sense told him to take a little and hide the rest, come back for it later. But suppose in the meantime, someone else found it? Even though a fraction of it would allow Deek to live in luxury the rest of his life, he wanted all of it and he wanted it now. Maybe he could take the whole treasure if he stuffed his pockets full, filled his saddlebags, too.

  There was too much gold for that, Deek soon found out. He went to get his horse and quickly loaded his saddlebags so that he could barely heave them across the back of the saddle. Mighty heavy load, Deek thought, for a tired horse. Oh, hell, the nag would manage to cross the river all right. What about the rest of the gold?

  Deek surveyed it. No, there was just too much of it to take at one time; he’d have to cross the river again to bring out the rest. In the meantime, he could carry some more in his pockets and vest. Deek grinned as he began to stuff the nuggets in every pocket. Wasn’t this his favorite fantasy; finding so much gold he could barely walk under the weight of it? It was going to be a major undertaking to mount up, as laden as he was with gold, but he wasn’t about to take it out of his pockets. By loading himself and his saddlebags, he could probably get it all out in two or three trips. It was an ordeal to get up into the saddle, but he managed it, then rode to the river. Deek nudged the horse into the shallows. The horse hesitated, reluctant to swim again with the weight it carried, but when Deek spurred it savagely, it plunged into the current and began to swim for the other side.

  The gold really did weigh a lot, Deek thought, but he had a good horse, they would make it. The tired horse fought the current, but it swam slowly, the cold water lapping at Deek’s legs. “Come on, hoss, keep going!”

  He spurred the horse again. Finally, he felt its hooves touch bottom and it staggered up the bank, winded, sides heaving. “God, I’m one lucky bastard!” Deek chortled and struggled to dismount. It was difficult with all the heavy gold in his pockets, but he made it. He’d pile this up, go back for more. Deek emptied his pockets, and the saddlebags, piled the gold behind some rocks.

  He turned and looked back across the river. The distance looked farther now, but that was only because he was tired, Deek thought. He ought to quit for the night. Hell, if he had any sense, he’d ride out with what he already had. It was plenty to keep a man in whores, whiskey, and good cigars the rest of his natural life. As tired as he and the bay gelding were, he ought to forget the remainder, take what he had and leave. But Deek was greedy; he wanted it all.

  He squinted, looking up at the late afternoon sun. His common sense told him to at least wait until tomorrow to cross the river again. He could let his horse rest and graze, he himself could camp and eat.

  “Naw.” Deek shook his head. He didn’t want to camp in this ghostly canyon all night; his Blackfoot upbringing told him there might be spirits here, or at least, bad medicine for anyone who disturbed the Nez Perce treasure. Besides, suppose Billy Warton came riding up with a troop of cavalry or them Injuns returned?

  He intended to get all the gold across the river tonight. Then he would take what he could carry and ride out. The rest he would bury to dig up later. With a weary sigh, Deek swung up on the horse again. The gelding was tired, too. It balked when Deek rode to the river, plainly reluctant to plunge in again.

  “You damned hunk of carrion!” Deek spurred it savagely and forced it into the shallow eddies. At Deek’s rough insistence, the gelding plunged into the river and began to swim for the other side. The horse was tired; Deek could tell because it took so long to make it across the river. And also, they came ashore downstream from the first place they had crossed because the horse was too weary to swim strongly. Well, maybe he would forget about making a third trip over.

  The horse was too weary to do anything but stand, head hanging, sides heaving as Deek loaded the saddlebags again and threw them across the back of the saddle. He stuffed his pockets again, grinning at the old fantasy of having so much money, he could barely walk under the weight. In fact, Deek had so much gold in his pockets and vest, he couldn’t mount up without taking some of it out, returning it to the kettle. Maybe he would wait until tomorrow to make that third trip across, he decided. He dragged the kettle to hide it behind some bushes. A fella couldn’t be too careful about hiding gold.

  He had a hard time mounting, with his pockets and vest loaded, but he made it. This time, he had to really dig his spurs into the bay and beat it with a stick to get the horse into the river. It was
plainly reluctant to swim against that strong current again. However, Deek raked his spurs across the animal’s sides and the animal was forced to wade out into the swift water and begin to swim. It occurred to Deek that all this stress and cold water would probably kill the horse, but so what? Horses were cheap and he had enough gold now that he could afford to buy the finest mounts and ride them to death every day if he felt like it.

  The horse was in trouble, Deek realized suddenly as it fought the current, and began to drift downstream. It was swimming lower in the water, too, as the cold water rose against Deek’s legs. Once as it struggled, its head went under, then it came up, coughing and swimming hard.

  “Goddamn it!” Deek cursed and clung to the horse. Damn horse was gonna drown when it was only a few more feet to shore. Deek dug his spurs in, urging the horse toward the bank. He didn’t care if the horse died, but he didn’t intend to lose that gold to the river.

  He was a pretty good swimmer himself. He might make it, even if the horse didn’t. Deek reached back and grabbed the saddlebags, lifted them across his shoulders with a mighty effort. If the horse was swept away, Deek didn’t intend to lose that treasure.

  The gelding struggled under him and the current took it, carrying it downstream. Deek came out of his saddle and was thrown into the raging river as the horse thrashed. He rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping, then the weight of the gold pulled him under. In a panic, Deek shed the saddlebags, and fought his way back to the surface. It was only a few feet more to shallow water and he was a good swimmer. Farther down the river, he saw the horse stumble ashore and stand there, sides heaving. Damn horse!

  The weight of the gold in his pockets began pulling Deek under again in spite of his strong strokes. For a moment, he gulped water, then fought his way up to the air. He was panicking now, fighting to get the weight out of his pockets, his vest, throw it away.

  He couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. It was hard to empty his pockets while struggling for a breath. He fought his way to the surface once more, then the weight of the heavy nuggets pulled him under again and began to sweep him downstream. The water was dark and icy cold as he went down. He looked up toward the light and the life-giving air as he struggled to get rid of the gold. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it all out of his pockets.

  At the moment he began to gulp water, Deek would have given every ounce of gold in the whole world for one breath of air; precious air, but no one was bartering. He strangled on cold water and tried to throw away the nuggets, but their weight was pulling him to the bottom of the river. As in a dream, he noted how the smooth stones at the bottom looked as he was swept past. Here and there, a bright nugget glittered as it fell through the dark water from his numbed fingers. Gold. He had more than enough gold to buy a kingdom; but it wouldn’t buy him a single breath of life-giving air. . . .

  August 8. Colonel Gibbon wiped his dripping face and reined in his horse. “The Nez Perce should never have been allowed to get this far after they left the Lolo Trail. We hope to surprise them, gentlemen, while they are camped here at the Big Hole.”

  The other officers looked at one another and back at the troops behind them on the march. “You don’t think we should wait for General Howard to arrive?”

  Gibbon shook his head. “The longer we wait, the more likely they are to discover us. We need to hit them hard at dawn tomorrow. Then we’ll round up survivors, send them back to the reservation. The sooner this is over, the better!”

  Willow had lost track of time and distance, she thought as she settled herself with the children to read to them. At this place called Big Hole, the people were short on everything except wounded and misery. It sometimes seemed all she had done for weeks now was trudge from one place to the next. Chief Joseph had turned his column south when they came off the Lolo Trail to avoid the soldiers coming from Missoula. The Nez Perce were innocent enough to think they might be safe in Montana, although Willow had tried to tell them whites on both sides on the Bitterroot Mountains were their enemies.

  As usual, little Cub crawled up in her lap. She patted him absently and wondered what had ever become of his mother. At least, Willow was providing a little brightness to the children’s lives with her lessons. “Now, children, we are ready for the end of the story.”

  Even as she began to read, she was conscious that Raven had walked up, stood on the edge of the circle, listening. She read to them of Sydney Carton taking the place of Charles Darnay in the prison cell, knowing full well the other man was scheduled to be executed. She read of the crowd shouting at Sydney Carton as he rode in the cart toward the place where he would be beheaded, still pretending to be the condemned Charles, his beloved’s husband. The drunken wastrel would make the supreme sacrifice, die in the other man’s place because Carton loved the girl so much, he wanted nothing as much as her happiness.

  At last, Willow choked on tears and could not continue. She paused and handed the book to Raven. “Raven, read the ending, please.”

  He hesitated as he took the treasured book. Over the last several weeks, he had begun to read well as if it were something he needed to accomplish to deal with the whites. Now he read the last paragraphs slowly but with feeling, describing how the crowd yelled for blood while Sydney Carton walked up the scaffold to be executed in another man’s place and said, “. . . it is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

  Very slowly, he closed the book. In the silence, a bird called somewhere in the hot August afternoon.

  Atsi blinked. “This man was a great and a brave warrior,” she said gravely and the other children nodded agreement. “He died so that the other man might live because the girl loved the other man so, and he knew it.”

  Willow was too moved to speak, remembering Bear. She swallowed hard.

  Raven seemed to realize her anguish. “Children,” he said, “I think your teacher is tired; that’s all for today.”

  They scattered with a glad cry. Raven leaned over, put the book down, took Cub from her arms, and laid him gently in the shade of a bush. “It is a very fine story,” he said, “that a man would love a woman so much, he would sacrifice his life for her happiness.”

  For just a moment, she buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t been feeling well the last day or two. There was so little food and not much time to hunt or fish with the soldiers always on their trail.

  He sat next to her, reached out, drew her to lean against his broad shoulder. “I know; I miss him, too.”

  In all these weeks, since that one time, Raven had not touched her, now he patted her like a big brother; offering comfort.

  “Oh, Raven, how will it all end?”

  “I don’t know; only the soldiers know,” he said grimly. “We would be content to survive in this place called Montana if they would leave us in peace.” “I don’t think they will do that and we’ve traveled so far already.”

  He nodded and didn’t speak. He seemed to be only half listening and Willow knew that as a warrior, his thoughts were already on tomorrow and the tribe’s safety. “If they won’t leave us in peace, maybe we will head north toward Canada.”

  “But we turned south to avoid the soldiers, we’re many miles farther now from the border, and there’s so many wounded.”

  “Yes.” He patted her absently as if comforting a child and she was abruptly ashamed. There was so much pain and suffering around her, and she knew Raven saw to it that if there was food, she got a little of it.

  “I shouldn’t complain,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional; and get upset over little things when others are in worse shape. It just seems so pointless to teach children to read when the soldiers may soon kill them all.”

  “I do what I can for you, Willow, as Bear would have wanted.”

  “I know that; I suppose I’m losing hope that the Nez Perce have any future. We’re such a long way from Canada; getting there is impos
sible.”

  Raven shrugged. “They said it was impossible for us to cross the Lolo Trail with all these old people and children, but we made it.” He tilted her chin up with one finger and looked into her eyes. “Remember the Nez Perce are special; we are created from a heart’s blood. If it can be done, we will do it.”

  She saw the unspoken love in his handsome face, but he had never voiced his feelings since that desperate night he had spent in her arms. “You’re right, Raven. These people are brave; you are brave. You’ve shown it in a hundred ways in the past few weeks and become a respected warrior; Bear would have been proud of you.”

  “Are you—are you proud of me, Willow?”

  “You know I am.”

  He hesitated, took his hand away, looked off at the distant horizon and she knew he was remembering how Bear had stayed behind, died to save them both. “If we make it to Canada,” he whispered, “there is something then I will ask you. I know you will never love me as you loved Bear, but . . .”

  The pause sounded heavy in the silence. She knew what he wanted to ask and she didn’t even want to think about it right now. Life must go on somehow. But with Bear dead, she felt dead inside, too. She loved Raven, but she wasn’t certain she could ever love him as he loved her and it wasn’t fair; but then, life wasn’t fair. “Let us not talk about this until we finally reach a place of refuge,” she said quickly and stood up.

  He smiled, hope in his eyes. “That means you’ll think about it?”

  “Of course. I think Bear would want us to be together. The old grandmother won’t last forever, and someone will have to raise Cub and Atsi.”

  “You have given me something to believe in, something to fight for,” he said and squared his shoulders. “Thank you, Willow.”

  She nodded and picked up her beloved book. She didn’t even want to think about becoming Raven’s woman, but it was as Bear would have wished and it was still sometime in the future . . . if they were lucky enough to have a future. She would think no further than tomorrow. Willow gestured to the sleeping toddler. “Will you bring him?”