Song Of The Warrior

by Georgina Gentry

  Billy grinned as he headed for the stable. Bear would be looking for Willow. Billy wanted both the treasure and the beautiful girl, so, he reasoned, all he had to do was track down the warrior and he’d find both. Just as soon as he could saddle up, Billy would rejoin General Howard’s forces.

  General Howard and his troops came upon what was left of Gibbon’s mauled forces several days after the fight at the Big Hole. It was enough to make a religious man swear, he thought as he rode in, dismounted, looked around. “Well, John, I see the Indians did the impossible, defeated the Old War Horse.”

  Gibbon saluted halfheartedly. “It was a draw, Oliver,” he said defensively. “We held our ground.”

  Howard laughed but he wasn’t smiling as he looked at the exhausted troopers, the number of wounded, the fresh graves. “How many did you lose?”

  “Twenty-nine dead, forty wounded,” Gibbon admitted, not looking at him. “Two of the wounded probably aren’t going to make it. However, Oliver, we hit the Indians pretty hard, too.”

  “But they got away.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

  Gibbon hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, they’re on the move again; took their wounded with them.”

  The one-armed general rolled his eyes heavenward as if praying. “Lord knows what the newspapers will say this time; they’re laughing at the army back East, you know that, John?”

  Gibbon limped over to sit down on a log, wiped the sweat from his trim goatee. “If they ever had to fight Nez Perce, they wouldn’t laugh anymore. Even the old people fight like lions!”

  “Amazing what hope does, isn’t it?” Howard said. “Hope and a taste of freedom. Well, I’ll take up the chase again, leave my surgeons with you. Looks like your men are in no shape to continue this pursuit.”

  Gibbon acknowledged it was true. “I don’t know why they keep fighting,” he grumbled, “they can’t win.”

  Howard looked away, a little ashamed to be on the side of the aggressor. “That’s what’s so sad about it; they can’t win, but they won’t quit; makes a man examine his soul and think about what’s right and wrong. If I didn’t have my orders . . .” His voice trailed off for a minute, then he was all business again. “Well, I’ve wasted enough time.”

  “I’m sorry, Oliver, I should have stopped them, but they fought like demons.”

  Howard nodded. “I just wished I could put some of those newspaper people up here to see how Nez Perce fight. A heart’s own blood.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  Howard cleared his throat. “They believe they are special, that they are created from a heart’s blood.”

  “I can believe it.” Gibbon nodded. “I’ve seen them in action!”

  General Howard noted that ahead of him as he led his troops, the whole countryside seemed to be ablaze. The young warriors, in a fury because of the Big Hole battle, must be attacking outlying ranches, stealing horses and supplies, killing cowboys and settlers if they tried to stop them. The cost at that Big Hole battle had been costly to the Indians, too, Howard thought, because as they marched, the army found more hastily dug graves where the Nez Perce buried those who succumbed to wounds along the way. Try as he might, it was almost impossible to keep his Shoshoni and Bannock scouts from digging up the graves of the enemy dead to loot and scalp the bodies.

  When General Howard figured out that the Nez Perce might be heading into the new national park, Yellowstone, he sent word ahead to General Sherman, and then Howard picked up his pace. It was August 20 and by moving faster, the general hoped to intercept the Nez Perce at Camas Meadows before they reached Yellowstone.

  It was almost dark and Willow had built a small fire, cooked a rabbit Raven had snared this morning. Ammunition was too precious to waste on one small rabbit. Sometimes there was almost nothing to eat; other times they ate the horses that dropped and died from the grueling march.

  She nodded to Raven as he walked up, then noted he was stripping down to his breechcloth, painting his face. “What are you doing? I have food ready.”

  He shook his head, his handsome face serious behind the garish paint. “Raiding tonight. You know I cannot eat until I return.”

  Oh dear God! She bit her lip, not wanting to risk losing him again. A warrior always rode into battle almost naked so that if a bullet hit him, it wouldn’t take cloth and bits of trash into the wound that might lead to infection. For the same reason, they went into a fight with their bellies empty. A man hit in the gut would not survive the infectious wound of a full belly. “The soldiers have been seen?”

  He nodded and continued to paint himself. “Our scouts say it’s old One-Arm again, and he’s moving fast, will catch us soon if we don’t hit him first.”

  “I want to go,” she insisted, “you’re short on warriors.”

  “No!” He shook his head. “My woman does not risk her life; that is my task. We will run off his mules, steal his supplies. Soldiers cannot live off the land as we do. If they have no coffee and blankets, they will go back to the fort.”

  “But they will send other soldiers,” she insisted.

  He sighed. “We are living for today only; that is all we can do. If we delay the soldiers, that is one more day or one more week we might live.”

  “Even if you sneak up in the darkness,” Willow argued, “the sentries will challenge you. To get close enough to run off the mules, you will need someone who understands their words better than you.”

  He acknowledged this was true. “But it won’t be you, Green Eyes; you are going to live whether I survive or not; I owe it to my brother.”

  They had not spoken of Bear in days, but he always seemed to be with them. She hugged Raven awkwardly and he hugged her back, both aware that he must not do anything more; he had already broken the taboo once. She blinked back tears. “Kuse timine,” she whispered, go with a good heart.

  “Taz alago, my little one.” With a nod, he mounted up and rode out, straight and fierce and proud.

  She waited a moment, then ran to swing up on her own horse and followed after the war party in the darkness. She had to be careful not to be seen on the trail. After a while, she could smell the bacon and the coffee, saw the faint campfires of the soldiers. Her mouth watered. With the army following them, the people had had little time to hunt or fish. The soldiers would have warm blankets and plenty of supplies.

  She rode up next to Raven as the warriors neared the camp. He looked over at her, opened his mouth to protest, but she put her finger across her lips to silence him. His painted face looked angry, but he dare not say anything with the soldiers so close.

  A sentry yelled out, “Halt! Who goes there?”

  She leaned over, “Tell him a courier from General Sherman.”

  Raven nodded and yelled out the words she told him. Even from here, she could see the sentry relax. The rest of the camp appeared to be sleeping at this late hour. Like shadows, the warriors slipped from their ponies and moved close to the sleeping camp. Raven began to cut the picket line where the mules were tied. There were so many of them, Willow thought, that if someone didn’t help him, the mules would not be loose when the warriors began their attack. Willow slid from her horse, took her little knife and hurried down the line, cutting the mules free as she went. About that time, the sentry seemed to see the moving shadows and shouted a warning, fired his rifle. The sound reverberated through the camp and immediately, the mules panicked, began braying and stampeding.

  Helplessly, Willow looked around as the long-eared animals thundered past her. There were mules between her and her horse and Raven had already swung up on his mount. At least he would get away even if she were trampled.

  “Willow, here!” he commanded. He was a blur galloping toward her but she trusted him and threw her hands up. Raven reached and with one strong arm, lifted her to his galloping horse before him and wheeled to gallop away. Around them, the soldiers shouted and fired, mules brayed and stampeded into the darkness. Some of the warriors had managed to set
fire to piles of supplies. The fires lit up the night as the triumphant Indians grabbed blankets and food and galloped away.

  Raven held her against him with one sinewy arm as they raced back toward the Indian camp. “You disobeyed me. Next time, do as I tell you!”

  “And if I hadn’t disobeyed, you couldn’t have scattered all the mules,” she said. She was weak with relief that the raid had been successful and they had made fools of the soldiers again. She looked back at the faint glow of the burning supplies and grinned at the sound of scattered mules braying, soldiers cursing. “It will take them a day or two to get on our trail again.”

  Raven laughed and held her close as they galloped toward the Indian camp. “You minx! Don’t you ever do as you’re told?”

  “You know better than that!”

  She felt happy, too, for the first time since she had lost her beloved Bear. Raven’s arm felt protective around her, his breath warm in her hair. She was finally at peace for the first time in a long time as they rode through the darkness.

  They rode into the Indian camp and he let her slide from the horse, but he was clearly reluctant to turn her loose. “Willow, with a woman like you by his side, there is no limit to the heights a man could reach; the kind of sons she could bear him.”

  She nodded, and tried not to think of her beloved Bear, lying unburied out there by that distant river. The best place to bury a beloved was deep in the heart and in her memory of that short, precious time they had had together. Her throat ached with unshed tears as she remembered him.

  She should be kind enough to give Raven some hope in this hopeless journey. “We will talk again of this when we finally reach a place of safety, Raven; but we must not violate the taboo.”

  “That night should not have happened.” His handsome face was grave. “Yet, if you might someday consider me as your man, that is all I can ask for. At least our warriors have just bought our people a little more time.” Wheeling his stallion, Raven rode away to report to Chief Joseph about the successful raid against General Howard’s pack train.

  Bear had no trouble following the trail his people had left through the mountains and along rivers. Everywhere, there seemed to be spent cartridges and abandoned army equipment. Here and there, he ran across a fresh grave or a dead horse, remains of campfires and burned-out ranches. Where were the people headed? Evidently, they hoped to find a quiet valley where they could live and hunt in peace. There were many soldier patrols out and Bear had to be careful not to be seen. Sometimes he rode at night and hid during the day to keep ranchers and army scouts from seeing him. He was glad that he had a spare horse as the days passed and he kept riding.

  How could his people have come so far, burdened down as they were with many women, children, and all the wounded? Each battle site told its own mute story. He began to worry that Willow or Raven might have been victims, but there was nothing he could do but keep riding and hope for the best. When he tired, he remembered Willow’s kisses and the friendship of his brother. He could hardly wait to be reunited with them. Mostly, he lived off the land as he turned south through Montana Territory, but occasionally, he found a knapsack of lost army rations.

  He wondered what the people were eating or if they were going hungry. When he began to find the old ones who had been abandoned and later killed by the enemy Indian scouts, he knew what a relentless pace his people were setting. No doubt there were many wounded and the tribe would need all its warriors. With that in mind, Bear picked up his pace, still avoiding the numerous patrols that seemed to be all over the countryside. Where were his people headed? Their trail led south and he realized they might be attempting to link up with their old allies, E-sue-hkah, the Crows.

  Now as he examined the trail, the tracks were fresher; and he realized he was gaining on them. Bear’s heart beat faster with anticipation. Soon he would see his beloved Willow again; he could only hope his little brother had taken good care of her. One thing he wasn’t looking forward to was telling the old grandmother and the children of Rainbow’s death; although there would be some comfort in knowing she had died proudly, attempting to help her people.

  Bear rode south, realizing now that the Nez Perce must be headed toward that place of beautiful mountains, geysers, and boiling springs that the whites called Yellowstone. There were troops in the area, but he avoided them and followed the scent of smoke toward an old Indian camping ground. The sky was turning pale lavender and the sun would soon set. He would eat tonight’s meal with his woman and his brother. Bear might not be able to lie with his woman tonight because of the taboo, but it would be enough just to hold her in his arms.

  She must keep busy to keep her mind off the horrors the people were enduring, Willow thought as she settled herself under a tree with some of the children for their lesson. Was there any point in doing this when some of these little ones might not live long enough to need to read and write? At least, it kept their minds occupied and off the hunger and misery they were enduring. She looked around at the pinched, thin little faces and wondered if there would be anything to feed them tonight? Everyone knew the army was moving closer.

  “Now, children, who can write his name?”

  Half a dozen small brown hands went up.

  “Taz! Good! Then show me.”

  She watched them write in the dirt with sticks, encouraging and correcting them. Then she let them take turns picking out words in her worn copy of the novel. Eventually, Willow looked up, saw Raven standing watching, dismissed the children and motioned to him.

  The children scattered but they weren’t carefree anymore; they were too tired and hungry. They walked slowly toward their own families and Raven sat down next to her. He took the book from her hand and ran his fingers lovingly down the pages. “I don’t know why you bother,” he said. “I’m not sure any of them will ever live to grow up.”

  “Well, you were always my best pupil anyway.” She tried to make a joke of it, but he didn’t laugh. “What’s wrong?”

  He closed the book and handed it to her. “The Crows aren’t going to help us; they’re afraid of the soldiers.”

  “Oh.” She felt devastated. The Nez Perce had counted on that help.

  “It’s worse than that; some of them want to be on the winning side so the whites won’t be angry with them, so some of the E-sue-hkah are riding as scouts for the army.”

  She looked heavenward and sighed. “What about the Flatheads?”

  “Not much help there, either. Many of our old friends are either afraid or too weak to take on the army.”

  Willow didn’t say anything for a long moment. Lately, the warriors had captured some tourists in Yellowstone Park. “Before they turned them loose, did the tourists tell anything important?”

  “It’s almost funny; they said General Sherman himself was sightseeing in this area only a few days ago. If we could have captured him, we would have had a valuable hostage.”

  “What else did the tourists say?” She leaned back against the trunk of a tree.

  “The newspapers have sensational headlines about the savages’ rampage across the country. The government is estimating it will spend over a million dollars to chase us down and put us back on the reservation.”

  “A million dollars,” she whispered and watched the old people building tiny fires as dusk settled over the mountains. “That’s more than ten thousand dollars apiece for every baby, old man, and woman; we don’t have more than seven hundred.”

  “We don’t even have that anymore.” His voice was full of irony.

  No, they probably didn’t, she thought. The Nez Perces’ flight had cost them dearly. They had left a trail of shallow graves behind. The babies were especially vulnerable and even the slightly wounded could not always keep up the killing pace. “Oh, Raven, what are we going to do?”

  “Don’t give up hope yet.” He reached over and patted her arm. “There’s talk again of trying to head north, cross the border into Canada. Maybe the Sioux will take us in; the
y might even cross the border to help us if we can get word to them.”

  Hope; the people kept hoping for justice, for a miracle. “It’s a long way to the border and the people are exhausted,” she reminded him.

  “There’s more.” His face was grim and he didn’t look at her.

  “How could it be worse?”

  He shook his head. “From what the tourists said and what our scouts have picked up by interrogating captured scouts, Sherman is sending Colonel Sturgis after us with fresh troops to help Howard. Sturgis will be leading the Fifth Cavalry and six companies of the Seventh Cavalry.”

  “Oh, God!” She began to cry softly. The 7th had lost many men at the Little Bighorn in Montana a little over a year ago. No doubt the 7th would still be thirsting for revenge and Indian blood. Most soldiers didn’t know one Indian from another. Worse than that, it had been in the newspapers that Colonel Sturgis had lost a son with Custer’s forces, so he’d have no sympathy whatever for Indians.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” He made an effort to smile. “We’ve made it through worse troubles the last few weeks.”

  “I know.” She wiped her eyes. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me; the smallest thing upsets me lately.”

  “You’re tired and hungry, Willow,” he said softly. “Maybe what we should do is surrender, save the women and children any more misery.”

  She shook her head. “The army might hang the warriors if you surrender; I couldn’t bear that. I’d rather fight my way across Montana than see you hanged.”

  “Well,” he kept his voice light as he offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “The council will discuss that tonight while they try to figure out how to outwit and outrun Sturgis and Howard. In the meantime, I’ve caught some fish.”

  They started walking back toward the camp. “The children will be so thrilled. For the last several days, I’ve been feeding them horse meat and telling them it was venison.” Frankly, the thought of food nauseated her and she was puzzled as to why. She decided she would share her portion around with the old and the wounded. It seemed ironic to her that citizens of the United States who had fought the British for their own freedom, wanted to pen up or kill the Nez Perce whose only crime was wanting the same thing the Americans had fought for.