Zeke glanced over at Abbie, then faced the lieutenant again and shook his head. “Just scratch this one and do what you want with Cole’s money. Get on with the rest of the races.”
Lieutenant Perkins turned to the sergeant holding the money and ordered him to give back all that had been bet on the race, as well as to divide up Cole’s fifty dollars. The decision seemed to ease the men’s grumbling and suspicions, and Abbie wanted to cry with relief. But she kept her composure as Zeke approached, warning her and the others with his eyes that they should show no particular emotion that might give away what had really happened. He reached out and gently touched the little red mark on Abbie’s lip, and she saw the sweat on his brow. However he had managed to kill Randolph Cole, it surely had taken a great deal of physical strength, and he had already been weak and in pain that morning. His bandaged arm had begun bleeding again.
“Zeke—”
“I’m all right,” he told her quietly. “But it might be a good idea to be on our way. To hell with the big race. Let’s pack our gear.”
She nodded in agreement, then put a hand to her throat as the lieutenant approached them. Zeke saw the look in her eyes and turned to greet the man, nodding politely. “Lieutenant?”
“Mister Monroe, I wanted to ask you something,” the lieutenant spoke up. “I keep wondering if you might be related to a Lieutenant Daniel Monroe, who served up at Fort Laramie. I knew Danny, and he once told me he had a half-breed brother.”
Zeke grinned. “Danny’s my brother, all right. How’s he doing? I haven’t seen him for about four years.”
The lieutenant frowned, glancing from Zeke to Abbie and back to Zeke. “Your brother deserted the Union, Mister Monroe. Went back home to Tennessee to fight for the Confederacy.”
Zeke’s smile faded and Abbie paled in surprise. “Danny?” she asked. “But … he was so dedicated to his work at Fort Laramie. He’s been in the army for many years, earned a medal in the Mexican War for bravery.”
“I know all that,” Perkins replied. “I was surprised, too.” He looked up at Zeke. “I liked Danny, but he was a Southern boy at heart, I suppose. I just thought maybe you knew what he had done and had heard from him. He had a wife and a little girl, you know. I think he left them in St. Louis.”
Zeke sighed. “I’ll be damned.” He looked at Abbie. “I figured he’d been out here so long he’d forgot about being a Tennessee man.”
Her eyes showed the slightly chiding look she sometimes used when they argued about Zeke going back to see his real father. “Tennessee is in his blood, just like you are drawn to the Cheyenne in your own blood.”
Their eyes held, and she saw the pain in his that she always saw at the mention of Tennessee. Zeke turned his eyes back to Lieutenant Perkins. “How long ago did he leave Laramie?” he asked.
“It’s been a couple of months at least. He’s home by now—probably joined up with the graycoats already.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t say I’m happy about it. I liked Danny. We lost a good officer. I’d hate to have to face him in battle. There’s brother fighting brother back east, Mister Monroe, friend fighting friend. It’s going to be an ugly war.”
Zeke nodded. “I reckon it will. But it’s not my war, Lieutenant. My war is right here, on the side of the Indians against the whites who come out here and kill them off with their diseases and by slaughtering the buffalo and trying to pen my people up like cattle.”
Their eyes held and the lieutenant studied the tall, dark man before him, whose very manner bespoke courage and meanness. He still had a nagging intuition that Randolph Cole had not fallen from his mount and broken his neck. “You ride a dangerous road, Mister Monroe,” he replied. “You’re either a Southerner or an Indian. Either way you’re on the losing end.”
“I’m no Southerner,” Zeke replied. “I make no claim to that part of me. I’m just Indian, Lieutenant, and if that’s the losing end, then at least I’ll go down fighting and go down proud.”
The lieutenant glanced at Abbie. “God be with you, ma’am,” he said quietly. He turned to Zeke once more and stared briefly. Zeke realized the man suspected something and was letting it go.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, his eyes grateful.
The lieutenant sighed and nodded, then left. Zeke watched after him a moment, then turned to Black Elk with a gleam in his eye.
“I think maybe I’d better start packing, Black Elk, before somebody puts two and two together, and while Lieutenant Perkins is in a generous mood.”
Black Elk nodded. “You go to Santa Fe?” Zeke nodded. “I stay for big race,” Black Elk added.
Zeke looked around at the frenzied crowd, as more racers took off and the young Navaho and young private who would ride the big race of the day stood to the side, talking to their mounts.
“Watch yourself, Black Elk,” he told his brother. “I don’t like the mood of the soldiers, and I have an uneasy feeling. I can’t name it. I just smell trouble.”
Black Elk shrugged. “We will see.” He put a hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “It is a good job you did on that man who touched your woman.” His eyes gleamed. “I knew you would think of a way.”
Wolf’s Blood stood aside, watching his father with pride and feeling his own revenge through his father’s deed. He reached down and petted Smoke. “It is a good day!” he told the animal softly. Smoke’s tail wagged, something the animal rarely did. The vicious but loyal pet seemed to sense that proper vengeance had been meted.
Zeke put an arm around Abbie. “Let’s get out of here,” he told her. She swallowed and nodded, still shaking from worry.
“Agreed,” she answered quietly. She bent down and picked up little Jason, and they headed for the village, the rest of the children running and skipping beside them, the little ones trying to keep up with their father’s long stride.
“What do you think about Danny leaving Fort Laramie to join the Confederates?” Zeke asked Abbie, himself troubled by the news about his favorite brother.
“I don’t know what to think,” she answered. “I’m only worried. Everyone we talk to keeps saying what a terrible and bloody war it’s turning out to be. I only hope you don’t get mixed up in it, Zeke.”
He kept a hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve no cause or desire to get involved. There is enough happening right here with my own people.”
“But you also have people in Tennessee, my husband, much as you wish to deny it.”
He stopped walking, and she went on a few steps before turning to meet his eyes. “I’ll not say it again, Abigail. I have no people in Tennessee!” His eyes flashed with anger, as they always did when she mentioned his white father, which he knew was what she meant by her remark. She reddened slightly and nodded, saying nothing. It was a subject they rarely spoke about, mostly because it was the only subject that caused painful feelings between them. She turned away and started walking again.
“Abbie!” he called out. She stopped, holding little Jason close and keeping her back to him. “I’m sorry, Abbie.”
She blinked back tears. “I know, Zeke. I’m sorry, too.”
He walked up to her and put his arms around her. How he hated hurting her, or being demanding in any way. The subject of his father always seemed to stir his anger and make him speak harshly to her. “It’s been a trying day, and I’m in a lot of pain, Abbie,” he told her gently. “Let’s go pack and head out for Santa Fe. We have a few hours of riding time left.”
She looked up at him and their eyes radiated understanding and forgiveness. He kissed her lightly, suddenly wanting more. But there was no time for more.
They walked together toward the two Monroe tipis, but there was a new heaviness to her heart. The news about Danny had stirred an old fear in her heart: the fear that the distant and confusing Civil War would somehow separate them. They had been separated before by the hands of fate, and the fact remained that Zeke Monroe now had a favorite brother involved, and he still had a father
in Tennessee, even though he made no claim to that part of his heritage. It was the first time in many years she had thought of Tennessee with any kind of worry or nostalgia. She had long ago decided Tennessee was a part of her own life to be forever buried, for she was not the same person as that young, dreaming Abigail Trent who had left that state with her father, brother and sister. Her family was dead, and that part of her life was dead. This was her life now, here in this land that she loved, with this man that she loved. Yet suddenly Tennessee had unexpectedly and without invitation loomed back into her life.
Zeke tied the last rawhide strips that secured the travois to Abbie’s horse, wincing with the pain in his arm.
“Zeke, we should stay here and rest a day first,” she told him. “You never should have done what you did. There’s blood on that gauze again. You started it bleeding.”
He shook his head. “I did what had to be done. I couldn’t leave here without making sure that man regretted touching you.” He walked to his own mount and her eyes teared. But her worry was interrupted by gunshots and distant screams. They all looked in the direction of the fort. Navahos seemed to be scattering everywhere, mixed with some Cheyenne and others who had stayed for the final big race.
“What the hell?” Zeke mumbled. He quickly mounted his Appaloosa. Abbie and the children sat frozen and confused on their horses, Abbie clinging to little Jason, and Lillian holding tightly to Wolf’s Blood, with whom she would ride on this trek of their journey. They were prepared to leave for Santa Fe. Black Elk and the rest of the Cheyenne would head back home to the Arkansas River.
“Zeke, what’s happening?” Abbie asked, her heart pounding at the sound of more gunshots and more screaming. Some Indians, including women and children, were falling.
“Be ready to get the hell out of here,” he replied sternly. “I knew it! I’ve smelled something foul all day. Randolph Cole wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want to stay for the last race.”
Black Elk was running toward them now, dragging his young wife, Blue Bird Woman, and their son with him. “We go! We go!” he yelled to Zeke. “You leave now! Get children away! Hopo! Hopo!”
“What’s wrong?” Zeke asked. “Why are they shooting the Indians?”
“Race! Somebody cut the bridle of Navaho’s horse. He fall. Lose race! Navahos say soldiers cut the bridle. Soldiers say it is not so.” He hurriedly gathered his own horses, and Zeke quickly dismounted, helping his brother knock down his tipi, gathering only part of their belongings and throwing them onto Abbie’s travois.
“There’s no time for more!” Zeke shouted to Black Elk. “Get your family out of here! We have enough to keep you supplied back to the Arkansas.”
Abbie watched in terror as more Indians fell in the distance. Would the soldiers ride out of the fort and chase more of them down? Lillian started crying.
“Navahos say soldiers should give them back their money. But soldiers keep it,” Black Elk was shouting. “Slam the gates on the Navahos and tell them to get out. Navahos started pounding on the gates and trying to climb over, and soldiers started shooting. I do not understand what is happening!”
Zeke stared at the fort a moment longer. “I do,” he replied coldly, his eyes tearing. He mounted up again, grunting with pain. “Get moving!” he ordered all of them. “Get to those hills to the north. We’ll hole up there for a time and see if there are any stragglers that need our help. Get the children out of range in case they start shooting in this direction!”
Zeke slapped some of the children’s horses on the rear and got them going. Black Elk followed, with his wife and child, but Abbie hesitated. Zeke circled his horse around and galloped up to hers, grabbing the bridle. “Get going, Abbie!” he ordered.
She looked at him with desperate tears in her eyes. “Tall Grass Woman!” she sobbed. “Where is Tall Grass Woman? I won’t leave without her!”
“You have to,” Zeke told her gently but firmly. “You have Jason and the other children to think about. They need their mother, Abbie-girl. Now get going. Nonotovestoz!”
She stared at the fort and the fleeing Indians, as some soldiers came out, running Indians down and shooting them point blank. “Why?” she whimpered. “Why are they doing that?”
“Do you really need to ask that?” Zeke asked bitterly. He turned his horse and pulled hers along with him, feeling faint from the pain in his arm. She finally got the horse into motion herself and headed for the northern hills. It was frightening to know what the soldiers and settlers could do to the Indian and get away with. She had been at Blue Water Creek when soldiers had slaughtered so many Sioux. Now it was happening all over again, and it hit her with all its horrible realism just what kind of hell lay ahead for the Cheyenne. What had happened to the Sioux and the Navaho would most surely happen to the Cheyenne and all the others. It was only a matter of time. It was open season on the Indian, as though he were no more than a wild animal on which a bounty had been placed.
She rode hard then, following Zeke three miles back into the hills, where they waited until dark. No soldiers came. The Navaho had scattered in every direction, having to leave their dead loved ones behind. Most of their own Cheyenne clan were also missing, but few had been at the final race, so they held out hope for them, figuring many of them had already headed for home.
Abbie sat on a hillside with the younger children around her. She wanted to be strong for them, but she could not control her tears. She felt especially ashamed at being of the same race as the men who had slaughtered the Navahos with no feeling and no regret. Wolf’s Blood stood at a distance, his face hard set, his eyes cold. This was only more proof that the white man was no good. He wanted no part of being white. His decision to be Indian and nothing more was now forever sealed. He too still had memories of Blue Water Creek, even though he had been much younger then. Now there was this new massacre. Nothing had changed. The soldiers who had acted friendly to the Navaho all these years had suddenly turned on them, cheating on the horse race and then shooting the Indians down for no reason.
“E-have-se-va!” the boy hissed.
Zeke walked up to Abbie, kneeling down and putting his arms around her from behind, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry, Abbie-girl. I didn’t want it to be like this for you. This whole trip was a disaster for you. I’m so goddamned sorry.”
She gently grasped his arms and placed her head back against his chest. “You couldn’t have known,” she replied quietly. “The first part was wonderful. I enjoyed it, Zeke. You couldn’t help what happened here.” She sighed deeply, breathing in the cool night air and looking up at the stars. “I’m so ashamed that it’s my own people who are doing this. And I feel so … so helpless.” New tears came and he kissed her hair.
“Please don’t cry, Abbie. It just makes me regret even more that I brought you into this damned mess by marrying you.”
She sniffed and kissed his arm, turning her body then to face him. “I wish you wouldn’t say that,” she told him. “If I had it to do over again, I’d do the same. You know I’d suffer anything to be with you, Zeke Monroe. That hasn’t changed.”
Their eyes met in the moonlight and he bent down to kiss the tears on her cheeks. “Ne-mehotatse,” he whispered. “May the spirits always bless you and keep you safe—for me.”
It was then they heard a warning call from the darkness. Someone was approaching. Zeke left her and hurried to get his rifle from his gear, but then Falling Rock, Tall Grass Woman’s husband, called out.
“Cheyenne!” came the voice from the darkness. He walked into the dim light of the small fire Zeke had built. “It is I, Falling Rock.” Tall Grass Woman approached behind him, and Abbie leaped up and ran to the woman. They hugged tightly, and Zeke’s heart ached, both with joy at the fact that Abbie’s good friend was all right, and with agony at the suffering she would surely endure for being married to him and loving the Cheyenne. He set his rifle aside and grasped Falling Rock’s shoulder.
“It is good to see you
, friend. Abbie was worried about Tall Grass Woman.”
The man nodded. “And Tall Grass Woman was worried about Abbie,” he replied in the Cheyenne tongue.
Tall Grass Woman carried on in Cheyenne for several minutes, wiping at constant tears and lamenting the fate of the poor Navahos. Abbie gave her another hug, then turned to Zeke.
“Zeke, would you mind if—” She swallowed.
“You want to go home,” he finished for her. “You don’t want to go to Santa Fe first.”
She blinked back tears. “I just want to be in our own little cabin. I feel safe there,” she told him. “Would you mind terribly?”
He smiled sadly. He had wanted so much to make this trip a nice one for her—to buy her things in Santa Fe and let her live like a white woman ought to live. He wanted so much for her. And yet she expected none of it. She was satisfied with the simple things in life, satisfied with her little house and her many children—satisfied to live among the Cheyenne. She had never asked more of him. It was just that he had wanted to give more.
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “We’ll head out come sunup. If home is where you want to go, Abbie-girl, then that’s where we’ll go.”
She smiled, and he loved her more than ever.
Seven
Anna Gale sauntered toward Winston Garvey, handing him a drink. She scanned his rotund body with derision as he took the glass, and he in turn drank in the voluptuous body that was provocatively shrouded beneath her thin robe.
“What is it you want to know this time, Senator?” she asked the man, using the pet name most people had given him, even though he was now retired from the office he once held in Washington. “You seldom come here without a purpose, and that purpose usually involves some shady business dealing.” She watched him with wide, blue eyes, her beautiful face framed by thick, lustrous black hair, her shape still firm and perfect in spite of many years of prostitution, her only method of survival.
Garvey sipped his drink, then smiled at her with fat, red lips. “What do you know about Silverthorn?” he asked. “He ever done business with you?”
Embrace the Wild Land Page 8
