Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  Their eyes met, and he reached up to put a hand to the side of her face. How easy it would be now to steal her away and do what he wished with her. But Abigail Monroe loved just one man. There was no room left for anyone else.

  “I don’t want to lose my son,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to lose my husband. I’m scared, Swift Arrow.”

  The words pierced his heart, for still she did not truly understand the extent of his love for her. But perhaps that was best for everyone. She looked at him now the way she would look at a brother, turned to him as a brother, and that was, after all, all that he was to her—a brother. He had called her sister since the day she had bravely saved Tall Grass Woman’s daughter from the deep waters.

  “I will see what I can do,” he told her.

  She hugged him spontaneously, and he hesitantly put his arms around her for a moment, giving her the support he knew she needed. Then he quickly pushed her away, reminding himself that he was not only just a brother, but also a warrior, with no interest left in life but to kill and raid. He turned and left her and headed for the shaman’s tipi.

  Abbie quickly followed, and Black Elk looked up curiously as Swift Arrow walked rapidly and determinedly toward the tipi. He got up and followed behind Abbie.

  Abbie gasped and stepped back when Swift Arrow suddenly emerged from the tipi dragging Zeke with him. He kept pushing at him, but Zeke was not fighting back, and he stumbled and fell, the fight strangely gone from him, his eyes red and wild.

  “Why are you not doing what you can to save that boy?” Swift Arrow yelled at him. “What is wrong, white belly?” he sneered, deliberately insulting Zeke’s white blood. “Has your cowardly side finally shown itself?”

  Zeke blinked, as though someone had just awakened him. He rose slowly to his feet, frowning in confusion. “What the hell is wrong with you, Swift Arrow?” he asked quietly.

  Swift Arrow stepped closer. “I am telling you I am ashamed of my half-blood brother for the first time! Always he has proven himself a true Cheyenne. Always he had nothing but courage and honor. Now you show neither! Your stinking white blood is bringing death to your son!”

  More Indians had emerged from their dwellings at the sound of the shouting, and Zeke stiffened, still somewhat confused. He wore only his loincloth, with the infamous knife at his waist as always. Swift Arrow wore only leggings, and the two of them stood there with muscles taut, eyes gleaming, both grand specimens of Indians but Zeke a head taller than his brother.

  “Why do you speak to me this way, Swift Arrow?” he asked. “I don’t need you to tell me it’s my white blood that is killing my son.”

  Swift Arrow’s fists clenched. “You fool! At this moment I cannot call you brother! Always I thought you the better man, but now I wonder.” He deliberately grinned. “Even your wife wonders.”

  He had found the right words. New fire seemed to whip through Zeke’s dark eyes, and he straightened more, glancing from his brother to Abbie, who stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of how to react. The words were cruel and untrue, and yet they had sparked something in Zeke and shaken him from his stupor. She looked away, wanting him to think she was ashamed of him.

  Zeke looked back at his brother, his eyes wild.

  “I was just with your wife,” Swift Arrow taunted, his own heart pounding. To tempt Zeke Monroe into a fight was asking for death and he well knew it. “I think perhaps she is too much woman for you, white belly!” he sneered.

  Abbie screamed as Zeke charged into him then, and both men rolled on the ground. Black Elk pulled Abbie back farther when she started to reach out and try to stop the fight.

  “Let it be,” he warned. “You would get hurt. Swift Arrow knows what he is doing.”

  Others who had gathered began to get excited, taking sides and urging on their favorite, as the two powerful men struggled in the dirt, wrestling violently. For the first few minutes it seemed almost even, for Zeke was weak from lack of food, as he had been unable to eat ever since the ritual. He had only anger and pride to go on, and those two factors were building inside of him every moment as he rolled in a tangled heap with his brother. One voice told him it was foolish to think Abbie would ever look at another man; but another voice reminded him that Swift Arrow did, after all, love her. And although Zeke knew few women could be more trustworthy and honorable, the thought of his brother even looking at her suddenly brought a raging jealousy.

  The fight continued, each taking a turn at slamming the other to the ground, twisting an arm or a neck, one pinning the other down only to be suddenly flipped to find himself on his own back. The crowd cheered excitedly, and Abbie clung to Black Elk’s arm tightly. Both men were covered with dust and mud, and each man bled from cuts and scrapes suffered from wallowing on the gravelly ground.

  Suddenly the fight began to turn more one-sided, as Zeke’s strength returned with every second that his jealousy grew, combined with the desperate fear that his son might be dying and perhaps it was his fault for urging the boy to participate in the Sun Dance.

  Zeke arched up like a grizzly, releasing himself from another pin, then whirled and kicked out, landing a foot in Swift Arrow’s ribs. Swift Arrow grunted and jerked back, and Zeke kicked out again, sending the man sprawling backward into the screaming crowd. The onlookers scattered out of the way, and Zeke dived into Swift Arrow, jerking him up and viciously yanking the man’s left arm behind him, while whipping out his huge blade and reaching around to hold it against Swift Arrow’s throat.

  “Zeke, no!” Abbie screamed.

  He hesitated, and the two men stood there panting and sweating, Swift Arrow pinned with his back against Zeke and the big knife at his throat. He reached up with his right arm to try to pull Zeke’s knife hand away, but could not budge Zeke’s powerful arm.

  “Now who is the better man?” Zeke hissed. He bent Swift Arrow’s arm more. “Tell the others who is the better man!” he growled.

  Swift Arrow only grinned. “I have never doubted who is the better man,” he said calmly. “Nor did your woman. You, my brother, are the one who doubted. The Zeke I called brother would be in the shaman’s tipi now draining his son’s infection and saving his life, just as he once saved his woman’s life, even though it brought him great sorrow to bring her such pain.”

  Zeke softened, suddenly beginning to see the reason for Swift Arrow’s cruel words. He whirled Swift Arrow around and the two men glared at each other.

  “Perhaps you would rather let your son suffer until he must lose his leg!” Swift Arrow added. “Or perhaps he will get so bad that you will have to end his life for him, as you had to do for your wife’s small brother many winters ago when first she came west.”

  Abbie covered her face and wept quietly, remembering the terrible decision she had had to make when asking the scout, Zeke Monroe, to end her little brother’s life for him, for the boy was suffering a horrible, slow death from a crushed, infected body. The mercy killing Zeke had agreed to was the most difficult thing he had ever done, an act of love that still sometimes haunted him. The reminder brought the terrible pain of it to Zeke’s heart again. He lowered his knife and shoved it into its sheath, then reached out and grasped Swift Arrow’s wrist. “Help me, my brother. Talk to Wolf’s Blood. Help hold him down and give him courage. It will be …so painful for him.”

  Swift Arrow nodded. “Pain is better than death. At least when you feel pain you are still alive.”

  Zeke moved his eyes from Swift Arrow to Abbie, suddenly realizing how difficult the last several days had been for her. He walked up close to her, remembering her brave act of love when she asked him to put her little brother out of his terrible misery those many years ago. She was still that same strong, determined little girl, and he suspected she had had much to do with Swift Arrow’s attack on him. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly as she wept against his chest. She felt weak and relieved, realizing the arms around her were strong again, sure again. He would be all right, and suddenly she kne
w her son would be all right.

  “Boil some water, Abbie-girl,” he told her. “Let’s make our son well and go home. Ole Dooley must be wondering what has happened to us. I hope Comanches haven’t come and stolen the horses from the ranch.”

  Seven days later Wolf’s Blood emerged from the shaman’s tipi, walking on his own two feet. His right thigh was heavily bandaged, and he limped slightly, but he refused to use a cane, and he insisted that he would ride his own mount when they departed. After all, he was a man now. He would not lie on a travois like a woman. He wore a necklace of wolf’s claws around his neck, a gift from the shaman for his courage. In his hair he wore two eagle feathers, given him by Swift Arrow, and at his waist was strapped a new knife from Zeke, one Zeke had secretly bought at Bent’s Fort as a gift for his son at the Sun Dance sacrifice. It had a beautifully carved horn handle, with a tempered steel blade that was razor sharp. The knife was fifteen inches long from tip to the end of the handle. It was called a bowie knife, and it was the boy’s most prized possession, the finest knife he had ever set eyes on. It rested in a leather sheath, beautifully beaded in brilliant colors, the handiwork of his mother.

  His little brother, Jason, grinned at the sight of his big warrior brother and ran in circles around him on chubby legs and feet, sometimes falling, but giggling when he did so. Thirteen-year-old Margaret, to whom Wolf’s Blood was the closest, walked up and hugged him, and nine-year-old Jeremy just stared in awe. Jeremy had never liked the things Wolf’s Blood liked. He only rode a horse because it was necessary. By the age of nine, Wolf’s Blood had been much bigger than Jeremy, and already knew how to use a bow and lance. But Jeremy didn’t like weapons and still hated the noise of a rifle. He was not wild and aggressive like his brother. He preferred to sit quietly by himself and learn his letters, or listen to his mother tell him a story. He didn’t hate Wolf’s Blood. He simply knew already in his young heart that he would never be like this older brother of his. He admired Wolf’s Blood, but he had no true desire to be like him, and in that respect he always feared the father that he loved would somehow love him less.

  Zeke caught the way Jeremy watched Wolf’s Blood, and he immediately walked over to the boy and whisked him up to his shoulders. “Each man proves himself in his own way, Jeremy-boy,” he told the child as he carried him to his horse. He plopped him onto the animal’s back. “Your day will come, Jeremy,” he reassured the boy. “You will prove yourself in your own way. Be proud of your brother, but don’t think you must be just like him. Be yourself, Jeremy.”

  The boy grinned as Zeke left him, a man and a son worlds apart. But the love was there.

  Zeke loaded up the rest of his children, taking Lillian with him this time so that Wolf’s Blood could ride alone. Most of the hundreds of others who had gathered for the celebrations had already left the camp, heading back to Arkansas River country in southeast Colorado Territory, a few going north to join the Northern Cheyenne and the Sioux, and all wondering if they would find enough freedom the next summer to gather for another celebration, none aware yet that in Minnesota, two hundred whites had been massacred by the Sioux and the entire frontier was in a panic, with governors of western territories screaming for Washington to send out more troops to obliterate the red man from the plains and prairies. But there were no troops to send, for the best men were involved in a bloody civil war, and there was nothing left to do but form a western army from volunteers—people who were already Indian-haters. And the cry in the wind and the groan in the land seemed to be getting louder with each passing winter.

  But for the moment, those things did not matter. Wolf’s Blood was healing. He would not lose his leg or his life. Zeke mounted up and rode up to Swift Arrow, who sat on his mount several feet from the rest of the family, a man who hated emotional partings.

  “Thank you, my brother,” Zeke told him.

  Swift Arrow glanced over at Abbie, who was hugging and talking to little Jason. “Thank your woman, not me,” he replied, returning his gaze to Zeke. “Tell her goodbye for me. I go now. Always, because of her kind heart, she cries when I leave. I do not wish to see the tears.”

  Zeke nodded and reached out to grasp his brother’s wrist. “I understand, Swift Arrow.”

  The man nodded. “Watch her closely, Zeke. The people grow restless. Bad times are coming, and the day may come when even the ones like Abbie are no longer trusted. The wind weeps, my brother.”

  Zeke nodded. “May the spirits ride with you, Swift Arrow, and save you in battle. I will worry about you.”

  The man just grinned. “Do not worry about Swift Arrow.” He frowned. “And where is your white brother, the one called Danny? He was a good soldier, a friend. The people trusted him. I no longer see him at Fort Laramie.”

  Zeke sighed. “Danny left the Union army to go back to Tennessee. He joined the graycoats in the Civil War.”

  Swift Arrow looked confused. “I do not understand that white man’s war.”

  Zeke sighed. “Not many of us do. But it’s one I intend to stay out of. I just wish I knew what has happened to Danny. There hasn’t been any word.”

  “I hope that some day he will return to our country. He was the only soldier that I trusted.”

  Zeke picked up his horse’s reins. “I have a feeling he’ll be back, Swift Arrow.”

  Swift Arrow moved his mount away a little. “I go now. I have had many long talks with Wolf’s Blood and said my farewells. Keep the wind at your back, my brother, and your face to the sun. You will always be Kehilan, drinker of the wind. And so will Wolf’s Blood.”

  He turned his horse and rode off at a gallop. Abbie turned her mount and called after him, but he kept riding. She watched him for a moment, realizing without being told why he had left so quickly. Zeke rode up close to her and said, “Let’s go home, Abbie-girl.”

  She studied the handsome face, the high cheekbones and dark eyes. This was Lone Eagle. She had her man back again, the man she had fallen in love with the moment she first set eyes on him. For a moment she saw him as she had seen him when he stepped into the light of her father’s campfire to volunteer his services as a scout. His provocative power seemed to fill the night air, and that same power still emanated from his very being. He had not changed. The wind blew the dark hair over the shoulders of his buckskin shirt, and the fringes danced at his broad shoulders. He seemed unusually handsome this day, beads and feathers entwined in thin braids that mixed in with the rest of his hair, a turquoise stone at his throat, in the center of a bone necklace that he wore, the lines of his face and even the scar on his cheek and chin only adding to his handsomeness.

  He tore his eyes from hers and rode ahead, little Lillian clinging to his waist.

  Abbie’s heart pounded with joy as they crested the hill and looked down on the little cabin below. Everything looked peaceful. The Appaloosas grazed lazily in the tall grass of the north field, and Dooley was waving, having spotted them from below. The faithful ranch hand and Zeke’s good white friend urged his own horse into a gallop and called out a hello as he rode up toward them. Abbie noticed as she rode more to the left and got a better view of the cabin that a carriage sat outside, as well as three horses she had not seen before. She turned to Zeke.

  “Zeke, someone is at the house. I don’t recognize the horses.”

  He frowned and rode over to look, then urged his horse toward Dooley, who was approaching the top of the hill by then.

  “Zeke!” he called out. “What happened? I expected you a good ten days ago.”

  “Wolf’s Blood developed an infection. He had a bad time of it, but he’s all right now.”

  Dooley glanced at the young man. “You came through the ritual just fine, I’ll bet, didn’t you, boy?”

  The boy nodded. “I did not cry out. And look at this!” He held up the bowie knife. “From my father.”

  Dooley grinned. “You learn to use that like your father, and you’ll not have to worry about your enemies, Wolf’s Blood.”

/>   The boy grinned.

  “Dooley,” Zeke interrupted, “what is that carriage doing below?”

  The man’s smile faded as he faced Zeke again. He moved his eyes to Abbie, then back to Zeke. “Your sister-in-law is here, Zeke. Danny’s wife. Emily.”

  Abbie and Zeke looked at each other in surprise. They had never even met the woman.

  “Why on earth did she come here?” Abbie asked.

  Dooley sighed. “You’ll have to get the whole story from her. All I know is she said she’d wait it out here until you folks got back. Says Danny needs help and Zeke here is the only one who can help him.”

  Abbie’s heart sank. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, meeting Zeke’s eyes. “I knew it! I thought … perhaps I was wrong … about you leaving again.”

  He reached out and grasped her shoulder. “We don’t know yet for sure what she wants, Abbie-girl. Don’t jump to conclusions.” He squeezed her shoulder then let go and rode forward, but Abbie watched him as though he were riding right out of her life.

  “Zeke,” she whispered. She felt fate grasping at her again, their destiny being guided by elements that could not be controlled. She urged her horse forward to meet Danny Monroe’s wife.

  Thirteen

  The young woman who stood on the cabin porch to greet them was frail looking, with auburn hair and sea-green eyes and a silky white complexion. She was a woman of exceeding beauty, and Zeke’s first thought was that she looked like a piece of fine china that might break at any moment. He knew that when Dan first married this woman there had been problems with getting her to leave the luxuries of St. Louis to come and be with him at Fort Laramie, and the marriage had almost ended before it had a chance to begin. It was easy to see now why Emily Monroe doubted her ability to survive in the West. She was obviously not of strong constitution. A man could tell that at first glance. She was rich and slightly spoiled when Dan had met her, but Zeke could see how his brother might have overlooked those things in return for the chance to hold such exquisite beauty and call her his wife. She was not the kind of woman Zeke would want to marry, but he had to smile at the thought of Danny being taken by the girl.