Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  “Yeah, that’s the name. It’s no matter anyways; it’s hundreds of miles away or more, neither of us rightly know. We been chased by dogs, had bushwhackers hunting us through bleeding Kansas with torches and thick rope that they sure wasn’t going to use to tie our hands. We’ve had sheriff ’s deputies poking and prodding grain bins we been hiding in, near choking to death trying to breathe through cane break stems. We was hidin’ in trash heaps back there in Holten, slept with rats and frozen ourselves half to death in snowstorms. That frostbite in my toe still ain’t right. Except when you snare a rabbit or can catch some fish with them fishhooks you brought or them folks at the stations along the Underground Railway were kind enough to part with some vittles, we been mostly starvin’.” She looked down at herself and chuckled without humor, “You’d think I would have turned back into a skinny woman.”

  Laughing, Israel knelt down and kissed her on the forehead. “I think you’re just the right size, Lucy. I stayed married to you for all these years. Don’t know what else I can do to convince your pretty self—even if you do still taste like grain dust.”

  “And what would you expect, husband? That oat grain in that bin you stuck us in came up six inches or a foot over our heads.” Lucy shuddered. “I never want to do that again. How long you figure we was buried in there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe an hour, maybe more.”

  “Well, it felt like a lifetime.” Her features softened and she smiled lovingly up at him. “I woulda never made it if you wasn’t holdin’ my hand.”

  Rubbing long thin fingers over the knuckles of his right hand, Israel smiled. “I think you popped two of my joints; you were squeezing so hard.”

  Lucy’s expression grew serious, her lower lip began trembling and she blinked rapidly. “Israel, do you think we will make it?”

  “I suspect we will, wife, but that’s in God Almighty’s hands. If we don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying. I told you this before but I’d rather die a free man on the run than a slave saying yes massuh and no massuh back in the Oklahoma country.”

  Lucy nodded slowly, doubt etched in the press of her lips. “Miss Tara always called it Oklahoma, Israel.” She paused. “How much further we got to go, you think?”

  “You ask me that every day.” Israel started to laugh. “I don’t rightly know but I guarantee we are one day closer. Now eat that biscuit and cheese. I figure we got enough food, if we’re careful, for a little more than a week. Maybe we’ll take a full day off our travels, catch some fish and smoke ‘em.”

  Lucy looked at him hopefully. “Can we have a fire now? It’s chilly here in the shade and I sure miss that old 1735 Castrol stew stove we had in that hovel on the plantation. Say what you will Israel but we had a roof, we were warm and mostly dry, unless it rained real heavy.”

  Israel felt an angry constriction begin to well in his chest. He took a deep breath and shook his head, “But none of it was ours and we weren’t free. We been traveling for two months. I had my very first job for pay fixin’ them saddles in return for Sally the mule, here. We got ourselves leather saddlebags, fish hooks, snares, gutta-percha parkas and clothes—and we still got nine dollars and ten cents left of the nine dollars and seventy-five cents we started with.” He paused, feeling better after voicing their blessings, then added, “We’re getting’ to be downright rich.”

  He grinned and looked up. The blue of the sky high-lighted the greening of the early summer leaves. He took another deep breath and the tightness left his chest. “And we got nobody to tell us what to do. In my book, that counts way more than a stove or roof.”

  “You still got that paper, Israel—you know, that New York whatever paper with that Constitution printed out in it?”

  “I do, Lucy. It’s wrapped in them gutta-perchas in the saddlebags.”

  “Read me some of that Constitution. I like it when you read me parts of that. Reminds me of when Mistress Tara was first teaching you how to read and you’d practice by reading to me from the Bible.”

  Chewing on the biscuit, Lucy’s gaze wandered out through the trunks of the cottonwoods toward the great open spaces of the western edge of the Nebraska Territories. She froze and stopped chewing. The anxiety in her voice was palpable as she whispered, “What’s that, Israel? Who are those people?”

  Israel pivoted and crouched down, peering through the tree trunks. Perhaps a quarter of a mile from the creek was a long line of horsemen, riderless horses— some pulling travois—and many people on foot. Israel couldn’t be sure but a number of them appeared to be women and children.

  “Can’t be certain at this distance but I think it’s Indians.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened, her dark brown irises swimming in a pool of white, “Indians?” She whispered, “What kind? Are they friendly? What will they do if they catches us?”

  Without taking his eyes off the roughly organized column moving east, Israel shook his head. “I don’t know much about Indians, just what I’ve heard and read a bit. I think they are like any people anywhere. There’s some good, some bad. Looks to me like this might be an entire village moving.” Israel reached over and pulled on the halter rope, bringing the mule closer. “You be quiet now, Sally.”

  Glancing behind him through the trees up and down the creek, he said in hushed tones, “One thing I have read is they are awful good at living in the wild and great warriors, some tribes better than others. I would think they would have some scouts.…”

  They both froze at the distant downstream snap of a branch and the muted whinny of a horse just audible above the gurgle of the creek. Sally’s ears, usually one back, one forward, pricked to attention, her eyes fastened downstream. She blew softly through her nose.

  “Hush now, mule,” hissed Israel. “Sure wish I had me a gun. That’s the next thing we are going to get, Lucy. It’s downright crazy be out here without a weapon. Besides that, I could hunt. Most likely bring in more meat than them snares we’ve been setting when we stop.”

  Another branch snapped, this time closer. The muscles in the mule’s neck tightened and Lucy grabbed Israel’s hand, squeezing it hard.

  CHAPTER 10

  May 28, 1855

  ALONE

  Three hundred forty miles southwest of the meanders of Mink Creek, the wagons formed a circle in the gentle ridges above Cherry Creek. Walks with Moon stretched under the buffalo robe, lingering in that state of sleep just before waking. She reached one delicate bronze hand down to rest on the rounding of her belly, while extending the other to touch Eagle Talon. Moving in their annual search for tatanka, the tribe had pitched their tipis in the rolling, elevated bench above Mink Creek two hundred fifty miles southeast from their winter camp along the south fork of the Powder River.

  Her eyes bolted open when her fingertips failed to find his warmth and she realized he was no longer under the robes with her. Her surprise cleared her mind of slumber and the unsettling events of the previous evening flooded her memory. She sat up suddenly, clenching the edge of the robe high to her chest to keep the morning chill from her square, delicate, brown shoulders. The sky beyond the smoke hole at the top of the tipi was still pre-dawn. The hide walls of the tipi glowed softly from the last embers of the night fire, silhouetting her husband’s naked figure as he squatted, facing away from her.

  Eagle Talon’s powerful back rose angular from his muscular buttocks. The ebb and flow of the embers lit the space between his long black braids and the taper of his neck where it met his shoulders, accentuating the rippled definition of strength in his arms.

  She watched him poke and prod at the coals in the fire ring, throwing his prodding stick into the ring with a sigh, shaking his head and whispering to himself. A small flicker of flame sprang from one end of the piece of unburned wood, adding a tremble of light to the interior of the tipi. His shadow danced on the wall.

  Eagle Talon’s mutterings evoked images of the strange glow in Talks with Shadows’ eyes the previous evening as, seemingly possessed, she shared
a vision with Walks with Moon and Deer Track. She spoke in an eerie monotone voice not her own, her pronouncements accentuated by the wild dance of flames inside the lodge she shared with her husband, Turtle Shield. Like Eagle Talon, he was a young and ascending warrior, though more introverted and less brash.

  Yesterday had started well. How quickly things can change, mused Walks with Moon. Three Cougars, returning early from his advanced scouting position, had led The People to a large herd of tatanka, almost thirty arrow flights wide and more than three times that long. The sun had not fully risen when the herd of their brothers stampeded to the northwest leaving behind sixteen carcasses felled by arrows and lances. She had spent most of the day in happy chatter with the other women of the tribe gutting, skinning and cutting meat to smoke and salt.

  Deer Track was perhaps Walks with Moon’s closest friend and wife of Pointed Lance, another of the band of five close warrior friends of Eagle Talon. Unable to endure the suspense alone, she had come, wringing her hands, to the tipi of Walks with Moon. The two women had then nervously walked to the lodge of Talks with Shadows, where the three of them had shared the evening anxiously awaiting the return of their husbands from more than one-half moon as the far forward eyes and ears of The People. The forward scouts traveled several suns ahead of the tribe as the village migrated slowly eastward in the annual life and death search for tatanka. Rumors had swirled around the camp all day, some bits and pieces flavored with wild exaggeration as could be expected in the gossip between lodges. Soldiers, a hairy-faced-one, the Pawnee, a battle, many coup—but much of the talk was apprehensive whispers over the council’s displeasure and conjecture at what had transpired between her husband, his small band of warrior friends and others from a distant village.

  The chiefs and elders took the rare step of setting up the council lodge, an act rarely undertaken when they were on the move, accentuating the grave worry of Deer Track, Walks with Moon and Talks with Shadows. The three friends soothed each other as the tense drama unfolded during the late day and into the evening.

  It was then that Talks with Shadows had had her vision. At first, Walks with Moon and Deer Track were startled, sure that it was a joke, just another one of Talks with Shadows’ many bizarre and usually incorrect prognostications. But their friend continued to speak in a strange, flat singsong voice not her own, her eyes wide, unseeing and reflecting eerily from the fire. Her hypnotic intonations seemed different to Walks with Moon, far more powerful than the norm.

  A hollow feeling of foreboding gripped Walks with Moon as she stared at the squatting form of her husband and remembered more. The words of Talks with Shadows echoed in her mind: Counted many coup… How does the baby in your belly grow? Does he feel strong? The men have brought shame upon themselves. The Council will decree it will be so for one moon.… Eagle Talon has bonded with a hairy-faced-one, whose woman reminds him of his love for you.… Your son will come to know them.… The future of The People is not bright.

  Walks with Moon swallowed and shook her head. “Eagle Talon,” she called out softly.

  Her husband neither acknowledged her voice nor turned his face to her. Instead, he added several small sticks to the fire and blew gently on the heat of the faded coals, finally coaxing the fuel reluctantly into flame and brightening the lodge.

  She raised her voice, “Husband?”

  Eagle Talon rotated slightly on the balls of his feet, turning his gaze partially over his shoulder in her direction.

  She studied him carefully across the length of buffalo hide that separated them. She had tried to comfort him the previous evening by coquettishly inviting him under the robes with her when he finally returned from the unfortunate meeting with the Council. In uncharacteristic fashion, he had gently shunned her suggestion of lovemaking, a want and passion they frequently shared— sometimes to the point of being the subject of gossip, particularly between the older women in the tribe. Walks with Moon was convinced they were jealous.

  He had silently lain down beside her, facing away. Pressing her breasts into his back and softly kissing the base of his neck, she had delicately probed for information, the feeling of unease in her belly growing at his terse and unknowing confirmation of Talks with Shadows’ visions before he drifted toward a morose sleep. “I ruined the shirt you spent so much time on this winter, though it did help save Brave Pony’s life.… We trailed the Pawnee and attacked as they charged the white wagons.… I counted five coup. We avoided a small group of soldiers… but the most memorable event was—please don’t think me crazy, wife—I met our spirit brother and sister…. They are hairy-faced-ones. The woman’s name is Ray-bec-ka and her man is Roo-bin. They remind me of us—very much in love…but now I have been shamed.…”

  She had lain awake long after Eagle Talon had fallen into deep and heavy breathing. The sounds of the burrow owl outside the tipi, co-huu, co-huu and the sharp yelps and howls of the coyotes feasting and fighting over the tatanka carcasses strewn in the great grassy bowl below their camp, had at once both relaxed and unsettled her. The dark, melancholy energy of the night permeated her senses as she finally drifted off to a troubled sleep.

  She forced herself back to the present. Eagle Talon was obviously distraught over events and preoccupied with trying to understand their meaning and ramifications. Should I tell Eagle Talon of Talks with Shadows’ vision and if so, how much? She decided instead to learn more than a few short details he had briefly shared— especially about Roo-bin and Ray-bec-ka. Walks with Moon knew many important events had transpired in the sixteen suns since Eagle Talon and the other braves had left their lodges as directed by the Council.

  She took a deep breath to slow her racing pulse. Clasping her hands to hide the nervous tremble of her fingers, she smiled, “Tell me, husband. Tell me everything.”

  Eagle Talon regarded his wife for a long minute. Her wide, questioning eyes, set above high, bronzed cheekbones, were the golden brown of a young beaver pelt. He saw the flicker of worry in them as his gaze traveled slowly down the taper of her throat to the straight, feminine shoulders that descended to where her smooth flesh disappeared at the edge of the robe she clutched, the hide not fully concealing the swell of her petite but shapely breasts. His gaze traveled down the dark brown hair of the tatanka hide to where he knew their child grew in the protruding rise of her belly, framed by the deep evocative curves of her hips.

  Despite his dark mood, he smiled back at her. “I suppose our unborn wants to hear the story of my disgrace, also?”

  She giggled. “But of course our son wants to hear all the tales about his brave father and leader of the young warriors.”

  Eagle Talon grunted, threw the one remaining stick in his hand into the fire ring and turned fully back to his wife. “We hope for a son, Walks with Moon but this is the first time you’ve said ‘our son’ with certainty. Do you know something I do not?”

  Walks with Moon cast her eyes down for a brief instant, her lips lightly compressed, one cheek quivering. Her gaze returned to his. “No, husband. I just think it will be a son because I believe Spirit will bless us with a son—but any child is a blessing from Wakan Tanka.”

  Eagle Talon regarded his wife in silence. There’s something she is not telling me. He decided not to press the matter. “It was a long and busy half moon. I and Brave Pony trailed the Pawnee warrior band. At various times, there were at least forty, sometimes up to sixty braves. A large war party. Three Cougars, Turtle Shield, Pointed Lance and Three Knives were a half sun’s ride from us and from each other, searching for tatanka and any alert to possible dangers.” He chuckled. “Those Pawnee have the eyesight of old women. They never spotted us. Twice we had to double-back to avoid Army patrols. One group of cavalry was perhaps twenty soldiers, the other was larger, perhaps forty. I assume they came from the white man’s fort they call Karney, a five or six-sun ride when we encountered them.”

  “And the soldiers?” asked Walks with Moon.

  “They were well-armed. All
had muskets. Their leaders had pistols and sabers.” A thought struck him, like the tall blond warrior on the wagon train! “Many of the soldiers did not sit their horses well. Bareback, they would fall off. They had flags and rode in lines of twos.… ” He shook his head disgustedly, “very foolish, bunching up like that. The biggest thing that struck me, wife, was that unlike Indians, even the Pawnee, they did not seem to be of the land, they seemed to be merely on it.”

  “And after you evaded the soldiers?” pressed Walks with Moon.

  “Brave Pony and I decided we knew where the Pawnee were headed. We took a shortcut trail through rolling hills that Tracks on Rock showed me many winters ago but we did not know that we would run into a wagon train.” He shook his head. “It was foolish perhaps but we were very curious. We’ve had few opportunities to study white eyes closely without them knowing it. We hobbled the ponies in a draw perhaps twenty arrow flights from the wagons, which for some reason had stopped between mid-sun and dusk. Spirit told me to focus on one man in particular. He is slightly taller than me but we are built in similar manner. He wore a big brown hat.…”

  “Cowboy hat, that’s what Tracks on Rock calls them.”

  “Yes. He had a better rifle than the soldiers had. His pistol had a white handle like the pearls in river mollusks. He rode out from the wagon with a dark-haired white woman shaped much like you.” He paused, admiring the glow of his wife’s skin in the light of the small morning fire. “They both rode well and unlike the soldiers, guided their horses across the land toward a small creek as if they knew each curve, each tree.… I could feel it. We could see them dismount but it was a very long distance.…” He grinned at her.

  Walks with Moon’s eyes flickered downward and she blushed. “You think they—”