Frontier America

by William W. Johnstone

  Preacher came over and said, “Word’ll get around the village, all right, but I don’t reckon you’ve got too much to worry about. Now, if you’d killed ol’ Swift Water, no matter what the circumstances, it’d be different. His friends would be honor-bound to try to settle that score.”

  “Maybe I should go back to the troop and just stay out of sight,” Jamie suggested.

  “I think it’d be better if you were here.” Preacher chuckled. “That way I’ll have help keepin’ that Lieutenant Davidson from ruinin’ everything.” The mountain man turned and beckoned to someone. “Want you to meet Hawk’s family.”

  Hawk came over with a woman and two children. He introduced the woman to Jamie as his wife Butterfly. She smiled demurely and murmured a greeting. The two youngsters, Eagle Feather and Bright Moon, gazed up at Jamie’s towering form with awe.

  When Hawk and his family had returned to their lodge, Jamie said quietly to Preacher, “I might be mistaken, but it seemed to me that Hawk’s wife has got blue eyes.”

  “It’s a long story,” Preacher said. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it . . .”

  CHAPTER 22

  Preacher and Jamie were waiting when Lieutenant Davidson arrived at the Crow village around dusk. Preacher had warned Lieutenant Tyler that Davidson didn’t need to show up with a detachment of troops. That would just make their hosts nervous, and nobody wanted that. More than likely, it would be best if only the two lieutenants visited the village this evening.

  When Davidson rode in, however, Hayden Tyler wasn’t with him—but Sergeant Liam O’Connor was.

  “Damn it,” Jamie muttered. “Why’d he bring O’Connor with him? He’s the one who’s responsible for that fracas a couple of days ago, and the Crow know it.”

  “My guess is that Davidson wanted somebody he could count on to back his play, whatever it is,” said Preacher. “From what I’ve seen of Tyler, he wouldn’t go along with just anything Davidson says or does. He’d have to believe Davidson was right.”

  Jamie nodded and said, “Lieutenant Tyler would follow orders . . . but only so far. He wouldn’t stand by and let Davidson ruin everything, at least not without arguing.”

  “Reckon we’ll have to make the best of it.” Preacher strode forward to greet the two soldiers.

  “MacCallister,” Davidson greeted Jamie brusquely as he dismounted. The lieutenant looked around the village with an expression of open contempt on his face as he went on, “These people live in such filth and squalor, and yet we are forced to deal with them as if they were not subhuman savages.”

  “You’d better rein in that kind of talk, Lieutenant,” Jamie warned. “Some of these folks speak English.”

  O’Connor had gotten down from his horse, too. He stepped up to Jamie, chest swollen in challenge, and said, “Ye have no right tellin’ the lieutenant how to talk, MacCallister. Keep your mouth shut.”

  “Jamie’s just tryin’ to look out for the two of you,” Preacher put in.

  “Very well,” Davidson said. He motioned O’Connor back. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? Take us to whichever of these hovels the headman lives in.”

  Jamie jerked his head to indicate they should follow him. As they walked through the village, they were the objects of much intense scrutiny from the inhabitants. Clearly, the Crow weren’t any more impressed with Lieutenant Davidson than he was with them.

  “Where’s Lieutenant Tyler?” Jamie asked.

  “I left him in command of the camp,” Davidson replied. “I didn’t believe it would be wise for both officers to be away from the men at the same time.”

  That was a somewhat reasonable answer, at least, thought Jamie, although he would have preferred that Sergeant O’Connor not be anywhere near the Crow village. He hoped that with him and Preacher to ride herd on them, they could keep the two soldiers from stirring up any more trouble.

  Hawk was waiting for them outside Broken Pine’s lodge. He swept back the hide flap over the entrance and said, “We will eat first. Later the council of our people will join us.”

  “Are you the chief?” Davidson asked bluntly.

  Preacher said, “This is my son, Hawk That Soars. I reckon Broken Pine is probably inside.”

  “I see no need to negotiate with anyone except the chief.”

  “We ain’t negotiatin’,” Preacher said. “We’re sittin’ down, eatin’ together, and gettin’ to know each other. Then the serious talkin’ can start.”

  Davidson’s expression made it clear what a waste of time he considered that, but he sighed, nodded, and went on into the lodge, bending a little to get through the entrance. Preacher, Jamie, and O’Connor had to stoop quite a bit more.

  Inside, Broken Pine stood beside the fire in the center of the lodge. His wife, Singing Woman, tended to the pot of stew simmering over the flames. Butterfly was there, too, to help serve the visitors.

  “Lieutenant, this is Broken Pine, chief of the Crow,” Jamie said. “Broken Pine, this is Lieutenant Edgar Davidson of the United States Army.”

  Broken Pine inclined his head a little and said, “Lieutenant Davidson, welcome to my home.”

  With a visible effort, Davidson summoned up enough graciousness to reply, “Thank you for your hospitality, Chief Broken Pine.”

  Well, they weren’t off to too bad a start, Jamie told himself. Davidson hadn’t marched in here and outright insulted anybody.

  Broken Pine waved a hand toward the buffalo robes spread on the ground around the fire and went on, “Please, sit. We will eat and then talk.”

  Davidson cast a leery eye toward the shaggy robes but lowered himself gingerly onto one of them. Sergeant O’Connor sat to his left. Preacher was next to O’Connor, and Jamie knew the mountain man chose that spot because he figured Jamie wouldn’t want to sit next to the man he had battled several times in the past. And Preacher was right about that, Jamie thought as he settled down to Preacher’s left. Hawk and Broken Pine were on the other side of the fire.

  Singing Woman and Butterfly filled bowls with stew from the pot and started to serve the food, which smelled mighty appetizing to Jamie. Guests were served first, so Butterfly bent down to extend the bowl in her hands to Davidson.

  He took it, glanced up at her, and said, “Thank y—” Then he stopped short, set the bowl on the robe in front of him, and quickly caught hold of Butterfly’s wrist as she began to straighten. “Wait just a moment!”

  Across the fire, Hawk bristled at the lieutenant manhandling his wife that way. He came to his feet in a single lithe movement and reached for the knife at his waist as he said, “Let her go.”

  Davidson stood up, too, and ignored Hawk as he pulled Butterfly closer to him. He stared intently into her face, and Jamie had a pretty good idea what the lieutenant was going to say even before Davidson declared incredulously, “This woman has blue eyes. She’s white!”

  “Let go of my wife,” Hawk said again, his voice low and dangerous now.

  Jamie, Preacher, and O’Connor were also on their feet, as was Broken Pine on the other side of the fire. Singing Woman had been about to extend a bowl of stew to the sergeant when Davidson grabbed Butterfly. She moved back so she would be out of the way in case of trouble.

  “Lieutenant, you’re making a big mistake,” Jamie said.

  “I don’t think so,” Davidson snapped. He proved that he didn’t grasp what Jamie meant by continuing, “Look at this woman’s eyes. They’re blue. She’s white, I tell you. A captive of these savages!”

  “Enough,” Hawk grated. He plucked his tomahawk loose from the rawhide loop where it hung at his waist and stalked toward Davidson.

  “Sergeant! We’re being attacked!”

  “By God, that’s enough!” The bellow from Preacher’s mouth filled the lodge. He drew his right-hand Colt from its holster and pressed the muzzle to O’Connor’s head before the big noncom could do anything. Preacher drew the hammer back with an ominous click.

  At th
e same time, Preacher filled his left hand as well and pointed that gun at Davidson. He cocked it, too, and said, “Lieutenant, you best turn loose of that woman right now, or else I may just let Hawk do what he wants to.”

  “You . . . you can’t do this,” Davidson blustered. “You’re a white man, which means you’re under my jurisdiction. You’re under arrest for threatening members of the United States Army!”

  “I’m about to do more’n threaten. But all you got to do, Lieutenant, is let go of Butterfly and back off.”

  “Her real name can’t be Butterfly. That’s an Indian name.”

  For the first time since this incident began, Butterfly spoke up. Her face was strained, maybe even a little frightened, but her voice was resolute as she said, “I am Indian. I am Crow. Once I was white, but no longer. Not for many, many seasons.”

  Davidson finally released her wrist. As her arm dropped, he said in disbelief, “But my dear lady, with white blood flowing in your veins, you can’t possibly believe that you’re the same as these . . . these . . .”

  “Savages, I think you called us,” Hawk said. Jamie could tell that the warrior was keeping a tight rein on his anger, but how much longer that control would last, Jamie didn’t know.

  “Lieutenant . . .” O’Connor’s voice had a hollow ring to it. Having a gun barrel pressed to his head would do that to a man.

  “At ease, Sergeant. There’s nothing you can do as long as that lunatic is holding a gun on you.”

  “Lunatic,” Preacher repeated with a wry grin on his face. “You may think that’s the first time anybody ever called me that, Lieutenant, but I can tell you right now, it ain’t.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

  Preacher lowered the gun he had pointed at Davidson. Butterfly scurried back around the fire to Hawk’s side. He still held his tomahawk, but he put his other arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her close against him.

  Preacher moved back a step, but he kept the right-hand Colt aimed at O’Connor in case the sergeant tried anything.

  With all the dignity he could muster as chief, Broken Pine said, “There will be no meal. We will not talk of treaties or anything else tonight. Lieutenant Davidson, you and your sergeant will return now to the camp of the soldiers. We will see what a new day brings.”

  “You’d better take that deal, Lieutenant,” Jamie advised. “I think it’s the best one you’re going to get.”

  Davidson glared around the lodge at all of them for a moment, then said, “Very well. But this matter of the prisoner is not resolved.” He jerked his head toward the entrance. “Come along, Sergeant.”

  Preacher said, “Might be a good idea for Jamie and me to come along, too, just to make sure there’s no trouble.”

  “Suit yourself,” snapped Davidson. He pushed the hide flap aside and ducked out of the lodge.

  Hawk let go of Butterfly and started to follow Davidson and O’Connor, but Preacher extended a hand, palm out, to stop him.

  “I said Jamie and I will go,” the mountain man told his son. “You stay here with your wife. She looks a mite upset, and I reckon she could use her husband at her side.”

  With some reluctance, Hawk nodded. “I should kill that man for laying his hand on Butterfly.”

  “He might have it comin’,” Preacher said, “but more’n likely it’d cause a war if you did, and that’s somethin’ none of us want.”

  He and Jamie left the lodge quickly and found Davidson and O’Connor outside, just getting mounted on their horses. Some young men from the tribe had been given the job of holding the mounts while the men were in Broken Pine’s lodge. They had stepped back, and judging by the angry, confused expressions on their faces, Davidson must have snapped at them. They probably didn’t understand what he’d said but had no trouble knowing what his tone meant.

  They must have overheard some of what went on inside the lodge, too, because of a number of other Crow, men and women alike, had drifted up and a buzz of conversation was going through them. Jamie didn’t understand enough of the Crow tongue to be able to follow the swift exchanges, but he guessed that word of Davidson’s behavior was spreading.

  “Hold on, Lieutenant,” he said. “Preacher and I are riding with you.”

  “You don’t need to accompany us like . . . like nannies or governesses,” Davidson said.

  Preacher chuckled and said, “I reckon you and me would be just about the ugliest governesses that ever governessed, don’t you think, Jamie?”

  “That’s about the size of it,” Jamie said as he took his horse’s reins from one of the Indian boys. He swung up into the saddle while Preacher was getting mounted, as well.

  The two soldiers and the two frontiersmen rode away from the Crow village. The shadows had thickened until night had almost fallen. Only a faint arch of reddish-gold light remained in the sky above the towering mountains to the west. That was enough for the riders to see where they were going as they followed the small stream south.

  After a minute or two, Davidson said, “This is simply unacceptable.”

  “What are you talking about, Lieutenant?” Jamie asked.

  “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about! The very idea of leaving that poor woman back there as a captive of those red-skinned brutes!”

  “Butterfly’s no captive,” Preacher said. “She’s right where she wants to be. In her heart and mind, she’s a Crow woman.”

  O’Connor laughed coarsely and said, “She probably doesn’t have any choice but to feel that way after years of bein’ passed around by those bucks.”

  “Mister,” Preacher said, “you’re makin’ me sorry I didn’t go ahead and pull the trigger when I had that gun pointed at your head a few minutes ago. You got worms crawlin’ around in that brain o’ yours, and they need lettin’ out.”

  O’Connor growled and started to rein in and turn toward Preacher, but Davidson snapped, “Sergeant! You can satisfy your well-deserved resentment toward this buckskin-clad lout another time. Right now the important thing is the situation in which that unfortunate woman finds herself.”

  Jamie knew he was going to regret this, but he asked, “What do you think should be done about that, Lieutenant?”

  “We must take her back to Fort Kearny with us and turn her over to the proper authorities so her real family can be found. We have absolutely no other choice in the matter. And once she has been reunited with her family, she’ll thank us. You’ll see.”

  Preacher shook his head and said grimly, “The only thing you’ll see is Caroline dyin’ of a broken heart if you take her away from her husband and their kids.”

  In the light of the rising moon, Jamie saw Davidson turn his head to look at Preacher. The lieutenant arched an eyebrow.

  “Caroline,” he repeated. “So you were aware that she’s white. You even know who she really is!”

  Preacher muttered something under his breath. Jamie had already heard this story, so he knew what the mountain man was going to say.

  “I know when she was little, her folks called her Caroline. Her pa was a preacher—a real preacher, not just somebody called that, like me—and he took his wife and daughter and headed west, probably figurin’ on bringin’ salvation to the Injuns or some such. Somewhere along the way, they were attacked, and Caroline’s folks were killed. But she was able to get away and wandered off. She would’ve starved to death or got et by some wild animal if a band of friendly Crow hadn’t found her.”

  “Broken Pine’s people,” Davidson guessed.

  “Nope, a different bunch. Caroline, or Butterfly as they named her, grew up with them and forgot all about bein’ white. As far as she knew, she was Crow and had always been Crow . . . except for a few memories locked up ’way far back in her brain. She’d grown to be a young woman, gettin’ up toward marryin’ age, when a Blackfoot war party raided her village, killed a bunch of folks, and carried Butterfly off as a slave. But she got away from ’em, and then a bunch of fur thieves wound u
p gettin’ hold of her, and me and Hawk and some friends of ours rescued her from them . . . and that whole business ended with her and Hawk gettin’ married and settlin’ down with Broken Pine and his people. That was ten years ago, and they’ve led a happy, peaceful life ever since.” Preacher paused, then added in a flat, hard voice, “If you think I’m gonna let you ruin that, you’re wrong.”

  Silence hung in the air for several seconds, then Davidson said, “What a dreadful story. The poor woman has never known anything except blood and death and degradation, and yet you insist that she’s better off with those . . . those creatures who have inflicted such misery on her.”

  Preacher sighed and asked, “Were you listenin’ to a word I said, Lieutenant? Except for those two times—which the Crow didn’t have nothin’ to do with—Butterfly has been happy all her life. She hadn’t had to go through any more than plenty of other folks have.”

  “You expect her to live with Indians and be happy when Indians murdered her parents?”

  “But they weren’t the same—” Preacher stopped short and made a disgusted sound in his throat. Jamie knew the feeling. He could have warned Preacher that arguing with Lieutenant Edgar Davidson was a waste of time, and frustrating as all hell, to boot.

  After a few more moments of tense silence went by, Preacher said, “I reckon you’ve got a choice to make, Lieutenant. You came here to convince Broken Pine to come back to the fort with you and talk to those fellas from Washington. I promise you, if you try to take Butterfly away from the village by force, that’s never gonna happen. What you’ll have is a war instead of a treaty.”

  Davidson pondered that and then said slowly, “This situation doesn’t fall within the scope of my orders . . .”

  “But Lieutenant!” O’Connor protested. “You’re talkin’ about a white woman and a bunch of savages!”

  “Nevertheless, Sergeant, a soldier must sometimes obey orders even though they go against his nature. But I haven’t made up my mind yet. I have a great deal of thinking to do.”