Cale had more than the treaty on his mind. This would be a good year for him. They would hold their treaty council and finally have peace; and soon after the council, he would marry Snowbird. He was seventeen, but soon to be eighteen and he had more than proven his manhood. Snowbird was fifteen—a woman in his eyes and in the eyes of the Cheyenne. And to Cale she was the most beautiful woman among his tribe. His only regret was that his mother and grandparents could not be present for the celebration of his wedding and would probably never know Snowbird. She was so grown up from when Caleb had met her when he attended the Sun Dance ritual with Cale. Some might think him too young to be a husband, but death seemed always so near now, as more and more whites were coming, bringing disease; bringing more conflict. He felt like a man, and Snowbird’s father approved. He did not want to waste any precious years with Snowbird, and he wanted to be one with her.
If only Blue Hawk could be here. But he was so far away now, living in the white man’s world, because of his love for Sarah Sax. Cale wondered how many years it would be yet before his grandfather came home to the Cheyenne. He prayed the man would not die before he could see him again.
All those years he had lived with his grandparents and his mother and Jess seemed like another time, another Cale. How could it all seem so long ago, when he was now only seventeen? Texas. It nudged at his memory often, especially deep in the night—mostly in the form of remembering James and how close they once were. He could not help wondering how James was doing now, where he was and if he was happy.
All thoughts of the past vanished during the next few days. The number of Indians around Fort Laramie swelled until the treaty council had to be moved to Horse Creek, an area thirty-five miles south of Fort Laramie, where there was fresh grass for the thousands of horses that had already overgrazed the area around the fort.
This was an important moment for the Indian. There were a few skirmishes between members of enemy tribes, but most of them seemed to recognize that it was important to show their own skills and power to the important white men present.
How Cale wished his grandfather could see the grand spectacle the Sioux and Cheyenne presented! On one occasion nearly a thousand Sioux warriors rode in a column four abreast to the commissioners’ tents, bringing gifts. The white men gave gifts of tobacco and vermilion in return. There were demonstrations of the Indians’ riding skills, a display of the various positions from which a good warrior could shoot an arrow with remarkable accuracy, daring trick riding that made the white men gasp.
Cale had no doubt that these days of treaty-making were going to be days he would long remember—days of feasting with other tribes and celebrating in a hundred ways. And, of course, the marriage. His blood burned hot with the thought of it. He had only to wait for Snowbird to finish their wedding tipi. “One more day,” her mother had told him. He had hardly caught a glimpse of Snowbird. She was teasing him, staying out of sight, deliberately not allowing him to see or talk to her before their wedding day.
After what Cale considered eloquent speeches by Cheyenne leaders, words that sometimes left the schooled white men surprised and speechless at the wisdom of the Indian, a treaty was finally drawn to mark the boundaries within which the Cheyenne could supposedly ride freely. It included the southeast corner of what the white man called Wyoming, and most of the northeastern quarter of Colorado, all the way down to the Arkansas River near the site of old Bent’s Fort, the western border being the foothills of the Rockies and the eastern border along the territories the white man called Kansas and Nebraska.
The thought of how the Indians’ territory had been narrowed saddened Cale. The white man considered the area they had “allowed” the Indians quite large. But once the Cheyenne roamed all the way from Canada to Mexico, west beyond the mountains, and much farther east. It was necessary to move with the seasons and the buffalo. He could not help wondering just how they would continue to survive and grow when confined to such a small amount of land. The white men said they would be “subsidized” with “government annuities,” which supposedly meant that the white man’s government would provide them with food, tobacco, clothing, utensils, whatever the Indian needed that he could no longer get from the land.
That disturbed Cale. Didn’t it mean a loss of pride? Were they to begin taking handouts, like beggars? The white men talked of helping the Indians learn to farm. Farm! What Indian wanted to farm? It all left a heavy feeling in his heart, for he knew from living in Texas and from long talks with his grandfather that the white man often spoke out of both sides of his mouth. Would they really come through with the “annuities”? He wished his grandfather were present to discuss these things, to help him decide if this new Laramie Treaty was a good thing. Everyone seemed satisfied, but Cale was not.
The treaty was signed. And as they all waited for the first wagons full of “annuities” that the white men promised were coming right away and that they would hand out before the Indians left, Snowbird finished her wedding tipi. It was time to forget about his worries over the white man’s promises. Snowbird would be his wife. If only Blue Hawk could be here to see her now!
Sarah laughed as Caleb began sticking wildflowers into her hair. He had pulled the pins from it, letting the slightly graying but still beautiful tresses fall to her waist. He grasped her across the bosom and laid her back on the blanket they had brought along, then moved on top of her and kissed her, raising up on his elbows to study the velvety skin of her face.
“You look like a young girl like that.”
She smiled and pulled a daisy from behind her ear. “Then I’d better do this more often. It isn’t easy for someone my age to look young.”
He leaned down and kissed her eyes. “In my eyes that’s how you always look.”
They lay on a grassy hill under a huge ponderosa pine that Caleb guessed had to be over a hundred years old. This had become their favorite spot to come to when they wanted to be alone. It was on a hill far above Tom’s house, and there was enough growth of smaller trees and bushes bordering the spot that when they lay down, no one below could see them. They had made love here several times. Here it was just Caleb and Sarah and no one else.
Sometimes Sarah felt self-conscious when she lay naked under the sun. Surely she no longer had the body she had when this man fell in love with her, yet his own dark, magnificent build never seemed to change. But Caleb never touched her any way but with utter gentleness and near worship.
His lips moved to her throat, and he moved a big hand over one breast and to the buttons of her dress. She breathed deeply, looking up at the aging, sprawling branches of the old pine tree. “Oh, I love it here, Caleb. It’s like this is our special place. When we come here, it’s like leaving the rest of the world behind.”
He sat her up and pulled her dress to her waist, then began unlacing her undergarment. “I knew you’d like it the first time I saw it. We’ll come here often, Sarah, as often as you want. I know what you mean. Here, alone with you, I feel as if we’ve never had a problem in our lives—almost as if we’re starting all over.”
“In so many ways we are. Coming here has been like being given a second life. I just hope God allows me enough years—”
He put his fingers to her lips. “When we come here we don’t talk about anything but good things, remember? And today you feel good and look beautiful.” He pulled open her undergarment, reaching inside with big, callused hands and running them over her breasts. She felt her cheeks going crimson. He pulled off the undergarment, and she was naked to the waist. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, the kiss lingering.
Nothing more was said. He nibbled and teased with his lips, and soon she found herself lying back on the blanket again, her clothes coming off. In the next moment he stood next to her in raw, naked splendor, his body hard and magnificent as he came down to her.
A sweet breeze caressed Caleb’s skin as he moved between her legs. He stayed on his knees and lifted her hips, guiding himself into her
and enjoying the little gasp that came from her lips. He liked looking at her this way. It seemed so much more natural to do this in the open air under the big ponderosa. Perhaps it was the Indian in him that made it seem as though nature and making love with his woman should just go together. He had never liked beds all that much, but again, that had just been a part of the white life he had long ago accepted in order to be with her.
At least Sarah willingly agreed to some of the little things he sometimes wanted to do that went against her upbringing as a white woman—like this moment, lying naked in the open air with the grass beneath her, letting her man take her in a perfectly natural need. He moved one hand under her hips and pressed his other hand against her belly, supporting her as he rhythmically urged forth her gentle climax. Her natural muscle reactions drew him even deeper, telling him all he needed to know.
He came down close to her, whispering sweet Indian words into her ear as he thrust himself deep, holding out as long as possible until his own life pulsed into her.
For several minutes neither of them spoke. He pulled away from her, picking up a second blanket and covering her with it, then lying down beside her. He stared up into the branches of the pine, watching them sway gently with the wind. He wondered about Cale and the Sioux and Cheyenne. He had not told Sarah yet about the major treaty-signing he had heard about from men who had been to Sonoma. Would it really mean peace? He doubted it. The government and white settlers had yet to keep to any treaty agreement. Why should this one be any different?
A bird cried out somewhere, and again he felt the distant calling, the restless spirit in his soul craving to be released. The wind made a soft moaning sound through the pine needles overhead, and all the years and their hardships seemed to be represented in that big, old tree. It had been standing there tall and strong since many years before he was even born, and he did not doubt it would be there for many years after his death. It made life seem so frail and short. He pulled Sarah closer.
* * *
James entered Gilbert Hayden’s office, greeting the man warmly. Hayden had become like a father to James, a guiding hand that had taught him everything a young man needed to know to be successful in the world of the merchant. And James had become a valuable asset to Hayden; so competent and so excited about the added responsibilities Hayden gave him that he had never stayed in any of the Eastern cities to which he had traveled as a buyer for Hayden. He had always returned to St. Louis and the man who had sent him off, coming back with new items that helped Gilbert Hayden expand his business.
James wore a suit of the latest fashion. It was 1857, which meant a man wore peg-top trousers by day and tighter-fitting trousers in the evening, both with a side band of a different color striping the outer seam of the pants. Waistcoats were a must, with lapels that buttoned back, and a knee-length outer jacket was always worn. His ties were either tied into large bows at the neck, or he wore a large scarf tied neatly at the neck and fluffed out down the front of his shirt and tucked into his waistcoat.
James liked to look good. It helped win customers and helped in dealing in buying and selling. He was proud of the gold watch Hayden had given him the year before for James’s excellent job of supervising the bookkeeping and inventory, the job he held when he wasn’t off on another buying venture.
James stood as tall as his father, the father Gilbert Hayden knew nothing about. He was twenty-four now, a handsome young man with thick, sandy hair that had a hint of red to it in the sun; bright, blue eyes; and an even, sincere smile. His high cheekbones and straight, proud nose only enhanced his good looks, and his big hands always gave a firm, friendly handshake.
James Sax was a man destined to be wealthy and successful. That was what Hayden was always telling him. The man had seen that James got some special tutoring, for he had been denied higher learning in Texas, or so that was what Hayden understood. According to the story James had given Hayden, James had grown up in Texas and had worked hard helping his parents run a farm there. His parents had been killed by Comanche, and after a long struggle to keep the farm going, James had given up and had come to St. Louis, to a place more civilized, where he hoped to find work and be able to make something of himself.
James had received a few letters from someone named Sax in Colorado, but he had told Hayden the letters were from an uncle who had been too destitute himself to help James after his parents had been killed. The letter had gone unanswered. Hayden felt sorry for the boy with “bad memories” of Texas who wanted to better himself. He had taken the young man under his wing.
“Have a seat, Jim,” the man told him with a warm smile. Hayden sat behind a huge walnut desk. He was sixty, balding and gray. He was a slender man, a man who had worked hard all his life, building a mercantile empire and putting so much of his energy into that enterprise that he had never remarried after losing his wife in death over thirty years ago. He realized now that all the hard work had just been his way of getting over the terrible grief. He had loved her dearly. There had never been another.
“What do you need, Mr. Hayden?”
Hayden laughed lightly. “Jim, I wish you’d call me Gil. You know you’re free to do so.”
James smiled and shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to do. After all, you are my boss.”
“And you’re a young man who respects that. I understand. But, please, do call me Gil. You have come much too far, and I have known you too long now, for you to be calling me mister.”
James nodded. “If you say so.”
Hayden laughed lightly and nodded. “I say so.” He looked James over quietly for a moment. “How old are you now, Jim?”
“Twenty-four, sir.”
Hayden nodded. “You were no more than a boy when you came here looking for work. I still remember the day.”
James thought of the day he had left Colorado, the way his father had turned and waved, silhouetted against the horizon. A brief stabbing pain moved through his chest. Why had he stopped writing them? “Yes, sir, I was pretty young.”
“Well, now you’re a man, and nothing short of a partner in this business of mine.” The man leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “How would you like to be just that—legally? A partner?”
James stared at Hayden in surprise. “Partner? You mean . . . own half of your mercantile business?”
Hayden nodded again, smiling warmly.
James struggled for a moment with the shock of the offer. Hayden was a rich man. To be his partner . . . “Sir, I wouldn’t feel right about it. I’ve only been here nine years.”
“Long enough for me to know the right man when I see him.” The man leaned back in his chair. “Jim, I’m getting old. I have no family, no one to whom I can leave all of this, at least not anyone I could really trust. You’ve proven your intelligence and ability many times over. You’re young and personable, a hard worker. I can’t think of a better person to inherit all of this someday. I don’t want my business to fall into the hands of courts and the state of Missoun. I want someone to take it over who will care about it and keep it going. I’ve worked too hard at this to let it all just crumble when I leave this world. Would you be willing to take this over when I’m gone?”
James swallowed, looking away, overwhelmed by the man’s kindness and suffering a sudden guilt. What would Hayden think of him for lying about where he had come from? What would he think if he knew James Sax had Indian blood? Would it matter? He should tell the man. He had always meant to, but there never seemed to be a right time. Indian! Why did he have to be part Indian?
He faced Hayden again. Damned if he was going to let his Indian blood destroy the best chance for success and wealth a man could ever stumble upon. This was the ultimate opportunity to live the life he had always dreamed of living. Maybe someday he could even use it to help his poor mother, to give her the kind of life his father had never given her. But then how would his mother feel about the lies he had told to get this far?
“I . . . I don’t know
what to say, Mr. Hay—I mean, Gil. You know that I would very gladly carry on your business. I just feel as if I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you deserve it. For years I’ve been looking for just the right man to take all this over. But for one reason or another, none of those who have worked for me in the past had all the right qualities. You have everything, Jim: guts, determination, intelligence—and you’re handsome and presentable, a man who can make deals and win customers over with a smile and a handshake. Your parents must have been very fine people to raise a man of such fine qualities.”
James struggled to keep a smile on his face, but again the awful pain stabbed at him. “Yes, sir,” he managed to answer, this time sincerely. “They were good people.” Why did he feel this strange lump in his throat? “They taught me a lot about hard work and . . . honesty.”
Hayden opened a drawer and took out a cigar for himself, offering one to James. After James refused, Hayden lit his own. “Jim, I’m making out a will tomorrow. It will name you as my partner and will give you full rights to everything I own when I’m gone.”
James shook his head, his eyes actually tearing. “I don’t know what to say, sir.”
“Don’t say anything. I know gratefulness when I see it.” The man moved around to sit on the edge of his desk. “There is only one thing I ask of you. It will give you the best experience you’ve had so far—sort of a chance to know what it’s like to start from the ground up.”
James ran a hand through his hair. “Anything you say, sir.”
Hayden puffed the cigar a moment, then stood up and walked to a big map on his wall, pointing to Colorado Territory. “The West, son. This is where our future lies.”
James felt an odd chill, apprehension. Colorado!
“A territory growing very fast, Jim. And it’s centered in the heart of the central route between here and California, a route that will be taken by thousands over the next several years, mark my words. The base of the Rocky Mountains—that’s the most logical place to stop and stock up on supplies before going on over the Divide and through the deserts and the Sierras to California and other points west.”
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