From somewhere deep inside his soul, Zeke Monroe pulled on incredible strength, leaping through a window with the agility of the others. He would not die crawling on his hands and knees! Zeke let out a war whoop as a soldier headed for him, and he pulled the knife, letting out a blood-curdling scream as he rammed it into the man’s heart and ripped downward. He knelt down to take the man’s scalp, and that was when he felt the jolt in his back. There was no pain, but he knew.
He turned to see a soldier standing behind him, the man’s rifle still smoking. He actually smiled. “It is a good time to die!” he shouted at the soldier, who frowned in confusion, remembering that this man was supposed to be an Army scout. Zeke started to rise, in spite of a gaping hole in the middle of his back; the frightened soldier backed up and fired again, the bullet ripping into Zeke’s chest. Zeke fell backward then, the infamous knife still gripped in his hand. He felt the life seeping out of him, but he refused to let go of the knife. He heard someone shouting in the distance.
“I am a scout!” he heard someone say. “Don’t shoot! He is my father. I only wish to help him!”
Wolf’s Blood! He must hang on, just one more second. He must see his son’s face once more. Then the boy was there, kneeling close, groaning the word father in Cheyenne. Zeke smiled for him, reaching up and touching his hair.
“Nohahan,” he whispered lovingly.
All around them soldiers rode out after fleeing Indians, cutting down nearly half of the Cheyenne warriors. Women and children scattered, but the soldiers found them, killing many of them before they could surrender. One of those killed was Dull Knife’s own daughter. Only thirty-two Cheyenne would truly escape to freedom, while a handful hid in the rocks only a few miles from the fort, among them Dull Knife himself, his wife, and surviving son.
None of it mattered now to Wolf’s Blood, as he sat holding his father’s head in his lap, talking lovingly to the man until suddenly Zeke’s hand relaxed and the knife fell from it.
At home on the Arkansas River Abigail Trent Monroe suddenly sat up, wide awake. Someone had called her, she was certain. In her confusion she reached out for Zeke, then remembered he was not there. But surely it had been his voice.…
Her heart pounded. She got out of bed, pulling a robe around her. The fire had dwindled and the house was cold from a bitter January night. She had worried so much over how her husband must be suffering in the bitter cold. But now she was made colder by the dread that enveloped her. She hurried to the window and looked out at a full moon. A cloud suddenly swept across it, blotting it out, and the wind blew across the plains with an eerie wail, like women crying.
“Zeke,” she whispered. Outside a wolf howled, then another and another, as though the entire ranch was surrounded by them.
For days the soldiers trailed the thirty-two Cheyenne who had managed to get free of the fort and were headed north. The strays were finally surrounded and trapped at Hat Creek Bluffs in a deep buffalo wallow. The soldiers charged the wallow, firing into it, retreating, charging again and firing again, until at last no Indians fired back. Only nine Cheyenne survived, mostly women and children. Dull Knife managed to make his way to Pine Ridge, where he and his family were made prisoners on Red Cloud’s reservation.
In the meantime Little Wolf had spent the winter with his own followers living in pits dug into the side of a riverbank. When the weather warmed, they headed for the Tongue River. A lieutenant found them and agreed to talk, convincing Little Wolf finally to surrender, promising he and his people would not be shot. Little Wolf had no choice, his people too weak to fight any longer. They were taken to Fort Keogh, where many of the young men became scouts, just to have something to do, and where many more fell to whiskey and ruin.
After many months, permission was finally granted for the prisoners who had been taken back to Fort Robinson to be united with their Sioux friends on the Red Cloud Agency at Pine Ridge, where they joined Dull Knife. Later Little Wolf’s people were given a reservation near Fort Keogh, and Dull Knife and his people were transferred there so that all the Northern Cheyenne who had fled the southern reservation could be together.
Thus the Cheyenne—or what was left of them—would be forever separated; the Southern Cheyenne in Oklahoma, the Northern Cheyenne in Montana, never again to reunite, never again to fight.
A weary Dan Monroe had reached Fort Robinson a week too late, discovering the disaster that had taken place there, and learning that his beloved half brother had been killed. By then Wolf’s Blood had left with his father’s frozen body wrapped onto a travois, setting out on a journey to the mountains, where he would bury his father alone.
In January, just two days after Zeke’s death, Ellen gave birth to a tiny daughter, naming her Lillian Rose after Ellen’s dead sister. The weather was too bad for traveling, and it was not until mid-February, when there was a several-day thaw, that Hal and Ellen could bring their new baby to meet her grandmother. But the meeting was a mixture of joy and sorrow, for Hal had been brought a message from Fort Lyon.
Abbie greeted them warmly, but she was thin, her eyes circled. She had told no one about the night she had awakened, thinking Zeke had called to her. Hal and Ellen let her hold her granddaughter for a while. Abbie had always loved babies, ever mourning not being able to have any more after Jason. At twenty-eight she had already had seven children, all by the seed of Zeke Monroe. Finally Ellen took the baby from her arms, and Hal stepped over and put a hand on Abbie’s shoulder.
“Abbie, we … we got a message from Fort Lyon a few days ago,” he told his mother-in-law. Ellen sat down with the baby, burying her face in the infant’s neck, unable to look at her mother. Abbie sat rigid, her heart aching so fiercely she wondered if she were dying herself. She looked up at Hal.
“Zeke?”
He frowned and sighed. “There was a damned blood bath up at Fort Robinson. The goddamned government came through with orders that they all be sent back south, in the dead of winter. Dull Knife refused. I guess they’d taken guns apart and hid them, and when they were told they couldn’t go south they put them back together in secret and made a break for it. I … I don’t know the details of Zeke’s involvement in the whole thing, but he … he was shot, Abbie, by soldiers.”
She felt only numbness, as though all her blood had left her body. She could not even cry, nor was she surprised. She rose from the chair, walking to a window while the others watched, not sure what they expected of her. Margaret held her chin proudly, facing Hal.
“Mother and I know the details without having to be told. My father fought with them. He helped them escape. He would have had it no other way.” Her voice choked on the last words and she ran outside.
Jason pressed his lips together, not wanting to cry in front of the others. He felt suddenly empty and alone. Abbie turned to Hal. “Tell me, Hal. Was it on the ninth of January?”
He frowned. “How did you know?”
She closed her eyes, putting a hand to her chest. “I marked it … on my calendar. He called to me.”
Ellen broke into heavy sobbing, and Morgan went out to find Margaret. Jason wept quietly at the table, busily wiping at tears that came too fast for him to hide. Sonora stared wide-eyed at Hal. “What about my husband?” she whispered, so panicked that her voice would not come.
“Wolf’s Blood is all right. He’ll be a while yet, Sonora. He’s taken his father to the mountains to bury him high—on a platform. It was Zeke’s wish.”
The girl covered her face and wept. Abbie watched them all, and for some strange reason her tears would not come. She knew that the real problem was that she did not dare break down. She was not ready. She could not face the reality of this—not yet. She must be strong for the children, until they were strong again. For the day would come when she could accept this truth, and on that day she would need them more than she had ever needed them.
“Why do you weep?” she said to Ellen and Jason, holding her chin proudly. “Your father died the way he want
ed to die—fighting like a true Cheyenne warrior. That was what he was at heart, you know. He died proud and fighting, not a crippled, groaning man in a bed he could not get out of. Now we must all be strong. This is Zeke Monroe’s ranch, and we will keep it going just like he did. We will continue to raise fine horses, and we will all make him proud of the family of his seed.”
She walked to the bedroom, and Ellen wiped at her eyes, looking at her husband. “This isn’t right, Hal,” she whispered. “Why isn’t she crying? Why isn’t she upset?”
He stared at the bedroom doorway for a moment, then turned to her. “I don’t like it. She’s refusing to let it settle, Ellen. I’m going to go talk to Margaret and Morgan about this.”
He walked out, and in the bedroom Abbie went to the window and looked out at a bright blue sky and over a snowy ridge where she had so often watched Zeke approach on horseback. She could see him now, just as vividly as if he really were there. She smiled. Perhaps it was all a mistake after all. Perhaps he had only been wounded, and that was why she felt him calling to her. After all, he had always come back to her. She would not give up or give in—not yet. She would wait—for Wolf’s Blood.
It was April when Little Zeke came running to the house to get his grandmother. “Someone is coming!” the boy told her. “Mother says she thinks it is Wolf’s Blood!”
Abbie stared at the doorway. She had slept little over these weeks, trying to convince herself that her invincible husband would be all right after all. She had sat up praying night after night, fighting the torture of reality, telling herself there was a great possibility her Zeke would fool them all and come riding in on his grand Appaloosa, sweeping her up into his arms and taking her to their secret lovenest.
“Is he … alone?” she asked her grandson.
“I think he is, but he has another horse with him.”
The boy ran out. No! No, he must not be alone! She moved on heavy, unwilling legs toward the door, going through it and standing on the porch. He was coming in from the west, riding slowly, leading a riderless horse. No! She felt the panic building then. All this time she had been strong. She had not wept and carried on. The children and grandchildren had already accepted their father and grandfather’s death. All had accepted it but Abbie, and now as Wolf’s Blood came closer, Morgan and Margaret hurried to Abbie, both realizing she had still not faced the inevitable, both very worried about what would happen when she did.
Wolf’s Blood’s eyes were only on his mother. His face was rigid. He was dressed in full Indian regalia, his face painted in mourning, scars on his arms and chest from the slashing he had inflicted upon himself over his father’s death. They were still pink and one didn’t look fully healed, for he had cut himself deeply.
Abbie watched him. Why, it wasn’t Wolf’s Blood at all! It was Zeke! Surely it was Zeke, for he looked just like her Zeke, a replica of the strong and beautiful man she had married at fifteen and spent her life with. He came closer, halting his mount in front of the house, while the rest of the family just stared at his haggard face. Sonora did not go to him right away, sensing she must leave her husband alone for the moment, knowing how Wolf’s Blood had felt about his father. The boy swung his leg over his horse and slid off, walking up to his mother, who just stared at him.
She reached out and touched his arm. “Zeke! I knew you would come back.”
Wolf’s Blood frowned and Margaret gasped, turning away. She knew her mother was acting strangely, even mentioning a couple of times that perhaps Zeke would come back after all. But she had not expected this.
Wolf’s Blood touched her face gently. “I am not Zeke, Mother. I am Wolf’s Blood. I buried Father high on the mountain. It was his wish.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re Zeke. He always comes back to me.”
He grasped her arms and shook her slightly. “Mother, look at me! It’s Wolf’s Blood!” He felt her trembling, and her eyes were wild-looking as she shook her head again.
“Don’t tell me that!” she whispered.
“It’s the truth! Didn’t you get my message?”
“She got the message,” Morgan spoke up quietly. “I think she’s been refusing to believe it. She seemed to accept it at first, then started talking about Zeke coming back.”
Wolf’s Blood searched her eyes. “Mother, it’s me—Wolf’s Blood,” he told her gently, still holding her arms. “Father was killed at Fort Robinson. I buried him in the mountains. Do you understand? You must stop hoping for the impossible. Face it now—right now—before you get any worse!”
She shook her head again. “It’s not … really true. I … thought so at first. You … called to me, Zeke … in the night. But then I remembered … that you always come back, and I knew someone … must have got the message wrong.”
Wolf’s Blood’s eyes teared. “Come with me, Mother.” He took her arm and led her down the steps, walking her far off and down to the river. She said nothing as they walked, her mind swirling between fantasy and reality. When they reached the river Wolf’s Blood turned her, grasping her shoulders. “Mother, you must face the truth. If you don’t, it will be bad for you, and your children and grandchildren won’t know you anymore. Don’t do this to Father. It would break his heart to see you doing this.”
She studied him closely. “But … you are Zeke.”
He sighed deeply, holding her firmly. “All right. If you want to believe that, then listen to me now. Let me go, Abbie. Please let me go now to a place where I will be happy. You’ve got to let me go so we will both be at peace.”
She watched him as the river splashed and danced nearby. She reached up and touched his face. “Must you really go?” she asked, her eyes tearing.
He was glad to see the tears. “Yes. I really must go this time, Abbie. But I will always be with you in spirit, just like I promised.”
He waited. For several minutes she stared at him, backing up slightly. She finally blinked and shook her head, putting a hand to her forehead. She stared at him again. “Wolf’s Blood?”
He smiled sadly and nodded. “I am the one who promised to return, Mother, remember? Father did not promise this time. He’s dead, Mother. You must realize that and accept it. Surely you knew, even the night he called to you.”
He watched with an aching heart as several moods seemed to pass through her brown, tired, lonely eyes. An inner force was fighting the truth. An odd groan came through her lips and she grasped her stomach, bending over. “Zeke!” she groaned. “No! No! No!”
Wolf’s Blood hurried up to her then, and she grasped his arms so tightly it actually hurt him, her nails cutting into the skin. “Don’t … let go of me,” she begged.
His eyes teared more. “Mother, it will be all right.”
“Tell me … he didn’t suffer!” she groaned.
“He didn’t. He died quickly.” His voice choked. “I don’t think … he even felt any pain. It had to be, Mother. He was … so crippled. It was his last chance … to die honorably. If he hadn’t let himself … die fighting … I’d have had to bring him back here … a crippled man on a travois. That would have been so much worse for him.”
She gasped for breath, then let out a “no” again in a long scream, hitting him in the chest with her fists. He embraced her and held her tightly against him, his tears mixing into her hair.
“Yes, Mother. You must face it. We’re all here for you … Margaret, Jason, Sonora and me … the grandchildren. We’ll survive and be together, like he wanted. He’s happy now, Mother. I am convinced he’s happier than he ever was in this life.”
She wept in gut-wrenching sobs, hardly able to find her breath. He held her, not knowing what else to do, until finally he felt her collapsing. He quickly picked her up. She was limp in his arms as he hurriedly carried her back to the house. He looked at his sister Margaret as he carried their mother onto the porch. “We must watch her closely for a while,” he told his sister. “But I think she will be all right.”
Margaret touch
ed his arm, where a puffy scar had not healed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that alone, Wolf’s Blood,” she told him. “Are you all right?”
Tears still stained his face. “I don’t know yet.”
He carried his mother inside and laid her on the brass bed. She groaned and rolled to her side, moaning Zeke’s name again. Wolf’s Blood frowned and bent to kiss her cheek. “Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “Father is with you.” He smoothed back her hair, and Margaret came inside with a pan of cool water and a cloth.
“You can leave, Wolf’s Blood,” she told him. “Sonora and I will get her undressed and in bed. I will bathe her in cool water.”
He sighed deeply, wiping at his tears and smearing the mourning paint. He turned to see Sonora standing in the doorway. Wolf’s Blood had not even greeted his wife yet. “Forgive me, Sonora,” he said softly. He swept her up into his arms, holding her tightly as she cried against his shoulder.
“I was so afraid you also would not return!” she wept.
He kissed her hair. “I had to come back to my Sonora, and my son and daughter, didn’t I?”
She looked up at him and he kissed her gently, her lips, her eyes. “I need some time, Sonora. I still have much sorrow inside of me. For a while I cannot be completely yours, for part of me is buried on the mountain.”
“I understand, my husband. Just to have you here holding me is enough.”
He let go of her, kissing her lightly again. “I will go now and let you help Margaret. I am going riding. But I will return tonight to hold you when you sleep.”
They kissed once more, and she went to help Margaret. Wolf’s Blood headed for the door, and Jason called out to him. Wolf’s Blood turned to see his young brother standing at the table, looking lost and lonely. “Can I go with you?” he asked. “Please, Wolf’s Blood. Don’t leave me here. I need … to talk.”
Wolf’s Blood smiled and nodded. “Yes, come with me, my brother. Our father would want it so.”
Meet the New Dawn Page 35
