CHAPTER FIVE
“Chayton!” Clenoa cried, “you have come!”
Chayton, meaning Falcon, hugged Dove to him. His hand automatically went to her swollen belly where their child grew. It had been several moons since he had been able to hold his wife to him. She had insisted on visiting her mother, who was Kiowa and lived at another camp, from the Comanche, which Chayton belonged to.
The Kiowa and Comanche were close friends, and it had been during winter camp, when the two tribes set up their village along the same river, that Chayton and Clenoa had met. Now he looked at his wife lovingly, realizing how much he had missed her while she was at her mother’s village, being instructed on the future birth of their child.
He had brought several friends with him, to accompany her back to the hills where the Comanche were settled farther west from the Kiowa village, her mother belonged to. There were rumors that the Osage were in the area, and they were bitter enemies of the Kiowa and Comanche. Many years earlier, when Islandman was still Chief of the Kiowa, the Osage had wiped out an entire village of the Kiowa. Now the two tribes were ever on the watch for future attacks by the Osage.
Although there were dangers in bringing his wife back to his own village, Chayton needed Clenoa by his side. He wanted his new child to be born near his own village and raised the same as he had been in all the customs of the Comanche.
“We will have to leave soon,” Chayton told Clenoa. I have brought, several braves with me. My closest, trusted friend Chogan, Noconah, Avonaco, Bidziil, Chitto, Demathi, and Elan, are all with me,” he smiled.
“Then we shall have a splendid procession,” Clenoa laughed. “My sister has made me a cradleboard for the baby,” she exclaimed. “It was to show her love for me and my new child. Mother has made me a pouch to preserve the navel in, once it falls from the infant. It is in the shape of a turtle, and has very lovely beadwork on it.”
“I am happy you could be with your family,” Chayton grinned. “For now, we must return to my family, before the tribe moves their camp and head towards better hunting grounds. That is why we must not waste any time,” he informed her. “It is several moons ride to our village, as you well know, and with Osage afoot, I won’t feel happy until we are safe within our own village.”
Clenoa put her arms around Chayton, giving him a long, welcoming kiss.
“I am happy you are here, husband,” she whispered.
Chayton picked up the cradleboard and placed it on his own back. He helped Clenoa upon her pony and signaled for his friends to follow. Clenoa waved, sadly, to her mother, father, and sister, but she was excited to get back to their familiar wigwam, where she could hold Chayton in her arms, as before. Soon they would have a little papoose, he was hoping for a future brave, and she, only being happy to have Chayton’s child. Her time for delivery was near, and she was anxious to get it over with.
The small band rode out, headed in the direction of Chayton’s village. Chayton and Chogan rode with Clenoa between them, while two braves rode ahead, and the rest rode behind, their eyes and ears alert for danger. They wore painted faces, and bright war costumes, to warn all other warriors from any other tribe, who may chance to come near, that they were experienced warriors, and to tamper with them, would be risking danger.
They boasted coup feathers, fastened to their long flowing hair, as well as their horse’s manes and bridles. It indicated that they had been fierce in battle and had humiliated the enemy, and in some cases, taken scalps.
They all rode tall and proud, all knowing they were capable of protecting Clenoa from danger, but the sooner they reached their tribe, the less anxious they would feel. Therefore, it came as a total surprise, when they discovered that a large band of Osage, were riding towards them. Noconah and Avonaco did not have enough time to sufficiently warn the others before they were overtaken by the band of blood-thirsty Osage. The group had fresh scalps tied to their saddles, which indicated they had just raided an enemy.
Chayton knew who their enemy was, and his village was the closest to the area, in the direction from whence they came. He knew they were returning from a raid on his own village, and both groups were surprised to run into each other. However, his small band was no match to the large band, which was riding at a full gallop towards them now.
Their only hope was to escape, and since their horses were fresher than their enemy’s horses, they were able to keep far enough ahead of them, except for the fact that Clenoa, being heavy with child, was having a hard time keeping up. Chayton was forced to fall back, in order to help her through, and both, he and Chogan tried to shelter her, as she made efforts to remain seated on her pony, while it sped forward.
Chayton heard Clenoa gasp, as an arrow whizzed past both Chogan and himself, making its mark in Clenoa’s back.
“No!” Chayton cried, as he turned and began shooting arrows back at the advancing group. The other’s stopped short, and joined their brothers, to fight to the death, if necessary, but at the last moment, the Osage band turned, and took off, away from the small group. The Osage had decided to allow them to escape, as they whooped and yapped, shaking their fists and weapons at their enemy, in their own elation. They had shamed a warrior by killing his wife, who was plainly carrying a child. Perhaps that was all the glory they were seeking.
Chayton started to follow after them, but Chogan called him back.
“Tend to your wife,” he called. “You can hunt them down later.”
Chayton knew Chogan was right, but the rage was so great within him; he could barely stop himself from shaking with his hatred of the Osage.
Clenoa was still clinging to the mane of her horse, gasping for breath, as Chayton gently lifted her down. He could tell by the depth of the arrow, there was little hope of removing the arrow, and it would ultimately cause her death.
“Clenoa,” Chayton moaned. “I love you, Clenoa.”
“Don’t let our child die,” she whispered back. “If I die, take it from my belly, and give it life in my stead.”
Chayton buried his head against Clenoa’s neck, sobbing, knowing she didn’t have long to live, and there was nothing he could do about it. He placed his hand on her stomach and could feel the unborn child kicking, as though it wished to be set free. It was so close to her day of delivery, perhaps the child could live, if he was able to cut it from her, but how would he feed it? It was not as simple as removing the babe from its mother. He would have to continue to keep it alive once that happened.
As he agonized over the thought, he felt Clenoa go limp in his arms. He knew there was no time to lose, before the baby died, along with its mother. He did not stop to think about it. He drew his knife, and cut open the belly of his beloved wife, lifting the child from the womb, praying he had not waited too long. A moment later, the child was giving a weak cry, but that was only the beginning of his efforts to save his child.
It was a young boy-child, whom he named Tsahle-ee Jogul, which meant little man. Chayton looked upon his dead wife’s face, knowing all his happiness had died with her. Now the only part of her he had left, was his son. He would have to find a way to feed the infant, but how?
Then Chayton remembered a cattle ranch, not far off the beaten path from the direction they had come. Surely, there would be a cow there he could talk the owner into trading to him. It was his only hope. He wrapped his new-born in the soft blanket that was in the cradleboard and placed him in the cradleboard, fastening it on Chogan’s back.
“Ride toward our village with my son. I will go to find a cow, or goat to use for milk, to feed him. I will take the others with me, and we will catch up with you as soon as possible.”
Chogan nodded, and swung upon his pony’s back, with his precious cargo. Chayton left Noconah to wrap his wife in her blanket and prepare her for her afterlife, and then follow them to the ranch, when he had finished. He galloped off with the rest of the band back towards the ranch, where he hoped to trade Clenoa’s horse for a cow.
The Com
anche and Kiowa had promised the Government men, that they would stop raiding people along the great road they called the Santa Fe Trail, but these ranches were farther south from the great road, and he didn’t plan to raid the ranch. He merely intended to take a cow, either by trade or however else he could get it.
When the ranch came into view, the band could see a lone man working a horse, and a woman, standing in the doorway of the house, watching him. The moment they approached, the man lifted his rifle out of the pouch on his horse’s saddle, while the woman called to some children, playing in the yard, and went into the house with them.
Chayton held his hand up in a friendly greeting, as he approached the man, who was glaring at the group, atop his horse, with his rifle pointed at them.
“We come in peace,” Chayton stated.
His English was good because both the Comanche and Kiowa had been dealing with the white government men for several years now.
“I don’t much care,” the man stated. “I want you off my land.”
“We only desire to trade for a milk cow,” Chayton informed him.
“Doesn’t matter, I only have one milk cow, and I am not giving it up.”
“I have an infant son, who has lost his mother. I need milk, so he can survive until I can get him to my village.”
“That’s your problem, not mine. One less heathen in this world would suit me fine.”
“I am willing to trade you one of our horses for the cow,” Chayton stated, pulling Clenoa’s horse forward, which he had been leading.
“Don’t need any Indian ponies,” Chet scowled. “I got plenty of my own horses, which are better than any wild pony you can offer me.”
“I need the cow!” Chayton bellowed, starting to lose his temper.
“Well, you can’t have it,” Chet responded. “If I were you, I would just turn your group around and hightail it out of here,” he added, lifting his rifle higher and aiming it at Chayton.
“I need the cow!” Chayton said again, firmly.
“You ain’t getting’ it,” Chet said, as he pulled the trigger, only at the moment he pulled the trigger, his horse sidestepped, causing him to miss his target, and a second later, an arrow was whizzing in his direction.
Chet had seen the brave, loading his bow, before he fired his rifle, and when the shot missed, he turned to escape the heathen’s arrow, merely to be shot in the back, causing him to tumble from his horse, and sprawl upon the ground.
Chayton stepped over him with his own horse, and told his braves to find the cow, and take the rest of the cattle as well. He was so angry, at the arrogance of the man that he decided, he would not only take the cattle, but he would take the man’s family and anything else he wanted. He and two of his group headed for the house.
Chayton could hear a woman screaming in one of the rooms. It wasn’t a scream of fright. It was a scream of pain, and now he recalled, that when he had glanced up at the woman standing in the doorway when they arrived, that she looked like she was heavy with child.
He tried the knob on the door, but even though it turned, something was barring the door, to keep him from entering. He called to Bidziil and Elan to help him force the door open.
Chayton and his friends, managed to force the obstacle loose, which had been barring the door. His eyes widened, as he stepped into the room. There was a woman, lying in the bed, and it looked to him as though she was in the middle of delivering an infant. Several children were huddled in the corner. He swooped into the room, pulled the children from the corner, and passed them to his companions.
“Take the children, and the cattle, and head back after Chogan. I will catch up with you as soon as I can.
Chayton turned and looked at the frightened face of the woman on the bed. Then he was at her side, kneeling down, knowing that he had something better than a milk cow to preserve his son’s life.
CHAPTER SIX
Now Callie could hear the Indians in the other part of the house, tipping things over, and talking loudly among themselves, as she lay shivering on the bed, in pain and fear. Slowly, the handle of the door rattled, as someone tried to open the door. At first, they merely kept turning the handle. Callie cringed, when, suddenly, there was a loud thud, as the door was forced open, pushing the trunk aside.
A piercing scream rose up in Callie’s throat, as the haunting face of her dreams hovered over her, with that same menacing glare that had frightened her from the beginning. The fearful scream was taken over by a painful shriek as her stomach ripped with uncontrollable agony. She could feel something between her legs, and she pulled her skirt back to discover a wrinkled, wet face, staring up at her, almost looking as shocked as she was feeling.
Immediately, the Indian stepped forward, pushed the children from the room, calling something out to his companions, and closed the door. Next, he was kneeling beside her bed, intent on watching the child emerging from her.
Chayton watched in wonder, as the woman gave birth to her child. He had never witnessed such an event. Even if Clenoa had given natural birth, he could not attend her. He would have waited outside a thicket, where she chose to give birth until the ordeal was over. Her mother had instructed her as to what she was to do, before and after the child was born, and Clenoa had described it to him, while they journeyed together. He didn’t think this woman knew what to expect, though, as he could read the fear in her eyes, whether it was fear of him or fear concerning the birth of her child, he wasn’t sure.
A moment later, the savage was drawing his knife, and Callie whimpered in fright, thinking he was going to slaughter her child. Instead, he was cutting the cord, taking a tie from his braid, and putting it around the cord, then bringing the baby girl to her, pulling the front of her dress open and placing the child against her breast. After that, he seemed to be busying himself with taking care of the aftermath of the birth.
The strange heathen left, taking a soiled blanket with him that he had wrapped something in. Callie was strangely aware of the quietness around her. All the Indians had apparently, left. She could not hear the children either. She wondered if they had been killed or taken away. She started to tremble in her bed, as her new daughter eagerly nursed against her.
The Indian returned, looking down intently at her, seeming engrossed with the way her child was sucking against her. Her thoughts darted to the way Chet always looked at her if Rolletta needed to be encouraged to take the milk hose, by her offering her breast to the baby. She feared what the Indian might do, and she cowered, as she continued to feed her newborn.
The intruder grabbed up a baby blanket from the crib that was still beside the bed, waiting to hold its new occupant, and wrapped it around the child in Callie’s arms.
“Hau em foihyom dau?” he murmured.
She merely stared at him, thinking how strange his language sounded.
“I ask how you are doing,” he said softly, “Because I must take you with me, I need to know if you are able to travel. Once I bring you to my people, it would be best if you learn our words. Not many of us speak your language.”
“Why are you taking me?” she asked, relieved that he could speak English.
“I need you. Your man is dead. My braves have taken your cattle. You will die if you stay here, with no one to care for you.”
“Why can’t I just go home?” Callie asked.
“I thought this was your home,” he said looking puzzled.
“This is my husband’s home. It used to be my sister’s home, but she died. The children that were in the room with me are my sister’s children. I lived in Pennsylvania before I came here. If you let me go, I will take my sister’s children and return to Pennsylvania. What have you done with the children?”
“I do not know of that place. You will come with me. Your children are safe. I need you to come with me now.”
“Why do you need me to come with you?” Callie asked, starting to feel frightened.
“You are now my servant. I have a son you must f
eed, along with your daughter. The Osage attacked me and the warriors I am with. My wife was traveling with us from a neighboring tribe. My wife was killed. I had to cut the child from her belly to save it. We came looking for a cow to milk, but your husband would not let us come near. He threatened us with his rifle. We had to kill him. A baby needs mother’s milk. I have watched other babies die when given goat’s milk. My son’s life hangs by a thread, so I must take you to him.”
“Don’t you have any women in your village that can feed your baby?” Callie wanted to know.
“My people live up in the hills. I believe the Osage, attacked my village. They have probably moved our camp by now if they have survived. The Osage were returning from attacking them when they crossed our path. After they had killed my wife, they left us without a fight, knowing the humiliation they caused me. I was supposed to protect my wife. They want me to suffer from my shame.”
The pain in the Indian’s eyes touched Callie in a strange way, as he told his story. His features stiffened, and she could no longer see any expression on his face.
“Once they had departed, and I was able to save my son, I left him with a trusted friend, while we rode here, knowing we could find cattle on this ranch. My friend is already headed back to find the rest of our people, on the chance, we could not find a cow. Now I have found you. It is only a day’s ride back to where we left my son. A day has already passed, and my son has nothing to sustain him. The journey to where our tribe hides is much farther. Now my son will have a chance to survive.”
Hastily, the strange Indian wrapped Callie in the spread from the bed, picked her up, as she clung to her child, carried her out to his horse, setting her sideways on its back, and swung up behind her. His strong arm held her firmly, as he spurred his horse into a gallop, catching up with the rest of his band.
Beyond the Heart Page 6