John enters the front room of the hotel and is greeted by Rebekah’s beautiful face, wearing a worried expression.
“Oh! Good! I was worried when that corporal came by and got David, saying there was wounded. I was afraid you were hurt.” She greeted him with the relief evident in her voice.
John steps up to the registration desk. “Thanks for being worried. Did David say if he had run into any trouble himself?”
“They were attacked, but got away unscathed. Bad news is, Jeff Jacobson got away.”
“Great. Well his dad was able to escape the noose, but not the grave.”
“Oh? Oh my. That is going to start some trouble. Well, most everyone is in the dining room.”
“Thank you. I will need to give them the news. I will catch up with you and David later. If we have time, that is.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
John walks into the dining area, noting the officers sitting at the large table with Lyttle, Red-Feather, and another person who John doesn’t recognize.
He walks over to the table, raising his hand in greeting to his oldest friend, Red-Feather. As he steps up to the table, he says, “Sorry to be so late, but I ran into some trouble on the road.”
Capt. Richards looks up and smiles. “Glad to see you can join us. Where’s Lt. Woodson?”
“Hopefully, being seen to by David by now. He got shot in the leg. It was only a flesh wound, though. Heart-Of-Falcon saw to him in the field, but I wanted David to check him over as well.”
Richards sighs heavily, crosses his arms, and leans back into his chair. “Is he now? Well, that makes things both easier and tougher. It definitely makes things more complex. What happened? I think we need a report. Want some coffee?”
John nods and the captain motions to the waiter to bring a coffee cup forward. “Ugh, where to begin? So, we left this morning, running over to Red-Feather's homestead to let his wife and guests know about their summons.” He takes a long drink of the hot coffee, glad to have a chance to clear some of the gunpowder from his throat. He takes a moment longer to gather his thoughts and then launches into his narrative once more. He spends the next hour explaining the gun battle and aftermath.
When he explains his reasoning behind killing the prisoner, the men at the table shift in discomfort. He goes on to tell them about the further acts of aggression since the landrun. When he finishes, the gathered officers settle in their seats.
Capt. Richards clears his throat. “You give us quite the interesting problem. Not only do we have to deal with the deaths here, but we also have to deal with this latest event. We will get the reports of the troopers. You can either stay in camp, again, or we will put you up here, as well. We will be needing to keep you close by.”
John shakes his head. He leans forward, placing his elbows on to the table. “I don’t know where you all keep getting the idea, I’m gonna go somewhere, but I’m not. I’m in the right, and will see this through to the end.” He dumps the rest of the contents of his cup down his throat and leans back in his chair.
“I know. For official record, we have to say it, though.” Capt. Richards looks thoughtful for a minute. “I am surprised they attacked without provocation, though. That doesn’t sound like the Bald-Knobbers I am familiar with. It makes one curious as to the change in attitude.”
“It sounds like Doc Bakker’s group got attacked as well. Was it Bald-Knobbers or someone else?” John re-settles himself in his chair.
“It sounds like it was just ruffians, but we don’t know. We never got a good look at them, like you did,” Lt. Guthrie answers.
“How do you know Jeff Jacobson was in with them then?” John asks. “I’d heard he had gotten away.”
“Doc Bakker said he recognized his voice. Whoever it was, was taunting us quite awhile as we searched their camp. He rode off after we got attacked, so I’m not sure. I think the attack was just them covering his escape, since no one in my troop got hurt.” He stands up, pushing his chair back and says, “With your permission, captain, I think I will go see to the men, mounts, and equipment.” Without waiting for a reply, he salutes, then leaves.
John smiles. He’s glad Capt. Richards isn’t so up-tight about that sort of thing. Lt. Guthrie seems to be a good soldier, and John is glad Richards is able to generate the loyalty he has thus far in his troops.
John looks over to Red-Feather and says, “Your wife is missing you sorely. I expect she will be here as quickly as she can get away from her duties at the ranch.” He looks at Lyttle and asks, “Have you interviewed Sara yet? She is needed to take care of her family. Heart-Of-Falcon says she can’t come to town in case having only men around her will upset her more. Can Sara be released back out to the homestead?”
“Yes, we have and no, I can’t release her just yet. That is unless you wish us to have someone watch her family business?”
“Well, she IS needed out there and you should be able to spare a trooper or two, long enough for her to spend a couple days looking after her family. Long enough for you to question everyone else.”
“John, do you know what you’re asking?” Capt. Richards sighs. “We will have to discuss it before we decide. You look exhausted. Go find a bunk somewhere. That’s an order.”
John smiles, then stands and salutes ironically. “Sir! Yes, sir! Do I have your permission to withdraw, sir?”
“Get out of here, you clown.”
“Sir! Yes, sir!” John does a smart about-face and marches from the room.
“Um. Are you okay?” John hears Rebekah as he enters the lobby of the hotel.
“Yup. I was just ordered to do something, so I thought to tweak his nose.” John grins. “That’s what he gets for ordering me around. Are you feeling okay, Miss Rebekah?”
“Yes. I’m worried about David, though. He’s been working a lot lately and I’m worried he will make himself sick.”
John smiles. Her love for the young doctor is quite evident. He is glad David’s affection for the girl is returned in kind. “He’s a sturdy fella. He will be fine.”
“Are you going to be going back to the camp or staying the night here?”
“I think I’ll go back to camp. Not that I doubt your ability in keeping a comfortable room, but I tend to feel more comfortable in camp. I thank you mightily for the offer, though.”
Rebekah’s lower lip comes out in a pout for a moment, then goes back in. “Okay. I think I understand. If you change your mind, though . . .” She smiles as she leaves the offer unfinished.
“I may take you up on it. Just not tonight. Thank you again for the offer.” John exits the hotel, enjoying the crisp night air. He goes through the town, such as it is, with a pace that is more akin to a saunter, than anything else.
As he reaches the camp, he sees David leaving, having completed his tasks. “Hi, Doc! Is everything handled here?” he asks of the young man as he approaches.
The young doctor looks up, an exhausted, haunted look in his eyes. “Yes. I have seen to the wounded. Tomorrow a burial detail will bury the dead. What happens after that is out of my power. How went the meeting with the officers?”
“Ah. That. Well enough. They are continuing the inquest. I’m on my way to bed. Do me a favor, and do the same. You are starting to worry Miss Rebekah.”
“She said something to me about it earlier, but as long as there’s work to do, I have to keep going.”
“I know the feeling. Well, good night.” Little more than stumbling forward, John finds his tent and cot already set up. Without thinking about it, John removes his boots and lays down, already asleep before his head hit the fabric of the cot.
Chapter 31
Most soldiers thought the war was going to be over in less than six months. The war has now been raging on for more than two years. The Night-Owl clan joined with Col. John Drew’s First Cherokee Mounted Rifles. Both Josh and John now speak fluent Cherokee and both are sergeants, each in their own platoon.
Even though they have been
given the rank of sergeant in the Confederate Army, the regiment is not like the rest of the Army. The regimental tactics are based primarily on guerrilla warfare. Both John and Josh have been able to avoid any of the major battles thus far.
Over the last two years, John has been given the native name of John Blood-Eagle. John’s platoon has been called the Red-Hand. They are known to give no-quarter. Within the last three months, John has been hearing that the border war in the north has been becoming more and more bloody. He has heard of a group out of Missouri calling themselves the “Partisan Rangers”, that is giving the Red-legs a run for their money.
Within the last two years, there was a schism in the tribe. Chief John Ross left, with about half of the braves, to go fight for the north. Many of the chiefs, as well as most of the original First Cherokee Mounted Rifles rode north with him.
John and the Red-Hand have been stationed at the northeastern part of the territory for the Cherokee, close to the southwestern border of Missouri, to watch for troops trying to come down to the Indian Nations lands. It was the beginning of the summer of 1863, when two ragged-looking travelers crossed the border from Missouri. The Red-Hand met them in the wilderness of the borderlands.
When the men approached the troop, one of them yelled out something, seemingly incomprehensible. It took John a little while to realize he was yelling it in English. He had been speaking Cherokee exclusively for over a year now and the sound of his native language was more foreign-sounding to him than the cries of an animal.
When John approached the men, they acted despondent. The look on their faces was that of exhaustion, not physical exhaustion, but one of mental or spiritual exhaustion.
One of the men held up his hand and said, “My name is Galba Branson. I’m with the Missouri State guard. I have been ordered by our commander to come down here and gather some intelligence. Can you take me to your superior officers?”
It took John another minute to be able to put his words in English. Finally, he replied, “You are looking for information? Information about who?”
“We need to know about the troop movements for the troops down in Fort Gibson, and the troops in Kansas. We need as much information as can be provided if at all possible.”
“Do you have any written orders? Something to show who you’re from?”
“Can you read English? If so, I have this note from my commander.” The man holds over a folded note stating all confederate forces were to provide help to the bearer upon request. It was signed Colonel William A Dewey Tenth Mo. CSA.
“It looks to be in order. I will take you to the clan chief down by Tahlequah,” John replies after scrutinizing the note closely.
“I was was told we would be helped immediately by the troops down here.”
“We haven’t been on any information gathering missions, and I am not about to go out on my own, not without my chief’s permission. Now, we have about a three day ride. If you will give me a moment or two, I will make arrangements.” John turns to his troop and in Cherokee says, “We need to escort these men to Tahlequah. Have everyone ready to move out in five minutes.”
Chapter 32
Three weeks later, Josh, John, Red-Moon, and Gray-Moon are riding at a high lope back to Tahlequah. Galba had left their group two days earlier, after having learned that the biggest portion of the Red-Legs are gathered out by the town of Lawrence. When he mentions reporting back to Quantrill, John asks him if he means the Colonel that had been mentioned before.
Galba replies, “It doesn’t matter. The bushwhackers have a detachment out by Kansas Town. We work together more often than not. They are going to be the closest to deal with that group.”
John decides not to pursue the matter, since it doesn’t really concern him. The riders ride back to Tahlequah, with the news they heard that there is a column headed down to the ‘Nations, apparently to reinforce the garrison out at Fort Gibson.
After having been on the trail for more than a week, John and Josh arrive at the camp on the outskirts of Tahlequah. They are ordered to meet up with Chief Running-Buffalo at his tent.
When John and Josh arrive, they are received with the news that the column they were reporting had given the nations a thorough drubbing down at Cabin Creek and Elk Creek.
Josh has left the tending of the horses to his teenage cousins. When done tending to the horses, Gray-Moon and Red-Moon come trudging through the camp.
As he approaches, Gray-Moon notes that their clan is not anywhere to be found in camp and asks, “Where’s my father?”
Chief Running-Buffalo looks at him with an expression of sympathy. “He has gone to be with the Great Spirit. The Night-Owl clan sacrificed themselves supporting the retreat from the affair at Elk Creek. They fought and died as the warriors they truly were.”
Gray-Moon screams his sorrow, the sounds of an animal in agony. Red-Moon takes his knife out and cuts his palm, whispering the words of a blood-oath. Josh, too, screams in sorrow and allows the tears to flow freely.
John just stands there, numbly. He can’t believe the inimitable old man is actually gone. Over the last few years, John had come to listen to the elder’s sage advice and to love him as if the elder was his own father. John thinks of Flying-Eagle, whose temperament matched John’s own. He remembers Oso-Leahon, with his readiness to give a quick quip to disarm a serious situation. He thinks of the braves in his platoon, each one a courageous and honorable brave, each one willing to give their lives and honor for their families, each one now in the ground.
John looks down at his hands, wondering where his reaction is. Why aren’t his hands shaking? Where are his tears? These men were his friends, his adopted family. Why is he just standing there like a statue, showing about as much emotion as the stone a carving is etched from?
He looks back up just in time to see Red-Moon bandage his hand. Running-Buffalo has pulled Gray-Moon into a rough embrace giving the young man whatever comfort he might. Josh is standing there trembling violently, tears flowing, soaking the ground between his feet.
John looks back down at his hands, still shocked to see no reaction whatsoever. There is an idea tugging at the back of his mind. He looks up and asks roughly, “Do you know who it was that did it?”
Running-Buffalo looks at John, expression inscrutable. “Seeking revenge will do no one any good, Blood-Eagle. This is war, not a personal fight.”
“You know who it was, don’t you?”
“You have nothing but hate in your heart. If you go after those men, your hate will kill you. Please do not do this. Do not ask me again.”
Josh looks at the middle-aged chief, incredulous. “You would deny us our vengeance, as if we are children? How can we call ourselves men, if we are denied our claim to avenge our families?”
Running-Buffalo, face now beet red, turns on the two young men. “I know your hearts hurt. I am still chief. You will not speak to me in that tone again. Understood? I will not tell you who did this evil, not out of cowardice or concern about those traitors, but out of concern for you. If you break your oaths and go after those people, you will become traitors yourselves.”
John is thinking furiously now. Just how to get around this old man’s intractability? “All you need is to tell us who it is and send us out on a patrol. Don’t deny us our vengeance. They were our only family left.”
“You are the last of the Night-Owl clan. Other than each other, your family is gone. Do you want everyone in your family to die? Again, I’m not going to tell you, to spare you, not them.”
John shakes his head. “The chiefs have been having us go and hunt the traitors that left the tribe. Now you’re telling me we’re not allowed to hunt down the animals that hurt our family so?”
Running-Buffalo looks at the young soldier gravely. “I will consider your words. I will leave you to your grief. You will have the council’s decision in the morning.” The older man leaves the tent allowing the young men to see to their grief.
Still bewildered
by his lack of response, John sits on his bedroll. He knows he wants the blood of those who killed his family and friends on his hands, but why is he not reacting like everyone else around him?
Gray-Moon pulls out a bottle of whiskey, takes a long swig of it, then hands it to his brother. Quietly, the two sing the death lay of their forefathers while getting drunk.
After a few minutes, Josh leaves the tent, to wander through the camp, lost in his own thoughts.
John continues to sit on his bedroll for several hours, lost in the contemplation of his own existence. The two brothers finish off the bottle of whiskey and lean against each other, both snoring loudly in their drunkenness.
Close to midnight, John finally lays down to try and sleep, but sleep is an elusive creature this night. He continues to lay there, staring outside the tent throughout the rest of the night.
Josh doesn’t return at all that night. However, being wrapped-up in his own thoughts, John doesn’t even notice his blood brother’s absence.
Just after dawn, Josh returns. The two brothers are still hard asleep, snoring. John has neither moved, nor slept at all this night.
“We have been called to see Running-Buffalo,” Josh says quietly. He points to the snoring pair. “Think these two will be able to handle an audience?”
“I doubt you would be able to wake them with cannon fire next to their heads. I think it best to let them sleep it off.” John rises from his cot. “Think Running-Buffalo will require all four of us?”
Josh replies with an ironic note to his voice. “Don’t know. Don’t think he will have much of a choice, though.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Josh and John are standing in front of the gathered chiefs, in the primary council lodge. The assembly is arranged in a half circle around a fire, gazing at the pair of young soldiers.
Running-Buffalo is the first to speak after the two are announced to the council. “I have brought your request to fill your blood debt to the council. An official request of this kind cannot be allowed or denied by just one chief. I have made my case, both for you to be allowed to fulfill your debt, and for you to be denied your request. We will now render our decision,” he says with an official tone in his voice.
The Marshal of Denver Page 15