Running Elk let out a deep breath and looked to the heavens. “Why?!”
Kicking Bird turned to his brother when he heard the outburst.
“We must do something. The soldiers are only a day’s ride away from our camp,” Gray Eagle stated, speaking more to his father than his uncle.
“I know, son, I know.”
Kicking Bird moved his horse closer to Running Elk until the two brothers were side by side. “I will ride back to the camp. You and Gray Eagle go on without me,” he offered, attempting to break the trance Running Elk had entered. “This does not have to come between you and Two Fires.”
“Am I supposed to ride away from the soldiers without a second thought? I must keep an eye on them. Even with you leaving to alert the camp, I have to do something. I should try to free their horses. As much as I want to, I can’t ride away from them. The gods must truly want me to be miserable,” he barked at his brother angrily.
“Just this time, go. Don’t think of anyone except yourself. She is only another day’s ride from you,” Kicking Bird tried to convince his brother. “There is nothing the two of you can do against a whole camp.”
“How many men were in the encampment?” Running Elk asked Gray Eagle, ignoring his brother’s words.
“I did not stop to count, but I would guess at least seventy-five. Why?”
“There are more, close by. They never come in small numbers. It is my guess that those men have broken away from the others,” Running Elk surmised as he began to accept that yet another obstacle had erupted to delay his reunion with the woman who held his heart and his son.
“What you are thinking will delay your arrival at the Kiowa camp by days.” Kicking Bird objected.
“I will go in search of the other soldiers. Ride quickly, Kicking Bird. I am growing weary of all these interruptions,” Running Elk demanded as he slapped his brother’s horse’s backside with an open hand.
As Kicking Bird departed, Running Elk’s attention focused on his nephew. “You, stay out of sight. The soldiers will also have scouts. Do not let them see you. I will return by nightfall,” he said, riding off in a southern direction. “Be careful, Gray Eagle,” he warned, looking over his shoulder.
***
Running Elk rode until dusk without seeing any sign of additional soldiers. He was sure there were more but couldn’t find where they were located. Instead of continuing on, he headed back to his nephew. Running Elk knew Gray Eagle was becoming an impulsive man, and he didn’t want the boy to get any ideas.
“I hear you, uncle,” Gray Eagle whispered with amusement when Running Elk attempted to sneak up on him.
“Then you have become a fine warrior. Not too many hear me when I don’t want them to,” he boasted as he took a seat behind the rock Gray Eagle was sitting against.
“Did you find the others?”
“No. Have you heard any movement from the camp?” Running Elk asked, motioning in the direction of the soldiers’ temporary camp.
“No. It has been a peaceful day, except for the thunder. I wish the rain would fall, just so the thunder would quiet.”
“Don’t tell me that thunder frightens you,” Running Elk questioned, doing his best not to laugh.
“It doesn’t scare me, but it does put me on edge,” Gray Eagle corrected.
“I find comfort in the thunder,” Running Elk shared. “If not for the sound, I believe I might have lost my senses today.”
“I hope we can see Two Fires soon,” Gray Eagle said, changing the course of the conversation drastically.
At the mention of her name, Running Elk laid his head against the rock, closed his eyes tightly, and pictured her in his mind. He saw her looking up at him with passion-filled eyes. “You cannot possibly want that more than I,” he finally responded to the statement as it hung in the air.
“I will take the first watch. Why don’t you try to sleep?” Gray Eagle offered.
“No. You sleep. I couldn’t now. My mind will not allow it,” Running Elk said as he slowly stood and walked in the direction of the soldiers. “I am only making sure they are still there,” he said when his nephew looked at him in question.
***
During the night, the stars slowly crept from behind the clouds and the bright full moon occasionally lit the night sky. The clearing sky didn’t stop the thunder Gray Eagle heard when the wind gusted.
“Did you hear that?” he asked Running Elk while the two sat and ate pemmican.
“Hear what?” Running Elk asked as he stopped chewing and gave his nephew his full attention. Running Elk hadn’t heard anything, but he knew from the previous night that Gray Eagle’s hearing was keen.
“It sounds like thunder when the wind is right. I’ve heard it for a while. You don’t hear it?” he asked, beginning to believe it might be his imagination.
Running Elk could see Gray Eagle was second-guessing his senses. The sun was shining, so it did seem strange that the thunder would linger.
“Do you hear it now?” Running Elk asked, concentrating.
“No. Wait … there, did you hear it?”
Before Gray Eagle could finish his question, Running Elk was on his feet and running towards his horse.
“What is it?” Gray Eagle asked with concern thick in his voice as he mounted his ride.
“It is not thunder you hear. That is gunfire coming from White Buffalo’s camp,” he informed his nephew, trying unsuccessfully to keep his rising panic under control.
“I am right behind you,” Gray Eagle yelled as they rode their horses at full speed.
Running Elk slowly began to realize that even with the horses moving as fast as their legs could carry them, they would not be able to make the camp in time to help the Kiowa. His only hope was that White Buffalo’s camp hadn’t been caught by surprise. He slowed his horse and pressed his hands against his temples, attempting to stop the unbearable pounding in his head.
He slowed so abruptly that Gray Eagle sped by his uncle. When he turned his horse around, he saw his uncle once again looking towards the heavens. He also couldn’t help but notice Running Elk’s expression was blank.
“We must continue,” Gray Eagle urged excitedly.
“We cannot leave Kicking Bird with no word on our whereabouts,” he reminded his overenthusiastic nephew.
“But if I go back, there will be no one to help you,” he objected.
“Gray Eagle, it hurts my heart to admit this but there is nothing ten warriors can do, let alone the two of us. The distance is too vast, and the battle is more than likely already ending. I will ride ahead and see if there is anything I can do. When you meet up with your father, tell him what has taken place and return to our camp. I will return soon.”
Running Elk knew by Gray Eagle’s expression that the young man wanted to argue. It was obvious that he was concerned about Running Elk. Running Elk was concerned himself. He had never heard his own voice sound so broken.
“Will you be all right?” he asked meekly, clearly not wanting to anger Running Elk but intending to show his concern.
“At least this will be an end,” Running Elk answered.
“You think they are dead, don’t you?” he asked in horror.
“I know she is out of my reach, yet again,” Running Elk admitted.
“Ride as fast as you can to her and your son. Do not give up now!” Gray Eagle implored, trying to keep his excited pony under control.
“I will not stop until I reach the Kiowa camp. And I will meet up with you two later,” Running Elk said, spurring his horse forward with his moccasin-covered feet.
***
Gray Eagle sat atop his ride and watched his uncle quickly depart. He listened for the gunfire he’d mistaken for thunder, but the wind had changed direction.
“May the gods be with you, uncle,” he said in a normal tone, hoping the wind would carry his words to Running Elk’s ears.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Running Elk was holding Alexandria closel
y and confessing his love when a loud noise interrupted the peacefulness and yanked her from her dream. The noise was incredibly loud. As much as she wanted the noise to be nothing more than angry thunder, she knew it was not. She could hear the cries of the other women. The sounds of a battle beyond the skin of the tipi quickly brought her to her senses and pulled her from her dream-like state. Pulling the buffalo robe around her naked body, she carefully pulled back the flap, fearing the worst.
What she witnessed was total panic. Women were running in all directions with screaming babies in their arms. Hastily-armed warriors were quickly mounting their horses. Her newfound kin were falling all around her as she tried to make sense of the scene. What was happening and why? It was clear that she must abandon the camp and put as much distance as she could between the melee and Little Eagle. When she didn’t see Abigail, she grabbed her clothes, picked up the wide-eyed Little Eagle, and ran outside with him.
Not sure what to do, she headed straight for the tree line as fast as she could move, still not grasping what was happening. She could hear the women screaming about the white soldiers but couldn’t figure out why the cavalry was firing on the Kiowa. As soon as she felt safely hidden among the foliage, Abigail suddenly appeared next to her. Alexandria, in her frightened state, was startled. She took a firm grip on the girl’s sleeve.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay in the tipi?” Alexandria asked as she pulled her friend deeper into the trees and away from the soldiers’ eyes.
“I dreamt of Standing Bear. In the dream, he told me to find a place for us to hide. I did what he demanded, not really believing we were in any danger. But now I realize he was sending me a vision. He is still looking over you, Alexandria.”
“What is happening?” Alexandria asked, full of fear, as she situated her son in her arms.
“The soldiers are here,” Abigail answered flatly.
“I can see that. But why?”
“Because we don’t live on reservation land. After this, the ones they capture will be forced to live there. We can only hope most of the warriors escape. I don’t think the soldiers will search us out. We should be safe. I will not go back to the white man’s civilization, Alexandria. I cannot.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Alexandria said, trying to stop the tears from falling. “Why are they trying to kill us? We were sleeping.”
“We are considered hostiles. They do not care whether we were sleeping or not. Now stay still and do not look out there. You don’t want to witness the killing,” Abigail said in a barely audible voice.
Alexandria wrapped Little Eagle to her chest with leather straps, knowing she would need to be as unrestricted in her movements as possible.
After a short time, the gunfire grew louder, and the screams quieted. The cries of war were replaced by the cold barking of orders from the white commander telling his men to stand down and capture those who remained. The smell of burning wood and fur was thick in the air, and English words replaced the native tongue. Alexandria strained to hear what was being said. It seemed strange that her own language could sound so foreign to her. She had to concentrate to make sense of rapid-fire commands and banter between the men.
One particularly loud voice said something about white women being in the camp. He ordered that they be found and put in the wagons away from the savages.
Alexandria was having a difficult time understanding how the soldier could call the Kiowa savages. The soldiers were the savages. The battle was over before it could begin. The only savages present were the ones who had entered the sleeping camp armed to the teeth. Knowing that a number of the warriors had been able to escape the carnage gladdened her heart. She considered anyone who had gotten away lucky. The hatred she was feeling toward her own people was unprecedented.
***
During the next couple of hours, the sound of the soldiers preparing to move their captives could be heard. The rattling of chains made it evident that the soldiers were untrusting of their prisoners.
The soldiers offered the white women horses. Alexandria could hear them refuse, saying that they would rather walk. The rejection was answered harshly, and they were unceremoniously thrown onto the horses.
Alexandria and Abigail were starting to breathe a little easier when the soldiers began to depart. Alexandria let out a sigh of relief. As if Little Eagle sensed her relief, he cried out. She held his head to her body in an attempt to suppress his cry and kissed him gently on the head.
“I know they heard that,” Abigail whispered. “We have to run. They know we are here. They will come for us,” she said, attempting to pull Alexandria deeper in the woods. Her words were quiet, but her voice was terrified.
Alexandria didn’t move. Instead, she reached for Abigail and took her friend’s face in her hands. “No, we will not go with you. They know about me and Little Eagle, but not you. You’ve said it yourself; you do not want to go back,” Alexandria said with urgency in her voice.
“But they will not allow Little …” Abigail began to object.
“Come on out, or I’ll start shootin’,” a masculine voice yelled, interrupting Abigail in midsentence.
“Go. I will raise my son right. Run, my friend,” Alexandria whispered as she neared the break in the trees. “Don’t shoot me, I’m white,” she called out, her acquired native accent becoming evident for the first time.
“You don’t sound white,” the voice said, sarcasm thick in its tone.
“I have been with the Kiowa a long time,” she explained as she broke into the open. “I am white.”
Her words were spoken in defiance.
The dumbfounded soldier backed away from her and let her pass without saying a word. She looked around her home and saw the destruction caused by the invasion. Lodgepoles that, only hours earlier, had held homes erect were burnt to the ground. The bodies of her tribesmen cluttered what used to be a peaceful encampment. Flies gathered around the dead, and crows were circling above. Alexandria choked back the bile in her throat and held tightly to her son. As she walked past the carnage and charred belongings, she felt a hand cautiously touch her shoulder.
“Ma’am, my name is Captain Percival Armstrong,” the tall, athletic, blue-eyed soldier greeted, removing his hat. Long blond hair fell past his shoulders. “And, your name is?” he asked from a slightly bowed position.
Alexandria couldn’t decide if the man was being serious in his gallantry or if he was playing some kind of cruel joke on her.
She stood in front of him, rocking her body back and forth in a subconscious manner to sooth Little Eagle. The captain stayed semi bent and patiently waited for her answer.
“I am called Alexandria Standish,” she answered, watching him suspiciously.
“Ma’am, I am pleased to meet you. Is that your child?” he asked, peering at the sleeping baby securely wrapped to Alexandria’s chest.
She backed a step away before answering. “Yes. He is my son. His name is Little Eagle,” she proclaimed proudly, pulling the blanket away from the child’s face.
“He is a good lookin’ boy,” Captain Armstrong stated. “Can ya ride and hold him at the same time?”
“I believe the chore is one I can handle with ease. I have lived among the Kiowa long enough to learn simple tasks,” she said, walking toward the horses.
“Then go ahead and pick one out,” the captain said, pointing towards the herd. “And you are more than welcome to ride with me if you’d like,” he offered, sounding as if he thought he were being generous.
Alexandria scanned the herd until she spotted one of Standing Bear’s horses. She walked towards it, gently petted his neck, and blew a puff of air into his nostrils. The horse responded with a nod and knelt slightly, allowing her to climb onto his back easily.
Once she was settled, she addressed the officer’s proposal. “I would prefer to ride at the back. I have many memories to clear from my mind,” she admitted quietly as she rode away from the captain.
From her vantage point at the rear of the pack, she counted over a hundred Kiowas being taken to the reservation against their will. Alexandria looked down at her son who was awake and grabbing at his father’s necklace. “I will give you the best life I can,” she vowed as her eyes filled with tears.
***
The journey gave her time to consider her split-second decision to surrender. She worried that she might have caused undue hardship on her half-native child. It was difficult to stay positive with soldiers yelling at the proud but weary people to keep up and stay in line. She was so deep in thought that she failed to realize Captain Armstrong was riding beside her.
“Ma’am, I’m just checkin’ to make sure you’re doing all right,” he said, tipping his hat once again when she acknowledged his presence.
He surprised her with a heart-stopping smile. His voice was deep and velvety and unquestionably Southern. Along with his shiny hair, sleepy eyes, and beautiful smile, he had a nicely groomed mustache and goatee. She shuddered when she realized he was the perfect white man.
“Captain, I am not all right.” Alexandria spoke after a long silence. “I love and respect these people and what you are doing is wrong.”
The captain looked at her in surprise. “All I’m doin’ is following orders. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less. It’s my job.”
“How can you do a job that includes killing women and children?” she asked angrily, not caring if he was upset.
“I don’t, but my men can sometimes get out of control. I will do my level best to discipline the men who did the unnecessary killin’,” he informed her.
She knew there would be no punishment for anyone except the Kiowa.
“Tell me this, Captain. Do you believe taking their land is the right thing to do?”
“You’re asking a personal question, ma’am. I am unable to answer that now. I’ll be happy to discuss that with you when we stop for the night. That is as close to being off duty as it gets,” he said, smiling again.
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