Hawk and Iris stood with their arms around each other, surely feeling alone against the world in spite of being surrounded by a loving, supportive family. The preacher finished his eulogy, and each family member threw a handful of dirt and some flowers on top of the wooden coffin. Abbie turned to Jeremy. “I’m worried about Hawk. At his age, he could turn this hurt into a rebellion that could make him choose all the wrong ways in life.”
“You leave Hawk to me,” he told her. “Wolf’s Blood wanted them to live with me for a while. Now, with this happening, I intend to make their stay permanent. I never had children of my own, but as far as I am concerned, I now have a son and a daughter, and I intend to do right by them. I made some promises to my brother; I intend to keep them. It’s the only way I can make up for …” He choked up and had to turn away. For the next few minutes all those present consoled each other, embracing, weeping, surviving another family tragedy only through the comfort of those family members left.
“I hate those men!” Hawk sobbed. “I hate them all! The people who stood and watched and didn’t do anything! The people who think my father should be arrested and hanged! Those men all deserved to die, even if they didn’t do the shooting. They all started the trouble!”
Abbie could just picture it. Dan had explained what had happened, and from his army days of fighting Indians, and certainly from knowing Zeke and Wolf’s Blood, he well knew the viciousness and quick vengeance they were capable of rendering. He’d seen both of them in action; so had Abbie. She could just imagine how swiftly Wolf’s Blood had killed the men who had started all of this. It would be a natural reflex for someone like him, still the warrior at heart. Soldiers were searching for him now, determined to bring in the “savage” who had killed three white men, scalped two of them; but Abbie knew they would not find him. Men like Wolf’s Blood could hide forever in country like this.
“What you have to do now, Hawk, is use this experience the way your father would want you to use it,” Jeremy told the boy.
Hawk shivered, wiping at his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I think you already know. We’ve had some good talks. I know Denver is a strange, new world for you and Iris, and you’ve only just begun to get to know Mary and me, but your father asked you to come stay with us after the reunion for a reason.” He grasped Hawk’s shoulders, thinking how he looked older than his fourteen years. He was going to be a big, strong man, like his father and grandfather. “Wolf’s Blood asked me to look after you and Iris if anything happened to him. Even if life had remained normal, he wanted you to come stay with me when you were a little older. He wanted you to go to college.”
Hawk sniffed, his head hanging. “I know, but I’m not sure why. A man doesn’t need college to run a ranch on an Indian reservation.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true anymore, Hawk, as big as some ranches are getting. A man has to keep books, run a ranch intelligently, or he can lose everything. But that isn’t what we’re talking about here. You know we’re talking about something much more important than ranching. After this, you know in your heart your father won’t want you to just go back to the reservation and live the ordinary life of a reservation Indian. Nor does he want you to be full of hatred and do something foolish. You know what he really wants of you, Hawk, and it’s very important for you to carry out his wishes.”
The rest of the family gathered around the boy and his sister, wanting to lend their support in any way they could.
Hawk shook his head. “I don’t really want to live in Denver. I like you and your wife, Uncle Jeremy, but I just want to be at the ranch for a while.”
“That’s fine. I understand that. Still, eventually you have to come to Denver and get some higher schooling.”
“I’m not smart enough—”
“Oh, yes you are. You’re plenty smart, Hawk, smart enough to understand why your father wants you to get an education. It’s just another way to be a warrior, Hawk.”
The boy blinked back more tears, meeting Jeremy’s gaze. “A warrior? How?”
New hope shone in his dark eyes, and Abbie was proud of Jeremy for choosing just the right words to get the boy’s attention.
“By fighting a different way,” Jeremy told Hawk. “Your father and grandfather did their fighting under old rules, in a time when a man could do those things. But your father’s life has extended into a time when those ways don’t work anymore. For fighting under the old rules, your father will have to spend his life in hiding. He wants his son to learn the way of the warrior, but the way that can truly help his people, a new way—with legal action and the courts, Hawk. There are several good law schools in this country, and I can afford to send you to any of them. There are good colleges right in Denver and in Fort Collins. From now on whatever happens to American Indians is going to be decided in courtrooms and Congress. Indians will need educated people from their own ranks to speak for them, people who know their way around the government bureaucracy, who know the law and how to use it to their benefit. Education is the new way for the warrior, Hawk, and that is what your father wants for you. He told me so. He asked me to make sure you learn this new way. He taught you the Cheyenne way, and your great-uncle, Swift Arrow, can continue to teach you Cheyenne customs and beliefs. Those you should always keep in your heart. But I can teach you another way to be a warrior!” He squeezed the boy’s shoulders tighter. “Believe me, Hawk, a pen can be as mighty a weapon as your father’s Bowie knife. A legal document can be as effective as a lance or tomahawk. Education can be your weapon, the same as a rifle. It can be your firepower!”
Hawk stood there shaking, and Abbie pulled Iris into her arms, watching her son and grandson.
“I … miss my father,” Hawk said, his lips trembling.
“I damn well know that, Hawk. You have no idea—” Jeremy stopped, a sob engulfing him. He pulled the boy into his arms. “No idea how well I understand … what it’s like to miss a father.”
Abbie closed her eyes, pressing Iris tightly against her bosom.
“I’ll be your father for a while,” Jeremy told Hawk. “Yours and your sister’s, and Mary will be your mother. She’s waiting in Denver right now, hoping you’ll both come back soon. She would dearly love to do some mothering, and what better children to take into your home than your own niece and nephew? I owe your father … so much, Hawk. Let me do this. And at the same time, you’ll be doing what your father wants. You’ll be a true warrior, in the only way left for a man to fight his battles.”
Hawk pulled away, looking from Jeremy to his grandmother, then to Swift Arrow, a perfect example of a mighty warrior of old. Swift Arrow’s eyes were bloodshot from tears, but he managed a smile of reassurance, nodding his head. “Your uncle Jeremy is right, nexahe. Be a Dog Soldier in this new way, and you will bring honor to your people. You will prove how smart and wily a Cheyenne warrior can be. You will count coup in the new way. The struggle is not yet over. There are many things still not settled, especially for the Sioux. Perhaps there is a way you can help not only the Cheyenne, but also other tribes. We must all stay together now, fight as one Nation. And you can help in situations like the one affecting your aunt Margaret and your cousin, Zeke. Such wrongs should not be allowed. It will take men like you to right them.”
Hawk thought about it for several quiet seconds. He looked beyond the graveyard at the distant hills. His father was out there somewhere, running from the law when he shouldn’t have to. His cousin Zeke was lying badly injured, just for loving a white girl; his grandma’s ranch was in jeopardy because of a white man who thought he could defy the new laws. His father hated men like Carson Temple, and those who now sought to hang him. For a brief moment he thought he could hear war drums, singing, bells jingling, rhythmic dancing. He could feel his father standing near him, hear his whispered words. Do this for me, my son, so that my vengeance will send a message and my loneliness will be relieved.
“Do you think I’ll ever see my father again?” he a
sked his grandma, Abbie.
She kept an arm around Iris. “Oh, yes, you will see him. He’ll find a way. And he’ll want to know you’ve done what he wants.”
Hawk looked back at Jeremy. “I’ll come to Denver. First I want to go home, though, see the ranch again, decide what to bring with me. There are horses to sell.”
“I have stables,” Jeremy told him. “Keep your own favorites for yourself and Iris, and bring them to Denver.”
Hawk looked at his sister. “Will you go?”
The girl left her grandmother’s arms and hugged her brother. “I want to go wherever you are, Hawk.” She wept.
Hawk turned his gaze to Jeremy again. “We’ll all go up to the reservation first. Grandma Abbie has to get the deed. Will you come? See my father’s ranch? His horses?”
Jeremy nodded. “I would be honored.”
Hawk kissed his sister’s cheek and turned back to look at the grave, then walked over to Dan and Emily. “I’m sorry,” he said, new tears forming. “It wasn’t father’s fault.”
“I know that,” Dan told him. “At least Emily and I have each other. You do what you have to do. Going to live with Jeremy is a wise decision.”
They all paid their last respects and left the graveyard. Dan and Emily were the last to go. They laid wildflowers on top of the casket, and Dan thought back over the many years he’d lived in this land, sometimes fighting Indians, always respecting them. His first wife, Jennifer’s mother, had been too fragile to bear up under army life, but Jennifer had been strong. She’d loved Wolf’s Blood since she was a little girl. It wasn’t fair that she’d been able to share only a few months with him as his wife.
Reluctantly he turned and left. They would all stay the night here in Cheyenne at LeeAnn and Joshua’s home, then leave for the reservation.
No one saw the wolf. It hunkered down at a distance, hiding behind a gravestone … waiting. As soon as they were gone it came closer, sniffed around the fresh mound of dirt, then lay down across the grave, whining.
Eleven
“Son, you aren’t well enough to go.”
“Mother, I cannot put it off any longer. I’ve been two weeks healing, and I have no broken bones.” Zeke looked into a mirror, setting a wide-brimmed hat on his dark hair. He was washed and shaved, wore a clean shirt, denim pants and boots. He’d packed only three changes of clothes, nothing fancy, one extra pair of boots and gear for shaving and washing. He would pack a blanket roll and his sheepskin jacket on his horse, and he would take along money he’d saved from over the years, mostly what Morgan felt he deserved to be paid for his part in tending the ranch. Morgan had given him more, and though he hated to take it, he knew he would need it until he found work somewhere. “I’ll pay Father back just as fast as I can. I know you’re hurting for money. If Carson Temple hadn’t burned down the feed shed and all that hay we had stored in it last fall, you wouldn’t have had to buy so much feed and oats for the winter.”
“We’ll make do, Zeke. I’ll feel better knowing you can buy yourself decent meals and rooming.”
“I won’t need more than an open campfire and soft grass most of the time, till winter sets in at least.” He turned to face his mother, hated the look of agony in her eyes. “Things will work out somehow, Mother. When Grandma Abbie gets back with that deed, and with me gone, this place will be saved. Once I decide what to do with my life, find a way to”—how could he ever forget Georgie?—“a way to get over Georgeanne, I’ll come back.” He pulled on a leather vest. “By then Georgeanne will have forgotten all about me, most likely. She’ll probably go back East once she finds out I’m gone, end up marrying someone else.”
“You won’t try to see her first?”
He picked up his carpetbag from the bed, then reached over and took up his rifle. “It’s best I don’t, not just because her father would probably shoot me on sight, but because if I see her again…. I might not be able to leave after all, and the trouble will start all over again.” He stepped closer, leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Mother, for putting you through this.”
She straightened proudly. “You are not the one who should be sorry. We know whose fault this is, and someday he will pay. One thing is sure, he’ll never touch Monroe land!”
Their eyes held, both hating having to part. Zeke was not about to admit how afraid he was, leaving home for the first time, how much he’d miss his parents and brothers. Reminding himself this was for them, he walked past his mother and went outside, tying his gear onto Indian and shoving his rifle into its boot. He knew how to use it well, and he could hunt, had camped under the stars many times. Hell, he was part Indian. His grandfather had lived like one for years. Even Grandma Abbie had. If they could do that, so could he.
Georgie! That was the hard part. He’d ride off and probably never see her again, and that was a hurt worse than any he’d ever known. It would probably even be a long time before he saw his grandma again. What if she died while he was gone? He couldn’t think about that. He had to do this. Grandma Abbie would understand. She’d be with him in spirit.
Margaret came out of the house with a gunnysack. “Tie this on. It’s full of food—potatoes, bread, things like that.”
He fought the tears that wanted to come and tied the sack onto the horse. Morgan came from the barn, leading two of his finest horses, a sturdy roan gelding and an Appaloosa. Nathan and Lance hurried along beside him as he approached Zeke. He handed over the ends of the ropes tied around the horses’ necks. “Take them with you, son. You can use them for pack horses if you need more gear later for something, and they’re valuable. If you get to hurting for money, you can sell them. Or, Indian could go lame for some reason. If he does, you’ll have another horse to ride.”
Zeke felt stunned at the offer. The two horses were worth at least five hundred dollars. “Father, you’ve given me enough.”
Morgan studied the lingering scabs on his son’s face. “Not near enough, son.” He handed out the ropes. “I love you, Zeke Brown, more than any man can love a son. I wish I could change all of this for you.” His eyes teared. “It’s not going to be the same around here without you.”
Zeke swallowed, nodding. “I love you, too, Father. You know how much. It’s because I love you so much that I’m going.” He turned and tied the ropes to his saddle horn, then reached out to embrace his father. The two men hugged for several long seconds, neither wanting to let go. It was the same with Zeke and his mother. He turned to Nathan then. “You’re the oldest now. Help our father. Keep the place going, Nathan. I’m sorry I’ve caused you to have to do more work.”
“It’s okay, Zeke. Please write, though. Let me know what it’s like out there.”
Zeke then picked up Lance, who did not fully understand why his brother was going away or that it would probably be for a very long time. “You help Mother and Father, Lance, and be a good boy for them. Promise me.”
Lance nodded, his lips puckered, wanting to cry but not sure why. “ ’Bye, Zeke. Bring me something when you come home.”
You might be a man by the time I come home, Zeke thought. “I will,” he answered. He set the boy down, took one more look at his parents and brothers, then turned and mounted up. He undid the ropes tied to his saddle horn and held them in one hand, taking the reins to Indian in the other. The memory of racing Indian against Georgeanne’s Princess stabbed at his heart. He hadn’t really known her all that long, just long enough to know he loved her.
It had to be done now. He’d made his decision. “God be with you.”
“We’ll be praying for you, Zeke,” Margaret told him, shivering with the need to weep.
“I know you will.” He looked at Morgan, but there was nothing left to say. It was all there in his father’s eyes, and he hoped this parting was not such a strain on the man that he would take sick over it. Morgan Brown had never been anything but strong, robust; had never had a sick day in his life. But he was not getting any younger, and Zeke knew how
much this hurt him. “Just remember the important thing is not to let Carson Temple win. He gave his word that if I left, and if you could prove ownership, he’d leave this place alone. I’m giving him time to prove he’ll keep his word. Grandma Abbie said Grandpa Zeke always used to promise to come back when he had to leave her. His blood runs in my veins, and I’m telling you I’ll be back. Maybe I’ll be a rich man when I come back, and we’ll buy up all of Carson Temple’s land.”
He grinned, glad to see the remark had brought smiles to his parents’ faces, although there was a great sadness behind the smiles. He turned his horse. He had to leave before he cried like a little boy. This was a time to put behind him all childish things, including a young love that was probably best forgotten. He rode off, heading up the road that meandered over the hill toward Pueblo. He would not look back. It would be too much to bear, seeing his parents still standing there. “Help me, Grandpa,” he whispered. “Help me know what to do, where to go.” A great temptation to see Georgeanne first ripped through him almost violently, but he knew that was the worst thing he could do. He had to let go. He had to forget. She’d hate him for leaving without a word, but it had to be done.
The tears came then, but he kept riding.
Wolf’s Blood shivered. Even in summer the mountains were cold at night, and all he had was the horse he’d taken the day he fled Cheyenne, all his baggage left behind. He had no coat, and the only blanket on the horse he’d stolen was the saddle blanket. It was all he had now to keep him warm at night.
He considered the horse itself rather worthless. It could not compare to the beautiful, near-perfect ones he bred at his own ranch … but he would never be able to go home now. This horse would do until he reached Montana. Somehow he had to get back to the ranch to take a couple of his own best horses and get some supplies, if he could sneak in there without being caught. Soldiers stationed around the reservation would probably be watching the ranch with keen eyes, but then, many times he had snuck up on soldiers without being spotted, in the days of making war. He knew how to move without making a sound, how to make himself blend in with the brush and the rocks. He shared the spirit of the wolf, cunning, silent. He would find a way. Maybe he could even see Hawk and Iris once more.
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