Thirteen
1890 …
Abbie held up her new grandson for Swift Arrow to see. “Jonathan Morgan Monroe,” she said with a happy smile. “A fine, healthy son for Jason and Louellen. Jason delivered him himself.”
Swift Arrow nodded, touching the baby’s cheek lightly. “Another little piece of Zeke Monroe.”
Abbie felt the little pain in her chest that always came at the thought of Zeke. “He knows about this baby,” she answered. “Let’s take Jonathan outside. Jason is still tending to Louellen, and trying to get over the shock of having his own son!” She laughed lightly and wrapped a blanket around the baby, carrying him outside, glad for Jason and Louellen, who seemed so happy.
This new baby reminded Abbie that life went on, helped replace the loneliness she’d known over the past three years since Wolf’s Blood left and everyone else moved to Denver. Hawk had completed three years of high school and would next attend the University of Colorado in Boulder to begin his study of law. He hoped to go on from there to Harvard. Never had she been more proud than when he passed the exams required to enter the university. How proud Wolf’s Blood would be to know how far his son had already come! Her letters from Hawk told of a young man astounded at the kind of life people led in Denver, at what he’d learned about the government, what he already knew about law.
He was surrounded by a much different way of life, a different class of people, and he was learning how to deal with them, a valuable lesson that would help him fight for Indian rights when he got his degree.
Father always told me you have to gauge your enemy, he’d written in one letter. He always wanted me to learn the warrior way, and I am doing just that, but in a way far different than what he meant. Father used to say he learned how to sneak up on the enemy, how to fool him, wage counter attacks, when to attack and when to hold back. I also am learning those things. I will one day use them in a courtroom.
She would see both Hawk and Iris soon, for she planned a visit to Denver. Iris was sixteen now, and she had met a young man who was apparently an excellent carpenter and was making a good amount of money in a fast-growing city. What was interesting about the situation was that the young man was Mexican. Abbie could not help smiling every time she thought of it. If they should marry, could any family claim the blood of more different races than the Monroes? What made it even more humorous was the fact that Iris was half Apache, and the Mexicans and Apaches had warred for centuries, bitter enemies.
“I am so anxious to meet Raphael,” she told Swift Arrow as she sat down on a porch swing. Jason and Louellen lived in a pleasant little four-room, frame house on the reservation, just a short walk away from the building that served as the doctor’s office and the small hospital. “And you must be anxious to see Hawk and Iris again.”
Swift Arrow sat down beside her, saying nothing for a moment as they rocked gently. He stared out at the horizon, and Abbie frowned, studying him closely. He had aged considerably over the last couple of years, and she knew the sedate life he led on the reservation was slowly killing him.
“My dear husband, did you hear anything I just said?”
“Hmmm?” He looked at her, love in his eyes, a rather sad smile on his lips. “I heard.”
Abbie cuddled the baby close and bounced him lightly when he began to fuss. “Let me guess,” she said. “You are wishing you were up in the wilds of Canada with Wolf’s Blood.”
He nodded. “I wish it sometimes, but that is not what I am thinking about now. I am thinking about all this talk concerning the Sioux and what is happening in the Black Hills, this new religion they have taken to heart.”
Abbie knew a prickle of alarm. “The Ghost Dance religion.” She sighed deeply. “It is supposedly harmless. They preach peace, nonviolence.”
Swift Arrow rose. “They believe if they dance and sing long enough, old loved ones will rise and rejoin them. They will become strong again. The white man will give up and go away, and the buffalo will return. They wear ghost shirts that they believe bullets cannot penetrate. The scouts say they dance and sing all day and night, taking turns so that the singing and drumming never stop.”
Abbie’s alarm moved deeper, turning into dread. “Do you believe all that? That the dead will return? The buffalo will return? That a simple cotton shirt can stop a bullet?”
He stared into the horizon for a very long time before answering. “I would like to believe it. I would like to go there and see what this religion is all about. If nothing else, it is bringing hope to the Sioux. Great hope. Even joy. It would be good to dance with them, sing the old songs, listen to the drumming, feel truly Indian again.”
Abbie rocked the baby quietly, awakened to the reality that her husband was a full-blood Cheyenne, that he needed to experience the old ways in order to feel alive. He was Indian enough to actually believe in this new religion. She had never been able to fully Christianize him. “I have talked to Agent Wilder about what’s going on there, and he says it isn’t good, Swift Arrow. The white settlers are very much alarmed. They think all the drumming and dancing means the Sioux are preparing to break loose and go to war again. More soldiers have been sent in, and there is bound to be trouble if they keep this up.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I suppose, like your brother, you intend to be right there in the middle of things. You want to go, don’t you?”
He turned to face her, apology in his eyes. “I thought perhaps I would when you go to Denver. You know I would be unhappy in a place like Denver. I do not wish to go there, but it is right that you should go and see your children and grandchildren.”
Abbie felt sudden tears wanting to come. “If you go to the Black Hills, Swift Arrow, you won’t come back. You won’t ever come back.”
“You do not know that.”
“Oh, yes I do!” She stood up and gently laid the baby into the swing, then turned to face her husband squarely. “I know it as sure as I am standing here. There is going to be trouble, and you damn well know it! You intend to be right there in the middle of all the action. If there is one tiny bit of hope that you can be a warrior one more time, that you can fight like the Dog Soldier you are, that you can let out one more war cry and wield a weapon just once more, you will take it. And if you can die that way, you will welcome it!”
Their eyes held in a strange challenge, and for a brief moment she saw it there in his own dark eyes—the Indian, the proud, demanding man who would tell his woman to stay out of his affairs … the Swift Arrow who taken a small whip to her when she’d lived among the Cheyenne and had dared to sneak a look at the sacred arrows. He was angry, but the squint to his eyes from that anger suddenly softened, and a hint of a smile moved across his mouth. That was when Abbie realized he knew what she was really telling him.
“It would be a good way to die, don’t you think?” he said. “Zeke also chose a good way to die.”
Abbie stiffened. She had known since she married this man that this day would come. “I would not stop you.”
He gently brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “I always knew I have only been here to get you through the worst of it, my Abbie. First there was the awful sorrow of losing Zeke. You needed someone to fill the emptiness, someone who reminded you of the only man you have ever truly loved. I did that for you, and I loved you as dearly as Zeke did. But I am even more Indian than he was, and all these changes are more than I can bear. I do not know if this is the answer, but at least if I go there, I can be Indian again. I can dance, sing, pray to my own god, feel the spirits of the animals and grandmother earth creep into my very bones.” His eyes teared. “You are among the few with white blood who can understand what I am telling you. Your children, all except Wolf’s Blood, belong to a new world, as do the grandchildren. I have done my part here in teaching the young ones about the old ways. I miss those old ways. I wish to return to them, if but for a little while.”
Abbie nodded. “I will stay here another month or so with the new baby and help Lo
uellen. Will you stay that long?”
He nodded. “I will stay.”
“When I go to Denver, perhaps I’ll stay through the winter. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Jeremy and LeeAnn, the children. I’d like to spend time with them, maybe even go to the ranch again for a while.”
Both knew the truth. Once they parted, it could be forever. “You are the only woman I have ever truly loved, Abigail Monroe. You—a white woman. You were my only weakness.”
“We have had good years together,” she answered. “But I know your place is here, among your people, or in the Black Hills, where you lived and rode with the Sioux for so many years. I suppose it is right that we go our separate ways. We will always … be together in spirit, Swift Arrow, just as we feel Zeke with us, and Wolf’s Blood and all those who have left us over the years through death and change.”
The baby began to fuss, and Abbie looked down at him, smiling through her tears at his dark red skin and the shock of straight, black hair that surrounded his round little face. “Maybe it will be easier for the tiny ones who never knew the old ways.” She looked back at her husband. “Ne-mehotatse, Swift Arrow. You brought me strength and love when I needed it most.”
He drew her into his arms. “And you did the same for me.”
“Hey, you two, where’s that son of mine? It sounds to me as though he needs some nourishment, and his mother is anxious to give it to him.” Jason stepped outside, a proud grin on his face. It faded when he saw the tears in the eyes of his mother and uncle. “What’s wrong?”
Abbie put on a smile. “Nothing. We’re just happy about having another son in the family.” She took the baby from the bench and handed him to Jason, thinking what a grand mixture this youngest son of hers was, with his dark skin and high cheekbones, mixed in with sandy hair and blue eyes. “Raise him up to be a proud Cheyenne man, Jason.”
He took the baby into his arms, grinning again. “You know I will. Come inside. Maybe you can cook up some soup or something for Louellen. She’s doing great, already says she’s hungry.”
He went back in with the squalling baby, and Abbie leaned against Swift Arrow. He moved his arms around her from behind and kissed the top of her head. “And so life goes on,” he told her. “It is good. For every sorrow there is something also to celebrate. Wolf’s Blood is free in Canada, we have heard from Zeke and know that he is working at a sawmill in the mountains of Colorado, learning a new way of life. I will go to the Black Hills, and I will be who I must be—Swift Arrow, a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. I will sing and dance again, feel the power of the spirits, be the Indian that I am. It is all for the best, Abigail. From here on we can only accept what comes to us and be glad for what we have had.”
She turned, and he kissed her tenderly. “Thank you for being the understanding woman that you are.”
She ran her hands over his shoulders, still so strong for his age. “I never tried to stop Zeke, and I won’t try to stop you.” She leaned up and kissed him again, then went inside, needing to make herself busy so she would not break into tears she’d be unable to stop.
Swift Arrow sighed deeply, turning again to look across the horizon to the east, feeling drawn by the new religion and by old customs. It was as though wild things were calling him, ghosts from the past. He could hear the singing, feel the drumming, and he knew that he must go.
Haydon Seger studied the map spread out on a huge stump, gauging the best area to be clear-cut next. With Denver and the surrounding area growing so fast, there seemed to be an endless demand for lumber, and a man who knew how to log the trees could make a fortune, which was exactly what he was doing. A few people were beginning to protest that he shouldn’t strip this mountain clean, but the United States government and those in charge of this state, as well as those who wanted cheap lumber, found nothing wrong with cutting every tree in sight. After all, more would grow back.
He tried to determine exactly where he was now and which area he should have his men start on next. A new flume would have to be built, or some kind of chute, depending on the water supply on the mountain. He mapped out another section while the loggers changed shifts, looking up when a shadow loomed over the map as someone came closer and blocked out the sunlight. He squinted, recognizing Zeke Brown, who stood in front of him holding an axe over one shoulder. “Afternoon, Zeke. Something I can help you with?”
Zeke nodded. “Yes, sir, at least I think so.” Zeke liked Haydon Seger well enough—he was a fair man with his laborers—but Zeke didn’t care for the man’s attitude toward clear-cutting. It sickened him to see whole forests stripped away, and he felt even worse for being among the crew of loggers who did the dirty work. But it was good, hard work, something that kept him busy and tired. He’d gotten into it to keep his mind off of Georgeanne, had stayed in it because it was building him up physically and spiritually. He’d grown a little taller and was well muscled now, and working in the mountain forests had made him feel closer to nature. He liked the smells, the sounds, even liked the danger of the work. Most of all he liked the fact that land which had been clear-cut could be bought cheap. “I need your advice, sir.”
Seger leaned back in a wooden chair, setting a rock on the map so it couldn’t blow away. His big belly pushed at the buttons of his flannel shirt and hid the front of his leather belt; his chubby face sported a stubble of a beard. Zeke could tell the man had once been tough and well muscled, but he’d let himself go now that he was a boss instead of a worker. “Fire away, boy.”
Zeke lowered the axe, leaning on its handle. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know most of this is government land, and sometimes it can be bought cheap once it’s been forested. Is that true?”
Seger took a pipe from one shirt pocket and a tin of tobacco from the other “For the most part.” He opened the lid of the tin and tapped some tobacco into the pipe bowl. “Some of it is private land already,” he added, packing the tobacco tighter before adding more. “But most of it is government land.”
“How would I go about buying some?”
Seger replaced the tobacco tin and flicked a match, lighting the pipe.
“Well, you just go to the nearest land office, which in this case would be down in Fort Collins, and they can tell you what’s available. Remember that in most of these mountains water is hard to come by, except for winter runoff, and once the land has been clear-cut, it’s not worth much. You can’t farm it, and you’re stuck with hundreds, maybe thousands of stumps, depending on how many acres you want.”
“I’m not worried about that. I happen to think all this land is going to be worth a lot someday, the more the area is settled. Even if that doesn’t happen, I just want something to call my own. I don’t have much, but I do have a bit of money saved, enough to buy some cheap government land.”
Seger looked him over, thinking what a strapping young man he was. Few of his crew were built quite like Zeke Brown, pure brawny power, yet he was a quiet, rather humble man who didn’t go around bragging about his muscle like some of the others. He kept to himself, didn’t drink, hadn’t even visited the camp whores more than once or twice in the three years he’d been here. He was one of Seger’s hardest working men. “I hate to see you leave us, Zeke. I’d have to hire two or three more men to make up for you.”
Zeke grinned bashfully. “I didn’t say I’d quit right away. I’d just like some time off to look into it. In a couple of years I’d have enough money saved to get something going, raise horses maybe. I’m not sure yet.”
Seger puffed on the pipe for a moment. “Well, if anybody can make something out of land that’s been clear-cut, I have a feeling you could. Go ahead and take a few days. Just be sure to try to get a little flatland along with it. For the next few years it’s the farmland that’s going to be worth something; then later, land with a good view of the mountains will be in demand, you mark my words. There are already folks who come out here from the East for their summer vacations just to look. They’ve been going to Ye
llowstone up in Wyoming for a long time now, and every year more come, searching for new sights to see. There’s plenty of rich folks back East willing to pay just to look at a mountain.”
Zeke nodded. “I’ll remember that. Thank you, sir. I’ll leave tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
“Do what you have to do. Say, how old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-one, sir.”
Seger looked him over again, thinking how very dark he was. Maybe he was a descendant of some foreigner, Italian or Irish. He’d seen some Irishmen who were very dark. “You got family hereabouts, boy?”
Zeke nodded. “East of Pueblo—my parents and two brothers run a ranch there.”
Seger’s eyebrows arched in surprise. No ignorant immigrants from another country would already be running a ranch in Colorado. “They Mexican or Indian or something like that?”
Zeke grew wary. “Maybe. Does it matter?”
Seger shrugged. “I guess not, long as you got white blood in you, anybody can see that you do. I’m not being insulting, boy. Just trying to help. You go to Fort Collins, ask for Wayne Bishop. I know him. You tell him I sent you and said you’re okay. I’ll even give you a letter. The other land agent is Scott Taylor, and he can be a bastard sometimes. He might ask questions, might sell you a piece of shit land if he suspects you’re part of some race he doesn’t like—or he might find a way to keep you from buying any land at all. Bishop won’t do that.”
Zeke nodded. “I appreciate that, sir.”
Seger kept the pipe between his teeth. “You come back in a little while and I’ll have a letter for you. Me, I don’t own much land. I prefer to just log it out. But if you want to settle on a place of your own, that’s your affair. I like you, Zeke. You’re not a braggart and a drinker and a gambler like the rest of these men.”
Eagle’s Song Page 17