Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  “Yes, but you are a white man, and white men don’t wear feathers,” she insisted.

  “Maybe I wear one because I lived in a Crow village until I was nineteen, so I adopted the ways of the Crow, and the hawk feather is big medicine to me.” He left it at that, since it seemed to please her, thinking it would be best not to tell her of his time living with the Blackfeet for a couple of years after that.

  She paused to study his face for a moment. “I am lucky you found me, John Hawk. I think your medicine is strong.” She paused again, this time a few moments longer before confessing her thoughts. “I have a feather, too.” She got up from the fire, so she could reach down in the deep pocket of her skirt and pull a feather from it. She held it up for him to see. “It is a hawk feather, like yours.” Again, she paused, not sure if she should tell him or not. Finally, she decided she had gone this far, and she should continue. “When the evil man named Luke threw me down on the ground and tied my hands behind my back, he was drunk from drinking the firewater they carried and didn’t do a good job tying the knots. He told me he would kill me if I tried to run while he went to get some more firewater from his saddle. I prayed that I would die before I was forced to lie with him. I found that he had not tied my hands tight enough, so I tried very hard to loosen the rope. I got one hand free, but I was afraid he would come back before I could run away. Then I heard the sound of a hawk and another bird fighting in the sky above and the two white men started to shoot their guns at the birds. They did not hit them, but I felt something lightly touch my one bound wrist, and then I saw that it was this feather.” She held it up again. “While the men ran around like crazy men, trying to shoot at the birds, I saw that it was my chance to run, so I did, and I held on to the hawk feather and prayed as I ran that the spirit of the hawk would come and save me. I ran until I could run no more, so I found a place to hide.” She looked at him and smiled. “When you discovered my hiding place, I thought I had run into one of their friends. And when you said we would just sit there and wait for those two devils, I was almost sure they were your friends then. But now I know that the medicine feather sent a hawk to save me. It was just another kind of hawk.”

  He wasn’t sure of the best way to respond to her theory. Young Indian boys, as a ritual of coming of age, went out in the wilderness alone with no food or water to fast for days seeking the source of their medicine. But what might be normal for boys was not the custom for girls. He had to admit she had created a good story, and he supposed there was no harm in letting her believe in it. He had made up different stories about the reason he wore the feather in his hatband, but the truth of it was he just happened to find a stray hawk feather now and again. And when he did, he would swap the one in his hat for it, if it was in better shape, and it was simply because his name was Hawk. He was reluctant to tell her that, because her eyes were literally shining as she looked into his eyes, waiting for him to tell her she was right, and he had been sent to her by the spirit of the hawk. She continued to look to him as if waiting for him to confirm her belief, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t sent to the banks of the Yellowstone by anyone, bird or man. He just liked that particular spot to camp in. He thought for a minute before he responded to her story.

  “How old are you, Winter Flower?”

  “I have fourteen summers,” she answered, “but my mother says I am very wise for my age.”

  “Well, I can believe that with no trouble a-tall.” He could not help thinking about another young girl close to her age, whose memory he kept in a safe place in the depths of his mind. “No one of us can hope to learn the secrets of this life we’re given. They are too many for a man or a woman to understand. But once in a while, we may be given just a little glimpse of a secret. I think that’s what happened to you yesterday. I think somebody thinks you’ve got too much more to do in your life to be stopped by the likes of those two. And I’m glad that somebody sent me to help you. I think it would be good if we swapped feathers. You take mine and I’ll wear your feather in my hat. Whaddaya think?” That seemed to please her very much, so that’s what they did. Judging by the expression on her face, he could imagine that she was convinced that the hawk was truly her guardian. He took her feather and placed it in his hatband. “I don’t know,” he said, “that feather might be prettier than the one I had.” He gave her a smile, put his hat on, and said, “Whaddaya say we take you back home now?”

  * * *

  It was shortly after noon when they rode into the Crow village and Winter Flower pushed ahead on her horse to lead Hawk to her father’s house. Her father, hearing sounds of joyful greetings from the people of the village, opened the door of the crude log cabin to see what was going on. “Winter Flower!” he exclaimed moments before being pushed aside by his wife in her excitement to see for herself. When she saw her daughter in the saddle of the yellow roan, she ran to meet her, with Winter Flower’s younger sister following close behind. Winter Flower literally flew out of the saddle to greet her parents. Hawk reined Rascal to a stop a few yards back to give them plenty of room. He was already thinking about how quickly he could turn Rascal back toward Fort Ellis, but he knew he would have to do Winter Flower’s family the courtesy of at least a short visit. It was a joyous reunion as other people of the village came to welcome her home. It was obvious that they had never expected to see her again, and all their attention was focused on her, except one. As Hawk sat there in the saddle, his gaze drifted across the barren front yard of the cabin, then stopped and came back to focus on one little girl, who was staring at him. They locked gazes for a short while before the little girl started pulling at her sister’s skirt until she captured her attention. “What is it, Morning Sky?” Winter Flower asked.

  “Who’s he?” Morning Sky asked, and pointed at Hawk. “He is not one of the men who chased you and me.”

  “His name is Hawk,” Winter Flower replied. Then loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “He is the man who saved me and brought me home.” This immediately shifted the attention to the man on the buckskin horse.

  Already curious about the horse his daughter rode, as well as the extra horse and saddle, Black Shirt turned to Hawk. “Forgive us for not welcoming you properly,” he said. “We were just so happy to see our daughter again. I thought she was dead. Please step down and we will fix some food for you.” Hawk dismounted, but declined the food, insisting that he and Winter Flower had eaten when they rested the horses. Black Shirt studied Hawk’s face for a long moment. “I have heard of a man called Hawk who rides with the soldiers. Are you that man?” Hawk said that he was. Black Shirt continued to question him. “These two horses, did they belong to the two men who stole my daughter?”

  “They did,” Hawk answered, “but those two men are dead, so the horses belong to Winter Flower, and I think she wants to give them to you.” He saw Black Shirt’s eyes widen when he heard that, and he immediately took a closer look at them. “One other thing I should tell you,” Hawk said. “I was lucky to kill the two men before they had a chance to take out their lust on her. She’s got some bruises and cuts, but that happened when they first grabbed her. She’s still a maiden.” As soon as he said it, he hoped that was the case, recalling what she had told him, but she would have been damn lucky for it to be so, judging by the likes of the two men who stole her. More than likely, that would have been the first thought in their twisted minds. However, her father’s eyes were filled with gratitude to hear it. Hawk could imagine how badly the girl’s father and mother wanted to believe their daughter had escaped permanent harm. It occurred to Hawk that if Winter Flower swelled up pregnant for nine months, Black Shirt would probably think he was the father.

  Unable to think of any reason to linger, now that Winter Flower was safely home, Hawk declared that he was expected to report to Fort Ellis yesterday, so he must regretfully take his leave now. It was not the case, of course, since he had been fired from his position as scout, but he was not inclined to hang aroun
d any longer. Overhearing him telling her father that he had to leave, Winter Flower broke free of her mother and sister long enough to come to him and express her thanks once again. She reached in her skirt pocket and drew Hawk’s feather out. “I will always keep this close to my heart, and I will always be grateful to you.” She beamed up at him. “We are children of the hawk, you and I.”

  “Reckon so,” he said, and stepped up into the saddle, wheeled Rascal, and headed back the way he had come. It was not for him to question the ways of the spiritual world, having lived with the Indians as long as he had. A lot of things had happened in his life that he could not explain, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Maybe his getting fired by Lieutenant Meade happened so he could be in the right place and time to save Winter Flower. Why question it? He reached up and touched the feather in his hatband.

  CHAPTER 3

  He took two full days to ride to Fort Ellis, pushing Rascal a little because he wanted to make it to Bozeman, about three miles west of the fort. He had been living on bacon and jerky, and he hoped to get there in time to catch supper at Sadie’s. When he rode up to the front of the little dining room, the CLOSED sign was not hung out as yet, so he tied Rascal at the rail and hurried inside. “Well, you just did make it in time,” Sadie declared. “I reckon you want coffee.” He said that he did, and she went to fetch him a cup. When she came back with it, she asked, “Where in the world have you been? You ain’t been in here in I don’t know when.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, round and about, I reckon—been outta town most of the time, ridin’ patrol.” He was talking to Sadie, but he was looking at a couple sitting at a table in the back corner of the dining room. “I had to get back here to get a decent meal. Whatcha pushin’ tonight?” While she told him what his choices were, he still concentrated on the back of the man seated at the table with a young lady. He was a soldier, and Hawk was almost sure who he was. “I’ll take the stew,” he told Sadie. Then certain that he recognized the back of the soldier, he raised his voice and declared, “But I don’t know if I wanna eat in here with any army riffraff.”

  Hearing the comment, Lieutenant Mathew Conner turned to see who the troublemaker was. “Hawk!” Conner exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

  “That’s what Sadie just asked me,” Hawk replied. “Ain’t nobody lookin’ for me, is there?”

  Conner turned his chair halfway around to better see him. “Harvey Meade’s patrol came back early yesterday, and you weren’t with ’em. I asked him why you didn’t come back with the patrol, and he just said it wasn’t your choice.”

  “That’s what he said, huh?” Hawk responded. “He came back mighty early, gave up on findin’ that party of Indians, I suppose.”

  “Come back here and join us,” Conner said. “Meet my lovely dining companion. This is Miss Dora Carpenter. Dora, this half-wild-looking man is John Hawk.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Carpenter,” Hawk said. “I’ll just sit down over here at this table. I don’t wanna disturb your supper.” She smiled sweetly at him as he pulled a chair back and sat down at a table across from theirs.

  “Come out with it,” Conner demanded. “You and Harvey got into it again, right? So, you left the patrol, but you didn’t come back to the fort.”

  “Well, we had a little disagreement,” Hawk admitted. “Didn’t seem like that much to me, but Meade fired me, so I reckon it was more important to him.”

  Conner shook his head as if exasperated. “Kicked you off the patrol, huh?”

  “Kicked me out of the scoutin’ service,” Hawk said. “The army would no longer require my services, is what he said.”

  “Why, that pompous ass,” Conner blurted, then quickly apologized to Dora for his outburst. “He can’t do that. I’ll talk to Brisbin. I need you on my patrols.” He glanced at Dora and explained. “Hawk’s the best scout on the post.”

  Hawk glanced at her and said, “There’s some that disagree.” Back to Conner then, he said, “He wasn’t without a scout when I left. Ben Mullins was with us. He’s a good man. We were trackin’ a little group of old Walkin’ Owl’s village. They stole one cow and ate it. Meade insisted that they were drivin’ a small herd. If that had been the case, all but one of ’em woulda had wings on their feet, either that, or the Indians were flyin’ ’em like kites.”

  This whole fiasco with Meade was upsetting to Mathew Conner. Hawk was a friend of his, in addition to being his most trusted scout. “What are you going to do now?” he asked. “You going to talk to Major Brisbin?”

  “Don’t know if there’s any sense in that. Meade is the commander of all the scouts on the post. And if the major told him who he can fire and who he can’t, then he’s countermanding Meade’s authority. Don’t get yourself all worked up about it, I’ve got a lot of work I need to do on my cabin up on the Boulder—been puttin’ it off for months. Winter’s gonna be comin’ in before you know it, and I need to have my place ready. I need to do a lot of huntin’, too, lay in a supply of meat.”

  “I’m gonna go talk to Brisbin,” Conner insisted. “He needs to do something about Harvey Meade.”

  “Don’t get involved in this,” Hawk said. He looked again at the young lady. “I apologize, ma’am. You most likely know that the lieutenant here can get pretty excited about a lot of things. I just hope I haven’t spoiled your supper.” He got up just as Sadie was bringing his supper out of the kitchen. “Put it on that table near the front,” he said, thinking Conner and Miss Carpenter could use a little more privacy. Then he quickly walked to intercept Sadie and his supper.

  He attacked the large plate of beef stew she placed before him and stayed with it until he had cleaned the plate. “I reckon that’s all I can hold,” he said to Sadie when she approached with the coffeepot again. He paid her, got to his feet, and headed for the door. “It’s still far and away the best cookin’ in all Montana Territory,” he said, bringing a smile to her face.

  Before he reached the door, Conner called after him. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he said. “You are going back to the fort, aren’t you?”

  “Yep, I’m headin’ there now. I’ve got some packs I need to pick up and get my packhorse from the stable.” It was Hawk’s guess that whether or not he saw Conner later that night would be determined by how much time the young lieutenant might spend with Miss Carpenter. At any rate, he was not going to wait around for Conner. There was a bright full moon illuminating the street outside the dining room, so there was no reason to wait around for morning. He could get in a half day’s ride that night and reach his camp early the next day. He liked Conner and appreciated the fact that he would go over Meade’s head in an attempt to save his job. But he was afraid his young friend was going to succeed only in getting himself in trouble. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he called out as he went out the door.

  * * *

  As he had anticipated, there was no sign of Mathew Conner, even after Hawk had packed his possibles on the sorrel packhorse. He could sleep in the barracks and eat breakfast with the soldiers, if he chose to, but he could see no point in staying there overnight when he could just as well be on the Boulder River at sunup. The decision was easy to make, so he rode out of the fort, following a familiar trail in the moonlight that would take him to a point where that trail struck the Boulder before following the river up into the rugged mountains of the Absaroka Range.

  By the time he struck the river, the moon had dropped below some of the higher mountains of the Absaroka Range. He decided to stop there by the river for the night and take the narrow trail to his cabin in the morning. He figured Rascal would appreciate it, and he thought they could both use a little sleep, so he unloaded his horses and made camp. Up with the sun the next morning, he loaded his horses again and crossed over the river to the east side, since it was easier to cross there instead of farther upstream. The trail up to his cabin was on that side of the river, anyway, and by the time he would reach that point, the river would be a lot more difficult to cross
. Once across, he set off up the river trail, which soon became a narrow, rocky path the closer he got to the point where the rushing waterway left the mountains. Spruce, fir, and lodgepole pines came right down to the crystal-clear water, making the trail even more of a challenge. He continued on until reaching a large pie-shaped rock on the eastern bank. He had to give Rascal no more than a gentle nudge and the big buckskin dutifully started up the little creek rushing beneath the rock to empty into the river. A steep climb of almost three hundred yards brought him to his cabin.

  As he always did, when he had been away for any length of time, he stopped a short distance from the log structure built underneath the overhang of the thickly wooded ridge above it. From where he sat, he could see no sign of anything having changed since he had left it. There were no horses in the small clearing in front of the cabin, and he could see his padlock still on the door. There was always the chance that someone might have stumbled onto his cabin, but it was not likely. The narrow stream that flowed under the rock by the river was not likely to be taken as a path. Even if they did explore it, they would have to travel three hundred yards to reach his camp. Consequently, he had never found anyone in his cabin upon returning after an extended absence. The cabin’s location was an oft-repeated complaint by Lieutenant Mathew Conner on the few occasions when he had attempted to find it, even with explicit instructions from Hawk.

  Confident that nothing had been disturbed, he continued on to the clearing and stepped down from the saddle. The only change he could see was the grass in the clearing, which was almost a foot high. He stood there for a few minutes, inspecting the outside of his cabin, thinking about any work that needed to be done to ready it for the coming winter. The cabin, itself, was sound. His main concern was the stone fireplace and chimney. There was some work to be done there to replace some of the chinking between the stones. At last, he had some time to work on it, thanks to Harvey Meade. He was going to have to do some hunting, too—lay in enough meat to last him a winter. He had coffee and flour in the packs he picked up, and salt and sugar, too. “I think we’re all right for a while,” he announced to Rascal, as he loosened the cinch and pulled his saddle off. “Okay, you’re home now, so start eatin’ some of this grass.” That reminded him that he would need to go to Big Timber and buy some grain for his horses. Rascal promptly walked back to the rough shed that served as his stable. After relieving the sorrel of his packs, he looked in his saddlebags to find the key to the padlock. “Now we’ll see what kinda critters are livin’ inside.” When he brought his saddle and packs in, he discovered that a raccoon had taken up residence inside. I knew I should have fixed that hole by the back door, he thought. It was on his list of things to do. Backed into a corner near the fireplace, the critter bared its teeth and hissed. “That ain’t very polite,” Hawk said, “when I’m fixin’ to invite you to breakfast.” He pulled his .44 handgun and shot the raccoon. That’ll be a change in my diet, he thought. Didn’t think I’d have breakfast waiting for me when I got here.