Several minutes later they could see the man more clearly. He wore tan trousers and a blue shirt, and sat atop a bay horse—a big one from the looks. The shirt appeared to Henry to be the type a soldier would wear. The trousers and matching hat, did not.
When they were about three hundred feet away the man took off his hat and ran a hand repeatedly through his hair. Clara let out a strangled sounding cry off to Henry’s left. He turned, alarmed, just in time to see her kick her horse into a run.
“Wait!” Henry called after her as he urged Harriet to follow.
3
John put his hat back on and returned his attention to the riders. Suddenly they were coming at him at a gallop; the lead rider well ahead of the other. He drew his pistol but was hesitant to aim it. Something… “That’s a woman,” he said aloud with wonder. Then: “Clara?”
No sooner had he said it than she was on him, heaving back on the reins and bringing the horse to a stop. John leaped off of his, the pistol falling forgotten from his hand. He ran to her.
Clara was laughing and weeping. She slid off of her horse and into his arms. “We found you. Oh, we found you.”
They kissed—fiercely.
She pushed his hat off of his head and ran her fingers through his yellow hair like she’d watched him do himself times beyond count. He reached up and took her hands in his and kissed each palm. Then he gently pushed her hands down and took a step back.
“Clara…I…”
“I came looking for you…do you still wish to marry me?”
“I…yes, of course. Clara, how did you…” he trailed off and looked over at Henry, who had stopped about twenty feet away and turned Harriet in the opposite direction.
“That’s Henry. He saved my life, then he helped me find you…Henry!” she called to him. “Come on.”
“Henry?” John said as he watched Henry turn toward them. “I know him. He’s the negro scout I travelled to Fort Laramie with.”
“He told me he’d met you.”
Henry stopped Harriet a few feet from Clara and John, but he was looking past them, his expression turning to one of disbelief and horror. After a moment he dismounted and walked into the remains of the Indian camp without a word.
Clara looked after him.
“You don’t want to look over there,” John said, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently trying to turn her away. She took his hand in hers and followed Henry anyway. She was less than ten feet away when she stopped and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, it smells awful,” she said, turning away. She fought the urge to vomit and won—barely. She looked back over her shoulder.
Henry was standing in front of a blackened pile of—she knew what it must be, but didn’t want to accept what her eyes were seeing.
She turned away again. “What is this?” she asked breathlessly.
“Let’s walk a little farther away.” John stopped, picked up his pistol, and holstered it. He took the reins of both his and Clara’s horses and started away from the camp. Clara followed but felt powerless to stop looking over her shoulder.
“Where is your mother?…and your father? You couldn’t have travelled here alone?”
“Randall accompanied me. Most of the way…he was killed by Indians. I was…I was taken captive.”
John stopped and searched Clara’s face. “My God, Clara. Tell me everything.”
“I don’t know if I can.” She looked over her shoulder again. Henry was walking toward them, his head down. “At least not now, and not here.”
John looked toward the camp, then back to Clara. He nodded. They waited for Henry.
Henry looked at John solemnly.
“Do you know what happened here, Lieutenant?”
John averted his eyes. “Yes.”
“I’d be grateful if you’d tell me.”
John stared at his boots for nearly a minute. Clara was about to say something when he pursed his lips tightly, nodded once to himself, and lifted his head. He looked at Clara, then at Henry.
“The militia I was with attacked this Indian camp. We killed everyone in it. Women and children mostly, and a few old men. I was misled, but I’ll make no attempt to excuse my actions.”
“Oh, John,” Clara said, looking horrified. She reached out and put a hand on his arm.
Henry’s expression was one of naked anger and disgust. His voice, however, remained even. “War’s over. Regular army’s in charge now. What’s militia doing out here?”
“We were supposed to be looking for hostiles. We were hunting some Indians who killed some settlers up by the Platte River. We came across this camp, and Frank Picton—he’s a colonel, or was…I just realized I’m not certain which it is—ordered us to attack.”
“Like Big Sandy Creek…” Henry said mostly to himself. He looked at Clara. “I’ll lead you two back to Fort Laramie.” He turned and started away to where Harriet waited.”
“Wait. Please. He was about to attack another Indian camp, west of here. Seven days ago or thereabouts; I seem to have lost count. I refused to take part. That’s when I left. He’s going to resupply at Fort Laramie, then he plans to go north…he said to the Powder River. They’re going to raid more camps. He’s attempting to incite a war with the Indians. I have to try and stop him.
“Well, I wish you luck,” Henry said without turning. “There’s nothing I can do about it, and to be plain, I can’t say I’d help you if
I could.”
“I can’t take back what I did, but I can’t let it continue without doing something. Aren’t you friends with the Indians?”
Henry stood with his back to John and Clara and stared silently out over the prairie. Finally: “Things aren’t so simple as that.”
“John, perhaps you should let the army sort this out,” Clara said. “You could wire your father. He could speak to someone.”
“Clara…” John’s voice wavered, and a single tear spilled from his eye. “I shot a woman who was running for her life. She was carrying a child…I killed her. I killed them both. I don’t know how I’ll live with this, but I know there will be no living with it if I don’t do something.”
Clara began to weep. She glanced at Henry. “John, I’m going to have our child.”
He stared at her, mouth agape, crying openly now. He stepped forward, took her in his arms, and buried his face in her neck. That’s wonderful news, Clara. We’ll find somewhere to begin our life together. But first I have to stop Picton.”
“Does the army know what he’s doing?” Henry asked, turning to face them.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“How many men does he have?”
“About sixty-five. He might get more when he reaches Fort Laramie.”
“There weren’t many men there—at least when we left—and the ones that were, were all regulars. Does he have more on the way?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible…Clara was right. I’ll wire my father. He might be able to help.”
“That’s good, I suppose, but if what you’re saying is true, it could be too long of a wait for some.” Henry was silent for a moment. “You left them seven days ago?”
“It could have been six, and I wasn’t travelling very fast.”
Henry wanted to ask why but decided to leave it alone. “Can you find Fort Laramie from here?”
“Yes.”
Henry’s eyes darted to Clara for the briefest moment before moving back to John. “Are you sure?”
John caught the look. “I am a trained cavalryman, and I keep my eyes open.” He pointed north and slightly west. “A day’s ride to the river, then we follow it. Satisfied?”
“Pardon me Lieutenant, mayhap you should listen—”
“I’m not a soldier anymore.”
“Right. You give Miss Hanfield your pistol and keep your rifle out in plain sight. If you see any Indians, don’t run, just keep moving same as if you didn’t see them. If they come up on you, nod, smile, and offer them some tobacco.” Henry put u
p his hand as he saw John was going to speak. “I’ll give you the tobacco, but before you give it to them, hold it up and then run your finger down your face like this,” Henry ran his finger over his scar. “When you do it, say Nótaxemâhta’sóoma then Henry. Hold up the sack, run your finger down your face, then say Nótaxemâhta’sóoma, then Henry.”
John tried to repeat Nótaxemâhta’sóoma several times, but couldn’t seem to pronounce the difficult vowels. “What does it mean?” John asked.
“Something the Indians call me. It’s not important.”
“Nótaxemâhta’sóoma,” Clara said, almost perfectly.
“That’ll do. It may or may not help. You’ll have to hope they take the tobacco and go. If they try to take anything else from you, start shooting because they were going to kill you anyway. You’ll be less likely to see anyone if you stay off the river until you get close to the fort. You can follow it from a distance” He shot a look back at the camp. “Were those four men part of this?”
“Yes…and no. They signed on with Picton but left shortly after the…after the attack here. They wouldn’t kill women and children.”
“It seems like good folks die in unfair numbers and men like this Picton—and Emmet Dawson, he thought—keep on taking breath. Where did you leave him and his men? I want to see this other Indian camp with my own eyes. I’ll meet you back at Fort Laramie. You’ll have questions to answer, I expect. There were some men looking for Miss Hanfield—from her family—but I reckon everything will be fine seeing she’s with you now. How much food do you have?”
“Not much.”
“I’ll leave you with some.”
4
Henry rode hard and reached the remains of the Arapaho camp in four days. He was loath to push Harriet, but she was a strong animal and if everything John Elliot had told him was true, his errand was an urgent one.
He smelled the buffalo long before he saw them. Once he reached the top of the low hills he could hear the flies buzzing as if he were locked in a room full of them. Looking down on the carcasses he wondered why so many animals were killed and left to rot.
When John first told of his part in the killings at the Cheyenne camp, there was a moment when Henry wanted to kill him. The urge had vanished as quickly as it arrived, but it left Henry feeling conflicted about the man. He’d admitted to the murder of innocents, and who was Henry to inflict justice on him? John’s remorse and desire to stop more killing seemed veritable, and in the end Henry decided that stopping more killing was what mattered.
The scene at the Arapaho camp affected Henry in a deeper way than the charred and unrecognizable remains of the Cheyenne had. He wept openly as he walked Harriet past the bodies. Instead of being piled up and burned, the Arapahos were laid out in three neat rows on the horse-trampled ground. All of them—including two children not long out of infancy—were scalped. Their belongings were slashed, tattered, and strewn about the prairie.
From the camp the men’s trail was easy to follow, and it was clear they were on their way back to Fort Laramie. Henry wondered why John hadn’t come this way as it was closer to the fort by days. He decided it must have been as simple as John choosing to go back the way he’d come because he’d feared getting lost. It showed good sense, in Henry’s opinion.
Several miles north of the Arapaho camp he came upon two fresh, unmarked graves. It cost them something, at least, he thought, looking down at the mounds of naked earth. Good. He looked north. He figured Clara and John should only be a day away from Fort Laramie if they didn’t run into any trouble.
He guessed he’d arrive two days later if he took it easy on Harriet. He would. She’d earned it.
5
Clara and John only travelled five miles that first day before stopping. Considering how much they’d longed to be reunited, there was little conversation during the ride. What talk there was, was strained and regarded matters of little or no consequence. Clara was unsettled by John’s revelations, though she told herself his intentions had to have been noble. As he said, he’d been misled. John would never deliberately harm anyone without just cause. She also desperately wanted to tell him of the violations she was forced to endure at the hands of Short Bull, but was afraid of how he would react. Would he turn away from her in disgust?
For John’s part, he was ashamed. He wondered if Clara could ever feel the same about him after what he had done. He wanted to know about her captivity. His mind ran wild thinking about all of the horrible things she might have been forced to endure, but he was unsure of how to broach the subject. He should be comforting her.
And there was the child.
Neither could bring themselves to discuss the child when their future together seemed so uncertain.
They stopped for the night near a clump of scraggly, medicinal smelling bushes. The bushes didn’t provide much cover, but the weather was warm nearing hot and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The scrub did provide a place to tie the horses and slight break from the wind.
John laid out their bedrolls side by side, and Clara sat down while he got some of the dried beef.
“I had a jar of peaches, but I’m afraid I ate all of them,” Clara said with a faint, apologetic smile.
“Peaches,” John mused. “If I had a jar, I’d eat them all too. It seems like years since I’ve had a proper meal.” He sat down next to her. “Clara, what’s the matter?” She had begun weeping softly.
“I have something I have to tell you…but it’s difficult.”
“There isn’t anything you can’t tell me.”
“I want to believe that.”
“Then do.” He reached out and put his hand to the side of her face. “Because it’s true.”
She told him everything, including details she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing with Henry. John lay on his back next to her and watched the sky change from a brilliant blue, to a sooty gray, to a liquid black glowing with the brilliance of an uncountable number of stars. When she was finished he said: “I love you with all of my heart, Clara. Nothing can ever change that, but I have to stop Picton and bring into the light what’s happening out here. I don’t presume to understand the Indians, but it stands as self-evident that the Indians are not all devils like some would have us believe. I owe this debt at the very least. Afterward, we can go wherever you wish. We can be married as we have always planned, and raise our child away from our fathers’ petty disputes and heavy-handed lordship over us…that is, if you’ll still have me. I’ve done a terrible thing. Something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wonder if I deserve your love.”
“You’re a good man. You will always have my love.”
6
They awoke with the sun, cradled in each other’s arms. John shared out some of the dried beef and they both ate, albeit unenthusiastically. Desire for Clara had crept up on John shortly before he dropped off to sleep, but he didn’t attempt to act upon it. He knew that now wasn’t the time, and he was prepared to wait as long as Clara needed. He thought she would let him know.
Clara was jolted awake in the early hours of the morning with the same nightmare about Short Bull. John was fast asleep with his arm over her. His nearness comforted her, and she soon dropped off and slept dreamlessly until dawn.
After their breakfast John showed a reluctant Clara how to use his pistol. He had her practice dry-firing because he didn’t want to risk gunshots drawing unwanted attention to them. He did his best to explain recoil to her so she would be prepared for it in the event
that she actually had to fire it with live ammunition.
The lesson turned out to be unnecessary.
They spotted the soldiers around two that afternoon; twenty-five to thirty riders by John’s estimation as he squatted in the grass, peering through his field glasses. The soldiers were moving along the river, travelling in the opposite direction of Clara and John. The two were travelling parallel to the river but about a mile away, as per Henry’s advice. Assuming the troops had
come from Fort Laramie, John thought they should ride to meet them.
The soldiers halted when they saw the two riders heading in their direction. As Clara and John neared, four riders broke away to meet them. Clara was disappointed but not surprised when she saw that Theo Brandt was one of them.
“Miss Hanfield, I’m happy to see you are alive and unharmed.” Theo said. He cast a dark look at John. “Your father will be very pleased. He’s been worried and is anxious for your return to New York.”
“You can tell my father I’m not returning to New York and that he should no longer concern himself with my affairs, Mister Brandt. I’m afraid you’ve travelled a long distance unnecessarily.”
Sergeant Campbell saluted John. “Lieutenant Elliot,” he said.
“You don’t need to salute me, Sergeant. I’m not a soldier anymore.”
Sergeant Campbell looked nonplussed. He turned his attention to Clara. “Miss Hanfield, I have orders to escort you back to Fort Laramie. Captain Lange wishes to speak with you.” He turned back to John, “He’ll want to see you too, Lieutenant…ahh, Mister Elliot.”
“We were already on our way to speak with General Moonlight.” He regarded Theo Brandt coolly. “I’ll make it clear to you right now, Mister Brandt, Clara isn’t going anywhere with you.”
Theo smiled smugly but remained silent.
7
John told an increasingly disconcerted looking Sergeant Campbell about Colonel Picton and the raid on the Cheyenne camp. He omitted nothing. At John’s request, the sergeant had agreed to ride a short distance ahead with John and Clara so that John could tell the story out of earshot of the other men. Theo Brandt eyed them with suspicion as they rode ahead.
In the Shadow of the Hanging Tree Page 20