"Thank you, Mr. Brown," Thompson said. "That will be all."
Clancy Turner was the next witness. His testimony was much the same as Fred Brown's. He had seen Lyman Carter talking to Victoria, had seen Hawk drive up, and witnessed the ensuing scuffle. He shook his head when asked if he had seen Lyman Carter reach for a gun.
"No, sir," Turner said regretfully. "But if Hawk says that's the way it happened, then that's the way it happened."
Simon Thompson grinned good-naturedly. "Thank you, Mr. Turner. You may step down."
Six other witnesses were called to the stand, and they all told the same story. No one had seen Lyman Carter reach for a gun.
Hawk's face was strained and pale as the last witness took the stand. His hands were clenched into tight fists.
I glanced at the jury, and I could see that they believed Hawk was guilty. Surely, if Carter had reached for a gun, someone would have seen him.
I put my arm around Vickie's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She was trembling, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Simon Thompson dismissed the last witness, and Whitley Monroe stood up to present Hawk's defense. As Pa had predicted, Monroe hadn't lifted a finger in Hawk's behalf. His only defense was to put Hawk on the stand and have him tell his side of the story.
Hawk stood straight and tall as he swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he told what had happened. He had warned Lyman Carter to leave Victoria alone, and Carter had refused. Carter had laid his hands on Victoria, and Hawk had pulled him away and hit him. There had been a fight, Carter had reached for a gun, and Hawk had stabbed him.
I watched the jury as Hawk told his story, and I knew they would find him guilty.
Hawk knew it, too. He sent a long, pleading look in his father's direction, and Shadow nodded. My heart began to pound as Shadow reached inside his jacket, and I knew that our whole future would be determined by what happened in the next few minutes.
The judge dismissed Hawk from the witness stand, then admonished the jury to consider what had been said and reach the proper verdict.
Shadow was pulling his pistol from inside his jacket when Porter Sprague stood up.
"Your honor," he called. "I have something to say."
Judge Roberts frowned. "Have you been summoned as a witness?"
"No, your honor. No one ever talked to me or to my missus, here, but we were there. We saw the whole thing, and we'd like to be heard."
"This is most unusual," Judge Roberts muttered.
"Most unusual," Simon Thompson said, rising to his feet. "I feel I must object."
Judge Roberts nodded. "Objection sustained."
"Your honor," Porter Sprague called, striding toward the bench. "I know this is unusual and all, but this is a court of law, and I feel like the truth's been overlooked. I have something to say, and I'm asking you to hear me out."
"Very well," the judge allowed after a moment. "Take the stand and be sworn."
There was total silence in the courtroom as we waited for Porter to be sworn in. I glanced at Hawk. He was learning forward, his eyes riveted on Porter Sprague's face. I could feel Vickie trembling, could see the tension in Shadow's face as he waited to hear what Porter Sprague had to say.
"Proceed, Mr. Sprague," Judge Roberts directed.
Porter Sprague looked uncomfortable in the witness box, but he spoke loud and clear. He had seen and heard the whole thing. Lyman Carter had made a pass at Victoria, and when she rebuffed him, he had refused to leave her alone. Carter had laid hold on Victoria's arm, and when Hawk told him to let her go, he had refused. Hawk asked Carter a second time to let his wife alone, but Carter again refused and pulled Victoria closer to him instead. Hawk grabbed Carter by the arm and there was a scuffle. Hawk was winning when the stranger reached for his gun. Hawk had had no choice but to defend himself.
The judge dismissed Porter from the stand, and Helen Sprague was sworn in. She told the same story as her husband, almost word for word.
The jury was out for only a few minutes, and when they returned, the verdict was not guilty. Never had any words been more welcome.
Twenty minutes later, the courtroom was empty save for our family and Helen and Porter Sprague.
Hawk took Victoria in his arms and held her so tight I was certain her ribs would break, but she didn't seem to mind. They stood together for a long time, oblivious to everyone else.
"Porter, Helen," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "How can we ever repay you?"
"No need," Porter said crisply. "Shadow saved Nelda's life, and we don't forget a kindness."
"I'm so glad you were there," I said, hugging Helen. "So glad you were willing to come forward in Hawk's behalf."
Helen and Porter exchanged a glance I could not fathom. I looked at Shadow and saw understanding flare in his dark eyes.
"You were not there," Shadow said slowly.
"No," Porter admitted. "Oh, we were in town that day, but we didn't see the fight."
"How did you know what happened?"
Porter shrugged. "I didn't think Hawk would get much of a trial. Everyone knows Roberts hates Indians, and Whitley is about as incompetent as can be, so I nosed around a little and when I found out everyone thought Hawk was guilty, I went out to see Victoria. She was there. She saw everything. She told us what really happened that day and we memorized it."
"But that's perjury," I exclaimed.
"I don't call it perjury," Helen Sprague protested with righteous indignation. "I call it repaying a kindness. I've known Hawk since he was a boy, and I know he wouldn't kill a man without a darn good reason. We haven't always been close to your family, but my Nelda might not be alive today if it wasn't for Shadow. I couldn't sit by and let your child die when Shadow had saved mine."
"Oh, Helen," I wailed, and gave her another hug.
Porter grinned at Shadow. "So long, neighbor," he said jovially.
"So long. Neighbor," Shadow replied.
"I just can't believe it," I said, watching the Spragues leave the courthouse. "Who'd have thought Porter and Helen would lie for Hawk?"
Shadow shook his head. "It is hard to believe," he agreed, and then he smiled. "Let us go home."
Pa and Rebecca left for Steel's Crossing the next day. From there they would catch a train bound for the East. They would be gone until spring.
The day after Pa and Rebecca left for Pennsylvania, an Indian showed up at our front door. He was tall and strikingly handsome, with long, straight black hair, deep-set black eyes, and a faint scar on his left cheek. I guessed him to be in his mid-twenties.
''I have come to see Two Hawks Flying," he said in a low voice.
Two Hawks Flying. I had not heard that name in years. Most of the people in Bear Valley were ignorant of the fact that Shadow had once been a Cheyenne war chief; most of those who knew had forgotten about it over the years.
Two Hawks Flying. It was another name for another time. A name I had rarely used.
I nodded as I stepped away from the door. "Shadow," I called over my shoulder. "You have a visitor."
Shadow came to the door, one eyebrow arching in surprise when he saw the young man waiting for him. "How can I help you?"
"I am looking for Two Hawks Flying of the Cheyenne," the young man said.
Shadow nodded. "You have found him."
"I have left the reservation," our visitor said. "I have come here seeking work."
"Who sent you to me?"
"The grandson of Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky."
"I see." Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky had been the shaman who had come to Bear Valley to instruct Hawk in the Sun Dance ritual when Hawk was sixteen. "What kind of work are you looking for?" Shadow asked.
"Any kind. I am good with horses and cattle."
"You are Cheyenne?"
"Yes. My father was Tasunke Hinzi."
"I knew him well. How are you called?"
"The whites call me William, but my people call
me Cloud Walker."
"Which name do you prefer?"
A trace of a smile touched the young man's lips. "Which do you think?"
Shadow grinned. "Cloud Walker it shall be."
Shadow looked at me then, and I nodded. If he wanted to hire the stranger, I had no objections.
"Very well," Shadow said. "You may sleep in the barn, or in the lodge behind our house."
"The lodge," Cloud Walker said quickly.
"Come," Shadow said, "I will show you the way."
I stood at the kitchen window watching the young man stow his few belongings inside our old lodge. We had brought it back home after Hawk and Victoria moved into their own house. It was a constant reminder of the old life, a vivid symbol to our neighbors that this had once been Indian land.
In the days that followed, Cloud Walker proved that he was indeed a good man with horses. He broke them to saddle and bridle much as Shadow did, gently and slowly, never pushing a young unbroken horse too hard, never demanding more out of the horse than the animal could give. He brushed and curried our horses with loving care, doctored the sick ones, assisted foaling mares. He became quick friends with Blackie, for the two shared a mutual love for all God's four-legged creatures.
I wondered that Cloud Walker was not married, but I did not feel I had the right to pry into his private life. He was a quiet man, who seldom smiled and never laughed. I sensed he had experienced a tragedy in his life, and late one night we learned his story.
Shadow and Cloud Walker were sitting outside sharing a pipe after dinner. I sat inside near the window, mending a pair of Blackie's jeans. The window was open, and I could hear the men talking.
"How did you happen to come here?" Shadow asked.
"You are well-known on the reservation," Cloud Walker answered. "Often late at night the old men speak of Custer and the Greasy Grass and of the chiefs that fought in the battle. Your name is often mentioned. I was only a child then, of course, but I have often dreamed of what it must have been like that day."
"It was a good day for us," Shadow said, smiling with the memory. "A good day, and a bad day. I have often thought that the whites would not have hated our people quite so much if we had not killed Custer and all his men."
"Did you see Custer?"
"Yes, but I never got close to him."
"Some of the white men on the reservation say Custer was not killed that day. They believe he was taken alive and tortured by one of the Sioux tribes."
"No," Shadow said. "If the Sioux had captured Custer, the Cheyenne would have heard about it."
"My father was killed at the Greasy Grass," Cloud Walker remarked.
Shadow nodded. "Tasunke Hinzi was a brave warrior. He killed many of the bluecoats that day. Crazy Horse said your father was wounded many times, but he continued to fight until he was too weak to hold a weapon."
Cloud Walker nodded. He had heard the story many times.
The men were silent for a moment, and then Shadow asked, "Why did you leave the reservation?"
"My wife was pregnant, and she was ill. When her time came, I went to the shaman, but he could not help her. I have hated the whites all my life. Never have I gone to them for anything. But my woman was dying, and so I went to the Army doctor and asked him for help. He was playing poker with some of the officers. I told him my wife was very sick and in labor with our first child. He said not to worry, that first babies took a long time to be born and that he would come to our lodge in an hour or so. I begged him to come quickly, but he refused. An hour would be soon enough, he said.
"When I got back to my lodge, my wife was dead. She had given birth to the child, and bled to death, while I was gone. The baby was dead also. It was a boy.
"I could not stay on the reservation after that. I knew if I ever saw that doctor again, I would kill him with my bare hands. I left that night, and as I was wondering where to go, I remembered that the grandson of Eagle-That-Soars-in-the-Sky had once mentioned that you lived in Bear Valley, so I came to you."
The men fell silent again, and I brushed the tears from my eyes, determined to do everything in my power to make Cloud Walker's life happy. He was so young, and he had suffered a great loss. Impotent rage filled my heart as I thought of the doctor who had held a human life so cheaply that he had played cards while a young woman and her child died. I would not have blamed Cloud Walker if he had covered the man with honey and let the ants eat him alive. It would have been his fate in the old days, and he deserved it no less now.
I was immediately ashamed of my uncharitable thoughts. I had no right to judge the man.
Shadow and Cloud Walker soon became good friends. Cloud Walker especially enjoyed Shadow's stories of the old days. He was much like Hawk, I thought sadly, and wondered if they would ever be content to live in the white man's world. Sometimes, listening to Shadow reminisce about the old days, I saw a deep sadness in his ebony eyes and I knew that, even after all these years, my husband still yearned for his old way of life. I couldn't blame him. I too sometimes longed for the days when Shadow and I had lived with the Cheyenne, when we had snuggled together inside a cozy hide lodge, certain that the future held only happiness for the two of us. I missed seeing the curly-haired buffalo running across the plains, their shaggy heads lowered, their tails sticking straight up like flags. I missed the sound of the warriors chanting as they danced around the campfire, their copper-hued faces painted in celebration of a victory over an enemy. I yearned to hear the soft, rhythmic beat of the drums as the old men spun stories and tales of long ago, of the days before time began when Heammawihio created the earth and the sky and the People.
Cloud Walker caused quite a stir in Bear Valley. Until his arrival, Shadow had been the only full-blooded Indian in the valley, but the people were used to him. They bought his horses, talked with him in town, knew his family. But now Cloud Walker was here. He was a stranger, silent and withdrawn, unknown. The women studied him from the corners of their eyes, wondering, somewhat fearful. The men stared at him openly, unabashed in their curiosity, yet a little ill at ease in his presence. The Indian wars had been over for years, but memories were long. Many whites still thought of the Indians as an inferior race. They believed the women were lazy, without morals or ambition. They thought the men were wild, savage, hungry for blood and white women.
I knew that such beliefs were false, but old ways and old ideas died hard. The people in town knew nothing about Cloud Walker, and gossip spread like wildfire in the wind. He was a spy from the reservation, sent to scout our strengths and weaknesses. He was Shadow's illegitimate son from a past affair. He was an outlaw hiding out at our place. He was a renegade guilty of killing a man back on the reservation.
The rumors flew for several weeks, many of them so farfetched that they were laughable. Cloud Walker never confirmed or denied any of them. He simply went his own way, undisturbed, and eventually the people in town began to accept him for what he was, an unhappy young man who worked hard and wanted only to be left alone.
PART TWO
15
Mary was thrilled with life in Chicago, the second largest city in the nation. It was said that there were forty-five hundred millionaires in America; many of them lived along Chicago's lake front in lavish mansions that looked more like medieval castles than homes. Mary did not envy them, the rich and famous people who dwelled in such splendor, though she sometimes spent an idle moment wondering what it would be like to have a private steam yacht with a crew of fifty, or to own a private railroad car with her initials carved on the side.
No, she did not envy the wealthy people who inhabited those huge estates. She felt rich enough just owning a gramophone and a piano and a telephone. She had always loved music, and she played records by the hour, humming while she did her chores. The dusting and sweeping, mopping and polishing, cooking and mending all went by so much faster if she could listen to her favorite songs while she worked.
Once a week she took piano lessons from a robust G
erman woman named Gretchen Mueller. Mary was a little intimidated by Mrs. Mueller, but she delighted in her own growing ability to read music and play the simple songs her teacher placed before her.
Bicycling was also something Mary enjoyed. Soon after their arrival in Chicago, Frank bought a tandem bicycle. Cycling was all the rage in Chicago, and Frank and Mary spent many a sunny Sunday afternoon riding with their friends. Mary often felt guilty as they pedaled through the park. Back home in Bear Valley, Sunday had been a day of worship and rest, a day to visit Grandpa and Rebecca. But Frank preferred cycling to sermons.
Yes, life was good. Frank had a well-paying job at the Chicago Bank and Trust; they had a lovely home on a quiet residential street. The house was Mary's pride and joy. It was such fun, having a home of her own. She spent her days redecorating. The master bedroom was done in varying shades of blue, the kitchen was painted a bright cheerful yellow, the parlor was a stark and fashionable white, the dining room a subdued green.
When Frank received a promotion to assistant manager, they went on a buying spree, outfitting themselves in stylish new clothes and their home in new furniture. It was such fun to wear the latest fashions, to walk down a city street and know that people were admiring her. Frank looked dashing in a new Hart, Schaffner & Marx spring suit. Mary had gasped at the price. Imagine, fifteen dollars for a suit of clothes! They shopped for a new carriage at Sears & Roebuck, and Frank found a shiny black one he liked for thirty-eight dollars. He bought a flashy black gelding to pull it.
Six weeks after they arrived in Chicago, Frank was sent to New York on business, and he took Mary with him. The city had changed since she had seen it last some thirteen years ago. It was bigger, flashier, noisier than ever.
Sitting in their lavishly appointed hotel room, waiting for Frank to complete a business meeting, Mary thumbed through a mail-order catalog, looking for presents to send to her family. There were advertisements for a variety of goods and services: Remington Typewriters, Packers Tar Soap, Columbia Phonographs, Williams' Jersey Cream Toilet Soap for fifteen cents a bar, Lowney's Chocolate Bonbons for sixty cents a pound, Hall's Hair Renewer, guaranteed to ''grow bountiful, beautiful hair," Salva cea, guaranteed to be good for bruises, contusions, earache, piles, colds, rheumatism, chilblains, neuralgia, headache, itching, chafing, coughs, and fever sores. Surely the wonder cure of the century, Mary mused, and a bargain at only twenty-five cents a box. She grinned as she read an advertisement for Smith & Wesson revolvers. "Protect your family," the ad said, "a sense of security pervades the home which shelters a Smith and Wesson revolver."
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