Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

  Red Eagle held his tongue but his anger was evident by his flashing eyes. The big lieutenant laughed his hideous laugh again. “Can’t wait to see what the general does with you. He’s fit to be tied these days. He might even hang you after he finds out what you know.”

  Holding the door open to the general’s front office, he whispered to Red Eagle, “Walk softly, breed. You’d make good buzzard bait if’n the buzzards could stomach you.”

  The lieutenant gave him a push then and Red Eagle had to resist the desire to turn and lunge at him. A private, standing at attention, stepped forward. He kept his eyes on Red Eagle as he spoke to the lieutenant. “This ain’t Mountain Chief, is it, Lieutenant? Or Owl Child? He’s a half-breed—”

  “Idiot, of course not. Hell, it’d be a wonder if you could track a fat squaw through a snowdrift, Private.”

  The private flushed, his tongue wiping his lips in an exasperated sweep.

  “Where’s the general?”

  “Takin’ a smoke. He’ll be back directly. Guess you could take him in.” The private, still flushed and embarrassed, opened the general’s office door.

  Red Eagle turned his stare on the private as the lieu­tenant shoved him ahead. The private grimaced, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his long neck. Had it been another time and place, no doubt Red Eagle would have found the young private a friendly fellow. He didn’t seem to have any real gall to him. But as it stood, Red Eagle saw him as one more of his enemies.

  “Sit here,” growled the lieutenant, as they entered the empty room. He pushed Red Eagle down onto a straight-backed chair placed not far from a desk.

  Simultaneously, a man entered the room from another door. The lieutenant, standing quickly at attention, saluted. The general saluted in return, then waved his hand through the air. “What’s this all about?” he said, his eyes on Red Eagle.

  “A prisoner, sir. We caught up to him at the—uh, near the settlements,” he added quietly.

  The general frowned.

  Red Eagle remembered him from days spent at the fort with his father, but said nothing. That was another lifetime ago.

  “I don’t understand. Who is he? Why have you trussed him like a pig?”

  “Sir, he and another brave attacked us. We killed the other one after he stabbed O’Grady.”

  The general frowned. “Will this mess never end?”

  He stroked the end of his narrow beard, which reminded Red Eagle of a patch of porcupine quills. His eyes were small and round, but not hostile. Rather, the man looked tired.

  “Well, Lieutenant Cole, the scout said that you had apprehended one of Mountain Chief’s bucks. So, what does he know?”

  “Don’t know, sir. He speaks English damn well. A half-breed. Attacked us with this.” Pulling out Red Eagle’s long knife, the lieutenant slid it across the general’s desk. “Quite an Arkansas toothpick, I’d say.”

  The general glanced at it. “Yes, quite a knife. Where’d you get it?” He turned to Red Eagle, his eyebrows raised in two half ­circles above his button eyes. “Have we ever met? You seem vaguely familiar.”

  Lieutenant Cole chuckled. “All breeds look the same.”

  “That’s enough, Lieutenant,” mumbled the general impatiently.

  Red Eagle said nothing, but Lieutenant Cole prodded him with the end of his gun. “Answer the general’s questions, or the next poke will have some lead to it,” he whispered.

  Red Eagle gritted his teeth before responding. “The knife was from my father,” he said abruptly. “Cain McCullough.”

  “McCullough?” growled DeTrobriand, getting to his feet. “Damnation, didn’t you interrogate this man at all, Lieutenant?”

  He pushed his chair back and walked to the window. “No wonder you looked familiar. Don’t you realize what you’ve done, Lieutenant?” His eyes were on Cole, who shifted ner­vously. “You arrested the son of one of the army’s most loyal traders. A man of integrity, he could walk into any Indian encampment throughout this territory. It’s too bad he isn’t alive today. Maybe some of this bloodshed could have been avoided. Now release this man, for God’s sake.”

  “Sir, if he’d had a gun—”

  “I don’t care, Lieutenant,” interrupted the general. “This man’s father still has friends all over the country. Besides, we are not trying to take the hide of every Indian. At least not while I’m in charge. We’ve got enough problems to settle after Baker’s bungled attack! I won’t repeat myself, Lieutenant. Untie him. You do take your orders from me.”

  Lieutenant Cole, slipping his own knife from its sheath, cut the rope binding Red Eagle’s wrists. His round face was beet red and his blue eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets. Anger and hatred blazed in his eyes.

  Red Eagle said nothing but he followed the lieutenant’s every move. When the cords fell to the floor, he wrapped his hands around his wrists, massaging them until needles of feel­ing returned. The flesh had been rubbed raw and welts, like pale pink ribbons, circled his wrists.

  DeTrobriand sighed. “I didn’t recognize you. I guess it’s been a few years. I would apologize, but I don’t suppose it makes much difference. Take him to the infirmary, Lieutenant, and get some salve. Get him some food, too, for God’s sake. He looks half-starved.” He turned to Red Eagle. “The least I can do is give you a horse and provisions.” He sighed, the tiredness returning to his face. “I have no desire to start a war,” he said. “I had hoped to keep the peace, as much as the Pikuni leaders. Unfortunately, the situation with Mountain Chief and his son has people running scared. Settlers are afraid to move out of their houses and the army can’t be everywhere. Perhaps, if we’d had the support we needed from Heavy Runner and the others, none of this would have happened.” He frowned.

  Red Eagle drew a deep breath. “Those who have survived will never believe you.”

  Lieutenant Cole growled, but the general held up a hand. “I daresay enough blood has been spilled. Believe me, if and when we finally get Peter Owl Child and the others, the situa­tion will be resolved.”

  “For who?” snapped Red Eagle.

  DeTrobriand shook his head. “It could have been worse. We had fair reason to suspect that Heavy Runner was harboring the murderers. Action was required which would convince every Pikuni that we meant business.”

  Red Eagle straightened his shoulders, the blood racing to his face. “Murdering women and children?”

  DeTrobriand sighed again. “Please, I don’t remember your name—” When Red Eagle didn’t respond, he placed his hand on Red Eagle’s knife and picked it up slowly. “You are free to go,” he added graciously. He raised his eyebrows as he held the knife out to Red Eagle.

  “Mekotsepetan.”

  “Your Christian name?” returned the general. “Surely McCullough gave you a Christian name.”

  “It is buried with my father,” replied Red Eagle, his eyes blazing.

  The lieutenant took a step forward. “General, I’m begging your pardon, sir, but you’re making a mistake. This man—”

  DeTrobriand raised his hand as he turned his dark stare on the lieutenant. “I fear, Lieutenant Cole, you will be the one to end up in the cooler if you contradict me again. I have had enough confugalties and bloodshed. I intend to stop outlaws, not eradicate an entire people.”

  Lieutenant Cole closed his mouth, but his blue eyes nar­rowed as he brought himself to attention. Red Eagle could feel the heat from the man’s cold stare.

  “Well, Mekotsepetan,” continued DeTrobriand, “once again, you are free to go. I suppose you have no useful informa­tion as to the whereabouts of these renegades? Clearly, the sooner we catch them, the sooner life can return to normal for everyone, including the Pikuni.”

  Red Eagle could not speak. What point was there in telling the general that Crying Wind and his people had had no love for Mountain Chief or his son, that the man had taken to the warpath without sanction of the various tribes’ leaders? The generals at Fort Benton had not listened to Heavy Runne
r, nor had they listened to Crying Wind and Many Words. Surely noth­ing could be gained by speaking his mind to this man. He turned his eyes to the floor, attention focused on the legs of the general’s desk.

  DeTrobriand shrugged, his voice droning on, “Of course the hunt will continue. More people will die on both sides. And, as I understand it, many of the Pikuni are suffering from small­pox—”

  Red Eagle glanced up. This was new information. “The white scabs disease?” he said softly.

  “Yes, and no doubt they could use some medicine. Indeed, I have already ordered medicine to be delivered to the villages along the Marias and Two Medicine, in exchange,” he added carefully, “for information.”

  Red Eagle clenched his fists. Another battle had only just begun for the Pikuni. Without medicine, they were helpless.

  “Yes, well,” continued the general, “we know there are those who know something. After all, the bodies of Red Horn and Big Horn, both outlaws, were found not far from Heavy Runner’s. Sadly enough, this news will add more heat to the fire, so to speak. But this is purely academic, isn’t it? You have no intention of helping us and I have no intention of forcing you to speak. Lieutenant, show our visitor out.”

  DeTrobriand pivoted away then, his gaze redirected out the window that overlooked the parade grounds. His slender hands were on his hips. Red Eagle, turning away, hesitated.

  “Remember,” said DeTrobriand softly, “if Mountain Chief does not turn himself in along with the others, all of the Blackfeet, including the Pikuni, will suffer. I am only a pawn in this larger game,” he added. “Only a pawn. And if my men ever encounter you on the field of battle, any friendship I had with your father will mean nothing. Nothing.”

  Lieutenant Cole, his blue eyes flashing at Red Eagle, held the plank door open wide. The young private, still standing at attention, cast nervous eyes on Red Eagle. But neither trooper said anything as Red Eagle strode past them. Only when he stepped outside did the lieutenant speak.

  “I’ll be following your every step, breed. I know you know what the general wants. And I know you’d love to stick that blade through my guts. I get around. I get around and I have eyes everywhere. So don’t think you’re free of me. The general may be a fool, but I’m not. I’ve got plans, so be watching your back—” he added before calling out to a private nearby. “Get this breed a horse and some food. Then escort him through the front gate.”

  Red Eagle glanced over at the big man. “I will be wait­ing,” he said quietly.

  “The next time we meet,” promised Cole, “I’m going to slice you open and leave your stinking guts for the coyotes. So watch your step.”

  ****

  Once mounted, Red Eagle rode quickly out of the fort. The soft snow flew up around him like mud and even after he had gone a mile, he continued to spur his horse on at a trot. But his mind was not on the soldiers who stood staring after him, nor on the conversation he’d had with the general or Lieutenant Cole. It was on Liza and those who had survived the massacre.

  Where were they now? Had Liza actually died from the pox? Is that why he’d not found any trace of her? Such a disease would spread like fire through the camps.

  He would return to their camp and then set out to find her. If it was the last thing he did, he would find her.

  Back at Fort Shaw, three men gathered on the outskirts of the parade grounds.

  “The bastard,” murmured Cole, his eyes on the horizon. “Before this thing is over, I’m going to skin him alive.”

  “Lieutenant, let it go,” said Edelstein, the private who’d ridden double with Red Eagle after he’d fallen to his knees and couldn’t run any farther. “Maybe you shouldn’t be lookin’ for a hog to kick—”

  “O’Grady is dead,” snapped Cole. “Don’t forget that. And if that breed had his way, we’d all be stretched out on the snow. Nah, I’ve got a score to settle with that one.”

  The third soldier scratched his head. “Well, all I know is we got to get on with our plan. That detail is scheduled to go out first thing in the mornin’. You talked with the general, yet, Lieutenant?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, his eyes still hard, “it’s taken care of. He knows I’m the man. Hell, I even speak a little of the lan­guage. Anyhow, it’s all cleared, and you two yahoos are assigned to me. But we’ll have to ditch Potter somewhere along the way, cause I have a feeling he won’t agree to anything. Keep your mouth shut, though, Schluter. I know you like to talk.”

  “Well,” sighed Schluter, “I’m not about to squeal. An’ if you jest give Potter a jug, he’ll be grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a yellow jacket.”

  “True ’nough,” added Edelstein.

  “Let me handle it,” said Cole, looking around. “We better split up. Get your gear packed. Don’t try to haul too much or someone’ll get suspicious. You got the guns hidden?”

  “Sure do, Lieutenant. Ready and waitin’,” said Schluter. The lieutenant watched as the two privates ambled away, a scowl across his face. They were both as useless as tits on a boar pig, but he couldn’t manage this without them. Besides, they were loyal, and he was counting on that loyalty to get him through the toughest spots. Potter was another story; he had a conscience.

  Turning on his heel, he moved toward headquarters. DeTrobriand would need some soothing after the encounter with the half-breed, and he certainly didn’t want to raise the general’s suspicions. After all, the old man had agreed to let him lead the detail up into the British territory. And it looked like this might be the only chance he’d have for a long time to make a move.

  CHAPTER 28

  Red Eagle reached Riplinger’s, exhausted. The old man, hearing a horse approach, came out. He rushed to help Red Eagle off the yellow dun.

  “Damn, you’re all in,” he said.

  Red Eagle shook his head, but his body was stiff from the cold and the beating his ribs had taken hadn’t helped his dis­position. The trader led him into the back room of his post.

  “I’ll see to the animal,” he assured Red Eagle, eyeing him carefully. “Where the tarnation have you been all these weeks, anyway? I guess you been there, seen it? Yea, it’s bad. Worse than anybody figured it would get. Still cain’t believe it—”

  “What about Liza?” said Red Eagle. He rubbed his legs to get feeling back into them. Three days and nights in the saddle had left him half-frozen.

  “I don’t know,” said Riplinger sadly. “I’ve had my ears open. I know she was alive before the attack. I talked with her, ’course that was before the pox. But a bunch of Heavy Runner’s men came along; man, they looked bad. They was lookin’ for medicine but I ain’t got that kind of stuff. Oh, a little laudanum, but that’s all. That won’t cure no scabs. Anyway, I asked how she was farin’ an’ they seemed to think she was all right. But since the attack, hell, visitors have been as scarce as hen’s teeth.”

  “How about the others?”

  “Well, I know there’s a settlement downriver a-ways. I could take you there but you can find it. I wouldn’t step foot in the camp, though. Never can tell who’s carryin’ the scabs dis­ease.”

  Red Eagle got up to leave.

  “Eat somethin’ first. You won’t do nobody no good if you’re flat on your face. I got a pot of stew and some hardtack. Got some canned goods you can take with you, too. Mebbe some canned milk for some of them babies—”

  Red Eagle put his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Yes, that would be good.” Then he asked, “Crying Wind? Have you seen him?”

  Riplinger shook his head. “No, but I’ll send one of these fools I got hangin’ round out after him. A couple of ’em are thinkin’ of joinin’ up with Mountain Chief, but I’ve been tryin’ to dissuade ’em. Hell, that’ll only bring more bloodshed. Not that I can blame ’em.”

  After eating, Red Eagle hit the trail again. He glanced back over his shoulder, hoping he wasn’t headed in the wrong direction. It would be wasted effort if he was, but with no better destination, he moved on.


  Thick gray clouds gathered along the northern horizon and a stiff wind blew. The weather had been tolerable, in spite of the freezing nights. But if the weather changed, travel would be more difficult. He spurred the yellow dun into a soft lope. He had to reach some kind of settlement soon.

  ****

  As early morning light broke through the purple dawn, the party of survivors moved out. The air did not seem as cold to Liza as it had been, perhaps because they had kept a large fire burning all night. Even Mad Horse had welcomed the heat, crowding closer to it than he normally did.

  Liza trudged on, her mind whirling with the confusion of the last few days. Day and night, Mad Horse kept her with him. Keeping her hands bound, he’d also tied a noose around her neck, which he seemed to enjoy pulling on unexpectedly. Bull Child had been taken away from her, so the child clung to Cut Finger, her dark eyes wide with fear. Whenever Liza tried to console her, Mad Horse kicked or knocked her down. If only she hadn’t decided to follow the angry, old warrior.

  It was clear he blamed Liza for their misfortunes. Yellow Grass had been the first to die, but not the last. A young boy, Walks-with-the-Moon, did not wake up the morning after Yellow Grass died. And Rides-a-Horse had fallen through ice, forcing the party to stop and build a fire, delaying them further. Finally, Mad Horse himself nearly sliced off two of his fingers cutting some tall stalks they were collecting along a stream bank.

  All this, the old warrior blamed on Liza, and he refused to let anyone come near her. He alone fed her and Liza found it increasingly difficult to swallow the bits of food he shoved in her mouth. His ugly, scarred face and foul-smelling body caused her stomach to rebel. Already, she had thrown up the last meal he’d forced down her. And he rarely gave Liza privacy, forcing her to squat whenever she had to pass water. It was a humiliation she could hardly endure.

  He also coveted her necklace. Not understanding why it carried such power, she caught him eyeing it whenever they stopped to rest or eat. She wondered when he might try to take it and why he hadn’t yet. Most of all, she wondered what he’d do to her after gaining possession of it.