Thankfully, he had not molested her. Not yet, but Liza wondered if he eventually would. Fortunately, the man feared her as well. Was it the bear-claw necklace?
She tromped on, growing numb to the cold and wet. It would almost be a relief to die, she mused. After all her struggles to live, it would be the greatest irony to submit to death now. But, perhaps it would be her escape.
She shook her head and took a steadying breath, carefully placing her right foot in front of her left. As she did, she whispered his name. “Red Eagle.” Even the sound of his name gave her hope and she could not let that thin thread of faith go. Her very life seemed to hang on it.
But it was not just his name that gave her strength. It was the memories of him that she relived day and night: the warm smiles flashed whenever he saw her in Crying Wind’s camp; his smiling, taunting eyes the first afternoon he caught her half dressed by the river; his gentle touch and sweet breath upon her skin when they were alone; his words of love and willingness to wait on her; even his regard for her father and Crying Wind.
Oh, Red Eagle! No longer torn by conflicting emotions, her love had become painfully clear. It didn’t matter that their worlds had been separated by time and invention. It only mattered that she could never love any man as she loved him.
And her father. He had been right. To understand one’s past was part of choosing one’s future. If only she’d understood that before. If only she’d understood all of it before now.
If only she’d shared her love.
She hesitated, taking the next step carefully. Mad Horse, impatient, pulled the rope that bound her.
She cried out, wishing she had the strength of a wild cat.
He grunted and tugged the leash again.
She yanked back, hoping to catch him unaware. Instead, he reached out and slapped her across the mouth. He growled a curse.
Holding back tears, Liza moved on. All she had now was memories, and the strength that came from loving Red Eagle. It filled her with the will to survive. It sustained her as she pressed wearily on, legs so stiff she could hardly feel them. It sustained her as Mad Horse drew her beside him at night, his eyes burning her with hatred and even desire.
If she could get a knife, she could try to escape. But Cut Finger and the other women were afraid, too; they feared for their own safety, and for that of the children.
Toward evening, Mad Horse called a halt. It was still light enough for the younger children to forage for wood and he sent one of the older boys off to set a snare. Dragging Liza to a tree, he tied her to a branch that hung high above her head. With his mouth set in a grim frown, Skunk Cap followed Mad Horse into the trees, a roughened spear slung over his shoulder. Only Cut Finger, Sharp Hand, Fat Dog, and Rides-a-Horse remained.
Liza tried to coax Cut Finger to help her. The woman hesitated, her eyes flitting nervously left and right. The area was heavily wooded and Liza knew it was risky. What if Mad Horse was watching them, even now?
Whispering too softly for Liza to understand, the women edged closer. Finally, without warning, Cut Finger rushed to her, a small boning knife clutched in her hand. Shaking, she tried to cut through the heavy sinew thongs. She whimpered and tried again.
“Hurry,” whispered Liza, her eyes fixed on the spot where she had last seen Mad Horse. “Oh, please.” Her hands shook with fear and foreboding.
Cut Finger mumbled something unintelligible but Liza knew she was working as fast as she could. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Just then, Mad Horse came thrashing through the snow, his own knife raised. Skunk Cap stumbled after him, fighting to keep his balance. Seeing blood running down Skunk Cap’s face, Liza screamed. So did Rides-a-Horse and Sharp Hand, who ran to help him. Trembling uncontrollably, the boy collapsed in the snow only a few feet from the horrified women.
“Watch out, Cut Finger, get out of the way!” shrieked Liza. “Dear God. No!”
Enraged, Mad Horse turned on Cut Finger, screaming and threatening her. She spun and faced him, cursing him, calling him a ‘mad dog’ and ‘one who had disgraced the people.’ Her eyes blazed, hard and dark, and her voice was shrill and loud. Cursing him again, she swept her blade through the air. He stopped in his tracks, panting like a wounded animal.
Liza feared he would kill Cut Finger. He didn’t. Instead, backing away, he eyed the group of women and children crowding behind Rides-a-Horse. Sharp Hand, helping Skunk Cap to his feet, turned and spoke to Cut Finger. The air crackled with tension.
Hanging from the limb, Liza was useless, helpless. She was also terrified.
****
Lieutenant Simon Cole raised his hand. “We’ll camp here.”
Edelstein looked around, clearly disturbed. “Shouldn’t we find someplace more protected, Lieutenant?”
“What better spot is there than one where you can clearly see the enemy coming?”
“What about over there, in those trees?” piped Potter. He pointed to a small grove of cottonwoods.
“I like it here, Private,” snapped Cole. “Set up camp.” The three privates dismounted, each taking a packhorse and leading it to a central area.
“Only unpack the essentials, Schluter,” directed Cole. “We’ll be up before sunrise and I don’t want to waste any time repacking those animals.”
Schluter nodded. “Hear that, fellahs? Just the gear.”
Potter mumbled something under his breath.
“You got a problem with the order?” The lieutenant’s bright blue eyes flashed as he stepped around the mule.
“No, sir,” grumbled Potter.
“Edelstein, build a fire. Not too big, cause if anybody’s passing through, we don’t want to alert them to our presence.”
“Sure, Lieutenant.”
With camp set up, Lieutenant Cole wandered off. Potter, curious, asked, “Where’s he headed?”
“How the hell do I know?” said Schluter, shifting uncomfortably.
“Taking a piss, most likely,” mumbled Potter. “He must think he’s got somethin’ the rest of us don’t.” He laughed at his own joke, but Schluter only frowned.
“I wouldn’t be makin’ too many jokes at the lieutenant’s expense,” suggested Edelstein. He nervously looked for any sign of Cole. The man gave him the willies. In fact, he didn’t know how he had ended up as a part of this crazy scheme. He really hadn’t had much to complain about. The army had been good to him. Sure, it was beans and not much else, but that was as good as he ever got back home.
No, he was nervous about how Cole’s plan was going to unfold, and where they were headed. Probably to jail or maybe the end of a rope. Deserters and thieves were not tolerated.
Potter was still grumbling. “At least we could throw on some extra wood. Not every day you can find enough kindlin’ to build a good fire. I’m headed over there, get us some big limbs. You wanna come, Edelstein?”
Edelstein shook his head. “Better forget it. I’m tellin’ you—”
Potter got up, disgusted, and he ambled across the open meadow.
That second, the sound of a gun reverberated through the emptiness. Jumping to his feet, Edelstein watched Potter as he fell, dropping like a sack of grain against the snowy earth. A blood-curdling howl was his only protest.
“Damn,” cursed Schluter, turning to Edelstein. “Was that the lieutenant?”
Edelstein swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. His hand was on the butt of his knife. “I don’t know, but it came from over there.” He pointed to the trees, the place they’d last seen Cole. “Jeez,” he added, beads of sweat already forming across his brow, “what’s he up to?”
“He said he was gonna take care of Potter, but I didn’t think he meant to kill him.”
“What d’ya mean, ‘take care’ of him?” whispered Edelstein, choking back his spit.
A shout brought them both to attention. “Come on, you fools, get over here! I can’t do this by myself.”
Edelstein followed Schluter reluc
tantly. He didn’t like this turn of events but knew he was stuck, at least for the time being.
Cole stood over the fallen body of Potter like a hunter with his prey. He was smiling, taunting. He kept his eyes on Edelstein. “Take his scalp, Private,” he said, slowly and deliberately.
“Wha—?” squeaked Edelstein.
“Don’t gawk,” said Cole. “We’ve gotta make this look like an Indian attack. They’ll blame ole Owl Child sure enough. Now take his scalp and make it a clean swipe.”
“But, Lieutenant—”
“Edelstein, I am not about to let you leave us in a pinch here. I told you we’re out of here, and we’ve got to make it look good, like we just escaped by the skin of our teeth. Right, Schluter?” He turned his cool stare on Schluter.
Schluter was quick to respond. “Hey, don’t think I ain’t grateful. I’ve had enough of this poor man’s army.” He laughed nervously, rubbing his thin fingers through his thin moustache. “Edelstein,” he said, “you better wise up. The lieutenant is offerin’ us the chance of a lifetime. They’ll just figger Potter got kill’t off by them renegades. Maybe we’ll even be heroes, only we won’t be around to hear the cheerin’. It’s a devil of a plan,” he said brightly, turning back to Cole.
Edelstein’s heart pounded against his ribs. He knew he didn’t have many choices, but he wasn’t sure he could do this terrible thing. He pulled his knife out and looked at it, his hand trembling almost uncontrollably. Wasn’t there some other way to take care of the man? He looked up at Cole.
It was then he realized he had waited too long. The bullet sung out and he wondered if someone had stabbed him with a hot poker. He was on his knees but he wanted to get up. It was impossible. He opened his mouth to speak but the words were lost in saliva that bubbled out between his lips.
“Damn,” was all he managed before he fell across the snow.
CHAPTER 29
Early the next morning, Red Eagle finally spotted the coulee where many of the Pikuni survivors had settled. A short distance from the river, a line of granite rocks sheltered them. To the west was a grove of elms, bare and black against the cold gray landscape. But the sky was clear and blue and the air crisp.
Several army tents had been arranged in a large circle, forming the center of the tiny village. Fires burned and people milled about but the scene was almost haunting; the people were as expressionless and hollow as ghosts. No dogs barked and there were no children running haphazardly through the village. Only a handful of pitiful horses and two scrawny mules were hobbled near the farthest tents.
Red Eagle approached the camp slowly. As he passed the first tents, several old women stopped and gazed up at him. They neither smiled nor greeted him. Moving on, they seemed intent on hiding themselves.
He drew his horse up to a tent where he noticed a tall, dark warrior emerging. Without dismounting, he waited for the middle-aged man to speak. The man did so after studying him closely.
They exchanged brief greetings and Red Eagle slipped off his horse. The horse was so tired it did not seem inclined to wander. A boy, perhaps eight or nine, suddenly appeared and touching the muzzle of the animal, smiled up at Red Eagle.
“Watch him for me?” asked Red Eagle.
The boy nodded eagerly. Red Eagle reached inside his pouch and handed him a piece of Riplinger’s beef jerky. The boy grinned.
“I am Stands Down,” said the man, pulling aside the tent’s flap to let Red Eagle pass inside. The two men sat down beside his fire. “I am a member of Heavy Runner’s band.”
“And I am Red Eagle, nephew to Crying Wind.”
Stands Down nodded. “Ah, Crying Wind. He is here.”
Red Eagle jumped to his feet. “He is here? Where?”
The warrior got up and led him back out of the tent. “He was found five days’ ride from here. He was with three other men who have since left our village to locate their own people.”
“But Crying Wind?”
“It is not well with him. He does not speak nor does he move. I fear his heart cannot bear the pain. He will die soon.”
Red Eagle swallowed. “He saw the villages—”
“Yes.”
Red Eagle cursed, then sighed. “It is too great a sadness. I understand his desire to die.”
“And I,” agreed Stands Down. “It would be far better to die in battle than to sit and rot.” He pointed to his head and then his heart. “Even I have thought of letting go of this life. It would be much better to cross over to the Sand Hills.”
Red Eagle nodded, acknowledging the other man’s grief. “Tell me, was there a man, a white holy man, Many Words, who was found with Crying Wind? Perhaps weak, also near death?”
“I have not seen or heard of anyone by that name. The others who came were not he. But, truly, the young warriors might not have let him live,” he added carefully. “Many are bent on revenge.”
Red Eagle nodded. “He was very near death when I last saw him. Perhaps it is better.” His eyes brightened. “But what about a dark-haired, white Pikuni woman, Liza Five Shots? Have you seen or heard of her?”
Stands Down shook his head. “A white woman in this place would not be safe. There are so many ready to join Owl Child, Black Weasel, and Mountain Chief. Me, I am too old, and I fear the strength of the white man’s army with its wagon-guns. But if I were yet a young warrior, I would take up my war shield. The peace the Napikwans promised has come to nothing. Nothing.”
How could anyone argue with such a hard truth? Both men stood without speaking.
“I would like to see Crying Wind—” Red Eagle said at last. His heart was fearful, but anxious.
Stands Down pointed to a tent standing at the far edge of the ring. Red Eagle nodded and moved toward it, his hands clenched tightly.
He had known the sight of the massacre would destroy Crying Wind. A man of such great kindness and fairness would never understand the cruelty of those he had once trusted. Red Eagle only wished the old man had died before seeing the village. Like Many Words, it would have been better for him.
Crying Wind was not alone. An old woman sat to one side of the gray-haired warrior, her mouth moving silently, small, black pearl eyes lost in the folds of her brown face. She nodded to Red Eagle and he nodded in return. Then he turned to his uncle. Stretched out on a bed of leaves, covered by a buffalo robe, his pale face was empty of expression while his wrinkled hands lay mute upon his shrunken chest.
This terrible thing has destroyed him, thought Red Eagle. He is nothing but the hollow shell of a stranger. Perhaps his larger-than-life spirit had already departed this world. If so, he was in a better place.
“Uncle,” said Red Eagle, dropping to his knees before him, “it is Red Eagle.” He felt for the soft pulse of the man, startled to feel it against his fingertips. “I hoped you would be spared all that has come upon the people.”
Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “May He Who Sees All free your spirit quickly. I wish you a good journey, Uncle.”
He dropped his head then, unable to say more. It was too terrible to see what had become of this leader, a holy man, his mother’s brother. If only he could have died as a warrior, on the trail or on the battlefield.
Tears of anger suddenly filled Red Eagle’s eyes, and they dropped unashamedly onto Crying Wind’s neatly folded hands. He stumbled to his feet and rushed outside. He did not stop to speak to the old woman.
Stands Down was waiting for him. In silence, Red Eagle followed the somber warrior to his tent, where a young woman gestured for them to sit.
Red Eagle obliged, taking the seat beside Stands Down, and the girl smiled shyly. Stands Down introduced her as Blue Feather, his only remaining daughter.
She was lovely, and Red Eagle wondered if she were married, or, perhaps, widowed. She did not conduct herself as a maiden, but Stands Down seemed intent on showing her off to him, calling her to wait on Red Eagle again and again.
Red Eagle was polite. It would have been unt
hinkable to be otherwise. But he did not want his gestures or actions misunderstood by Stands Down or his anxious daughter. He dared not venture into conversation with her.
After the meal, Blue Feather retreated to the far end of the tent. Stands Down took out his pipe and offered it to Red Eagle. They smoked for several minutes in silence. Then Stands Down invited Red Eagle to stay on with them.
Glancing momentarily at Blue Feather, Red Eagle said, “It is very kind of you. I have traveled many days without rest. You have fed me well, but there are those I still seek and I cannot rest until I find them.”
“We have heard that many turned north, into the territory that belongs to our brothers. There they will find shelter and protection.”
“Yes, but still I cannot stay. You are gracious and your kindness will always be remembered.”
Stands Down grunted. “Blue Feather will prepare food for your journey and, if you choose, she will accompany you. It is cold these nights.” He leaned forward to add, “There are few men here who need a young wife, although many make their requests. She has refused them all. But I see she likes you.”
Red Eagle tried to avoid the look in Blue Feather’s dark eyes.
Stands Down continued, “I would also like to send Blue Feather away from here, before the white-scabs sickness reaches her. Those afflicted have set up their own village but I fear, as do many, that it will come and take our remaining children. The army promised medicine but it does not come.”
Red Eagle recalled that the lieutenant and general had suggested it might be well worth trading information for some much-needed medicine. He wondered if he should have obliged, but shook his head. It was most likely a deception and what could he have told them that they didn’t already know, anyway?
“It is a bitter joke,” continued Stands Down, “that the white scabs disease continues to spread. It is the army’s best weapon. But perhaps it will turn on the soldiers, those who steal the Pikuni horses or possessions?”
Red Eagle nodded, then rushed to explain, “I wish not to offend you or your daughter, Stands Down, but I can not take a companion. I will be moving quickly. Blue Feather is young and lovely. It will not be long before she finds a good husband—”
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