Across the Sweet Grass Hills

by Gail L. Jenner

Cole laughed aloud. “Forget the jackass. She was as worth­less as a pail of hot spit.” He laughed to himself. It was he who was surrounded by real jackasses. Crying over a mule?

  He gave his horse a good kick. They still had quite a dis­tance to go before reaching their destination—the British terri­tory. But Cole knew the venture would pay off. With the out­break of smallpox and the recent attack on the Pikuni, Blackfeet everywhere were running scared. They would trade dearly for medicine and whiskey, and especially guns. Of course, DeTrobriand was a fool, thinking Cole and his men would return. But DeTrobriand had come to trust his first lieutenant; after all, he had had more experience with Indians than almost anyone else at the fort.

  The general would discover his mistake soon enough. But that didn’t matter, grinned Cole. The army had never given a tinker’s damn about him. He had been passed over and made a fool of too many times. Now he had an opportunity to make a new start and nobody was going to stop him. Nobody.

  Perhaps he ought to feel remorse for killing two white men, but he didn’t. He had already killed enough Indians to make pulling the trigger second nature. Of course, killing a red man was different than killing a white man. An Indian was a varmint; Potter and Edelstein had been too stupid to fret over. He’d had enough of this poor army’s existence; if he was to sur­vive, he had to take a few risks.

  Then he smiled. The troopers’ deaths would actually help ensure his escape. By scalping them and leaving them humped in the snow, the army would suspect Mountain Chief and his bucks.

  It really was a good plan.

  Too bad the army brass had never appreciated his intel­ligence.

  ****

  Red Eagle spotted the two bodies easily.

  Having intercepted several horse and mule tracks early in the morning, he had followed them for some distance. The obvious question played in his mind: had these men been on the trail of the Pikuni? If so, was he getting closer to Liza?

  It was now late afternoon and the sunshine waned as gray clouds rolled across the sky. The air was heavy with frost, and Red Eagle suspected it would be a bitterly cold night. Shivering, he stopped to unwrap his cape, which was tied behind his saddle, then threw it over his shoulders.

  His attention was drawn to the meadow.

  Readjusting the heavy robe, he kicked his horse and rode across the open space. The yellow dun sniffed the air nervous­ly and Red Eagle, too, smelled death.

  They stopped only a few feet from the blue-clad bodies. Stripped of their coats and boots, Red Eagle remembered the times his father had tramped about the cabin in long under­wear and red stockings. His mother used to giggle at such odd behavior.

  The dead men were clearly soldiers, and they had been scalped. He grimaced. Was this the work of Owl Child or Mountain Chief? Had the Pikuni leaders sought vengeance already?

  Red Eagle dismounted and approached the men slowly. One had been killed close to the trees, the other a little further out in the meadow. An ambush?

  He examined the tracks. Several animals had milled around here for quite awhile. The snow was also well trampled by men. Red Eagle squatted and examined the prints more carefully.

  He scratched his head, curiosity piqued. The prints were soldiers’ boot prints. There wasn’t a moccasined foot among them. That meant there had been no Indians here, only white men. But why would white men scalp these men, unless they wanted to blame the Blackfeet for something they had done?

  Red Eagle turned the first man over. Frowning, he stud­ied what remained of the young man’s bloody face. It was still recognizable—the soldier he had ridden with back to the fort. The quiet, yellow-haired boy.

  Red Eagle studied the bullet hole in his chest before standing up to glance around. A bitter sense of dread wafted across the landscape, swirling and curling around him, as if the place was haunted.

  Straightening his shoulders, he quickly crossed the tram­pled snow to where the second soldier lay. Red Eagle didn’t rec­ognize this one. Just another soldier, but he, too, had a bullet hole in his chest; both men had been killed by the same gun and the same man.

  Red Eagle’s hand went instinctively to his knife. He still felt as if someone was watching him. The killer himself? Or, per­haps, the spirit of these men?

  Sighing audibly, Red Eagle looked down at the nameless soldier. What had he witnessed? Who were the other men and where were they headed? The young man’s eyes were wide with horror yet mysteriously all-knowing. Was he trying to give voice to his murder?

  Red Eagle frowned as he thought of Liza. Would these other men soon cross her path? He couldn’t waste another minute.

  ****

  “We can’t stop yet,” said Liza, though Bull Child protest­ed. “I know it’s been a long day, little one, but we need to find a good place to camp, where we have water and shelter.”

  Liza pulled the little girl into her arms. “Here,” she coaxed. “We’ll treat ourselves to a piece of pemmican.” She knew they didn’t have much to spare, but Liza did not want to stop here. There was no stream, and few trees. They would be battered by the wind and cold. If only they could get closer to a waterway. Then they could camp for more than a day, if necessary.

  Liza sighed. She almost wished the army had found them already, praying that not all troopers were as ruthless as Private Scott and those who had attacked the Pikuni villages.

  Bull Child watched her movements closely. “Here’s a piece of meat,” said Liza reaching into the parfleche Fat Dog had packed and pulling out a flat, thin cake. There was meat enough for two or three more days, but fewer if she gave it to Bull Child too freely. “Eat slowly,” she ordered, then chided her­self when the little girl raised her round, worried eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” said Liza, pulling the child close. “I’m just fretting,” she added in English, for she didn’t want to frighten her. God only knew how glad she was that Bull Child was with her. She might have lost her will to go on had she stayed with the others.

  Liza looked around once more. The land was deceptive and intimidating, with deep ravines and rugged bluffs that dipped into the far horizons. Only the rugged rim of mountains gave her a sense of security. The majestic rampart was like a fortress and she began to wish there were a way to escape into its protective boundaries.

  Frowning, she whispered, “I must be getting addle­brained.” There was no way they could even reach the moun­tains or tramp up those rugged ridges. The soldiers following would overtake them sooner than later. “Well, we might as well keep walking,” she said to Bull Child, stamping the cold from her feet.

  Her next thought struck like a bolt of lightning.

  What if her father had sent the soldiers? Perhaps Red Eagle and Father had gone to Fort Shaw and demanded the army’s assistance in locating her. Perhaps they had insisted on Lieutenant Cole’s leading a patrol.

  Liza exhaled slowly. Had she been running away from the wrong enemy? Had she been so frightened that she’d forgotten that, as a white woman and daughter of a missionary, she was entitled to help from the soldiers?

  Liza squeezed Bull Child’s hand. Perhaps Red Eagle him­self led the troopers.

  Turning to the little girl, she cried, “Bull Child, we’re going to be all right. I feel it, here.” She placed her gloved hand over her heart. At the same time, she scanned the crystal white expanse and her heart beat faster. “I see someone coming!”

  CHAPTER 33

  The moment Liza saw the two soldiers, she frowned. Red Eagle and her father were nowhere in sight.

  But she recognized the first man. It was Lieutenant Cole. She flapped her arms wildly. “Here!” she yelled. “Over here!”

  “Hell’s bells,” piped the second man, a crooked smile crossing his narrow face as he spotted Liza. He kicked his horse and clucked to the two mules in tow. “So much for the tracks we been followin’. Ain’t she a white woman?”

  “Or a breed,” growled Lieutenant Cole as he swung his horse down the steep slope of the ravine.


  Liza frowned. Obviously the lieutenant hadn’t recog­nized her. She coaxed Bull Child forward. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I know this man.”

  Bull Child frowned and shook her head.

  “Please, trust me,” whispered Liza. “I will not let anyone hurt you.”

  Tearfully, Bull Child followed her, and the two walked out to meet the string of animals and riders.

  “Heavens,” sighed Liza, a smile on her face, “I thought we’d be wandering forever. Like the Israelites,” she added. She looked up at the lieutenant and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Don’t you recognize me, Lieutenant?”

  “Why should I?” muttered Cole, his ice blue eyes pinched nearly shut.

  “Well,” said Liza, “you escorted me all over the fort while my father and I were there last August. I’m Elizabeth Ralston, sir.”

  “Hell,” snapped Cole. He drew his horse up and leaned over. “So how come you’re dressed like an Injun? You look more like a half-breed. And where’s your pa?”

  Liza flushed. “You remember, my father is a missionary. We’ve been living with the Pikuni.” She swallowed her next words as she suddenly realized that Simon Cole might well have been on the January death march. “I–I haven’t seen my father in almost two months.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes blazed as he broke in, “Miss Ralston, were you camped along the Marias River, near Heavy Runner’s band?”

  “Oh, no,” lied Liza, wrapping her hand over Bull Child’s shoulder. “We were camped further north. But we heard about the attack. We heard that there were some terrible renegades camped there. You were lucky enough, I hope, Lieutenant, to catch the outlaws?” She sighed elaborately, then turned away.

  Lieutenant Cole smiled and nodded, his eyes on Bull Child. “We took care of some of them. But don’t worry, the rest have scattered to the four winds.”

  “Well,” quipped Liza, “I suppose they had it coming?”

  “’Scuse me for saying so, Miss Ralston, but the Blackfeet are notorious villains. We’ll be better off when they’re all killed or run out of the territory. Most of them are nothing more than lazy drunks and cheating bastards.”

  Liza squeezed Bull Child’s shoulder a second time, then raised her chin. “Don’t forget, Lieutenant,” she said carefully, “they are God’s children.”

  “More like varmints,” said Cole, “but let’s not fret over our differences.” His gaze took in her outfit. “Tell me, how the hell did you end up out here, in the wilderness?” His voice was sharp but Liza feigned ignorance.

  Bull Child tugged on the middle finger of Liza’s free hand. The poor child was trembling.

  Liza responded thickly, “Oh, Lieutenant Cole, my father sent me away. But when I heard about the attack, why, I just had to return. Then our horses collapsed and we lost the other members of our party. I’m afraid we’ve been wandering around and around.”

  The lieutenant frowned. Unexpectedly, he turned to his partner. “We’ll make camp here, Private,” he said, indicating a spot near the bottom of the ravine. “You ride over to the river and fill the canteens.”

  Private Schluter’s eyes narrowed as he dropped the mule ropes. Liza could tell he didn’t seem pleased. Was it because she and Bull Child would be an extra burden?

  Lieutenant Cole quickly dismounted. Picking up the lead ropes as he approached Liza, he said, “Here. Make yourself useful.”

  He cast another glance at Bull Child.

  Liza pulled the little girl closer. An uneasiness filled her as she recognized the disgust in the lieutenant’s eyes. Had she made another disastrous mistake by joining up with this man?

  As the lieutenant led the way and Liza and Bull Child fol­lowed, Liza tried to keep her growing fear hidden. She took sev­eral deep breaths. Unfortunately, she had never been very good at pretending, but she knew she had to rely on her instincts. Right now, those instincts told her that Bull Child’s safety depended on Liza’s ability to play a fool before these men.

  Her heart ached with disappointment. She had so hoped Father and Red Eagle would find them.

  Where are you? Her heart cried out to the wilderness.

  The two men set up camp in the flat of the ravine where a handful of bare trees formed a half-circle. Once the horses were hobbled, the private tied the pack mules together in a string. He pulled out some cooking gear and headed back to where Lieutenant Cole had started a small fire. Liza asked if she could help.

  “Ain’t much ’cept beans and coffee and a little hardtack.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Liza. She studied the man out of the corners of her eyes. Something about him eased her anx­iety. He didn’t have the same hardness the lieutenant displayed.

  “You just rest,” said the private. “You an’ that little one look like you walked halfway to hell and back.”

  The lieutenant scoffed. “Miss Ralston have a seat, next to me. It’s been what? Six months since we last visited? I must say, I never thought I’d see you dressed as a squaw.”

  Liza’s skin tingled under the lieutenant’s scrutiny. How had she so misjudged the man? At the fort he had dazzled her with courtesy and good manners. Now, she could see it had been a facade.

  Supper was a meager affair. Bull Child ate very little, while Liza nibbled at the hardtack and beans. Lieutenant Cole and the private ate everything else. All the while, the lieu­tenant watched her, keenly aware of her apprehension. Liza tried to ignore him.

  She turned to the private. “We haven’t introduced our­selves. I’m Elizabeth Ralston, and my father is the Reverend Robert Ralston. We were originally from St. Louis.”

  The private kept his eyes on the fire but turned for a moment as he mumbled, “I’m Schluter, Private, originally from Kentucky.”

  Liza cast a quick glance at Cole then turned back to Schluter. “No first name?” she asked, her tone challenging and curt. How dare Lieutenant Cole try to intimidate her with his hard looks and sharp tongue.

  “Uh, nobody calls me by my first name, but it’s Henry.”

  Liza nodded and extended her right hand. “Hello, Henry Schluter.”

  Schluter stared at Liza’s bared hand. Wiping his own across his winter coat, he extended it slowly. “Howdy,” he said. He flashed a tiny smile, then turned away abruptly.

  “Why don’t you keep your gate shut awhile, Schluter?” growled Cole from across the fire. “And go to sleep. We’ve got a good distance to travel come morning.” He glared at Liza, as if accusing her of interrupting something. “I haven’t decided what to do with you yet, Miss Ralston, so you better button it, too.”

  Liza’s eyes flashed. “Who do you think you are, to speak to me like that? You’re an officer in the United States Army. You have an obligation to help me. Us,” she added quickly, pulling Bull Child to her side.

  “You may be as prim as a preacher’s wife,” quipped Cole, “but don’t count me as a fool. You’re pawning yourself off as white, but I can see the Injun in you. And Injun squaws are pret­ty much worthless.”

  Liza turned away, mortified.

  “Wasn’t no call to be rude,” said Schluter softly.

  “Shut it,” snapped Cole with a hard edge. He slid his hat to the back of his head and scratched his forehead. He stood up and rolled a cigarette.

  The silence was heavy as Liza led Bull Child back to their robes. Holding the child close, she rocked her until she fell asleep. Then Liza snuggled down next to her, closing her eyes. She had to forget where she was. She had to focus on where she was headed. If nothing else, she had to get back to her father and Red Eagle.

  But it was clear: Lieutenant Cole was almost as terrifying as Mad Horse; indeed, the same wild look burned in his cold, blue eyes.

  She reached for the small knife tucked inside her moc­casin. It gave her comfort, but God forbid she would ever have to use it—again.

  In the morning, she awoke to the smell of coffee. It was a memory of another life and Liza got to her feet eagerly.

  “Smells g
ood,” she whispered to Private Schluter across the empty space between them. She wandered over to the fire where Henry was squatting, a long knife in one hand, a slab of bacon in the other. “My, that looks good, too.” She indicated the salted pork. “Can’t recall the last time I had bacon.”

  Schluter shifted uncomfortably.

  “Where’s the lieutenant?” Liza asked, her voice shrill in the crisp morning air. She didn’t want the private to know how much the big, blue-eyed man frightened her. Even now she could feel his piercing eyes. She looked around.

  “Don’t know,” he mumbled, shrugging noncommittally.

  Liza returned to the bed site and shook Bull Child. “Time to get up, little one,” she whispered in her ear.

  Bull Child sat up automatically, her eyes on Liza’s face.

  Liza stroked the soft skin of her cheek. Her fingers lingered as they rested on the child’s quivering chin. “Everything will be all right,” she assured her. “I promise.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” boomed Lieutenant Cole.

  Liza and Bull Child both jumped.

  Even Schluter seemed to tremble. “Just makin’ breakfast, Lieutenant.”

  “If you were thinking of eating,” snapped Cole, “you should have been up hours ago. The animals are saddled and we’re ready to head out. Put out that fire.” He picked up the pot of coffee and poured it slowly over the glowing coals. Sparks flew and embers sizzled.

  Liza’s face fell. Were they to get nothing at all?

  “Hell, Lieutenant,” said Schluter, “I ain’t even had my coffee. A man cain’t do much on a empty stomach.”

  “No?” said Cole.

  Schluter dropped his eyes to the ground.

  Liza hugged Bull Child closer to her. “Let’s get our things together,” she whispered.

  Schluter was still grumbling as Liza and Bull Child picked up their packs.

  “Excuse me, Private Schluter,” said Liza. “Where shall we put our things?”

  Schluter mumbled something indiscernible, so Liza turned to the lieutenant. With the coffee pot still in one hand, he was watching her closely.