As he matured, however, he dared to think there might be more to lovemaking than frenzied coupling in the dark, and stupidly fell in love. The girl had been many years older than he was. Never would he forget how cruelly she had laughed at him when, in the throes of passion, he had blurted out that he loved her. That was when he made up his mind never to expect more than fleeting physical pleasure. He made it good, and the girls—and, eventually, women—always came back for more.
When he was older, there were a few who hinted at marriage and all that went with it, but he was honest with them all, making it clear he was not interested in commitment.
In late afternoon on the third day out from San Antonio, Steve arrived at Fort Inge. Situated on a hill, it was planned around a spacious parade ground with officers' quarters lining one side and soldiers' barracks and stables on another. In the rear was the hospital, storehouses, and other support buildings necessary to an isolated post.
He stated his business to the cautious sentry on duty at the gate: He was looking for a man named Seth Greer who had once operated a trading post on the San Antonio trail but had not seen it along the way.
The sentry shook his head. "Sorry, I don't know anything about it. Never heard of anybody named Greer. I've only been here a few months, though. Somebody else might be able to help you." He waved another soldier over. "Take this man to the quartermaster's office."
As they crossed the parade ground, Steve instinctively glanced toward the stables. He made a mental note to stop by later, curious about the stock used by the army.
He saw some men lounging around outside wearing the familiar blue uniform of the cavalry, but there the resemblance to regular soldiers ended. Some of them had braids, a couple wore scalp locks, and a few had long hair streaming down their backs. They eyed him warily as he passed, dark eyes set in cinnamon faces. These, he knew, were Indians hired to scout for the army.
One of them caught his eye. He was smaller, appeared younger, and seemed to distance himself from the others. His hair was long but instead of the front part being pulled away from his forehead by a bandanna or leather thong, like the rest of the Indians, it tumbled to nearly conceal his eyes.
Steve also noticed how filthy the boy was. His face was covered with dirt, and the baggy uniform he wore was not particularly clean either.
The soldier escorting Steve saw him staring at the scouts and mistook his interest for aversion. "I don't like 'em either. Can't be trusted, none of 'em. They'd just as soon slit your throat as look at you. But the army says we need 'em to track down the rest of their kind."
"Indians betraying Indians," Steve murmured. "That's a sad paradox in a way."
The soldier glanced at him sharply. "You sound like an Indian lover, mister. Maybe that's 'cause you don't know what it's really like out here. It's hell, thanks to the red man, and the sooner we kill every one of them the better."
Steve responded quietly. "My feelings have nothing to do with being an Indian lover. I just find it pitiful that men are forced to turn against their own kind in order to survive. There has to be another way for everyone to live in peace."
The soldier softened a bit. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't like the killing either. Hell, I don't even like being a soldier. I thought I would. Thirteen dollars a month sounded good, along with clothes and shelter and food. But I've seen too many men die in this godforsaken place, and I'm not wanting to join them. I'm not like the scouts. They only want their pay and don't give a damn who gets killed so long as it's not them."
They reached the post quartermaster's office, where Steve met Captain Puckett.
"Have a seat, Maddox." The captain shook his hand. "Welcome. We don't get a lot of visitors in these parts. Where are you from and what brings you here?"
"I'm a horse trainer on a plantation in Alabama, just north of Mobile." He repeated what he had told the sentry, how he was looking for Seth Greer.
The captain nodded. "The trading post was maybe a mile or so away. It was owned by the government. The commander before me wanted it moved inside the fort for convenience and got permission to do it. Greer said he wouldn't operate it anymore and quit. That was over a year ago."
Steve felt a rush of excitement to have his first lead. "Do you have any idea where he went?"
"Sorry. That's all I know."
"Is there anybody here who would?"
"Maybe Sergeant Major Wacksmith. He's been here longer than anybody else. I saw him a little while ago, heading for the blacksmith with his horse."
Steve thanked him and quickly found his way to the shop, which was situated in a corner of the stables. He saw that the scouts were still watching him, along with the boy, who continued to stand apart from the others.
Sergeant Wacksmith was not in a good mood. A big barrel-chested man, he was wheezing and sweating in the late-afternoon heat as he attempted to shoe a horse. Bending over, holding the horse's hoof in one hand, he was struggling to hammer in the nails. He glanced up briefly at Steve before muttering, "What the hell do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Steve noted the horse appeared uneasy. "You aren't a regular blacksmith, are you?"
"Damn right I'm not. We ain't got but one—Corporal Gooden—and he's down with a bad leg. Horse kicked him yesterday. My horse threw a shoe this morning, and there's nobody to fix it but me."
"Let me do it." Steve rolled up his sleeves.
Wacksmith was only too glad to let him, and gratitude quickly changed to admiration as he realized Steve knew what he was doing. "I can see that's not the first horse you've ever shod, mister."
Steve nodded. "The horse knows it too, which is more important. He's not going to stand still if he senses you're nervous, and that's when trouble starts."
Steve nailed the shoe in place, checked the others to make sure they were all right, then stood. "That does it. Now I'd like to talk to you, if you've got a minute."
Wacksmith laughed. "Better make it quick, or we'll have you in a uniform working here full-time, good as you are."
"Thanks, but I've got a job—trying to find a man I hope you know something about. His name is Seth Greer."
"Oh, I can help you there, all right. He used to run a trading post down the road. I knew him real good."
"Do you know where he went when it was closed down?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Steve knew if word got out he was searching for an heiress, Indian girls would come from all over claiming to be Raven. "All I can tell you is that I was hired to find him and his daughter, but I assure you I mean them no harm."
"Well, you won't find Seth. He's dead."
Steve was not surprised. He had figured that was the reason Ned's letters from Greer had stopped. "I'm sorry about that," he responded, "but I'd still like to hear anything you can tell me about him."
Wacksmith figured there was no harm in that. "We was real close, Seth and me. I was about the only soldier he took up with, being I'm older than most. Anyway, he didn't like men around his daughter. You probably already know she was a half-breed."
Steve nodded.
"Well, folks out here don't have no use for half-breeds at all. Breeds are misfits; neither whites nor Indians will accept them as a member of their race. Seth's wife was a Tonkawa. She died not long after he came here. I didn't know him then, but I can tell you he loved that squaw to a fault. Sometimes we'd share a bottle of whiskey, and he'd get to talking about her and start crying. Anyway, he was bound and determined to take care of his daughter—her name was Raven—and he knew some soldiers don't have no more respect for a breed girl than they do a whore. That's why he wouldn't move the trading post inside the fort. Said he'd rather take his chances with renegade Indians than soldiers creeping around at night."
"Do you know where he headed when he left?"
"Back to the reservation on the Sabine River, northeast of here, where he used to work. He was friends with some of the agents there and said he might try to hire on again, if he couldn'
t get another trading post to run."
Steve dared to hope out loud. "Then the girl is probably still on the reservation."
"Hard to say. A ranger passing through told me Seth had died, but he didn't know anything about the girl. She might have got married by now. Pretty as she was, she wouldn't have no trouble finding a husband to take care of her."
Steve hoped that was not the case. A husband would only complicate things.
"Wish I could tell you more."
"You've been a big help. At least I know where to start looking. All I need now is one of those scouts"—he nodded toward the Indians who had gathered in the doorway—"to make sure I don't get lost or stumble into the wrong place. I took the trail from Alabama to Texas along the Gulf, figuring it was safer once I got in rough territory."
"That's for sure, but now you got to go up through Bastro and Nacogdoches, and that's country you sure don't want to wander around in. You'll need a guide, all right, but don't expect the army to cooperate. We need all the scouts we got, what with Washington on our backs demanding we beef up patrols to protect the settlers."
Steve feared the sergeant was right. He glanced at the Indians, who were watching him curiously. "Do you suppose one of them would be willing to come with me for the right price? I'm also going to need help once I get there, so someone who knows the language would mean a lot. I'm willing to pay plenty."
"Well, the fact is, most of them do speak enough English to get by. But they also know deserters are shot if they're found."
As though wanting to avoid suspicion that they would even consider such a grave offense as desertion, the scouts began to move away—all except the dirty-faced boy, Steve noted, who continued to stare from behind the thick curtain of hair across his eyes.
Wacksmith also noticed that the boy had not left, and a thought occurred to him. "They might let you borrow Little Crow. He's not much good as a scout. All he does is help with the horses."
Steve had a sinking sensation to think he might have to rely on a mere boy but figured he was better than nothing. "Well, what about it? You want to go with me, Little Crow?" He took a step toward him, intending to put a hand on the Indian's shoulder in a gesture of friendship, but the boy suddenly bolted and ran.
Wacksmith laughed. "He don't let nobody get near him. He's a strange one. But talk to Captain Puckett. He might make him go with you."
Steve returned to the post commander's office, where Captain Puckett was quick to say he would be glad to order Little Crow to be Steve's guide. "As Sergeant Wacksmith probably told you, we only let him hang around because he's good with the horses. He's got an uncanny knack. It's like they actually understand everything he says to them."
Steve thanked him and turned to go.
"When will you be leaving?" Puckett called.
"First thing in the morning. I'm tired; so's my horse. And I need to gather fresh supplies."
"Then have dinner with me and my officers tonight. I'd like to hear more about Alabama and the growing issue over slavery, especially since that book came out that's caused such an uproar—Uncle Tom's Cabin."
"I'd be pleased to join you, Captain, but I don't know that I can share much with you in the way of politics. Since I don't own any slaves, I try to stay out of the controversy."
Puckett raised a brow in question. "But this man you work for, who owns a plantation, he has slaves, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but they're treated well," Steve was quick to assure.
"But they're still in bondage," Puckett said with an air of disdain. "Well, we can talk more tonight. Besides, I'm curious as to why a man would send someone so far to find a half-breed girl. Maybe I can persuade you to tell me."
"I'm afraid I can't help you there." Steve smiled. "I just do what I'm told." He tipped his hat and left.
* * *
Neither man had been aware that Little Crow was crouched outside the window, concealed by scrub brush and listening to everything they said.
Captain Puckett, Little Crow mused with a frown, was not the only one curious over why Steve Maddox was searching for Raven.
And now the need to find out burned even deeper.
Alabama.
The stranger named Steve Maddox was from Alabama! And long ago, Little Crow had seen letters that came sometimes from that faraway place.
The letters had contained money. Dirty money, Little Crow's mother had said bitterly, from a man trying to buy freedom from his guilt.
But that was in another time, another life.
Chapter 4
Raven stared at the stranger from behind her long thick bangs. It was early morning, and she had just started feeding the stock when Corporal Gooden called her to the blacksmith shop.
"This here is Mr. Steve Maddox." Corporal Gooden winced as he propped his bruised leg on a barrel opposite the one he was sitting on. "Captain Puckett wants you to see that he gets to the Sabine reservation safely. You do know the way, don't you?"
Gooden smirked at Steve. "Little Crow is a wizard when it comes to horses, but the few patrols he led out didn't do much. He showed up here about a year ago, said his family was all dead and he needed work and a place to stay, and since he was no trouble and would do anything he was told, we didn't run him off."
Gooden looked to Raven again. "Well, boy, speak up. Do you know the way or don't you?"
"I know the way," she responded, in the deep, husky voice she had practiced in hopes of sounding like a boy. It had worked so far; no one had suspected otherwise. "It is the land of my people."
"You speak pretty good English," Steve observed.
Raven merely looked at him.
"Did you understand what was said between me and Sergeant Wacksmith in the blacksmith shop yesterday and how I'm looking for a half-breed girl called Raven?"
She nodded with a blank expression.
"The girl is half Tonkawa," Steve explained, in case that made any difference.
"Little Crow is Tonkawa," Corporal Gooden said.
Steve was suddenly buoyed and said, "Then maybe you know something about her."
"I don't think so," Raven said woodenly, suspiciously. "But why are you looking for her?"
"I'm not at liberty to say except to assure you I mean her no harm." He turned to Gooden. "Maybe I'd be better off going back to San Antonio and trying to hire a guide there." Little Crow seemed hostile, and that could mean problems.
"Suit yourself, but with all the Indian raids lately, you might not find one willing to go if it's just going to be the two of you. They want soldiers along in case of attack. And no matter what trail you take from there to the Sabine, if you don't know how to avoid them, you're apt to run into Indians. If I was you, I'd let Little Crow lead the way. He might be young, but he probably still knows more about that territory than any white man. Indians learn things like that at an early age."
Steve appraised the boy again and saw that his eyes, though barely visible behind the bangs, were unmistakably defiant. He obviously did not like having his ability doubted. "I'm not sure. I still think I'd do better on my own."
Gooden laughed. "If you consider getting scalped doing better, then take off. But I don't think you've got to worry. In my opinion, I suspect Little Crow only pretends not to be a good scout so the army won't use him, because he'd rather hang around here and help me with the horses than go out on patrol. Wouldn't you, boy?" He gave Raven a playful shove.
Raven stumbled backward but quickly got her balance. Ignoring Corporal Gooden, she assured Steve, "If you will do as I say, I will do my best to get you there safely."
Steve thought a moment. He really could not afford to waste time looking for another guide, so he agreed, hoping he was not making a mistake. "All right. Get your things and let's go, but I want it understood we don't drag our feet getting there. I want to move fast."
Raven had conditions of her own. "And I want it understood that I set the pace. I cannot be alert for danger if I am in a hurry."
Steve waved her
away. "We can argue later."
Raven was not worried. He would learn soon enough how things would be, and as soon as she found out why he was looking for her, she would leave him to fend for himself.
She reasoned he could only have been sent by her father, but why? He certainly hadn't cared about her before. She knew all about Ned Ralston, and how he had sworn he loved her mother and promised to come back to her and then sent his dirty money instead, to appease his conscience for having lied. Her mother had told her everything when she felt she was old enough to understand, and she knew her mother had been deeply hurt. Not only had Ned Ralston broken her heart, he had also shamed her before her people, because when it became known that she was carrying a white man's baby, the Tonkawas had been furious. They had demanded she allow the shaman to end her pregnancy. When she refused, eventually marrying Seth, she had been banished from the tribe.
Raven did not like to imagine what life would have been like without Seth. A kindhearted man, he had searched for her mother at Ned Ralston's request, only to fall in love with her himself. Lakoma, he swore, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He also felt sorry for her and wanted to take care of her, and Lakoma saw his proposal of marriage as a way to escape the taunts and mistreatment of the Tonkawas.
Seth had been good to them, and Raven had looked to him as a father. But she had sensed her mother had never returned his love. Ned Ralston had taken her heart with him when he abandoned her. That was another reason Raven resented him, blaming him for her mother's inability to let go of the past and return the love that a wonderful man like Seth offered.
When her mother died, Raven had seen a light go out in Seth's eyes. A part of him had died too, and Raven knew he only held on to life for her sake. When he finally let go, after coming down with a fever only a short while after they got to the reservation, Raven could not have grieved more had he been her true father. For the first time in her life, she realized what it meant to be truly alone in the world.
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