Cheyenne Song

by Georgina Gentry

  “Marry? You’ve said nothing about a woman—”

  “She—she was killed by the Indians a few weeks later. I had planned to bring her home for the holidays to meet you.” David blinked the tears away and stroked the fur, imagining Glory in this full-length coat, the fox-trimmed hood around her lovely, proud face.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the colonel said casually. “You should have told me; fine family, I presume?”

  “Family? I really don’t know,” David whispered. I am going to kill Two Arrows, he vowed again. I am going to stare down that gunsight into his dark eyes and say, “This is for Glory.”

  “Well, time marches on.” The colonel dismissed the coat and the information. “The best thing is for you to attend the ball tonight, meet all these pretty young things, choose one who might give your career a big boost, and give me some fine grandsons.”

  “Father, I don’t really think I feel—”

  “Oh, but you’ll feel much better once you get there,” his father said, “and you’ve disappointed me so many times in your life already.”

  David stared out the window, his hand still stroking the fur. There was no use in arguing; his father was determined to take David to the ball. Someday, he’d stand on his own two feet and make his own decisions, but for now ... “All right, Father.” He sighed in defeat. “I—I’ll go get dressed.”

  Nineteen

  It was a cold and lonely Christmas for Muldoon at Fort Robinson as only Christmas for someone with no kin can be. He broke his own vow not to gamble and his arthritic hands did well enough that he cleaned out the paychecks of half the soldiers in the company. With the money, he bought trinkets, toys, and peppermint sticks for the Cheyenne children. Muldoon was particularly taken by the charming little elf known as Grasshopper and her old grandmother, Moccasin Woman. On Christmas Day, he presented the old woman with a thick wool blanket and a small china doll for the child.

  Moccasin Woman accepted the gifts with somber gratitude. “You are good man, Muldoon, you respect my people.”

  He felt himself color. “Ah, who could not respect such brave ones? And somehow, ye remind me of my own dear mither.”

  “Here is gift for you.” Gravely, the old woman presented him with a package of smoked beef jerky. “I made this myself from our rations.”

  He started to refuse it, knowing the Indians had little food to spare, then remembered that to give a gift, one must accept one in return. “Thank you. I’m glad Grasshopper enjoys the doll.”

  The old woman sighed as they both turned to watch the little girl running through the snow with the doll in her arms. “What we would really like is to be turned loose. Will it happen, Muldoon?”

  He hesitated. “I am only a soldier; I get no say in such things.” He could not bring himself to tell her that rumors around the fort said that Washington had made its decision, and it didn’t bode well for the Cheyenne.

  Later that evening, he reread the letter he’d gotten from David Krueger and worried about him as he rubbed his throbbing hands. Muldoon had served with Fritz Krueger and knew there was not an ounce of give to the stern old man. Ah, what Michael wouldn’t give to have a fine son like David!

  He got a new letter from David the day after New Year’s saying that while he hadn’t yet gotten the nerve to tell his father, he’d applied to be transferred to Fort Robinson so he could serve with his old friend and already arranged to have Second Chance and Gray Mist shipped up there. This latest message gave the old sergeant even more cause for concern. When it came down to it, Muldoon didn’t think the young officer had the nerve to defy his stern father, and he wasn’t sure what would happen between David and the Cheyenne. What Muldoon hadn’t told David in his letters was that he had recognized Two Arrows at a distance, and that the warrior was here at the fort.

  Muldoon had mixed feelings about it all. But then, things happened in war, and these people had been desperate. He doubted David Krueger had anything but hatred for these people, and who could blame him? Muldoon could only hope fervently that if the Cheyenne were to be sent back to Indian Territory, they would be gone before David ever arrived.

  Two Arrows sat on a wooden stool at the end of his bunk, restringing a hunting bow. He looked up at the sound of Dull Knife’s step. One look at the set face told him there was trouble. “What is it, O Great Leader?”

  “The white officer has called a meeting; I am to bring our most important men. I want you at my side, Two Arrows.”

  He nodded, his heart heavy. Once, Two Arrows’s heart would have rejoiced at the honor, but the chief’s grave face made him think only of the fate of his people. They talked a moment, then Dull Knife turned and left to confer with Tangle Hair and Wild Hog. Two Arrows began to make ready to go. Proud One ran up, alarm on her pretty dark features. “Everyone says a meeting has been called. Is it good news?”

  “I don’t know.” Deep in his heart, he knew; Dull Knife’s tragic expression had betrayed him, but Two Arrows couldn’t bear to tell her yet. “I am to be part of the delegation that meets in Captain Wessells’s office this afternoon.”

  She put her arms around him. “I am proud you are to be among the leaders.”

  He hugged her. “Once, having my honor returned, being accepted by the chiefs and war leaders would have been all that mattered to me; now you are most important.” He kissed her forehead.

  She looked so hopeful, smiling up at him as if she had something to share. “It must be good news; it just has to be.”

  His heart was so heavy, he hardly heard her. “Nothing has to be. Like a Cheyenne woman, you must learn patience and not to expect good things from most whites. Now, help me dress. I would not dishonor my people by not appearing as a warrior of many coups.”

  She helped him into his finest buckskins, which she had beaded herself, and put eagle feathers in his hair and hammered-silver ornaments on his arms and neck. When he finally strode through the admiring throngs of women and children and saw Proud One’s pleased face, he knew that once again, he looked as an honored dog soldier was supposed to look, with his Dog Rope band over his broad shoulder, the ceremonial war shield on his arm.

  Old Moccasin Woman set up the trilling for the victorious warriors that he had not heard in many a year. The other women picked it up as they surrounded the little group that was to be sent from the ragged old barracks to the captain’s office. Dull Knife’s shoulders straightened and Tangle Hair, Crow, and the others raised their heads high, remembering the old days when all feared the best and bravest warriors of the plains.

  Tears came to Two Arrows’s eyes as he looked out and saw Proud One, trilling with the others, looking as if she were born to be a Cheyenne wife. For a moment, he forgot that he was a virtual prisoner at a dreary, snowy location. At the sound of the women’s trilling calls, he was once again a top dog soldier, returning from a raid against his enemies, the Pawnee and the Crow. He remembered and relived the glory days of the mighty Cheyenne; his cousin, Iron Knife, and his brother, Lance Bearer. How often they had ridden together against the enemy when the Cheyenne were as proud and free as the wolf. Now all his family was dead or scattered; he knew the whereabouts only of Storm Gathering, Iron Knife’s son, who rode with the Lakota.

  When he looked into Proud One’s face, he knew he loved her more than he had ever thought possible, more than he had loved his Cheyenne wife. Proud One had erased the hurt and the bitterness from his wounded soul. He smiled at her, and she nodded to him in encouragement.

  Dull Knife made a gesture to move out, and the group of warriors strode through the snow in their finest costumes, never mind that their moccasins were so thin they could feel the cold through the torn leather and they were all living crowded together in an old wooden barracks.

  There were soldiers stationed around the captain’s office, and they were armed and nervous-looking. The little group was ushered in, and the captain stood and shook hands with much ceremony. There were other officers there. Abruptly, Two Arrows recogni
zed Muldoon. Sergeant Muldoon’s eyes widened as if he almost didn’t recognize this proud dog soldier as the drunken white man’s scout he had known.

  “Ja, sit down,” the captain said and nodded to the sergeant to pass out big, steaming mugs of coffee with plenty of sugar the way the Indians liked it, and then passed around cigars.

  Politely, each Indian took the coffee and a cigar, waiting for the sergeant to pass around the matches. For a long moment, Two Arrows inhaled the smoke, savoring it, and sipped the coffee, remembering the old days when as an army scout, he had always had coffee and cigars. But those good things were not worth the respect he now had among his fellow warriors. They sat and drank coffee and smoked a minute, but evidently, the captain did not really understand Indians because he immediately got down to business, and pulled impatiently at his goatee. “I have called you here to talk.”

  The atmosphere cooled, even Muldoon’s ruddy face frowning some, and the Indians looked at each other. Anyone who knew about Indians knew they valued patience. It was good to sip coffee and smoke and talk around a subject a long, long time. It was rude to rush to the point as if in a hurry to end the companionship and be done with it. But then, white men were slaves to the thing they called a clock.

  “We will have more cigars and maybe then we will talk,” Dull Knife said with a nod, attempting to teach the white man proper manners.

  “Sir,” Muldoon, who did know Indians, said, “it would be good to pass around food and perhaps some lumps of sugar—”

  “Nein, Sergeant, I didn’t need you tell me what I should do next.” The man’s expression looked like thunder.

  The Indians exchanged glances. It was not good that a leader humiliate one of his own men in front of others.

  Captain Wessells stood up abruptly and glared at each one through the cloud of smoke. He reached in his desk for a paper and waved it about. Two Arrows had never been sure why white men set so much importance on the scribbling on paper. “Word has come from Washington. I’m sorry, Dull Knife, it is not my doing, but I am ordered to send your people back to the Indian Territory.” He threw the paper down on his desk as if relieved to be finished with the announcement. “There’s no use making a fuss about this.”

  Now he hesitated, as if uncertain. No one was making any fuss; they were all sitting there staring at him stoically. Two Arrows did not move or speak. He felt as if a knife had just been plunged into his heart. Even though he had been expecting this, it still was like a death sentence being handed down.

  With much dignity, Dull Knife rose. “Does not Washington understand that to return us to Indian Territory and its hot weather is to condemn us all to death?”

  The officer swore in an unknown tongue. “How do I know what Washington thinks?” The captain began to pace the floor in his shiny boots. “They don’t tell me such things; ja, I only follow orders.”

  “We will not go,” Dull Knife said, and turned to look at all his men. There was a murmur of agreement around him. “We will not go,” he said again. “If we are going to die, we might as well die here.”

  The captain looked both confused and angry, pulling very hard at his goatee. “But you see, you cannot defy Washington; you must do as they order.”

  “Why?” asked Tangle Hair. “Why do we need ask someone in a distant place where we may go and what we may do? We have roamed this land long before the white man came.”

  The captain picked up the paper again. “This says what you must do; but I don’t know exactly when you must do this.”

  The Indians smiled and nodded to each other. Two Arrows felt relieved. Washington usually moved very slowly. By the time they got around to deciding this, there might be a new man in this White House all the soldiers talked about, and he would countermand everything the other had said.

  Dull Knife stared out the window at the frozen landscape and the deep snow outside. “We will not go back, no matter what Washington says.” Then he stood up, and with great ceremony, strode outside, followed by the others. Two Arrows was in such a state of shock that for a long moment, he did not notice that Muldoon had followed them outside.

  “I am sorry,” Muldoon said. “I am sorry.”

  The others turned and walked away with great dignity, but Two Arrows paused. “Sergeant, you and I have known each other many, many moons.”

  “Yes, ’tis true,” the other nodded, “but I did not recognize you just now.”

  “I saw a chance to change, and I took it.” He decided not to mention it could all be traced to a much loved woman. “Is there any chance that Washington will change its mind?”

  The other hesitated.

  “Speak true to me, Muldoon, I know you have a good heart.”

  The other hesitated, looked away, and shook his head. “None, from what I hear; I’m sorry.”

  If he had some weeks to plan and some warm weather, maybe the Cheyenne could plan to walk away from Fort Robinson the way they had walked away from Fort Reno. “How long do you think before Washington tries to make us go?”

  “Maybe soon, they say.”

  “Soon?” Two Arrows said in amazement. “But it would be loco to try to force old ones and children to start back through the snow and blizzards.”

  “Aye, it is a crazy thing indeed”—Muldoon looked chagrined—“but then, Washington has never been known to do the sane, logical thing, like wait for warmer weather.”

  “Muldoon, about the white woman—”

  “I don’t want to know how she died,” Muldoon interrupted him. “I know things happen in war that men do not mean to happen. I should warn you that Captain Krueger has asked for a transfer to this post and you know what’s in his heart. I think it will be a good thing if the Cheyenne are transferred elsewhere before he arrives.”

  Two Arrows stared at him in confusion. The whites thought Proud One was dead for some reason; no one would be looking for her. He could keep her forever unless someone recognized her. However, Muldoon was right; Two Arrows and Proud One needed to be gone before Captain David Krueger came to Fort Robinson.

  Muldoon rubbed his hands together and frowned. “Damnable weather! Did you have something to tell me, Two Arrows?”

  He could not bring himself to make this sacrifice yet; not when there was any hope. “No; nothing.” He turned and strode away.

  Back at the barracks, all was wailing and confusion. Proud One rushed up to him, and he could see great sadness in her dark eyes.

  “You heard?”

  For a moment, she could not speak and tears welled up in her eyes and she only nodded. “Is—is there nothing that can be done?”

  He could not bear to see her so sad. “Perhaps Washington will change its mind,” he said a little too brightly, “or perhaps, by the time they decide to do this thing, we will have managed to get away. After all, we did it once.”

  His words seemed to cheer the wailing women and children and they began to talk to each other. “Yes, we did it once. If Washington says go, perhaps we can slip away and escape like we did before.”

  But late that night, as he lay on their bunk, holding her close, listening to the steady breathing of the others sleeping in the barracks, he could only think that the whites thought she was dead and they would not be looking for her if she were careful. “I’m sorry the news was not good,” he whispered, and held her close.

  “They will surely change their minds.” She sounded scared and desperate. “We will freeze to death or die of exhaustion on that long trail back.”

  But not you, my dear one, he thought as he held her close. I am going to do whatever it takes to save you, no matter how much it breaks my heart.

  She snuggled against his big body. “What are you thinking?”

  “How very, very much I love you,” he said, and was glad it was dark so she could not see the tears in his eyes.

  “Then make love to me,” she whispered, and kissed him until he returned her kiss and began to make slow, tender love to her. “There are tears on your ch
eeks; what’s the matter?”

  “Smoke from the stove,” he lied, and held her very close, knowing that soon all he would have would be the precious memories of moments like these. He began to make love to her as if by doing so, he could chase away the reality that he already knew; they were going to be separated, and he was going to see to it.

  That night, the Cheyenne brave, Bull Hump, disappeared. Two Arrows knew the man had been longing for his wife, who had slipped away when the Cheyenne were first captured by Captain Johnson. Barracks gossip said that Bull Hump’s love for his wife had overshadowed all and he had simply forgot Captain Wessells’s ruling that each must be present and accounted for, or he would not have caused his people this trouble. Nevertheless, the next day, when the soldiers did the head count on the parade ground and there was one missing, Captain Wessells flew into a thundering rage and lectured the Cheyenne like naughty children. “Ach! One is gone! You are responsible!” he roared at Dull Knife.

  Dull Knife stared back at the officer calmly. “Among our people, each man is responsible for himself. Bull Hump’s woman is among the Lakota; he had a sudden urge to see her, so he went.”

  “I want hostages to prove no one else will leave,” the captain said, marching up and down in his shiny boots.

  “No other man has a woman among the Lakota,” Dull Knife said with great logic.

  In the background, some soldiers laughed, and the captain grew even more red-faced. “Ja! You are making me look the fool!”

  Two Arrows said, “We do nothing; the captain needs no help.”

  The captain was so angry, he shook, and he waved a paper in Two Arrows’s face. “You are all to be sent back immediately! Do you hear? Ja! Immediately!”

  A murmur ran through the Cheyenne standing on the parade ground as the officer’s words were quickly translated.

  Two Arrows felt a chill run up his back. “Immediately? But the snows are very deep and the weather is the coldest it has been for years. Wagons cannot move in this—”