by Vivi Holt
Bill listened intently, and sighed. “Have it your way then. We’ll keep it to ourselves for now, as long as you’re sure they’re not a risk to us or anyone else on the ranch.”
“I’m sure,” she replied.
He nodded, and continued eating, lost in his thoughts. The look on his face said that he’d drop it for now, but she could tell he wasn’t convinced. She knew him so well.
The problem was, Sarah wasn’t convinced either. One thing she knew, which Bill did not, was that Bow Bearer had always gone his own way. He had a history of pushing the boundaries set by the chief. Sometimes even rebelliously crossing them. But she wasn’t about to tell her husband that. What could they do about it anyway? If Bow Bearer did come after them, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Their only option would be to move away.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was the answer. That’s what they’d do. When she heard that Chief Mutagaweer had passed on into the next life, she’d make sure they moved far, far away from Paradise Valley. Somewhere Bow Bearer couldn’t find them. But how would she tell Bill what she’d decided? She’d have to let him think it was his idea somehow, or he’d know she was keeping something from him and he’d contact the army himself and the Apasaalooke people might never recover.
Chapter Four
Bow Bearer leaned low over the pony’s neck. Its hooves thundered beneath him, and the steady rhythm of its galloping soothed his troubled spirit. He’d been unable to concentrate lately, his thoughts inadvertently turning to Sarah whenever he had a few moments alone. It troubled him. He was a warrior. The future leader of the Apasaalooke nation. Anything he desired he could take — anything but her.
The herd of bison stampeding alongside him was just the distraction he needed. He grinned, and let out a wild yell that was answered by the distant chorus of his brothers. They surrounded the herd, running with it, tiring it out. Then, when the opportunity presented itself, they would shoot. But only such animals as they needed for food.
They’d traveled a good distance over the past week to find the herd where it grazed on the plains. It was a tradition they followed each year, and one Bow Bearer looked forward to. They had to be careful though, since the Lakota and Cheyenne had claimed the land they were hunting, and over the years had pushed the Apasaalooke to find new land further upriver.
The sky stretched wide and clear above them, and the smell of drying grasses filled his nostrils, along with the earthy scent of the bison themselves. Bow Bearer’s blood rushed headily through his veins and his pulse raced. The excitement of the hunt was reviving his joy. The joy he’d lost in recent months as he’d fought against the wishes of the elders who wanted to control every aspect of his life.
He didn’t wish to marry Ky. He wanted Sarah. Then, there was the matter of the truce with the whites. The elders would have him meet with the white men over at Fort Laramie to continue the Treaty that Chief Mutagaweer had signed the previous year. He was likely to be the next chief, and they wanted him to learn the art of politics. But he didn’t want peace, he wanted his land back. He wanted the white men to leave, for the settlers to return to their distant homes. He could remember a time when there were no white men on Apasaalooke land, and yet now they were everywhere. And they were making all the rules. The chief didn’t understand — didn’t see things the way he did. If they continued to welcome the white men, they’d never leave.
He grunted in frustration, and steered the pony to the left as the herd swerved around a pile of victorian furniture that lay immobile beside a wagon trail in the middle of the grassy plain. He frowned, and turned his head to look back at the weathered timber of an upright piano, rocking chair with a broken leg, and a settee with torn upholstery.
The furniture had no doubt been abandoned by white settlers in a covered wagon — he’d seen them weave their way through the Apasaalooke land for years now, their faces gaunt and tanned by the time they got this far. He felt anger burning inside him — that was the problem with the white men — they had no concern for the land they were trespassing on. They’d just dump the things they no longer wanted or needed, and continue on their way. They didn’t respect the Apasaalooke, Cheyenne or Lakota, and didn’t even recognize that this land belonged to them.
A cry came from the other side of the herd, and the warrior forgot his frustrations for the moment, lost to the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. It was time to hunt. He lifted his bow and slung it with an arrow, the horse still galloping at a head long pace beneath him. He gripped tightly with his thighs against the animals sides, and let go of the bow string sending an arrow sailing through the air and directly into the side of a large cow.
Just then, the entire herd appeared to stumble. He slowed his horse with a touch, and lowered his bow to watch in confusion. Before him lay a long, sleek pair of hard, steel lines. He knew what steel was, he’d seen it many times — the white men loved to use it to make things like guns, axes, knives and stoves. But what was it doing laid out in two long lines through the plains?
He heard a shout come from his brothers, and strained his eyes to see what they were pointing to on the horizon. At first he couldn’t make it out, then he saw a long, steel vehicle moving at high speed toward them. The herd, and the warriors who were hunting them panicked, and took off in every direction to get away from the steel beast hurtling across the plains.
He pulled his pony to a halt, and watched with wide eyes as the beast slowed when it reached them. It was traveling along the lines through the grass, as though it was attached to them in some way. Bow Bearer was transfixed — what was this thing? Almost immediately he heard shots ring out on the far side of the monster. Dozens of shots, the air rang with them and the deafening echo of live rounds filled the plains. The bison scattered, with a great bawling and rolling of eyes.
He jumped up to stand on the pony’s back, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but he couldn’t see past the steel beast. Just as he’d decided to make his way around it, the beast crawled forward again, speeding up quickly with a loud hissing and clanking, followed by an ear piercing whistle.
Bow Bearer’s hands flew to cover his ears, his heart pounding hard. He dropped onto the brown and white back of his pony, and urged it forward with a shout. The horse picked its way carefully over the snake-like steel tracks, and Bow Bearer’s eyes widened in horror. The bison herd had disappeared beyond the horizon, but what was left sent a stab of pain through his heart. He let out a long wail of sorrow, and his voice was joined by the rest of the Apasaalooke hunters as they returned from their flight to discover the grisly scene.
The plains were dotted with at least a hundred dead or dying bison, their great heads slumped on the ground. The blood from their wounds soaked the yellow grasses, turning them red. The majestic creatures hadn’t stood a chance against the guns the white men carried, and the frightening steel beast that traveled on steel rails faster than the swiftest horse.
He shook his head in disbelief as he picked his way through the fallen animals. Then, he spotted a riderless pony wandering aimlessly, its sides heaving as it fought to catch its breath. He cried out, and galloped over to meet it. It was Mutagaweer’s horse. But where was the chief?
He found their leader hidden amongst the tall grasses nearby. He’d been shot in the chest, and lay in a pool of his own blood. The brilliant bison scalp headdress, with horns and a beaded rim, that Mutagweer always wore on the hunt still crowned his head. But his breath was gone, his eyelashes dark half moons against his tanned cheeks.
Bow Bearer leapt to the ground, and lifted the chief’s head to rest in his lap. He ran his fingers over the weathered cheek of the man who’d always been like a father to him. Perhaps they’d never quite seen eye-to-eye on matters of politics, but it had been Mutagaweer who’d taught him to hunt, and how to skin a bison after his own father died at a young age. It was the chief who’d passed Bow Bearer his first pipe, and defended him when the elders wanted to sen
d the hot headed young brave away from the camp.
Tears slid down his cheeks as he cradled his friend’s head with both hands, and he let out a wail that pierced the stillness of the plains. His voice was joined by a chorus of mourning, as the other braves made their way over to discover for themselves what troubled him, and nervous settlers in their sod homes for many miles around hurried inside to close doors and pull in latch keys. It was a cry of loss, of pain and of heartbreak, and all who heard it, no matter their language, understood the pain carried in that tremulous high note.
***
Bow Bearer carried Mutagaweer’s body into the chief’s wikiup where his wife sat waiting, already grieving. The entire tribe stood around him, shoulder to shoulder, wailing and beating fists upon chests as they mourned the loss of a great leader and friend.
He lay the chief inside the teepee and backed out, moving aside to allow other mourners to pay their respects. He’d already cried all the tears he could, and now felt numb. Ky walked by him, her head held high, and her cheeks streaked with tears. The crowd made way for her to enter the wikiup, and she ducked her head through the door letting it fall closed behind her.
He turned to walk away, needing to find some space where he could breath and rest. He hadn’t slept or eaten in days, and he was famished. He found a fire, and sat beside it alone. Everyone was occupied with mourning, yet for some reason he could only think of food.
Snow Owl squatted beside him with a grunt, and offered him a piece of dried bison meat. He nodded his thanks, and took a bite, his stomach growling at the prospect of food.
“It’s a terrible day,” said Snow Owl, as he popped a piece of the meat into his own mouth.
“It is,” agreed Bow Bearer with a deep sigh.
“It is your time now.”
Bow Bearer glanced at him in surprise. He knew some of the elders hoped he’d be the next chief, but it wasn’t a certainty. Others might lay claim to the title as well, although it seemed most of the tribe backed him.
“Today is a day of mourning, we can talk about that tomorrow,” he said. For him the matter was closed for now. He was so tired, he could barely think. He needed food, and to have a long sleep. Then there would be the death rites… there was too much to do, too much to think about. He couldn’t deal with the matter of who would be the next chief yet.
“This can’t wait. The elders are meeting as soon as possible, and we’d like you to be there. Some of the elders want Ky to be our next chief — they say she has Mutagaweer’s blood running through her veins. But I told them you were marrying Ky, and that the two of you would lead together. Isn’t that so?” Snow Owl watched him closely for a response.
Bow Bearer paused, and took another bite of the cured meat. “The wedding is postponed. We can’t marry until after the period of mourning has come to an end — Ky wouldn’t have it. You know that. She loved her father. And anyway, I haven’t spoken to Ky about our engagement in months. I’m not even sure if we’re still engaged. I know it was what Mutagaweer wanted, but I…”
“If you’re still pining after Sarah, you can about forget her now. You’re to be the next chief of this tribe. You have to stand tall and think about what’s best for your people. Ky is the best match for you — she’s the daughter of a chief. The people love her. They’ll follow her. They’re afraid of you, of what you might do. You’re unpredictable, and people don’t trust you. You need Ky by your side if you’re to be chief,” said Snow Owl, his eyes flashing.
Bow Bearer nodded, and Snow Owl rose to his feet and left. Snow Owl was right — Ky was the most suitable match for him. He knew that in his head. But still, he couldn’t rid his heart of Sarah Songan.
Chapter Five
Sarah tucked the covers around Will, and kissed his forehead. They were sleeping at the ranch house tonight, since Bill, Thomas, Dusty, Dan and Vacquero were chasing a gang of cattle rustlers out of the valley. He blinked two sleepy eyes and smiled at her, as she sang the chorus of his favorite lullaby. Then, they each bowed their heads while he said his prayers.
“You’re the apple of my eye. You know that?” she whispered, laying another kiss on the tip of his nose.
He nodded his head, and grinned. “You’re my apple too, Momma.”
She laughed softly, and tip-toed from the room. Genevieve, Cora and Hannah were in the kitchen, cleaning up the supper dishes and chattering happily.
“Will is down for the night. I’m gonna take Cookie and Ost a bowl of soup for supper,” she said. “They’ve probably already eaten, but Cookie’s not been feeling very well lately, and Dusty asked me to check on him every now and then.”
The other women nodded, and continued their conversation as Sarah spooned leftover soup into a large bowl. She sighed, the ache in her back only increased in the evening after a day on her feet, and she longed to sit in a comfortable chair and put her feet up. She’d run the soup out to the bunkhouse and come back to do just that.
She decided not to take a lantern with her, since it wasn’t far to the bunkhouse, and there was moonlight enough to see by. With a heavy bowl of warm soup to carry, she really couldn’t manage anything else anyway.
Cookie and Ost were glad to see her. The two of them were playing a quiet game of cards when she knocked on the door.
“Sarah, it’s so good ta see ya,” said Cookie with a grin. “What brings ya ta the bunkhouse this time o’ night?”
“I thought you two might like some soup,” she said with a smile.
“We sure would,” said Ost. He leaped to his feet and hurried to take the bowl from her hands and set it on the table. “Thank ya, kindly.”
The three of them chatted together for a few minutes about things on the ranch, while Cookie transferred the soup into two bowls — one for him and one for Ost. Then Sarah took the bowl in her hands and excused herself. The armchair in the den was calling her name, and the ache in her back had grown until she could barely think of anything else.
Once outside, a hymn they’d sung at church several weeks earlier came to mind, and she hummed it cheerfully. She hated it when Bill was gone, but she was grateful she had plenty of company. Staying at the ranch house helped calm her nervousness over his absence, and she looked forward to an evening of easy conversation and laughter with her friends.
When a man crept out of the shadows and held a knife against her throat, and a hand over her mouth, she screamed in terror but her scream was lost against the man’s hand. The bowl fell from her grasp and landed with a thud, bruising one of her toes. Her heart thudded, and her entire body shook with fear.
When she saw it was Bow Bearer, she felt a rush of relief and anger toward him. What was he doing? Mutagaweer would not be happy with him treating her this way. He’d obviously decided to rebel against the chief’s orders, which meant he might be capable of just about anything. And that thought worried her more than anything else had.
He hurried her down the long hill to mount a waiting pony. She’d spent her life riding bare backed ponies across the plains and through through the foothills of the Bighorn mountain range. But riding bareback while pregnant was another thing entirely. Her enormous stomach lurched with the horse’s galloping stride, bumping against its bony spine. She wrapped one hand around her abdomen, and used the other to clench tightly to the animal’s mane.
At first she cried over the pain and discomfort, but after an hour had passed, she knew she should save her energy for the journey. They rode that way for hours, and Sarah studied the direction they were going as waves of pain washed over her — committing anything she could of the landscape to memory in case she had a chance to escape and return home. It wasn’t until around midnight that the realization finally dawned — she wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. And Will would wake to find his Momma gone. That’s when she allowed the tears to return, and her body, wracked with sobs, could take no more.
“Please,” she cried, “Bow Bearer, I need a break. I can’t go on like this.”
He slowed his mount to a walk, then turned and trotted back to meet her.
“We can rest here for a few minutes, but no longer,” he said with a curt nod of his head.
“Thank you.”
He dismounted, and offered her his hand. Furious with him, she ignored it and slipped to the ground herself. But her legs gave way beneath her, and she fell. Bow Bearer caught her, and held her steady in his powerful arms. He lowered her slowly to the ground, where she sat on a grassy knoll overlooking the winding trail they’d just ridden.
Bow Bearer sat beside her, his legs crossed and his back straight. He was silent, but his eyes watched her closely, seeming without emotion. Sarah was exhausted. Not only did she need sleep, but riding bareback over hills and through narrow gullies had sapped every last ounce of strength she had. She lay down on her back, still and silent, her unfocused gaze not taking in anything of the starry sky above.
After several minutes of quiet, she rolled her head to the side to look at her captor. He watched her still, but she thought she caught some tenderness in his gaze. Just as quickly it was gone, and the stony expression returned.
“How much longer?” she asked.
“Another hour, maybe.”
“Where are we going?” She wasn’t sure where he was taking her, since he’d obviously gone against the chief’s wishes. He’d have to go into hiding, or Mutagaweer would see he was punished for his actions.
“We ride to the Apasaalooke village. Home.”
Her eyes widened. “Home?”
He nodded, and pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, and we must go.”