by Karen Kay
At once, a very tall Indian—the one who kept lingering to search under each inert body, the one who kept plodding onward in front of the others—stopped absolutely still as he caught sight of her and the boy next to her. This Indian had not been killing the passengers as had the others; rather he had trod steadily forward, frantically searching under each seat.
Quickly he made his way toward them, and reaching out, flung Anna aside.
At least he hadn’t killed her.
“Ne-naestse!” He made a hand motion to his side, obviously telling the boy to come to him.
The boy went.
The tall Indian then raised his weapon and took aim at her. Anna closed her eyes. Dear Lord, she thought, what was going to happen to the children?
As she prepared herself for the worst, it was the last thought she had.
Chapter Three
“Hova’ahane!”
The shot never came. Anna opened her eyes. The young Indian boy stood between her and that gun.
Anna gulped. Had her earlier act of kindness saved her life?
It appeared to be so, for the young Indian would not leave her side. His action gave the tall one no choice but to kill the boy or let her live.
He chose the latter and turned to leave, at the same time motioning her and the children outside.
Anna moved at once, hustling the children with her, all of them struggling toward the open door of their car. They stumbled over bodies in their path, partly because of her own hurry to get out of the car, partly because Indians behind them kept shoving both her and the children forward.
Someone commanded, “Ta-naestse!” Anna had no idea what that word meant, although she thought he might be urging them to hurry.
Behind her came the ear-shattering clamor of more gunfire, followed by so many screams, Anna couldn’t bear to think about it. Silently, she thanked the Lord for her own and the children’s rescue, and as she did so, she spared a moment to say a prayer for those not so fortunate as she.
In little time she alighted from the train, coming to stand on the firm, yet grassy Kansas plains. The acrid smell of war hit her at once, as did the burning sensation of the sun. But she tried to keep her wits about her, even as the hot, humid breeze pushed its way into her face. That the wind tore the bonnet from her hair, until the hat had no choice but to hang from her neck, she ignored.
She felt light-headed, as though she might swoon, but Anna solemnly refused to give way to the feeling. The children depended on her.
All around her lay death and destruction: the buffalo; some white men, the conductor and engineer amongst them; a few Indians…very few Indians. Yet it wasn’t over.
Farther away, toward the front of the train, the Indians were shooting at the men and a few of the women who remained alive. And there, amongst those precious few, stood Miss Pagney along with the other six of her orphan charges.
A shot fired. Miss Pagney fell.
“No!” Anna screamed out the word, repeating it over and over as she ran down the distance between herself and the other children. “No! No! No!”
Perhaps it was fate that kept her alive. Perhaps the Indians were merely startled by her behavior. Whatever the reason, Anna reached the children without further incident.
Quickly, she knelt down toward Miss Pagney’s body, running her hands along the woman’s throat where there should have been a pulse. There was none.
Gulping back a cry, Anna stood, casting a poisonous glance out toward her friend’s murderer. But her effort was wasted. The one responsible for the deed paid her no attention.
A few of the Indians crept closer. As she watched them, nausea threatened to overwhelm Anna, but she resolutely held on to her dignity. She’d be darned if she would give these Indians the thrill of watching her break down.
Biting back the fear that rose up in her throat, Anna herded the children into a circle, placing the youngsters behind her. Breathing deeply, she mustered every ounce of courage she possessed, that she might confront these Indians with some show of composure. She expected no less than the worst.
But again, the worst never happened.
Looking around, Anna at once understood the reason why: the young Indian lad had followed her, had again placed himself between her and the line of fire.
“Ne-ve’-neheseve!” one of the other Indians commanded of the lad.
“Hova’ahane!” came the answer from the youngster. “Epehevahe!”
Anna might never know what was said, but of the result she could be left in no doubt.
She remained alive, while those few remaining white men who stood around her soon met their Maker.
In little time she and the children were the only white people still standing, still breathing. They must have made an odd sight, too, Anna determined, for all twelve of the children were positioned behind her. And the only thing that intervened between her and the guns of these Indians was the youth whom she had rescued.
Though another might have whined given the same circumstances, strangely, the horror of the Indian attack had not created that effect on Anna. Yes, it was a terrible thing; yes, it might haunt her in nightmares for years to come, but all she could think of at the moment was to survive, to stay alive. She must live, if only for the children’s sake.
She drew in a breath and coughed. If the stench in the air were the smell of fear, Anna knew she would never mistake it for anything else again. That odor and the sight of the bodies lying around her turned her stomach, but Anna swallowed back the bitter taste in her throat.
Later, she thought, later she would allow herself the luxury of breaking down—if there were a later.
The tall Indian strode toward them. Dear God Almighty, thought Anna, gazing at the man, this Indian is huge.
Even at her height, the man towered over her, and she wondered at it. Somehow she had been led to believe that Indians were squat and homely. Yet, she could not deny what her eyes beheld. Neither gangly nor heavyset, this man had to be well over six feet tall. In truth, none of these Indians appeared to be less than six feet in height. As for homely, even through the man’s war paint, she could see that this warrior was anything but plain, the breadth of the man’s chest alone causing her to gasp.
“Ne-naestse!” He addressed the boy, motioning to him.
The boy made his own gestures, obviously a negative response.
Again, the man ordered, “Ne-naestse!” followed by a firmer hand motion. All to no effect. The boy remained where he was.
Although Anna thought this might serve to enrage the man all the more—and it would have been difficult to tell if it had, for the paint hid the man’s expression—the tall one did not raise his voice. Perhaps it was only by some base instinct that Anna knew the Indian was angry.
Without uttering another word, the tall Indian collected a pickaxe from one of the inert bodies lying in the field and, treading forward, took aim.
Wham! Anna flinched as the clamor of metal upon metal hurt her ears, but she remained otherwise unharmed. She watched, however, as the irons holding the boy’s wrists came open and fell to the ground.
The tall Indian’s scowl next fell to the chains around the boy’s neck.
He wouldn’t try to… Why, he could hurt the boy doing that.
“Wait!” Anna shouted and, sparing little thought to her actions, she ran toward the body of one of the bullies, one of the men who had previously ill treated the boy.
Holding her breath, for the stench of death was sickening, she fumbled in the man’s pockets. Anna could barely believe that she was doing what she was. Still…
Ah, there they were. Keys.
“Wait!” she ordered again, and rising to her full height, she ran back toward the boy, shouting, “Keys.” She jangled them in front of the tall brave’s face.
Amazingly enough, the Indian appeared indulgent, and Anna thought she might have witnessed a glimmer of humor, there in the man’s hard-set gaze. Although, she decided as she took better note of
the look of hatred shining in his eyes, perhaps not.
Because she was in such a hurry, she fumbled with the keys and almost dropped them. And to make matters worse, her hands shook so unsteadily, she could barely see what she was doing.
The tall Indian trod right up to her side, however, and growling out, “Enanotse,” wrenched the keys from her hand. With little difficulty, he opened the lock around the boy’s neck. But if the tall Indian had thought the release of the boy would change the youth’s attitude, he was badly mistaken. If anything, the youngster whirled in closer to Anna.
“Ne-naestse!” Stepping back, the tall one spoke and motioned to the lad, the elder’s gesture obviously asking the youngster to come forward. “Naena’ovo’hame.” Anna recognized the sign for horses and watched as the warrior jerked his head to the left.
The boy looked around the barren prairie briefly before uttering, “Tosa’a?” This word was accompanied by a hand motion indicating “where?”
“Ho’hamose,” said the tall brave, pointing toward a distant hill. “Ta-naestse!” Again Anna was able to follow the conversation in bits and pieces from their gestures, and she knew that the tall one wanted the boy to leave her.
The youngster made no move. He asked, “Ne-ta’-osehtseohtse…e-na’hoho-o’o vo’estanehe?”
No! Anna could not understand the words, but she had recognized the sign for kill and for people, along with the sign for question. The youngster was asking his elder if he was going to kill them.
Anna drew in her breath and held it, anxiety making her head spin. Minute by minute passed as she awaited the elder’s reply.
At length the tall brave let out a hiss. “Na-saa-e’hestana momoo’o…” he said, and Anna lost track of the conversation, for his signs were too quick for her to follow. Of one thing she was certain, however: the tall Indian had not answered the lad’s question.
“Ne-ta’-ose-ese-htseohtse e-na’hoho-o’o-he?” the boy asked, again using the sign for “kill.”
The tall Indian shrugged. “Ne-tsehe-skestovestse naa tsehe-hestovestse, ne-tsehe-axaa’ehemestovestse naa… Hooxe’eo’he’e…” The man talked on and on and Anna held her breath, trying to discern the tall one’s gestures. But the only thing she could determine with accuracy was that the man spoke of the Battle at the Washita River. And, if she were reading the signs correctly, it appeared that he wanted to take her and the children’s lives in exchange for those of his own relatives.
It made her wonder if this man had lost someone dear to him at that battle. He must have…
The boy interrupted her thoughts as he cried “Hova’-ahane!” The gesture for “no” followed and, if Anna had not been aware of it before, she surely understood now that this boy alone stood between her and death’s door. Could the child hold out against this fierce warrior?
To her surprise, the tall brave looked taken aback, even if it were only for a moment. He said, “Na-to’se-ene-neheseeo’otse-he?” leaving Anna to identify only one sign, the one for “stop.”
After a brief pause, the tall brave gave a quick nod toward her and asked, “Ehaahe?” She observed the sign for “brave.”
The lad acknowledged the man with a nod of his own and positioned himself firmly in front of her, his feet apart, as if he might grow roots.
The light of battle glared from the tall one’s eyes, yet he appeared to hold in his anger, even as he demanded, “Nehe’se, noheto! E-noohta. Ase-sta’xestse!”
Anna observed several different signs being used with these words, one demanding the boy leave at once.
“Hova’ahane!” Again, the gesture for “no.”
“Notaxe-ve’ho’e seve-e’neha nenoveto. Ekase’xove.”
Anna tried her best to concentrate on the gestures. The tall one had said something about white men, but she could not tell what it was.
But the youngster did not so much as flinch. He said, “Na-he-vesenehenotse. E-saa-ne’ame-saa-atse,” and Anna saw a single gesture for “friend,” then one of denial. Ah, she came to realize, the youngster would not leave without her.
That was when it happened: the tall Indian scrutinized her, from the top of her head down to the very hem of her dress. And under that intense regard, Anna felt certain that this time her knees would give out beneath her. Perhaps, she thought, it was only sheer willpower that held her erect.
“Eaaa.” The tall Indian became silent—too silent. Then, making a quick, distasteful face toward her, he ordered, “E-he-have’hatsestse!” and turning, he sauntered away.
He was leaving! He was going to let them live!
Relief made her swoon and Anna reached out to hold on to her hero, the boy in front of her.
In response, the youngster took one of her hands and, turning around to her, said, “Ne-hve’ohtsemestse.” He let go of her hand to make the sign for “Come with me.”
Anna wanted to obey. But she could not. Not right now. She was too confused and, truth be told, she could barely stand on her feet. She had to take a moment, albeit a short one, to gather her thoughts, perhaps her strength as well.
Glancing up at the sun and then around her, she wondered how long the tall brave would permit her party to live. That he had wanted to kill them was without doubt. That it had only been the actions of the boy that had saved them was also unquestionable.
She did not want to leave with these Indians, because if she stayed here, she might eventually be found. If she went with the Indians…
Did she have a choice? Would the Indians permit her to stay?
She would have to try to reason with the Indians and try to persuade them to let her stay.
But, she considered conversely, what if she were granted that request? How long would she have to wait before help arrived? Days? A week? Would she and the children be able to survive here, alone? And she without a weapon, without any way to protect herself and the children from the wolves?
She would have to find a weapon, she decided; it was the only way. But it seemed impossible. With the Indians already confiscating the white man’s guns and rifles, there would soon be nothing here with which to defend herself.
Or was there? There, on the ground, close to the left side of her, lay a revolver that the Indians had somehow missed.
Glancing quickly around her, Anna shuffled her feet toward it, finally coming to stand over the gun until her skirts completely hid the weapon. Then quickly, she bent down and scooped up the pistol, depositing it in the pocket of her dress.
Of course, using it would be another trial.
She sighed. Perhaps she should be concerning herself more with how to give these dead and in particular, Miss Pagney, a Christian burial. It would be a hard task; maybe with the help of the children, she could do it. But then what?
“Aren’t we going to stay here, Miss Wiley?”
As Anna scooted back to where she had left the children, she glanced down solemnly at a boy who was no more than eight. She answered, “I don’t know, David. We don’t rightly know when someone might come along to check on us. Besides, I’m not certain we have a choice in the matter.”
“Don’t you? Somehow I got the impression that the tall one didn’t want us.”
Anna stared at the figure of the man walking briskly away from them. She not only had the impression, she knew he had wanted to kill them. She would not divulge that information to the children, however.
Soon, the tall brave returned with two of his comrades, the three of them prodding both herself and the children along behind them.
But Anna was not to be so easily coerced. If the elder Indian had not shot her yet, perhaps he did not mean to. And she had to try to do something to save them.
Gathering both her shawl, as well as the armor of her courage about her, Anna raced up to where the tall brave led their procession. Drawing level with him, she said as though she had every right, “The children and I will stay here.” She followed her words with sign language, once again thanking the good Lord that she’d had the visi
on and the interest to learn the language when she and the children had been stranded in Kansas City.
The man didn’t even glance at her; he just kept walking.
She tried again. “The children and I will stay here.” Once more, she used the proper signs.
“If you do that, I will have to kill you.” He didn’t say a word and his signs were so quick that Anna could barely follow them. As it was, it took her too long to analyze his gestures.
She also had the task of running to keep up with him.
“What did you say?” she asked in sign language and then queried, “Could you sign a little slower?”
He growled, and at the sound, Anna jumped.
Still, he signed again, a little slower. “If you stay here, I will have to kill you.”
“Why?” she queried.
“Because it is the way of things. We might take people captive, but do not misunderstand; we leave no one alive behind us. If you choose to stay, that is fine with me, and I will get it over with now.” He had not looked at her as he signed his meaning; he did not look at her now. Nor had he slowed his pace to accommodate her.
“Oh,” Anna said, almost to herself and she dropped her gait to a fast walk. She was not one to give up so easily, however, and so she hurried forward. “Why?” she queried again. “The children and I will only slow you down. Why not leave us? You don’t have to kill us.”
“It is the way of warfare, and if I had my way, you and your children would not be accompanying us,” he said by way of hand motions. “My brother demands that you live, so we must take you. Were I to have my way, you and all things yours would now be lying with the others on the prairie.”
“Oh,” she uttered again, this time dropping back completely. She tried to remind herself that this was war and that his remarks were not meant to be personal. Still, she could not help it; her life was a very personal thing.
Soon, they had crossed over the top of a hill, and Anna became aware that there were horses waiting for them.
She watched as the tall brave gave orders to the others, watched as the rest of their party mounted and left, leaving her and the children to the mercy of this one Indian.