Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  “Egad, Wannie, are you going insane?” Cleve said as he joined her. His handsome face was smudged and there were streaks of soot in his hair. The perfect gentleman.

  “No, I’m just tired, Cleve,” she replied and leaned back against the wagon wheel and sighed. “It seemed funny, somehow, to see this big threshing machine and think of all these pots and pans from your father’s company headed for the agency.”

  “I’m sure Father collected his money in advance, so we won’t take a loss.”

  She laughed even harder. “I wonder what dear Daddy would say if he knew half those Utes out there trying to kill us are armed with butcher knives from Brewster Industries?”

  “I don’t see anything funny about that. The damned Indians didn’t pay for them.”

  Wannie wiped her eyes. “Maybe it’s not funny, Cleve, just ironic.”

  He dismissed her with a shrug. “Crazy, that’s what you are. Well, I never thought you were worthy of me anyway, not after you told me about your past.”

  “My past?” She stared at him, thunderstruck. “You’d hold my parentage against me?”

  “Why are you surprised?” He rubbed his cleft chin. “After all, I come from generations of aristocrats and you’re from common folk, after all.”

  “You’re such a snob, Cleve, I can’t imagine why I ever thought you were a good catch.”

  “Oh, shut up,” he snarled, looking around the circle. “Let’s figure out how to escape from this death trap.”

  Wannie shrugged. “Keso will figure out something.”

  “Keso! Keso! I’m sick and tired of hearing about that damned savage!”

  She slapped him then, slapped him so hard, his teeth rattled.

  “All right, bitch,” he sneered, “I was going to save you, too, so you could replace Maureen as my mistress, but now I see you’re not worth it.”

  “Maureen? You’re a bigger cad than I thought, Cleve.”

  “Every man I know keeps a mistress,” he said and dismissed her, “wives expect it.”

  “I don’t think so. Cherokee wouldn’t, Keso wouldn’t.”

  “Injuns. They don’t even know which fork to use.” Cleve turned and walked away, crawling back under the wagon.

  Cleve was cowardly, she thought, and only bluffing about a plan. She crept over to Keso. “How goes it?”

  He pointed out toward the dying flames slowly moving across the grass. “Our backfire did the trick—their fire won’t have enough fuel. In the meantime, we’ve got an added plus Coyote didn’t think of: burning all that brush has done away with protective cover. Their warriors can’t sneak up on us by crawling through that tall grass.”

  “It’s nice that something’s finally going our way.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders protectively. “I reckon I haven’t done a very good job of looking after you, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “What are you talking about?” She patted his hand on her shoulder absently. “You’ve spent your whole life looking after me and I hope you’ll spend the rest of our lives doing the same.” She paused, biting her lip.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Cleve is plotting something. He wants to get away.”

  Keso laughed. “Don’t we all? Even the Utes didn’t mean for it to turn into a big fight with the soldiers—it just happened. Poor devils, they’ve sealed their fate now.”

  Wannie sighed. “And ours, too, maybe. I’ll keep an eye on Cleve—he’s liable to do something reckless and he doesn’t care what happens to the rest of us.”

  “He never did, Wannie,” Keso said softly. “I don’t know why you couldn’t see that.”

  “False values,” she said sheepishly. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” he said and hugged her to him a long moment. Then his voice shook, “I love you, brat, and I always have. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

  She pulled away from him, wanting to stay in his arms but knowing he was needed to defend this besieged place. “I’d better go help Doc.”

  “How’s Captain Payne?”

  “We bandaged him the best we could. He’s weak, but still in command. Lieutenant Cherry’s helping him.”

  “Tough luck, the major being about the first one killed.” He was looking at the distant creek. “Sooner or later, someone will have to go for water.”

  “No, Keso!” She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “The Utes burned off all the cover between us and that creek. A bug couldn’t crawl across that ground without being seen.”

  In answer, he turned and looked up at the Utes’ position among the rocks along the buttes. Here and there, the sun reflected off a rifle barrel, a lance, or a knife.

  “It’s not something I’ll look forward to,” he admitted over the gunfire. “Maybe we’ll get some reinforcements before we run out of water—or maybe Ouray will get here and stop this.”

  “If that old warrior made it to tell him.”

  Keso frowned suddenly.

  “Oh, Keso, what is it?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “I know you better than that. You never were a very good liar. By the way, I—I know about Maureen, that maid. Cleve let it slip.”

  “I’m sorry, Wannie.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she admitted, “I should have known you wouldn’t lie to me. I was just so dazzled by him, I didn’t want to see him as he really is.”

  “All right, I might as well tell you,” Keso said and rubbed his chin, “there won’t be any reinforcements unless we get a messenger out or unless Meeker sends for help.”

  “Do you suppose he even knows we’re under attack here?”

  Keso shook his head, his face grim. “The agency is about twenty-five miles from here, so I doubt if they’ll hear the gunfire. They’re probably going about their daily chores without even realizing the Utes are finally on the warpath. The women and children at the White River Agency are in danger and Meeker won’t even know it!”

  The Ute galloped into the agency where Meeker turned and frowned. The Indians came running to meet the rider and gathered around him. More waste of time. Meeker frowned again as he looked out at the half-plowed valley where he had had such big hopes of planting crops. The fine plow from Brewster Industries still lay out there, rusting. If he couldn’t get these lazy savages to plow up their racetrack and plant crops, there would be no use for the shiny new threshing machine that should even now be unloaded at the Rawlins depot and on its way to him.

  What were those Utes talking about so excitedly? Meeker looked around at the scene. Only white men working, of course. Shadrach Price and Frank Dresser were in a wagon, throwing dirt up on top of the agency roof to stop leaks, while Arthur Thompson was on the roof spreading the dirt.

  Nathan Meeker had finally given up hope of teaching these lazy, simple savages to live like white men. It wasn’t that he had failed; they had failed. Why were the Utes so stubborn and determined to cling to their old ways? If they would just let Nathan teach them how to work like white men, this land could be turned into a productive farm and Washington would be so happy with him.

  The Indians had stopped talking to the messenger and were staring at him. He had a sudden premonition of danger. There were three white women at the agency—his wife, Arvilla, his twenty-year-old daughter, Josie, and Flora Price and her two small children. All the guns on the place were locked up. If he could only get there before ...

  Josie Meeker had heard the noise and excitement of the rider galloping in, the murmur of excited talk through the open window. September 29, she thought—was there some celebration or big happening she was unaware of?

  Curious, she went to the window to look. Daddy had said he’d sent for troops to protect the agency and cool things down. Maybe they had been seen. It would be nice if there were a handsome soldier for her. All Josie ever saw were Indians and she was uneasy about that young warrior, Persune, who seemed so smitten with her.


  She wasn’t quite sure what happened next. One minute, the Indians were talking among themselves, their voices fraught with anger; the next minute, she heard rifle fire. In disbelief, she stared as Arthur Thompson tumbled from the roof. It had finally happened. Shrieking, she made a frantic dash to find her mother, Flora, and the children.

  The autumn sun stared down as the Utes began chasing down the white men and killing them. A few of the whites managed to get guns and fight back, but without success. Others fled like terrified deer.

  The women went out a back window, running for the brush, but the Utes spotted them, chased them down, and caught them. Then the warriors began to set fire to the buildings, wanting to wipe out every symbol of the hated white man and his civilization.

  When the agency Utes rode out, they had all three women and the two small children captives. Behind them, the flames roared through the agency buildings, but no white employees ran to fight the fire. All the white men lay dead sprawled across the despised plowed field where the Utes loved to race their ponies.

  For Nathan Meeker, there was no punishment bad enough for the indignities they had endured under this hard taskmaster who never respected or understood them. The Utes killed him, stripped him naked, and dragged his body up and down that plowed field with a log chain. As a final defiant gesture and to keep his scolding voice still forever, they rammed a wooden stave from an agency flour barrel down his throat.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  It was late afternoon and the shooting had slacked off. The Utes knew they had the white soldiers trapped, Wannie thought wearily and pushed her dark hair back from her face as she helped Doc tend the wounded.

  Keso came over to join her. “How are things going?”

  “We’ve got too many wounded and we’re running low on supplies,” she said.

  Keso chewed his lip. “We can’t escape and they know it. If we can just hold out, maybe Ouray will get here.”

  Wannie glanced up and stared at the horizon to the south. “What’s that?”

  Keso and Doc both turned to look where she pointed. For a long moment, she almost thought she had imagined it. Then she saw it again—the faint bit of smoke drifting upward into the bright blue sky.

  “Smoke,” Keso said and his dark face was as grim as his voice, “they must be burning the agency.”

  An icy hand of fear seemed to clutch her heart. “Maybe it’s just a forest fire, maybe it’s—”

  “There’s no mistake, Wannie,” Keso said and shook his head, “that’s about where it’d be. Nothing else that size.”

  Wannie put her hand over her mouth for a long moment, watching the smoke grow bigger and darker. “Those people never had a chance.”

  “They brought it on themselves,” Keso said and shrugged. “Meeker was determined to turn Utes into white men and he pushed them too far.”

  Doc sat back on his haunches and lit his pipe. “Poor devils. Now they all lose, red and white.”

  “That’s right, Doc,” Keso nodded and checked his rifle. “This is all the excuse politicians will need for what they’ve been wanting to do for years—take the Utes’ land.”

  Cleve joined them. “Don’t be a silly sentimentalist. The whites will put the land to good use, mine its metals, grow crops, bring in settlers, build towns.”

  “I suppose,” Wannie said, “you’d consider that progress?”

  Cleve brightened. “Just think how many plows and tools they’re going to need. Why, Brewster Industries will make a fortune!”

  She tried to grab Keso’s arm but she wasn’t fast enough. Keso hit Cleve full in the mouth and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Captain Payne yelled at two privates and they rushed over and separated the pair. “If you two want to fight,” the captain shouted, “we’ve got hundreds of hostiles out there!”

  “He’s right,” Keso said and backed off. “Brewster, we’ve got to get out of this alive first, then I want the pure pleasure of beating you senseless.”

  Cleve wiped the blood from his mouth, staring at it in distaste. “You know we aren’t going to leave here—the Utes are going to kill us all.”

  “Shut up, you yellow-bellied coward,” Keso snapped. “You’d trade us all for your own safety, wouldn’t you? You don’t even care about Wannie.”

  “Wannie?” Cleve said. “You’re the one sullying her reputation, staying with her all night—”

  “Oh, Cleve, stop it!” Wannie almost screamed at him. “You’re only worried about my precious reputation, what people would say, whether you might get used goods—”

  “Now, Wannie,” Cleve said and made a soothing gesture, “I know in my heart that nothing happened, that you’re still a pure—”

  “Well, think again, you shallow, sissy dude!” She got right up in his face, “I made love to Keso—do you hear me? We made love all night!”

  “Wannie, no,” Keso said and put his hand out to stop her, but she shook him off.

  “It’s true,” Wannie said, “and don’t try to protect me. I don’t give a damn what Cleve thinks!”

  Cleve’s face went ashen. Whether it was from hearing a lady use profanity or her bold admission, she couldn’t tell and she didn’t care. “I—I thought you were a highborn lady, worthy of being the mother of future Brewsters, but you’re just a—”

  “Watch your mouth, Brewster,” Keso warned through clenched teeth, “I’d hate to kill you when we may need you to fight Utes.”

  “Don’t, Keso, he’s not worth it,” Wannie said softly.

  “You’re right, honey.”

  “I’m the one who’s had my eyes opened,” Cleve almost spat the words out, “you two are just alike—as uncivilized and savage as this damned country you like so well.”

  Wannie grinned at Keso. “I’d call that a compliment, wouldn’t you?”

  Keso nodded and Cleve made a gesture as if to wash his hands of them both, then crawled under a wagon and turned his back.

  Keso’s rugged face turned serious as he looked up at the sun, low on the horizon. “The Utes are resting and waiting. Unless Ouray finally gets here, they’ve got lots of opportunities to pick us off one at a time. Wannie, how are you and Doc on supplies?”

  “As well as can be expected—I’m cooking what I’ve got now. We’ll run out of water before we run out of food.”

  “It’s gonna be a long night,” Keso said.

  Wannie did the best she could with the food as dusk settled in. Cleve was waiting with a tin plate, but she ignored him and fed the wounded first. Following Keso’s suggestions, Captain Payne and Lieutenant Cherry had set up strict rationing. Cleve argued that he hadn’t gotten his fair share and threatened to report the officers to the important brass in Washington who knew his father.

  Young Lieutenant Cherry spat to one side. “Would you believe, Brewster, that I don’t even care? We may not come out of this alive anyhow.”

  Wannie noted that Keso only took a few sips of his water, then brought it over to her. “Here, brat, I’m not thirsty.”

  Cleve looked his way. “Since you’re helping the captain, you probably got twice as much as the rest of us.”

  “Brewster,” Keso said, his voice cold, “I’d hit you, but then I’d spill the water. Here, Wannie, take this.”

  Oh, it looked so good. She licked her dry lips. “I—I’m not thirsty.”

  “Well, if you aren’t, I am,” Cleve said and reached for it.

  She pulled it away. “I’ll share it among the wounded, you spoiled bastard.”

  “Wannie!” His pale eyes went round with shock. “I don’t know what’s come over you in the last few days unless you’re losing your sanity. What would Mother say about a graduate of Miss Priddy’s Academy using that word?”

  “Would you believe I don’t care? I also don’t care what Alexa or any of your social set thinks.” She crawled away to share the extra water among several of the most severely wounded, then stopped to talk to the weary doctor. “Doc, is there anything els
e I can do to help?”

  The old man shook his head. “Afraid not. Settle in and get some steep—it’s going to be a long night.”

  This might be her last night on earth, Wannie thought as she returned to Keso. It was dark now and silence descended over the land and across the treeless, desolate buttes. She could see the faint glow of campfires along the horizon as the Utes settled in, too. Time was on their side and they must know it. “Doc says we need to get some rest.”

  “You get some rest, honey.” He pulled her against his chest and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to stand watch right now, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She lay there on a blanket under a wagon, out of the sight of most of the men, staring at her ring and thinking about marriage and children. What would they name them? Maybe Silver and Cherokee would have some good ideas. Their children could swing in that old swing where Keso used to push her and they’d pick flowers and picnic. In the evenings, they’d sit out on the porch like any old married couple, except they’d have the magnificent view from Waanibe. Every night, they’d go to bed and make love until they were both exhausted and then they’d sleep in each other’s arms.

  From here, she could see much of the camp. Half the men were on watch around the barricades, rifles at the ready. The other half slept, ready to take the second watch. Her thoughts returned to Keso and she smiled, remembering last night. She wanted him to make love to her again like that. If this were going to be their very last night on earth, she couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than in his arms. She dropped off to sleep and was awakened by Keso crawling under the blanket beside her.