“You know that the Navaho do not go to war as a whole nation,” Sage said, angrily folding his arms across his powerful chest. “It is the renegades who raid. There is no central Navaho government, and the chiefs speak only for their tiny bands.” He paused, then added more softly, “Sage has never wanted trouble with whites,” he said solemnly. “Sage’s heart has been good toward the whites. So has Sage’s people’s heart.”
Kit Carson shifted his feet nervously and stroked his clean-shaven chin in contemplation before responding, the fringe of his buckskin shirt and breeches blowing in the gentle breeze. Then Kit placed a fist over his heart, as though to prove to Sage that his heart was good also.
“Sage, you know that not long ago I was an Indian agent at Taos when escaped convicts, thugs, and outlaws of every description were pouring into the West,” he said softly. “There the laws were few and the enforcement agencies fewer. You know that then I was as determined to protect the Indians from the whites as to protect whites from Indians. When a white man injured an Indian, he had Kit Carson to deal with, and that dealing was sharp and to the point.”
Harold, dressed in full uniform, got hurriedly to his feet and interrupted just as Sage was about to respond. With an even and impersonal voice, he stamped over to Kit’s side and glared down at him. “Get on with it, damn it,” he said. “We didn’t come here to play footsie with the Indians. Tell them exactly why they have been brought here.”
Harold peered up at the blazing sun and wiped beads of perspiration from his brow. He wiped his damp fingers on his breeches leg, glaring down at Kit again. “Damn it, Kit, why drag it out to ungodly lengths?” he said, his voice drawn. “I’d like to get out of this damn sun.”
Kit’s face became hot with anger as he glared back. “I’ve been brought here to handle this matter,” he said icily. “And I will do it at my own pace and in my own way. If you don’t approve, wire Washington about it. Until you get a response, though, and perhaps a replacement, I will deal with this problem as I see fit.”
Harold’s face tightened and his lips pursed angrily. He glared for a moment longer down at Kit, then swung around and moved in measured steps away from him, his eyes shifting momentarily to Leonida. He flinched when he found Leonida smiling devilishly up at him, having obviously enjoyed Kit’s reprimanding him. His eyes narrowed as he paused long enough to stare at the Indian necklace that she wore so boldly around her neck.
There had been only one way—the damned Navaho leader. The thought of them being alone together made him grow cold inside with rage. He vowed to himself that never would it be allowed to happen again. He would marry Leonida now, even if he had to hold a gun to her head to get the words out of her. No Indian would humiliate him by taking his woman away from him.
Yet Harold had known for some time now that Leonida had changed her mind, that she was not planning to marry him. Ever since her father’s death she had been biding her time until it became safe to travel again. She had promised to marry him only to please her father.
And now he was gone.
“What is that you have to say that has not yet been spoken today to Sage and the other leaders who have come to your fort, as requested, for council?” Sage asked, taking a step closer to Kit. Sage felt the eyes of all the Indian leaders on him, trusting that in the end he would make all wrongs right for them. He had been their spokesperson for many moons now and had achieved peace between them all and the white chief in Washington.
“As I said before, Sage,” Kit said, “the raiding must not be allowed to go on. A new home has been provided for the Navaho. There will be land for grazing, good flat land for farming, and a big irrigation ditch.”
As Sage’s eyes narrowed with anger, Kit cleared his voice and continued. “It’s time for this empty land to be turned into wheat fields and grazing grounds to produce food for the country,” he said, his voice low now. “So many Indians often do not produce but only use what the wild land gives. This is why they—why you—are being asked to make room for the settlers, who will use the land in the right way. It is the only way, Sage. Your people must move into reservation land called Indian Territory, in the country east of New Mexico.”
The sudden silence, the hush that washed over the group of Indians, made Leonida suck in a wild, horrified breath of air. She looked guardedly around her as the Indian leaders rose angrily to their feet. Though weaponless, they still looked threatening as they moved closer to the soldiers who had seemed to have come out of nowhere to make a wide circle around the council of men, their hands resting on their holstered pistols.
Her knees weak, Leonida pushed herself up from the ground and inched away from the Indians, her gaze never leaving Sage. Never had she seen anyone as controlled in his anger as he. She was proud of his ability to restrain himself from lashing out at those who were intent at imprisoning him and all of the Navaho people alike. She watched, breathlessly, as he began to speak, his voice calm and collected.
“What you say is wrong, is hogay-gahn, bad,” Sage said. “The white man does not stand alone in this problem. Our cattle as well as sheep are also being stolen. Find the renegades responsible, then peace will again be achieved between the Navaho and white people.”
“That is not the way it is to be,” Kit said. “It has been decided that all Navaho will settle on the reservation. There you will have a good life. I give you my word, Sage.” He reached out a hand of friendship.
Sage’s jaw tightened and he stiffened his back. He gestured with a hand toward the wide sweep of land that surrounded him. “Tinishten, as far as a man can see, the land belongs to the Navaho,” he said. “The Navaho love their land. We have lived here for five hundred years or more. E-do-tano, no, the Navaho cannot leave this land. They will be here, Sa-a-nari, living forever, ka-bike-hozhoni-bi, happy evermore.”
Tears flooded Leonida’s eyes, her heart breaking as she listened to Sage’s pleas. She knew they were falling on deaf ears. In her mind’s eye, she imagined Pure Blossom weaving her blankets, so innocent and unthreatening, soon to be confined to land that was foreign to her.
In her mind’s eye, she saw Sage sitting on a high knoll, watching his horse grazing peacefully, smoke spiraling from his fancy long-stemmed pipe.
She did not expect him or his sister ever to have such peaceful moments again.
Kit Carson started to speak, but Sage stopped him and continued his plea, his voice tight.
“The Navaho, who call themselves Dineh, meaning ‘The People,’ need lots of space,” he said. “A great many Navaho are shepherds, and their flocks must have great areas in which to graze. Others are ranchers and farmers. They need space too. If placed on reservation, there won’t be enough grass to feed the sheep and goats and cattle. The Navaho will become poor, very poor.”
Kit lifted his chin and placed his hand on his holstered pistol. “I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said solemnly. “But what must be done must be done, and I hope it can be achieved in as peaceful a fashion as possible. Sage, if you and the others will surrender and promise to go to the reservation, you will have rations until you get started in your new life.” He cleared his throat nervously, then added, “You will travel to the reservation peacefully, or by force.”
There was another strained silence. The heat in Sage’s look stung Leonida’s heart as he gave her a quick glance. In his eyes was such hatred, such torment.
She covered her mouth with her hands as he stared down at Kit again and said a loud, determined “E-do-ta,” which she knew meant no.
Another Navaho leader appeared beside Sage. “The Navaho nation is as powerful as whites,” he said stiffly. “They will stay and raise sheep. Now. Always. If war is needed, the Navaho will scatter like birds into the canyons and among the rocks until you come. Then we will kill, if forced to.”
Leonida’s heart was scarcely beating as she watched Sage stoop to one knee before the fire, his disgust and disapproval of the white man’s plans evident in his face.
She gasped when Sage angrily picked up a handful of sand and tossed it into the fire, which was a way for the Navaho to show the extent of their anger. Then he rose to his full height to leave.
But just before he went, he gave Leonida a stern, then a wavering stare. He walked away at a slow, dignified pace, and the other leaders followed him.
Everything within Leonida made her want to run after Sage and apologize for the white people’s inhumanity toward his people, but she knew that even she was now perhaps hated by him. She wiped tears from her eyes as Sage mounted his chestnut stallion and rode slowly away.
Then suddenly, with everyone following him, Sage kicked his horse into a hard gallop, shrieking, “Ei-yei.”
Harold hurried to Kit Carson’s side. “Send the men after them,” he shouted, his pistol drawn, taking aim at Sage’s back. “Don’t let them get away.”
Kit placed a firm hand on Harold’s firearm and lowered it to his side. “No, we’re not going to do anything as hasty as that,” he said, frowning. “We’ve got to give them a chance to think this through more carefully. They’ll come around. They’ll change their mind.”
“And if they don’t?” Harold said, slipping his pistol back into his holster.
Kit didn’t answer, just gave him a grim, sad look.
The sound of the Navaho horses’ hooves riding toward the mountains was like distant thunder, matching the vibrations of Leonida’s pounding heart as she shielded her eyes with a hand and found Sage at the lead of those fleeing the injustices of the white man.
Sobbing, she picked up the hem of her skirt and ran away from the soldiers, who were now laughing and poking fun at the Indians.
Chapter 5
Thou must give, or woo in vain!
So to thee—farewell!
—ANONYMOUS
After a night of little sleep, Leonida was woken with a start by a commotion outside. She sat up in bed and stared toward her bedroom window, wondering why there were so many excited voices, among them those of women and children.
Wiping sleep from her eyes, she crept out of bed. With the hem of her lacy nightgown sweeping around her ankles, she went to the window, drew back the sheer curtain, and looked outside. Her heartbeats quickened and her eyes widened as she watched the rush of women and children in the courtyard and saw the many trunks and travel bags being stacked on the board walkway where passengers usually waited for the stagecoach.
Scarcely breathing, Leonida watched the women and children coming together, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the stagecoach.
“There aren’t that many of us women at the fort, and very few children, and it looks as though all but me are waiting for the stagecoach,” Leonida whispered to herself. “Why?”
She spun around, her eyes even wider at the sudden thought that came to her. “Unless . . .” she murmured—but didn’t stop to finish her thought.
Shedding her gown, she slipped into a floor-length skirt and a comfortable drawstring white blouse. After putting on her shoes, she hurried to the door, stopping only long enough to grab a hairbrush from her dresser.
Brushing her hair with one hand, Leonida yanked the door open with the other and ran down the long corridor until she reached the officers’ quarters at the far end of the building. Since Kit Carson’s arrival, her father’s office had once again been turned into the main officers’ quarters of the fort.
Leonida resented this intrusion with a passion, even more now that she contemplated what might have happened to cause such a stir in the women and children to the point that they were waiting to flee the fort as soon as the stagecoach arrived this morning.
Leonida stopped just outside the door that led into the office. The voices inside were loud enough for her to hear what was being said. Putting her ear to the door, Leonida listened intently, growing cold inside the more she heard.
“The last of the women and children have been readied for travel,” Harold said. “Except for Leonida. I’m not sure what to do about her. The other night she left like a wild thing bent for hell, and then I found her later wearing that damn Indian necklace again. It only proved one thing to me—that she met up with the Navaho chief again, and the thought disgusts me.”
“She does seem to have a mind of her own,” Kit said, chuckling.
“If her father were alive he wouldn’t allow such behavior,” Harold grumbled. “And by God, I’m not going to either. She’s not going anywhere except to a preacher with me. Then I’m going to teach her some manners she’s forgotten since her father’s death.”
“I’d say you’re asking for trouble you don’t need,” Kit warned. “You’ve enough on your hands with the Indians in this area, much less a woman who obviously hates your guts.”
“She’ll change her tune once she discovers she’s the only woman left on the fort’s premises,” Harold said, laughing throatily.
“You’re wrong to do that,” Kit scolded. “Damn wrong.”
“She’s my woman,” Harold said flatly. “I’ll say what she is and is not to do around here.”
Kit laughed sarcastically. “Seems she’s shown you a time or two just how much she’s not your woman.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” Harold grumbled. He paused, then said, “Are all of the women and children ready? The stagecoach should be rolling in any moment now.”
“As far as I can tell,” Kit said. “I hope we’ve assigned enough soldiers to their protection. It’s one thing to send them away from this area because it’s heating up with Indian troubles. It’s another thing to send them right out into the hands of the Indians.”
“I’ve assigned as many men as could be spared,” Harold said. “We’re right to send the women and children away. When I received the news of this latest raid, just last night, I knew that something had to be done. Last night was the last straw. None of those settlers were left alive. And now that Sage has been pointed out to be the leader of these renegades, he must die.”
“We haven’t got positive proof it was Sage,” Kit said in Sage’s defense. “I know that he was angry as hell yesterday, but I assure you, he would not do anything as cold-blooded as what was reported to us today.”
“Kit, damn it, I mean business,” Harold stormed. “I’m going to stop these raids and killings once and for all. Kill all of the Navaho men, and take the women and children prisoners. They’ve been warned. They didn’t listen.”
“I just can’t do what you are asking,” Kit said somberly. “But I will round up the Navaho. For years I’ve been writing the Department of Indian Affairs about the Navaho being placed on reservations. At least now I’m being given the job of carrying out my own recommendation.” He paused, then added, “And one thing for damn sure, I’m going to give Sage a chance to prove his innocence.”
“I say to you, Kit Carson, that if Sage so much as looks like he’s going to resist, shoot him dead,” Harold said, his voice cold and impersonal.
Leonida’s knees grew weak. Sage was being accused of raids. Had someone said that they had seen him? Had he been with her one minute, kissing her, and then killing innocent women and children in his next breath?
“No,” Leonida whispered to herself. “Sage isn’t the one. He couldn’t be.”
Then she recalled Harold’s embittered words and his orders to kill Sage. Surely Kit Carson saw the reason for Harold’s eagerness to see Sage killed: jealousy.
Her eyes wild, Leonida ran to a window and looked out again at the women and children who waited anxiously for the stagecoach. She could not believe that she had not been included. She could not believe that Harold had said all of those horrible things about her, and how he was going to force her into marrying and obeying him.
“That’s what he thinks,” she whispered harshly, anger swelling within her.
Harold’s loud voice boomed through the closed door again. Leonida cringed when she heard him talking about how the Navaho women and children would be taken prisoners and forced to march to the rese
rvation in New Mexico. If Sage resisted, he would kill him on the spot. The Navaho had had the chance to leave in peace.
Leonida abhorred what she heard, but knew that she could not say anything that would stop them. Also, she did not know where Sage’s stronghold was, so she could not warn him. She had only one choice—to leave Harold and this dreadful fort along with the other women and children, no matter the risk.
Breathlessly Leonida hurried back to her room. She locked the door behind her, then went to the window and checked to see if the women and children were still there.
“Thank goodness,” she murmured when she saw that they were. She watched the soldiers stirring up screens of dust as they prepared their horses for traveling. When a stagecoach rumbled into the courtyard and came to a stop beside the crowd of waiting passengers, fear gripped her heart. She didn’t have much time. And even if she did escape from the house without Harold seeing her, how could she board the stagecoach without being caught?
Again she looked at the billowing dust from the horses, then at the stagecoach, partially hidden by the dust.
A thought came to her.
“That’s how,” she whispered. “If I hurry quickly enough.”
She grabbed her travel bag and began cramming clothes into it, not stopping to fold them neatly. That would come later, when she was far from the clutches of General Harold Porter.
Once her bag was bulging with whatever she could get into it, Leonida started to go to her door, then stopped short when she remembered the necklace. Setting her bag down, she went to her dresser, opened the drawer, and took the necklace from it. She gazed into the mirror and secured the necklace around her neck, sighing when she recalled the two times that Sage had placed it there.
She could still feel the touch and the heat of his fingers. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to recall the thrill of his kiss.
Then she was jolted back to the present when again she heard the commotion outside her window. She did not have any time to waste.
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