Afterward, they dressed without many words between them, having been thrust too soon back into the troubles of the real world. Sage took his horse’s reins and led him toward the camp. Leonida beside him.
“Tomorrow will come too quickly,” she murmured, giving Sage a downcast glance. “I don’t want to say good-bye again. Each time I do, I fear it might be the last.”
Sage looked at her with a troubled expression. He knew full well that he might never return this time. What he was planning to do might even be considered tempting death.
Chapter 25
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
—JOHN CLARE
Sage’s search went well. Because Kit Carson’s return to Fort Defiance was being slowed by the many Navaho people accompanying him, traveling on foot, they had not gotten far. Night had just fallen again, and the white pony soldiers’ campfire, like a beacon in the night for Sage, had quickly drawn his keen attention.
Sage stopped far enough away so that his horse could not be heard if it whinnied. The rest of the way he was going by foot; the knife clutched in his right hand would be the quietest way to silence anyone who tried to stand in the way of this abduction.
The smell of cooked venison wafted through the air, teasing Sage’s hunger, for he had not stopped to eat—nor would he stop to sleep, until he was among his people again, Kit Carson with him.
When he got close enough to the campsite to be able to distinguish faces, pain circled his heart at the sight of so many of his Navaho people who had unwisely chosen the life of a reservation over trusting their chief. As he watched the Navaho eat good portions of meat and drink from canteens of water, it appeared that they were being treated fairly enough. That somewhat alleviated his pain at no longer being an integral part of their lives.
Sage’s gaze shifted, singling out Kit Carson from among the soldiers sitting away from the Navaho, closer to the fire. Kit was eating and talking, laughing when one of the soldiers told a raunchy joke.
This lighthearted side of Kit Carson reminded Sage of a time when he had called Kit a friend of the Indians. It had been good to ride with him, to challenge him with looped ropes and races on horseback.
Sage smiled grimly. No one had ever been able to outrope Kit Carson, and scarcely anyone ever won against him while racing horses.
Sage squatted on his haunches behind a thicket and rested his knife on a knee, forcing himself not to remember the good things about Kit Carson. At present, too much bad flooded his mind.
It was up to Sage to change that bad to good again.
Time seemed to move slowly, but finally everyone had finished eating, and all that was left to do was to move comfortably into their bedrolls. Sage watched guardedly as first one man and then another went into the brush to relieve themselves before retiring for the night.
He then watched the women take the children into the privacy of the bushes, aching inside when he realized that the young braves among the children would never experience the wonders of being a Navaho warrior, riding free across uncharted land. They might never feel the rush of the wind on their faces while on horseback or the feel of a lance clasped tightly in their hands.
“By living on a reservation, these young braves will lose everything that is naturally Navaho to them,” he whispered to himself. “It is sad that they are not old enough to make their own decisions as to where they wish to live.”
He circled a hand into a tight fist, and his eyes narrowed angrily. “It is sad that they will be raised to behave more like women than men!” he hissed under his breath.
Soon everyone was settled in for the night. Sage watched slowly from bedroll to bedroll. The soldiers seemed to be asleep.
And then he eyed the two soldiers who had been chosen to keep watch. A smile crept onto his lips when he saw these men sit down and lean their backs against a tree, their heads soon bobbing as they fought off sleep.
Sage patiently waited, watching the soldiers, smiling again when he saw them sitting perfectly still now, their heads bowed. He watched the slow heaving of their shoulders, showing that they were sleeping soundly, hopefully soundly enough for Sage to get in and out of the camp without being detected.
Moving out of the thicket, Sage crept into the camp. Kit Carson was sleeping partially away from the others. He had stayed awake the longest, studying what seemed to be a map. Then he had folded the map, slipped it into his front shirt pocket, and crawled into his bedroll. Soon he was fast asleep.
His knife poised before him, ready for action should someone awaken and find him there, Sage moved stealthily around the soldiers, glad when he finally reached Kit Carson. Without hesitation he yanked a red handkerchief from his rear pocket.
Bending down beside Kit Carson, Sage momentarily lay his knife aside. Then as quickly as lightning strikes, he had Kit Carson gagged. The little man’s eyes gleamed wildly as he peered up at Sage in the dim shadows of the campfire’s glowing embers. Sage hurriedly picked up his knife and held it at Kit Carson’s throat, giving him a message that Kit interpreted well enough—to do as he was told or be killed.
Sage rose slowly to his full height. Kit Carson got slowly to his feet also, careful not to stumble since the knife followed his every move. Scarcely breathing, Kit Carson walked easily and lightly through the camp as Sage led him with a firm grip on his arm, the cold blade of the knife still against the flesh of his throat.
When they were finally out of the camp, Sage took Kit to his horse. Kit hesitated before climbing into the saddle. He gave Sage and the knife a nervous look.
Sage understood this silent message. He lowered the knife, then nodded silently toward his saddle again.
Grumbling obscenities against the fabric of the neckerchief, Kit put his foot in the stirrup, then swung himself into the saddle.
Sage eased onto the horse behind his prisoner, took the reins into his hands, then sank his heels into the flanks of his stallion and rode in an easy lope away from the camp. When they were far enough away so that no one could hear the horse’s hoofbeats, Sage urged his mount into a hard gallop across the land. When he saw Kit reach for the gag, Sage did nothing. He allowed it. He smiled, knowing that Kit Carson could shout and scream and curse all he wanted now, and no one but Sage would hear him.
They rode until the sunrise was splashing great orange-pink streaks across the heavens. Then Sage drew his steed to a whirling halt beside a coolly glowing river. He said nothing to Kit, just nonchalantly dismounted and led his horse to the water to get its fill.
Then Sage bent to a knee and scooped mouthfuls of water down his parched throat with his hands, not flinching when Kit Carson came and knelt down beside him. His angry words seemed to echo across the river and back again. “Do you honestly think you will get away with abducting me?” Kit shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands. “When the soldiers discover that I’m not at the camp, they’ll come looking for me, and by God, Sage, you have to know they will find me.”
“Drink your fill of water now because we will not stop again until we reach the camp of the Navaho,” Sage said flatly, giving Kit an indifferent stare. “And if I must gag you again to silence you, I will. From this point on, your hands will be tied behind you and you will be blindfolded. It is not wise to allow you to see where you are going. That way you cannot return once I have set you free.”
“Ha!” Kit said sarcastically. “At least I am able to look forward to freedom again. But when, Sage? Why have you abducted me? What plans are you setting into motion with my abduction?”
“You still talk instead of drink?” Sage said, frowning at Kit. He shrugged. “That is your choice, but if you start begging for water later, this Navaho chief will ignore you.”
Sage’s eyes danced, and a slow smile tugged at his lips when Kit uttered a sigh of frustrated annoyance, then began drinking from his cupped hands.
Sage got to his feet when he thought Kit had had time enough to quench his thirst. Surprising him, Sage suddenly grabbed his w
rists and tied them together behind his back.
“You will live to regret this,” Kit said, then gasped again and stiffened when Sage determinedly tied a bright red handkerchief around Kit’s eyes.
“It is time to go now,” Sage said, gripping one of Kit’s elbows. He urged Kit up from the ground, turned, and led him to the horse. Sage fitted Kit’s foot in the stirrup. “Your foot is in the stirrup. Push yourself up into the saddle as I help you.”
“I feel like a damn idiot,” Kit swore, his face red from his building rage. “Are you enjoying humiliating me?”
“Are you enjoying humiliating the Navaho by ordering them to live on a reservation?” Sage said, swinging himself onto his horse behind Kit. “The man you once were would never humiliate my people. The man you now are is someone I do not recognize.”
Kit Carson had no rebuttal to snap back at Sage.
Sage laughed softly, seeing that Kit was finding it hard to stay in the saddle without the use of his hands. He slipped to one side, then righted himself, then began slipping to the other.
“Traveling with my hands tied like this, I’m going to break my neck before you get me to your camp,” Kit said sourly. “Why must my wrists be tied?”
“It would be too tempting to you to remove the blindfold if your hands were free,” Sage said. “I want silence now between us. When we reach my camp, then we can go into council. There is much to be said, but only that which benefits the Navaho, not Kit Carson.”
“Like I said before, you won’t get away with this,” Kit said. Then he clamped his lips together tightly and concentrated on staying in the saddle. He couldn’t wait until his soldiers were on Sage’s trail.
* * *
Sage was drained of energy and his eyes were stinging with the need of sleep when he spied his camp through a break in the trees a short distance away. He had ridden relentlessly onward through the pulsating heat of the day, and it was now dusk, the shadows lengthening all around him. He welcomed the evening with its cooler temperatures. He could feel the perspiration finally drying on his face. He inhaled the sweetness of the fresh, cool air.
But most of all, he was anticipating seeing Leonida.
As he rode into his camp, Sage was greeted differently than usual. Everyone stood quietly by, staring at Kit Carson, the man they all now despised. They had always thought that he was invincible, incapable of ever being conquered by anyone.
Their gazes shifted, looking in admiration at their chief. Sage had proven to them again that he was perhaps the wisest and bravest of them all. He had done what no other man had ever done. He had taken Kit Carson prisoner. Pride shone in everyone’s eyes as one by one the men began to shout Sage’s praises, while the women broke into merry songs.
Sage drew his steed to a halt. As he dismounted, his eyes scanned the crowd for Leonida, yet still he did not see her. This gave him a strange sense of foreboding. Something must be seriously wrong for her not to have been among those greeting his return.
“Help me off this damn horse,” Kit Carson growled, drawing Sage’s attention back to him. “Take the damn blindfold off, Sage. Or do you plan to keep it on me the whole time I’m here?”
Sage turned to Kit. The man was so small that Sage was able to lift him bodily from the saddle and put his feet on the ground. He was ready to remove the blindfold, but he stopped when Leonida came to him, tears sparkling in her eyes. Fear grabbed at Sage’s heart.
“What has delayed you in greeting your husband?” Sage asked, clasping his fingers on her shoulders. He studied her expression and the tears forming in her eyes.
Then he looked past her and saw that Runner sat beside Pure Blossom, staring gloomily down at her. Pure Blossom was not stirring, and Sage knew that if she had been aware of his return, she would have at least turned her eyes to him and greeted him with a smile.
“It is my sister?” Sage asked, easing his hands from Leonida’s shoulders. “She has weakened?”
Leonida nodded, sniffling. “Very much so,” she murmured, then gave Kit Carson a quick glance when he began shouting to Sage about still being blindfolded and tied.
“Damn it, Sage, what are you doing?” he said angrily. “You promised to remove the blindfold and untie me. Don’t tell me that you’ve changed your mind.”
Sage moved away from Leonida and quickly tended to Kit Carson, then walked away from him in long strides, his thoughts now only on his sister. When he reached Pure Blossom and knelt beside her, his heart cried out his anguish to every nerve ending in his body. She had lapsed into a coma.
Fighting back tears, knowing that it was womanly to show such emotions, Sage lifted Pure Blossom into his arms and began rocking her back and forth, his eyes filled with grief.
Kit Carson stepped to Sage’s side. “I see that your sister is quite ill,” he said, his voice drawn. He looked at her more closely and placed a hand on her brow. The heat of her flesh was like hot coals scorching him. He looked up at Sage with worried eyes. “It is my belief that your sister has come down with the prairie fever that is now sweeping the Indian tribes. Sage, because she has never been strong in the first place, she hasn’t got a chance in hell in recovering.”
Leonida stifled a sob behind her hand and held Runner close as he snuggled against her leg, clinging to her.
“Had I not been forced to come after you, I would have been here for my sister,” Sage grumbled, fire in his eyes as he stared down at Kit Carson.
“You weren’t forced to do anything,” Kit defended himself. “Abducting me will gain you nothing except perhaps being hung because of it.”
Sage continued rocking Pure Blossom back and forth in his arms. He knew this was not the time or place to discuss the issues with Kit Carson, but since it had already begun, so be it. What he had to say would not take long. It had just been important to say it in the presence of his people so they would know the terms of the agreement that he hoped to achieve with Kit Carson.
“There will be no hangings,” Sage said quietly, yet with feeling. “Not even will my people place a noose around your neck. You will not be harmed at all. You will be released along with the white captives if you promise to return to Fort Defiance and tell them that you see it best not to interfere any further in our lives, so that the Navaho can ride free along land that has been theirs since before the white people even knew it existed. Promise that you will see to it that my people—even those that you have now as captives—will not be herded to a reservation.”
“You know that you are asking the impossible of me,” Kit said, sighing heavily. “I have no final say in these matters. I take my orders from the Great White Chief in Washington, who dictates all things to the white people, even Kit Carson.”
“You are wrong,” Sage grumbled. “The Great White Chief values your word, as well as your life. If you speak for the Navaho favorably, he will listen.”
“Only if he wishes to,” Kit said solemnly. “When it comes to Indians, scarcely does he ever favor them over the comforts of the white settlers.”
When Pure Blossom began chanting and talking out of her head, Sage felt guilty for having argued in her presence. He glared at Kit, then walked away from him, Leonida at his side.
“I never thought that it might be prairie fever,” Leonida said, gazing at Pure Blossom, whose face was beet-red. “Until today she scarcely had a fever. Now? It came on her so quickly.”
Sage took Pure Blossom to her blankets, laid her on one and wrapped her in another one.
He turned to Leonida and took her hands in his. “Our medicine man must sing over my sister,” he said thickly. “But first a house of bent saplings and leaves must be built quickly for her, to keep her out of the weather.”
He put a hand on Leonida’s cheek, reveling as always in the softness of her flesh. “At the same time I will see that you have a house of your own,” he said. “We may be here for some time. I cannot leave this place while Pure Blossom is this ill.”
Leonida swallowed hard, for Kit C
arson’s words that Pure Blossom would not be recovering had burned into her heart. This would be her final resting place.
She glanced down at Runner, who once again kept vigil at Pure Blossom’s side. It gave her a queasy feeling to think that he might come down with the same dreaded disease, yet she felt confident that he wouldn’t. He had been around Pure Blossom both night and day for as long as she had been ill, and neither he nor anyone else of the village showed signs of contracting the disease.
Leonida watched Sage ordering his men to build the houses, then watched him as he took Kit Carson aside and began discussing again about the fate of his people.
She peered into the deepening shadows of night, hoping that no one had followed Sage and Kit to this camp of Navaho.
Chapter 26
Like outcast spirits, who wait,
And see, through Heaven’s gate,
Angels within it.
—THACKERAY
Pure Blossom’s wigwam had been put together quickly. A fire now burned in the fire pit in the center of the dwelling, and smoke spiraled upward and spread outward like dancing, swaying ghosts.
Pure Blossom lay unconscious on thick pallets beside the fire. Leonida and Sage sat on opposite sides of her, awaiting the arrival of the medicine man, the “singer.”
Sage had already paid him many horses to conduct the ceremony. He had spent a great deal of time learning what to do, so he had to be paid well.
Outside, everyone stood around a nearby fire, warding off the chill of the night with blankets snuggled around their shoulders. Sage had dispensed with worrying that a fire might attract enemies, and a great fire leapt toward the sky.
The Navaho’s enemies were many, but their worst enemy at present might be the prairie fever. Fires were needed not only for warmth, but for cooking nourishing food. Sage’s people needed both the fires and the warm food to keep them healthy during the long nights of plummeting temperatures. And Sage would go no farther than this valley now that his sister had worsened.
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