“She make tunic for her sister, who die of the spotted disease before Tall Grass Woman can give dress to her. Now she want your woman to have the dress. She say someone pretty like the white woman should wear it.”
Abbie looked up at Zeke, her eyes tearing. “Oh, Zeke, I can’t take it from her. It’s too lovely!”
“You must take it. She’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
Abbie turned to Tall Grass Woman. She laid the tunic over one arm and touched Tall Grass Woman’s shoulder with her other hand. “Thank you!” she told the woman. She looked up at Zeke. “How do I say it?”
“Ha ho,” Zeke answered. “It means thank you.”
Abbie repeated the words to Tall Grass Woman, and the woman smiled proudly, reaching out to touch Abbie’s cheek.
“Wagh!” she said, nodding her head vigorously. “Wagh!”
“She says it is good,” Zeke told Abbie. “She means it is good that you are here.”
“The little boy is her son, Wolf’s Paw,” Red Eagle told Abbie. “He is four winters old. The little girl is Magpie, and she is two.”
The children moved further behind their mother, peering at Abbie with big, brown eyes.
“Oh, Zeke, Indian children are so beautiful!” Abbie exclaimed. “I can’t wait until we—”
She blushed and looked down, forgetting that Red Eagle could understand English. Red Eagle and Zeke eyed each other and suppressed their laughter. Abbie swallowed, still looking at the ground.
“Please tell Tall Grass Woman how … how grateful I am. I need the tunic badly,” she told Zeke. Zeke felt sorry for her embarrassment, and he reached over and put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, not caring if Red Eagle saw him show his affection. He spoke up to Tall Grass Woman, thanking her again, then left Abbie for a moment to reach into his parfleche and retrieve a handful of blue trade beads from a pouchful he had purchased at Fort Bridger to bring to his mother. He knew how highly prized beads were to Cheyenne women, and he handed them to Tall Grass Woman. Her eyes widened and she exclaimed excitedly over them, nodding to Zeke, then to Abbie, then to Zeke again, smiling and jabbering in her own tongue. She nodded once more and then scurried out with her children.
Zeke put a hand to Abbie’s waist and urged her to sit back down. She carefully laid the tunic out beside her on the buffalo robe, overwhelmed by the beautiful gift from the Cheyenne woman she had never even met until today.
“It is good you give her the beads. She is happy,” Red Eagle told Zeke as the two men sat down also. Zeke picked up a stick and stirred the small fire Swift Arrow had built inside the tipi that morning to ward off the chill of the early hours.
Zeke looked at Abbie. “When an Indian gives a gift, it is the custom to give something in return to show your gratitude,” he told her.
“Oh. Then I’m glad you gave her the beads,” she replied.
Red Eagle glanced at her; then he looked at Zeke. “There are many customs she must learn if she is to live here among us.” Their eyes held.
“I need her, Red Eagle,” Zeke said openly. “I want to be with the Cheyenne, and she has agreed to stay with me. How are the others taking it—besides Swift Arrow, I mean?”
“They do not mind so much. It is only Swift Arrow who is so angry. The others, they know you are a great warrior, in spite of your white blood. They respect your decisions, as I do.” He grinned a little. “And they know it is your white blood that keeps you looking at the white women, just as the Cheyenne like to look at their own women—and at the Arapaho women. They are all pleasant to watch.”
They both laughed lightly, and Abbie had to smile. She looked down again, feeling as though perhaps she should not be sitting in on Zeke’s conversation with his wild young brother. But Zeke reached over to take her hand and he squeezed it consolingly as he continued talking.
“Did we really lose half our people to the measles, Red Eagle?”
The young man frowned. “Many. Hundreds. It was very bad, very bad. There was also the coughing sickness. I myself am bitter toward these whites who come through our land.” He glanced at Abbie again, then back to his brother. “I do not blame your woman for these things. She is only one small girl. But you should know that our feelings toward the newcomers from the East are not good, my brother. They bring disease. They cut down the trees and make the water foul. They leave behind dead animals and filth. They shoot at us without reason and kill our game. When they kill an animal, they take only a little of the meat and leave the rest, wasting the blood and the bones and half of the meat. We fear for our future, Zeke.”
Zeke nodded. “I understand.”
“Yellow Wolf speaks like a woman now,” Red Eagle went on, referring to one of their chiefs. “The disease frightened him. Now he speaks of asking for protection from the Great White Father in Washington. He says we must do as the white man does—plow the earth and raise cattle and plant seeds.” He waved his arm and spit toward the fire. “He expects young men who are strong and eager for the hunt to give up the hunt and be like women! I will not live that way! Nor will our brothers. Digging in the earth is woman’s work! And what does a man do once the seed is planted? Sit and watch the earth? Wait for the seed to sprout and grow?” He sneered and pulled out his knife, using it to trace nervously in the dirt floor. “He might as well put a shawl around his shoulders like an old woman and shrivel up and die!”
“I know how you feel, Red Eagle,” Zeke answered. “But I also know the white man. And the more of them that come out here, the harder it will be for the Indian to find food, to roam wherever he wishes for the hunt, even to war against other tribes. Yellow Wolf sees this. He sees a change coming. I don’t like it any more than the rest of you. But I see a day coming when the Cheyenne will have to make peace with the Crow and the Ute and Pawnee; a day when all tribes will have to fight as one against the white man. Either that, or they will have to bend to the white man’s will. Not to bend will mean death, Red Eagle. I feel it in the wind.”
There was a moment of silence. “I hope you are wrong, my brother, for the Cheyenne will never bend!” He glanced at Abbie. “What will she do if the day comes that we must fight? Who will her weapons be used against?”
Abbie returned his look boldly. “I will be with my husband’s people,” she answered.
Red Eagle grinned a little. “Which people? He has two people.”
“He has one people!” she answered defiantly. “The Cheyenne!”
He nodded and looked approvingly at Zeke. “Perhaps she will learn to be a good Cheyenne sooner than I think.”
“She’ll learn,” Zeke answered with a grin. “And she doesn’t speak with a forked tongue as some whites do. She has given up much to be with me. That alone should win your respect. And when we have spoken to our mother, you will know and understand my wife better.”
Red Eagle nodded. “You say you will go on the hunt with us?”
“We will go.”
“We will leave in the morning to catch up with our mother, who goes north to Dog Man’s clan. We will probably hunt at the Smoky Hill or Republican River. It is said that is where the buffalo have gone, but there might be trouble crossing the Santa Fe trade route.”
“Why? We’ve always ridden through that area.”
“There is talk—at Bent’s Fort. They say the Mexicans to the south of us are making great trouble. They speak of a war between your white brothers and the Mexicans. Many soldiers will be coming.”
Zeke frowned and looked at Abbie, then back at his brother. “I heard a few rumors at Fort Bridger.”
“At Bent’s Fort the traders speak as though there is already a war. And they say some of the Comanches are being paid by the Mexicans to make trouble for the Americans.”
Zeke reached behind himself and felt in his parfleche for his corncob pipe. He pulled it out and lit it, while an eerie silence hung in the air.
“Zeke?” Abbie spoke up quietly. “Maybe there’s a war going on we don’t know about.” She hes
itated when Red Eagle looked at her as though she had no right to be talking. Zeke puffed on his pipe and eyed Red Eagle.
“I won’t deny her everything, Red Eagle,” he told his brother. “She’s a smart girl with a mind of her own, and if she wants to speak she can speak.”
“A Cheyenne woman holds her tongue when the men are talking.”
“Outside she’ll hold her tongue. But within the privacy of our dwelling place she can speak as she likes. And you know as well as I do there are plenty of single-minded Cheyenne wives who speak their pieces to their men in privacy.”
“Only when they are alone,” Red Eagle replied, tracing in the dirt floor again.
“You’re my brother. She can speak in front of you.” He looked at Abbie. “I’m thinking the same thing, Abbie girl,” he told her. “If it’s true, more soldiers will be coming to Indian Territory, followed by more settlers. And if the damned Comanche are raiding, you can bet some of it will get blamed on the Cheyenne by people who don’t know one Indian from another.”
“This is what we fear,” Red Eagle put in.
“Back home in Tennessee”—Abbie spoke up again—“there was talk about Mexico way back before Pa and us even left. Folks said as how since we had Texas, maybe we ought to go for more and take in New Mexico and California.”
Zeke puffed at his pipe and nodded. “And knowing how greedy most whites are for more land, they’ll go after it.”
Abbie watched them both, feeling as though she were being drawn into a destiny over which she had no control. “But a war with Mexico, that doesn’t have to bother us any, does it, Zeke?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean if they want to fight the Mexicans, so what? You and I and the Cheyenne, we can just go on about our business.”
Red Eagle looked at her, his eyes scanning her quickly again, dropping last to her white ankles. She was pretty, of that there was no doubt. And she was soft spoken, even if she did speak when she shouldn’t. And there was something about her … a certain quality that told a man she would be a fine woman some day.
“When you have been with us awhile,” he told her, “you will understand that anything that happens with the Americans has much to do with the Indian. If there is to be war with Mexico, it is as Zeke said. More soldiers will come. And with the soldiers will come more settlers. And if they take more land, then even more will come, searching for the gold and for the power the white man finds in owning much land. But he does not own the land, nor does the Indian. It belongs to the spirits. Hesek, the mother earth, is sacred. It is here to be used by all those who pass through it. But no one has the right to own it and tell others they cannot use it. This is a strange custom of the white people I do not understand—always to be owning land and buildings and much gold. Our people do not understand such thinking.”
Zeke nodded. “I agree this can only mean more trouble. There is vague talk at Fort Bridger about a big treaty with the Plains Indians. You heard anything like that?”
“Ai. Broken Hand is now an agent. We hear he has told the Great White Father there should be such a treaty. But both of us know the white man’s word cannot always be trusted.”
Blue smoke curled up from Zeke’s pipe. “True. But if they offer a big chunk of land to the Indians, it might be wise to consider taking it.”
“It is talked about whenever council is held,” Red Eagle told him, shoving his knife back into its sheath. “But most of us do not want such a treaty. It is not right that the Indian should be put on one piece of land and told to stay there. We cannot live that way.”
“There may be no choice in the end, Red Eagle.”
“E-have-se-va!” Red Eagle spit out the word. “No good! No good!”
Zeke shook his head, knowing how difficult it was to make his Cheyenne brothers understand about the whites. “Well,” he said, setting down his pipe, “it’s something to be considered, Red Eagle.” There was a moment of strained silence before Zeke spoke again. “How are the horses coming along?”
“Good. Some fine young ones were dropped this spring. You will be happy when you see them. We have taken good care of them.”
Zeke grinned, and Abbie felt relieved at the change of subject. “There’re no better horse breeders than the Cheyenne,” Zeke replied to his brother. “I owe you and Swift Arrow and Black Elk,” he added. “You’re welcome to eat with us any time, and I want each of you to pick out one of the best mounts for your own.” He looked at Abbie. “A good horse is worth just about as much to a Cheyenne man as his wife,” he told her with a wink.
“Oh?” Her eyebrows went up in mock offense. “Then you’ll have to take me out to see my competition.”
Zeke laughed lightly and looked back at Red Eagle, who was grinning himself at the remark.
“I’ll pay you cash money for your work as well,” Zeke went on to his brother. “You can use the money to get supplies at Bent’s Fort. As the hunt gets leaner, you’ll need the white man’s dollars to get some of the things you will need. I’m taking the horses to Independence after the hunt. I have money in a bank there. I can get good prices for the horses, too. That’s where most folks congregate to come West. They’ll pay good for sturdy horses, and my Appaloosas are some of the best. Long as we can’t stop the damned whites from coming, we might as well take advantage of their needs, Red Eagle. God knows we’ll have plenty of needs of our own as we lose more hunting ground.”
Red Eagle grinned. “With the white man’s money we can also buy the white man’s firewater!” he told his brother. “For now, Red Eagle trades robes for the whiskey.”
Zeke’s face darkened with anger at his brother. “You’ve been trading robes and supplies for whiskey?”
Red Eagle straightened defensively. “The firewater makes us feel even braver! And it helps us have visions. It is good medicine! Good medicine!”
“It’s bad, Red Eagle! Very bad! You leave the whiskey alone!” Zeke told him.
The man frowned and waved him off. “Whiskey good. Only one buffalo robe buys whole bottle!”
Zeke’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “They water it down, Red Eagle! They sell you two cents worth of whiskey and in return they get five dollars for the robe back in Saint Louis!”
Red Eagle shrugged. “Perhaps. Money means something only to the whites. So, let them get their money for the robes. We will have our firewater! Even now I have some in my parfleche. I drink some every day. When I do, I feel more alive.”
Zeke rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. “If anything destroys our people, Red Eagle, the firewater will do it more quickly than white man’s diseases and soldiers’ rifles combined!” He looked back at his brother. “I speak the truth, Red Eagle. You think the firewater gives you power, but it’s bad for you. It keeps you from thinking wisely. It will get you in trouble with the soldiers. And even though it makes you feel stronger, you are actually weaker when you are full of the firewater!”
Red Eagle grinned. “Always you worry about us. We are fine, proud Cheyenne—best warriors on the Plains! A little whiskey will not harm us. I only drink a little each day.”
“It’s habit forming. Each day you’ll want more and more, Red Eagle, until it destroys you. I speak the truth, my brother. Listen to me!”
Red Eagle suddenly rose, his eyes hot with anger. “Do not speak in such a way in front of your woman!”
Their eyes held in a challenge, and Zeke rose also. “I speak to you in such a way because I care about you, Red Eagle. Does our mother know you have the whiskey?”
“Our mother no longer has anything to do with what Red Eagle chooses to do or say or eat or drink!” the man shot back. “I am my own man!”
Zeke knew he had greatly offended his brother by scolding him in front of a woman, especially a strange white woman. He forced back his anger and nodded.
“Of course you are,” he said calmly. “Forgive me, Red Eagle. I still think of you sometimes as a small boy.”
“I am not a boy! I am a man! And I ask you to let me have s
ome of the horses as payment for caring for them. I want to use them as a gift to Red Dog, an Arapaho, when we go on the hunt. I … I wish to marry Red Dog’s daughter, Yellow Moon.”
Zeke’s face brightened. “You wish to marry?”
“Ai. I have been watching Yellow Moon since I was only fifteen summers. I have killed the buffalo and I have had a vision—and now I am a man. I have learned that Yellow Moon has had her first”—he hesitated and glanced at Abbie—“that she is a woman now,” he finished. Abbie blushed deeply at the meaning of the words. “She is fourteen summers. It is … difficult … for us not to be together. I wish to marry her after the hunt.”
Zeke nodded and put out his hand, and Red Eagle grasped his wrist. “You may have four horses, Red Eagle. Is that enough?”
“Ai.” The young man nodded. “It is as you say about your white woman. I need Yellow Moon as much as a man needs to breathe.”
Zeke grinned. “I understand, my brother.” Red Eagle started to release his hand, but Zeke kept a firm grip. “Be careful with the firewater, Red Eagle. Remember my words. I speak them not to dishonor you, only to warn you—because you are my brother. I have seen what whiskey can do to men.”
“You drink it. I have seen you.”
“Ai. But I know what it does, and I am careful. And the whiskey you buy from those traders—it’s full of water and sugar. I’ve seen them mix it myself. They know the red man likes sugar and that he will drink so much of it that he will be destroyed. I have white blood in me, Red Eagle. It does not affect me the same as my full-blood brothers. Don’t let them destroy you that way.”
Red Eagle grinned. “Always you worry too much about such things,” he told Zeke. He looked at Abbie, then back at Zeke, who finally released his grip on Red Eagle’s wrist. “We hold council soon,” Red Eagle told Zeke. “We talk more about the soldiers and Mexico. We tell you what has been happening while you have been gone.” He walked to the tipi entrance, then hesitated. “Bring white woman. The others want to look at your new wife again. She should wear Tall Grass Woman’s tunic. But be sure she sits behind you and does not speak too much. Tomorrow we go north.”
Ride the Free Wind Page 7