She grinned slyly. “You interested, you old bastard?”
“Perhaps I could … manage to sneak over there just once more … to say good-bye. How about if you and one of those little girls work on me together? That would be worth quite a lot of money, wouldn’t it?”
She smiled a crooked smile. “We’ll be waiting, Senator.” She adjusted her dress. “And by the time you get out West, I’ll be running the fanciest saloon and best whorehouse west of the Mississippi!”
“I’m sure you will, my dear,” he replied with a grin.
She sauntered out the door, and he returned to his desk to work on his speech. Soon he must present his reasons for considering treaties for the Indians and his plan for putting them on reservations. He would have to do a good job. If men like him were going to go West and reap the rewards, they would have to get the Indians out of the way. That was a vital first step. If he had his way, he would simply line the Indians up and shoot them down with rifles and cannon. It would be no great loss.
He tried to concentrate on his speech, but the delicious thought of the young girls at Anna’s place kept interrupting his thoughts, and he found himself wondering what young Indian girls were like. Were they any different? He would have to find out once he got out West.
Nineteen
The next year and a half was hard and dangerous, for Zeke and Abbie as well as for the Cheyenne. Lieutenant Colonel Gilpin did indeed come to the Big Timbers, and he launched a campaign against all who would dare to raid along the Santa Fe Trail. Gilpin and his troops clamped down on all Indian movements, cutting off their ability to hunt necessary game. Swift Arrow and the others were enraged, and Swift Arrow pleaded with Broken Hand Fitzpatrick to tell Gilpin to ease off, to convince him the Cheyenne had nothing to do with the raiding. But Fitzpatrick himself did not get on well with Gilpin, and the two men went their separate ways, Fitzpatrick heading back north to the Platte River.
Fitzpatrick left on friendly terms with the Cheyenne, again warning them to stay away from their Kiowa and Comanche friends who were doing the raiding; but as soon as he was gone, Gilpin threw a chain of soldiers around the southern Cheyenne and cramped them even more, constantly harassing and threatening them.
Through it all, Abbie had to watch Zeke’s agony, in silent pain herself. He was a man more torn than ever, aware of the power of the soldiers and the government back East, and also bleeding inside for his red brothers who did not understand this power. Again in 1848 the cabin did not get built. Just protecting their land from raids was a job in itself, and they had to help the Cheyenne do some hunting; for the area in which they could hunt had been severely limited, and the People were hungry. Several times Zeke was compelled to take Abbie to Bent’s Fort for protection and leave Dooley with the horses, so that he could help Swift Arrow and the others find game, as well as find food for himself and Abbie.
While all of this was going on, Fitzpatrick was pleading to no avail that posts should be established along the Arkansas and manned by experienced men who knew the country and who knew how to deal with Indians without angering them. But Washington seemed to be turning a deaf ear, and mass confusion was running rampant along the Santa Fe Trail and among the Arkansas River Cheyenne.
Swift Arrow and other Cheyenne began calling for another “big talk.” Agent Fitzpatrick was reluctant to speak with them again, because the government had issued him no gifts to offer the Indians as a sign of peace; but the Cheyenne were persistent and growing more restless all the time. Fitzpatrick finally came to Bent’s Fort once again for more council talk. The Indians complained about the destruction and scattering of hunting game by the heavy flood of emigrants and of the cutting of timber from the river bottoms. Wooded areas were becoming bald, and the destruction of the trees was causing erosion and changes in the river courses. In some places the water was unfit to drink. Fitzpatrick again promised he would see what he could do about a treaty and about setting up land that the Indians could call their own and on which they could ride and hunt peacefully.
Again the Indians walked away with promises in their ears and nothing in their hands or stomachs. It was a bad time for all. The Mexican war was taking its toll on the Indians, as well as opening new roads for outlaws and renegade volunteers who used the war as an excuse to raid and rape and steal. And it was not long before the white travelers and settlers had as much to worry about from their own outlaws as they did from the Indians.
* * *
Abbie walked around the pile of logs that had been stacked next to where Zeke planned to build the cabin. She tried to visualize her house, but she had lived in the tipi for so long that it seemed impossible she would ever truly live in a house with wood floors and a roof, a fireplace and a mantel—a hearth to sit beside and rock her babies.
Times were bad, and Zeke still had not got around to building the cabin. Tears welled in her eyes. She hurt for her husband, who was riding a dangerous middle road. She pulled her buffalo coat closer around her shoulders and glanced over at the tipi. There was no sound. Little Rock still slept.
She looked out over the broad plains to the east, thinking about that first year she had spent with the People. It had been good after all, and she missed it. She knew that if she yearned for that wonderful journey to the Dakotas, it must be terribly painful for Swift Arrow and the others to be confined to the Arkansas as they were now—free but not free. And she was certain that they would not long abide the treatment they were receiving. They would break loose like a bull kicking and charging its way out of a stall.
She shivered. It felt as though there had just been a great rumbling beneath the earth, a rumbling that would one day explode into a great volcano. And she wondered what part she and Zeke would play in that explosion.
She felt helpless and depressed, as torn as her husband, for Zeke was suffering greatly from the skirmishes, loving his people yet understanding what would happen to them if they tried to remain free, while at the same time he was concerned over his own son and the second child she now carried in her swollen belly. He was trying to make a home for his white wife, but she knew it would have been much easier for him if he had married a Cheyenne girl, for then he would know where he belonged. Now in their life they seemed to be forever hanging between heaven and hell.
She wiped at her tears and strained to see Zeke. He and Dooley had ridden off after some straying horses. It was necessary to keep the growing herd close by because raiding Comanches continued to try to steal them. She could see neither man at the moment and turned to walk back to the tipi when she saw riders approaching from the opposite direction, their horses splashing through the river. They rode hard, as though on an attack, and her heart pounded with fear; for in these times, one did not know if a stranger was friend or foe. She started to run to her tipi to get her rifle but a shot rang out and hit the dirt at her feet, stopping her in her tracks.
She stood her ground, praying that Zeke and Dooley had heard the shot, as the men came closer. There were six of them, a sorry-looking bunch of white men who were taking advantage of the unrest in the territory to do their own raiding. They quickly surrounded her, and with great fear she recognized one of them. It was the leader of the men who had tried to take her away from Swift Arrow well over a year earlier. Claude Baker grinned when their eyes met, and he dismounted.
“Well, well,” he gloated. “If it ain’t the little white squaw!”
He came toward her and she backed away, but another man poked a rifle in her back, while another went inside the tipi to check it out.
“Get away from me!” Abbie spit at Baker. “My man is close by, and when he finds you here, you’ll die!”
He laughed and grabbed her coat, jerking her toward him. “Seems like I’ve heard that story before, white squaw! And we can take care of any Indian buck that wants to come and try to save you!” He tore open her coat. “Well, looky here, boys. The little white squaw really did let one of them bucks at her! She done got herself knocked up by
one of ’em!”
“More than once!” another looter shouted, emerging from the tipi with Little Rock, who squirmed and kicked and began to cry from being so rudely awakened from a good sleep. The man held the naked boy up high in the cold air and laughed.
“Put my baby down!” Abbie screamed, starting to lunge toward them. But Baker stopped her, grabbing her across the breasts and holding her tight against himself, her back to him. He squeezed one breast painfully as she struggled to get away.
“Let’s take her then steal the horses, boss,” one of the other men spoke up. “Any white woman that lets a red buck in her won’t mind a few white men doing the same!”
Abbie struggled violently, in spite of her pregnant condition. All she could think of was Little Rock; she could not see just what was being done with her son. She could hear him crying, but strong hands pushed her down and held her pinned in the snow. Someone pushed up her tunic and more hands pulled her legs apart.
“When we’re done, cut that red baby out of her stomach!” someone growled. “We don’t need any more little red varmints runnin’ around. And go drown that hollering brat, Harvey!”
“No! No! My baby!” she screamed. Something hit her across the face and she was stunned, the sky and the ugly faces spinning around her. She felt something probe rudely between her legs, and it brought vomit to her throat when she realized it was someone’s hands tearing at her.
“I’ve been wantin’ to have a lick at this ever since I seen her with them Cheyenne bucks!” she heard Baker’s voice speak up. She could feel his hot breath and then the sickening wetness in places that had belonged only to Zeke, and she screamed and struggled, her mind tortured with worry for Little Rock, whom she could still hear crying.
But as her world began to go black, she heard a terrible but beautiful war cry! The hands let go of her and men began screaming and running. One fell near her, an arrow in his back, and Abbie turned on her side and struggled to get to her feet, pulling at her tunic to cover herself. She blinked and looked up to see Zeke and Claude Baker. Baker was trying to get away from the enraged half-breed, but he’d been ready to rape his captive, and his pants were down around his ankles so he couldn’t run or get to his rifle.
In one sudden, swift movement, Zeke grabbed the man’s penis and sliced it off with the big blade. He shoved Baker to the ground, and the man lay there screaming and rolling, blood spilling forth from between his legs while Zeke went after another man who was running.
In the distance Dooley was fighting hand to hand with another of the men. Two others lay dead nearby, their bodies split open like hogs. Abbie knew who had done that. It was Zeke’s specialty.
The sixth man had apparently fled, for he was nowhere in sight. Abbie crawled away from Baker’s ugly, bleeding body and screamed for her son. The little boy came wandering toward her from behind a large rock, where he had apparently gone to hide. He had been sleeping naked but warm and comfortable under many robes inside the tipi, but now his bare little body shivered as he walked barefoot through the snow toward his mother. She grabbed him and immediately enclosed him in her buffalo robe coat to get him warm. As she struggled to get to her feet, black pain grabbed at her abdomen, and she knew that this ordeal had brought on an early labor. She lay back down in the snow and kept Little Rock inside the coat next to her body, waiting for help.
Zeke came back and stood over Baker, who still screamed. The white man stared wide-eyed at Zeke as though Zeke were the most horrible monster he had ever seen. Zeke reached down and grabbed Baker by the hair of his head, and Abbie looked away when she realized Zeke was going to scalp the man. She kept Little Rock inside her robe so that he also would not see. Baker’s cries were sickening; then there was a strange grunt and a gushing sound. She knew Zeke had sunk his knife into the man and slit him from penis to throat. There were no more screams from Baker.
In the next moment this man who had just gladly and easily murdered his woman’s attackers was at Abbie’s side, pulling her into his arms.
“Zeke! Zeke!” she wept, clinging to his coat and pressing Little Rock between them.
“Tell me they didn’t rape you!” he groaned, grasping her head tightly to his chest. “Tell me, Abbie girl!”
“No! No!” she cried. “There wasn’t … time.”
His grip was so tight it was beginning to hurt. “I saw them touching you.” His whole body trembled violently. “God, Abbie, what have I done making you live here with me! It’s just like … with Ellen!”
“It’s all right, Zeke. It’s all right!” she told him. She curled up in pain and groaned. “Take … Little Rock! Get him warm … or he’ll be sick. Zeke … I’m having the baby! Help me!”
His eyes filled with fear and he laid her gently back in the snow, taking Little Rock from her and handing him up to Dooley, who was now beside them.
“Did they hurt her bad?” Dooley asked.
“I don’t think so, Dooley,” Zeke replied. “But she’s having the baby. Take Little Rock inside the tipi and go heat some water.” Dooley nodded and started to leave. “Dooley.” The man turned and their eyes held. “Thanks, Dooley,” Zeke told the man in a strained voice.
Dooley nodded. “Any time, friend.” He walked to the tipi, and Zeke picked Abbie up in his arms and followed him. Inside, when he saw that her face was bruised and her lip was bleeding, he was so filled with rage that he shook. He wished he had saved her attacker for a slower death. But that was over now, and she was having a baby. The tipi was chilly because the fire had begun to dwindle and the January day had been extremely cold.
Little Rock was still crying and trying to crawl to his mother. Zeke called out to Dooley again, and he entered the tipi hesitantly.
“It’s all right, Dooley. Build up the fire, will you? I’ve got to warm it up in here.” He put several robes over Abbie. “Lie there and get warm, Abbie girl,” he told her. “Soon as it’s warm enough we can get you set up the way you ought to be.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Just relax, Abbie. It’s only two or three weeks early. It’ll be okay. We’ll do this together, just like last time.”
“Little Rock… take care of Little Rock,” she whimpered. Zeke picked up his son and coddled him, wrapping a robe around the boy and talking soothingly to him. The child finally ceased crying, for his father held him; he was never afraid when his father held him.
Dooley built up the fire, and Zeke sat and rocked back and forth with Little Rock until the boy fell asleep sucking his own fist and feeling safe against his father’s chest. Abbie lay sweating and gritting her teeth to keep from screaming, because she knew her screams would waken and frighten her son. It was important to keep him inside the tipi, near the fire, and if he could sleep now, that was even better.
Zeke laid the child down on his own little bed of robes and covered him well, secretly thanking Maheo that his son was unharmed. But he was not so certain about Abbie.
“I’ll go outside now,” Dooley said quietly. “I’ll get a pot of water from the river and bring it in and hang it over the fire for you, Zeke.”
“Thanks, Dooley,” Zeke replied brokenly, bending over Abbie.
Dooley sighed. “She’ll be okay, Zeke. She’s good and strong.”
The man left, not knowing what else to say. When he returned a few minutes later, Abbie was on her knees and Zeke was helping her get her robe off. Dooley looked away and hung the water over the fire; then he left to wait.
This time Dooley heard no screams—just quiet grunts and moaning and gentle talking. It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when Zeke came outside.
“I have a daughter,” he told Dooley. His voice broke on the last word, and he turned away. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound, and Dooley blinked back tears of his own.
“Zeke, they didn’t rape her,” he told his friend. “You have a little girl, and your son sleeps without a scratch. It’s all right.” His heart hurt for Zeke, for Dooley was certain Zeke had never before wept in
front of another man … but he had never been so afraid for Abbie.
“I thought … they’d killed her,” Zeke said quietly, wiping at his eyes. It was dark by then, and he was glad Dooley could not see his face. “I’d die without her, Dooley.” He sighed deeply and hung his head. “We’d … better report this … at Bent’s Fort tomorrow.”
“Let me do it. I hate to say it, but I’m white, Zeke, and it will all set better coming from me. There won’t be no trouble over it.”
Zeke nodded. “I hope not.” He threw back his head and breathed deeply. “Make damned sure they know it was just you and me. Don’t let them say the Cheyenne attacked a bunch of white men and hacked them up.”
“I’ll make sure they get it straight.”
Zeke swallowed. “And I don’t want Swift Arrow to know about this if we can help it. Thank God he didn’t happen to be here just now. If he finds out about it, he might go attack some innocent whites just for revenge. You know how he thinks.”
“I know, my friend. You go back now and be with your woman. And with your new little girl.”
Zeke nodded and returned to Abbie who lay quietly nursing her daughter. She looked up at him when he entered, and she knew he had been weeping.
“Zeke!” she whispered. He stared at her with wild, angry eyes. “Come and lie beside us, Zeke,” she pleaded.
He turned away. “I’m too angry right now, Abbie!”
“Zeke, I’m all right, and the baby is fine. Little Rock is unharmed. We have to be thankful for all of that, Zeke.”
He let out a disgusted sigh. “I’m having trouble feeling thankful right now, Abbie,” he replied bitterly. “I think I’ll go back out—clean up the mess out there. I don’t want you to have to see it in the morning.” He sighed. “God, I’m sorry, Abbie!”
She lay quietly watching after him as their new baby daughter fell asleep in the crook of her arm. How she wished she could comfort her husband! But there would be no comfort for him this night.
Ride the Free Wind Page 38