Climb the Wind: A Journey Into Another Past

by Pamela Sargent

  “What you say is true,” Lemuel said, “but if you go to war now, you will have to fight Three Star Crook and all of the forces he now commands. He gave no orders to Miles or to blue-coated raiders to attack helpless people in Kansas. He doesn’t want to fight you, but he will if you break the treaty.”

  “Three Star Crook will fight us when he is ordered to do so,” Touch-the-Clouds muttered.

  “No. He is angry about what has happened in Washington. He doesn’t accept McClellan and Stanton as his rightful chiefs. I don’t believe that he would follow them into battle against you. But if he thinks that you are a threat to any of the Wasichu in these territories, he will fight the Lakota.”

  The chief’s eyes shifted slightly. He’s uncertain, Lemuel thought, and pressed his advantage. “What did you intend to do here?” he asked quickly.

  Touch-the-Clouds smiled slightly. “Surely you can see what I mean to do. Bear Coat Miles has broken the treaty by sending his Blue Coats to kill the people in White Eagle’s camp. He has imprisoned eight Lakota men who live in Bismarck in his iron rooms. I will give him a chance to free those men and surrender the fort to us. He will refuse, and then we will attack. I have sent for some of our arrow-rockets, I am only waiting until they are here.” He thrust out his chin. “And no one will say that we were the first to break the treaty. I promised to do this, I promised that I would punish those who broke the treaty. That was also part of that agreement.”

  “Everything you say is true,’’ Lemuel said, “but if you strike at Miles now, all you will have is one victory, and an enemy who might have become an ally. Stay your hand, and you may win much more for yourself.”

  “So you have a plan of your own,” Touch-the-Clouds said. “Tell me what you would do.”

  “Ask for a meeting with Miles under a flag of truce. I will be your messenger to him. I will tell him that you and your men will leave peacefully if he releases his prisoners and orders the soldiers in Bismarck to return to Fort Lincoln. He will also have to promise that he will abide by the treaty in the future.”

  “He will refuse.”

  “He’ll listen,” Lemuel said, “and if he doesn’t, then I will take revenge for his attack on White Eagle’s camp. I will count coup on him and kill him myself.”

  Touch-the-Clouds started. Lemuel had actually managed to surprise him. “Then his men will kill you,” the Lakota said.

  “Probably. You’ll have even more reason then to destroy Fort Lincoln or force a surrender. You see, my friend, to care nothing for one’s life can also be a weapon, to be ready to welcome death can be a weapon, as many Lakota warriors have known. I don’t much care if I live or not these days, and my death might serve you as well as any advice I can give.”

  Touch-the-Clouds said, “You are a true friend, Orphan of the East.”

  Lemuel shook his head. “Your wife—my wife—saw a great victory for you. Her vision was not simply one of your people safe in their lands. She saw victorious Lakota warriors in the street of an eastern city.”

  “I have seen the same vision.”

  “You can fight more battles and the men can count coup and your warriors can win many battle honors for themselves, or you can fight a war of conquest and be the greatest of the chiefs. I know which kind of war you have long dreamed of fighting,’’ Lemuel stood up. “I will do what I can to give you the victory my wife foresaw for you.” If he failed at that now, Katia’s death would have no meaning.

  The gate of Fort Abraham Lincoln’s wooden wall of pointed logs opened for Lemuel and was closed behind him. He had ridden down the steep hill from the infantry garrison overlooking the fort with White Eagle and five other men after the officer on duty had allowed them to pass, but had guessed that only he would be admitted to Fort Lincoln. He had seen Nelson Miles only twice before, when the colonel had first come there to take command and later in the company of a small delegation from Bismarck, but Miles apparently remembered his name, according to the infantryman who ushered him inside the fort.

  Two soldiers took charge of his horse while two others led him across the parade ground to the adjutant’s office. Lemuel gave his Winchester to one of the men, then entered. He expected to find the colonel with two or three fellow officers, but Miles was alone. It would have been more difficult to kill him with other men present, although not impossible for an assassin willing to give up his life in the effort. He thought of Frank Grouard, of how he had recoiled from that murder. That had been fainthearted of him. All that he had to do was to remind himself that this was war, and that the war had already claimed Katia’s life.

  Miles sat behind a plain wooden table. His thick mustache drooped on either side of his mouth. He was a tall, muscular man, but in his blue uniform, without the thick coat trimmed with bear fur that he usually wore in winter, the coat that had given him the name by which the Lakota knew him, he seemed smaller.

  Lemuel crossed the room, slowly drew his Colt from his holster, and lay it on the table next to Miles’s saber and rifle. Another revolver and a knife were concealed under his coat. The two men posted outside had left the door open, despite the mosquitoes that plagued the valley in summer, perhaps to keep the warm room from getting even hotter, perhaps so that they could watch him. They had a good chance to cut him down before he struck at Miles.

  “I see you’re in uniform,” Miles said. “Hardly appropriate, under the circumstances.”

  “I served under General Grant,” Lemuel replied. “I have earned the right to wear this uniform. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that. Colonel Jeremiah Clarke provided me with this garment, and General George Crook didn’t find it inappropriate when I met with him at Fort Laramie.”

  Miles’s mustache twitched.

  “General Crook was concerned enough about what was happening here to allow me to come here, to speak for him,” Lemuel continued as he sat down.

  “You are here to speak for the Sioux,” Miles shot back.

  “I am here to preserve the treaty.” Lemuel leaned forward. “Those usurpers and traitors in Washington won’t keep it. Those words—usurpers and traitors—are not my own. They are the words General Terry used to describe the men who claim to be the government of the United States.”

  Miles’s pale eyes shifted away from Lemuel for a moment. “McClellan and the others are a temporary governing body.”

  “So they say now.”

  “According to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, they are a duly constituted authority. My wife’s uncle was part of that authority until his unfortunate death. He wouldn’t have been a part of it unless—”

  “General Sherman and I had many differences of opinion,’’ Lemuel interrupted, “but somehow I can’t bring myself to believe that he would have been a part of a conspiracy to assassinate President Blaine and then take over the government, especially if Edwin Stanton was involved. His death seems entirely too convenient. I don’t believe that Senator John Sherman, your wife’s other illustrious uncle, would have approved of such actions, either.”

  Miles stiffened. “So my wife tells me.” He tapped one forefinger against the top of the table. “It doesn’t matter. I am a soldier, I must follow the orders of my commanding officer. That means I must follow the orders of General Sheridan, since he has now assumed command of—”

  “Sheridan may be dead, too. At best, he’s probably under guard. You may not realize that General Crook is already assuming that the chain of command has been broken.”

  Miles’s eyes widened slightly. Now he is afraid, Lemuel thought, but he’s hiding it well. “Seems to me,” Lemuel went on, “that you should regard Crook as your commanding officer now.”

  “I was ordered to attack those redskins,” Miles muttered. “There they were, with a telegraph line to Bismarck, with a maker of gadgets brought out here to make things for the Sioux—”

  “For the Sioux and anybody willing to support his work and leave him free to do it,” Lemuel corrected. “Most of the things he’s made aren’
t of much use to the Lakota.”

  “They would be if they ever went to war. I know what the army’s worried about. They’re wondering what will happen once the treaty’s broken.”

  “So you decided to break it first.”

  “I followed my orders.”

  “You don’t even know if Sheridan gave those orders.”

  Miles leaned back and folded his arms. “Someone in Washington did.”

  “Of course. The bankers and railroad men have wanted the Lakota lands for a long time. They might have had them by now if there hadn’t been more trouble in the South. The only way that they can get them now is to break the treaty and force the Lakota into war.”

  “The Sioux can’t win a war,” Miles said.

  “No, they probably can’t by themselves, not even with their ironworks and the weapons they’ve bought and made and any new inventions Mr. Edison can devise for them. But they have some friends now, other red allies, other settlers and people who might feel more loyalty to friendly Indians who have kept the treaty than to a government they had no hand in electing. Sheridan and Sherman could have shortened any conflict, I have no doubt about that, but apparently they would rather resist a tyranny than mount a campaign against the Indians.”

  Miles lifted a brow.

  “If Sheridan were still able to do anything,” Lemuel continued, “he would be on his way West, and you’d know he was coming.”

  Miles said, “The Sioux will lose.”

  “Yes, they probably will lose, even without having to deal with Sheridan, but it would be a long and bloody conflict, and very costly. Do you want to be the man who ignites it?”

  “I had my orders.” Miles sounded more uncertain.

  “Orders given by men who want to use you to line their own pockets. Orders given by usurpers.”

  “What does Crook want me to do?” Miles asked.

  “Whatever Touch-the-Clouds asks of you,” Lemuel replied. “He wants the prisoners you’re holding freed, martial law lifted in Bismarck, and your promise that you will keep the treaty. You can admit to the Lakota that you mistakenly believed that your orders came from your chief but have since learned otherwise. I would also advise you to make one other gesture.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Restoring the telegraph link to the camp of White Eagle and his men.”

  Miles’s mouth twisted. “Very well. I can’t see that I have much of a choice.”

  “Then perhaps we can prepare to ride to Touch-the-Clouds. He will want to smoke a peace pipe with you and put his mark on a written copy of the agreement.” Lemuel let out his breath. How far Miles could be trusted, he did not know, but he would not have to kill the man after all.

  “I can do better than that,” Miles said. “Brown, Colburn!” The two soldiers standing guard outside came through the open door. “Fetch that gadget maker. We’re going to need one of those machines of his. You can tell him he’ll be free to go afterwards.”

  Lemuel shifted in his seat. He should have suspected that Miles would have arrested Edison and locked him up in the guardhouse.

  “What does Crook mean to do after I manage to settle matters with these Sioux?” Miles asked.

  Lemuel shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  “By Godfrey,” Theodore Roosevelt said.

  “I’ll be damned,” one of the men with Roosevelt muttered under his breath.

  Jane sat next to Lemuel Rowland. She listened as Edison’s assistant John Kreusi, standing at the back of his wagon, turned the handle of the machine he called a phonograph.

  “... and the treaty of Fort Fetterman will be kept,” the machine sitting in the buckboard said in the voice of Colonel Nelson Miles.

  The voice of Touch-the-Clouds began to speak in Lakota, repeating all of the provisions of the new agreement with Miles. The voices sounded a bit scratchier now, possibly because this was the third time the shiny cylinder had been played. There were other cylinders with the same recorded sounds. Thomas Edison had sent two phonographs to the camp of Touch-the- Clouds.

  “Lord have mercy,” Virgil said.

  John Kreusi beamed, looking full of himself, although Edison was the true genius behind this machine. Edison, Lem Rowland had told Jane and the others, was in his laboratory at that very moment, anxious to get back to work after his recent imprisonment. He had not even wanted to come out to the Sioux encampment to make the historic recordings himself.

  White Eagle stared intently at the phonograph. Other Indians in the encampment, Jane had noticed, had made signs to avert evil after hearing the machine, while others had clapped their hands over their ears and hurried away, but not White Eagle and his comrades.

  “Wire Talker Edison has strong medicine,” White Eagle said. “If he can make wires sing, and catch voices, maybe he will make a light that can fill a tepee with brightness.” The inventor, Jane had heard, was still working on his obsession, a device for illumination that he called an incandescent lamp.

  “Oh, you can be sure he will,” Kreusi said without a trace of doubt in his voice.

  “Kreusi,” Roosevelt said, “please do inform Mr. Edison that I would very much like to have a little talk with him about investing in some of his ventures.”

  The air was still, the summer evening still hot. Several bands of Sioux had already left the encampment near Fort Lincoln; most of the others would leave in the morning, heading west to their traditional lands and their postponed buffalo hunt. Not more than a few hours ago, Jane and Virgil had been sitting in a wickiup as prisoners, contemplating their fate and deeply regretting that they had decided to go to Bismarck. She could go back to civilization after all, Jane thought; there would be no war. Then she glanced at Lem, who had come there to talk to Touch-the-Clouds and to Miles, and saw the sorrow and grimness in his face.

  She reached over and touched his arm. “Hey, Lem,” she murmured, “I’d like to ask your advice.”

  He nodded.

  “In private.”

  He got to his feet. Jane motioned to Virgil. She walked away from the group of white men and Indians sitting in front of White Eagle’s wickiup. Virgil followed them. She would have no secrets from her Negro friend. Whatever she had to say to Lemuel, Virgil would have to be a part of it.

  “Didn’t get a chance to say this before,” Jane said, “but I hope you’ll give my regards to Graceful Swan—I mean, Miz Rowland.”

  “My wife is dead,” he said.

  Jane felt a pang of regret. She had meant to call on Graceful Swan the last time she had ridden to Bismarck, but had been so sick from whiskey that she had been ashamed to show her face to the woman. She swallowed hard, afraid suddenly that she might cry.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Raiders killed her.” Lemuel’s voice was flat. “We were staying in Elysium, Kansas. We were expecting that there might be trouble, so I was out scouting with another man. While we were gone, raiders wearing army uniforms attacked at night and set fire to buildings and murdered most of the people there.”

  Jane took a breath, not knowing what to say, and then Lemuel turned toward her and she saw the coldness in his dark eyes. Touch-the-Clouds had that look about his eyes, as had Rubalev the last time she had seen that blond devil. She took a step back from Lemuel Rowland.

  “What did you want to ask me?” he said in that same flat voice.

  Jane glanced at Virgil, who looked wary of Lemuel. “Ain’t told Virgil this, but I was thinking of maybe going back to civilization. I mean staying in Bismarck for a while, then maybe heading out somewheres else.” She hooked her thumbs around her holster belt. “Sorry, Virgil.”

  “I guess I figured you was thinkin’ of that, Calamity,” the black man said, “so it ain’t much of a surprise. Fact is, I’m thinking of settlin’ down near a place with more folks myself.”

  “Trouble is,” Jane continued, “I’ll need to find work, and I thought maybe you’d know where I could get it. If they need someone to
ride shotgun on stagecoaches or maybe on the railroad—”

  “The trains aren’t running as often,” Lemuel said, “so you probably won’t find much there. The Union Pacific doesn’t run as many trains to California now, and the Lakota will never let tracks be built across their territory.”

  She did not ask about the southwestern rail lines, such as they were. She had learned from a couple of travelers during her last visit to Bismarck that bands of Mexicans, Texans, Comanches, and Apaches had been claiming more of what they called “tolls,” meaning anything that they could steal at gunpoint from the passengers.

  “The army might need some scouts,” Jane said, “even if there ain’t going to be any fighting. Maybe you could put in a word—”

  “You asked for my advice,” Lemuel said. “Here it is. You two should get whatever you need in town and head back to Montana. You’ll be as safe in Blackfeet territory as you would be anywhere else.”

  “But the fighting’s over here,’’ Jane said.

  “It’s over for now. This peace won’t last. Miles may have promised to keep the treaty, but others won’t. Men in the East are already looking west again. They believe God meant for this land to belong to them. The treaties are just a delay. All the Lakota can hope for now is that the delay gives them enough time to prepare for the war they’ll have to fight.”

  “If’n there’s going to be a war,” Virgil said, “maybe we won’t be safe in Montana, neither.”

  “There will be war,” Lemuel said. “You can be certain of that. I didn’t want to believe it. A part of me kept pretending that war wouldn’t come, that the treaty would be kept. Katia knew otherwise; she saw it in her visions. She foresaw her own death and she saw the war that would follow. There will always be wars until there is no one left to fight them. Rubalev told me that, years ago. The Lakota have always believed it.”