Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny)

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Just … shook up,” LeeAnn whimpered, still dabbing at her tears. Trent looked at Abbie’s bruised face and sighed.

  “I’m sorry, girls. But you’ll like Oregon. I’m sure of it. And I’ll make sure you get there safe.” He patted their heads and climbed out of the wagon, hoisting little Jeremy up to his shoulders and walking off to the meeting while the two girls quickly changed.

  “Well, I guess your Zeke showed his stuff this evening, didn’t he?” LeeAnn said as she pulled her dress over her head and began buttoning it.

  “My Zeke?” Abbie replied.

  “Well, he will be before this trip is out. You’ve got designs on him, I can see that. And you and I both know you didn’t have any red barrette in your hair today. But I won’t tell pa.”

  Abbie reddened and quickly pulled on her own dress. “What does it matter? I’m never going to get a man like that to think fond thoughts of me, especially considering my age.”

  “Fiddle! Older men like younger girls. Why, look at how it is back in Tennessee! Some girls get married at thirteen and fourteen to men forty or better!”

  Abbie’s eyes widened at the thought. “They do, don’t they?”

  “Of course they do.”

  Abbie brushed her hair and frowned. “You said yesterday that you didn’t think it was right for me to be interested in a man twice my age. Why are you talking like this now?”

  LeeAnn fussed with her golden hair. “Because now that I’ve met Mr. Robards, I know how wonderful an older man can be. The only difference is, there’s no future in Cheyenne Zeke, but with a man like Jason, I could have a fine home and fancy clothes. I just know it. But like I said, if that Cheyenne Zeke is what you want, I hope you get him, Abbie.”

  Abbie brushed off the remark about Zeke, attributing it to LeeAnn’s scatterbrained way of looking at things. “There’s an awful lot about him I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t even know his last name, if he has one. Surely his name isn’t just Cheyenne Zeke. And perhaps he already has a woman he’s interested in. Besides, there’s no sense in even sitting here and talking about him. His being interested in me is about as likely as the sun falling out of the sky.”

  Someone knocked on the side of the wagon. “Miss Trent?” LeeAnn’s eyes got wide, and she smiled.

  “It’s him!” she whispered. “It’s Quentin Robards!”

  “Miss Trent … LeeAnn? I’ve come to inquire if you’re all right,” the man’s voice spoke up.

  “I … I’m fine,” she replied. “Just a moment.” She pinched her cheeks, and as she climbed out, Robards took her hand. Abbie watched from the back of the wagon. The man was all smiles, and he boldly put an arm around LeeAnn’s shoulders. Abbie still did not like him.

  “I’m very sorry I wasn’t present when you were attacked, Miss Trent,” he was telling her. “I’d have given those men what for!”

  Abbie didn’t believe a word of it. She was sure he’d have run and left them there.

  “Oh, Mr. Robards, I know you’d have helped,” LeeAnn was saying, now dabbing at her eyes. “It was so terrible!” She looked up at him and batted her watery eyes.

  “It must have been,” the man replied, as they stopped to gaze at each other. “After all you’re … so innocent.” His eyes scanned her body, and Abbie felt sick. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I am now, Mr. Robards.”

  “Call me Quentin please. May I escort you to the meeting?”

  “By all means.”

  As Robards smiled and led her away, Abbie stuck her tongue out at him before she climbed out of the wagon. He apparently didn’t care that she was now alone, nor did LeeAnn. She was reaching inside for her shawl when she noticed Olin Wales walking toward her. She smiled when he stepped closer.

  “You okay, Miss Trent?” he asked.

  “Please call me Abbie,” she told him. “And I’m fine, sir.”

  “Zeke sent me to check. He noticed everybody was comin’ but you and LeeAnn, and now I see LeeAnn’s on her way.” He said the words with a sour note.

  “You don’t like Mr. Robards either, do you?” she asked.

  “Not especially. Fancy man. Let’s go now, Miss Abbie.”

  Abbie held back. “Did you say … Zeke sent you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Wales, would you … could you answer a question?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Why does Zeke look at me so strangely, like he knows me?”

  Olin studied her eyes a moment, then took off his beaver hat and scratched his graying head. “Well, ma’am, you … uh … you look an awful lot like his dead wife.”

  “I do?”

  “That’s what he tells me, ma’am. I didn’t know Zeke then—when he was married back in Tennessee. His wife was a white girl, but I never knew her or his little son.” He saw the excited look in Abbie’s eyes, and he frowned. “Now don’t you go tellin’ him I told you about that. He’d have my hide. Zeke don’t like other folks talkin’ about his private life.”

  “But what happened to his wife and son, Mr. Wales?”

  “Call me Olin. And I ain’t tellin’ you. It’s Zeke’s affair. I expect if he wants you to know that, maybe sometime he’ll tell you. Now let’s get goin’.”

  “Mr. Wales… I mean, Olin …”

  “What now?”

  “Zeke, if he told you I looked like his wife …then … then that means you two were talking about me, doesn’t it?”

  He saw the hope in her eyes, sighed, and took out some chewing tobacco and poked a piece into his mouth.

  “Let me set you straight, little Abbie. Just ’cause Zeke mentioned you look like his wife and just ’cause he saved you back there, that don’t mean you need to go gettin’ your sites set on that one. Cheyenne Zeke has been to hell and back many a time. He’s a man full of hurt and hate, and he ain’t lookin’ for no settlin’ woman, least of all a white one. He figures what happened to his white wife was his fault, and he ain’t gonna let himself get hurt like that again—or bring harm to another woman. He’s mostly a wanderer now, more Indian than white, and you’d be best to be lookin’ at some nice down-home boy. Wherever Cheyenne Zeke goes, there’s trouble, and you don’t want no part of that.”

  Abbie gazed over at the group that had gathered around Zeke. “Every man needs a woman,” she said longingly.

  “Maybe so … and woman is right. Not a little girl! Cheyenne Zeke done had his woman and lost her, so for him and me, the loose women will do.”

  Her heart suddenly burned with jealousy at the thought of Cheyenne Zeke holding someone else in his big, strong arms, hovering over her and being one with her, giving her what Abbie was beginning to want for herself. She could already see that when a woman loved a man she could take a lot of joy in letting that man have his way with her; for men and women were partly designed to give each other pleasure and to fill each other’s needs. And she didn’t doubt that when a woman filled Cheyenne Zeke’s needs, she got a good share of pleasure herself. She’d never been with a man, never even been kissed, but Tennessee girls who grow up on farms know about male and female, enough to know what men and women in love do to get babies. Olin seemed to be reading her thoughts and he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Believe me, you’d best keep your thoughts off of Zeke,” he warned. “It would be bad for you—and for Zeke. You don’t understand it all. Now let’s get to that meetin’.”

  Abbie sighed and wrapped her shawl tightly around her and they joined the others. “Fort Laramie is about here,” Zeke was telling them. He pointed to the drawing he’d made in the dirt with a stick. “It’s a good six weeks getting there. I hope all of you have lots of provisions. You have to understand how big the country is out there, and believe me, you’ll be damned tired and hungry by the time you reach the Rockies, but your journey won’t even be half over. And don’t bank too much on having plentiful game to kill, because that doesn’t always hold true. When we get to Fort Laramie, w
e’ll hold up a couple of days and stock up some more. Mr. Kelsoe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I expect you can sell some of your goods at Fort Laramie, if you’re looking for buyers. The next fort after that will be Fort Bridger, and it’s pretty new, so I expect Jim Bridger will be glad to buy some more things from you. We’ll be able to buy other useful goods from him in return.”

  “Do you know Jim Bridger?” the schoolteacher asked. “He’s quite a famous man.”

  “I know him … and Joe Walker, and Broken Hand Fitzpatrick and Kit Carson, too. Know them all.”

  “Wow!” little Jeremy exclaimed. Zeke grinned a little at the boy, then glanced up at Abbie and Olin before turning back down to his drawing.

  “Most of the first part of the journey won’t be too bad, till we get to the mountains,” he went on. “That’s where there will be trouble for any of you who have too much weight along. You don’t realize how high those mountains are, and the air is thin, so it’s a real struggle for the animals.”

  Abbie looked at her father, and he frowned. “Something wrong?” Zeke asked. Trent shrugged.

  “We’ve got their ma’s big clock along. It’s kind of special—especially to Abbie. Leaving it behind would be like cutting off her arm. It’s all they’ve got left of their ma, except for a few clothes and whatnots. The clock was brought over from Europe by their grandmother.”

  Zeke looked at Abbie, his eyes softening again. “Well, we’ll worry about that when it gets to be something to worry about,” he replied. “Maybe we can work something out.” Abbie blinked back tears. She knew Cheyenne Zeke would do his best to get the clock over the mountains.

  “What about the Indians?” Kelsoe asked. “Are they a big threat?”

  “Why ask him?” the preacher put in. “He is an Indian! If those savages attack us, he has no worries!”

  Zeke looked up at the man. In the firelight his dark face revealed his Indian side, and his eyes danced with anger. He rose and looked straight at the preacher.

  “Mister, when I’m hired to do a job, I do it. And if these folks should be attacked, I’ll fight right along side of them! But I’ll tell you one thing. If we have trouble with the Indians, it will be because somebody like you starts it! If they pay us a visit, you’d be wise to treat them with respect, because right now there are a hell of a lot more Indians out there than white men. They don’t take kindly to being insulted—and it’s the same for me!”

  The preacher blinked nervously, and Connely quietly dropped back into the shadows, as though he was afraid for Zeke to catch his eyes.

  “And will our women be safe around the savages?” the preacher sneered, sweating with fear but determined not to back away.

  “You know, mister,” Zeke hissed, “the trouble with men like you is you think Indians think like the white man—lusting after what’s under a woman’s skirts! The Indian has a name for men like that, but I won’t repeat it in front of these ladies. Most Indian men are plenty satisfied with their own women, and they don’t think about white women the way I can tell you’re thinking about women right now!”

  The preacher’s eyes widened with disdain. “How dare you speak to me that way! I am a man of God!”

  “And I’m half Cheyenne, mister, and damned proud of it! There’s no finer or better fighting Indian in this country! And believe me, I know the white man, from very personal experience! I’ve seen what he can do—and to his own kind! So don’t you stand there and ask me how safe your women will be around the Indians! I’d trust them all to a whole tribe of Cheyenne for a month, before I’d let them spend one night with a white man I didn’t know!”

  Everyone was quiet as Zeke knelt back down to his drawing, tense anger emanating from his body. He pulled out a cheroot and stuck it in his mouth.

  “His wife!” Abbie thought to herself. “Perhaps white men raped his own wife! Why else would he get upset so easily about such things?” Zeke looked up then, at everyone, but he wouldn’t look at Abbie. Now she knew why. He’d been thinking of his wife, and Abbie looked like her.

  “I’m sorry,” he was telling the others. “A man gets tired of being branded because of his heritage. Any of the rest of you don’t like having me along, say it out now. I’ll leave and you can get a different scout.”

  “The preacher doesn’t speak for all of us,” Abbie’s father spoke up. “I’m not about to forget what you did a little bit ago for my girls—and for me. That man would have cut me up good.”

  “We want you with us,” Kelsoe added. Preacher Graydon looked at the others with condemning eyes, but kept quiet for the moment. Zeke lit the little cigar and puffed on it, then rose again, his stature commanding and impressive. Those with any sense knew they could count on him and that he was too valuable to turn away. He glanced at the preacher, then back at Trent.

  “The Indian doesn’t judge a man by his blood,” he told Abbie’s father. Then his eyes scanned the others. “That’s why I came out here to be with my mother’s people. Folks back east judged me by my skin. But the Indian judges a man by his merits and strength, honesty and courage. They respect courage more than anything.” His eyes rested on Trent again. “I’m obliged for your confidence. Now, let’s get on with our meeting.”

  “But don’t the Indians steal horses and stock when they get the chance?” Bobby Jones spoke up before Zeke could go on. Zeke turned his eyes to the boy, who expected to see anger in them. But Zeke didn’t seem upset.

  “Yes, boy, they do. It’s best to keep an eye on the stock and let them graze inside the camp as much as possible. Stealing horses is hard for the white man to understand, but horses mean power and a higher station to an Indian. They mostly swipe from each other—one tribe against another—that’s been going on for hundreds of years. A young buck takes pride in his catch. He thinks it’s the same for the white man. Taking a few horses from the white man is a big accomplishment for the brave, and he’d likely trade the horses back for a few trinkets if he got the chance—something pretty to give to his woman and make him a big man in her eyes.”

  Zeke’s eyes rested on Abbie after that remark, and again she felt hot and tingly and could feel herself blushing.

  “Taking horses is a game with them,” he went on, looking at Bobby again. “They don’t understand. Some of my people understand because I’ve talked with them, tried to help them understand how the white man thinks, told them a white man hangs men for stealing horses and cattle. But theirs is a whole different upbringing, Bobby. The more horses he has, the more important a brave becomes. It’s his wealth. It’s like you going out and finding gold. You may not understand it, but sometimes you have to try. And there are a lot of beautiful people out there among the Indians. They have a relationship with the land and nature that the white man could learn from, if he’d take the time. And the Indian could learn a lot from the white man. But they’re both so different that I have my doubts that will ever happen.” His eyes moved to the preacher, who breathed hard with anger at the suggestion that the white man had anything to learn from Indians.

  “I’ll pray for your heathen soul!” the man told Zeke. “But I doubt there is much hope of your ever reaching heaven, Cheyenne Zeke! You’re part savage. It’s obvious you’ve killed men, and I don’t doubt you’ve spent time with whores! And you’ve insulted a man of God! It will not be easy to pray for you, but I will try.”

  Zeke actually laughed lightly and shook his head. It was the first time any of them had actually heard him laugh. “Don’t waste your time, preacher,” he replied. “I have my own personal religion, and if I’m to get to heaven, I’ll do it on my own. Maybe I’ll just sort of hang in the middle—my Indian half in hell and my white half in heaven—till God makes up his mind which I’m to be.” Everyone snickered, and the preacher walked off in a huff.

  “We haven’t discussed your fee yet, Zeke,” Trent put in. Zeke still seemed upset on the inside, and Abbie was sure he was still thinking about his wife. He took out a little
flask of whiskey from his belt and uncorked it, drinking a little. Abbie could feel the tension among the others. All had heard rumors of what whiskey does to Indians. Zeke wiped his lips and corked the bottle, sticking it back in his belt.

  “How much you got to offer?” he asked Trent.

  “The most we can scrape up is two hundred dollars, plus your meals,” the man replied.

  “Don’t need meals most of the time. I take care of myself. And two hundred is good enough for me if it’s good enough for Olin here. We’ll split fifty-fifty.”

  “Makes no difference to me, Zeke,” Olin replied. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  “Like hell. I know you, Olin Wales, and you’ll do your share.” Zeke looked at Trent. “Olin’s a good man. If something happens to me, you can depend on him.” He looked around at the others, as he puffed on the cheroot. “In the morning all of you check your gear real good and make sure your axles are well greased. I noticed you have only one yoke of oxen, Mr. Harrell,” he told the schoolteacher. “You’re carrying a lot of books. You’d be best to have two yokes on that wagon. It’s risky setting out on this trip with only two oxen. Four’s a lot better. Any of you others willing to rotate your spares and loan Harrell a couple of oxen?”

  “Right now I’m the only one with spare oxen,” Trent spoke up. “Kelsoe’s wagons are pulled with mules, and Bradley Hanes needs all four of his oxen. I have six along.”

  “Then I think I’d best send Olin back to Independence tonight to buy a couple extra for Harrell. It’s too dangerous, him setting out with only two, and we can’t risk you being without spares.” Zeke looked over at Hanes. “You ought to have a couple extra yourself, Mr. Hanes. It would cost you about fifty bucks. You got that much?”

  The man frowned. “I can’t spare more than twenty-five.”

  “Here’s a hundred,” Harrell said, handing the money to Zeke. Abbie was glad to see that the men were beginning to trust the half-breed. “I want two extra to pull, and two more as spares. I have plenty of money along.”