When she spotted Zeke, her heart beat with pride and desire at his appearance. His buckskin shirt was off, and instead he wore only a leather vest. His arms were well muscled and powerful looking, his hair unbraided and hanging loose again. His face was painted in black and red and yellow. He rode boldly away from the camp and about halfway out to the Sioux who sat proudly on their mounts, with their women and children behind them. The Sioux were dressed in beautiful colors, and some of the men carried lances with feathers decorating them from one end to the other. The braves also wore feathers in their hair, and their horses, painted from head to tail, had feathers decorating their manes. This sight was both beautiful and frightening to Abbie and the others. Abbie thought to herself that if she lived through this, she would certainly have a story to tell her children. She noticed that Yolanda Brown was not about, and she suspected Zeke had told the girl to stay inside her wagon. The preacher was not visible either, although he’d been up and walking the day before, still limping somewhat from Zeke’s beating. Abbie hoped that wherever he was, he was tied and gagged so he wouldn’t start any trouble.
A grand looking buck rode forward to greet Zeke, and Abbie knew by his impressive headdress, the mounds of fancy stone jewelry he wore, and the extra feathers in his horse’s mane that he must be a leader of some kind, or perhaps one of the better warriors. He spoke with Zeke for a moment in his own tongue, and everyone waited anxiously. Then Zeke nodded his head and turned his horse, heading back to camp.
“Anybody who can spare it, get out some flour and sugar and salt—dried beans if you have any—and some meat,” he told them quietly but firmly. “We have plenty from that kill a couple of days ago, and we’ll be at Fort Laramie before too long.”
“Do you mean we’re supposed to hand over our food—just like that?” Willis Brown asked.
“Just like that,” Zeke replied, looking as fierce as the Indians who surrounded them. “You want to go out there and argue about it, Mister Brown? Be my guest.”
Brown glared at Zeke. “What about my horses?”
“Their leader is bringing some to trade. I expect they’ll be yours.”
“This is a farce!” Brown exploded. “I’m to trade my own food for my own horses!”
“That’s right.”
“Pay them off, Brown,” Connely spoke up sarcastically. “Indians love to trade, and more than that, they love a good joke. They’ll have a good laugh on us when they sit around their fires tonight.”
The man’s remark surprised them, since Connely seldom spoke. Zeke eyed him suspiciously. “And where did you get your knowledge about Indians, Connely?” he asked.
Connely’s sneer turned to a regretful expression, as though he’d given something away. “I’ve had some dealings with them,” he mumbled.
Zeke nudged his horse closer to the man. “And I have my doubts you dealt with them fairly,” he replied, eying the man closely. “Something about you smells, Connely, but I haven’t figured it out yet, except that your name is familiar for some reason. I don’t have time to worry about that right now, but you’re wrong about this being a joke. Those Sioux are hungry and desperate. It was a bad winter, and they lost a lot of children and old folks to disease and cold—even more to hunger.” His eyes scanned Connely’s rotund build. “You remind me of one of those government men whose belly gets fat off dirty deals with Indians. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about the Trail of Tears, would you?”
Connely would not meet Zeke’s eyes. “Everybody knows about that,” he replied. “You can’t blame that on all white men,” he said and turned away, as Zeke watched him with the hate-filled eyes of an Indian.
“My guess is you know a lot more about it than you let on,” he told Connely. He looked at the others. “Get the food together,” he told them. “I gave my word to the warrior out there that we’d trade, and I don’t intend to break it. The faster we get this done, the sooner we can be on our way!”
They all hurried to their wagons, taking out what food they thought they could spare and placing it all onto one blanket. Kelsoe and his three men each took a corner and carried the food out to where the warrior waited. Zeke rode ahead of them. After they set down the food and returned to their wagons, the Sioux warrior turned and went back to the rest of the tribe, returning with Willis Brown’s horses. He spoke with Zeke again, and it appeared the deal was going to be made peacefully until Willis Brown interfered. He stormed out to Zeke and the Sioux warrior and grabbed the reins of his horses from the Sioux before Zeke realized what was happening. Then Brown spit a wad of tobacco on the Sioux’s leg.
“Thieving redskin!” he snarled. “How dare you make a fool of us like this, you ignorant bastard!”
Whether the Sioux understood the words or not did not matter. It was obvious they were not kind, and his eyes lit up like fire.
“Shut up!” Zeke growled at Brown.
“I’ll not let this uneducated savage put one over on me!” Brown retorted.
The Sioux warrior looked down his nose at Brown, and his lips curled back in a sneer as he spouted something back to the man in his own tongue. Everyone from the train stood and watched, frozen into place. Zeke barked something back to the warrior, apparently trying to explain that Brown didn’t know what he was doing, but the warrior was furious. He angrily flicked the tobacco off his leg, outraged at the insult. Pulling out his lance, he threw it at Brown’s feet, and Brown jumped back. Mrs. Hanes screamed from fear, but Abbie watched wide-eyed, worried only about Zeke.
“What’s he doing now?” Brown asked Zeke, startled.
“He wants to do battle with you, you stupid son of a bitch! You insulted him! Why didn’t you just do like I said and stay out of it! I had everything settled!”
“I’m not taking any dirty deal off an Indian!” Brown retorted.
“Well now this one is fixing to kill you, you ass!” Zeke replied, backing up his horse. The Sioux warrior dismounted, removed a hatchet from his horse, and started for Brown; but Zeke charged his horse between them and shouted something to the man. The Sioux looked up at Zeke and replied angrily; then Zeke talked back, even more angrily, dismounted, and removed a hatchet from his own horse. Abbie gasped.
“What are you doing?” Brown asked.
“Your woman is carrying,” Zeke replied, his eyes on the Sioux. “She’s in no condition to be without a man—not out here. I’ve got nobody, so I’m filling in for you, you worthless bastard! You don’t have a chance against this man!”
Brown just stood there speechless.
“Get going!” Zeke ordered, beginning now to circle the warrior. “It’s my fight now! Get out of my way! This man has his honor to defend!”
Brown turned and started running, leading his horses, and if Abbie could have shot the man, she would have. For now Cheyenne Zeke, who was fighting Brown’s battle for him, could get himself killed for that cowardly, stupid Willis Brown and his mousy wife.
Her heart pounded with fear as the Sioux took a vicious swipe at Zeke, but Zeke ducked out of the way and took a swipe back. The Sioux got out of the way just in time, then brought his hatchet down again, aiming for Zeke’s shoulder, but Zeke kicked up and caught him under his arm. The hatchet cut into Zeke’s leg slightly, but the blow from Zeke’s foot caused the Sioux to drop it. Zeke quickly kicked it out of the way and stood between the Sioux and his hatchet; then he took another swipe at the Sioux. The warrior caught Zeke’s wrist and pushed. Zeke pushed back, and in the next instant they were both falling to the ground and rolling. At first it was difficult to tell who was on top of whom, because Zeke looked so much like an Indian himself, and the dust flew in every direction.
Abbie’s eyes filled with frightened tears. When Zeke rolled on top of the Sioux, raising his hatchet over the warrior’s head, she held her hands to her chest. She expected the hatchet to come right down into the Sioux’s skull, but in a flash the Sioux whipped out a knife and plunged it into Zeke’s shoulder.
People gasped
, and Abbie whispered his name, her eyes wide with horror. Zeke only grunted. His arm went temporarily useless from the pain, and he dropped the hatchet, and the two of them rolled in the dirt again, this time with Zeke trying to keep the Sioux’s knife from plunging into his body. But Zeke managed to throw the man off and get to his feet, blood streaming down the front of him, and quicker than the eye could decipher, he had whipped out his own knife. Abbie remembered what Olin had said about how good Zeke was with a blade, and it gave her hope; still Zeke was wounded.
Zeke slashed out fast, ripping across the front of the Sioux’s buckskin shirt and drawing blood instantly. The warrior made no sound, but jumped back, and the two men circled for several long seconds. The other Sioux warriors moved closer, watching silently. The Sioux slashed out, catching Zeke’s left arm. Both men were bleeding badly, and Abbie fought the tears that made it difficult for her to see clearly. She hated Willis Brown with every bone in her body, for the fight was all his fault.
The Sioux warrior thrust forward with his knife hand, aiming for Zeke’s middle, but Zeke caught the man’s arm with his left hand and held it tightly. They stood there struggling, both of their bodies trembling from straining muscle against muscle. Then Zeke’s knee suddenly came up into the Sioux’s middle, hard, and the Indian grunted and lost his balance momentarily, giving Zeke time to turn slightly, his hand still on the warrior’s wrist. He brought his knee up again and snapped the warrior’s arm over it. Abbie and the others could hear the terrible crack, as the Sioux screamed out and dropped his knife. The man’s scream was followed by a sickening grunt, and blood suddenly poured from the Sioux’s lips, as Zeke lunged his own blade deep into the man’s belly, then yanked it up almost to the man’s throat, splitting him open.
“My God!” LeeAnn whispered. She turned around and vomited. The rest, including Abbie, stood and watched in horror, hardly able to believe their eyes. Now Abbie knew what Olin Wales meant about how Zeke could use a knife.
Zeke pushed the Sioux off his blade, and the warrior’s body fell to the ground, horribly mutilated. Zeke bent down and wiped the blood from his knife onto the Indian’s buckskins, then he slid his knife back into its sheath. He backed away, bleeding badly and covered with dirt, his breath coming in quick pants. Another Sioux warrior rode forward, this one much older and more grandly dressed than the one who had just died. He spoke to Zeke, while everyone watched, their hearts in their throats because of what the Sioux might do now. Zeke and the old Indian spoke for several minutes, while Abbie worried about how much Zeke was bleeding, then both men nodded and Zeke managed to climb back onto his horse, in obvious pain.
The old warrior turned to face his people, raising his lance and giving out a frightening howl. The other braves returned the call, raising their own lances and hatchets, and for a moment Abbie was sure they would ride down and kill them all. But then the old warrior turned to Zeke and smiled and nodded again.
Zeke rode back to the camp, while the old Indian waited in the distance. Several Sioux women rushed forward to pick up the blanket full of food and carry it off, while two Sioux braves hurried out to pick up the dead warrior’s body. As Zeke approached the settlers, he looked mean and menacing, covered as he was with dirt and blood and paint, with his long hair hanging down and his arms bulging with muscle and veins still tense from the fight. He glared at Willis Brown.
“I hope you’re glad you have your horses, Mr. Brown!” he sneered. “I had to kill a good man because of your stupidity! He was one of their best warriors!”
“You could have let him live!” Brown retorted.
Zeke looked as though he wanted to spit on the man. “He’d have lived in dishonor,” he replied. “His spirit will be happier now, knowing he died bravely, fighting to the end. If I had let him go, he’d have lived in disgrace. He had to die! But then I guess a coward like you wouldn’t understand that kind of honor. I’d much rather have stuck that knife in you, you stupid white bastard!”
Zeke’s whole attitude was that of a vengeful and hate-filled Indian now. Not one thing seemed white about him. Abbie watched, fascinated by him and secretly proud that he had defeated one of the Sioux’s best warriors. But it was difficult to picture him as he’d been just a few nights earlier, singing and playing the mandolin—all Tennessee man. She thought of the way his lips had gently tasted hers. Now, blood poured down his shoulder, more already drying on his leg; yet he didn’t seem to notice his injuries. He said something to Yellow Grass, and after a short conversation she nodded and hoisted herself up on Zeke’s horse behind him. Zeke looked around at the others.
“Yellow Grass has agreed to be part of our payment for insulting their great warrior,” Zeke told the others. “The old man is their leader. At first he wanted Brown here to be delivered up, but I told him I had a Sioux woman who was still young that I’d trade him instead. He’s an honorable old man, and Yellow Grass knows it would be an honor to be his newest wife. She’ll go with him. She wants to be back with her own people.”
He glared at Brown a moment longer, then shifted his eyes to Abbie, and she wondered if it hurt him to give up Yellow Grass. Surely he had feelings for her now, but if he did, they didn’t show. She felt she vaguely understood how it was between them and was certain that if he were to choose a wife of his own free will, like Ellen, he would die a cruel death before he would give her up. But Yellow Grass was more like a good friend, an Indian woman who had understood his Indian blood and who had comforted him in ways the white man considered sinful. Yet Abbie wondered if such things were always sinful in God’s eyes, and she wondered at the vast differences in the ways the white man and the Indian looked at life and death, friendship and love.
“If I thought she wouldn’t be happier, I’d not take her to him,” Zeke told Abbie, as though he felt a need to explain.
“I know that,” she replied. She smiled softly for him. “You get yourself back here quick. You’re bleeding awfully bad.” He nodded and whirled his horse, riding out to the old warrior, who looked very pleased at the sight of Yellow Grass. Abbie walked up to Willis Brown.
“I hope you’ll thank Cheyenne Zeke for saving your life just now!” she told him disgustedly. “That warrior would have cut you up like a fresh-killed buffalo if not for Zeke!”
To everyone’s surprise, Brown actually grinned. “The man was just doing his job,” he replied. “I don’t much worry about whether a half-breed lives or dies, Miss Trent, especially one who gives me orders about my own woman and my own animals.”
“You’re filth!” Abbie shot back angrily, and everyone stared at her. “I wish Zeke had split you up the middle!” she added without thinking.
“Abbie!” her father gasped. By the time he had walked up and grabbed her arm, she was crying.
“I do!” she whimpered. “How can a man be so ungrateful?”
Trent looked at Willis. “I have to agree with you there,” he said.
“So do I,” Hanes put in. The rest of the men surrounded Brown. “You’d best be grateful to Zeke when he returns, Brown,” Hanes continued, “or we’ll kick you off this train and you can go it alone—except for all those Sioux Indians out there who’d like to have your hide!”
Brown swallowed. “All right,” he replied scornfully. “I’ll thank the man … but only for my wife’s sake, because she’s carrying and I’ll not have her out there alone.”
“Sure, Brown,” Kelsoe spoke up. “We all know how brave you are! And we all know how ‘considerate’ you are of your wife. You’re about as considerate of her as you are of a prize cow!”
Brown swung at Kelsoe, but Kelsoe caught the man’s arm and came up hard under Brown’s chin with his right fist, knocking the man flat. Brown stayed on the ground.
“I expect we’d all be in a heap of trouble if Zeke had lost!” Kelsoe told him. “Those Indians out there seem to think now that Zeke is some kind of great warrior—our leader. That’s going to help us stay out of trouble. Right now we owe Zeke Mr. Hanes’s lif
e, little Mary’s life, and probably all our lives! So I don’t want to hear any insults from you, Brown!”
“That goes for all of us,” Trent put in.
Brown got up and stalked to his wagon, his parents watching. “I’m afraid I have to agree with all of you,” the elder Brown told them. “I’m no Indian lover, and especially not of half-breeds; but Zeke did more than his share today and he’s wounded because of my son. We won’t give him any more trouble.”
As he and his wife left to join their son and pregnant daughter-in-law, Zeke was riding back to camp without Yellow Grass, which secretly gladdened Abbie’s heart. Perhaps now with her gone, his thoughts would turn to her again, even thought he would fight against them. But no matter how much she had resented Yellow Grass, Abbie could not have been happy about the Indian woman’s leaving if she’d thought that Yellow Grass would have been unhappy and mistreated. She looked past Zeke to see Yellow Grass walking behind the old warrior’s horse, as the rest of the Sioux were turning to ride away. Some other Sioux women gathered around Yellow Grass, and Abbie could hear laughter. She looked up at Zeke who had ridden close to her.
“She’ll be all right?” Abbie asked with genuine concern. She was glad she’d asked, for she could see gratefulness in Zeke’s eyes because she cared.
“She will be fine,” he replied. “You have an understanding heart.”
“Zeke, come to our wagon and let my daughter fix those wounds,” Trent told him.
“Thanks for what you did today, Zeke,” Kelsoe spoke up.
Zeke looked over at the Brown wagon. “White trash!” he hissed through his gleaming teeth. “He never should have spit on that buck! That Sioux was a hundred times the man somebody like Brown is!”
“You don’t have to explain, Zeke,” Mrs. Hanes told him. “We all understand—and we agree. Please go get your wounds cleaned. Olin can lead us while you rest. You’ll get an infection if you don’t let someone clean those cuts.”
Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) Page 12