LEGEND of the DAWN: The Complete Trilogy: LEGEND of the DAWN; AFTER the DAWN; BEFORE SUNDOWN.

by J. R. WRIGHT

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine now.” Luke pulled a chair away from the desk and sat. “Why are you studying that map, colonel?”

  “I was looking for a way around Cheyenne country. I guess there is none.”

  “Not without going through Wild Horse Canyon, and it’s impossible to get a wagon through there.” He knew because that was where he had deposited the red mare and stallion. They were the two English horses taken from Silas Jones in the North Country near sixteen years ago. The mare was about ready to foal at the time, and the stallion had come up lame. It took him a week to lasso an Appaloosa filly from the hundreds of horses there and break her well enough to ride out. He often thought about going back to check for offspring of those two, but never did.

  “Do you know their language, Tom?” Snively asked.

  “Some,” Luke responded. “James Bordeaux knows it well. He once traded with them, before they became so surly.”

  “Would he go with you?”

  “Whoa! Now wait just a damn minute, colonel!” Luke came to his feet. “I haven’t said I’d go! And I won’t unless I’m packing the gold to cover the crossing fee, for one. And two, James Bordeaux consents to going with me. He knows these people. I don’t.”

  “Alright! If that’s the way it has to be, I’ll pass it on to the general,” Snively said. “But if he agrees, I’ll be counting on you to go, with or without Bordeaux.”

  “And here I was beginning to believe you liked me,” Luke laughed. Twiss and Snively soon joined in.

  Three days later Luke was called to Snively’s office again. “Colonel,” he greeted, coming through the door, somewhat fearful of what he was about to hear.

  “Tom,” Snively returned, looking up from behind the desk. “Well, Harney says they’ll pay the toll, but he won’t take the wagons through single file – too much risk.”

  “Then I don’t see how the Cheyenne will agree. Those Indians count on the buffalo coming every year. No way would they’d ever jeopardize that.”

  “I’m sorry, Tom. It’s the best I could do. It’s two hundred miles across there, and if they can’t spread out to graze their animals, they’ll never make it. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing simple about it, colonel! They’ll never go for it.”

  “Will you at least try?” Snively stood. “It’s our only peaceful option.”

  Luke thought for a moment. “In the interest of saving lives, you do know I’ll be risking my own, colonel.”

  “But isn’t that what you do near every day, Tom?” Snively put on a smile. “It seems to me risking your life comes with the territory.”

  “Get the gold ready! I’ll leave today,” Luke gave in. “No guarantee of getting any of it back, even if they refuse the deal. I just want you to know that.”

  That afternoon Luke left Fort Kearny with two pack mules in tow and fifty pounds of gold coins spread between them, along with other supplies. Each wagon owner had contributed eight dollars toward the toll, plus a dollar extra for riding horses and milk cows. This was the standard toll, as previously set by the Cheyenne. The total came to near fifteen thousand dollars.

  What in hell had he gotten himself into, Luke wondered? He guessed he’d know more about that once he reached Fort Laramie and spoke with James Bordeaux. His going along would make it all so much easier, and safer, he knew. At this juncture he could only hope.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “You’ve got to be crazy, Tom,” Bordeaux responded when told. “The Cheyenne are touchy about travel on the trail as it is. And Harney is escorting how many wagons? How many soldiers, plus ten thousand animals repeatedly pounding the earth? You can bet grass won’t grow there again for some time.

  “I’ve got a plan,” Luke said excitedly. “I had three days to think about this, and here is what I’ve come up with. Instead of one column of wagons, twenty or more miles in length, which is impossible for soldiers to properly protect, how about five columns, a mile and a quarter apart. The center column could be the military. That way everyone is escorted with equal protection. And the amount of grass destroyed will be minimal, having no effect on buffalo travel.”

  “You may have something there, Tom. But then we won’t know that until we talk to the Cheyenne.”

  “Does that mean you’re going with me? There’s five hundred dollars in it for you, if you do. I have it in my saddlebags outside.”

  “Well, then bring it in. I’ll have Cola put it in the safe,” Bordeaux said. “Since when did the government get so damn generous? They only paid me a hundred for burying Grattan and his men. All twenty-nine of them.”

  “They didn’t,” Luke said with a smile. “The wagon masters, knowing full well the importance of this mission, took a collection. They got near five dollars for you.”

  “What’s that, about thirty-three cents per wagon?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fair enough. Then I’ll split it with you,” Bordeaux offered.

  “No need. Snively promised me a bonus to match it, if we’re successful.”

  “Bring it in then! We best go before I change my mind.” Bordeaux headed for to the back to tell Cola of the plan. He figured to be gone for the better part of a week, if everything went well.

  Even Bordeaux wasn’t too excited about meeting up with the Cheyenne again. He’d always been on friendly terms with them until that whole treaty thing in fifty-one, of which he helped present, put them at odds. The Cheyenne expected Bordeaux to plead their case and he, as government interpreter, was in no position to do that. The whole thing went badly, and the Cheyenne chiefs went away angry. They hadn’t been face to face since. So it was anybody’s guess what kind of reception he would get now, four years later.

  Dull Knife was the one to speak with, if at all possible. He was always the chief most likely to compromise. Little Wolf, on the other hand, was a troublemaker, along with several others of his ilk on the council of forty-four chiefs.

  When the main village was in sight, nearly a thousand tepees shining brightly in the noonday sun, Luke raised the peace flag and they proceeded without hesitation. They had been watched for the past two days by various scouting parties, so it was fairly certain to the both of them that their coming was no surprise.

  “We’re not going to have any choice how we enter the village,” Bordeaux said. “South to them is the front door. The trick, though, is to get to the north end of the village before being stopped. That’s where we’ll find Dull Knife, if he’s around. Hell, he may even be dead, for all I know.”

  “Don’t say that,” Luke said, glaring straight ahead. Looking around would only make them appear nervous and scared, and that just wouldn’t do, here or in any other Indian village.

  As expected, before even reaching the center of the camp, they were halted by a number of young braves demanding to know why they came.

  “Motseski Ohnexahpo!” (Dull Knife) Bordeaux shouted several times as they coaxed the skittish animals forward in a desperate effort to get to the far end, where they could find the warrior chief. “Hena’ haanehe!” (That’s enough – go away). But his shouts went unheeded. Even more crowded in until they could no longer move at all. The pack mules, alongside now, dancing wildly about, helped some with the crowding. That is, until they broke their tethers and went frantically bucking and kicking through the village, sending many that walled them in scrambling to be out of the way of them.

  Finally Bordeaux grabbed for one of the two flour sacks looped over his saddle horn, patiently untied the string from around it, reached in, and began tossing handfuls of liquorish sticks far into the crowd. This set off a mad scramble that served to move the masses away from them for a time, until the liquorish ran out. He then reached for the other bag. This one contained penny candy of multiple colors. Handfuls of that went flying. Then, when a pound or so remained, Bordeaux flung the entire bag as far into the air as he could make it go. That did the trick. It instantly left a clear path for their exit from the gr
oup, and they took it at a gallop.

  Along the way they came across the mules and quickly re-gathered them before proceeding the remaining distance to the head of the village. A similar group awaited them there. These, however, were mostly elders that had received word of their coming hours before. Some of them were chiefs, and among them was Dull Knife, who bravely stepped forward and threw up a hand symbolizing peace.

  “Why has it been so long, Bordeaux?” he said in Cheyenne. “I miss the good things you once brought me from your store.”

  “The store is still there. You are welcome to come anytime. Your furs and your money are always welcome,” Bordeaux returned, stepping down from his great white gelding, the one he generally rode when going long distances. He was old, but still reliable.

  “Money! We have no money,” Dull Knife shook his head. “The women take what little gold we get and hammer it into jewelry.” He pointed around to those gathered, men and women alike, who had numerous gold emblems of all shapes and sizes hanging from rawhide around their necks.

  “I have brought you gold.” He walked back to the mules and pulled a bag of twenty dollar gold pieces from one of the heavy leather U.S. Army cargo cases strapped securely there. Each bag contained fifty double eagles worth a thousand dollars, and there were fifteen of them in the cases. Bordeaux unlaced the bag and dumped some coins into Dull Knife’s cupped hands. “There, now you have gold you can trade.”

  Dull Knife glanced at the gold, then looked up at Luke still sitting on the calico mule. “Navaaso!” (Who is that?) he asked, with suspicion painted on his face.

  “I came to parley,” Luke signed in return. Universal signs were used and understood by all plains Indian tribes. “I want permission to cross your lands with a great number of wagons.”

  “And these are people traveling through?”

  “None will stay – all will pass to the setting sun.”

  “And how many wagons?”

  “They number many more than ever before. It cannot be seen from one end to the other, it is so long.”

  “The buffalo will come soon. They will stick to the trail and not wander?”

  “The soldiers will ride with them. So we need to make the train shorter.”

  “What do you mean, shorter?” Dull Knife looked to James Bordeaux for an explanation.

  “This man the Lakhota call Dawn is very respected by all Indians of the plains because he does not deceive the red man, regardless of the tribe.”

  With that, Dull Knife turned back to Luke. “I have heard of you with hair the color of dawn. Nobody tell much other than that, except you travel unharmed among them,” Bordeaux interpreted. “What do you mean, shorter?”

  “Shorter because we will have five columns spread apart a long distance so they do not make a wide ribbon that the buffalo will not cross.”

  “I see,” Dull Knife said, turning to see who was around him. “Nehaeanahe?” (Are you hungry?)

  “Heehe’e!” (Yes!) Bordeaux responded, knowing better than to refuse.

  “Heehe’e!” Luke followed suit for the same reason. Refusing food, or anything else offered, may be taken as an insult.

  “We will go to the council lodge.” Dull Knife led the way to an incredibly large tepee and held open the flap as Luke and Bordeaux entered. From outside, then, Dull Knife began shouting orders. “Get us some meat! Call the other chiefs, quickly. Bring gold to the council lodge so it may be divided equally among those who agree to this great train crossing our lands,” Bordeaux interpreted into English for Luke’s benefit.

  Within minutes, it seemed, women began bringing food. Baskets of corn cakes at first, followed by huge wooden trays filled with a variety of cooked meats, from prairie chicken, to deer and antelope. Since it was customary for guests to eat first, Luke and James wasted no time and dug in. The more they ate, the better impression they would leave with the village, they knew. Compliments to the cooks, so to speak. But this spread was quite good, and they had no trouble getting it down.

  All the while they ate, things were happening. The gold was brought in, and so was everything else from the mules, some of it not previously intended to be left here. Bags of oats for the mules and horse, sides of bacon, bags of biscuits, various cooking gear and canvases Luke had brought from Fort Kearny. Also among the things were gifts for the chiefs Bordeaux had hurriedly taken from the store before leaving. They were four dozen skinning knives and an equal number of mirrors and combs. Items always in demand among Indians.

  When the chiefs arrived, all forty four of them, Dull Knife ordered them to sit. But it wasn’t long before they were all back on their feet, watching Luke draw out on the ground, while Bordeaux explained in Cheyenne, how they planned to move all those wagons across their lands without ruining things for the buffalo migration.

  After much deliberation, and argument from Little Wolf and his followers, they all finally agreed to let it happen. Of course there were the additional stipulations: no wagon or animal could leave the single file columns during travel, grazing would only be allowed every ten miles, etc., etc.

  Once it was over, the gold had been divided among the chiefs, and each had received the gifts from Bordeaux, it seemed everyone was happy. That is until Dull Knife, because he was the most respected of all the chiefs, thought he ought to have something extra and demanded Bordeaux’s great white horse, complete with the saddle. He wisely deemed the saddle necessary, because it was such a large horse and getting on and off otherwise, at his age, would be near impossible.

  “Well, I really hate to part with him,” Bordeaux mumbled in English, casting a disappointed look to Luke. Then, without further hesitation, he handed the reins over. It was getting late, and no way did either of them wish to spend the night anywhere near this place.

  So they left out then, Bordeaux on the back of one of the pack mules. This brought laughter from many Indians about, who thought the scene hilarious, Bordeaux sitting the small mule, his legs near reaching ground, as it trotted along in tow.

  “The Army damn well owes me for a horse!” Bordeaux shouted ahead once they had cleared the village by a mile.

  “I’ll buy you a good animal once I get back to Kearny!” Luke returned, lowered his hat into the wind, and kicked the calico mule to a gallop.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The wagon train was waiting once they arrived back at Fort Laramie, and so was Colonel Snively. “How did it go, Tom? I see the mules are shy of the gold,” he said, coming to the stable just as Luke arrived late in the day, nine days after he had last seen him.

  “It went well enough, thanks to James Bordeaux. There are some stipulations.”

  “Anything General Harney will find fault with?”

  “Not that I can see. I devised a travel plan that should fit in with Harney’s wishes. I can draw it out for you, if you want?” Luke said, turning the pack mules over to the stable master.

  “Save it,” Snively said. “My orders are to bring you to Harney’s tent as soon as you arrive, day or night. Are you ready?”

  “Orders are orders.”

  “Yeah, I guess they are, Hill.” Snively laughed, then turned to the stable master. “Bring up my mule, sergeant!”

  “Speaking of mules, how’s that one of yours working out, Hill?” Snively asked.

  “Couldn’t be more pleased.” Luke patted the calico mule on the neck. “I’m thinking of buying another for James Bordeaux, in exchange for the horse he had to give to get the agreement with the Cheyenne. Thank God I was riding this mule, or they may have wanted my mount too.”

  “Bordeaux gave up his horse? Why would he do a fool thing like that?”

  “It was necessary, sir. Sometimes you have to do things like that to get what you want from Indians. It’s just their way, to drive a hard bargain.”

  “So, it took the horse to close the deal?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In that case I think the army should pay for it, don’t you?

  “Ye
s, sir.”

  “Get Bordeaux the mule and bring me the receipt. I’ll reimburse you,” Snively said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Private Hardy mentioned something about you buying two more of those mules from Jantz. I know it’s none of my business, but what use would you have for those?”

  “I was afraid you’d ask that before I’m ready to tell you,” Luke said. “Fact is, I’m quitting the Army, sir. I need the mules to tote a wagon west. I plan to squat somewhere out there, where nobody else wants to be.”

  “Well, you always were a loner, Hill.” Snively blankly looked off into the distance. “I hope you find what you want.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll sure miss you, I can tell you that. In fact I don’t know how I’ll ever replace you,” Snively said. “I feel like I owe you something for all your years of excellent service. I don’t know of anyone who ever did the job better.”

  “That’s okay, sir. There is one thing, though...”

  “What’s that, Hill?”

  “Well, sir, I could sure use Kinney Hardy to help me out in my new venture. If at all possible, do you think he could get an early discharge?”

  “Consider it done, Hill. You just tell me when, and he’s yours. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to put you in for a bonus, years served.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it,” Luke said, but wasn’t going to get his hopes up about the bonus. He knew the war department hardly ever honored those requests. Not even to deserving widows of those killed in action.

  It was near dark when the colonel and Luke arrived at the huge military encampment. Puddles of white tents stretched for over a mile along the North Platte River, just down from Bordeaux’s store. Numerous campfires already lighted up areas where groups of soldiers milled about. At the perimeter they were halted, then escorted to the officer’s compound where they found General Harney in the mess tent, having his evening meal.