As it turned out, fate would have Little Doe and me married much sooner than either of us would’ve thought. All the pieces seemed to have come together whilst the two of us were off huntin’. When we rode up to Chisholm’s, we saw right off that there was new company. Standin’ three-legged at the hitchin’ rail outside the main cabin was a horse neither of us recognized. This was a welcome sight for both of us, as we all clamored for new company as well as for fresh news from around the territory and surroundin’ country.
The visitor turned out to be a Cherokee from down in Texas who’d just come up the trail for a planned stopover at Chisholm’s. Hell, I didn’t even know there were any Cherokees in Texas to speak of. I figured all of the world’s known Cherokee folks lived either near Tahlequah in the new Cherokee Nation, or else back down in that southeastern country east of the Mississippi where they’d originally come from.
It turned out that I was wrong ‘bout that, as there were a goodly number of Cherokee folks what lived down below the Red River, people what had chosen to relocate from the southeast to the Lone Star State instead of to the Indian Territory back durin’ those horrible removal days.
Jesse Chisholm, as it turned out, had been in contact with those Texas Cherokees for most of his life. Over time, some of those Texas Cherokees decided to go ahead and move north to the Tahlequah area to be with the main body of their people out west. Often times, these Texas Cherokees had relatives in the Indian Territory, so that was another reason some of those folks left Texas. More than once, Chisholm served as an escort for those folks on their trek north. Chisholm had become a good friend of those Texas Cherokees, just as he had been the friend to so many other folks durin’ his many years on the frontier. I admired him greatly for his special way with most everyone.
Our new Cherokee friend from below the border had traveled up to Chisholm’s without Chisholm as an escort, but the old trader had given him detailed instructions to his tradin’ post whilst down in Texas on a previous visit.
The old gentleman, a one Chee Woodsmoke, looked to be in his early to mid-sixties. He had left Texas after his last remainin’ relative there had passed on. His aim, he said, was to spend the rest of his days closer to family near Tahlequah. He wanted to be there before the first snows of winter fell. It turned out that Woodsmoke was looked upon as a spiritual priest by those folks down in Texas, as he had provided religious teachin’ and had married folks right and left.
Once Little Doe and me heard that bit of news, we sort of looked each other in the eyes with happy smiles. Woodsmoke said he would be honored to marry us with all of the trappin’s of a bona fide Cherokee ceremony, or with at least as many of the trappin’s as could be assembled out there on the banks of the North Canadian River in central Indian Territory.
The seven-day blessin’ over the exact spot of the weddin’ ceremony, which Little Doe insisted must happen, commenced on our first day back from the Cimarron River country. Once Woodsmoke had prayed over the weddin’ site for seven straight days, he would marry us and be on his way to Tahlequah.
As soon as Chisholm heard of our marriage intentions, he pulled me off alone, just the two of us. “I must tell you that your white brothers will not recognize your union with Little Doe if it’s based on a Cherokee wedding,” he said. “You two will not be legally recognized as married in the white world.”
I told Chisholm that a Cherokee weddin’ was just damn fine for Little Doe and for me, and that I invited any man to challenge it. He gave me a look that sort of said he didn’t agree completely with my attitude and then he walked away. I think there was a part of him what agreed with me and a part of him what didn’t.
Now, I gotta tell you, when Little Doe said she wanted a Cherokee weddin’, she meant a whole heap of things. First, it was ideal in a Cherokee weddin’ to include the bride’s mother and oldest brother in the ceremony. In a white weddin’, the father is there to give away the bride, but not so in a Cherokee affair. In a Cherokee weddin’, the mother is there to represent the family of the bride. Of course, Little Doe’s mother had passed on some years before, and so this idea was impossible. Another thing what was ideal in a Cherokee ceremony was to have the oldest brother stand with the bride as symbol of his vow to help educate the couple’s future children in spiritual matters. Tickerneeskee was in our midst, so this little tradition would be followed.
The day of the weddin’ came and our time was at hand. Little Doe and me approached the sacred fire what served as the centerpiece of the ceremony. Once we stood next to the fire, the ceremony had officially commenced. Woodsmoke blessed both Little Doe and me, and then he blessed Chisholm and Tickerneeskee. Right ’bout then, several Cherokee songs were sung in the native tongue. I didn’t understand a single word of any of these songs, but I figured Little Doe could explain ’em to me later. Once the songs had been sung, a blue blanket was draped over the shoulders of me and Little Doe. This symbolized everything that belonged in our pasts – things such as sadness, loneliness, and heartbreak. I thought to myself that folks sure had enough of all of those things in the course of one lifetime, whilst at the same time, hopin’ that we would surely have our share of many happy years ahead.
Right soon, the blue blanket was removed from around us and a white blanket took its place. The white blanket stood for the fresh start we were ’bout to make as a married couple, a brand new beginnin’ for a man and wife. I then presented Little Doe with a gift of deer meat, which said I promised to provide for her and my family all the days of my life. She presented me with bread in order to show her willingness to care for our household from then on and forever more. Towards the very end of the ceremony, Little Doe and I drank from the weddin’ vase at the same time, her from one openin’ and me from another.
This meant Little Doe and I were now man and wife. Then, to celebrate what had just been done, we all sat down to table for a mighty feast what we’d all worked hard to prepare over the last couple of days.
From that point on, Little Doe and me hardly left each other’s sight. We traipsed around the country together like we were hitched together with a strong rope. We did chores around the tradin’ post with each other. We helped with the preparin’ of meals. And, of course, we hunted the countryside together as often as we possibly could, as Little Doe placed a heap of importance on that. She told me she loved seein’ all the new country whilst accompanied by her warrior man, and she also told me that she dreamed at night of all the places we would see together in the future. We’d be out and ‘bout somewhere many miles from the tradin’ post on a huntin’ or explorin’ trip and she would whisper in my ear how she was the luckiest woman in all the world to be by my side and sharin’ in the days of my life. I thought that was some funny, as I couldn’t possibly imagine ever bein’ with any other woman in all of God’s great wide world.
Before anyone knew it, winter had set in. Winters out there on the plains of the Indian Territory were wily and unpredictable. One day was warm enough for a picnic and the next day could see an ice storm blow in and kill anything and anybody in its path. It was gettin’ on to late February and the days had been warm and mild for weeks. Little Doe and me made the best of the weather and ventured out on several jaunts together – huntin’ and explorin’. It was lucky for us that we found ourselves back at the tradin’ post when a ferocious ice storm blew in. It came durin’ the night when the wind howled like a wolf and the dark was filled with the deadly dagger of a killin’ kind of cold. Inside one of the few cabins at the tradin’ post, we huddled together in the night, close by the fire and warmth within.
Millions of ice pellets blasted against the cabin walls and on the roof durin’ what seemed like an endless night. We awoke the next mornin’ to a deathly cold and an icy crystal-like world like you’d read ‘bout in a fairy tale. We kicked on the inside of the doors to release ’em from the thick cover of ice outside. Everything outside gleamed with the deathly sparklin’ shine of ice and more ice.
To step out in
to this world was to be pierced to the core with the meanest kind of cold. All was deathly quiet and still except for the repeated crackin’ of tree limbs and tree trunks as they gave in to the weight of the thickest ice I’d ever seen before. It was like there was a great ice monster roamin’ the cottonwoods, snappin’ every tree that stood in his way. The whole picture was like somethin’ out of a nightmare, and death seemed to await if we didn’t wake up right soon. Except this weren’t no dream; it was somethin’ to be faced, and I knew we had best be ’bout doin’ it.
The first thing I did was check on the horses what stood huddled in their lean-to by the corrals. Their coats were covered with ice, but somehow they’d survived the long night. As best as could be, I worked to chip the ice from their coats and rub ’em down to bring some kind of warmth to their freezin’ bodies.
I took a good long look in every direction and realized that no human bein’ could’ve survived the night out there with no shelter. I was sure hopin’ that no one had set out across the territory thinkin’ the days would stay as warm and mild as they’d been only the day before. Had they done so, they’d have been traipsin’ straight into a death trap. The thought of some unsuspectin’ travelers venturin’ out into this frozen hell made me shiver all the greater.
The world soon thawed and the month of March was upon us. Little Doe and me immediately began doin’ what we loved doin’ together – travelin’ out-and-’bout from the tradin’ post and takin’ in the sights of the surroundin’ country. We stayed busy lovin’ one another and makin’ plans for the many years of travelin’ what lay ahead for us as man and wife.
Had the sunshine of March not thawed out our frozen world on the plains, the ways and laughter of Little Doe would’ve done it anyway. Her every little word warmed my heart, her every move brought a song to my life. She lived by the ways of her people, ways many white folks might not understand. But I did my best to understand ’em, and understand ’em I did.
One day as we walked along the Canadian River, Little Doe looked down and found a stone as black as her own raven hair. The stone was flat and smooth, so I made as if to skip it across the river. She begged me to save the rock, sayin’ that black stones protected us from bad spirits. Of course, I honored her wish whilst my heart smiled fondly at her ways that were so new and different from those I’d known. There were a whole passel of things she taught me. She taught me to be especially respectful of cedar and pine trees because their leaves stay green all year long. This was important to her because of how she’d been taught, and I wasn’t one to doubt her at all. She also believed the owl was bad luck and always the bearer of bad news. That was just fine by me as well. Hell, I didn’t doubt for one minute them horny-eared birds of the night were bad medicine. If she said so, then that was good enough for me.
Of course, I’ll never forget the time we’d made camp in a nest of cottonwoods along the river and Little Doe thought she’d heard the fast chirpin’ song of a chickadee. This, she said, was a warnin’ and we’d best pack up our things and set up camp somewhere else because this spot was no longer safe. Well, I’ll tell you I sure didn’t want to go to all that trouble of changin’ campsites, but I also wasn’t goin’ to cast any doubt on the word of my sweet Little Doe. If her ways said we weren’t safe at the old campsite, then we’d just go and find another spot for the night. I was some determined that her ways would become mine, and my ways hers. I figured if folks didn’t see eye-to-eye with how Little Doe and me lived, then they could just pay us no never mind, because it was our life together to spend as we liked, and I damn sure preferred her company to theirs.
On top of that, I figured that the same people who’d doubt the ways and beliefs of Little Doe would also doubt those little premonitions I get on certain occasions. By my reasonin’, there were certain things what went beyond explanation, and so if Little Doe said a black stone protected a body from bad spirits, then I would carry the rock in my pocket for the rest of my life. And that’s just what I have done. The stone lays in my pocket to this day.
Durin’ our time together on the plains, Little Doe taught me a lot of things I’d use throughout the rest of my life. Not only on how to guard against bad spirits, but also how to use plants and trees to treat yourself when feelin’ ill. It seemed like them Cherokee folks had a tea for everything. She told me those Cherokee women were fond of usin’ the leaves of the partridgeberry, or squaw vine, in a tea to treat female pains and the like. Cherokee mamas would boil geranium root with wild grapes and with the liquid thereof rinse the mouths of babies stricken with thrush. The leaves of the feverwort, boiled in a tea, treated fever. Another tea from the senna plant also treated fever. The Cherokee list of tea treatments went on and on – yellow root was used for stomach troubles, green hellebore for body pains, pinkroot for worms, spikenard for back pain, willow bark for headaches, and skullcap for women to suppress their cycles. They mixed goldenseal and bear fat to use as an ointment against insect bites. An ointment of milk purslane mixed in animal fat was used for skin sores. Wild blackberries were eaten to sooth stomach pains. Little Doe taught me all of this and more, so I was some glad she’d listened hard when the Cherokee elders taught her all of these things so many years before.
One day, we all woke up to a bright sunny day that made us all to believe that the cold days were finally behind us. Here and there along the ground, an occasional plant took on a green look and we were some certain that spring had finally arrived. Little Doe and me spent the days discussin’ our plans to head west across the Territory, across the Texas Panhandle, and into New Mexico country. We talked ’bout Colorado, too.
Little Doe stayed excited ‘bout our plans mornin’, noon, and night. It was my intent to share all of this explorin’ with her, to see all of these new and wonderful things by her side as her new husband. We were still in the month of March and we knew the day to set out together would soon be at hand.
Our supply of dried meat was gettin’ low so I determined to set out on a deer hunt, and to leave behind a good amount of meat for Chisholm before we left. I figured this was the least I could do for the man who had been so kind to Little Doe and me by lettin’ us live with him at his tradin’ post all winter long. Naturally, Little Doe wanted to ride with me on this hunt as she had done before. This would be our last hunt together whilst stayin’ at Chisholm’s, and Little Doe sure wanted to go along. The only problem was that she was feelin’ poorly, too poorly to stay out on a hunt that might last for three days or more. She sure didn’t want to, but she stayed behind and rested at the tradin’ post.
I set out one mornin’ headed in a southerly direction toward that South Canadian country. We hadn’t hunted down that way so I figured to find deer aplenty when I got there. I also figured it was too early in the spring for the country thereabouts to be over-run with people. The plains had been drowned in bitter cold only a couple of weeks before, so there hadn’t been enough days of warm weather to allow folks time to make their way out here. At least that was my thinkin’.
Leastways, I rode ’bout a day-and-a-half from the tradin’ post before spottin’ a huge whitetail doe amble out of a stand of cottonwoods near the South Canadian. She had walked out of the trees, looked around, and stood there just long enough for me to drop her with a shot of almost seventy-five yards. I draped the carcass over Amigo and off we rode for the tradin’ post on a chill March mornin’.
On toward afternoon of the followin’ day a bad premonition overcome me. I got the feelin’ that somethin’ wasn’t right back at the tradin’ post and that Amigo and me had best make tracks, and pronto. And that’s just what we did. We covered that last fifteen miles at a good clip, and the last two or three miles at a breakneck pace. Along the entire way, my head was spinnin’ and I was covered in a cold sweat. It seemed like Amigo and me just couldn’t get back fast enough.
I rode up to the tradin’ post and knew, real quick-like, that all was terrible wrong. My heart pounded like a ferocious thunderstorm, and I
could feel and hear the beats as if the mighty thunderclouds were directly overhead. Things were just all amiss.
A choppin’ axe lay on the ground as if someone had dropped it of a sudden. The doors to all of Chisholm’s cabins lay open, and the tracks of horses and men dotted the place from end to end. By my estimation, the tracks had been left there on the mornin’ of the day before.
My whole body broke out in a cold sweat, and the only thing I could think of was Little Doe! Where was she? I took a look in all directions and the sights only caused my heart to beat louder and faster until I thought my body would explode with the poundin’.
I took a closer look at the horse tracks and they turned out to be ones I’d seen before. They were the tracks of Buffalo Skull and his band, or at least some of ’em were. Some were news ones I didn’t recognize. I figured real quick-like that the new tracks were left by new members of Buffalo Skull’s band. Hell, I’d seen with my own eyes that the hellish sonofabitch could murder his own men faster than he could recruit new ones. I glanced over to the cabin where Little Doe and me stayed. The door, which looked to have been kicked off one of its metal hinges, blocked the entrance still. I ripped it completely from the doorframe in order to get inside.
I could see what looked like Little Doe layin’ under a blanket in our bed against the wall. I ripped away all of the window curtains in order to let light inside the room. A feelin’ of exhilaration swept over me when I saw that it was her! She was there and hadn’t been taken away by those murderous bastards!
I knelt down by the bed and began to run my fingers through her raven hair and across her thin eyebrows. She lay warm to the touch and my heart sang knowin’ she was alive! She’d received blows across her beautiful face and it looked like the blows were delivered with fists. As I ran my fingers through her hair, I could feel great swellin’s to the top and sides of her head. I pulled the blanket down to where I could see more of her body and she had great bruises on her neck and chest. She’d been beaten like nothin’ I’d ever seen before in all my life. They’d beaten her to where she was only barely hangin’ on by a thread. I couldn’t fathom what force had kept her alive for the almost two days she’d been layin’ there.
Hawk Eyes Page 13