The Long Way Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘But He hold us in de palm of Him hand.’’ Meshach cupped his big hands, hands that could swing a scythe for hours or bend metal at the forge, yet also be gentle and still enough to let a gold and black butterfly, wings fanning, sit on his brown fingers. Sammy and Thaddeus had been delighted speechless when Meshach showed them the butterfly.

  Now he held his cupped hands out to her. She peeked inside to see a firefly winking at her. He opened his hands, and the bitty blob of light flew off. ‘‘Dat what we do.’’

  ‘‘But we can come back.’’ Jesselynn turned the fish to brown on the other side.

  ‘‘I know. Thank de good Lawd we can come back.’’

  Lifting the lid of the kettle, she gave the grains a stir, then added the greens. ‘‘Supper be ready in a minute.’’ With future rake handles on their shoulders, the boys caught up just as she was ready to serve the supper. Aaron pulled a wild onion from one pocket and tubers of cattails from the other. Together they enjoyed a feast granted them by the generous land.

  The closer they drew to home, the more Jesselynn felt like that firefly that flew away. No matter how hard she tried to push them from her mind, thoughts of Aunt Agatha shoved aside concerns about Wolf. Jesselynn didn’t want to call them worries, but they sure made for an unhappy state of mind. Meshach walked along whistling. She felt like telling him to shut up. The thicket of plums hung purple, still hard, but she knew they’d ripen once picked.

  But she had nothing to carry them in.

  Meshach studied the plums, then pulled his shirt over his head. ‘‘We knot de sleeves . . .’’ His hands followed his words, and within moments they had a bag of sorts. By the time they’d filled that and the kettle, she knew what to do. Tomorrow she’d send Jane Ellen and Darcy back down on the mares. The foals were old enough to be weaned anyway. She stopped picking and turned to Meshach.

  ‘‘We could come here to have a picnic. How far are we from home?’’

  ‘‘By horseback, two hours. By wagon, four. About in dere somewhere.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’ Another idea shot down before flight.

  ‘‘Leave early in de mornin’ and get home late. ’Phelia love a picnic.’’

  As they prodded the oxen to lean into the yokes again, Jes-selynn remembered picnics at Twin Oaks. Lucinda would load the wicker baskets, starting with a white-and-red checkered cloth. Fried chicken, biscuits, her lemon cake, sweet pickles, corn relish, bean salad. Ah, the good things that came out of Lucinda’s kitchen. There’d be a jug of lemonade or cold buttermilk, blankets to sit on, and parasols to keep the sun off. Dimity dresses with ribbon sashes, broad straw bonnets, and laughter. Darkies singing and the buggy wheels spiraling behind the high-stepping bay team.

  She stumbled into a hole and fell nearly to her knees, one knitting needle stabbing into the heel of her hand. ‘‘Oh!’’ So much for dreaming, you silly thing. Pay attention to life now, and don’t get all weepy. She sucked on the red spot from the needle. At least it hadn’t broken the skin, and she didn’t break a leg or something walking along daydreaming like that.

  ‘‘You all right?’’

  She nodded. The oxen kept plodding along.

  Oh, if only Wolf would be in camp when they got there. Now, don’t go wasting your time on stupid ‘‘if only’s.’’ That’ll only get you bad feelings, and yours are too close to that already.

  If only the talking to herself would work. If only Meshach would quit whistling.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE

  Horse Hunting on the Powder River Range

  September 1863

  ‘‘There they are.’’

  Mark looked where Wolf pointed. ‘‘I don’t see anything.’’

  ‘‘Look in that thicket of aspen, the trees with the silver trunks. The stallion is off to the left, higher up. You can see his head above the rocks.’’

  Benjamin and Daniel chuckled. ‘‘You got to look close if you want to see wild things.’’

  ‘‘You can be sure he sees us.’’ Wolf backed his horse under the shade of a grandfather cottonwood. ‘‘Study the trees until you see shapes that don’t fit.’’

  ‘‘if’n they’re there, they ain’t movin’ much.’’

  ‘‘They’re there. We’re downwind of them or that stallion would have them moving already.’’

  ‘‘How many you think?’’ Benjamin kept his attention on the wild horses.

  ‘‘Not sure. Perhaps twenty head.’’

  Including young?’’

  ‘‘No, that would be the cream. Remember, we’re looking for mares, yearlings of either sex. Might be some two- or three-year-old young bucks the stallion hasn’t driven out of the herd yet. Those are the ones we can break and sell this fall.’’ Wolf studied the lay of the land.

  ‘‘Benjamin, you head on up the north rim. Daniel, go to the south. See if there are any box canyons heading off this main one that we can run them into. I doubt this one here is a box. That old stallion would be too wily to be trapped that easily.’’

  ‘‘Do the Indians catch the wild horses?’’

  ‘‘Not usually. They find stealing them from another tribe easier. Besides, the horse is totem for many.’’

  ‘‘And yours is the wolf?’’

  ‘‘Um.’’ Wolf concentrated on the horses. ‘‘He knows something is here.’’

  The stallion whistled, and the horses dozing in the thicket shifted and trotted out. A buckskin mare loped off toward the mouth of the wide canyon, followed by the rest of the herd, the stallion charging off the cliff above and nipping at the rumps of any stragglers.

  ‘‘Oh, I never saw anything so purty in all my life.’’ Mark’s eyes shown, the smile near to cracked his ears.

  ‘‘Thirty anyway. Some nice lookin’ horses in that bunch. That stallion throws good colts.’’

  ‘‘Where’d they come from?’’

  ‘‘The Spanish brought them into Mexico when they came to conquer the New World. They traded some to the Indians, gave some away, and many ran away, and when they got back on their ships to leave, the horses stayed here. Changed the life of the Indian from dogs and people as pack animals to the horse. Been in the last hundred years or so.

  ‘‘We’ll make camp over this ridge while you two go on and scout. If we’re lucky, this valley is that stallion’s favorite grazin’ grounds.’’

  As the other two trotted off, Wolf took Mark to the place he’d chosen for camping, left him there to build camp, and returned to scout the valley floor. A small lake mirrored the rocky cliff above and the aspen leaves already touched by gold. This high in the mountains, winter would come soon.

  Ah, Jesselynn, how you would love to see this. One day I’ll bring you back here.

  An eagle screed from high against the blue, and another answered. As a young boy he had found eagle nests in the cliffs above the valley floors. He’d known where the elk wintered and where the mountain sheep with the curly horns raised their young. His father had trapped all over these mountains in the years before he loved Laughing Girl. Then her tepee became his, and he lived with Red Cloud’s tribe, the uncle of the Red Cloud who now led the Oglala band, selling his trappings to the white man and making sure they were not cheated by the fur traders.

  Visiting the tribe made Wolf feel that he’d come home, the language rippling music to his ears, the laughter, the smells. But especially the laughter. He knew white men thought the Indian stoic, hard of face and heart. But none enjoyed a good joke like an Indian, often playing pranks to make the entire tribe laugh. He had yet to meet a storyteller better than his uncle, Brown Bear Who Limps. Not even Nathan Lyons, who could spin a good yarn.

  Lord, make Jesselynn see these people as I do. Let her not be afraid, nor angry and hateful like some. He stopped and studied the grazing area. From the varied heights of the grass, the horses had been here some time, or left and returned.

  That night around the campfire, Benjamin drew a picture in the dirt with a stick. Up the canyon about a mile,
a box canyon led off to the right. ‘‘It about half mile long, narrowing, den cliffs, waterfall dat be big in spring, now not.’’

  ‘‘How wide is the main canyon beyond the one you mean?’’

  ‘‘Narrower, gettin’ wider further up. Like big landslide sometime fill in part way.’’ He drew that in too.

  ‘‘Could we fence it off?’’

  Benjamin nodded. ‘‘Take some work.’’

  ‘‘But they can’t get out of the box canyon?’’

  ‘‘Not dat I see. Go tomorrow and ride up it.’’

  By the time they laid out their bedrolls, with Wolf taking the first watch, they’d detailed out their plan. Now if only the horses would cooperate.

  Building a brush fence across the main canyon took them two days, working from before dawn until well past moonrise. They cut poles to drag across the mouth of the small canyon as soon as the horses galloped into it. When finished, the hunters headed for the lake and fell into the water.

  The next morning they set out in search of the herd again. Following their trail took little skill. When they located them again a day later, Wolf reminded them of the plan.

  ‘‘Remember, we want to move them slowly, but keep them on the move. No time to graze or drink until they get to the canyon.’’ He looked to Mark. ‘‘You’ll take the far side, Benjamin next, then me and Daniel closest to the other rim. Just showing yourselves will be enough to keep them moving.’’

  They swung into position. The stallion discovered them, and the buckskin mare took the lead. When she tried to head a different direction, one of the four men appeared and sent her back toward the canyon shaking her head and snorting. By taking turns watering and grazing their own horses, they kept the herd on the move. All day, all night. In the morning they reached the canyon and took up their places. The wild horses headed for the lake, took a few swallows, and the riders showed up again, moving them on.

  When she reached the brush fence, the lead mare stopped, trotted first one way, then the other. The riders held their mounts, still in view. The horse herd tried to turn around, but the stallion nipped rumps and drove them back away from the riders. The mare saw the open canyon and headed for freedom.

  ‘‘Got ’em.’’ Wolf reached down for one of the poles and dragged it into place, as did the others. Some of the poles they bound to tree trunks, others to posts they dropped into already dug holes. Within an hour, the fence was up and sturdy enough to corral the horses.

  Benjamin removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘‘Dat some slick herdin’.’’

  ‘‘There’s even water and grass in there for them, though that spring isn’t very big.’’ Mark climbed up on the fence to better see the herd, screened now by brush and rock faces.

  ‘‘What next?’’ Benjamin glanced skyward. ‘‘I get fish for supper?’’

  ‘‘Good idea. Dried venison and canteen water puckers your mouth after a while.’’ Wolf watched as the horses, but for the stallion, settled down to grazing. The big bay trotted to the end of the canyon, checked all the walls and returned to stand on a mound of rubble and trumpet his displeasure. The challenge ricocheted round the walls of the box canyon.

  ‘‘Him know he trapped.’’

  ‘‘But he’ll fight to the death.’’ Wolf chewed on a stem of grass. ‘‘We’ll let him go as soon as we choose which horses to keep.’’

  ‘‘Him keep de lead mare?’’

  ‘‘I think so. She’s most likely beyond foaling anyway.’’

  Early the next morning they started roping the horses they wanted to keep and tying them tight to tree trunks. Five young stallions were the first, five mounts for the army. The stallion seemed not to mind so much as they were led out of the gate, but when the men began taking the mares, he lunged at Wolf on his Appaloosa, giving the horse a vicious bite on the rump.

  ‘‘Haiya!’’ Wolf swung his coiled rope and slashed the stallion across the nose, sending him running off shaking his head.

  ‘‘We get ’im outa here?’’ Benjamin rode up to check the bite. ‘‘He near to got you!’’

  ‘‘I know. You got to admire him. He’s fightin’ for his life.’’ Wolf knew by the thudding of his own heart how close he had come to disaster.

  When the stallion screamed again, they heard an answering trumpet from Ahab, tied high up the hillside in the trees.

  ‘‘All we need is a stallion fight. Ahab be dead in no time.’’ Benjamin shook his head.

  ‘‘Those Thoroughbreds have done well, as Jesselynn said they would. I didn’t think they’d make it to Fort Kearney, let alone up here.’’

  ‘‘They be strong. Mostly heart, no, all heart.’’

  ‘‘Well, let’s get the mares and fillies out of there. Do we have enough rope?’’

  Before nightfall they had eight mares, five with foals, and three fillies snubbed to more trees and the fence posts. With the setting of the sun, they took down the bars and freed the stallion and his greatly reduced band. He drove them out of the enclosure, the buckskin mare leading the way, her ears laid back as if she, too, would tear anyone who touched her limb from limb. The stallion stopped a hundred yards out and trumpeted his challenge, but this time Benjamin had a hand over Ahab’s nostrils to keep him quiet.

  After they released the captured horses back into the corral so they could eat and drink during the night, Wolf had Mark build camp right outside the bars to the enclosure.

  ‘‘This way that stallion can’t come and steal his horses back.’’

  ‘‘He would do that?’’ Mark turned from dumping a load of dead branches for firewood on the ground.

  ‘‘Oh yes. Wild stallions have been known to steal horses from tame herds and drive them off. We’ll have to pay close attention on the way home for both thieving Indians and a thieving stallion.’’

  ‘‘But you met your people.’’

  ‘‘I know, but there are other tribes in the region, and stealing horses is a good way to prove your manhood.’’ Wolf pulled the saddle off his own horse and tied the hobbles around his front legs.

  ‘‘You don’t usually hobble him.’’

  ‘‘I know, but like I said, tonight is different. Hey, Benjamin, put the others in the corral with the wild ones. That way they’ll all be safe.’’

  By the time they reached the banks of Chugwater Creek, Wolf was able to ride three of the young stallions, and Benjamin could ride two of the mares. Daniel sported a black eye, and young Mark was favoring his left wrist. But all the horses had been haltered and led part of the way, so they were ready for training.

  Jane Ellen, who’d been assigned watch, scrambled down from the highest hill and ran yelling into camp. So out of breath, she could hardly talk, she yelled again, ‘‘They’re coming! With the horses. They’re almost here!’’

  ‘‘How many did you see?’’ Jesselynn grabbed Jane Ellen by the shoulders. ‘‘How far out are they?’’

  ‘‘Lots of horses and maybe half a mile.’’ Jane Ellen hugged Jesselynn. ‘‘Wait till you see ’em.’’

  ‘‘You’re sure it’s our men?’’ At the look on Jane Ellen’s face, Jesselynn shook her head. ‘‘Sorry, I apologize. I’m just so . . . so—oh my, I’ve got to comb my hair.’’ She looked down at her shirt, streaked with dirt from helping dig postholes for the corral. While it wasn’t finished yet, another day’s work, and it would be.

  ‘‘You look fine. You think Wolf would care about your shirt?’’

  ‘‘No, I guess not.’’ But Jesselynn darted into the cave anyway and returned with hair combed and a clean shirt buttoned and tucked into her britches.

  Thaddeus and Sammy ran back and forth below the caves, from post to post of the corral, out to the haystack and back.

  ‘‘You two stay back from the horses now, you hear?’’ Jesselynn put an extra dose of command into her voice, which only upped the giggles.

  Meshach strode after them, snatched one boy under each arm, and returned to plunk them on t
he ground next to Ophelia. ‘‘Now, don’ you move.’’

  Jesselynn wanted to run just like the little ones. Run to show Wolf the three stacks of hay, the fenced draw, the corral, and the stack of poles where Mrs. Mac had been stripping off bark. She glanced around. Sure enough, Aunt Agatha hadn’t come to join the party.

  ‘‘Don’t fuss about her. She’s comin’ around.’’ Nathan Lyons had read her mind again.

  ‘‘I hope so. I miss her something fierce.’’ If someone had told me back in Springfield that I’d be feeling like this, I would have had a laughing fit. Lord, please convince Agatha that the color of a man’s skin is not the judge of his heart. I don’t know why I think she should change. The whole war is being fought over just that principle. She looked around at the folks who’d become closer than family. Together they were carving a home out of this new land.

  She heard Ahab whinny and could wait no longer. She tore her hat from her head and ran across the grazed land toward the creek, where they would come around the curve of the hill. She reached the shade of a grand old cottonwood just as Benjamin on Ahab led in the herd.

  ‘‘We done it, Marse Jesse, we done brung home de horses.’’ He leaped to the ground and gave her a leg up. ‘‘Marse Wolf, he be back dere.’’ Benjamin flipped a loop over the nose of the horse he’d been leading, swung aboard, and used the lead rope as a rein. ‘‘You go on and find ’im. He be right glad to see you.’’

  Jesselynn allowed the stream of horses to pass, saluting both Daniel and Mark as they waved, her attention on the man bringing up the rear. As always, he and his horse moved as one while keeping the new stock moving ahead. She could feel his eyes on her. Shivers ran up her arms and down her back. Her belly warmed. She leaned forward to pat Ahab’s neck. He shifted, sensing her tension.

  ‘‘Hello, wife.’’ Wolf ’s voice sent shivers chasing the others.

  Thank you, God, for bringing him home safe. She searched him for the war wounds she’d seen on the others. None. ‘‘Hello, husband. Looks like you’ve been busy.’’ So how did Red Cloud treat you? Was the country as wonderful as you remember? She noticed that his medicine pouch now hung outside his shirt. Was there a reason for that?