He screamed, “Caleb, Caleb! Oh, my God, Caleb! No…No!”
“Dad, Dad!” Caleb called back over the roar of the water.
As Sam watched, the boy was swept farther and farther downstream. He heard Wolf bark and saw him race off down the shoreline, beyond where the wagon and the boy had progressed. As Sam helplessly looked on, he saw his faithful companion launch himself into the swirling stream. The men and women on the banks were shouting and screaming. Sam broke into a run along the bank, until he was even with the wagon. The swirling water swept debris from the overturned wagon.
As Sam watched, Wolf, swimming against the current, somehow reached the boy and, grabbing onto his shirt, pulled him from the wagon. They both disappeared beneath the surface. Sam held his breath. They were out of sight for what seemed, to Sam, an eternity. He waded into the water up to his knees.
Wolf and the boy resurfaced. Sam started calling to Wolf, encouraging the dog to swim toward him. Wolf responded, dragging the boy by his arm. He was barely making headway. Sam waded farther out into the water. When he saw that Wolf, despite his efforts, was not going to make it, he dove in and swam to meet the dog. He could feel the power of the flowing water pulling him away. Redoubling his efforts, Sam reached the pair and took hold of the boy’s other arm.
Together, man and dog fought their way to the shore, where Garrett and several other men met them. Strong arms pulled the trio from the river. Sam stood with Wolf by his side, shivering in the strong wind. Both were breathing in deep heaves. Caleb’s father stood beside them, his arm around Sam’s shoulders, his fingers digging into his flesh. Garrett, kneeling on one knee, rolled Caleb on the other and pressed forcefully on his back.
Water gushed from the boy’s mouth. On the third attempt to clear Caleb’s lungs, he coughed, sputtered and started to cry. Garrett carefully rolled him over. His father was there immediately, scooping the boy into his arms.
Sam bit his lip to keep himself from tears. He heard Wolf whine. Dropping to his knees, he buried his face in the animal’s wet fur. Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the tear-stained face of Caleb’s father. Sam stood, and the man embraced him. Letting go of Sam, the man kneeled, encircled the wolf-dog’s neck with his arms, and sobbed his thanks into the animal’s thick coat.
That night after the camp settled down, Garrett held Sam in his arms as they lay under the wagon, Wolf curled up against Sam’s back. They had congratulated Sam over and over, until he became embarrassed. Wolf had been fed well by the grateful settlers Sam was glad now to be away from the commotion. Garrett said it was a good crossing: only one wagon and no lives lost. With those thoughts, Sam drifted off to sleep.
* * * From the time they left Fort Childs, Sam had accompanied Cody and Walt Tucker when they went to hunt. Whenever they brought an animal down, Sam was there to perform the prescribed ritual for taking the life of the creature. Often during a hunt the men had seen Indians watching them from a distance, but never had they been approached or impeded from their task.
Once they had crossed the South Platte, however, according to Garrett and Gus, they were in the territory of the Arapaho, a more war-like tribe.
Sam and the Tuckers were hunting. They had just brought down two buffalo.
“I suppose we gotta go through the ‘thank you Tatanka for givin’ up your life for me,’ stuff again,” Cody said sarcastically. “Don’t see what good that does other than keep the Indians watching us happy.”
Sam ignored him. It was useless to try to get someone not raised in the culture of the Indian to understand.
Sam and the brothers dismounted. He was about to begin the ritual of thanking the animals for sacrificing their lives for the benefit of those who had taken them when a group of six braves rode up and surrounded them. The brave’s faces and horses were painted. The men stood back to back facing the group. Sam felt Cody put his hand on his gun, so he reached back and placed his hand over Cody’s indicating he should make no aggressive moves.
Sam raised his hand in greeting. The Indians did not respond. He tried again, this time addressing them in what he hoped was a dialect they would understand. Still they did not respond. One of the braves urged his horse forward until it stood with its muzzle nearly against Sam’s chest. Sam held his ground.
“Uh!” the brave grunted, nodding his head and smiling.
Sam knew he had scored a coup by standing firm.
“What is your name?” the Indian signed.
“Soaring Hawk,” Sam signed back.
The braves around the circle grunted and exchanged glances.
“You have the look of the white eyes, yet you call yourself by an Indian name,” the leader continued in sign language.
“I am the son of River Runs Deep, chief of the People, and a white woman,” Sam told him with his hands. As he did so he felt a surge of pride combined with melancholy. It pleased him to be able to speak the truth under the cover of anonymity, which the use of sign gave him.
“Why are you with these men?” the conversation continued.
Sam explained he had been hired to be the Indian guide for the wagon train and that they were hunting for food for the settlers. They had taken these two buffalo, and he was about to offer thanks to the animals for allowing the men to take their lives. He added he was grateful to the braves that they would share the bounty of their land. He asked if they could divide their hunt with the Indians.
“Uh, that is good,” the brave signed.
“What’s goin’ on?” Cody asked.
Sam held up his hand to indicate he didn’t want Cody to speak.
“You are welcome to hunt the buffalo. We are pleased you would share your hunt with us.”
The brave dismounted and shook Sam’s hand in Indian fashion.
“What’s goin’ on?” Cody asked again more insistently.
Sam turned to him. “I told him we would divide our kill with them in thanks for letting us hunt.”
Sam could tell Cody didn’t care much for this arrangement. He was grateful the man held his tongue.
Sam then performed the required ritual and the men set to the task of dressing out the buffalo. When they finished, the Indians took their share and departed.
“What the hell did you give half our kill away for?”
“Better than sharing your scalp with them. You saw they were a war party. You saw the paint on their faces and horses. While we’re in their territory, it’s better to show we’re friends. Sharing the kill is the best way to show that.”
Cody shrugged and turned away.
That night back in camp, Garrett praised Sam for his handling of the situation. “I knew it would pay to have a man who knows how an Indian thinks,” he said as he squeezed Sam’s shoulder.
The train continued on its way. Some days they made good progress, traveling ten to fifteen miles; other days they seemed to hardly inch forward at all. There were several small streams with very muddy beds to cross. The ruts of the trail took their toll on the wagons’ wheels. Many broke as the wagons bounced through the deep ruts. They would stop to fix the wheel if they could. Two wagons had to be abandoned because the wheels were damaged beyond repair.
Some days swarms of biting flies and mosquitoes plagued the travelers, driving the oxen to distraction, as well as the settlers.
One morning, shortly after breaking camp, Walt and Cody, who had been sent ahead to scout the trail, came riding back.
“You better come and see this,” Cody said.
They led Garrett and Sam up the trail to where three men were lying in the grass, hands tied behind their backs. They had been scalped. One man had a boot missing; the pants of all three men were tattered and torn.
Next to them were the carcasses of three butchered buffalo. From their condition, it was clear they had been dead for a few days.
Garrett looked from one man to the other and then to Sam, who sat stone faced on his horse. “What do you think?”
Sam looked at Cody. “
These men killed the buffalo, took what they needed and left them. They were captured and dragged back here to pay for their crime against the animals.”
“That’s about what I make of it, too,” Garrett agreed.
Cody pushed his hat back on his head and whistled through his teeth. “Sorry I gave you a hard time, Sam, about sharing the kill and makin’ fun of thankin’ the animals. I see now you was right.”
Sam just nodded.
At that point, the wagon train arrived on the scene. The people gathered around and gazed at the gristly scene. Reverend Rayburn came through the crowd.
“We will give them a Christian burial,” he announced.
Garrett sighed. “We’ll give them a burial all right, but we won’t take any more time than necessary. We have a long way to go, and the summer’s movin’ along.”
“Would you deny these men their last rites, just to make a few more miles, Taylor?”
“Yes, I would. A few miles here and a few there and pretty soon you’re up to your a…er, hips in snow and having to make a hundred-mile detour. No, we’ll bury them quick. You can pray over them if you want, but no funeral service.”
“I think we should take a vote,” the reverend insisted.
Sam thought this standoff was for reasons other than Christian piety on Rayburn’s part.
Garrett sighed again. “Okay, Reverend, we’ll vote.”
In the end, the settlers voted to follow Garrett’s leadership. The reverend stormed off to his wagon, evidently forgetting even to pray over the interned men.
That task fell to Gus, who intoned, “Good God, don’t let these fuckers go to hell, even though they probably deserve it. Amen.”
“Amen,” said Garrett. “Let’s roll.”
The settlers returned to their wagons. Slowly the train began to move forward. Sam sat on his horse next to the graves, watching the wagons roll by. Many of the travelers acknowledged him with a nod or wave. He watched as the parents of the boy who had perished beneath the hooves of the oxen in the rain walked by: their shoulders slumped and their heads down. The trail had extracted the greatest of all sacrifices from them. Caleb and his father passed him. They walked with heads high, smiles on their faces. They greeted Sam with a hearty wave. Reverend Rayburn passed without a glance in Sam’s direction. His lips were set in grim determination. Near the end of the procession came the wagon of the couple expecting their first child. The young wife sat on the seat of the wagon, a wan smile on her face, her arm wrapped around her protruding abdomen. Her husband walked next to the oxen, leading them with firm confidence.
Will the fates be kind to them? Sam wondered.
He turned his horse and galloped to the front of the train, where he joined Garrett and Todd. They smiled in greeting. Gus was immediately behind them driving their food wagon at the head of the procession of wagons. He waved to Sam. Sam felt that nowfamiliar warmth spread through him as he looked at the trail ahead.
CHAPTER 10
FORT LARAMIE AND BEYOND
Another three weeks of travel brought Sam, Todd and the settlers their first glimpse of the majestic mountains rising out of the mists. Gus had told them of the Rockies—how grand they were, but nothing he had said had prepared Sam for seeing them himself. Their snow-capped peaks made Sam’s heart beat faster, stimulating a sense of longing, which he didn’t completely understand.
He had never seen anything so beautiful. At the same time, he had a sense of the formidable task the mountains imposed. They had to cross these mountains to reach their destination. Only his knowledge that others had gone before gave him the conviction it could be done. He also had complete confidence in Garrett’s leadership and abilities.
Fort Laramie lay somewhere ahead. It would be the first sign of civilization for the travelers in the six weeks since leaving Fort Childs. Many were eager to get to the fort where they could replenish needed supplies. Many hoped they would be able to trade some of their possessions for these supplies, as Garrett’s words about not taking unneeded items had proven true. The overloaded wagons had become more and more a burden. They were the greatest enemy of all on the trail. The heavy loads bogged down in the mud, unbalanced the wagons over rough terrain, and caused axles and wheels to break, many beyond repair. Three more wagons had been lost. One of those belonged to Reverend Rayburn and his wife. Gus had suggested this was Garrett’s opportunity to get rid of this pain in his butt. However, Garrett, man that he was, made sure another family took in Reverend and Mrs. Rayburn.
Those who had suffered losses hoped to be able to secure the wagons of settlers who had gone before and had given up on reaching their destination once they reached the post. Many had returned east by faster means, leaving belongings behind.
Most wanted to take some time to rest and prepare for the journey which still lay before them. How long Garrett would allow them, Sam couldn’t guess. Although it was still late summer, he knew making South Pass before it was snowed in was Garrett’s greatest concern.
As they approached the fort itself, they found mounds of discarded items. Some of the abandoned items would have been of considerable value under other circumstances, but now they were worth no more than the most common refuse. The sight of this debris was disheartening to those who had hoped to trade their belongings for supplies. It was clear the traders at the post had the upper hand in this situation.
In contrast to Fort Childs, Fort Laramie met the expectations of the pilgrims. It was a walled fortress, complete with gun turrets. What surprised Sam was the presence of a small Indian village outside the fort itself.
Gus was riding alongside him when the village came in sight. “I’ll be,” he said. “That’s somethin’ that wasn’t here this time last year. I guess the soldiers and the Redskins are gettin’ on all right if they’re livin’ here side by side. What you make of that, Garrett?” Gus asked as the man in question rode up beside them.
“Looks mighty good to me,” Garrett said, “The better we get along with ’em, the better off our wagons will be.”
The train rolled by the village. The occupants came out to greet the travelers, smiling and waving. Much to Wolf’s delight, several dogs ran alongside the wagons, romping and barking. The big dog joined in, happy to be with some of his own kind again. Sam knew how he felt. He smiled and waved back to those who lined the route.
As had been the pattern at Fort Childs, once Garrett had settled the wagons into a campsite, he took Sam to meet the officer in charge. In the case of Fort Laramie, this turned out to be a captain, and a handsome one at that, Sam thought. He stood taller than Sam, his broad shoulders and narrow waist speaking of a solid body beneath the shell jacket with shoulder boards signifying his rank. His eyes were a piercing blue, his full red beard enticing, his smile open and honest. Sam felt himself responding to him immediately.
“Garrett.” The captain’s voice reflected the warmth of his smile. “Garrett, so good to have you back. Welcome to Fort Laramie.”
“Alan,” Garrett replied.
An enthusiastic handshake and what could be construed as a partial embrace complimented their verbal greeting. The men held this position for several seconds, staring, it seemed, deeply into each other’s eyes. Were they just fast friends or was there something more?
Finally breaking contact, Garrett turned to Sam. “This is Captain Jefferson. He and I go back a long way.”
Sam noticed as Garrett said this, he turned to the captain with a wistful smile on his face.
Captain Jefferson extended a hand to Sam. Sam took it and said, “I’m Sam Hawkins. I’m the Indian scout. It’s good to meet you.”
“You still know how to pick them, Garrett,” Jefferson said, shaking Sam’s hand, while at the same time placing a hand on Garrett’s shoulder.
Garrett gave a soft laugh, looked at Sam and said, “He’s a good one, all right. Knows his job, does it well, and he’s good company to boot.” He raised his hand and gave the back of Sam’s neck an affectionate squeeze.
“Very good,” the captain replied.
The three stood for several seconds holding the circle of physical contact. Sam felt a shiver of arousal pass through his body. He wasn’t sure he understood completely what was being intimated, but what he did sense seemed to confirm his earlier suspicion that there was more than friendship between Garrett and Captain Alan Jefferson.
* * * That night at dinner, hosted by the captain, Sam was pleased and excited to see two Indian guests in full eagle feather headdress. Captain Jefferson introduced Iron Crow, chief of the small tribe that had chosen to establish itself alongside the fort, and Ancient Fire, the tribe’s shaman. They both spoke English and seemed comfortable in the company of white men.
After a period of casual conversation, they all settled down to eat. Captain Jefferson sat at the head of the table, with Garrett to his left, and Iron Crow to his right. The fort’s first lieutenant sat next to the chief. Ancient Fire was between Garrett and Sam.
As they ate, conversation revolved around the challenge of crossing the mountains, the improved relations with the Indians, and Jefferson’s hopes for the fort. Sam noted the way Garrett and the captain seemed not to be able to keep their eyes from one another for very long.
After Captain Jefferson introduced Sam to the two Indians, the old shaman seemed to regard him intently. Now, while the others were distracted in conversation, the shaman leaned close to him and quietly said, “That part of you kept hidden longs to be free. Tomorrow you must come to see me.”
Surprised by this, Sam just nodded. By the time he had recovered enough to speak, the shaman had turned away to converse with someone else. What had the old man sensed?
After dinner, when all the guests had gone save he and Garrett, Sam stood a little away, staring out a window toward the gates of the fort. Beyond the walls he could see the glow of the fires from the Indian village. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men who stood close together, talking quietly. They were looking in his direction. When he looked at them, they smiled. He turned away quickly, feeling ashamed he might have intruded on a private moment, although he had the sense they were talking about him.
The Search for Soaring Hawk Page 20