Song Of The Warrior

by Georgina Gentry

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “No one knows much about Deek; you don’t ask about anyone’s background or past in this country. But after I met him, I found out Tanner knows the area like the back of his hand, raised by the Blackfeet, I hear.”

  “And the scar?”

  The lieutenant shook his head as the buggy moved along. “I’ve heard two different versions when he was drunk; one is that he caught a bayonet across the head at Gettysburg, the other that he was almost scalped by a war party. He really hates Indians.”

  “I think the feeling is mutual,” Willow said. She glanced sideways, studying Billy Warton with his unruly lock of curl hanging on his forehead. “I get the feeling you don’t like them much, either.”

  He looked at her, then back to the road ahead as the buggy rolled along. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Willow, I lost good friends at Crook’s battle on the Rosebud and the Custer massacre.”

  “But those were Cheyenne and Sioux.”

  “They were Injuns,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Never mind, Miss Willow.” He favored her with a boyish grin. “You’re probably right about Chief Joseph. He seems determined to keep the peace, not like those bloodthirsty Plains tribes.”

  “That’s if they aren’t pushed too far,” Willow cautioned.

  “What can they do?” The lieutenant spoke with disdain as he snapped the little whip over the old horse’s head. “They’ve seen what happens to other tribes who tried to fight. The Cheyenne are scattered and trying to regroup down on the reservation, the Sioux have fled to safety across the Canadian border.”

  “The army won’t pursue them there?”

  He shook his head. “Canada? That belongs to Queen Victoria, the Grandmother’s Land, the Indians call it. It would create an international incident if American troops crossed that border.”

  She glanced over at him. “The Mounties don’t mind all the Sioux being there?”

  “I suppose not; as long as they cause no problems. The queen sees them as her subjects.”

  Willow sighed. She didn’t really want to think about the few alternatives her people had.

  “Nez Perce,” the officer snorted, “what does it mean, anyhow?”

  “It’s French for ‘pierced nose,’ ” Willow said. “For some reason, those early trappers confused this tribe with some other that wore a decorative shell in their noses, but our people, the Ne Mee Poo, have no history of doing that.”

  “And just what does Ne Mee Poo mean?” He seemed to be making an effort to keep the belittling sarcasm out of his voice and failed.

  “The People,” Willow said, wishing he hadn’t accompanied her.

  “Well, if ‘the people’ are smart,” Billy seemed to be thinking aloud, “the Nez Perce’ll take the ultimatum and go to the reservation.”

  “I thought that had been postponed?”

  “General Howard gave them another thirty days, but that’s almost up.” The officer clucked to the horse.

  “Thirty days?” Willow protested with a frown. “They can’t expect the Nez Perce to gather up all their livestock and relatives, make a move like that so soon.”

  “Oh, they’ll do it,” Warton nodded, “Chief Joseph’s indicated such. He doesn’t want any trouble. Besides, what could they do? There’s less than eight hundred nontreaty Nez Perce and that counts all the women, children, and old men. They won’t be stupid enough to defy the whole United States Army!”

  Willow felt bereft as she looked at the towering mountains in the distance and the tall forests of trees. She had been gone so long, she had forgotten how wild and free the Nez Perce way of life was ... or was it only in her blood? The tight corset and the dainty shoes abruptly seemed to pinch and torture her body.

  “I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Miss Willow.”

  She sighed, “No, you’re right, Lieutenant, the country is becoming civilized and someday it will be very crowded. Maybe there isn’t room for wild, free things anymore.”

  “Well, they’ll learn to cope or die,” he snapped, “just like the other tribes.”

  Were they coping or only enduring? Yet it was her job to help them make that transition into civilized society. The hope was with the children. The young could change. Strong, proud men like Bear would never be happy on reservations. He belonged to this wilderness; riding free as the wind.

  Billy Warton cleared his throat. “Miss Willow, perhaps I could accompany you when you feel obliged to come here.”

  “I doubt that,” Willow glanced over at him, “since I intend to be coming nearly every day.”

  For a long moment, the only sound was the horse’s hooves on the road. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Why, yes, of course, Lieutenant, did you think I wasn’t?”

  “I thought it was a lark, a do-good project for a schoolgirl.”

  She would not lose her temper. “Well, now you know it isn’t. There’s the camp ahead.” She was glad to have this conversation over and now she wasn’t sure she liked Lieutenant Warton very well.

  A chorus of children’s shouts, barking dogs, and running horses greeted them as they drove into the camp and were surrounded by people.

  Lieutenant Warton tried to wave them away, but they ignored him as they clustered around Willow. “I’ve never seen so many children,” he grumbled, “these Indian braves must not do anything but …” His voice trailed off.

  She decided to ignore his remark as she waved happily to the children and reached to gather up her supplies. The number of Indians gathered around the buggy was growing. The crowd was enough to make any soldier uneasy, Willow thought, but then she glanced from the lieutenant’s sweating face to where he was looking. His chin quivered a little and his eyes widened. Willow looked to follow his gaze, see what had unnerved him so.

  Bear had just stepped from his tipi and stood watching them, one hand on the knife in his belt.

  Surely Bear wouldn’t …? But on the other hand, the big savage might be capable of anything.

  “Lieutenant,” Willow said quickly, “why don’t you stay with the buggy?”

  In the meantime, Bear strode over to them, his rugged face stony and without expression.

  Billy Warton put his hand on his pistol. “I am here as a representative of the United States government,” he said and his voice shook a little, “to protect the young lady—”

  “You are not here on official business,” Bear contradicted, “you have no reason to be on Nez Perce land.”

  “I-I invited him along,” Willow put in, more than a little annoyed with Bear who was evidently enjoying scaring the lieutenant, “and I do have official permission to be here.”

  The warrior shrugged and stepped back.

  Lieutenant Warton said, “Miss Willow, perhaps you are right; perhaps I will stay with the buggy until you return.”

  Bear smiled ever so slightly. “It is going to be a warm day out here in the sun, but if it’s your choice …” He turned to Willow and waited. “Well?”

  She realized she had been anticipating him putting his big hands on her waist, lifting her from the buggy, then she remembered it wasn’t part of his culture. To put hands on a woman who was not related in any manner or who did not belong to him would be unthinkable. Willow managed to get down from the buggy with all the children clamoring to carry her books and slates.

  The serious, chubby girl, Atsi, was back and this time, she had the toddler boy by the hand. “May I bring Wolf to the lessons?”

  The toddler looked up at Willow with big, sad eyes and began sucking his thumb.

  “The Wolf Cub’s really too young,” Willow said.

  “Oh.” The girl looked crestfallen. “Then I can’t come today, my old grandmother is looking for my big sister and I must care for him.” As she turned to go, Willow caught her arm.

  “Wait, Atsi, I’m sure he’ll sit still for a while and maybe even go to sleep while we work. By the wa
y, the Indian agent’s wife is going to see to it that there’s finally some cloth for dresses brought out here.”

  The girl grinned. “I’ll keep him quiet, you’ll see.”

  The toddler looked up at Willow. “Mama?” he asked in his own language.

  Willow leaned over and picked him up, hugged him a little, looked at Bear. “Where is she?”

  Bear frowned. “Probably in town.” He seemed reticent with all the children gathering around.

  Willow made a shooing motion. “Everyone go to the tree, I’ll be right along,” she urged.

  The chubby girl took the toddler by the hand and led him with all the others running, shouting with excitement.

  Willow waited, but Bear only looked at her. She began to walk toward the tree and to her surprise, he walked beside her, adjusting his long stride to keep pace with her small steps. “Don’t ask about Rainbow again,” he said softly. “Often she is off drunk on the soldiers’ whiskey, or ...”

  “Or what?” Willow demanded.

  “The Wolf Cub’s mother is very palojami,” Bear said as if that explained everything.

  “Pretty? What’s that got to do with anything?” Willow demanded. “She really ought to look after her child; it seems he’s being raised by everyone in camp but his mother.”

  “The Nez Perce take care of their own,” he said.

  What was it about this big man that always rattled her? “They didn’t take care of me,” Willow snapped. “If it hadn’t been for the reverend and his good wife taking me in as an neglected and abandoned child—”

  “Is that what they told you?”

  She waited, but he said nothing more. She had forgotten how taciturn warriors could be; men of few words. “I can’t be looking after small toddlers too young to be in school,” Willow said again.

  “If you want Atsi in class, you will often get him, too, because the old grandmother has work to do.”

  “I should complain to someone about his mother.”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Willow said, exasperated. “All I seem to know is that his mother drinks and she’s pretty.”

  “Sometimes Rainbow manages to bring home a little of the money and trinkets the soldiers trade her. Once our women would not have stooped to such shame.”

  It dawned on Willow suddenly what the pretty Indian girl was doing to earn the whiskey and trade goods. “Oh, my goodness.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Why doesn’t someone stop—?”

  “And what do you suggest, mission girl?”. His voice was scornful. “The white piupsiaunat, the soldiers bring the whiskey to her.”

  “This is an outrage! I-I’ll speak to the town council.”

  “Some of those very men pleasure themselves with our women.”

  “That’s terrible! I’ll tell the officers at the fort.”

  “Where do you think the whiskey and money for our pretty women comes from?”

  “You must be mistaken!” Willow said.

  “Am I?”

  “Why must you always answer a question with a question?”

  He shrugged. “I tire of this, Green Eyes. Let me warn you to be wary of the young coyote who rides in your buggy.”

  She had to exert a great deal of self-control not to slap him. “That’s insulting! Lieutenant Warton is a perfect gentleman.”

  “Maybe around white girls; I’m not even sure of that. Consider yourself warned.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Willow staring after his broad, buckskin-clad back. She started to yell after him, but she had a feeling he would not answer the angry shriek of a mere woman. This one had simiakia, all right; that swaggering pride of manhood that said he was all male and knew it.

  Raven came from another direction and joined her. “What has happened with Bear? He just brushed past me, looking as angry as I’ve ever seen him.”

  She didn’t want to discuss Bear. His adoring younger brother would only rush to his defense. “He was merely proving to me that indeed he was named for his disposition,” she said wryly.

  “Willow, I think you should know …”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He fell in step with her as they walked toward the tree. “It is not fitting that I discuss him with you.”

  “That certainly suits me fine,” Willow snapped, “he was quite rude to Lieutenant Warton.”

  “You brought the young officer with you?” When she glanced over, Raven looked disappointed. “Are you afraid of your own people?”

  “No, of course not. The officer was being gallant and it was difficult to refuse.”

  “The lieutenant sees us all as a bunch of dirty savages.”

  Willow didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what to say, because she sensed that it might be true. “Raven, I’m glad there is at least one member of your family who is eager to learn and doesn’t wish I would go away.”

  Raven chuckled, but his tone was sad. “That is exactly what Bear says you will do, so I and the children should not count on you too much.”

  “But I intend to stay!” Willow protested.

  Raven shook his head. “I would like to believe that, but Bear says you will find us too primitive, too savage, and leave.”

  It dawned on her then that Bear was trying to run her off. Why, she couldn’t imagine. She could be as stubborn as he was, she thought. She would prove to him that she was no delicate, fainting white girl. She was Nez Perce herself and she was committed to helping her people, even if she had to fight hostile males like Bear to do it.

  They settled down under the tree and for the next hour, she showed the eager children how to write letters with sticks in the dirt. “Sometime, we will learn to read.”

  “We have nothing to read,” Atsi said matter-of-factly.

  Willow remembered last night. “I have asked the Indian agent’s wife about some supplies; maybe we’ll get storybooks and then you can read them yourselves.”

  Cub had lain his dark little head in Willow’s lap and drifted off to sleep. She patted him automatically and reached for her favorite novel.

  One of the other children said, “Is that a real book?”

  Willow nodded, held the book up. “I will pass it around so you can see what the letters look like. When they are put together, they spell words that say things.”

  “Spirit magic,” Atsi whispered and reached to touch the novel. She handed it to Raven who stared at the cover.

  “I have never before touched a book,” he said, “it is indeed magic. Is it your wyakin, your special good luck?”

  Willow blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes. “It is only a story,” she said.

  “Like the tales the old ones tell around the campfires?” Raven asked.

  “Yes.” Willow nodded. “And like those legends, it is full of brave deeds and love and noble things.”

  With great respect, the children passed it around so that all could touch the cover and stare at the print.

  “It is called A Tale of Two Cities,” Willow said. “It is my favorite story.”

  “Then it is mine, too,” Raven announced gravely. “The words look hard, perhaps I will never be able to read it.”

  “Oh, no,” Willow hastened to assure him, “someday, I intend all of you should read the black marks so that you, too, can be part of the magic of a faraway place and time.”

  Cub woke up then and began whimpering. Atsi gathered him into her arms, shushing him.

  “It’s all right,” Willow said gently, “he probably misses his mother.”

  “Sometimes she comes back to the camp,” Raven said. “In the meantime, he seems to have taken a liking to you.”

  “And me him,” Willow said, reaching to pat the little boy. “All right, class, that’s all for the day. Taz alago.”

  The children scrambled to their feet and took off like wild colts bolting for freedom, whooping and shouting.

  Willow felt Raven watching her.

  “I am having a little trouble with
my letters,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind ... ?”

  “Of course not. Here, now let me show you how to write your name.” She drew R-A-V-E-N slowly in the dirt.

  He tried, struggled.

  “No, more like this.” Without thinking, she put her hand on top of his and heard his sharp intake of breath. They looked into each other’s eyes and there was no mistaking the emotion in his.

  Quickly, she drew back. Raven was a man, but she had been thinking of him as a mere boy. “I must go now.” Willow jumped up and brushed the dirt from her skirt.

  Raven picked up her books and slate and began to walk next to her. “That lieutenant; he will come with you all the time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I hope he won’t. His being here tells us you are afraid or distrust your own people.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “Bear says you do, he says the white people have turned you into one of them after taking you away from your mother.”

  Willow shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; all I know is that my mother is dead.”

  “Yes. They say the white trapper was grieved when he finally tracked her down and she was dead.”

  “My father came looking for us?”

  Raven shrugged. “He may be dead now, too, no one knows. It has been a long time. Anyway, what does it matter now?”

  “I suppose it doesn’t.” She heard the familiar voice of the little toddler behind her somewhere. “Raven, would you do me a favor and go see about Cub?”

  “That is woman’s work.” He frowned. “No warrior looks after tikash, cradleboard babies.”

  “For me, please,” she entreated.

  Raven hesitated, then turned back along the path to see about the little boy. “Taz alago.”

  “Taz alago.” She returned his goodbye. Deep in thought, Willow walked on toward the buggy. Even from a distance, Lieutenant Warton sat there with sweat on his face, looking quite out of sorts.

  Bear stepped out of the woods just then, watching her and blocking her path. She would have to pass him to get to the buggy, and he didn’t look as if he intended that to happen. If he tried to detain her, Billy Warton might get nervous and shoot him.

  Maybe if she just ignored Bear and kept walking, he would let her pass. Somehow even as Willow took a deep breath and quickened her step, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.