While Joseph’s band was attempting to make its decision, Chief Red Heart and his small band had passed by and camped with Joseph’s group. However, his people wanted nothing to do with the war and were still camped there peacefully after the warring Nez Perce moved out and headed for the Lolo Trail. In vain, Red Heart argued with the soldiers when they came that his band was innocent. They were arrested and imprisoned anyway.
Willow tried to persuade Raven to tell the leaders that both areas were part of the United States and that the Montanians would also fight them. Of course, Raven had no stature as a warrior, so no one would listen to him and certainly the great chiefs were not interested in the opinions of a woman; and a half-white one at that. It was decided that they would take their hundreds of people, thousands of animals, and cross the tortuous Lolo Trail into Montana Territory. Behind them, they left five good warriors to watch for the army; hoping, perhaps, that General Howard would change his mind and not pursue them any farther.
The pain from losing Bear had never gone away. Every morning, when she awakened, her loss was the first thing she thought of and the last thing she recalled when she closed her eyes at night. If anything, she thought sadly, as she cooked the rabbit Raven had shot, the younger brother was having a much harder time dealing with his brother’s death than she was. He seemed almost lost like a ship drifting without a rudder.
How much time had passed in white men’s terms? Willow considered momentarily as she poked the small fire. Two weeks? More? Less? She shook her head. No, it didn’t matter that she had lost count; what difference did it make to her anyway? Willow was aware only that the sun rose and the tribe moved; the sun set and they fell to the ground exhausted. One day was so much like another that time meant nothing to her except putting one foot ahead of another or riding a horse until she felt her legs go numb. Willow almost welcomed the discomfort; it kept her mind off her grief.
Already, on this trek through the mountains, the going was rough. The cold, wet day had been arduous and exhausting, and it was only at midday. Willow was not sure she could make it through to the other side. During the stop for rest, she had cooked a rabbit stew. Now she handed a bowl of the stewed meat to one of the older warriors. He nodded his thanks and began to eat. “You are a good Nez Perce woman,” he said gravely. “Sometime you must stop grieving for your man and take another.”
She shook her head. “No, I will never care for another.”
“Your man would not want that,” the old man said, his lined face full of sympathy. “Hohots was a very brave man; I saw him fall; he was singing his warrior’s song.”
Somehow, that comforted her. “I wish his body had not been left behind.”
“Other brave dead were left behind, there was no help for it. I was one of those on the bluff with him; I would have brought him out if I could, but he was big and there was so much confusion, I could not do anything or even get near his body.”
“It is not wise to waste a warrior’s life retrieving the dead,” she whispered. “You will be needed yet against the white soldiers.”
He nodded and thanked her for the food. Willow stared after him as he left. So many brave men, so many dead warriors. There would be others before this whole thing was finished.
Raven rode up just then and dismounted.
Willow handed him a bowl of the stewed meat. “Thank you for bringing this, I’ve shared it around among the children.”
Raven nodded. “I suppose Bear would have brought in a whole deer, but I didn’t see one.”
Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm to comfort him and blinked back tears. “Raven, he’s gone now and you’ll have to take his place; do the things he would have done for the people.”
He looked down at her hand on his arm and she quickly withdrew it. It had seemed so natural to comfort him that way. “Bear left big moccasins to fill. I-I do not think I can.”
“Raven, there’s a lot of us depending on you. I know you can do it; Bear always had faith you could. Would you make him out a liar?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “of course not. I’m just not certain—”
“Raven.” She leaned closer. “I have faith in you, too. You haven’t had the chance to prove yourself as your older brother did, but I feel you may get the chance now. The people are so desperate.”
“It will get worse,” he said somberly, looking around at the people huddled on the trail. She followed his gaze. They had lost all their tipis and many of their supplies. All they had in abundance were horses, old people, women, and children.
She felt a chill go down her back as she turned and looked across the jagged tops of the Bitterroot Mountains, hidden now by rainy cold fog. Even in July, there was snow on the highest peaks. “Some of the old people will never survive the trip. The badly wounded probably won’t, either.”
Raven squared his shoulders and in his eyes, she saw just the barest hint of his brother’s courage. “We have no choice; we will do what we must.” He looked toward the old grandmother. “Those whose strength fail may have to be left along the way.”
“Oh, Raven, no!” The thought horrified her.
“They know it better than you,” he said, his handsome face somber, “but they all want to make the effort. They will drop out of the march along the way, die by the trail before they will slow or halt the column. We can’t linger on the trail; it is too cold, the air too thin.”
“But we have no tipis, not enough blankets,” Willow protested. “At the high levels, there won’t be much game or grass for all these horses—”
“You think we aren’t aware of that?” Raven stood up. “Many of these people will not survive and they know it. Some will freeze to death; some will drop out and die of exhaustion. Before this ends, we may have to eat our beloved horses, but there is no help for it. Better to die attempting to reach freedom on the far side of the mountains than to be forced back onto that miserable reservation.”
“You are right, of course; Bear would agree. I am ashamed for my whining.”
For an instant, his face saddened at the mention of his beloved brother, then he squared his shoulders and stood up, looking for all the world like a Nez Perce warrior of many battles. “I will look out for you, Willow, the best I can. It is the least I can do for my brother who gave his life twice for mine.” He swallowed hard and strode away.
Behind him, Willow buried her face in her hands, fighting to keep from breaking down. The only man she would ever love had sacrificed himself to save the tribe. The least she could do was make sure that his sacrifice had not been in vain. Willow dried her eyes and gritted her teeth. She was a Nez Perce woman and she would help her people survive this long ordeal that lay ahead of them like the children of Israel fleeing Egypt.
Egypt had been hot desert and there would be no Red Sea and no miracle to save the Nez Perce from the pursuing Pharaoh’s men; they would have to do this all on their own. It looked impossible. Yet what other choice did they have other than to stay in slavery? At least, Raven seemed to be maturing and shouldering the new responsibilities. What would happen once they made it to Montana, she had no idea; she would only hope for the best. Nor did she have any idea what her future might be; she couldn’t seem to think past Bear’s death. Still, she didn’t have much time to think because there were wounded, new babies and so much work to be done around the camp.
However, she continued to take time to teach the children. It gave them and herself something to look forward to. She read a little every day from A Tale of Two Cities, working her way toward the end. Many of her students could pick out a number of words, and Raven, in his eagerness to learn, surprised her with his rapid progress.
When the two talked, she was often aware that his mind was back at the Clearwater where his brother lay, as was hers. She knew she must not dwell on that loss, so she kept very busy and worked with her students.
Finally, one day, she read part of the climax of the novel aloud. There was not a sound
as she read of the two men who looked alike; both in love with the same woman; and the final scene where Sydney Carton drugs the husband, who does not intend to let Carton make this great sacrifice. Then Carton has someone carry the husband away from the prison while he stays behind in Charles Darnay’s place.
At this point, Willow sighed and closed the book. She was not sure she could stand to deal with the ending right now. “Children, we’ll finish the story another day.”
There was an outcry of protest from her little group.
“We want to know how it ends!” Atsi said.
Raven gestured. “Run along, children, your teacher is tired. We can finish it another day.”
Willow blinked back tears. “Yes, run on, children, we will be moving early.”
With shouts and glad cries, the children scattered. Raven tarried behind. “It is good to know this reading magic. One has all the legends written down and an elder of the tribe does not have to remember them.”
“It is my favorite story,” she said.
“I know why.” He nodded. “It is about love, honor, and a very brave man.”
She swallowed hard; knowing they were both remembering Bear. She could not give way to the luxury of grief; there was too much to be done, too many ordeals ahead. She patted Raven’s arm absently. “It will take very courageous people to do what we attempt and very brave men to lead them. Raven, I think you are one of those.”
He shook his head. “I am afraid that I will disappoint you.”
“Bear believed in you and I do, too. More than that, the old grandmother and little Atsi, and the Wolf cub, all depend on you since we have no man. If you cannot look after us, we may not make it.”
His face was grave. “I will do my very best, Willow, for all of them; but especially for you.”
He started to say something else, hesitated, then looked away. Finally, he muttered something about checking the horses and strode into the trees.
Willow stared after him, tenderness in her heart. He was not Bear, but it would please Bear for her to take care of his brother. What would happen to her when this long ordeal was finished, Willow had no idea; she wasn’t even sure she cared much, but because of her love for Bear, she would look after her little family as best she could.
Promising herself that, she got up and began to gather the few possessions she still owned. It was time to continue the tortuous trail through the mountains.
Monday, July 23, a courier arrived in Missoula, Montana Territory, to inform Captain Rawn there that the Nez Perce were crossing the Lolo Trail and would be in his area in a few days if they succeeded.
Captain Rawn threw the dispatch down on his desk and muttered to his sergeant. “Hell of a telegram you’ve brought me, Dugan. A ragtag handful of Nez Perce making a run for freedom.”
“Sir?”
Rawn shrugged and began to pace. “I know, I know! The trail isn’t hardly wide enough for a man to walk on and in some places, it’s downright impossible! Those Indians must be crazy to try it.”
“Or desperate?” the balding Irishman suggested.
“That, most of all.” Rawn sighed and chewed his lip. “Howard’s planning to come behind them, wants me to cut them off at this end, block the Lolo Trail.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind me saying so, there’s reporters waiting to see you, also, a delegation of irate citizens.”
Rawn rolled his eyes heavenward. “The press! God deliver me from reporters with time on their hands, trying to make a story out of nothing.”
“No disrespect, sir,” the old sergeant said, grinning, “but this is becoming quite a big story across the country. The public’s beginning to pull for the Indians.”
“Great! So now the army can be villains for following orders and putting them back on the reservation.” He sighed. “I don’t know what the hell to tell anyone.”
“You’d better see the irate citizens first, sir,” the sergeant suggested. “They want to know what you’re going to do about bloodythirsty savages pouring across the mountains to burn and loot and murder local residents.”
“Bloodthirsty savages.” The captain made a rude noise. “From what Howard’s dispatches say, there’s only a handful of warriors; it’s mostly harmless old people, women, and children.”
“That’s what the troops at White Bird Canyon and Clearwater River thought, too, Captain Rawn.”
“For that, the newspapers and some in Washington are yelling for Howard’s resignation. There’s talk of bringing in General Crook to replace him.”
“I don’t know as how Crook could do any better, sir.” He didn’t continue, but Rawn knew what he was thinking. Crook had been supposed to be one of those who attacked the Little Bighorn with Custer the previous year. However, a few days before that battle, Crook had come up against those same Cheyenne and Sioux at Rosebud Creek and his forces had been badly mauled. Crook decided at that point not to continue on to the Little Big Horn, nor did he alert Custer to the large group of hostiles in the area. His whole force, one-third of the troops, had sat out the ambush that slaughtered Custer’s men.
Rawn shrugged. “Funny, the public doesn’t feel any sympathy for the Sioux and Cheyenne, but they do for the Nez Perce.”
“Maybe that’s because the Nez Perce have always been friends to the whites; have tried their best to keep the peace.” Dugan frowned. “Besides, they’re underdogs, sir, even Howard seems to hate what he’s having to do.”
“Well, I don’t feel as sorry for them as Howard does, but they do remind me of Southerners in the late war; fighting to protect what’s theirs. In that situation, even old grandmothers can wield a weapon and fight rather than surrender.”
The Irish sergeant nodded. “A lot of them won’t survive that trail, sir, or maybe General Howard will catch them before they reach us.”
“I’m not that lucky,” Rawn grumbled. “I’ll stop them at the end of the trail, all right, and it will be one hell of a bloody fight! Otherwise, we’ll be chasing them all over Montana and they know the country better than we do. Whatever we do, the newspapers will make us look like incompetent fools.”
Sergeant Dugan seemed to consider saying something, but didn’t. “Well, sir, what is the public to think when the world’s biggest, most powerful army can’t seem to capture and disarm this pitiful little handful of Indians? They’re saying, at this rate, it’s going to cost well over a million dollars for this campaign, and there’s not mor’n seven hundred Indians.”
Captain Rawn squared his shoulders. “We’re going to stop them; I’ve got a few days to build a fort blocking that trail and I’ll need volunteers to cut logs. I’m about to put those irate citizens to work!”
On Sunday, July 29, the devout General Howard attended religious services. Then on Monday morning, in a pouring rain, his troops set out up the Lolo Trail in pursuit of the Nez Perce on the move ahead of them through the mountains. While he wasn’t looking forward to this arduous campaign through the Bitterroots, he was convinced, that caught between his forces and those of Captain Rawn’s, Chief Joseph’s people would either be defeated or forced to surrender.
The ordeal of the Lolo Trail was worse than Willow could have imagined, but there was no going back. Scouts reported that General Howard was now in pursuit and it was either go forward or die when the soldiers got close enough with their cannons and Gatling guns to fire at the people trudging along the jagged rocks. More than once as the days passed, an old one or a heavily pregnant woman lost her footing in the loose rocks and tumbled to their deaths. Beloved Appaloosa horses broke legs or fell, too exhausted and bone-thin to go on. There was a shortage of cartridges, so nothing could be done except to mercifully cut their throats and leave the animals by the trail. It was pitiful, Willow thought with a sigh, to hear the orphaned colts crying for their mothers. Sometimes they found another mare to feed the colt; sometimes, they had to kill it because there was no milk or it was too weak to walk that long distance.
Very quickly,
the livestock looked like washboards and coat stands because there wasn’t enough forage at that high altitude to sustain the big herd. Soon, the people could no longer afford the luxury of leaving the dead horses by the trail. Now as food ran out, they began to eat their beloved ponies.
Willow did the best she could for her little group, and Raven helped her, coming back often to check on how she was doing or to help her with the old grandmother. There were days Willow was not sure the old woman would be able to take another step, and she dreaded that day. She was certain she could not leave Intetah by the trail as was starting to happen with some of the other elderly ones.
Willow was weary, cold, and hungry and the pace was beginning to wear on her. She no longer had the time and strength to mourn Bear, it was only important to get the people across these towering mountains and into Montana. Whether the army chased and caught them there didn’t even seem important anymore. What did seem important was being warm and having enough food.
Still, that night, she gave most of her meager ration to the old woman, little Atsi, and Cub, who had ridden most of today on Willow’s travois.
Now it was late, everyone slept the sleep of exhaustion, but Willow was too miserable to sleep and she kept a vigil beside her tiny fire.
Raven finally rode up and dismounted. “Keep that fire small; we do not want the Howard’s Shoshoni scouts to see it; the Te-wel-ka would delight in sneaking in, cutting throats.”
“I know, but I was determined you would have warm food tonight; you have worked hard the last several days.”
He dismounted and took the bowl gratefully. “You have eaten?”
“I’ve had plenty,” she lied. “A warrior needs to keep up his strength.”
Song Of The Warrior Page 24