His eyes were misty, and he pulled her close against him. “Sometimes I love you so much it makes me want to weep,” he told her. “Once I was very weak, when I could not make love to you for fear of another pregnancy. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. I was so lonely I was ill.”
“You are my strength, Abbie. Being one with you gives me power. Knowing you love me keeps me alive, heals my wounds, makes my heart leap with joy. But when I fear losing you—”
“I wish you would never say that, Zeke. You know better than to say that.”
“It would serve me right, for leaving you alone to go and fight so that men can win their bets.”
“You weren’t fighting for bets. You were dealing out justice. That man deserved to die for what he did. His kind would shoot an Indian for no reason whatsoever—man, woman or child.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Be careful, Zeke. Randolph Cole is the same kind of man.”
A sneer curved the corner of his mouth. “Randolph Cole made a grave mistake coming into my lodge and threatening my woman and children.” He caressed her cheek gently. “You are not to worry any more about Randolph Cole.”
Six
Before the really big race of the day, there would be several smaller races. The upper level of Fort Lyon was packed with soldiers who strained against the wall, leaning out to watch the races from their high vantage point. Outside the fort gates the path of the races was lined with Indians on both sides, and Abbie was among them, all of her children but Wolf’s Blood lined up beside her. Wolf’s Blood would race one of Zeke’s Appaloosas and was among the contenders who milled about the fort gates as one by one the challengers rode to victory or defeat.
Tall Grass Woman, Abbie’s close friend of many years, stood near Abbie, shouting out her support for each Indian who rode by, whether he be Cheyenne or Navaho. Abbie had to laugh at the woman’s excitement, for the plump, jolly Tall Grass Woman was like a child at such occasions, screaming and jumping up and down.
Their friendship had been strong and fast, beginning with the first time Abbie arrived with Zeke to dwell among the people. Tall Grass Woman had presented Abbie with a white tunic, and had offered friendship at a time when Abbie had no one to turn to, alone among a people who were foreign to her. Later that first summer Abbie saved Tall Grass Woman’s little girl from drowning. The little girl had since died from cholera, but Abbie’s brave deed had made her honored among the people, and had won Tall Grass Woman’s love and loyalty for all time.
“There he goes! Your son!” the round-faced, giggling woman told Abbie now. She raised a fist in the air and screamed as Wolf’s Blood beat out the soldier by barely a nose. He had ridden what Zeke considered his fastest horse, and all the Indians cheered at the victory.
Tall Grass Woman yipped and yelled as loud as the men, squeezing Abbie close and laughing. But Abbie’s own happiness was marred by the realization that before this day was over, her husband would find some way to avenge her attack of the day before. It was a nagging worry at the back of her mind, for not only were they in the midst of soldiers, who would surely have Zeke arrested and shot, but Zeke himself was in considerable pain from his wounds suffered in the knife fight. He had not voiced his pain, but she knew her husband too well by now to not be aware of when he was suffering silently. The pain was written on his face; he had slept restlessly, perspiring through the night.
Now he was with the soldiers and those Indians who were racing, pretending for her sake that he was fine. But she knew the reason he walked among the soldiers and spoke freely with them was because he was searching for the one with a beard and a scar on his face where the beard would not grow, a man with deep scratches over his eye. It would then be a simple matter to ask one of the other soldiers what the man’s name was to be sure it was Randolph Cole. He had told Abbie not to worry, but it was impossible not to, for she knew her husband’s temper and the utter destruction he could wield against another human being who had wronged someone he loved.
Another pair of horses thundered past, and this time the soldier won. All of these races were just a buildup to the biggest race of the day, an event that had been taking place over the years between these soldiers and the Navaho. It was a standing challenge. Every year the Navahos came here, bringing their best rider and their fastest horse to race against the soldiers’ pick of their own best rider and mount. The Navahos always won, and they considered it a fine joke to beat the soldiers every year. They expected no less this year, and they had bet heavily on another Indian win. But the soldiers seemed convinced that this year would be different, and as Zeke had voiced to Abbie the night before, the soldiers seemed almost too sure they would win. He suspected something was amiss, but could not imagine what it might be.
“Look!” Tall Grass Woman told Abbie, grabbing Abbie’s hand. “Your husband is challenging someone.” The woman used the English she had so proudly learned from Abbie’s patient teaching.
Abbie’s heart tightened, and she leaned out to see Zeke standing face to face with none other than Randolph Cole. The blood drained from Abbie’s face and she felt light-headed.
“Keep the children here,” she said quietly to Tall Grass Woman, moving past her to walk closer to Zeke.
“Where you go?” the woman asked. “What is wrong, little Abbie?”
“I’ll explain later,” Abbie replied, patting Tall Grass Woman’s arm reassuringly. She hurried toward the confrontation, staying behind other Indians so Cole would not see her.
“Fifty dollars says my Appaloosa can beat out your black mare,” Zeke was telling Cole. The Indians cheered, while Cole met Zeke’s challenging eyes, trying to discern whether or not the man knew Cole had been to his tipi the day before and had tried to attack his wife. Cole decided Zeke probably didn’t know, for Zeke kept a friendly look to his eyes. Besides, no Indian man’s wife in her right mind would tell her husband that another man had touched her. Cole had always heard that Indian men beat and scarred their wives for such things, accusing them of leading the other man on in some way and inviting the intrusion.
“When I seen that Appaloosa race with your son on it, mister, I knew my mare could beat her,” Cole replied. “I’ve never lost a race yet with this mare, but I’ll not race you unless you ride, not your son. Your son’s much lighter, and I aim to ride my own horse.” He scanned Zeke’s tall, broad physique, secretly burning with envy at the thought of this half-breed bedding the pretty white woman. “You and me are about the same size, I’d say,” he continued. “If you ride the Appaloosa yourself, I’ll race you.”
Zeke struggled to keep a friendly look on his face. It was important that Cole not suspect, but his blood burned with vengeance at the sight of the scratches on the man’s face.
“I’ll ride,” he told Cole. “Intended to in the first place. Lay your money out, mister, and kiss it goodbye.”
Abbie watched in terror as Randolph Cole handed a sergeant who was in charge of bets fifty dollars. Zeke did the same. They shook hands on the deal, and Zeke forced himself not to squeeze too hard when he took Cole’s hand, though inside he was raging. He would have his revenge, and he would have it in this race. He had decided.
Both men moved back, waiting their turn. Two races would take place ahead of them. Abbie wiped sweat from her brow and blinked as dust from the next race billowed through the cheering crowd. She watched Zeke carefully but could not read him. He stood next to Cole, calmly smoking a pipe and watching the races, as though nothing were wrong. Yet in their emotional closeness he felt her eyes on him, and he suddenly turned to scan the crowd, catching her standing behind Black Elk and some others. He gave her a nod and a wink, seeing the terror in her eyes. She could not imagine what he had in mind, and there was no time for him to explain. Their eyes held for just a moment, and he turned back to the races.
“That is the bastard who hurt you, isn’t it?” She heard a voice beside her. It was Wolf’s Blood. He had spoken to her quietly and moved cl
oser to put a hand to her waist. She met her son’s eyes, already having to look up at him because he was taller than she.
“What is he going to do?” she asked the boy, her eyes tearing. “The soldiers will—”
“Ho-shuh,” Wolf’s Blood told his mother, putting two fingers to her lips. “Father always knows what to do.” He smiled, a teasing gleam in his eye, and in that moment he looked more like his father than ever. Her heart quickened at the resemblance. This son of hers would be a replica of Zeke, and it was good to know that Zeke would live on in such a way.
“What is he going to do?” Abbie asked the boy.
“I do not even know myself,” he answered. “But he has something in mind. Of that I am sure. He knows the danger, Mother. He will not risk leaving you unprotected by getting himself arrested. You will see.”
Their eyes held. “You have great confidence in your father.”
The boy grinned again. “And you do not? After all you have been through with him? All you have seen him do?”
“But … the soldiers—”
“Do not worry,” he interrupted.
She turned back to see Zeke, but he had mounted his Appaloosa now and was waiting next in line. Wolf’s Blood stayed beside his mother, and his pet wolf sat on its haunches beside its master, eyes and ears alert as always.
The next race ended, and Zeke and Cole moved up to the starting line. The course took the riders a half mile straight from the fort gates to a dip in the landscape, where for about one minute the riders disappeared before reappearing for the return ride, ending at a point just short of the starting line, a total of about one-and-one-half miles.
Zeke sat straight and sure on his Appaloosa, talking softly to the animal and patting its neck. The horse snorted and pranced, ready for a good run. Abbie felt ill. She knew Zeke Monroe all too well. He most certainly did have something in mind, and God only knew what it was. The cheering of the crowd around her grew dim. She no longer heard them or even saw them. Her eyes rested only on Zeke, for perhaps after today she would never see him again, never hold him again.
Wolf’s Blood moved behind her and put his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. He was himself full of rage over the thought of the bluecoat putting his hands on his mother. Abbie was to him nothing less than something to be worshipped, and she was the property of his brave and honored father. He knew in his heart that if he ever witnessed another man touching his mother he would kill the man on the spot and would enjoy it, especially if that man was white, for he had good reason to hate most white men. He had been the brunt of their prejudice and cruelty more than once.
A soldier held his gun in the air and called out to Zeke and Randolph Cole to make ready to ride. Zeke leaned forward then, as did Cole. In the next second the gun went off, and both riders kicked their horses into a fast gallop.
At first so much dust was stirred by the already worked-up dirt of the racing lane that no one could tell who was in the lead. But as it settled, it appeared that Zeke was slightly ahead. Abbie ran back down toward the children to try to get a better look, and Wolf’s Blood ran with her, holding her arm. The crowd cheered and shouted, but to Abbie everything was silent and black. Her chest hurt from anxiety and her throat felt tight. The two horses disappeared over the crest where the raceway dropped down and circled around the small hill that hid the riders until they reappeared over the crest again for the final run back to the fort.
It took several minutes for the crowd to realize the two riders had not reappeared when they should have. Abbie felt as though she might faint from dread as the crowd began to quiet and just watch, wondering what could have happened to the two men. It seemed that suddenly all eyes were glued to the horizon—waiting.
Abbie clung tightly to her son’s arm, and he could feel her shaking. “Do not worry, Mother,” he told her.
She looked up at him with eyes wide from fear. “What is he doing?” she squeaked.
Wolf’s Blood shook his head. “I do not know. But he said he would make things right, and he will. Father is not a foolish man.”
She blinked back tears as Black Elk walked over to her side. “The other rider—he was the one?” he asked. Abbie nodded, and Black Elk just looked at his nephew and grinned. “I wonder what my half-brother has planned,” he told Wolf’s Blood.
“You know my father well, Uncle,” Wolf’s Blood replied, also grinning. “That man touched my mother.”
Black Elk folded his powerful arms in front of him and nodded, turning his eyes back to the horizon. Neither Zeke’s brother nor his son seemed overly worried about what might happen.
Another minute went by, and still there was no sign of them. LeeAnn turned wide blue eyes to her mother, then ran to her, her blond curls bouncing. “Where is father, Mama?” she asked. “Did he lose?”
Abbie patted her head. “We … have to wait and see,” she replied. The other children began walking back toward their mother, little Lillian’s pale brown eyes showing her fright. She had recognized the other man as the one who had invaded their tipi the day before and had tried to hurt her mother. Surely her big, strong father would try to hurt the other man. “It’s all right, children,” Abbie tried to reassure them all.
The crowd was almost silent by then. Two soldiers mounted up to ride out and investigate the problem. But just then something appeared over the crest, and Abbie’s grip on Wolf’s Blood’s arm actually pained him because she clung so tightly in her anxiety. He put a hand over her hands and both watched the two figures approach at a slow walk. Soon it was evident that there were two horses coming, but only one rider. The direction of the sun made it difficult at first to see who was returning. The rest of the crowd watched quietly as they came closer, and finally Abbie could see that the rider was Zeke on his own Appaloosa. He led the black mare behind him by the reins. The mare was limping, and Randolph Cole’s body was slung over the horse’s back, his head dangling strangely.
Abbie gasped and let out a little whimper of fear.
“Hush, Mother,” Wolf’s Blood told her quietly. “Do not let on that you knew this might happen. The other soldiers do not know what happened yesterday. Do you not see? That is father’s advantage. They must not know he had any reason to harm Randolph Cole.”
She sniffed and nodded, her heart pounding so hard she was certain all must be able to hear it.
The two horses came closer then, as people just stared in surprise and curiosity. Not even any of the Indians, other than Black Elk, knew of the encounter between Abigail and Randolph Cole. Zeke rode right past his family without looking at them, sitting tall and determined, leading the limping black mare. He stopped at the point where the race should have ended, his eyes on Lieutenant Perkins. The lieutenant marched forward, with several men behind him.
“What happened?” he asked Zeke.
“His horse stumbled,” Zeke replied, his voice sounding true and sure. “This man was thrown—broke his neck.”
Wolf’s Blood and Black Elk struggled not to grin. Both knew what had really happened. The lieutenant and the others walked over to Randolph Cole and inspected both the horse and the dead body it carried.
“This leg looks bad, but I don’t think it’s broke,” one man commented. Zeke turned his head slightly and looked sidelong at Abbie. Their eyes held, and his glittered with secret victory. Her heart swelled with love, but she also felt consumed with guilt for the terrible risk he had taken just to defend her honor. One of the soldiers grasped Cole’s hair and moved the man’s head slightly, then jumped back in revulsion.
“Neck’s broke, all right.” He scratched his head and looked at the lieutenant. “I don’t understand it. Cole was a damned good rider.”
“Happens to the best sometimes,” Zeke commented, shifting his eyes to the lieutenant. Their eyes held for a moment, and the lieutenant smelled foul play, yet it would be impossible to prove, and he could not imagine any reason why the half-breed would want to bring any harm to Randolph Cole, except that Cole h
ad the scratches on his face. The men had teased him that morning about messing with Navaho squaws. Perhaps it had not been an Indian woman who put the scratches there. Perhaps … He glanced at Abbie, who looked away. The woman radiated a goodness that commanded respect. The lieutenant did not want to make trouble for the white woman and her family.
Soldiers mumbled and scowled, eyeing Zeke suspiciously, more of them coming to mill around Cole’s horse and the man’s own dead body. Two men pulled the body from the mare and another man walked the horse carefully toward the fort.
“I guess you have to be declared the winner,” the lieutenant told Zeke.
“You can’t do that!” one of the soldiers shouted. “It wasn’t no race.”
“What else can I do? Cole didn’t finish and this man did,” the Lieutenant barked. “And I might remind you that you’re talking to an officer, Private!”
The other soldiers began to grumble and Zeke dismounted, wincing with pain from his knife wounds. “It’s all right, Lieutenant,” he told the man. “Just give me my own money back and divvy Cole’s up among those who bet on him. I can’t call it a race either.”
The lieutenant frowned. “You sure about that? It’s yours, fair and square.”
Embrace the Wild Land Page 7