Black Elk turned and walked a few feet away. Zeke wiped blood from his knife onto the grass, then shoved it back into its sheath and approached his brother, while Wolf’s Blood stood staring at the dead horse, a new hatred and determination in his dark eyes.
“I’m sorry, Black Elk,” Zeke told the man.
Black Elk only nodded, staring into the distance at the farmhouse. “Is this the way it shall be then? We shall be pushed into one small corner of this land, and there we shall stay and starve to death?”
“I can’t answer that, my brother,” Zeke told him. “I wish that I could. We can only pray for the best.”
Black Elk shook his head. “I am beginning to understand why some of the other tribes fight harder—why they raid and steal and kill. One day the Cheyenne will also find it impossible to be peaceful. A man can bear only so much.”
“That is true, Black Elk. But you must also keep in mind that some whites are going to force your hand. Some want you to feel as you are feeling now. They want you to raid and make war. Because then they can point their fingers and yell about how they were right all along. They can talk about how bad the Indian is—how ruthless and cruel. You must be careful not to fall into their trap and do the very thing they expect you to do. It would be easy now to ride down to that farmhouse and burn it and kill everyone inside. But there are those who would be glad to have you do so, my brother. It would give them the OK to kill every Indian they see.”
Black Elk sighed. “I do not understand this kind of fighting, Zeke—with words and barbed fences.”
“Of course you don’t,” Zeke replied, turning away, himself filled with rage and a need to kill, his Indian blood screaming for the freedom his people deserved. His heart wrenched at a quiet sob, and he looked up to see Blue Bird Woman crying and Abbie also wiping her eyes. His children all stared at the horse with frightened eyes. Surely they wondered where their future lay, and he suddenly realized that each of them would have to make a difficult choice one day.
“Zeke, someone comes!” Falling Rock spoke up, running back to his mount to retrieve his rifle. Black Elk whirled, his dark eyes blazing, and he hurried to his dead horse and yanked his own rifle from the animal. Seven men approached from the other side of the creek, some in buckskins, some wearing what looked like an attempt at fashioning a uniform, a couple of them in the regular cotton clothing of white men. All were white, some sporting grizzly beards, all well armed. Abbie’s heart froze. She had seen such men before, one terrible night when they attacked her and Wolf’s Blood when the boy was just a baby. And on that night, Zeke Monroe had wielded his knife in a bloodbath of defense of his family.
Zeke stepped into the stream to face the approaching men. “You women get into the trees!” he ordered. “Get the children into some cover.”
They moved quickly, Abbie’s heart fearful now, for surely there would be trouble. “Black Elk, keep your senses!” Zeke was telling his brother. “You’re angry. Let me do the talking. And whatever happens, don’t kill anyone. Try to only wound them if they make trouble.”
In the next moment Wolf’s Blood was standing beside his father, his rifle in hand. He had dismounted and left Lillian on his horse, handing the reins to Abbie, who had taken the girl with the others to shelter.
“Get back out of the way, son,” Zeke said quietly.
“No,” the boy replied in a determined voice. “I will not obey you this time, Father. You should not stand alone in defense of my mother and brothers and sisters. I can fight and shoot now.”
Zeke wanted to argue, but the boy was right, and Zeke could not help but be proud of the way he stood there, obviously unafraid, eager for a challenge. Yes. He was very much like his father.
The white men splashed into the creek water, and Black Elk moved up behind Zeke, while Falling Rock stood off to the side, rifle in hand, glaring at the strangers.
The seven men halted their mounts and stared at the three Indian men and the young boy. All had caught sight of the women moving into the trees.
For a moment nothing was said by either party, as the white men lined their horses in a straight row in front of Zeke and the others. The man directly in front of Zeke glanced at the bloody, dead horse still lying over the broken fence. Then his eyes moved to Black Elk’s bleeding arm and he grinned. “Appears you Injuns is learnin’ it don’t pay to try to jump a white man’s fence,” he sneered.
“E-have-se-va!” Black Elk hissed, moving around to the other side of Zeke. “Zetapetazhetan!” he swore, raising his rifle into the air.
The white man who had spoken watched Black Elk carefully, his own hand resting on a gun he wore in a holster on his hip. The other six men sat in stony silence, all with rifles in their hands, ready to use them on a signal. One of them was very young, a rather homely boy with glittering, evil eyes. Wolf’s Blood spotted him right away, and he stared at the boy, meeting the white boy’s hateful glare with his own unafraid eyes. The white boy looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him.
“You redskins is a little out of your territory, ain’t you?” the apparent leader spoke up. “You look like Cheyenne. Cheyenne belong down on the Arkansas River.”
“We’re doing harm to no one,” Zeke spoke up, surprising the man with his English, spoken too well for a full-blood. “We are going to meet others for the annual Sun Dance. Leave us, and we will be on our way.”
The white man shook his head. “No way. I don’t know who you are, mister, and I don’t care. Appears you’re a breed, else you wouldn’t be so tall and you wouldn’t talk like a man who’s been around white folk a lot.” He shifted in his saddle, relaxing more. “Now to men like us, a breed is even slimier than a full-blood Indian, and there ain’t one of you who belongs here. You’re all going with us to the nearest fort—and we’ll see that your, uh, women … get back where they belong safely.”
Some of the others snickered, and the younger boy looked down a haughty nose at Wolf’s Blood.
Zeke gripped his knife more firmly. “We are going farther north,” he replied coolly. “And our women will go with us. Who the hell are you, anyway? You own this property?”
The white man spit out tobacco juice and pushed his hat back off his forehead. “We’re Colorado volunteers, just doin’ a little scoutin’ to see what Indians is strayin’ off their allotted land.” He glanced at the younger one. “And we’re givin’ the young one here some training. His pa is a real powerful man. Wants to raise the boy the right way—give him school learnin’ and also give him some real live experience in the field, so to speak.” He spit more juice as the younger one sat grinning proudly, and Wolf’s Blood’s heart raced. He had seen this one someplace. But where? Where? “The boy’s pa has a lot of influence in Indian affairs,” the white man went on. “Wants to raise the son to know all the ropes.” The man snickered and looked at the boy again, then back at Zeke. “At any rate, we saw your tracks way back in Colorado Territory. We could tell by the travois you was draggin’ that it was most likely Injuns, and since our job is to keep an eye on the movements of you straying bastards, we figured we’d follow and see what you was up to. Give the boy here some experience in trackin’.” He leaned farther forward, as though to make a point. “The boy’s pa intends for him to get a fine education and come back out here and be an officer in the Colorado army.” He wiped some tobacco juice from his lip. “You Injuns ought to remember this boy’s name. I reckon’ you’ll have a lot more run-ins with him in years to come. Name’s Garvey. Charles Garvey. And he hates Injuns real good. His pa is Winston Garvey. Ever hear the name?”
Abbie stifled a gasp, and Wolf’s Blood almost blurted out a string of hateful words when the man said the name, but he checked himself, remembering his father’s warning about Winston Garvey. Zeke remained amazingly calm, showing no reaction at the mention of the Garvey name. But he cast a quick, sly glance at the young man, realizing the importance of remembering what Charles Garvey looked like. The boy glared back at him, finding b
oth Zeke and the younger Cheyenne boy familiar. But he also could not place them.
“I never took much stock in a man’s name alone,” Zeke replied, looking back at the apparent leader of the motley group of men. “And if you’re really Colorado volunteers, then you’re out of your territory, mister. You’ve got no right tracking us into Kansas.”
“We can track you anyplace we want!” the Garvey boy spoke up. “And you’d best remember my name, redskin, just like the man said. My father has a lot of influence in Colorado Territory, and men like you had better have respect for your superiors!”
Wolf’s Blood stiffened with a need to punch the boy, and Zeke scanned the group of men scathingly. “I don’t see one man here who is better than I,” he glowered. “A name doesn’t make a man better. It’s his courage and skill and honesty that makes him a man, and I doubt any one of you can boast of any of those things. Now I’d suggest you all leave, because we’re going where we damned well please!”
“You Indian filth!” the Garvey boy growled. “We will show you who is the better man when we take you to the fort with us under arrest and throw you in the stockade! And we will show your women what their purpose is for existing!”
“You aren’t taking us anywhere!” Wolf’s Blood warned. “Nor will you touch my mother or sisters, white trash!” He could not control his youthful anger then; his finger squeezed the trigger of his rifle and a bullet ripped across the shoulder of Garvey’s horse, just grazing the boy’s right thumb enough to sting badly and startle the lad. Wolf’s Blood had deliberately missed, taking great pleasure in Garvey’s wide, frightened eyes.
After that, everything began happening fast and all at once. Charles Garvey’s horse began rearing in startled pain from Wolf’s Blood’s bullet, and the Garvey boy struggled to keep the animal in control, his own heart pounding with fear. Zeke dodged a bullet fired by the leader of the men, then dove at the man, physically ripping him from his horse and quickly picking up the man’s own dropped rifle and smashing the butt across the man’s face, while another of the men aimed his rifle at Zeke.
In the next moment Wolf’s Blood’s own knife was out and thrown, landing in the shoulder of the man who intended to shoot Zeke. The man cried out and fell from his horse, and in that moment Zeke realized his son had just saved his life, but there was no time to think about such things now.
A fourth man, whose gun had jammed, leaped onto Zeke’s back, and they tumbled into the creek. Abbie gasped as the man raised a knife while holding Zeke’s face in the water, but Zeke arched up, turning quickly just as the knife came down. It glanced off Zeke’s lower jaw, drawing blood. A split second later Zeke wrested his own knife from its sheath and rammed it into the man’s hip. He would rather have ripped open the man’s hide, but he felt it important that none of the men be killed, if possible, so that the Cheyenne would not be blamed for murdering these white men.
Everything was happening at once, and Black Elk had shot a fifth man in the foot. A sixth man made ready to shoot Black Elk, but his shot went astray when a great gray wolf he had not even noticed before suddenly leaped onto him, knocking the man from his horse and sinking vicious fangs into his chest, neck and arms.
Zeke shoved the man he had stabbed into the water, viciously jerking out his knife from the screaming man’s hip. The seventh man had already shot at Falling Rock, but his own frightened horse was too unsteady and the bullet only grazed Falling Rock’s head. Tall Grass Woman was screaming and Abbie deposited Jason onto Blue Bird Woman’s mount, then pulled out her own Spencer. She moved forward out of the trees toward the confusion as the seventh man made ready to shoot at Falling Rock again and finish him off. Abbie raised her rifle, but Zeke’s wicked blade flashed through the air and landed with a thud under the man’s right arm as he raised his rifle. The man screamed and whirled, dropping his weapon and yanking the knife out of his flesh. He threw the weapon to the ground and rode off, while Wolf’s Blood went after the Garvey boy, who still struggled with his wounded horse.
“White scum!” Wolf’s Blood hissed. “I will show you who is the better man!” He yanked the Garvey boy from his mount.
The leader of the soldiers groaned and rolled over, one side of his face shattered from Zeke’s blow and already swelling badly. The man’s horse was gone, frightened off by the confusion. Zeke yanked the man out of the creek water and threw him onto the bank, while Abbie moved closer and held her rifle on the man being attacked by Wolf’s Blood’s wolf.
“Smoke! No, Smoke!” she shouted, holding her Spencer on the wounded man. “Get away now!”
The animal backed off, its lips curled and its teeth red from the man’s blood. The man lay moaning and gave no more fight, while the man Wolf’s Blood had wounded in the shoulder with his knife began to come around after falling from his horse. He began begging for someone to get the knife out of him, and Zeke obliged, enjoying the man’s cry of pain when he jerked it out. He pushed the man into the muddy bank with his foot.
“I’d stay put if I was you, mister!” he growled.
The man Black Elk had shot in the foot feared for his life and whirled his horse, galloping off after the seventh man who had ridden away after pulling Zeke’s knife from his armpit. A trail of blood followed both men as they disappeared. Falling Rock got to his feet, holding his hand to a scalp wound, and then everyone’s attention was focused on Wolf’s Blood and the Garvey boy.
The two of them wrestled in the shallow creek, as horses whinnied and scurried out of the way. Zeke picked up his own rifle and backed up, standing near Abbie. Black Elk and Falling Rock both joined them, all holding rifles on the injured white men, none of whom seemed inclined to interfere anymore.
Wolf’s Blood dodged Charles Garvey’s fist as the white boy tried to get the Indian off of him, but Wolf’s Blood was much stronger, his muscles much more developed from living a rugged, outdoor life. He held the white boy pinned on his back, while water splashed over his face, making him choke. Again the boy tried to swing at Wolf’s Blood, but Wolf’s Blood arched back and only laughed.
“I think I will let you up, Mister Charles Garvey, sir!” he sneered. “This is no challenge!” He jumped off the boy and Garvey leaped up, tears of hatred and embarrassment on his face. He came at Wolf’s Blood again, calling him every dirty name he could think of and swinging wildly, but Wolf’s Blood only kept backing up and laughing.
Abbie watched anxiously, but knew Zeke would never stop the fight. This was Wolf’s Blood’s battle and the boy would feel insulted if his father tried to stop it.
Wolf’s Blood finally stopped backing off and let the Garvey boy plow into him, his head butting into Wolf’s Blood’s middle. But Wolf’s Blood only let out a quick grunt, then bent over and grasped the Garvey boy about the middle, picking him up and holding him upside down before flinging the young man back into the creek. He charged into the creek after him, kicking the boy in the ribs as he tried to get up out of the water. The boy fell face down, and Wolf’s Blood quickly reached down and jerked him up, crooking a strong arm tightly around Garvey’s neck from behind. Garvey pulled at Wolf’s Blood’s arm with both his hands, but could not budge the Indian boy’s arm, and his face reddened as he began to choke.
“Now who is the better man?” Wolf’s Blood sneered, giving the boy a jerk. “Tell me, white trash!”
“Y-you,” the boy choked in reply, beginning to cry.
Wolf’s Blood jerked him around and pushed him back into the water, and Garvey just sat there looking up at him and crying in fear for his very life.
“It would be so easy now to kill you!” Wolf’s Blood hissed. “I have not killed a man yet. I would like to make you my first, but you are not a man!”
Their eyes held, both boys breathing hard, and suddenly Garvey remembered. “You!” he panted. “You are the boy I fought with in Denver! I remember you!”
Wolf’s Blood quickly looked at his father, who warned him with his eyes not to react. Wolf’s Blood looked back at th
e whimpering Garvey boy. “I do not know what you are talking about,” he answered, sounding sure of himself. “I have never been to that place called Denver.”
“You have! We fought in the street.”
Wolf’s Blood snickered. “You are not only a coward and a weakling, but you are also crazy!” He bent closer and yanked the boy to his feet. “Do you not know that all Indians look alike? Is that not what you and your white friends always say? You mistake me for another, white scum!”
He jerked the boy over to his mount, which had finally settled down, its wound only superficial. “Get up on your horse, coward!” Wolf’s Blood ordered. “You will leave us now and let us be on our way, now that you and your friends know which of us are the better men.”
The Garvey boy sniffed and angrily wiped at tears, one of his lips swollen and bloody. Zeke bent down and grasped the leader of the volunteers by the collar, dragging the half-conscious man to Garvey’s horse. He picked the man up and slung him over the mount.
“Climb up,” he growled at Garvey. “Take your great leader here and find a doctor for him at the nearest fort. His jaw is badly broken, and so is the rifle I broke it with!”
Garvey’s lips puckered as he stared up at the tall, powerful looking Indian, his hatred for the dark skin well-nurtured by his scheming father. But the boy’s haughty hatred was for the moment replaced by a shuddering fear that these “wild men of the Plains” would torture and mutilate him if he did not leave quickly. He turned and mounted up.
“Zeke!” Black Elk called out. Zeke turned and Black Elk tossed him his wicked knife. Zeke caught it by the handle, his chest tightening at the fact that Black Elk had called him by name. He glanced up at Garvey, who sat pouting and bleeding, his clothes torn and muddy.
Embrace the Wild Land Page 15