Embrace the Wild Land

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Thank you … Zeke,” the man whispered before again floating off into unconsciousness.

  Zeke gritted his teeth in his own inner struggle. “Damn!” he muttered, shuddering at the thought of seeing his father again. “Damn that old son of a bitch!”

  Twenty

  It was only one rifle shot, but it cracked through the crisp morning air with startling shock, and was the beginning of Abigail Monroe’s worst nightmare. Wolf’s Blood stood behind the cabin chopping wood, and his head jerked up at the sharp report, just in time to see Dooley, far out in the pasture, slump to the ground. Several men were riding toward the cabin then, their horses thundering fast and hard down the north slope. Smoke leaped to his feet and went charging after them.

  “Smoke, come back!” Wolf’s Blood shouted. “They will kill you!”

  The wolf paid no heed, and there was no time to worry about the animal at the moment. The men charging toward the cabin most certainly had nothing good in mind. For the moment, there was also nothing he could do to help poor Dooley. He slammed his axe into a stump and headed around to the entrance to the cabin, bursting inside to see his mother already loading her old Spencer.

  “Load your rifle,” she told her son calmly. But he saw how pale she was.

  “A lot of men are coming!” he told her, rushing to the corner to grab his own weapon. “They shot Dooley!”

  “I know,” she replied, her voice a little shaky. “I was at the corner of the cabin, starting to take Dooley some biscuits. I just hope the poor man isn’t dead. He’s been a good friend for a lot of years.” She blinked back tears as Wolf’s Blood loaded his gun. The boy walked closer to her.

  “I think they are white men,” he told her. “They are not raiding Comanches or Apaches. This I know. They must be outlaws. Let them have what they want, Mother. Let them take the horses, if that’s what they’re after.”

  She looked so white he thought she might faint. Then his eyes lit up with sudden knowledge, and they turned black with rage, just the way she had seen Zeke’s eyes blaze when he was on the defense.

  “Our first concern is the children, Wolf’s Blood,” she told him sternly. “You remember that. Above all else, I want nothing to happen to you or any of my other children.”

  Several gunshots could be heard in the distance, and a few bullets pinged against the cabin. In the loft, little Jason began crying, and Margaret and Ellen stared down at their mother and brother. Abbie walked over to the ladder while Wolf’s Blood bolted the door and the thundering of the horses came closer.

  “Don’t cry, Jason,” Abbie called up to her son. “It’s just a game we’re playing. All of you must lie flat on the floor and you must not cry or talk, and above all you must not come down or look out of the loft window. Keep the shutters closed,” she ordered. She looked at Margaret, her beautiful daughter’s dark eyes full of fear. The girl still had not got over the dirty words and the crude pawing of the Confederate soldier, who had told her quite frankly what squaw women were made for.

  “It will be all right, Margaret. Keep the children down and keep them quiet.”

  The girl nodded silently, and Abbie turned back to Wolf’s Blood, who had just finished closing and bolting all the wooden shutters. “We must do our best to keep them from seeing your older sisters. Do you understand?”

  The boy nodded, but his eyes were still on fire.

  “Don’t do anything rash,” she added. “Wait and see what they want. If we’re lucky, they’ll just ride through and take the horses and leave.” She calmly sat down in a rocker, her father’s old rifle on her lap. Wolf’s Blood walked toward the door and pressed his back against the wall to wait.

  The horses were close then, and men called out in yips and yells in the fashion of Indians, but it was only an imitation. He heard laughter, and more shots were fired, as then they seemed to be circling the cabin, shooting at random. More bullets zinged and snapped against the outer walls and the terrifying circling went on for several minutes.

  “Wait a couple of minutes. Let them think we won’t fight back,” Abbie told her son. “Then we will each take a window and get as many as we can. We will have to move quickly and get the shutters closed again. We don’t want to risk any of them getting through.”

  Wolf’s Blood gripped his rifle tightly. “Somehow they must have planned this. They must have known that Black Elk and the others left yesterday for the hunt. Things have been so peaceful. I thought it would not matter if my uncle went away for a few days.”

  “I thought the same,” she answered. “Don’t blame yourself, Wolf’s Blood.”

  The boy’s breathing was heavy with sorrow. He was sure they must have shot Smoke. He struggled not to think about it now. The time for mourning would have to come later.

  Abbie rose and walked to a window at the side of the room, and Wolf’s Blood positioned himself at a front window.

  “Let’s show them how the Monroes can shoot!” she told her son.

  Wolf’s Blood nodded, his teeth gritted in anger. He slammed aside the bolt and threw open the shutters and began firing at the startled men outside, who apparently were not after the horses, for they had kept circling the cabin.

  The boy and his mother both began firing at the same time, and for the first time in her life, Abigail was killing white men. But in these situations a woman could not think soft thoughts or worry about whether or not she might go to hell for killing another human being. These men would do the same to her if they got inside, and for the moment, the mother would kill a hundred men if it meant keeping harm from her children. There were at least fifteen men. She managed to hit two of them. Wolf’s Blood shot four. But then one of the attackers rode up to Abbie’s window from the side where she could not see him. His horse charged past, knocking her rifle right out of her hands, and as he dashed by the window he threw a flaming torch inside.

  Abbie screamed and slammed the shutters closed, then turned to run to the bedroom, where she grabbed a robe and hurried back out to throw it over the torch. She stomped and beat on it until the flames finally went out.

  Wolf’s Blood closed the shutters to his own window, and they looked at each other.

  “What do they want? There must be ten or eleven more of them, Mother!”

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She must stay calm. “I have no idea what they want. But if they set this cabin on fire, we will have no choice but to go outside and find out. It’s the children I’m worried about, especially Margaret and LeeAnn. They must be outlaws—perhaps men who deal in the buying and selling of women. If they don’t want the horses, I can’t imagine what else they would want.”

  “Damn!” Wolf’s Blood growled. “I will kill all of them.”

  “There are too many!” his mother snapped. “You could get five, maybe six more. But you can bet you’ll be dead before you could possibly get them all. If it were a matter of just waiting here and shooting them down as they ride by, perhaps we could do it. But sitting in here is like being in a trap, Wolf’s Blood. That torch tells me that. They’ll burn us out if they have to.” She began pacing, wringing her hands. “There must be a way. It’s the children I’m worried about. Those men aren’t stupid enough to keep riding around the house getting shot.” She suddenly cocked her head. “Listen.”

  There was only silence.

  “They have stopped circling,” Wolf’s Blood said quietly.

  Abbie looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to see smoke. Then they heard the voice.

  “Abigail Monroe!”

  She looked at her son in surprise. “They know my name!” she exclaimed. She headed toward a window, but Wolf’s Blood grabbed her about the waist.

  “Wait!” He pushed her back and went to the shutters himself, opening one just slightly. “Who are you?” he shouted. “What do you want?”

  He heard a laugh from behind a shed not far from the cabin. “Your ma, boy. Just your ma. Nothin’ else. Send her out, and we’ll leave you and all the yo
ung ones and the horses alone.”

  Abbie’s heart pounded, her mind rushing with confusion. Why on earth had these men come asking for her by name?

  “White belly scum!” Wolf’s Blood shouted back. “What kind of cowards are you to ride in and attack a woman and her children? Back shooters! Snakes! You are not men! You are women! Zetapetazhetan! Squaw killers! You touch my mother, and your gizzards will greet the sun! My father and I will see to it!”

  “You talk big, boy!” He heard more laughter. “But we know your pa ain’t here. And with your hired help dead, you’re the only one around for protection. How long do you think you’ll last against ten men?”

  Wolf’s Blood closed the shutter, his chest heaving in quick breaths. “If Father were here, he would know what to do. He could get them all!” he lamented. “I wish I knew what he would do.”

  Abbie walked toward him, her chin held high, pretending to be brave. She calmly put a hand on his arm. “You’re a brave and skilled young man, Wolf’s Blood. You’ve done just fine. And I have no doubt perhaps you could go out there and get a lot more of them. But you are my son, and I refuse to let anything happen to you. You have to remember your brothers and sisters, Wolf’s Blood. They are the important ones. You must not risk getting yourself killed and leaving them out here all alone. Now calm down and let me make the decisions.”

  “They will not touch you!” he growled, throwing off her hand and heading for the window.

  “Wolf’s Blood!” she shouted. “We must be practical. That is your father’s first law. Do what is practical for the moment, until you find a way to be the one with the upper hand.”

  The boy turned and stared at her, blinking back tears. “And what is practical?” he hissed. “To just hand you over to them?”

  Their eyes held. “Perhaps,” she replied quietly.

  “Abigail!” came a shouted voice again. They both walked closer to the window. “You have five minutes, woman. If you care about them little lice carriers you’ve got in there, you’d best come out and leave peacefullike! If you aint’ out in five minutes, we’re gonna throw a rain of torches on that little ole cabin, and by God we’ll shoot every little redskin that comes through the door. If they don’t come out, they burn to death. Is that what you want, mama?”

  Wolf’s Blood turned to the window again, opening one shutter. “Who are you? Why do you come for my mother?” he shouted.

  “Sorry, boy. Ain’t nobody supposed to know where your ma is goin’.”

  Wolf’s Blood turned to his mother, but to his surprise she walked into her bedroom. He stared after her until she returned, carrying a little jeweled music box, a gift Zeke had bought for her the first year they were married. She slowly wrapped one of Zeke’s buckskin shirts around the music box, then raised her eyes to meet her son’s.

  “Listen to me,” she said calmly. “Whatever those men have in mind for me, Wolf’s Blood, it could not bring me near the heartache I would suffer at the loss of any one of my children. We could fight these men, perhaps do very well. But in the end we would lose. And it is certain some of my children would die. You must understand a mother’s love, Wolf’s Blood. I can bear whatever these men have in mind, as long as I know my children are all right.”

  “No!” he hissed, bolting the shutter closed again.

  “Yes!” she said sternly. “I want you to do as I say, Wolf’s Blood. I am going out there. I do not want you taking any chances of getting yourself hurt or killed. The children will need you after I am gone. You will be like a father to them. Now listen, and listen well!” She stepped closer, agonizing over the pain and terror in her son’s loving eyes. “You go to the Cheyenne village and you wait there for Zeke. He can’t possibly be gone much longer. I feel it in my very bones that he is alive and is coming home soon. Don’t do a thing until he gets here. Tell him exactly what happened—that these men planned this and they knew my name. That surely means something. Tell him it’s my feeling that they are not slave traders. There is some other reason for this. Zeke will know what to do.”

  “I cannot let you go out there!” the boy pleaded, his eyes tearing more.

  “You can and you must!” she ordered. She looked down at the shirt with the little music box wrapped inside. “I will go with them,” she said quietly. “And I will wait for your father.” She moved her hand over the soft buckskin and actually smiled slightly. “He will come. I know he will come. He will find me. And until he does, I will have these things to remind me of him and keep up my hope.” She looked up at her son. “Zeke and I have been through all kinds of hell, Wolf’s Blood. We’ll get through this.”

  The boy shook his head.

  “This is my decision,” she told him. “The children must come first.” She turned and looked up at Margaret, who was peeking down at them and sniffling. “I love you,” she told the girl. “I love all of you,” she spoke up louder. “I want you to make me proud by not crying and carrying on. You must learn that in this land we do what is practical. I learned that many years ago from your father, when I was hardly any older than you, Margaret. I will be all right. I promise you that. Your father will come home soon. He will come and find me and we will all be together again.” She turned and glanced at Wolf’s Blood once more, then headed for the door.

  “No!” the boy groaned.

  “You all fixin’ to smell some smoke?” a voice came from outside. “We’re ready to use them little redskins for target practice.”

  “I am going,” Abbie told her son quietly. “Let me go, Wolf’s Blood. Please. I must do this. Don’t make me have to bury some of my children.”

  Wolf’s Blood gazed at his mother for several long seconds. Then he lowered his rifle. “We will find you!” he told her, one tear slipping down his cheek. “Father and I—we will both come for you!”

  She forced a smile for him. “I have no doubt that you will.” She touched his cheek for a brief moment, then opened the door and walked out onto the porch.

  “Well, well, pretty lady. Come on a little farther out. And send that son of yours out where we can see him. Have him throw out his rifle.”

  Abbie looked back at Wolf’s Blood, her eyes pleading again. The boy stepped outside cautiously, resignedly tossing aside his rifle. The ten men began slowly emerging from behind the shed, leading their horses. Some mounted up, while others picked up their fallen comrades and slung their bodies over their mounts to take them back with them.

  As two men rode closer to Abbie, Wolf’s Blood’s heart pounded faster. He had seen them before! He was sure of it. But where? One with several scars on his face and neck leered at Abbie, reaching down and grasping her hair.

  “You’re about the prettiest thing I ever touched,” he told her. Wolf’s Blood’s fists clenched, and Abbie jerked away.

  “What horse shall I ride?” she asked calmly.

  “Why, you’ll ride right up front here with me, white squaw woman. It’ll make my ride back real pleasant.”

  She glared at him. “I have seen you before.” She glanced at a second man, who rode up beside the first. His face was oddly deformed, as though one side had been caved in and had never healed right. She glanced at Wolf’s Blood. “Last year—Kansas,” she told her son. “These two men were with those who tried to stop us from going to the Sun Dance. I remember them. You tell your father.”

  The one with the scars laughed. “Sure, boy, you tell your pa. My orders is to take your ma, and that when your pa gets home and figures out where she is, he’s welcome to come after her, understand? You tell your pa that when he comes, he ought to be ready to talk. That’s all I can tell you, boy. Your pa will figure it out.” The man grinned. “By the way, that wolf of yours is the one that put these here scars on me.” He glanced out at the north pasture. “You’ll find the son of a bitch out there—layin’ beside your hired hand.”

  He broke into harder laughter, reaching down and jerking on Abbie’s hair, pulling her up painfully. Abbie clung to the shirt and music box w
ith one hand, while she grasped the mane of the man’s horse with the other and helped hoist herself up. The man grabbed her between the legs and gave her a boost, still laughing, and Wolf’s Blood could not control his agony. In a flash his bowie knife was out and slammed into the thigh of the man who had grabbed his mother. The man screamed out and his horse reared and moved away.

  “No, Wolf’s Blood! No!” Abbie screamed.

  In the next instant the man with the smashed face slammed a rifle butt across the side of Wolf’s Blood’s head, and the boy went down.

  “Wolf’s Blood!” Abbie screamed, struggling then to get back off the horse. But the man who had been stabbed managed to keep hold of her.

  “Let’s go!” he shouted to the others, who were all mounted then. They moved out at a gallop, hooting and yelling, thundering away just as quickly as they had arrived.

  In the north pasture, Dooley and Smoke lay dead. Wolf’s Blood lay unconscious in front of the cabin, his knife still in his hand. The doorway stood open, and little Jason, who had run away from Margaret’s grasp, hurried out onto the porch just in time to see the men riding away with Abbie.

  “Mama!” the boy sniffled. “Mama, sleep with me tonight?”

  Bonnie watched as Zeke’s body suddenly jerked in his sleep. He had been up all night helping Bonnie and her father with more wounded men and had fallen asleep late in the morning on a blanket in front of the kitchen fireplace. Bonnie watched him lovingly, taking pleasure in his strange Indian habits, wondering how on earth he could sleep on the hard floor. But he had slept there faithfully night after night in the two weeks they had been waiting for Danny to heal enough to travel.

  Bonnie sat at the table peeling potatoes. She put the knife down when Zeke jerked again, then rolled onto his back, his breathing heavy and sweat pouring from his face. She rose in alarm, worried he had somehow contracted a fever. “Zeke?” she spoke up softly.

  “No,” she thought she heard him say, his hand grasping the blanket that he lay on. She jumped back when he suddenly turned on his stomach again and reached out toward the fireplace, groaning. Then he yelled out Abbie’s name and suddenly sat up. He glanced around the room, as though confused, then caught sight of Bonnie and quickly got to his feet, standing there before her in all his manly glory, wearing nothing but a loincloth, his hair long and loose and free of ornaments. She quelled the desires he had teased since he had first arrived, for they could be nothing more than friends. She cautiously stepped closer. “Zeke? What is it?”