Santa Fe Woman

by Gilbert, Morris

  “All right, Mr. Hayden. We’ll keep good watch tonight. I hope we find them.”

  Leland walked slowly back to his own wagon and joined Kate. The two of them had spoken little, and now he said briefly, “I want us to stay here at least for awhile and wait and see if Rocklin comes back with them.”

  “I’m glad we’re going to do that,” Kate said. “Leland, God’s going to help us in this. I know He is. Jesus said if we had as much faith as a grain of mustard seed, we could be heard. So let’s pray.”

  “All right,” Leland said heavily, and the two of them fell upon their knees and began to call upon God.

  * * *

  “I’M RIGHT SCARED ABOUT what’s happened to those girls, Paul.”

  Paul Molitor had come to help stand guard over the extra mounts. Callie had joined him, and both of them were thinking of the captives. It was impossible to get such things out of your mind, they had both discovered.

  “I’ve heard awful things about what Indians do to white women. I’d kill myself before I’d let the Indians have me.”

  Molitor turned to face the young woman. A strange feeling sliced through him as he saw how young and vulnerable she was. He saw the desire in her for the two captured women to be all right, and behind the worried expression a little girl’s eagerness vaguely stirred and displayed itself. There was a sweetness in this girl that somehow she had managed to keep despite her hard life. He suddenly wanted to comfort her and spoke softly, “Did you ever think, Callie, how close heaven is to us and yet how far off it is when we lift our hands to touch it?”

  “Do you really think so, Paul?” She turned to him then and for that instant something warm lay between them, strong and unsettling. Both of them were still. A thin moon lay askew in the low south, and the small creek was a dull silver ribbon freckled with the shadows of the woods. Suddenly long, undulant waves, the sound of a breeze, washed across the land, and the sad wild cry of a coyote added a note of sadness to the night. As they watched a star fell and made a brilliant scratch on the heavens and then died.

  “A falling star,” she whispered. “I always make a wish.”

  “I guess I know what it is this time.”

  “That Jori and Carleen will be all right.”

  “That’s a good wish.”

  “What will happen, Paul, if Rocklin and the Indians can’t catch up to them?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it.”

  “Do you believe in prayer, Paul—that God hears us?”

  “Yes, I do. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like it, but I believe it.”

  “I’m glad you do. I want to believe it, too.”

  “Well, we’ll believe together. God answers the prayers of bad people sometimes, I think. I haven’t been a good man, but this is a good thing to pray for.”

  “Don’t say that!” She suddenly reached out and put her hand on his chest. “You’re not a bad man. You’re a good man.”

  At that moment Paul Molitor felt something that had not touched him for years. He had known women long ago, and the sadness and the disaster of his own life had removed them from his thoughts. Now as Callie stood there, the tone of her presence was an urgency, straining against his sense of propriety.

  “We’ll pray together about it. It’s a good thing to pray about.” He saw the glow come into her eyes, and a slight happiness shaped her lips. The moonlight lay against her, brightening her eyes, and the two sat there for a long time without speaking—but each knew that something deep within had touched them both.

  * * *

  JORI WOKE UP ABRUPTLY, not in stages as she had the previous morning. She lifted her head and saw that the moon was still high in the sky. As she heard the grunts and snores of the Indians, she paid no attention to them for something had come to her. It was a fragment of a dream, and she tried to bring it back, to dredge it out of the unconsciousness. She was not sure exactly what it was. It seemed that someone had called her name, but she could not even be sure of that.

  She lay there, pinched with anxiety about the future, but still there was the matter of the dream if that was what it was. Finally it began coming back to her. It was the memory partly of Good News as he had preached the sermon, and now she could hear his voice, not literally of course but she caught even the tone of it in her spirit: “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.”

  She lay there, and suddenly she was aware that the fear had gone. This came as a great shock, for nothing had changed. Shame and dishonor and pain lay ahead of her, but fear was gone. “What is it?” she whispered, but there was no answer. Still the sensation of peace was upon her. She began to think about the words that Good News had preached. Time and time again he had said, “Look to Jesus as the Israelites looked to their brazen serpent on a pole. He can save you.”

  Finally a great sorrow came to her, and the knowledge that she had shut God out of her life was quite real. It was as real as any physical pain she had ever had, and she began to pray.

  Her prayer was disjointed, and she did not even know, at times, what she was saying in her heart. She knew she was crying out, telling God that she was sorry she had ignored Him. She asked for forgiveness and she prayed many times, “Lord, save Carleen.”

  She managed to conceal the sobs, but she knew as she lay there underneath the stars overhead that she needed Jesus Christ. She thought of all the invitations she had ignored in church and all the sermons she had paid no heed to, but now she was open, and she knew that God was listening.

  Finally she prayed, “I don’t know how to pray—but Lord Jesus come into my heart. I’ll follow You no matter if someone comes to save us or not. Whatever happens I will be obedient to You.”

  She prayed like that for a long time, and something like a warmth came to her, not a physical warmth but a sense of inner warmth. She recognized this as peace, and then she began to feel a joy, knowing that God had heard her. She began to thank the Lord God for the first time in her life….

  Chapter Twenty-one

  FOUR BEARS RODE HIS horse toward the train at a dead run. He pulled him up, his black eyes gleaming with excitement. “Up there,” he grunted, pointing to the direction from which he had come.

  “How many are there?” Rocklin asked.

  “Nine. It is Santana. I saw him myself.”

  “That’s bad news,” Rocklin murmured. “They’re probably the best of his warriors, too.”

  “They’re not the best right now,” Bear grinned. There was a ferocious quality about the Comanche. He had the spirit of battle in him, and his reputation was great among his people.

  “Why did it take so long?” Rocklin demanded, his eyes fixed on Four Bears.

  “They took time out to go on a raid. I got close enough to hear them talking. They came back with horses and firewater and two captives. They were starting to put the captives to the knife when I left. They’ll be at it for awhile.” He grinned broadly. “They’re drunk though, and we can kill them all.”

  “What about my sisters, Bear?” Mark demanded.

  Bear shrugged his beefy shoulders. “They are alive.”

  “Have they been harmed?”

  Four Bears did not answer but turned and fixed his gaze on Rocklin, waiting to hear his decision.

  Rocklin’s mind worked quickly. He glanced at Mark saying, “This is good news. If they had made it back to the village, we would have had real problems.”

  “But there are nine of them. There are only four of us.”

  “They won’t be looking for us, especially if they are drunk,” Rocklin said. Something changed in his expression, and Mark saw a determination that was usually covered by an indolent manner. “This is what we’re going to do….”

  * * *

  JORI HAD TRIED EVERYTHING she could think of to drown out the sight and the cries of the captives. The Kiowas had staked them out and done horrible
things to them. She had heard that the Indians could endure torture silently, but one of the Pawnees could not. His screams had echoed and gone into her like a knife. She had put her arm around Carleen and said, “Cover your ears up. Don’t listen.”

  The two of them had sat like that for what seemed like hours. Finally the cries died away, and when Jori eventually gathered up her courage and looked, she saw that both of the men were dead. She could not bear to look at it, but she turned her eyes on Santana. The biggest of the Kiowas, the one called Fox, was arguing with him, and instantly Jori could tell he was asking Santana for permission to take her. Fox’s eyes came to her continually, and he gestured in her direction with guttural words falling from his lips. Santana did not move, but only his will kept Fox from taking her. Jori well understood that.

  Carleen had huddled closer to her. She had endured the horror of the raid better than most adults, but now she buried her face against Jori’s breast and whispered, “I don’t want them to know it, Jori, but I’m afraid.”

  At that moment Jori was aware that the encounter she had had with God in the darkness was real. Ordinarily she herself would have been paralyzed with fear, but even though she was still in the presence of death, and her own faith was highly questionable, there was a peace in her that enabled her to say, “God is going to help us.”

  “Aren’t you afraid, Jori?”

  “I was, but last night I talked to God.”

  “Did he promise you we’d get loose?”

  “It was nothing like that. It wasn’t so much what he promised me but what I promised him.”

  “You promised him something?”

  “Yes. I promised him that I would trust him no matter what happened. He’s going to take care of us. I really believe that, and you must believe, too.”

  “Let’s both pray then.”

  “I think that’s a good thing.” Jori held the girl tightly, and the two of them called upon the God who they were now trusting to deliver them.

  * * *

  FOUR BEARS HELD UP his hand and put his finger to his lips. He made a motion and slipped off his horse. “We tie horses here and go on foot. They are over there behind those trees.”

  As they tied their horses, Rocklin questioned Four Bears about the situation. The Comanche was sure about the number, but Rocklin was bothered. “They’ll have guards out.”

  “No, not with whiskey,” Kicking Bird grinned. His eyes were dancing as if he had been invited to a party of some kind.

  Mark could not understand it, and he kept his eyes fixed on Rocklin. “How are we going to get them free, Chad?”

  “It’ll have to be quick,” Rocklin answered at once. He had been thinking about this all the way on the trail and now had no doubt. “The first thing they’ll do when we hit them is try to kill the girls.”

  Mark was alarmed. “Then how will we save them?”

  “I’ve got two pistols. Here, take my rifle.” He handed it to Mark. His voice was clear and steady, and, as he studied the man, Mark knew suddenly that this was the element that he himself lacked. They were about to kill human beings, yet Chad Rocklin showed only a determination to get the job done.

  “I’m going to go on ahead and creep up as close as I can. All of you take position and get ready. When I get close enough, I’ll kill Santana with the first shot. That’ll leave me one more. As soon as you hear my shot, open up on ’em—and don’t miss. If they have time, they’ll kill Jori and Carleen.”

  Mark was struggling with the plan. “You’re just going to kill him without warning—Santana, I mean?”

  “That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “It’s not civilized.”

  “Wake up, Mark.” Rocklin’s voice was rough. “Think what will happen to Jori and Carleen if we don’t save them. You think I can go in and have a debate with them, that I can talk them out of this? They’re drunk, and they want scalps. This is our only chance. If you can’t do it, say so now.”

  It was a moment of decision for Mark Hayden. Balanced against him was the life that he had led—soft, easy, and careless. Now he was about to be thrown into a battle in which the lives of his sisters—and, perhaps, his own—were at stake. He saw that the three men were watching him closely, and suddenly anger burned in him. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t miss. Give me your rifle.” He reached out and took the rifle and saw that Rocklin seemed satisfied.

  “Good man,” he said. “This will be all right, Mark. We’ll have them back soon.” He nodded and turned to move toward the camp.

  “Come. We move in closer,” Kicking Bird said. “We get scalps tonight.”

  Four Bears was studying Mark. “You ever kill?”

  “No.”

  Four Bears suddenly laughed soundlessly. “It is good to kill your enemies. Come, and do not miss!”

  * * *

  THE INDIANS WERE COMPLETELY drunk now. They were dancing and shouting unearthly cries. From time to time one of them would go over and use his knife on one of the corpses.

  Jori was watching Santana and Fox. She had been observing them for some time. Finally it had become clear to her that Fox was bargaining for her. She could not understand their language, of course, but the Kiowa’s glittering eyes came back constantly, and more than once he gestured to her. He held up several fingers and she guessed that he was offering the war chief horses for her and Carleen.

  “What’s he talking about, the big Indian?” Carleen whispered.

  “I don’t know, Carleen.” There was no point in alarming the girl. There was nothing she could do about it. Her hope was in Santana although she could not have said why. He had drunk some of the whiskey but not enough to make him wild, as were his warriors. Still, there was somehow a difference in him. At first he had brushed Fox away roughly, but now he was listening, and when Fox held up nine fingers his eyes came over and met those of Jori. Jori held his eyes and saw him smile. He suddenly laughed and took another drink of whiskey from the jug.

  He called out, “Now we will see if your Jesus God will save you. You will be Fox’s squaw. Take her, Fox.”

  Jori’s blood seemed to freeze as the burly Indian laughed, straightened up, and lifted his arms to the sky giving a wild cry. He turned then and started toward her. He said something in his own language that made the other Indians laugh. Several of them had turned to watch the little drama. Jori moved away from Carleen and could not speak. Fear was outside of her pushing to get in. She saw the lust in the Kiowa’s eyes and knew there was no mercy in the man, but she called out, “Lord Jesus, save me and my sister!”

  Santana laughed. “Now we will see if Jesus God is strong.”

  Fox laughed also. There was a cruelty in his features and in his expression. He reached out for her, and Jori knew there was no point in running. But before his hands touched her, a shot rang out, and Jori saw a black hole appear exactly in the center of Fox’s forehead. His eyes opened wide for a moment, and then he began collapsing. His legs seemed to be turned into rubber, and he fell to the ground bonelessly.

  Almost instantly Jori saw Santana leap to his feet and make a wild grab for his gun, but immediately shots rang out. The Kiowas were grabbing for weapons now, but at least three of them were on the ground.

  Things happened so rapidly she could not understand. She saw that the two Indians and another man had leaped into the area and were hacking at the Indians with tomahawks and knives.

  She whirled to see Santana grab a rifle and swing it toward her and pull the trigger. The shot, so close to her, was over her head, and it seemed she could hear the hissing of the bullet. She threw herself to the ground, pulling Carleen with her, and a movement caught her eye. She saw Rocklin appear suddenly. He put himself between her and the Kiowa war chief.

  Santana ignored the melee of battle going on around him. He pulled a knife from his belt and called out, “You kill my son, but now you will die! I will die happy, knowing I have killed you!”

  Santana lunged forward, the blade held out
in a sweeping right and left motion. Jori saw that Rocklin had no gun, but he whipped out the knife that he always carried at his side, and his face was fixed as he faced the charge of the Kiowa. Santana feinted, but when Rocklin moved his knife to catch the blade, he threw himself forward. Rocklin grabbed his wrists and with one swift motion drove the knife in the throat of Santana. A crimson flood burst forth, spraying Rocklin, and a cry was cut short as Santana fell backward.

  Rocklin turned, the bloody knife still in his hand and his shirt covered with the blood of the dying Kiowa. “Are you all right, Jori?” he cried out.

  “Yes.” Jori could barely speak, and she was aware that the noise of fighting had died down. Suddenly there was the scream of one of the Kiowas who threw himself forward. She saw him rising up behind Rocklin and lifting a club. Jori tried to cry out, but it was too late. The club came down on the top of Rocklin’s head, and he collapsed, falling face forward.

  Before Jori could move, Kicking Bird had leaped forward and brought the sharp edge of his tomahawk down. It caught the Kiowa in the head, making an awful sound that she would never forget. The Indian dropped, and then she heard her name being called.

  “Jori—Carleen, are you all right?”

  Jori turned to see Mark, his face pale as parchment, running toward her. His arms were out, and she fell into them, and Carleen joined them. He held them, and she saw that he was weeping. “We’re all right,” she said. She pulled loose and fell on her knees beside Rocklin. He had been wearing his soft hat, and when she removed it, she saw the terrible wound. The top of his skull was indented, and the bones of his skull were shown whitely.

  “Chad—” she cried but could say no more.

  Kicking Bird had stooped and ripped the scalp off the Indian who had struck Rocklin. He looked at it with satisfaction, then came forward and looked down. He saw the terrible wound in the top of Rocklin’s skull and shook his head. “He will die, but he died bravely.”

  “No, he won’t die!” Jori cried. She held his bloody head to her breast and repeated defiantly, “He won’t die. God, You mustn’t let him die!”