The travois that Walks with Moon’s mustang pulled, two shorter poles across and latched with rawhide at the horse’s withers, was loaded with the family’s possessions—rolled tipi and parfleches filled with ceremonial items, food, utensils and clothing. Behind her stretched Eagle Talon’s other fourteen horses, mostly mustangs, in a trailing tether behind two ponies, their lead rope clutched tightly by Walks with Moon. Both of those horses were laden with lodge poles, strapped to their sides and balanced equally. The horses whinnied and shuffled, as disgruntled as Eagle Talon, as the irregular long line of women and children, horses dragging travois and younger, less experienced braves and teenagers passed him, the dust from the movement softly sifting toward him.
Eagle Talon’s shoulders and neck felt stiff. I cannot wait until the shame is over but what if the Council decides to extend it? He shifted his gaze beyond the moving throng to the vast emptiness that seemed to swallow the tribe. The occasional, distant figure of a rider could be seen dipping and emerging on the gently contoured landscape, only to disappear in the next small draw. I should at least be one of the akacitas. It is bad enough I am not part of the advance scouts.
He nudged his horse forward and rode up to Walks with Moon.
“Husband.”Walks with Moon looked at him, her eyes quizzical, wider than normal and concerned.
Eagle Talon dropped his eyes from hers.
“The shame is not over,” he said, knowing her thoughts, “until the Council pronounces it so.”
Leaning sideways toward him from her mustang, Walks with Moon placed a deliberate hand lightly on his thigh. “Eagle Talon, was not Flying Arrow pleased that you discovered the dark-skinned ones? You told me that he seemed impressed by your contact with them and your gesture of friendship.”
Eagle Talon wagged his head slightly, again fixing his gaze to the north hoping to catch another glimpse of one of the scouts, perhaps riding a high ridge, scanning the horizon, protecting the tribe. As I should be. He jerked as Walks with Moon dug her fingernails into his flesh. Spurring his mustang slightly so that her hand fell from his leg, he snapped, “Why do you scratch me woman?” Immediately knowing the answer and feeling sorry for the irritation in his voice.
Walks with Moon’s lips compressed, the almond shape of her eyes narrowing. “Feeling sorry for yourself will do us no good. You made a decision with the Pawnee. You thought it was right. You saved lives, even if they were hairy-faced-ones. And you believe you’ve met your spirit brother. Then eighteen suns ago you ran into the dark-skinned ones. You’re the only warrior in this tribe who has had this kind of contact with hairy-faced-ones, and the only person to meet dark-skinned ones, though we have heard of them. Spirit has purpose in all this, Eagle Talon. Sunshine always follows rain.”
She edged her mustang next to his again, reaching out and taking his hand, placing it on the taut leather covering the now very pronounced rounding of her belly. “And our son is on the way, my husband.” She held up her other hand toward the sky, which sparkled with an early summer morning’s promise. “The sky is blue.” She smiled slightly. “If we are riding at the rear, at least you will be by your friends. You are all in shame. You’re not alone, but…” Her face grew serious. “…I know there is some greater purpose in all of this for you.”
Eagle Talon felt his shoulders slightly relax. Again, he had that feeling. There is still something, some undisclosed matter that she is not sharing. He gently rubbed her belly and tried to force a smile.
“I think, my husband, that Flying Arrow does not look pleased.” She squeezed his thigh. “Patience Eagle Talon. The shame will be over, if not at the end of this moon, then in the next. The designs of Spirit will become apparent over time. I am your wife. I believe in you. I have faith in the course Spirit has set for us.” She laid her hand lightly over his. “Nothing happens without reason. There is a destiny to be fulfilled. I know this.” She looked away. “I have heard it spoken.”
Eagle Talon felt himself jerk again. “You have heard it spoken? By who?”
Walks with Moon swallowed, her lower lip shaking slightly. “It was the night you returned, after your battle with the Pawnee. I’ve not talked about it with you because…,” looking briefly away, she searched for the right words, “you have much burdening you right now.” She raised her eyes to his. “It was Talks with Shadows.” “Talks with Shadows?” Eagle Talon snorted. “You believe in the ramblings of Talks with Shadows? I thought you and your friends often tease her about her premonitions being wrong and you, yourself told me that most of them were pretend—just an attempt by her to get attention.”
Walks with Moon returned his derisive stare with unflinching, steady eyes. “This was different.”
“Then tell me.…”
She shook her head firmly, jutting out her chin, her cheek muscles tightening, “Not now, husband. Sometime soon. Just know there is a purpose in all this.”
Eagle Talon’s mind raced, imagining but his train of thought was broken by a shout from Pointed Lance. “At least back here in the rear of the column we can talk as long as we pretend not to.”
Eagle Talon looked quickly at his friend, and then the faces of Brave Pony, Three Knives and Turtle Shield, who rode together as a pack, their families’ travois and horses separated by three or four lance lengths in which camp dogs trotted. All of his friends were smiling, but all stared rigidly ahead, none of them looking at one another. Even Pointed Lance had not turned his head while speaking.
Eagle Talon’s gaze shifted to Talks with Shadows and was surprised to see her staring at him, then Walks with Moon.
She slowed her pony, allowing Turtle Shield, her husband, to move ahead of her and then angled her horse dragging their travois toward their mounts, which were plodding forward, moving with the flow of the tail end of the village.
Talks with Shadows drew abreast of them, turning her horse parallel, a lance length away. “You have not told him fully, yet.”Walks with Moon’s mouth dropped open and she cast a startled glance at Eagle Talon, himself surprised at the other woman’s comment. Not a question, but a statement. She couldn’t have heard us. Talks with Shadows nodded her head once sharply. “That is good my friend Walks with Moon. It is not yet time.”Without another word and without looking back, she gently spurred her pony, whose pace quickened as she moved to catch up with Turtle Shield.
Eagle Talon extended a muscled bronze arm, gently but firmly wrapping his hand around Walks with Moon’s bicep. “Wife, what is this? You cannot keep such a thing from your husband.”
Walks with Moon looked at him, blinked and shook her head slowly, “As we’ve told you, it is not yet time.”
Eagle Talon felt his already simmering boil of anger and frustration rise inside of him. “Wife, by—”
Walks with Moon shook her head emphatically and then stared at him, her brown eyes earnest, “Trust me, Eagle Talon. Trust your wife. I will tell you only this.” She placed her hand, fingers spread wide, on her belly and again bit her lower lip, staring straight ahead. “We are misjudging the hairy-faced-ones.”
“You mean Ray-bec-ka and Roo-bin?” asked Eagle Talon incredulously.
“No, no.” She shook her head. “Not them. Not them at all. The many, many hairy-faced-ones that will be coming. It will not be the same for The People in ways we do not yet understand.”
Eagle Talon clenched his jaw, the wrath inside him shifting targets. “Then, we will fight them and drive them away,” he said fiercely.
Walks with Moon’s eyebrows hunched in a worried frown. “No husband, we shall not drive them away.” Then she fell silent.
Eagle Talon shielded his eyes from the sun, scanning the head of the column. The sun was high now, nearly past its midday zenith. He stared morosely up the column led by Flying Arrow’s lance pointed to the sky. Behind the Chief was Tracks on Rock, the bright colors of the beaded vest covering his broad shoulders occasionally visible as the throng of The People behind parted in their movements. Far beyond them, the
re seemed to be faint, but growing and evermore distinct, light brown twirls. Riders? The advance scouts! They must’ve found tatanka!
The billows of dust grew closer. It was indeed two of the braves posted far in front of the moving band, returning at full gallop. Flying Arrow raised a long arm in the air and the progression shuffled to a halt, various members of the tribe looking at one another with questioning stares—except he and his friends who kept their eyes fixed ahead of them.
There was a distant shout and one of the braves began to ride back alongside the line at full gallop. To Eagle Talon’s astonishment, the scout reined his horse in abruptly as he approached them, skidding to a stop in the loose sandy soil, talking excitedly, and gesturing at Eagle Talon and his friends. “Flying Arrow wants you at the head of the line immediately. You need to see something.” The brave’s face was both animated and agitated. Greatly puzzled, Eagle Talon and his friends exchanged looks with their wives and then furtively at one another.
“Let’s go,” Eagle Talon called out quietly. The five warriors spurred their ponies into a gallop along the flanks of the long trail of The People.
As they drew their horses up near Flying Arrow and Tracks on Rock, a number of other braves were gathering. Flying Arrow and Tracks on Rock’s angular features were etched in expressions of somber anger.
Turning stiffly to one of the warriors who had ridden in from an advance position, Flying Arrow commented, “Show us.” His voice was cold and emotionless.
The brave wheeled his pony and followed by the two chiefs and twenty-one warriors; the group advanced at a quick lope toward the southeast. They rode silently for several hours, the muffled sound of so many pony hooves creating a rhythm that flowed up and down the rolling hills, now covered with the gold-hued green of early summer growth. Nearing the crest of one rise, the advance scout pointed. Flying Arrow raised his hand then lowered his arm halfway. The party slowed their advance, the instinct and training of generations causing them to separate and fan out, their horses shaking their heads with impatience, moving slowly, step-by-step, toward the crest of the hill, the view beyond expanding as they ascended the rise until finally gentle swells of a valley bisected by a small creek with occasional alders, willows and two lone cottonwoods was fully visible. There was a collective gasp and several braves murmured under their breath. Eagle Talon was unsure whether he joined into the single voice of dismay. Strewn across the valley floor and rising up the cusp of higher land around the creek, were the red glistening mounds of over sixty buffalo, strewn haphazardly and grotesquely in rotting death. Their carcasses were completely intact except their hides had been removed. Eagle Talon was sure, even at a distance, that he could hear the drone of flies swarming around the spoiling meat, the animals’ insides distended with bloat from the heat. This many of our brothers would have kept the entire village for almost a winter. Who would do such a thing?
Flying Arrow squared his bony, aging shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his mustang until he was facing the line of warriors. “The scouts reported to me that, late before the last sun set, they heard the sound of many guns. They had been trailing this herd of our brothers, determining their course of travel before reporting back to us so that we could intercept them. They watched from that ridge…” his arm rose, a thin, crooked forefinger pointing with a slight tremble at a ridgeline twenty arrow flights distant…“as seven hairy-faced-ones skinned these slaughtered tatanka.” There was a catch in his voice. He paused, then swept his arm out over the expanse of bloody carcasses. “They skinned them, piled the hides in a wagon over other older hides and then moved south.” There was the slightest tremble in his voice as he added, “They took no meat. They did not clean a single animal. All the meat is now ruined. These brothers will feed no one.” He shook his head, pressing his lips together grimly.
Eagle Talon could not tear his eyes from the carnage, his stare shifting rapidly from one wasted, decaying carcass to another. Senseless. Walks with Moon’s face clouded his sight as he recalled her words. “It will not be the same for The People in ways we do not yet understand.”
CHAPTER 28
June 17, 1855
LUCKY ENCOUNTER
“SERGEANT, GET THOSE TROOPERS in line.”
“Straighten up, lads. Line up those columns.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shot up over eyes suddenly twice as large as normal. Looking down from astride the mule, she opened her mouth to speak but Israel raised his forefinger to his lips. “Shhhhh. Might be soldiers down in them thick trees close to the river,” he whispered.
He looked quickly around. A thick stand of heavy trunked cottonwoods was directly in front of them, like the icing on the cake of the horseshoe bend in the river that curved in their direction several hundred yards away. Downstream, the South Platte tapered, glistening through less dense trees in a west sinking sun, its rolling current framed by white, jagged peaks rising in the distance.
The mule stood at nervous attention; its grey-white muzzle pointed directly toward the source of the voices, one ear forward, one ear back. Lucy’s cheeks were twitching under her eyes. Reaching up, Israel set one gnarled hand on hers and squeezed.
“Israel, which side of that line you was talking about, between freeman and slaves, do you think we’re on?” Her voice was an anxious hiss.
“Don’t rightly know,” Israel answered quietly. “It’s called the Mason-Dixon line. Not sure if it even goes this far west. Weren’t nothing in the papers describing what happens to it near the mountains.” He looked furtively around. “But one thing’s for certain sure; we ain’t come this far to get turned in ‘cuz we be on the wrong side of a line some white men drew up. Let’s get over in them trees and hope those soldiers, or whoever they are, pick another route out of the stand.”
Lucy sucked in her lower lip and bit on it, nodding assent.
“We’ll get maybe twenty feet inside them trunks,” Israel breathed. “Have a little room to move and still be hidden. Hopefully, we’ll just blend into that grey bark. Let’s go! We can’t stand here in the open.”
As quietly as he could, he led Sally and his wife toward the tree line. Our clothes is mostly dull colors. He looked down at the grey, threadbare jacket that hung halfway to his knees, ‘cept Lucy’s bandanna. “Take that bandanna off, woman.”
Lucy blinked, an understanding flitting across her expression. She hastily pulled the bandanna off her wiry, salt-and-pepper hair, scrunching up the colorful cloth and holding it in her hands so it couldn’t be seen.
“By the twos, sergeant.”
“Yes, sir. By the twos, troopers. Smart about it now. Might be a general outside this tree line waitin’ to review you.” There was muffled laughter from a group of men.
Israel felt a slight lessening of anxiety when they reached the cottonwoods. Melting into the timber he looked behind him several times to make sure they would be hidden, or at least obscured by the outer band of trees to any eyes riding out into the open country where they had been just seconds before.
“Move them out, Sergeant O’Malley.”
“Yes sir. Forwaaaard ho-oooh!”
“Don’t wait for me sergeant. I will take over lead of the column once we are out away from the river.”
“Yes, sir.”
The voices were clearer now, nearer. The mule’s nostrils were flaring. Don’t be thinking about making no sounds, Sally.
Israel could hear the muted thuds of a number of horses hooves punctuated by the occasional snort and crack of branches downed by winter winds.
Now there were glimpses and flashes of blue sifting momentarily into sight, then disappearing as the riders moved through narrow alleys in the timber at what appeared to be a perpendicular angle to them. He exchanged a quick glance with Lucy.
Israel had positioned the mule’s nose into a particularly thick cottonwood trunk between them and the riders. Keep the big animal’s shape head-on rather than sideways.
A hundred yards from them, the first
of the column of riders quick stepped from the tree line, their forms and uniforms clearer outside the trees. Army, sure enough, but how many and which way they goin’ to turn?
The cavalry troops did not turn. They continued to ride straight northeast.
Some of the tightness left Israel’s shoulders. He turned to Lucy, a slight smile beginning to form, then freezing at the distinctive click of a pistol hammer being cocked.
Lucy pressed her lips together hard to stop their trembling and the mule shifted his weight from one shoulder to the other without moving.
Israel slowly leaned over, inches at a time from behind the cottonwood.
A medium height man in a blue uniform with gold buttons stood twenty feet from them. Partially concealed by a tree, he had drawn his pistol, which pointed at them from the waist. He led a dark sorrel horse draped with a blue and gold blanket underneath a saddle, to which was strapped a saber and rifle scabbard. His wide-brimmed hat had an insignia of crossed swords centered on the crown; a braided, gold headband with twin tassels wrapped the base of the crown where it met the brim.
“Who else is behind that tree with you?” The man’s voice was wary, but not hard. He wagged the muzzle of the pistol slightly. “Come out where I can see all of you.” Israel took two steps to the side leading Sally and Lucy into view. He noticed two straight golden bars on both of the soldier’s lapels. An officer.
The officer’s eyes carefully searched Lucy, scanned Israel and then roved the length of the mule. “You are not armed?”
Israel removed his hat. “No, suh; all we got is a knife for camping and filleting fish and such.”
The officer lowered his pistol but didn’t holster it. He took a few steps toward Israel. “What’s your name, where are you from and where are you going?” Israel shifted his eyes to Lucy. Let me do the talking.
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