“Hydrophobia?” Rebecca gasped. “Here, in America?” “The disease is everywhere Rebecca,” said Zeb quietly, drawing the next stitch closed across the wound. “Some say it comes from the mouth juices of an animal that’s sick.”
“In England, the common people believed it was a monster that spread it, a very grim monster.”
Shaking his head, Zeb kept his hands still for a moment. “Well, it’s monstrous, that’s for sure. People that gets it, die.”
“That’s cheerful,” Johannes muttered, his words barely decipherable as he mouthed them through the stick clenched in his jaw.
A surge of anxiety shot through Rebecca as she thought of the amputee she had seen in England, his limb cut off because of the disease. He had died despite the extreme attempts by doctors to save his life. “How… how do you know somebody’s contracted it?” she asked.
“Takes about two weeks,” Zeb said, his voice flat, “and then you know. It ain’t pretty. When I first came out here, trapped with a young fella about as dumb as I was. We was together about six months. Damn fool set a beaver trap in a bank hole ‘stead of the water. Reached in to check it a few days later, and got bit by a raccoon. Two weeks later, he came down with the hydrophobia sickness.”
“What happened to him?” Rebecca felt queasy. “Did he die?”
“Yep, he did. In the end, he asked me to shoot him, but by the time I made my decision, I didn’t have to.”
“Heartening,” came Johannes’ muffled voice again.
Zeb straightened. “That’ll do it, Johannes. You’re all stitched up as best I can. Rebecca, sprinkle some whiskey on there. Johannes, it’s gonna sting like all get out.”
Johannes’ body tensed, then shook as Rebecca applied the whiskey to the series of stitches encircling the calf in two ragged lines. “I’m pretty sure the only thing he got was skin and muscle and nothings broke. It’ll grow back. You oughta ride in the wagon for a few days so the bleeding stops and them stitches firm up. As they dry, they’ll draw that skin together even more.”
Johannes freed his hands from the trunk handle, reaching down and taking the stick out of his mouth. “We ought to give you the title, Doctor Taylor.”
Zeb chuckled. “I’ve been called worse.”
Reuben reached down, patting Johannes’ shoulder. “Looks like you have a few days off, Viking.” He turned to Philippe. “Why don’t you go on up and tell Michael everything’s fine down here. Poor kid’s eyes were so wide when we carried Johannes out of the trees, they ran from his hat to his chin.”
Philippe chuckled. “Sí, Señor Reuben. When I left, he had his pistol out and was moving his head around watching for another bear so fast I thought he might break his neck.” The three men laughed.
Men. Rebecca shook her head disgustedly. Not funny.
Johannes started to roll over but Zeb put a hand on his back. “Nope, stay on your belly. Let them stitches set for an hour, then you can turn over. Rebecca, real careful like, wrap his whole calf in that gauze from the pouch. Try not to touch the wounds with your hands.” Zeb held up the nearly empty glass whiskey flask. “After his leg is wrapped, sprinkle just a dab of this whiskey on the gauze. Hopefully, there’ll be a little left if we need it. I’m gonna head up and skin that bear, and maybe cut some slabs of meat out of the rear haunches of that cow if it ain’t spoiled.”
“Do you eat bear, Zeb?” Rebecca asked.
“Yep. I don’t recommend it in the spring when they’ve come out of their winter sleep but it can be tasty in the fall, particularly if they been feeding on berries.”
The sounds of Philippe and Reuben riding away at a lope receded from the wagon. Zeb stood, turning to Sarah, “You said you wanted to talk?”
Rebecca turned her head and looked at Sarah, their eyes briefly locking. Sarah quickly shifted her gaze to Zeb. “Yes. Please Zeb, let’s do.”
Pointing out the rear of the wagon, Zeb suggested, “There’s a flat rock over yonder about fifty yards in the sun. Let’s stroll out there and set for a while; then I’ll head back up and do what needs to be done.”
Rebecca watched the two of them walk toward the rock, several feet separating them as they moved.
“I’m done now, Johannes.” Rebecca shoved the cork back into the whiskey bottle.
Johannes breathed in deeply and exhaled. “Whew, glad that’s over.”
“I think Zeb did a fine job. He was very careful.”
Johannes chuckled. “But none too delicate.” The Dane partially lifted his head, rolling his eyes back toward her. “You have a really good man there in Reuben, Rebecca. I’m happy things have worked out for the two of you better than it did for me and Inga. And, you’ll have a child to share soon, too. Can’t get much better than that.”
Thinking of Inga’s unborn child, a child Johannes had never known, a welling of guilt gripped her chest. “You need to rest. Reuben has decided to camp here for the night. The trail gets narrower toward Little Medicine and there are only a few hours of daylight remaining. If Zeb’s shortcut works, sometime in the coming days we are going across what he calls the Divide. He says on the other side every drop of water runs to the Pacific, and on this side all water runs to the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico.”
“The Continental Divide? Well, I’ll be in the saddle for that!”
“But Johannes—”
Johannes cut her off, “I’ll be fine, Rebecca. Had far worse and besides…” he turned his face to the blanket with a wide smile, “I’m not missing it. Not many times in a man’s life does one get to cross the divide of a continent.”
CHAPTER 37
June 23, 1855
DREAM DANCER
Kneeling, Walks with Moon extended her arms, pressing the sharp-edged granite stone hard against the buffalo hide stretched between cottonwood stakes imbedded in the ground and drew the stone back toward her knees. Soon, the hide, laying hair side down on the early summer grass and already stripped of its blood, fat and tissues, would be ready for a vigorous rubbing of mashed and boiled tatanka brains.
Pausing to let her arms rest, she shifted slightly, spreading her knees to give the pronounced rounding of her belly more room as she bent over the hide. Waving one hand to brush away the flies that buzzed around her and hummed above the boiled brain emulsion, she smiled at Eagle Talon sitting cross-legged in front of their tipi. “I am pleased you managed to kill one of our brothers even though hunting alone. We now have two tatanka for winter, the one Soaring Eagle gave to us when you were away and this one that Spirit provided today.”
Shifting his stare from off into the distance, Eagle Talon scanned the hide and then his wife’s figure, lingering on the tight leather around her middle. “I would like to help you, Walks with Moon. This is much work for you when carrying our child.”
“Thank you, husband, but this is not the work of a brave.” She smiled. “Besides, Pony Hoof finished tanning their last robe just two days before she gave birth to their daughter. I will not have my friends thinking I am weak or spoiled.” She thrust her chin out to where their ponies grazed. One, a handsome, muscular tobiano mustang, limped, dragging its right rear hoof as it moved slowly through the grasses. “How is your horse today?”
Eagle Talon shook his head slowly. “The horn did not bury itself too deeply. I do not think any damage was done, other than the ripping of some muscle and hide. I cleaned it and packed it with plantain poultice.” He studied the pony. “The next sun or two will tell the story. If the bleeding stops and there is no infection, all will be fine. If not…” his eyes squinted, “I will have to open and re-clean the wound. He will not be able to be ridden until we get back to winter camp, perhaps later.” He shook his head sadly. “My best horse.”
Walks with Moon wiped the sweat from over her eyes with her forearm, hunching down again over the staked hide, remembering part of the story Eagle Talon told her the night before. One of our brothers detached himself from the rest of the herd. I rode quickly to within three lance lengt
hs. The first arrow was behind the shoulder, perhaps a bit high. He stumbled. The second arrow, in his neck above the shoulder, found its mark. He went down and then rolled to his side, spilling much blood.
“Tell me the story again, beginning where your mustang protected you,” she requested, knowing it pleased him to recount his pony’s bravery.
Eagle Talon smiled at her. “I dismounted,” he said, “and had already drawn my knife when the bull lunged to his feet.”
With his finger, he traced the story in the sand between his crossed knees.
“Hunting alone, there were no other riders to distract him. The bull turned quickly, charging at my pony. Bravely, he stood between us, jumping away at the last moment, but a horn tore through the back part of his haunch.”
Eagle Talon shook his head, remembering. “Fortunately, I had my lance.” He added disgustedly, “At least I had that much presence of mind. The tatanka collapsed to its forelegs. I thrust the lance into the back of his neck.”
Absorbed in the story, Walks with Moon stopped scraping the last bits of residue.
“You know the rest…” he said, raising his eyes to hers.
They both fell silent. The only sounds were the soft sigh of a gentle breeze, just strong enough to bend the very tips of the grasses, the distant, almost inaudible murmur of the creek and the wet scrape of the rock against the hide.
“It is now two suns past the end of the first moon since the Council’s decree. It is obvious they are not going to lift it.” His voice was flat, but Walks with Moon detected the concealed disappointment in his tone.
Fighting the impulse to look at him, she concentrated instead on the hide. “Have you given any thought to what we might name our son?”
“You keep insisting that we will have a son, Walks with Moon. This seems based entirely on the ramblings of Talks with Shadows from the little you’ve told me.”
Walks with Moon paused, then resumed her draw of the stone. His frustration and the injury to the horse have made him ill-tempered. “Well, husband, if it is a daughter we shall choose a different name, but what name would you prefer for a son?”
Eagle Talon’s silence prompted her to look back over her shoulder at him. His stare at her was hard until their eyes met, then his bronzed features softened and his lips lost their tight press. He knows I’m trying to distract him and he is pleased.
Eagle Talon reached over to the small leather pouch filled with pemmican she had set beside him, gathering some of the dried meat in his fingers, tipping his head back and dropping it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “If Spirit blesses us with a son, and Talks with Shadows’ visions are for once proven correct,” he chuckled “then I think we should name him Dream Dancer.”
Walks with Moon let go of the rock, straightening up and looking at him for a long moment. “Dream Dancer,” she repeated slowly, and smiled. “A fine name, Eagle Talon.”
Eagle Talon grinned back at her. “And when, wife, may we expect…” he paused, “…our son to join us?”
“I don’t know exactly, husband,” feeling the heat rise in her face. “There could have been many times when we began his life. Eagle Talon’s smile broadened and he nodded his head, “I have talked with Turtle Dove. We believe it will be in canwapegi wi, when the leaves begin to golden, perhaps during our journey back to winter camp.” Eagle Talon nodded, the smile leaving his face. “Let us hope that by that time the father of Dream Dancer will once again ride in front, as the eyes of the People, so that his son will be proud.”
The sun was low to the horizon, casting long shadows on the grasses surrounding the camp, patches of shade in ever-growing crescent shapes on the east faces of the gentle swells of plains. Walks with Moon had begun rubbing the brain mash into the hide to soften the leather. Restless after having visited the mustang, Eagle Talon rose from where he was seated cross-legged in front of the tipi, his mind on the injured tobiano. The bleeding has stopped, but the outer edges of the gore is forming puss and the pony’s muzzle is warm. If it is no better when the sun rises, I shall have to open and re-clean the wound and repack it with a new poultice.
The sound of a horse approaching at a lope arrested his attention. Three Cougars! The brave slowed his horse at a nearby lodge, leaning far over its side to speak with Talks with Shadows, Turtle Shield’s wife. Three Cougars straightened, digging his heels and directing the pony toward their tipi at a fast trot.
Eagle Talon halted his stride out toward the injured pony. Three Cougars looked at him, then quickly away, instead reining in the mustang next to Walks with Moon. “Fine hide, Walks with Moon. It will make a good robe.”
Holding one hand out to block the setting sun, Walks with Moon looked up at the brave. “Thank you, Three Cougars.”
Studiously avoiding Eagle Talon, who was now just a lance length away, Three Cougars spoke to Walks with Moon, pointing behind him, “Tell Eagle Talon that the Council is assembling. He is summoned by Flying Arrow and Tracks on Rock.”
Walks with Moon’s eyes widened as she and Eagle Talon exchanged quick glances. “What is it about Three Cougars?” she asked, an equal mixture of concern and hope in her voice.
“The Council has not confided in me, Walks with Moon. But they expect Eagle Talon, Pointed Lance, Brave Pony, Three Knives, and Turtle Shield when the sun can no longer be seen.” His eyes rose involuntarily to Eagle Talon, again quickly averting his gaze. “Please tell Eagle Talon.” He wheeled his pony, urging it into a lope in the direction of Brave Pony’s lodge.
Walks with Moon looked up at Eagle Talon from where she knelt, a slight quiver in her lips. “Husband, do you suppose…”
“It can only be one of two things, Walks with Moon,” Eagle Talon interrupted her. “They will lift the shame, or they will not,” he said.
Eagle Talon sprang from his mustang by the Council Lodge. He had hurriedly braided eight feathers into his hair, cleaned his hands from the stains of his horses’ wound, and had rubbed himself with sage. His four friends had already arrived, their horses milling around the lodge. All the warriors stood stiffly, not looking or talking to one another, their faces anxious. The highest lines of the gentle ridges around the camp glowed with a fading golden sheen. Like the fringe of deer leather in sun. Daylight was remembered only by the slightest of shallow halos of fading rose to the west.
The lodge flap opened roughly and the wizened face of Horse’s Leg, one of the Council members, poked out, looking at each of them in turn. “Come,” he commanded.
When none of the other braves moved, Eagle Talon swallowed, walking the few steps to the lodge entry, bending slightly to enter. Straightening, he looked ahead to avoid the faces of the Council members, shuffling slightly to the side as the other braves entered, until all five of them stood in a nervous line near the small fire burning in the center of the lodge.
“The Council has discussed your situation and has come to a decision,” pronounced Flying Arrow. There was a long silence. Eagle Talon used all his willpower not to seek out the source of the deep, authoritative voice.
“We have decided your period of shame is over with the rise of the next sun.” Eagle Talon heard the exhale of tension from Brave Pony beside him. “We have further decided that your actions were brave, but reckless. Therefore, the coup each of you counted will be half recognized and half forsaken. Perhaps in the future you will remember the lack of feathers in your hair when it comes time to make a decision.”
But I have five coup, how does one wear half a feather? Eagle Talon could feel his great chief ’s eyes on him. Flying Arrow, as if reading his mind, answered. “Those of you who counted coup in an odd number shall take the lesser number of feathers than one half.” An extra punishment because it was I who talked the other braves into attacking the Pawnee.
“Brave Pony, Pointed Lance, Three Knives and Turtle Shield, you may return to your lodges. Eagle Talon, you will remain.”
What is this?
The four warriors who had been dismissed
circled the lodge fire sun-wise, keeping their eyes straight ahead and then quickly exited, their relief and desire to be away from the Council evident in their haste.
When the sound of their ponies could be heard no more, Eagle Talon lifted his eyes and, for the first time in over a moon, searched the faces of the Council. All were turned to him, firelight heightening the reddish-brown chasms of their aged skins. Tracks on Rock spoke, “Our advance scouts happened on the bodies of three Cheyenne warriors. They had been shot, stripped of their clothing and beads, and scalped. The tracks surrounding their bodies were shod hooves. Two of them were shot in the back.”
The faces looking up at Eagle Talon were somber— worried. Flying Arrow shifted his cross legged position slightly. “The waste of our tatanka brothers we saw seven suns ago? And now the killing of the three Cheyenne? The scouts say they appeared to be watering their horses when they were attacked, nothing more. These are bad omens. We must know more about the hairy-faced-ones— what they plan, how many there are and how they think.”
Tracks on Rock spoke in a low tone, “Do you know in what direction the white eyes you met, Roo-bin and his woman, went?”
Eagle Talon slowly shook his head. “I did not ask. I only knew from Spirit that we would meet again.” Several of the Council members turned to one another. There was a murmur of low voices. Tracks on Rock threw several sticks on the lodge fire. The flames leapt higher, heightening the intensity of the shadows playing on the hides of the lodge.
“Turtle Dove has told me that the hairy-faced-one of many winters ago, the tall one to whom we taught the ways of Spirit and the land, Zeb-Riah, was with Roo-bin.
Eagle Talon nodded, surprised.
“We know Zeb-Riah traps in the lands of the Ute, where water turns rock red. The Council has not decided, but we wish to know if you would be willing to seek out this man you believe is your spirit brother and see if he will share his knowledge of the white eyes with you.”
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