Meet the New Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  Bonnie took a deep breath. The thought of Joshua actually coming face-to-face with Charles Garvey—even arguing with him—made her tremble. She prayed he would have sense enough to keep his secret until the time was right.

  Zeke and Wolf’s Blood headed back north with another load of skins and government supplies. Zeke breathed easier now. Wolf’s Blood had made it to Fort Lyon and had given the message to Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen. In return he had learned from Sergeant Daniels that the family all were well, a great relief to Zeke. It wouldn’t be long now. Petersen would get word to a contact in St. Louis, who would investigate West Enterprises. The soldiers were now aware of some of the most secret routes, and also that the aide at Camp Supply, Peter Holbrook, was assisting in the illegal trading. He would also be closely watched, for there were other shipments he helped with besides those coming from Julius Rage, most of them also originating with West Enterprises and ending up there. No matter what happened now to Julius Rage, West Enterprises and Peter Holbrook would still be caught and arrested. It was good to know that there were a few things the soldiers were trying to do right, even though it concerned Indians already forced onto a reservation. The whiskey only kept tensions high, and although this plan would eliminate some of the trading, Zeke knew whiskey would still get into the hands of his brothers, who had nothing left besides the white man’s firewater to bring excitement and wild freedom to their souls. But he had at least done something to help stop the rotgut drink that was killing his red brothers. The most satisfying part was that he had exposed greedy white men who were making money off government supplies and desperate red men who practically sold their souls for whiskey and guns. The whites had beaten and murdered Indians, stolen their land, forced them onto hated, barren reservations; then turned around and stole from them even more, taking valuable hides in return for killing whiskey, taking advantage of the Indians’ ignorance of the white man’s greedy trickery.

  Zeke smiled. Now an Indian had performed his own trickery on such white men. Zeke Monroe and his son had totally won the confidence of Julius Rage, and by doing so would expose the man for what he really was.

  All they needed to do now was deliver this load of goods. He was slightly ahead of schedule, due at the Rage ranch by the eighth of July. Plans were for Sergeant Daniels and a company of men to raid the ranch on the tenth of July, finding the skins and government goods in Rage’s barn, all the evidence they needed. By that time Zeke and Wolf’s Blood would not be around, and their identity and location would never be given to Rage. Rage would be told the two had been arrested and then killed trying to escape, and that would be the end of it. Zeke wanted no connections between Julius Rage and his own family. Things had gone so well that he and Wolf’s Blood had found a couple of days to hole up on the Cimarron River, relaxing, talking about wives and family, and each dreaming his own thoughts of what he would do when he got home. Their mission would be accomplished, and they would have money in their pockets.

  Zeke counted his days, arriving on Rage land on the eighth of July as planned. The two big wagons clattered through the gate to Rage’s thousands of acres and rattled on for the two-mile trek from the gate to the buildings. The two of them headed for the barn, where Zeke spotted Frank Dole taking a bridle from his horse. The man looked up and waved, and Zeke waved back. Dole hurriedly opened the barn doors for them, and Zeke and Wolf’s Blood pulled the wagons inside, their own horses tied to the backs. Dole closed the door while Zeke and Wolf’s Blood climbed down.

  It was then that Julius Rage stepped out from behind several bales of hay, wielding a rifle at Zeke and Wolf’s Blood. Dole latched the barn doors, turning and pointing his six-gun at the two. A man called Huston also stepped forward, pointing an ugly-looking shotgun at father and son.

  Zeke and Wolf’s Blood stood still, wary, surprised. What had gone wrong?

  “Have a good trip, Lone Eagle?” Rage asked the man.

  Zeke studied the man coldly, keeping his hands visible, glancing at Wolf’s Blood quickly to warn the boy to keep quiet and let him talk. He faced Rage again, as Dole stepped closer, standing behind Zeke and Wolf’s Blood.

  “Best trip we’ve had yet,” Zeke answered him. “What the hell is this all about, Rage? The goods are on the wagons, like always. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Haven’t you?” The man shifted nervously. He had the upper hand, but this man called Lone Eagle and his vicious-looking son were men of obvious skill. He could not take any chances. “Why did your boy ride to Fort Lyon this time around, Indian?” the man demanded.

  Wolf’s Blood looked surprised but kept quiet. Zeke just frowned. “Who says he did?” he asked.

  Rage grinned. “Dole saw him—followed him.” The man signaled for Dole to take Zeke’s and Wolf’s Blood’s guns from their sides. “You see, Indian, just as you once told me you don’t make friends with the men you do business with, neither do I. Nor do I ever fully trust them. You had done a fine job for me, but that meant nothing. So I told Dole to tag alone this time—make sure all you did was go straight south and come right back. But your son there took a little side trip of his own, while you went on south with the wagons. Dole followed him—all the way to Fort Lyon. And I am very interested in hearing your explanation of why he went there.”

  Zeke lowered his arms carefully, as Dole took his gun and Wolf’s Blood’s, throwing the weapons into a corner. Their rifles were on the wagons. The only weapons they had were their knives, and for some reason Dole didn’t take them. Apparently these white men didn’t consider knives a weapon to worry about, not against guns. Zeke grinned inwardly. He needed no gun when he had his knife at his side.

  “I don’t owe you any explanations for anything,” Zeke said coolly. “If you think I’m stupid enough to pass up a good deal like I’m getting here, think again. You think I’ve betrayed you. Well I haven’t. It just so happens there is a little Mexican girl at Fort Lyon that my son gets a need for from time to time. He’s young and eager. What handsome young buck his age doesn’t need to get rid of his desires once in a while? I can’t control something like that.”

  Rage scowled, eyeing Wolf’s Blood. “That true?”

  The boy grinned in a bitter sneer. “She is the grateful kind. Sometimes I burn for her so much that if I do not go there I think maybe I will grab the first white woman who comes along and violate her.”

  Rage chuckled but kept his rifle on them. “And what about the whore down in Texas? I thought that was your woman.”

  Wolf’s Blood eyed him haughtily. “What man keeps just one woman when he is married to none?”

  Rage studied them closely, still wary. “What man keeps just one woman, even when he is married?” he replied. The other men laughed, but Zeke and Wolf’s Blood just glared at them. Rage sobered, backing up a little. “I think I’ll make double sure you’re telling the truth. Personally I don’t believe you.” He motioned to Dole, who had been standing behind Zeke and Wolf’s Blood and had quietly picked up a shovel. The man abruptly slammed the shovel into Wolf’s Blood’s lower back, buckling the boy’s knees, then whacked the shovel across the back of his head.

  Zeke whirled at the movement, grabbing the shovel and wrenching it from Dole in a fierce rage, yanking the man around in front of him as he tried to cling to the shovel handle. The movement was so fast that Huston panicked and fired the shotgun before waiting for Dole to be free of Zeke. The pellets ripped through Dole, opening up his back. Zeke pushed the man from the shovel toward Rage and Huston, part of his own side catching some of the shotgun pellets, his flesh and a side of his buckskin shirt ripped away. Blood began immediately running from his side as he ducked and rolled toward several bales of hay, crawling as fast as a centipede behind the hay. Rage and Huston immediately moved back behind hay themselves, Rage cursing at Huston for being too quick on the trigger.

  “We’d have had him if you’d waited for Dole to let go, you stupid son of a bitch!” the man growled, afraid now for his own life. Th
ey had injured Lone Eagle’s son, and Rage did not like the look in the father’s eyes—the kind of look that told of a man who would kill before he let himself die of whatever wounds he might suffer. Rage’s idea had been to lash Wolf’s Blood with a bullwhip until his father told the truth. Those plans were foiled now. Both must die, and the buffalo robes and government goods had to be shipped out right away. But first they had to get out of the barn, and Lone Eagle had grabbed up a six-gun as he moved behind the hay bales. Rage had no idea how many bullets were in the gun, but Lone Eagle’s ammunition belt had been removed, so he could not reload. The man still wore a knife, but what good was a knife against their guns and rifles?

  “Want me to try to sneak out and get more men?” Huston asked.

  “Hell no! I don’t want the others knowing what’s going on or what’s in those wagons!” Rage hissed. “And if you try to get out, he’ll kill you. Let him make the first move!”

  Wolf’s Blood lay on his stomach, groaning, everything a blur, his body screaming with pain.

  “Come on out, Lone Eagle, or I’ll blow your son’s brains out!” Rage shouted. “I’ve got my rifle right on him!”

  The only reply was silence. Wolf’s Blood lay still, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to remember what had just happened.

  “You’ll die either way, Rage,” Zeke finally answered, his voice calm and determined. On the inside he was exploding with a need for vengeance. His son lay badly injured. He had gotten Wolf’s Blood into this and he would not forgive himself if the boy’s injuries were irreparable. It mattered little that a great deal of flesh had been blown away from his own ribs and he was bleeding badly. The important thing was to get these men. Zeke and Wolf’s Blood had to flee the ranch without either of them being killed. He could only pray that his own loss of blood would not weaken him or make him pass out before the deed was done. But one thing was certain, it had to be done and quickly too.

  He let out a war whoop and stood up, running fast across the top of the bales of hay, yelling blood-curdling Indian yelps and firing the six-gun rapidly as he moved. Zeke kept ducking and moving, making himself a difficult target for Rage and Huston, neither of them a good aim and both of them in a panic. They didn’t pay any attention to Wolf’s Blood for the moment. The boy was surely injured badly enough that they could finish him off later. It was the father who demanded their attention at the moment. Julius Rage knew instinctively that even wounded, Lone Eagle was not a man to deal with lightly. He was a warrior at heart, and now he fought like one, cunning and devilish, using fright as just as strong a weapon as his gun.

  The barn was suddenly silent again, and Rage and Huston searched the hay bales above, where they had seen Zeke running and ducking. They heard nothing now, and gripped their rifles nervously, paying no attention to Wolf’s Blood at all.

  “Where the hell is he?” Huston whispered angrily.

  “He’s up there—the loft,” Rage answered. “And I counted. He used six bullets. He’s got none left, and he’s hurt besides. He won’t last much longer. Just keep your eyes open.”

  “I don’t like this,” Huston fumed. “Why in hell did you have Dole hit the boy? That was stupid!”

  “Shut up and listen!” Rage growled.

  Something fell to the right side of the loft and Huston fired off three rapid shots at the noise. At the same time a chilling scream came from behind them. In the next moment a big Indian was on top of Julius Rage from behind, knocking the man forward. The rifle fell from Rage’s hands. Huston whirled to take aim at Zeke, but a strong arm grabbed him from behind, around the throat. A shining Bowie knife was slammed into his heart. Wolf’s Blood moved back and threw the man’s body to the floor. Meanwhile Zeke yanked Julius Rage around onto his back, just in time to see Huston falling, his chest ripped open, a wobbly Wolf’s Blood standing there with a bloody knife and a grin on his face.

  Rage’s eyes bulged. He looked up at Zeke, who straddled him, his hand grasping Rage’s hair, his big knife pressed against the man’s cheek, the tip of it near Rage’s eye.

  “You would have been better off letting us go, my friend!” Zeke growled. “An Army prison would have been much better than what I will do to you for hurting my son!”

  The first thing to go was Julius Rage’s larynx, so that he could not scream. The rest was done more quickly than Zeke would have preferred, for few of his enemies died without great suffering first. But more men might come at any time. They had to get away. But he would have his vengeance first. To hell with civil courts and white man’s laws. There was only one way to deal with men like Rage. The West might be becoming more civilized, but to men like Zeke, laws and courts meant nothing. He had his own laws.

  He wiped his knife on Rage’s fine silk suit, then shoved it back into its sheath. Wolf’s Blood stood holding onto a support beam, panting with pain. Their eyes held, and the boy’s fell to the mass of blood at his father’s side. His eyes widened.

  “Father! You are wounded!”

  “No worse than you. Let’s get the hell out of here. More men will come any time. Can you ride?”

  The boy stumbled toward his father and they supported each other as they walked to the wagons. “I am not sure,” he answered.

  “You may have to do some trick riding on the way out of here, Wolf’s Blood. Those gunshots are sure to draw more men. We’ve got to bolt out of here fast and make for Fort Lyon, hole up wherever we find a good place to rest and hide. What happens here happens. They’ll probably send men after us, but if we can make it to Fort Lyon we’ll be all right. We had a right to kill those men.”

  Wolf’s Blood nodded. “The pain in my back … it will be hard to ride,” he said, his voice sounding weak.

  “I’m damned sorry, Son. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Everything went so smoothly. I never expected this.”

  They untied their own mounts, and Zeke quickly grabbed their extra supplies and rifles from the wagons. He helped a dizzy Wolf’s Blood to mount up, then went to his own horse, finding it difficult to get on its back. Every muscle seemed to be giving up. The blood was draining his strength with each trickle that left his body.

  “Father, you are bleeding badly,” Wolf’s Blood lamented. “I am afraid for you.”

  “I’ll make it. I promised your mother I’d be back.” He turned his horse and rode up to the barn doors, lifting the wooden latch and peering out carefully. Several men had gathered around the house not far away and were headed for the barn with rifles. “Men are coming,” he told his son quietly. “As soon as we get through the doors, ride hard to the left, Wolf’s Blood. Are you able to hang on and jump a couple of fences?”

  “I … have no choice,” the boy answered. “I am a warrior … and have fought with Dog Soldiers. I can … do it.”

  “We’ve got to ride fast and hard for a few minutes till we get to the hills south of here. You ready?”

  The boy breathed deeply, his back and head reeling with black pain. “I am ready. I draw on the spirits within. Let’s go, Father.”

  Zeke pulled open the door, shoving it aside and charging out. “Hai! Hai!!” he shouted to his Appaloosa, slapping his reins against the animal’s neck and kicking its flanks. The dependable mount turned out in a thundering gallop, while somewhere behind him Zeke could hear shouts to stop. Wolf’s Blood’s mount was suddenly beside him then, both animal’s manes and tails flying as behind them they could hear gunshots. Both men lay flat toward the horses’ necks, leaping a fence and riding on, hanging sideways then to dodge more bullets, clinging to manes as the animals leaped yet another fence. In moments they were out of range of the guns, and sod flew as they headed for the hills to the South.

  The small company of soldiers drew up in front of the Monroe house, and Morgan came running from the barn while Abbie came from her garden, dropping a hoe and walking quickly to the house. Zeke should have been back by now. She did not like the ominous presence of the soldiers. A lieutenant dismounted, asking Morgan if Mrs. Mon
roe was home.

  Abbie came around the corner of the house, and the men stared. She wore an Indian tunic, her preference in the summer, much cooler and more comfortable than conventional white woman’s clothing. Most of the fairly new recruits had seen Zeke and Wolf’s Blood and had imagined the wife and mother must be Indian. They did not expect the beautiful white woman who came up on the porch.

  “I am Mrs. Monroe,” she told the lieutenant. “Is something wrong?”

  The man removed his hat. “Ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Young, from Fort Lyon. Your husband and son are at the fort. Your son asked me to come and get you. Your husband is too sick to travel, or we’d have brought him here instead.”

  Her chest tightened. No! He promised this would not be the time! “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, ma’am, I don’t know all the details. I wasn’t told what he was supposed to be doing for Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen. I only know he and your son were both wounded. Your son will be all right, though. But your husband took some buckshot on his left side, lost a lot of flesh and it got infected.” Sonora was running toward them then, carrying Kicking Boy.

  “How bad is it?” Abbie asked cautiously.

  “It’s hard to say, ma’am. The doc had to burn some of it out. He had a bad time of it.”

  “They did that without me there?” she asked angrily. “Someone should have come to get me sooner!”

  “Your husband asked us not to, ma’am. Figured he’d be fine soon and would just come home. I think he was just wanting to spare you the worry, ma’am.”

  “What is it?” Sonora asked. “What is wrong?”

  “It’s all right, Sonora,” Abbie told her, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Zeke and Wolf’s Blood were wounded, but they say Wolf’s Blood is fine. He stayed at the fort because he didn’t want to leave his father. Zeke is sick, Sonora. I’m going to him.”