At the beginning of her captivity, she had prayed for deliverance, thinking her children were out there somewhere waiting for her on the big red horse. Still, God had chosen not to deliver, and she had finally said, ‘Not my will but yours, Lord,’ and put the whole matter into His hands.
Tillie was a dreamer and had high hopes for their future. She had envisioned giving this sin-filled world two young and energetic lives that would make a difference for good. But that was not to be...somewhere out there in this beautiful wilderness, their bones lay a testament to her hollow hopes and dreams. She had brought them out into this savage land only to perish a horrible death at the hands of wild Indians or beasts and that one thing grieved her more than her present condition. Her adventurous nature always ready to strike out on a new direction had cost her family their lives. Now she had no reason to live.
The squaws chattered at her in their language, beating her with their cane poles until she would pass out, or they grew tired of their hateful game. Today they lead her back to the river’s edge where the buffalo hides hung. She would try scraping the hides with only a dull piece of metal from a wagon wheel or a muscle shell. They pulled her along with the rope tied around her neck. Every time she fell, the squaw would drag her along until she was able to regain her footing.
Elam watched the procession from his new hiding place. A twinge of anger shot through him as he watched her fall, get up and fall again. All the while the fat squaw kept a tight pull on the rope while two others squaws beat her with cane poles.
‘How evil wuz this tribe? They had no compassion. Any poor soul that had fallen into their hands must have longed for death before it came,’ Elam reflected.
The Indian got up from the log where he had sat, letting the wind dry him off, leaving the holster and pistol laying on the log. Uncoiling the whip, he swished it back and forth as he walked out to meet the squaws. When they saw him, the squaws paraded their victim as before a mighty warrior. The Indians spoke in their dialect as the squaw relaxed the rope tension and stepped away from Tillie, who slumped to the ground heaving heavily from the choking. Suddenly in poor but articulate English, the Indian brave addressed Tillie, “You not lib’ much long--white eyes. I hab you hair on spear. You want lib, you be my squaw, din you lib. You not be my squaw, I hab rest of yellow hair--now you say!”
Elam readied his bow and notched an arrow. He was shocked that the Indian could speak English, and he knew from his course voice she was given an ultimatum. If she refused his advances, he would scalp her and let her die a slow and painful death.
Fully extended, the arrow sat against his cheek. Elam followed the Indian as he moved back and forth in front of Tillie. The only shot he had between two saplings was, at best, a lucky shot. His position was not good, but with the slightest movement, they would see him and the Indians would sound the alarm. He needed to silence these four, which would give him time to get her down the river before they were detected.
Tillie raised herself from the ground and slowly came to a standing position. She knew her life would soon be over and she was ready for the inevitable. The back of her shirt was wet with blood and her nose was bleeding. Finally erect, she spoke.
“You speak English, so you have been associated with people who have told you of our ways. I will die here today because I am in your power to kill. If I live, I would never be yours or anyone else’s squaw. I have seen the evil that your people have committed. You kill old people and helpless children and I want you to know that it does not bring power to you but shame. Do you understand my words?” Tillie asked firmly.
For a long time, the Indian stood studying the face of the beautiful white woman. She was not intimidated by the power of life and death that he held over her. Behind him, the squaws had not grasped what she had said to him, but they understood from her actions and speech that she spurned him, and they began to giggle. Suddenly the warrior became rigid, and in his rage, he jerked his knife from his belt.
Seeing no other option, Elam stepped from hiding and let the arrow fly. The element of surprise did not last long as a fat squaw turned and rushed him with a knife drawn. Just in time, he let another fly and the shaft completely disappeared in her thick body. Suddenly there was chaos as the two remaining squaws turned to see Elam towering over them. Fear and shock took hold and they began to run away. The brave had taken the first arrow in the soft fleshy tissue of his side. It had gone straight through. More shocked than hurt, he turned and saw the big man as he loosed his second arrow at the fat squaw. With great skill, he threw his knife. The blade sunk deep into a tree beside Elam. With no time to notch another arrow, he swung the heavy bow hitting the onrushing Indian across the head. This battle was over as the Indian dropped, hitting his head on another rock at Elam’s feet. Elam turned, but it was too late, the squaws had gotten away. In a few minutes the whole camp would be aware of his presence.
Elam picked up the whip that the Indian had dropped and looked at Tillie. “I think there be company a-comin’ a-fore long, Miss Tillie. We better be a-gittin’ out of here,” Elam urged. Tillie stood dumbfounded at the events that had just unfolded. Elam quickly cut the cords off her. “Mary and Danny are safe, and I came fer ya.”
New life was suddenly pumped into Tillie with those words as she fell against him and uttered the children’s names. Elam remembered the lance with the yellow hair and pink bow. He quickly reached down, cut a braid from the fallen Indian's hair and stuffed it in his pouch.
“We must get away from here now; company be a-comin’,” he said. Picking Tillie up by the waist, he ran into the fast-moving water. As he passed the log, he picked up the pistol belt.
“These har’ may come in handy. We gonna’ need all the firepower we can git,” Elam said.
“Those are mine,” she said.
As the water rushed by Tillie, it turned red from the dried blood that began to rinse from her clothing. Elam realized that she had taken much more abuse than he had thought. In a few minutes, the cold water cleared up as the blood from her clothing washed away. He could hear the alarm in the camp now and their chance of getting away without being seen was not possible.
“Well now, this changes my plans, I wuz a-hopin’ to git downriver a-fore we war announced!” Elam said.
Wading out to the sunken canoe, he quickly raised it from the bottom. Behind him, Tillie quenched her raging thirst standing in the chest-high water. Immediately he lodged the crosses in the canoe and draped pieces of clothing over one and a heavy sack over the other. Guiding the canoe to the center of the river, Elam gave it a quick shove and it shot downstream with the current. Again, he steadied Tillie as they waded across the river to the overhang.
“Git under this rock and push to the back. They will be upon us in a minute,” Elam said quietly.
The Indians came with a rush and there were war whoops all around the stream. Elam put his hand over Tillie’s mouth and whispered in her ear a word of comfort, “Now don’t you be a-skeert’, just you trust in the God yourn’ children pray to all the time.”
Across the river, Indians circled the wounded warrior with shock and unbelief chattering excitedly in their tongue. Some saw to the dead squaw and the rest searched the bank.
Tillie drank from the fresh water that ran around her. The Indians had starved her and the water quickly revived her. The cold water helped her aching and swollen body as Elam held her against the strong current with his steady hand, holding fast to a root below the surface of the water. He had never been this close to a woman and the closeness excited him. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, she laid her head against his shoulder. He was glad she was not facing him because he was blood red from embarrassment.
Above the riverbank, an Indian spotted the canoe and shouted the alarm, pointing at the canoe as it moved far downriver. Suddenly every canoe on the bank was launched and runners were sent to bring paddles from the village. As soon as the canoes were out of sight, he whispered, “It won’t take them l
ong to overtake the canoe and realize they wuz tricked. We must move now!”
The Indians on the bank had a hard time loading the dead squaw on a horse. It took several on each side of the horse to keep her positioned as they moved across the meadow. The wounded warrior was carried on a travois back to camp. “We must move fast,” Elam whispered. “They will be a-comin’ back in a big hurry. Can you walk? Thar are hosses hid a mile or so from here,” he added.
“I will walk or run if I have to,” Tillie responded, her voice stating her resolve.
Wading against the current, they headed upstream, staying below the riverbank until out of sight of the camp. It wasn’t long until Elam said, “This is whar we leave the river.” Quickly, he helped her out of the water and they started across the prairie. Elam sighted a distant point to keep them headed straight to the distant mountains.
“Miss Tillie, I want you to git on my back and I will carry you. We are not making much time, and at this rate, they will be a-catchin’ up with us a-fore we make the horses,” Elam said with urgency.
“I am sorry. I will do whatever you say,” she said.
For a long time, Elam carried Tillie, who drifted in and out of consciousness. Turning often to check his back trail, he saw smoke signals rising from the direction of the Indian camp. The sound of a fast-running horse and a dust cloud on the other side of a small rise in the prairie surprised Elam. Kneeling low in the tall grass, he could hear the Indians talking excitedly. He had almost walked smack dab into a band of Indians out looking for the missing chief’s son. The Indians were talking loudly and he could see the feathers on the headband of the mounted horseman. Waist-deep grass was the only cover they had as they stood in the middle of a vast prairie. Sliding the repeater rifle off of the sling around his neck, he readied himself for a fight. The noise would surely bring the rest of the tribe down on him. Suddenly the Indians were all talking fast. Tillie lay in the grass by Elam’s knees, trying her best to stay conscious. Elam sighed relief as the rider had changed the direction of the band of Indians. Had the brave not come, the party would have ridden up on Elam with Tillie on his back. Listening to the receding riders, he whispered, “Miss Tillie, we almost bought the farm. Now they will look for us in another direction.”
Finally, he reached the cut in the cliff and sitting Tillie down on the grass, Elam took up his rifle and entered where Nolan had left the horses. Heaving a sigh of relief, he saw the horses standing in the small meadow munching grass. Behind a boulder, Elam pulled out the packs Nolan had hidden. After saddling the little mare, he removed the hobbles. “Tillie, you are going to have to set this hoss. I will tie you in the saddle, but you will still have to keep yourself straight,” Elam said.
“Don’t worry about me. Just get me to my children,” Tillie said determinedly.
Elam tried to sound confident when he said to Tillie, “We won’t make it today, but they are safe. Now we gotta’ look to ourselves. Our way south is blocked, so we’ll head back in the hills whar I know the territory.” Elam scanned the country for a long time before he led out. From the west and north, there were more smoke signals. “We done made them plum mad. Those Injuns are searchin’ in every direction. I’m jest goin’ to head home. Tonight, you will sleep on a good bed and have a good supper. You jest hold onto that saddle horn and I will git us home.”
Mounting a big black horse called “Old Son” he led off carrying them deep into the mountains, staying to the hard ground as much as he could. What they needed was a good rain right about now to wash out their back trail. Elam paused and took one last look along their back path before they crested a hill. He marveled there were no Indians in pursuit. Reasoning to himself how slow they had been traveling, he half expected to see the whole Indian nation ride over the hill. Stopping every hour or two, he would lift her from the saddle and set her in the shade to rest. Tillie was dazed and in bad shape. Mid-day, Elam smiled to see the mountain peak that lay before his valley.
Elam said softly, “Miss Tillie, we are almost home. You jest hang on for a few more minutes and I will put you in that bed I promised you.” Tillie’s skin was chalky and she was running a fever. She didn’t answer him. He was frightened to see how bad she looked. Riding up to the cabin, he jumped down and quickly untied her from the saddle. Tillie leaned over and fell into his arms. With only the moonlight shining through the window, Elam entered the cabin and laid her on his bed. Her clothes were matted with dirt and blood and were wet from the river. Elam covered her with a quilt he had brought with him and stood looking at her. What would he do? The torn and blood-stained clothing had to come off, and he must clean her wounds.
“I’m a-goin’ to turn the hosses loose and let them graze. You rest easy and I will be back in a few minutes,” Elam said. He realized she had not heard a word he had said. Doing fast work of caring for the horses, he dipped a pail of water from the stream before hurrying back into the cabin.
Elam sat in the dark by the bed and listened to her labored breathing. He realized he had to get her wounds cleaned. Covering the windows with deer hides to keep the light from escaping, he built a small fire. Quickly he went about getting something for her to eat. Opening a crude wooden chest, he took dried deer meat he had cured and cut away the mold. Adding the meat to a pot of water on the hearth, it did not take long until he had the meat boiling and a second pot beside the fire to warm to clean Tillie’s wounds.
Grabbing a second bucket, he ran to the river and refilled them. On the way back, he suddenly stopped and studied the darkness, standing still and listening to the sounds of the night. He realized he had left his rifle and pistol in the cabin. He had let his guard down and that was a foolish thing to do. The night was quiet and all seemed to be fine, but his intuition was telling him differently.
Back in the cabin, he bolted the door and prepared the weapons for use. Tillie slept from exhaustion and her breathing was ragged. Elam took the warm water and knelt beside the bed. Gently he said, “Miss Tillie, I need to clean your wounds. I’m sorry, but it’s got to be done. I want you to roll over and face the wall, and I will remove the bloody clothes that are stuck to your back.” With fevered eyes, Tillie tried to comprehend what he was saying.
“Just roll over that-a-way for me,” Elam said. He quickly cut the clothing away and cleaned the gashes that she had on her back. She had more bruises than cuts, but it took a long time to get the dry, blood-soaked clothing loose. He had never seen a woman’s naked back and the circumstances disturbed him greatly. Elam was ashamed for her and ashamed of his feelings. The bucket of water he had used for cleaning was bloody again, and taking it outside, he squatted down and poured it quietly into the sandy soil.
This time he sat for a long time in the shadows listening to the night sounds and considering what he must do. He felt better about Tillie’s wounds. They would heal quickly because most of them were superficial.
Back inside, fatigue overtook him and he slept sitting against the inside of the cabin door. The sun awoke him and he sat listening to the morning sounds. Birds chirped and the sound of water splashing and gurgling down the stream welcomed him to his valley. Across the room, Tillie lay very still. He could see the blanket moving up and down as she breathed ever so slightly. The smell of soup filled the room with a pleasant odor. Moving stiffly, he stirred the pot and felt of Tillie’s forehead. Elam smiled to himself, knowing her fever was gone. Taking up his rifle, he eased out a side window. A large bush hid the window from the hillside. As still as a deer watching the forest, he sat for a long time watching the meadow.
Moving to all four corners of his cabin, he sat and watched for any signs that the Indians had found his hidden valley. Once back inside, he raised Tillie and spoon-fed her broth for the better part of an hour before she weakly protested. All through the day, Elam went from window to window expecting to see Indians, but he could see none.
Elam relaxed through the day watching over Tillie. He was once again rested. The stress of the last few days
was gone.
“Elam, isn’t that your name?” a soft voice from behind him said.
Stepping over to the bed, he saw blue eyes looking up at him. “I shore am glad to hear that voice,” Elam said. “It looks like that old boot I put in the soup has brought you around!”
Tillie managed a weak smile and said, “Where are my kids?”
“They are down country in civilization. We made it back to my cabin and you have been asleep for two days. Your fever is gone and we will be ready to travel in a day or two,” he said. Evening came, and she had eaten a good portion of the soup.
The rest of the night, he sat in the cabin darkness. His eyes and ears were working overtime to hear or see any movement in the dark. He was alive because his senses could identify the noises made by the braves, the most cunning of all predators. With the rifle across his knees, he listened to the soft breathing of the first woman he had ever had conversations with besides his mother.
He slept lightly, and when morning came, he eased out into the woods to make sure the Indians had not found his valley. Making his way to the top of a mountain, he watched the sunrise, unable to clear his mind of the lovely woman in his bed.
Morning brought new smoke signals and now there were many of them all closer to his valley. The Indians were slowly moving into the mountains checking every valley and mountainside along the way. They were intent on finding them. Suddenly there was a smoke signal that was in the mountains and he realized that it would be around the spot where he had dumped the dead Indian. They had found the chief's son.
Elam studied the surrounding countryside for a little longer and then headed back for the cabin. Bringing with him a fresh bucket of water, he entered the cabin and instantly he was staring down the barrel of a pistol. Tillie lay in the bed, holding the gun he had removed from the Indian as if she knew how to use it.
“I am glad to see you are feeling better, Miss Tillie. Last night you had me worried. Looks to me you know how to use that pistol,” Elam said.
Winter Crossing Page 12