Eagle’s Song (9 page)

“Mother!” The word was screamed, in a way that told any mother her daughter was horribly upset. Abbie jumped up from where she had been sitting by the creek where the irises bloomed, the place she used to share with Zeke. She ran back toward the house, noticing several men out front sitting on horses. Even from this distance Abbie could tell there was a body on the ground behind one of the horses. Margaret was
bent over it, screaming and wailing Zeke’s name. Little five-year-old Lance stood beside her crying.

“My God,” Abbie moaned. She ran toward the house, heading for the back door first. Morgan was over a mile away with the other ranch hands, singling out horses to take to Pueblo to sell. Swift Arrow and young Nathan had gone with him. She and Margaret were here alone. She ran to a wall and grabbed an old shotgun that once belonged to Zeke, hoping it was loaded, and hoping that if she had to use it, it would not blow up on her. She marched out the front door then, pointing the gun at the big man whose horse had dragged Zeke’s body. “You must be that stinking, yellow bastard they call Carson Temple!” she said, taking a firm stance.

All the men looked at her in surprise. “Who the hell are you?” Temple asked.

Abbie had to agree the man was indeed intimidating, what with his size and his booming voice; the look in his icy blue eyes.

“I am Zeke Brown’s grandmother, and believe me, mister, I’ve killed men before! I was out here fighting to settle this land before you ever ventured into this land! And if my husband were still alive, he’d have your hide ripped open right now. You’d be food for buzzards! What have you done to my grandson!”

The man shifted in his saddle. “You Abigail Monroe?”

“I asked the first question!”

“He’s alive. All I’ve done is give him fair warning. He touches my daughter again, he’s
dead!
Maybe his parents, too. This house burned, the barns burned, the horses run off. You understand that?”

Margaret looked up from Zeke’s bloodied body. “What are you talking about?”

Temple cut the rope that held Zeke, then turned his horse. “You don’t know?”

Margaret rose. “I only know you tried to kill my son!” she screamed. She ran up to the man and hit at him fruitlessly. Temple placed a foot against her chest and thrust her to the ground with it. The other men laughed.

Abbie fired the shotgun into the air, silencing all of them. “That will bring Zeke’s father and his men, along with my husband, Swift Arrow, a full-blooded Cheyenne who was at the Custer massacre, a man who would dearly love to return to his warrior ways and kill more white men! I suggest all of you leave!” She aimed the shotgun at Temple. “Shoot me if you want, Mr. Temple. I am sure shooting a woman would mean nothing to a coward who beats and tortures young boys! But I’ll tell you one thing. You’ll go down, too! From this distance I could open a pretty big hole in your fat belly!”

The man looked at the others, who all grinned. He looked back at Abbie. “You tell your grandson to never see my daughter again. If he stays away from her, I’ll leave his folks and this place alone …
if
they can prove legal title.”

“It’s legal all right! I’ll be bringing back the proof in just a couple of weeks! The ranch is also in the name of my brother-in-law, a
white
man named Dan Monroe, who was an officer in the United States Army! And I am part owner—Abigail Trent Monroe.
I
am white! My half-Cheyenne husband was the finest man who ever walked! He built this ranch, and you could never hold a candle to him in courage, honor, skill—not in
any
way! Now get off our land!”

Temple turned to Margaret. “I’ve got plenty more men, and I own the law. You damn well know I can come back here and rip this place apart! I can make
things so bad for you, you’ll
have
to sell! You tell your son it’s all up to
him!
All he has to do is never see my daughter again! His family’s fate is in his hands!” He turned his horse and signaled the others to leave. They rode off just as Morgan and Swift Arrow and the others appeared at the top of a hill, in response to Abbie’s gunshot. They rode in fast when they saw Temple and his men riding away.

Margaret walked back to Zeke, collapsing beside him. “My God, Mother, look at him! He could die!”

Abbie gathered her courage and forced herself to walk over to where the young man lay in a bloodied heap. His vest hung in shreds, and his skin was ripped and bleeding, bruised everywhere. He groaned, tried to move.

“Lie still, Zeke,” Abbie told him.

The men reached them, Morgan jumping down and running up to his son. “God in heaven!” He looked toward Temple and his men. “I’ll
kill
him!”

“And you’d be hanged!” Abbie told him. She glanced at Swift Arrow, saw murder in his eyes. “Please, my husband, keep your senses about you. I know what you want to do, but right now Zeke needs us, and
I
need you, just as Margaret needs Morgan. Remember we live under new laws now! Don’t try to go after them.”

Swift Arrow, fists clenched, looked down at her proudly. “Men should be allowed to live the old way, allowed to avenge such a thing!”

“What did he mean about Zeke and his daughter?” Margaret wept.

“He was seeing Carson Temple’s daughter,” Abbie told her.

“What!” Morgan bent down beside his son. “How do you know? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“He told me just two days ago. I warned him how dangerous it was, and I made him promise to talk to
you before he saw her again. Apparently he did not heed my warning.” She leaned down and gently touched her grandson’s hair. “She must be a wonderful young woman, nothing like her father. He said he loves her.”

“My God,” Margaret wailed. “I could have told him! I know what happens in cases like that!”

“Not in all of them, Margaret! And it was not Georgeanne Temple who hurt him, it was her
father
. It’s different from what happened to you, but there is no time to talk about any of it now. We’ve to get Zeke inside and do something for him.”

“Help me pick him up,” Morgan told Swift Arrow.

The two men carried Zeke inside, and sixteen-year-old Nathan, bitter hatred in his dark eyes, picked up Lance to try to stop his crying. Margaret hurried after Zeke and the men. “Take care of your little brother,” Abbie told Nathan, who looked very much like his older brother, but was not built as big.

“Will he die?” he asked Abbie.

Abbie held up her chin “We won’t let him. I nursed your grandfather back from worse injuries, and Zeke is young and healthy.” She hurried inside, where Zeke lay in his own bedroom, shivering and groaning, moaning Georgeanne’s name.

“He … hit her,” he murmured. “I’ll k-kill him! Kill him!”

Margaret began gently bathing Zeke’s wounds, and Abbie looked across the room at Swift Arrow, who stood watching with arms folded, fierce anger in his eyes. He would dearly love to avenge this the Indian way. She begged him with her eyes not to try to do so. “Ride and get Ellen and Hal, will you?” she asked him.

He came close to her. “I will get them.” He grasped her arms gently. “The white man lives by a strange law,
one that is good only for the white man, but bad for all others.”

She put her hands to his chest. “Remember that. I could not bear to lose another husband, not this soon.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and Swift Arrow leaned down to kiss them. “I will remember.”

He turned and left, and she hated the fact that men like Swift Arrow had to swallow their pride the way they did now. She knew how hard it was for such men. She looked at Morgan, such a big, handsome, gentle man, who was once a slave. He well knew what men like Carson Temple were capable of. Temple was probably right. The fate of this ranch and of Zeke’s family lay in whatever decision Zeke made once he recovered … if he recovered.

Nine

The train rumbled into Cheyenne, and Wolf’s Blood looked out at the crowds in the street. The banner that hung across it read COWBOY AND INDIAN FESTIVAL. Tables with food on them were set up all along the boardwalks, some with wares for sale, and just as the train passed that street he could see horses and riders dashing along a cross street, apparently in a race.

“Some kind of shindig going on, I see,” Dan commented.

Wolf’s Blood sneered. “Cowboy and Indian festival, so the banner reads. I wonder where they got the Indians. There sure aren’t any to speak of anyplace close by.”

“First they get rid of them, then they have festivals using the idea of Indians for excitement.” Jason leaned over to look out the window himself.

“If they want to see a wild Indian in action, I could show them some
real
excitement,” Wolf’s Blood commented.

Jennifer squeezed his hand. “I think you had better stay away from the festivities,” she told her husband with a soft smile.

Wolf’s Blood snickered. “Don’t worry. I have no interest. Dan and Jason and I will go and get our horses and the wagon.”

“Are you sure your mother and Swift Arrow will be all right riding all the way back to Montana on horseback?”
Rebecca asked. “I hate to take the wagon and make Abbie ride.”

Wolf’s Blood laughed a little harder. “I thought you knew my mother better than that by now.”

Dan grinned, feeling a little tug at his heart. There was a time, after Zeke died, when he’d thought about asking Abbie to marry him; but the only man who could even come close to replacing Zeke was Swift Arrow. Rebecca was a sweet wife. She’d come to the Cheyenne reservation for missionary work, and she had been easy to love. He’d never told her about his feelings for Abbie. “Abbie used to ride horseback, and sometimes walk, for hundreds of miles, when she lived and migrated with the Cheyenne,” he told Rebecca. “She might be older now, but the toughness is still there. She’ll be just fine.”

The train puffed to the station platform, where more crowds were gathered. Wolf’s Blood dreaded having to get off amid so many people. He looked forward to getting home to the peace and quiet of his own ranch, even though he would again be confined to the reservation. He missed Hawk and Iris already, but was happy Jeremy would get to know them better. He felt good about his talk with Jeremy, had actually regretted having to leave him back in Denver.

He imagined Hawk and Iris had been quite mesmerized by Denver and their uncle Jeremy’s mansion. That was all right. He wanted more for them than the confines of reservation life. Jeremy could give them that. The white man’s world was here to stay. They might as well learn to live in it.

Jennifer leaned near him to look out the window, and he knew a twinge of guilt over his educated, refined wife having to live on a reservation. He could tell by her eyes that she missed Denver some, as she’d lived and taught there for years before her first husband
died. Still, though she had given up the excitement of Denver to be with her Indian husband, she had not lost the glow of her love for him. Besides that, she was near her father, which meant a lot to her.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I will be glad to get home and get you to bed,” he told her. They had not been able to make love all this time, between traveling, sleeping together with other family members and men and women being separated between the barn and the house while at the ranch. He enjoyed watching her blush at the remark. She was so fair, the red only glowed even deeper. She laughed lightly, and Wolf’s Blood gave her a quick kiss, not unaware that some of the passengers on the train were staring and whispering.

The train finally stopped, and they disembarked. “Let’s get the horses and get out of here quick,” Wolf’s Blood commented, conscious of more stares.

“Is
he
one of the Indians in the show, Mother?” one young boy asked.

“I don’t think so, dear. He just got off the train. Besides, the Indians in the show are just white men painted up to look like Indians. That man looks
real
.”

Wolf’s Blood glanced at the woman, deliberately giving her a dark glare he might give someone he was about to attack and kill. He enjoyed seeing the sudden fear in her eyes. She grabbed her son’s hand and hurried away. Wolf’s Blood just shook his head and chuckled, but deep inside he felt a growing rage. White men painted up to be Indians? What a farce! If they wanted to put on a show with Indians, why not use real ones?

He waited with Dan for their baggage, and they all took some bags, carrying them to the end of the platform, where Rebecca and Jennifer would watch everything while the men went for the horses and wagon they’d left boarded here four weeks ago. Just as they
prepared to step off the platform, four men who had apparently been drinking heavily charged toward the train station on horseback, whooping and yelping, shooting handguns into the air.

“Hey, there’s one of them wild Indians!” one of them laughed, pointing his gun playfully at Wolf’s Blood. “Maybe we ought to shoot him!”

A few women screamed and scrambled out of the way, dragging children with them.

“Put those guns away, you idiots!” Dan shouted. “Guns aren’t allowed in Cheyenne any longer.”

“You the law?” one of the men asked, a grin on his face.

“I just got off the train, but I can sure as hell go
get
the law!”

People backed away as the men pranced their horses around, waving their guns and laughing. The one who had spoken to Dan turned his eyes back to Wolf’s Blood, who stood glaring at him, unflinching, obviously contemptuous of the drunken fool. The man noticed the fair-skinned, red-headed woman standing beside Wolf’s Blood, clinging to his arm.

“Hey, lady, what you doin’ hangin’ on to that Indian buck? Decent white women don’t let themselves be seen touchin’ dirty Indians.”

People whispered, and one woman told her husband to run and get the sheriff.

“This man is my husband,” Jennifer replied boldly.

“And my nephew,” Dan put in. “Now get the hell out of the street with those guns before someone gets hurt!”

The man actually cocked his gun, still waving it in Wolf’s Blood’s direction. “How’s come you got an uncle with blond hair and blue eyes, and a wife with red hair and green eyes, huh? That don’t make sense. You
must be the product of some white woman bein’ raped by some damn savage.”

Wolf’s Blood started forward, but Jennifer kept hold of his arm. “Wolf’s Blood, don’t! You aren’t even armed!”

“Except for my knife”—he sneered—“and my father taught me to use it well!” He gave Jennifer a gentle push back, resting a hand on the handle of his wicked Bowie knife, the one his father had given him as a gift years ago.

“You thinkin’ on takin’ a scalp, Indian?”

“Maybe this is just one of the shows,” a man in the background commented.

“I don’t know. I don’t like the looks of it,” someone else replied.

“Hold up there! Guns aren’t allowed in town,” a man shouted from up the street. Wolf’s Blood noticed he wore a badge.

“We’re just havin’ a little fun, Sheriff,” one of the drunken cowboys told him.

Everything then happened in a brief few seconds. A young boy set off a firecracker, and the noise caused the horse of the man closest to Wolf’s Blood to rear. The sudden motion and the startling sound of the firecracker made the drunken cowboy release the hammer of his handgun, and it fired. The stray bullet found a mark, and Wolf’s Blood felt Jennifer’s hold on him suddenly tighten as her body jerked. People screamed and scattered, hanging farther back to stare at Wolf’s Blood as he hung on to Jennifer as she slumped, her forehead opened up from a bullet hole. He lowered her gently to the street, and he did not need his brother Jason, a doctor, to tell him his wife was dead.

So quickly! In one short breath the woman he’d kissed just minutes earlier, promised they’d make love when they got home, was no longer alive. His beautiful
Jennifer, whom he had had with him for only a few months … innocent, sweet, loving … and some drunken cowboy had killed her, just because he’d wanted to show his oats to an Indian—an Indian. This was his fault. Jennifer had married an Indian, and she had died for it!

This was no time for reason. All that was wild and vengeful in him surfaced, all the rage at what his people had suffered over the years, his frustration at being confined to a reservation, at being considered less than human just because of his looks—all exploded into power and revenge, and the man who was once an honored warrior, an esteemed Dog Soldier, whirled, yanking out the Bowie knife. Before Dan or the authorities or anyone could reach him, Wolf’s Blood threw the knife, landing it into the heart of the cowboy who had shot Jennifer.

But that was not enough to quell the rage inside of him. He ran up to the man, yanked out the knife and deftly scalped him. There were more screams, and people backed farther away, even the sheriff.

“No, Wolf’s Blood! Stop! Stop now before it’s too late!”

He recognized Dan’s voice.

“Wolf’s Blood, don’t!”

That was Jason. He thought about Hawk and Iris, his precious children. He would miss them dearly. And poor young Emily, seeing her mother shot down before her eyes, seeing her stepfather scalp a man. But there was no stopping it. She would learn to understand. A couple of bullets whizzed past him. The other men were shooting at him, but they were too drunk to hit their mark. Letting out a war whoop, he leaped at one of them, ramming the knife into his side and pulling him off his horse. He deftly mounted the horse, ducked another bullet, vaguely aware that most people
in the crowd had flattened themselves on the ground or ducked behind cover. He charged a third man, letting out another shrill cry of revenge. The man tried to flee, but Wolf’s Blood caught up to him and rammed his knife into his back, startling people up the street, people who were unaware of what had taken place near the train depot. He reached over and sliced off another piece of scalp.

People stared, unsure if this was real or an act. Those who realized it was real ran for cover, terrified of the “wild Indian” who had apparently gone mad.

Wolf’s Blood rode hard then, felt a couple more bullets whiz past him. That must be the sheriff shooting at him. He had no idea what he would do, where he would go. He only knew he had to get out of town. He was Indian. He’d killed some white men. Maybe Jennifer’s death was an accident, but that would not matter. He’d killed two men besides the one who shot her. It had been right, necessary. His heart screamed with grief for his wife. When he reached the distant mountains and was alone, he would cut his arms and chest, let blood in his mourning. He would never hold Jennifer again, never make love to her. He might never see his children again, or Dan or his sisters and brothers … or his precious mother.

So be it. Somehow he’d known this was his destiny. He’d wanted to die like a warrior. Now there would be no choice. He forced back the tears. There would be time later for crying. He had to get away or be hanged, and no Indian wanted to die by hanging, for hanging strangled the spirit and kept it from reaching the land beyond, where buffalo were still plenty in numbers … and where his precious father waited for him.

* * *

A messenger brought the telegram to Jeremy’s home.

“What’s this about?” Jeremy asked.

The man sighed. “It’s from Cheyenne. You’d best just read the telegram, Mr. Monroe.”

Jeremy took it with a frown, paying the man for bringing it before going to his study. He decided to read the message alone first, his heart beating faster with dread. He suspected it must be some kind of bad news, feared it could have something to do with Wolf’s Blood, since he’d gone on up to Cheyenne yesterday after the rest of them got off in Denver.

He closed the door. Mary was downtown with LeeAnn and all the children, and Joshua was sitting on the back porch, enjoying the vast, manicured gardens behind the house. Jeremy opened the telegram, read it, felt as though the blood was flowing right out of his body. “No!” he groaned.

He read it again, tears coming to his eyes. He could hardly see as he left the room and made his way on shaky legs down the richly paneled hallway that led to the kitchen at the back of the house. One of the cooks said something to him, but he didn’t even hear. He walked out the back door to find Joshua, who immediately rose in alarm at the look on his brother-in-law’s face.

“Jeremy! What the hell is wrong!”

Jeremy handed Joshua the telegram and turned away, his shoulders shaking. “I’ll never see him again,” he groaned.

A bewildered Joshua read the letter. It was from Dan. SHOOTING ACCIDENT IN CHEYENNE. JENNIFER ACCIDENTALLY KILLED. WOLF’S BLOOD KILLED SHOOTIST AND TWO OTHERS. FLED ON STOLEN HORSE. LAW AFTER HIM. CATCH ABBIE AT STATION IN DENVER AND EXPLAIN. COME WITH HER. BRING IRIS AND HAWK. THIS IS TERRIBLE LOSS. JENNIFER MY ONLY CHILD. OUR HEARTS BROKEN AT WHAT WOLF’S BLOOD
MUST SUFFER. WILL EXPLAIN MORE WHEN YOU ARRIVE. DAN.

Joshua folded the telegram, finding it difficult to believe what he had just read. “Dear God,” he murmured.

“How could it all have happened?” Jeremy groaned.

“Maybe you should come to Cheyenne with us after Abbie gets here and learn the details. I can just imagine what the headlines have been like in my newspaper. I wonder if the man I left in charge realized Wolf’s Blood was my brother-in-law.” A lump rose in his throat at the words. Just days ago they had all been a strong, unified family, closer than any of them had ever been. He looked at Jeremy, could see he was still crying. This was a tragedy for him. No one knew what had been said between him and Wolf’s Blood at the reunion, but they had obviously become much closer. “How in God’s name are we going to tell Hawk and Iris?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t know.” He sniffed. “It’s just like my brother, isn’t it?” he tried to joke. “I can just see him going after those men. And right in town!” He broke down again, taking a moment to recover. “If that isn’t just like what our father would have done! It was in him, Josh, you know? It was just … in him. His wife was killed, and he … couldn’t let that go unavenged. He still lived in that … old world … where a man could deal out his own justice.”