Edge of the Wilderness (16 page)

Leighton thought for a moment. “I’m sorry. I wish Simon and I had arrived sooner.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Mother Friend said. “She had lost the will to live. Her husband is in prison. When her son died last week, she had nothing left to keep her spirit on the earth.”

The mourners gathered around the open grave listening as Simon read from the Dakota Bible. A cold wind picked up as they listened, lifting hair off shoulders, sending a collective shiver through the crowd wrapped in moth-eaten buffalo robes and worn blankets.

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.

—Romans 15:4

He rode toward the setting sun through familiar territory. Every year until he had lived at least a dozen winters, Daniel had been part of the mile-long trail of women and children following mounted warriors west on the fall buffalo hunt. Glancing behind him at the white stallion, he imagined the joyous shouts of his friends as they chased down a thundering herd. Astride such a magnificent animal, he would have been the envy of every one of his friends. Now, it was so still he could hear the dry grass crackle with the bay gelding’s every stride.

He wondered if any of his childhood friends were out there at Crow Creek. The scouts had heard rumors about it from the few wanderers they had brought in to Fort Ridgely over the past few months. It was hard to believe things could be as bad as the wanderers said. But then a unit of soldiers returned from what they called the “Moscow Expedition.” What they said about Crow Creek made the men shudder.

Thank God I didn’t have to go there.

Daniel remembered Robert’s challenge, “Can you think of nothing to be thankful for?” He had answered in bitterness, but now he realized he was truly thankful that he was not among the few men at Crow Creek. He had already decided he would remain a scout as long as the army would have him. Anything was better than Crow Creek Reservation.

Daniel rode all day, content to let his horse set the pace, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face, the gentle rhythm of the bay’s easy lope. The stallion followed willingly. When Daniel stopped for the night, he apologized aloud to the horse for hobbling him.

“As soon as we are farther west, my friend, I will set you free. For tonight, you must stay near my campfire.”

After tending to his horses, Daniel built a fire and set to cleaning the rabbit he had shot earlier in the day. He erected a small spit over his campfire and sat back watching it cook. As the sun went down and the wind picked up, he looked around him at the peaceful scene. It was a nearly perfect night. Cool air brought relief from the day’s oppressive heat. Daniel leaned back against his saddle and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling fire, the horses grazing nearby. The colors in the western sky faded as the stars began to shine. Almost, he thought, he could pretend that life was good.

He had nearly dozed off when a soft muzzle brushed against his hair and a horse nuzzled his shoulder. The white stallion whickered softly and nudged him. Daniel stood up and patted the horse’s neck. “I wonder who Otter defeated to get you, beautiful one,” he murmured, raking his fingers through the long white mane. “In my heart, I want to keep you.” He sighed and shook his head at the irony that now, when he was no longer a warrior, he had in his possession the most desired, the most
wakan
of all warhorses—a white stallion. He leaned into the animal, inhaling the horse’s scent. “But I am only a poor Dakota scout now. Reminding soldiers of warrior-Indians would be stupid.”

Bending down, Daniel took a brush out of his saddlebags and began to brush the sleek white coat. It wasn’t easy living among soldiers who knew nothing about Indians besides what they read in newspapers. To them, Daniel was nothing more than a savage using his uniform as a disguise until the day he returned to his wild ways and scalped them as they slept.

Claiming religion did nothing to make life easier for the scouts. Daniel could actually understand that. Even Brady Jensen claimed to be a Christian. Daniel recognized he, personally, had done very little to convince anyone that his faith had any bearing on his behavior. In that regard, Daniel thought with a chill, he was just like Brady Jensen.

He finished brushing the stallion and shoved him away. The aroma of roasted meat reminded him the rabbit was ready to eat. Pulling a chunk of meat off the spit he took a bite, thanking God for his meal while he chewed.

He recalled a night when, after the scouts and Captain Willets had been out hunting, Big Amos had led them all in a prayer of thanks before they dived into a meal of roasted antelope. The incident had led Willets to ask Big Amos about the missionaries’ work with the Dakota. When Big Amos’s answer developed into a personal testimonial about his coming to faith in Christ, Willets had listened carefully. “I’m not a Christian, Big Amos, but I must admit I’m impressed with you. You seem to live what you believe. And that’s more than I can say for half the men in my regiment.”

Captain Willets.
Among all the soldiers stationed at Fort Ridgely, the tall, blonde-haired captain was the exception to nearly everything Daniel thought about career soldiers. The captain preferred to form his opinions about Indians from experience, and he openly admired his Dakota scouts’ skills.

On the hunting expedition he exclaimed, “You can hit a running wolf from the back of a galloping horse! Most of my men couldn’t hit a galloping Indian while standing still on the ground!” The day after they all got back, he ordered his men to take more target practice.

As it grew dark and Daniel finished gorging himself on the rabbit, he rummaged in his saddlebags for Etienne LaCroix’s journal. Once again he watched Blue Eyes grow up in her father’s sketches. As the campfire died down, he lay back and stared up at the stars, wondering where she was that very night. He liked to think of her with the blonde child on her lap, rocking, singing a Dakota lullaby. When the thought rose that she was probably married to Simon Dane by now, he turned over on his stomach and tried to sleep. But somewhere in the distance a mountain lion was yowling. The horses were stomping about nervously, so Daniel got up. He added wood to the fire and brought the horses nearer. Tethering them to a bush where they could back up against a rock ledge, he settled back into his bedroll. When the mountain lion screamed again, closer, Daniel thought of Robert Lawrence.
I am afraid,
his friend had said,
that you are letting the lions devour you.
He finally fell into a troubled sleep.

Halfway through the night Daniel knocked his saddlebags nearly into his campfire. The acrid odor of hot leather woke him. He swore softly when he realized Robert’s Bible was scorched. Picking it up, he started to pack it away.
Faith comes by hearing . . . and hearing by the Word of God.
Robert Lawrence’s challenge came to mind. Since he wasn’t really sleeping anyway, he decided to reread the story of that other Daniel and the lions.

The beginning of the book of Daniel had always been hard to understand. That hadn’t changed, but there was one passage that spoke to him.
He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth in him.
Daniel sat back, wondering that if God revealed deep and secret things, why He hadn’t let him understand more of what was going on in his life.

He lay back, thinking about Robert’s insistence that what he needed was faith.
Hebrews, chapter eleven, Daniel,
Robert had said. Daniel added more wood to the fire. He leaned back against the sheer rock wall behind him and, stretching his legs out toward the fire, opened Robert’s Bible to Hebrews, chapter eleven.

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen . . . By faith Abel . . . By faith Enoch . . . By faith Noah . . .
With each new name, Daniel remembered the stories as told by the missionaries at Hazelwood Station.
By faith Abraham . . . By faith Isaac . . . By faith Joseph . . . By faith Moses . . . Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions. . . .

Daniel stopped reading. His faith must be small, he reasoned. He had done nothing great purely because of faith.
They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented . . . they wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth. And these all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise . . .
Daniel stopped reading and stared at the campfire.
They received NOT the promise.

He reread the chapter. This time, different things leaped out at him.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen . . . without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.

Things were getting confusing. The chapter itself said that most of those people had
not
been rewarded at all. They had suffered and died and never received any of the promises God had made.

For he looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God . . . These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country . . . a better country, that is, an heavenly . . .

They embraced promises of heaven. That was how they survived. They accepted being strangers on the earth.
A house not made with hands,
Robert had said.
A house not made with hands,
Mrs. Dane had said. Daniel rebelled against the idea. He had wanted to be rewarded for what he had done to save white women and children during the uprising. When it did not happen, he rebelled. He accepted nothing
by faith.
He was not looking to
a better country.
He wanted his farm back. His old life back. The girl he loved back. Here and now. Not someday.

Look to the future. To the house not made with hands.
This time, when Daniel finished Hebrews 11, he continued reading, and it was as if God spoke directly to him
: Lay aside every weight . . . run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross. . . .

I don’t know if I can do it,
Daniel half thought, half prayed. He grabbed up the journal and looked into Blue Eyes’s face. What if the race God had set before him was to be alone for the rest of his life? The thought frightened him. Tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked them away and turned back to the open Scriptures.

Make straight paths for your feet . . . follow peace with all men . . . look diligently . . . . lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you. . . .
There it was, Daniel thought. The thing that had almost destroyed him. For months now he had nourished a root of bitterness, had allowed it to flourish and grow until it nearly choked out his weak faith. It was like the vine that grew at the old mission; one small green shoot came out and before long nearly swallowed up the porch. Even now, he thought, that vine had probably swallowed up the rubble left after the fire destroyed the cottage.

No wonder he was so unhappy. The Bible said truly great things were done
by faith.
Men conquered death
by faith.
And they got that kind of faith from God’s Word. It had been months since Daniel had opened a Bible. No wonder he felt empty. No wonder there were times when he wanted to die. He almost was dead, spiritually speaking.

Over and over again, the fire waned and Daniel fed it, leaning close, squinting to discern the words on the pages of Robert’s Bible. Near dawn he finally settled back against the rock wall and dozed off, completely relaxed for the first time in many, many moons.

Things happened so quickly he barely had time to react. A scream sounded from above; and in an instant the mountain lion he had heard the night before dropped down the sheer cliff onto the white stallion’s back. The horse’s rear hooves nearly caught Daniel full in the face as he leaped up, snatching his knife from its hiding place in his right boot. Everything was chaos. The bay gelding hopped and whinnied and bucked, rolling its eyes and working itself into a frenzy while the cat clung to the white stallion’s back, scraping the beautiful white shoulders until they ran with blood. The horse went down and the cat sank its teeth into the horse’s neck. Then everything grew strangely quiet.

As the scent of dust and fresh blood filled the air, the cat peered at Daniel across the white stallion’s mane, flicking its huge tail angrily, watching his every move. The horse lay still. Daniel crouched down, licking his lips, trying not to tremble lest the creature sense his fear and come at him. But, just as he thought it, the great cat released the stallion and flew through the air toward him. Daniel screamed a war cry and met the animal, knife extended. The cat barely had time to slap Daniel’s shoulder with one paw before it fell dead at his feet.

Daniel stumbled back onto his rear in the dust, panting, trembling, staring in disbelief at the dead cat. It lay on its side and would have appeared to be asleep except for the handle of a knife jutting out of its neck. His sleeve hung in shreds, but apparently the war cry had startled the animal enough to deflect the worst damage from its claws.