Meet the New Dawn (23 page)

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. Monroe 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.”

“I will go too!” the girl said anxiously.

“No. You’re five months pregnant. The important thing is that nothing happens to Wolf’s Blood’s second child. And apparently Wolf’s Blood is all right. I’ll go alone and you help take care of the house until we return.”

“But I should go—”

“No you should not.” She gave the girl a reassuring hug. “Please listen to me, Sonora. Stay here and take care of yourself. If Zeke isn’t better in a couple of days, I’ll have Wolf’s Blood come on home and I’ll stay with Zeke.” She looked up at the lieutenant. “Give me a few minutes to change and pack.” Her eyes moved to Jason, who looked frightened. “Don’t worry, Jason. Your father will be fine. Go and saddle the roan mare for me.” The boy swallowed and nodded, running off toward the stables.

Abbie turned and went inside, Morgan and Margaret following. “Mother, are you all right?” Margaret asked quickly, little realizing there was more to Abbie’s fear than just Zeke’s wound. He intended to die fighting, and she worried
that he would give up and let this be the time.

“I’ll be all right, as soon as I see him,” she answered, going into the bedroom. She soon exited, wearing a soft green summer dress with a split skirt for riding. The braid she had worn down her back was now wound at the nape of her neck. She put on a slat bonnet to protect her face against the sun. “I know I can count on the two of you to take care of things,” she told Margaret and Morgan. She looked at Ellen then. “And you.” She gave her daughter a hug, then moved to Margaret to hug her also.

“Everything will be fine here,” Morgan reassured her. She smiled through tears, pressing his arm.

“You’re a godsend, Morgan,” she answered. “Just when we thought things had gotten as bad as they could get, you came along. I knew then God was still watching out for me.” She turned to Sonora, who sat at the table with Kicking Boy on her lap, tears on her cheeks. Abbie patted her head. “You’re better off here, Sonora. You want a healthy child for Wolf’s Blood, don’t you?”

The girl nodded. “Tell him I love him. Send him home,” she said quietly.

“I’ll do both. But if Zeke is …” The words caught in her throat. “If he’s dangerously ill, he probably won’t come until he’s sure Zeke will be all right. You know how close they are.”

The girl looked up at her. “If something happens to his father, part of my husband will die also.”

Abbie could not answer. Her throat hurt too much. She picked up her carpetbag and grabbed a cape, heading out the door. With a few quick good-byes she was mounted, leaving with the lieutenant and his eight men, who all watched her sit straight on her horse, an obviously experienced rider. The fact that she was married to a half-breed Indian brought more curiosity than derision; and the rumors some of them had heard that she had lived in this lawless land—even sometimes among the Cheyenne—for over twenty-five years brought respect and admiration as they watched her now. Surely a woman of her obvious beauty and refinement must love her husband and family a great deal to stay on a lonely ranch, with
little contact with civilization, no luxuries, and ever-present dangers. Most had expected an Indian woman, not believing the stories that she was white. And all of them were surprised at the air of respectability about her: a woman strong and stubborn, intelligent and brave, they soon surmised as they spent the next three days literally trying to keep up with her. She rode faster than they intended and slept little, refusing to stop more than twice a day for a few minutes rest and a little food. She was as capable of living under the stars as any of the men, and some of them tired before she did. By the time they reached Fort Lyon, they all held her in high regard, and any one of them would have put his life on the line for her.

When they arrived she didn’t want to rest at all, demanding to be taken immediately to her husband. She was met in the outer room of the doctor’s quarters by Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen.

“Mrs. Monroe,” he greeted, nodding his head. “I’m sorry you had to come here, but your husband—”

“Where is he?” she asked anxiously. “You can tell me later what on earth happened. I just want to see him—now.”

He sighed deeply and took her arm, leading her into a room where her husband lay in a large bed. A doctor was pulling covers over Zeke’s shoulders. She stared at his closed eyes. His face was thin. The doctor turned to her.

“He’s out of danger,” he told her. “You’re his wife?” He looked surprised.

“I am,” she answered, chin held proudly. “Will he be all right—truly?”

“As far as I can see. Oh, he’ll have a hefty dent in his left side. Part of the flesh was literally blown away. The danger was in loss of blood and a bad infection. He’s recovering from both now.”

Her eyes teared. “The lieutenant said you had to burn the wound.”

He nodded, grasping her arm. “He’s a strong man. I could see he drew on some inner strength most men don’t have.”

She had to smile. “I am not surprised. It’s the Indian in him.” She looked around the room. “Where is my son?”

The doctor moved away as Abbie went to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge of it. “He left last night—to be alone and pray, he told us.”

She studied Zeke. “I understand.” She looked up at the doctor. “Is my son all right?”

“His back was bruised very badly. Said a man hit him with a shovel. He took a bad blow to the head, too. It fractured his skull. There’s nothing can be done about that but let time take care of it. How either one of them managed to get here is beyond me.”

She looked back at Zeke. “They’re stubborn men.” She leaned closer, putting a gentle hand on her husband’s forehead. The doctor and Petersen left the room, closing the door softly, and Abbie leaned down and lightly kissed Zeke’s lips. She pressed her cheek against his then, her tears wetting his own face.

“Don’t you dare leave me yet,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare. You promised it wouldn’t be this time.”

He stirred slightly and she swallowed back her tears, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his cheek. When she sat up, his eyes were open. He just stared at her a minute, then managed a smile.

“Abbie,” he said, his voice weak. “Damn … you look good. I … could have used you … a few days ago … when the doc lit a small fire … in my side.”

She wiped at her eyes, angry with herself for crying in front of him. “Thank God you’re alive,” she sobbed, smoothing back his hair. “Oh, Zeke, I should have been here!”

“Couldn’t … be helped. Wolf’s Blood … can tell you what happened. I don’t have the strength.” He met her eyes sorrowfully. “I meant … to come home to you … riding my horse … everything fine. We had … a small problem with some … whiskey traders. I’m sorry, Abbie-girl. Things didn’t go … quite as planned. And I don’t … usually let a wound … get me down like this. Must be … old age.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sniffled. “You were hurt bad. The doctor said he doesn’t know how you made it this far—that you survived on an inner strength most men don’t have.
Now stop talking and get well so we can go home.” She sniffed and swallowed, touching his cheek. “You will be … all right, won’t you? Tell me you’ll be all right, Zeke.”

He managed to move his arm and reach up and take her hand. “Sure I will, now that my Abbie is here. I told you I wasn’t … ready yet. Besides … when I die, woman … it will be more honorably … than from the bullet of some no-good … whiskey trader. It will be a real … Indian battle … soldiers and all.”

She could not stop the tears then. The last three days had been filled with worry and hard riding and little rest, all the while frightened to death she would get to him too late and find he had died. She lay down carefully beside him and wept. He couldn’t move to embrace her, but could only hold her hand.

“It’s all right, Abbie-girl. You’re stuck … with this mean son of a bitch … for a while yet.”

It was three days later when Sergeant Daniels rode into the fort with his report. He had gone to the Rage ranch as directed, intending to confiscate the supply wagons and arrest Julius Rage, unaware of what had already taken place. Zeke Monroe’s bed was soon surrounded by Daniels, Petersen, and Wolf’s Blood. Abbie sat in a chair beside the bed, putting down her Bible as the men entered. Wolf’s Blood still walked slowly, his back giving him pain. Zeke was propped against pillows half asleep when they entered. He stirred fully awake and rubbed his eyes.