Song Of The Warrior (21 page)

 

 

It was dark when the band found a sheltered grove of trees and reined in. Willow felt relief as Joseph ordered a halt. The toddler was asleep in her travois and she was so weary herself, all she wanted to do was find a sheltered place and rest, but there was work to be done. Anxiously, she scanned the horizon, wondering when Bear and the others would catch up to the column. She must not even think her deepest fears, she scolded herself as she brushed her hair from her eyes.

She built a tiny fire so the soldiers miles behind them couldn't smell the smoke and filled her bucket from a nearby stream. She had food. Some of the others had escaped with nothing at all and there were wounded to care for. She put the water on to boil and added some dried meat. A rich broth would be good for the wounded. No one had saved their lodges, they would all be sleeping out under the stars until they could replace them. On cold nights, that would make for miserable conditions. She must keep busy so she wouldn't worry about Bear.

Willow found the old grandmother and together, they dressed wounds and fed children from her kettle of steaming broth. Darkness fell and in the camp, the faint mourning cries of those who knew their men were dead drifted to her ears. Many of the people were discouraged and frightened. There seemed to be disagreement among the leaders about what to do next. From what she could overhear, some of them wanted to surrender to the soldiers, take their chances on the new reservation. Others insisted on making the attempt to cross the Lolo Trail. The Nez Perce had friends in Montana Territory, the Flatheads, and some clans of the Crow tribe.

Willow didn't care where she went as long as she had her man by her side. Faintly in the distant darkness, she seemed to hear the occasional echo of a rifle and wondered how long the warriors would hold the soldiers at bay before they slipped away to join the survivors.

She saw Raven's silhouette out by some trees. Looking Glass had sent him to guard the horse herd. He had not eaten, she thought, she had better take him something. She got a gourd of broth and walked out there. He sat under a tree with his rifle across his knees, staring back toward the Clearwater.

Strange, she thought, his shoulders were shaking. Was he cold? Only when she walked up behind him on silent feet, did she realize he was sobbing in a soft, terrible way, the way strong men cry who have never surrendered to grief before.

“Raven? What is it?”

He turned his head, startled; looked up at her. She saw the tears in his eyes and the utter grief on his handsome face, the way his broad shoulders slumped. He was not much older than her, but somehow, tonight, she felt so ancient and he looked so very young and vulnerable. “I-I tried,” he whispered. “I wanted to go back; he insisted I ride to warn the camp.”

She knew the truth then; knew with a terrible agony as if she'd just been stabbed in the heart. The gourd fell from nerveless fingers and she cried out, “He's dead, isn't he? You lied to me! You knew he was dead!”

She began to scream and Raven jumped up, put his hand over her mouth, holding her shaking body against his. “Oh, don't, Willow! I can't bear to hear you cry! You must not scream and alert the soldier scouts! Believe me, if I could, I would have died in his place so you could be happy! Try to take comfort that he is now in
Akunkenekoo,
the Land Above.”

She wept then as she had never wept before, cried until she had no tears left. Only then did she notice Raven was shaking like an aspen leaf and she knew that his pain and his loss were even more terrible than hers. She put her arms around him and held him close, comforting him as she would a small boy. “It's all right, Raven,” she sobbed. “It-it's all right.”

“Again, I ran. I'm a coward! Always a coward!” He held onto her as if she were a rock he could cling to while terrible reality washed him away. Tonight, in their terrible mutual grief, she felt like the mature one and he was only the shattered younger brother after all. She had never felt such pain; such grief, and yet she found herself comforting him. “I know you are brave; I know you never meant to leave him there.”

“I-I tried to go back,” he said, shaking all over, “but Joseph ordered me to help clear the camp.”

“Maybe he escaped.” She held onto that hope like a life preserver in a stormy sea.

Raven shook his head. “Ask Pony. We did go back, attempting to reclaim his body. A brave warrior should have an honored burial; not be eaten by vultures.”

“You-you saw his body?”

“Yes.” He turned away and she heard him swallow hard several times before he could continue. “We couldn't get close enough to get it because of the soldiers' guns.”

In her mind, she saw her beloved sprawled in the grass, vultures tearing his flesh. Her anguish was too terrible for mere tears. “Don't think about it. We must look after the living now. There are many days ahead when the tribe will need brave men.”

“Then they won't need me,” Raven said, bitterness in his voice. “I have no honor; no courage.”

She must bring him some ease to his pain or else he might do something terrible in his grief, throw himself off a mountain, ride in a suicide charge against the soldiers so that they gunned him down like a dog. “Don't say that! Listen to me, Raven,” she whispered, now more concerned about his grief than her own. “Remember Bear thought there was a universal pattern to all things; that nothing happened by chance?”

He nodded, still not looking at her.

“Remember he said that when he was little, his life was saved by a Cheyenne Dog Soldier named Iron Knife? He was certain that it happened so he in turn could save you from that grizzly.”

“Why would it be important to save me?” Raven snorted. “I am worthless; I'll never do anything worthwhile. Better I should have stayed and died at the River and Bear should have escaped.”

She closed her eyes and remembered Bear's smile, his tender lovemaking. “I-I must believe that there is a reason, even though we don't know it yet; otherwise, all life's tragedies seem cruel and pointless.”

There was a long silence. “Willow, do you really believe that?”

Pain; her whole body, soul, and mind seemed to be one mass of pain. “Yes; I-I have faith in you, Raven; just as Bear did. Now you will have to prove that he didn't waste his life in saving yours; that you are going to do something noble and honorable with the years he has given you.”

He looked at her and sighed. “It was my turn to die; and he took my place.”

“Maybe not.” She patted his shoulder. “Who knows when his turn comes or why one is saved and another dies? Somehow, it must all fit into God's giant scheme of things. Think about tomorrow; there's still so much to do, so much ahead of us to deal with.”

“You are right,” he said softly. “I have to take his place, do the things he would have done. My people need me.”

“Yes, and I need you, too, as does the old grandmother and the children. Now let me get you some food and you rest if you can. Before dawn, I imagine the people will be headed for the mountains.”

He nodded. “Yes, I will need food to keep up my strength.”

“I'll get it.” She turned and walked back to her kettle. Her own soul was as numb as a stone, and she never expected to feel happiness again. Willow's grief was so terrible, it felt like physical pain. Bear had meant everything to her and now he was dead. She wasn't ever going to have his child. All she could do now for the man she loved was take care of his brother. She paused and looked toward the distant hills where Bear now lay for eternity. Not in this life ever again would he embrace her or kiss her lips.

What lay ahead for the Nez Perce with the biggest, most powerful army in the world pursuing them? Maybe the warriors who had died back there had only postponed the inevitable; maybe they were all going to die tomorrow or the next day or next week. How could a handful of people go up against cannons and Gatling guns? She must not think about that tonight. There were wounded to tend to and frightened small children to comfort.

Willow took a deep breath to bolster her sagging courage and carried a steaming bowl of broth back to where Raven sat sentry duty with his rifle. “You'll feel better with a little food in you.”

“Thank you, Willow, for not blaming me for Bear's death.” He took the broth, began to eat.

How could she blame him? She knew Bear with all his nobility. No doubt, when he realized that the warriors who stayed behind would die, he had thought of an excuse to send Raven out. Bear, always so brave, so self-sacrificing. She must not cry anymore. If she let herself go, she would not be able to stop, and she could not be selfish in her grief. Her pain was not as important as her people's safety. In her heart, she was Nez Perce after all. Nez Perce were special people, she remembered, created from a heart's own blood and at this moment, she felt as if hers had been torn from her chest.

She turned and looked at the distant Bitterroot Mountains to the east, their snowcapped peaks shining in the moonlight. The trail would be narrow and steep. The air would be cold and there wouldn't be much grass for all these hundreds of horses. One misstep and anyone could fall to his death. Many of the old ones were too frail to make that long trek and the wounded might not survive the ordeal, either. Yet, what choice did they have with the army coming after them?

Somewhere, a night bird called and a wolf howled its loneliness. When she took a deep breath, she smelled the scent of horses and wildflowers. Today, she had lost the most important thing in her universe and she didn't even have his child to remember him by. She hadn't know such mental anguish was possible.

“Willow, are you all right?”

She couldn't speak, but she managed to nod. “We-we' re going to make it, Raven; for Bear and the others who won't be going with us. We'll journey to freedom for them!”

Willow turned and walked away very fast, fighting for control. She had responsibilities, so she must not give way to grief. Grieving was a luxury she had no time for right now. Once her people made it across the mountains, she would have the rest of her life to mourn her loss. Tonight, she would hold up and hold on. Tomorrow would be here too soon and the ordeal of the terrible Lolo Trail lay ahead of her people.

The Nez Perce lingered a little while longer in Idaho Territory, disagreeing on what to do. Joseph, to save his people further death and trouble, appeared to want to surrender. However, the other leaders were convinced that if they surrendered, the leaders would be hanged as had happened four years ago in the Modoc War, and back almost twenty years ago in the earlier Indian outbreaks in the great Northwest. Besides, the leaders reasoned, the people in Montana were a different tribe from the ones in Idaho; they had no quarrel with the Nez Perce and would surely let them come into their land, hunt buffalo, and live in peace.

While Joseph's band was attempting to make its decision, Chief Red Heart and his small band had passed by and camped with Joseph's group. However, his people wanted nothing to do with the war and were still camped there peacefully after the warring Nez Perce moved out and headed for the Lolo Trail. In vain, Red Heart argued with the soldiers when they came that his band was innocent. They were arrested and imprisoned anyway.

Willow tried to persuade Raven to tell the leaders that both areas were part of the United States and that the Montanians would also fight them. Of course, Raven had no stature as a warrior, so no one would listen to him and certainly the great chiefs were not interested in the opinions of a woman; and a half-white one at that. It was decided that they would take their hundreds of people, thousands of animals, and cross the tortuous Lolo Trail into Montana Territory. Behind them, they left five good warriors to watch for the army; hoping, perhaps, that General Howard would change his mind and not pursue them any farther.

The pain from losing Bear had never gone away. Every morning, when she awakened, her loss was the first thing she thought of and the last thing she recalled when she closed her eyes at night. If anything, she thought sadly, as she cooked the rabbit Raven had shot, the younger brother was having a much harder time dealing with his brother's death than she was. He seemed almost lost like a ship drifting without a rudder.

How much time had passed in white men's terms? Willow considered momentarily as she poked the small fire. Two weeks? More? Less? She shook her head. No, it didn't matter that she had lost count; what difference did it make to her anyway? Willow was aware only that the sun rose and the tribe moved; the sun set and they fell to the ground exhausted. One day was so much like another that time meant nothing to her except putting one foot ahead of another or riding a horse until she felt her legs go numb. Willow almost welcomed the discomfort; it kept her mind off her grief.

Already, on this trek through the mountains, the going was rough. The cold, wet day had been arduous and exhausting, and it was only at midday. Willow was not sure she could make it through to the other side. During the stop for rest, she had cooked a rabbit stew. Now she handed a bowl of the stewed meat to one of the older warriors. He nodded his thanks and began to eat. “You are a good Nez Perce woman,” he said gravely. “Sometime you must stop grieving for your man and take another.”

She shook her head. “No, I will never care for another.”

“Your man would not want that,” the old man said, his lined face full of sympathy. “Hohots was a very brave man; I saw him fall; he was singing his warrior's song.”

Somehow, that comforted her. “I wish his body had not been left behind.”

“Other brave dead were left behind, there was no help for it. I was one of those on the bluff with him; I would have brought him out if I could, but he was big and there was so much confusion, I could not do anything or even get near his body.”

“It is not wise to waste a warrior's life retrieving the dead,” she whispered. “You will be needed yet against the white soldiers.”

He nodded and thanked her for the food. Willow stared after him as he left. So many brave men, so many dead warriors. There would be others before this whole thing was finished.

Raven rode up just then and dismounted.

Willow handed him a bowl of the stewed meat. “Thank you for bringing this, I've shared it around among the children.”

Raven nodded. “I suppose Bear would have brought in a whole deer, but I didn't see one.”

Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm to comfort him and blinked back tears. “Raven, he's gone now and you'll have to take his place; do the things he would have done for the people.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm and she quickly withdrew it. It had seemed so natural to comfort him that way. “Bear left big moccasins to fill. I-I do not think I can.”

“Raven, there's a lot of us depending on you. I know you can do it; Bear always had faith you could. Would you make him out a liar?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “of course not. I'm just not certain—”

“Raven.” She leaned closer. “I have faith in you, too. You haven't had the chance to prove yourself as your older brother did, but I feel you may get the chance now. The people are so desperate.”

“It will get worse,” he said somberly, looking around at the people huddled on the trail. She followed his gaze. They had lost all their tipis and many of their supplies. All they had in abundance were horses, old people, women, and children.

She felt a chill go down her back as she turned and looked across the jagged tops of the Bitterroot Mountains, hidden now by rainy cold fog. Even in July, there was snow on the highest peaks. “Some of the old people will never survive the trip. The badly wounded probably won't, either.”

Raven squared his shoulders and in his eyes, she saw just the barest hint of his brother's courage. “We have no choice; we will do what we must.” He looked toward the old grandmother. “Those whose strength fail may have to be left along the way.”

“Oh, Raven, no!” The thought horrified her.

“They know it better than you,” he said, his handsome face somber, “but they all want to make the effort. They will drop out of the march along the way, die by the trail before they will slow or halt the column. We can't linger on the trail; it is too cold, the air too thin.”

“But we have no tipis, not enough blankets,” Willow protested. “At the high levels, there won't be much game or grass for all these horses—”

“You think we aren't aware of that?” Raven stood up. “Many of these people will not survive and they know it. Some will freeze to death; some will drop out and die of exhaustion. Before this ends, we may have to eat our beloved horses, but there is no help for it. Better to die attempting to reach freedom on the far side of the mountains than to be forced back onto that miserable reservation.”

“You are right, of course; Bear would agree. I am ashamed for my whining.”

For an instant, his face saddened at the mention of his beloved brother, then he squared his shoulders and stood up, looking for all the world like a Nez Perce warrior of many battles. “I will look out for you, Willow, the best I can. It is the least I can do for my brother who gave his life twice for mine.” He swallowed hard and strode away.

Behind him, Willow buried her face in her hands, fighting to keep from breaking down. The only man she would ever love had sacrificed himself to save the tribe. The least she could do was make sure that his sacrifice had not been in vain. Willow dried her eyes and gritted her teeth. She was a Nez Perce woman and she would help her people survive this long ordeal that lay ahead of them like the children of Israel fleeing Egypt.

Egypt had been hot desert and there would be no Red Sea and no miracle to save the Nez Perce from the pursuing Pharaoh's men; they would have to do this all on their own. It looked impossible. Yet what other choice did they have other than to stay in slavery? At least, Raven seemed to be maturing and shouldering the new responsibilities. What would happen once they made it to Montana, she had no idea; she would only hope for the best. Nor did she have any idea what her future might be; she couldn't seem to think past Bear's death. Still, she didn't have much time to think because there were wounded, new babies and so much work to be done around the camp.

However, she continued to take time to teach the children. It gave them and herself something to look forward to. She read a little every day from
A Tale of Two Cities,
working her way toward the end. Many of her students could pick out a number of words, and Raven, in his eagerness to learn, surprised her with his rapid progress.

When the two talked, she was often aware that his mind was back at the Clearwater where his brother lay, as was hers. She knew she must not dwell on that loss, so she kept very busy and worked with her students.

Finally, one day, she read part of the climax of the novel aloud. There was not a sound as she read of the two men who looked alike; both in love with the same woman; and the final scene where Sydney Carton drugs the husband, who does not intend to let Carton make this great sacrifice. Then Carton has someone carry the husband away from the prison while he stays behind in Charles Darnay's place.

At this point, Willow sighed and closed the book. She was not sure she could stand to deal with the ending right now. “Children, we'll finish the story another day.”

There was an outcry of protest from her little group.

“We want to know how it ends!” Atsi said.

Raven gestured. “Run along, children, your teacher is tired. We can finish it another day.”

Willow blinked back tears. “Yes, run on, children, we will be moving early.”

With shouts and glad cries, the children scattered. Raven tarried behind. “It is good to know this reading magic. One has all the legends written down and an elder of the tribe does not have to remember them.”

“It is my favorite story,” she said.

“I know why.” He nodded. “It is about love, honor, and a very brave man.”

She swallowed hard; knowing they were both remembering Bear. She could not give way to the luxury of grief; there was too much to be done, too many ordeals ahead. She patted Raven's arm absently. “It will take very courageous people to do what we attempt and very brave men to lead them. Raven, I think you are one of those.”

He shook his head. “I am afraid that I will disappoint you.”

“Bear believed in you and I do, too. More than that, the old grandmother and little Atsi, and the Wolf cub, all depend on you since we have no man. If you cannot look after us, we may not make it.”

His face was grave. “I will do my very best, Willow, for all of them; but especially for you.”

He started to say something else, hesitated, then looked away. Finally, he muttered something about checking the horses and strode into the trees.

Willow stared after him, tenderness in her heart. He was not Bear, but it would please Bear for her to take care of his brother. What would happen to her when this long ordeal was finished, Willow had no idea; she wasn't even sure she cared much, but because of her love for Bear, she would look after her little family as best she could.

Promising herself that, she got up and began to gather the few possessions she still owned. It was time to continue the tortuous trail through the mountains.

Monday, July 23, a courier arrived in Missoula, Montana Territory, to inform Captain Rawn there that the Nez Perce were crossing the Lolo Trail and would be in his area in a few days if they succeeded.

Captain Rawn threw the dispatch down on his desk and muttered to his sergeant. “Hell of a telegram you've brought me, Dugan. A ragtag handful of Nez Perce making a run for freedom.”

“Sir?”

Rawn shrugged and began to pace. “I know, I know! The trail isn't hardly wide enough for a man to walk on and in some places, it's downright impossible! Those Indians must be crazy to try it.”

“Or desperate?” the balding Irishman suggested.

“That, most of all.” Rawn sighed and chewed his lip. “Howard's planning to come behind them, wants me to cut them off at this end, block the Lolo Trail.”

“Sir, if you don't mind me saying so, there's reporters waiting to see you, also, a delegation of irate citizens.”

Rawn rolled his eyes heavenward. “The press! God deliver me from reporters with time on their hands, trying to make a story out of nothing.”

“No disrespect, sir,” the old sergeant said, grinning, “but this is becoming quite a big story across the country. The public's beginning to pull for the Indians.”

“Great! So now the army can be villains for following orders and putting them back on the reservation.” He sighed. “I don't know what the hell to tell anyone.”

“You'd better see the irate citizens first, sir,” the sergeant suggested. “They want to know what you're going to do about bloodythirsty savages pouring across the mountains to burn and loot and murder local residents.”

“Bloodthirsty savages.” The captain made a rude noise. “From what Howard's dispatches say, there's only a handful of warriors; it's mostly harmless old people, women, and children.”