Sweet Savage Heart (29 page)

Rana was slipping through the trees, looking right and left for a sign of Travis. When she halted to listen for a clue to his location, she heard nothing. As she turned to head back for camp, she was confronted by a broad chest. Inhaling sharply, she stepped backward in astonishment as she found Travis standing within inches of her. “You drift as silently as a shadow and as secretly as a calm wind. I did not hear you move or breathe. I am happy you are not an enemy, for my hunting skills have dulled.”

Travis grinned as he told her, “If you could hear me and see me, then you would be the better hunter and warrior. Is it not best for me to have keener instincts and skills? You have proven yourself in battle, but I have no
coup
feathers to give you.” He eased out of the Indian speaking style when he murmured, “I’m proud of you, Rana. Every place has its bad men and perils, including Texas; so I’m relieved you know how to defend yourself and can fight with us. It’s good to find a woman who has a generous heart and a smart mind. Most of the ones I’ve met are deceitful, selfish bi… women who only think about themselves and couldn’t fight their way out of an empty barn. You’re very special, and I hope you stay that way.

Rana wondered if there were clues in his insults about women that might explain his continued distance from her. If so, she decided, this was not the time to explore them. She tucked away that piece of information, declaring, “I am glad I do not displease you, Travis Kincade. In time we will come to know each other, for you are unlike other men I have known. It is good to find a man with a strong heart who thinks of others before
himself and is unafraid to show gentleness when others need it. I was seeking you to ask questions. Why do you fear for our safety? Do the marks on the trail worry you? What do they say?”

“I’ll explain tonight. When we reach Fort Wallace after the sun is high, I’m going to speak with the soldiers. I don’t want you to be afraid, but you must be careful. When I return, I’ll explain our situation. Promise me you’ll stay with Nate and obey him.”

“But the bluecoats are enemies,” she protested fearfully.

“Not anymore, Rana. You’re part of the white world again. Unless we’re careless, nobody will discover our secrets. Most people think I’m half-Spanish, not Indian.”

“What is Spanish?” she inquired.

“You know how the Lakotas look and speak and act different from the Mandans or Arikaras or other Indian nations. The Spanish are one of the white nations. Texas has plenty of Spanish or half-Spanish people. I blend in without any trouble. You will too if you don’t do or say anything to expose your past.”

“Will the whites despise me for living with the Indians?”

“Most whites would rather see a woman die than become an Indian captive. They wouldn’t understand or believe your situation, so keep quiet about it,” he advised seriously.

“I will do as you say, but it will be hard. For many winters I was taught to hate and mistrust whites. I have forgotten what it is to live or be white. You and Nate must teach me such things again.”

“We will, Rana,” he promised, then smiled at her. “Let’s get back or Nate will start to worry about us,” he suggested, wary of the enticing solitude and her compelling nearness.

Later, as they neared the fort, they met several
scouting and working details, which they passed without any problems. Travis was glad he had told Rana to dress in the pants and an over-sized shirt and to trap her flaming hair beneath a floppy hat. But these devices only concealed part of her beauty and shapely figure. He could not help but notice how the men who came close to them eyed her with looks of intrigue and admiration. Twinges of jealousy and possessiveness assailed him once more.

Travis halted and suggested they make camp within sight of Fort Wallace, assuming it would be safe to leave them alone this close to the voice of white authority and power. Before riding off, he reminded Nathan and Rana of their instructions, then led Rana’s borrowed horse after him to explain why they had it. He hoped the commanding officer would feel obligated to let them keep it or to replace it.

Upon reaching the fort he dismounted and tied both sets of reins to a hitching post, then walked to the officer’s quarters. Once inside, Travis learned that the commanding officer was at Fort Harker at a meeting with other post commanders. To the officer left in charge, he explained the trouble on the trail and turned over the personal possessions of their attackers to provide clues to the deserters’ identities. The man was annoyed by the purpose of Travis’s visit, for it meant reports to officials and letters to the deserters’ homes. He called in one of his men, a corporal, and told him to locate a horse that Travis could buy at a reasonable price. Then he thanked Travis insincerely and dismissed him. As Travis left with the dusty corporal, he heard the officer in charge grumbling to himself about too much work, not enough pay, and several other disadvantages to Army life in the West.

The man led Travis to a small corral and told him to take his pick of the aging beasts for ten dollars. Travis glanced at the animals and scowled.

“The stallion one of your men shot was worth more
than every horse you have on this fort. There isn’t a mount in this corral that would last three days. You find me a decent horse and I’ll pay you twenty dollars and throw in a rifle for your trouble. It’s a long way to Texas, and I don’t want my wife walking or riding double. I hold the Army to blame for our problem and I expect you to handle it fairly.”

The offer of ten extra dollars and a rifle caught the man’s interest. He thought about some horses that had been delivered two days ago but had not been branded “U.S. Army” yet. Smiling greedily, he told Travis to follow him to another corral. As they were walking, the brawny corporal began to talk freely and genially to this man who was going to help him exist more comfortably until the next payday.

“I hear you boys been having lots of Indian trouble over this way,” Travis remarked evocatively.

“Yep,” the man replied as he rolled a wad of chewing tobacco around before settling it on the left side of his mouth. “Them Dog Soldiers and Sioux been giving us fits since last summer. If you ask me, they’re trying to take back Kansas and Colorado. Shame we can’t set ‘em to fighting themselves like we did those Cheyenne and Pawnee. Long as they’re fighting each other, they can’t fight us.”

“How did you pull a trick like that?” Travis inquired with a grin.

“The Army’s been giving the Cheyenne guns to make raids on the Pawnee camps. Soon as they kill ‘em off, we’ll light into the Cheyenne. Hell, if we could get rid of Tall Bull and Roman Nose, them Cheyenne wouldn’t know how to plan an attack. General Sheridan’s planning a big campaign to settle ever’body’s troubles out here. He’s got us guarding the settlements and roads till he gets his strategy together. After what he did to the South a few years back, ain’t no doubt he’ll have these savages under
control by spring.”

“If you have enough men left to fight by the time he gets here,” Travis added, then chuckled deceptively. “From the way it sounds, you’ve been losing a lot of men, to Indians and deserting.”

“I guess you heard about Fetterman and his defeat. Lost over eighty men in that battle. That don’t include two whole detachments wiped out this past winter. When Colonel Custer passed through here not two weeks past, he found eleven cavalrymen slaughtered less than twenty miles from the fort. Circling buzzards lead ‘im to the bodies. Weren’t no pretty sight neither.” The corporal went on to describe in detail the incident that inspired the warning, “Save the last bullet for yourself.”

“Custer? Is he fighting in these parts?” Travis questioned, having heard colorful war tales about that particular man. Travis himself had not fought in a war that had had nothing to do with him.

“Yep. Seems like the Army is sending every ex-Union officer it can find out here. I suppose they think they can tame the West like they did the South. ‘Course Custer’s in a might of trouble these days. These last months he’s been ripping up and down the Republican River trying to whip them savages or send ‘em running. Guess he found out them Injuns fight harder and dirtier than them Rebs. Once he got into Colorado near them gold mines, he had men deserting in packs like hungry wolves. He was so mad he sent troops after ‘em, and he caught some of ’em. We wuz told he made his regiment march a hundred and fifty miles in less than three days, hardly givin’ ‘em time to take a piss. Word is he’s been placed under arrest for a list of charges long as my johns. I don’t know if he’s the biggest fool or the bravest man I ever met.”

They reached the corral and Travis smiled as he eyed these new mounts. “Take your pick,” the corporal offered. “Where you heading in Texas?”

“Pa and me got a ranch near Fort Worth. My brother was serving in the Army up in the Dakota Territory and got himself killed by a Sioux named Crazy Horse. Me and pa went up to fetch his widow. She was so pretty that I married her before we left the fort.”

“That’s what I call taking care of your family real proper. Good thing she was willing, weren’t it?” the man teased, then winked.

“With no money or family, she didn’t have much choice. Besides, I can be mighty persuasive when need be,” he replied mirthfully.

The corporal laughed heartily. They talked on for a time as Travis craftily enticed more news from the corporal. After the deal was struck, Travis walked to the sutler’s post for a drink and to see if he could pick up more information. He also wanted to buy Rana a pair of shoes.

As he was leaving, the corporal told him, “You head straight for Fort Dodge, then Fort Cobb, and you should miss them Cheyenne and Pawnee bickerings around Fort Larned. Them commissioners are trying to work out a treaty at Medicine Lodge and Fort Laramie. They’re just wasting their time; ain’t no treaty with savages gonna last.”

Travis thought to himself that it wasn’t any wonder, considering the massacres taking place at innocent, helpless villages like the one at Sand Creek, which was less than seventy miles from Fort Wallace. The Indians had been given no reason to trust the white man or to believe his paper treaties. At least the Indian “Dog Soldiers” were raiding and fighting northeast of them, for they were the ones Travis wanted to avoid the most.

Quickly returning to camp, Travis related the news to Rana and Nathan, withholding only tragic or alarming facts. “Nate, I think it would be best if we kept a guard posted tonight. I wouldn’t put it past those Indians to
send a few scouts to this area. This fort is almost sitting in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of their territory. Rana, why don’t you keep a sharp eye while Nate and me take a nap. Nate can take the first night watch and I’ll take over at midnight. Then we’ll all have enough rest to be able to head out at first light.”

Rana was delighted to be a part of Travis’s plans, and she was pleased that he thought so highly of her skills. Before he could lie down, she insisted on checking and rebandaging his injury. She was pleased to find that the flesh wound was healing quickly, just as she was pleased by the brown ankle boots in soft leather that he had purchased for her.

Fortunately the night passed without any problems and at dawn they were already heading south. Travis kept on constant alert and set their pace accordingly. They covered a lengthy distance that day, halting to camp near Ladder Creek just as dusk dropped its shadows over the land. As he and Nathan had previously agreed, this would be the night of truth for Rana.

While Nathan and Rana set up the camp and prepared their meal, Travis scouted the area in all directions. Satisfied that it was safe, he returned to camp to sit quietly and apprehensively.

When everything had been cleared away and the three were sitting on mats near the campfire, Travis ventured hoarsely, “Rana, Nate and I have a few things to tell you. I’m not sure where to begin, so I’ll let Nate start by telling you about his daughter, Marissa. Please, just hear us out and stay calm,” he advised mysteriously.

Rana looked from one man to the other, then settled her quizzical gaze on Travis. “I do not understand. What troubles you?”

“Please, this is important to all of us. Listen to Nate’s words and trust us,” Travis coaxed worriedly, dreading her reaction.

Rana focused her attention on Nathan. Slowly and painfully he described his daughter’s past: Marissa’s years on the ranch, her wild and impetuous ways, her willful marriage to Raymond Michaels, what Nathan knew of their life together, and her last visit home. As he told her of Marissa’s child, Rana began to fidget and breathe erratically, but still she held silent. He told Rana how Marissa and Raymond Michaels had been murdered and how his granddaughter had been kidnapped by the Kiowas. He told how he had looked for her for years, and finally had been forced to give up his futile search. He related the details of Thomas Mallory’s visit and its enlightening results. He described Rana’s birthmark and the scar she had received while visiting his ranch. “I’m your grandfather, Rana. My daughter, Marissa Crandall, was your mother. You used to play with that necklace when you were a little girl,” he remarked when he noticed her rubbing it nervously between her fingers as she had done so long ago. He was glad Travis had repaired it and that she had agreed to wear it again. “Your mother left it at the ranch before she died. All these years I’ve hoped and prayed you were alive somewhere and that I would find you again. When I saw the painting of you, I cried with joy. Travis and I couldn’t leave Texas fast enough. We came to the Oglala camp to find you and to bring you home where you belong. You’re safe now, Rana. No one will ever hurt you again. Isn’t that right, son?”

Rana whirled to look at Travis as he urged her to accept Nathan’s shocking words. Many thoughts and images filled her head and conflicting emotions assailed her. They had lied to her and tricked her! This older man was her grandfather by blood and birth… Travis was his “son"? No, that was only an affectionate name, she decided. Travis was a Kincade, part Indian from the Lakota lands. She eyed him intently, for his part in her
life intrigued her most. She was his “mission?” All along he had come after her… She remembered his starting to call her Rana several times and the way he had attempted to question her about her past and memory. He had told her that “mistakes and evil deeds” could be changed or corrected. Were they telling her the truth? How could this be happening after all these years?