The Devil's Paintbox (15 page)

“Aiden Lynch, sir.”

“Irish, eh?”

One could never know if Irish was a good thing to be or not, so Aiden just gave a vague shrug. Maybe if he seemed stupid enough, the damn lieutenant would just leave him alone.

“I'm Lieutenant Caerwyn Gryffud, B Troop, Third Western Cavalry out of Fort Laramie.”

It was a Welsh name, a common one in the coal mines of West Virginia, but that still didn't reassure Aiden. The Welsh were as clannish as the Irish, and fights between the two groups were common.

All of the soldiers had arrived now. There were about thirty of them, and most looked mean, hungry and tired. Toward the rear of the group, a few men looked sick and were so weak they slumped in the saddle.

“We'll wait for your wagon train,” the lieutenant said. “Franklin, Bailey—”

Two very young-looking soldiers trotted over.

“Take some men and gather wood for fires. Tell Cook we have some antelope to butcher. The men could all use some fresh meat. He's to cook it all and serve it out now. Have him make a broth for the sick.”

Now Clever Crow spoke up, his voice as measured and authoritative as Gryffud's.

“My uncle says you may have our antelope as well,” Tupic translated. “To feed your men.”

“Your antelope?” Gryffud said.

“The two my cousin killed for the wagon train,” Tupic said firmly. “We wish to make them a gift to you, in friendship.”

Sergeant Todd gave a snort of laughter, but the lieutenant raised a hand to silence him.

“Thank you,” he said simply, nodding to Clever Crow.

“I will take the arrow out,” Tupic added defiantly. “So it doesn't get broken.”

he soldiers took the Indians’ bows and knives and tied the four ponies up with their own horses but did nothing else to restrain them. They were left alone, and even given portions of the pronghorn once it was cooked. The meat was charred black, tough and unsalted, far different from the tender steaks of the night before.

Lieutenant Gryffud gave Aiden one of his own shirts to wear, for his back was badly sunburned. The sleeves were six inches too short and the tail barely covered his waist, but Aiden was grateful for the protection as the sun climbed higher. The shirt was made of silk, and the strange fabric felt wonderfully cool against his tender skin.

“It's my battle shirt,” Gryffud explained. “Better to get shot through silk, you see—leaves a much cleaner wound.”

The shirt was clean, unpatched and deeply creased from being folded, so Aiden guessed Gryffud had not had much need for a battle shirt so far in his military career.

“When the wagon train comes, will your Mr. Jackson agree with your story?” Tupic asked when they were alone. “Will he say that we are guides?”

“I don't know,” Aiden replied. “Even if he does, there are plenty of others who won't. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't trust you.”

“We have not told you the truth either,” Tupic said quietly.
“Not all. You are partly right; we are not just traveling to trade and visit. This is a troubled time.”

“Why?”

“Have you heard of Sand Creek?”

“No.”

“It was in your newspapers.”

“I haven't seen a newspaper for a year or more.”

“In your state of Colorado, there was a great chief of the Cheyenne Nation called Black Kettle. One of your soldiers, a Major Wynkoop, talked many months with Black Kettle, to make a peace treaty. Everyone was tired of war. So Black Kettle agreed to a treaty. He brings his people to talk with your chiefs in a place called Sand Creek. Many Indians went, from the Cheyenne and Arapaho. They bring their families, their children and old people, and made their camp. They trusted Major Wynkoop, but over him was an evil man called Colonel Chivington, who did not want peace.

“One morning, Chivington and his men attacked Black Kettle's camp when all were sleeping. Some of the men ran out. They waved an American flag and a white flag of surrender. They did not have guns or any weapons. They think it was a mistake. They put their hands in the air, but the soldiers shot them dead. Then the soldiers killed everyone who could not run away. More than two hundred lives. Babies they stabbed with swords to save the bullets.”

Aiden felt a sick twist in his stomach. It couldn't be true. No soldiers would do such things. But then he thought about how ready Sergeant Todd had been for violence. Tupic reached into a saddlebag and took out a rolled-up piece of leather. He lifted the flaps on a sort of envelope, took out a page from a newspaper and handed it to Aiden. It was yellow
and stained, but the photograph was still clear. It was the inside of a grand theater with a chandelier over the stage, on which smiling soldiers and men in suits stood proudly in a row.
Colorado soldiers have again covered themselves with glory!
read the caption under the photo.
Colonel Chivington triumphs over the savages. Not one soldier perishes!
To one side of the stage was a line of people dressed up in their Sunday best: men, women and children waiting to view an exhibit, a long string of what looked like small animal pelts.

“Those are Indian scalps,” Tupic explained in a flat voice. “Also, the parts of Indian men.” He looked away, embarrassed, and pointed to his own crotch. “Also their ears. Also the hair from the women, the hair from their woman place. Your soldiers cut them.” Tupic looked out over the calm river.

“All is different now,” he said. “Sand Creek changes the way the heart beats in a man. It changes the way stars move in the sky. Your Constitution, your books of law, your Bible, all are now waste to us.”

“I'm sorry,” Aiden said lamely. Tupic folded the clipping and put it away.

“After the massacre, there were months of revenge attacks,” he went on. “Indians burned white houses and knocked down the telegraph. Your army sent out many soldiers, like these.” He nodded at the regiment nearby. “But since winter, Cheyenne and Arapahos, Teton Sioux, Nimipu, many others, ride to councils with the other tribes.”

“That's why you're out here? For councils?”

“Yes. For many years Clever Crow talks peace with other tribes.”

“So what did your councils decide?”

“Most agree to stop the revenge, to take time and think. After that, I don't know.”

“What do you think will happen?” Aiden asked.

“Some say white men will kill all Indians and take our land and we will be gone from the earth, so we must be ready to return to the spirit world. Others say we should fight; that even if you kill all of us, from every drop of our blood will grow ten new warriors.” Tupic looked at the soldiers lounging in the grass.

“What do you say?”

“I say it is wrong to die today, on a beautiful day when peppermint candy is coming to me.” Tupic stared at the white clouds drifting across the clear blue sky. “That lieutenant does not believe your story.”

“I know.”

“Your head man Jackson knew our greetings,” Tupic said. “Do you think he knows more of Indian ways?”

“He's been out west a long time. He was a fur trapper,” Aiden said. “I'd say yes.”

“We will try to use sign, then.”

hortly before noon, a dust cloud across the river heralded the approach of the wagon train. Aiden climbed the bluff and saw Polly and Annie Hollingford and Therese Thompson and some other girls walking together as if they were on a holiday outing. In a way they were, with an easy march of only five miles along a riverbank on a nice summer morning. As the wagon train neared the crossing, people began to notice the soldiers. Aiden saw the girls giggling with excitement. He searched the column for Maddy, and soon saw her running ahead and looking for him. He whistled and waved and she waved back. Then Aiden saw Jackson halt the wagon train and ride out alone into the river. Aiden ran down the bluff.

“Come on,” he said, nodding to the Indians.

“Mr. Jackson, Reverend True, William Buck.” Tupic quietly reviewed all the names Aiden had taught him as they walked toward the river. Lieutenant Gryffud rode up beside them on his chestnut horse, and Aiden slowed down to let him pass. They couldn't very well do any secret signing with the officer right next to them. Gryffud reined his horse to a stop near the water's edge and waited for Jackson to come across. The other soldiers all watched from their camp on the bluff. As Aiden had hoped, midway across the river, Jackson looked at him and tipped his head slightly in query. Aiden nodded at Clever Crow, and the older Indian quickly made
some signs. Aiden couldn't tell whether Jackson saw them or not, or understood them if he did.

“What did he say?” Aiden whispered to Tupic.

“That one moon is passed, one month, and that we feast together. It is a way to say we are friends,” Tupic explained. “Also the sign for ‘look’ or ‘seek the way’ Sorry—sign is a very simple way of talking.”

Simple or not, the message seemed to get through to Jackson, or he guessed the situation on his own. Cavalry and Indians could never be an easy combination. As Jackson approached the riverbank, Aiden waded out to meet him and took the horse's bridle.

“Tupic
and
old Clever Crow
picked out a good place to cross, didn't they, sir!” Aiden said, stressing the Indians’ names. “But I guess that's what you've been paying them for all this time, right? And
Silent Wolf
saved you a chunk of meat from our dinner last night. He shot a pronghorn.”

Jackson paused, then frowned. “Well, I hope it ain't old and tough like the last one.”

Lieutenant Gryffud clicked at his horse and rode a few steps forward, until the two men were only a few yards apart.

“Good morning,” Jackson said cautiously, like one who never quite trusted authority of any kind, and soldiers especially.

“Good morning, sir,” Gryffud said in his most authoritative voice. “I am Lieutenant Gryffud, B Troop, Third Western Cavalry out of Fort Laramie.”

“Jefferson J. Jackson.” Jackson touched the brim of his hat.

“The boy tells me these Indians are in your employment.”

“That's right.”

“So you will vouch for them?”

“I will.”

“They've given you no trouble?”

“Not so far.”

Gryffud seemed to be looking for a little more information, but Jackson remained taciturn.