Beloved Physician (18 page)

“Well, sweetheart, I
have
given it some thought since reading it recently, and I realized that Solomon called Solyma ‘my sister, my spouse’ as if he could not express his near and dear relationship to her by any one term. He called her his sister because they were partakers of the same natural love for each other, and he called her his spouse because in one shared love, they were joined by sacred ties of passion that only a husband and wife can know.”

Tharyn’s eyes were swimming in tears. “Darling, I agree with your assessment of that Scripture passage. It’s wonderful!”

They were in each other’s arms again.

Dane held her close and whispered into her ear, “I love you, my sweetheart, with a powerful, undying love that only the Lord Himself could put there.”

She looked at him dreamily and lifted her lips toward him. When they had kissed, she said, “Oh, darling, I love you so much! And my love for you is equally as powerful and undying.”

The gurgling stream, the soft mountain breeze, and the beautiful moonlight seemed to embrace the young couple and to draw them closer together than they had ever been. They relished it wholeheartedly while falling deeper in love.

They kissed again, and Dane said, “Tharyn, my sweet, I didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as I love you.”

“I was about to say the same thing, darling. I love you so very, very much!”

Periodically the sound of one wolf calling to another in the nearby mountains filled the air.

Dane squeezed his wife’s hand and met her soft gaze. “Sweetheart, this is such a marvelous way to close a day like I’ve had. The terrible tragedy I saw this morning at the Bates ranch so struck my heart that I almost became sick to my stomach.”

“I can well imagine. What a dreadful thing to happen to that
poor man. I can’t even pretend to grasp his grief over losing his entire family. If he isn’t a Christian, he doesn’t have the peace and comfort that the Lord can give to one of His own children. We must go and see him as soon as we return from Denver.”

“We’ll do it, honey. But at least right now, Jack is in good earthly hands with Rex and Dora Wilson. I’m sure they’ll be as much a comfort and strength to him as human beings can.”

“I’m glad for that, but I know the sadness must be overwhelming. I know we need to head for home, but how about we pray for him right now?”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

The Logans bowed their heads and prayed for Jack Bates, asking the Lord to help him in his hour of need and to allow them to show him the gospel when they returned from Denver.

When they had finished, Dane stood up and offered his hand to Tharyn. As she took it and rose to a standing position, he said, “Feel better about Jack, sweetheart?”

“Yes, indeed. The Lord has really burdened my heart for Jack, and there is nothing as precious as giving our burdens to Him. ‘Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.’ We serve a wonderful God, don’t we?”

“Indeed we do, my love. Indeed we do.”

“We’ll keep praying for Jack till we can see him in person.”

“We sure will. Well, sweet stuff, you ready to head for home?”

“Sure am.”

Dane surprised her by sweeping her off her feet and cradling her in his arms. He kissed her again and said, “All right, my sister, my spouse; this brother, your spouse will now drive you home.”

O
n the west edge of Chief Tando’s village in the mountains, a bright fire burned at the burial ground beneath the star-filled sky.

While six warriors beat softly and rhythmically on drums, the dark figures of all the village people, who were gathered around Yamda’s grave, moaned and wailed as four warriors began filling in the grave from the mound of dirt they had piled up earlier.

Next to Yamda’s grave was that of Joyce, the young white woman who had been their servant. Though Leela and the other women were unhappy that Joyce had died, there had been no crying or moaning when her body had been placed in the yawning hole in the ground, then covered over with shovels that had been stolen from various ranches where the Indians had plundered the white men’s cattle and goods after massacring them.

Chief Tando had given a speech, marking Yamda as a hero because he had gallantly fought the whites since the day he had been commissioned by Tando as a warrior some five grasses previously. And now, the chief stood with Latawga and Danpo flanking him. His angular face was a mask of sorrow beneath the wolf’s scalp headdress with the white teeth showing in their strange grin.

The fire was dying down and a soft wind fanned the embers,
blowing sparks, ashes, and coils of smoke away into the enshrouding blackness.

When the last of the dirt was now a mound directly over the body of Yamda, Chief Tando lifted his hand. Instantly, the drummers stopped their haunting beat, and the moans and wails of the Utes died out.

The leader ran his dark eyes over the faces that reflected the dancing flames of the fire. “We have paid our respect to the brave Yamda, who is now in the presence of the Sky People. Let us treasure his memory, but grieve no more. Return to your tepees now and get your rest.”

As the Ute people began moving back into the village, two braves shoveled dirt on the fire to extinguish it, and Chief Tando moved toward his tepee with Leela and Latawga at his side.

The gray gloom on the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten the sky as Colonel Perry Smith and some two hundred mounted cavalrymen moved through the moderately dense forest and drew near Chief Tando’s Ute village in rugged mountain country.

There was a dull thump of hooves on the grassy floor of the forest, plus the creak of the wheels on the two flatbed wagons that carried the deadly fifty-caliber Gatling guns. The ranks were broken and uneven because of the tall pines, birches, and cottonwoods that made up the forest. Riders and wagons alike had to constantly weave around the trees.

The soldiers who manned the Gatlings were ready for action, as were the mounted men who held their rifles in hand as the unit moved ever closer to the south edge of the forest.

Through the trees, they could now see the long rows of tepees across an open area a hundred yards beyond the edge of the forest.

The grayness was vanishing as the morning sun—not yet above the eastern elevations—sent its rosy and golden shafts
between the towering mountain peaks to tip the lofty pines.

As the troops moved out of the forest onto the grassy open land, they closed ranks.

Colonel Perry Smith rode in the lead with Major Colin Harper on one side of him, Captain Ron Craddock on the other, and a wagon bearing a Gatling gun on either side of them. Sergeant Clint Burke rode on the far side of the wagon on the right, holding a long stick with a white flag at its tip, flapping in the breeze. The other mounted men were now spreading out behind them in a show of force.

As they drew nearer to the village, suddenly two Ute warriors assigned as lookouts sprang to their feet from a low spot in the terrain and dashed toward the gathering of tepees.

Sergeant Clint Burke watched the Indians as they ran toward the village, then said, “Colonel, I hope they saw this white flag.”

“I don’t know how they could have missed it,” replied Smith. “They’ve had time to look us over real good since we came out of the woods.” He ran his gaze around to the rest of the men. “Just keep your pace as is.”

They were within forty yards of the village when Major Colin Harper pointed to the west side of it. “The burial ground, Colonel. See it? There are two fresh graves.”

Smith fixed his gaze on the two mounds. “I wonder if one of them is the grave of the warrior Dr. Logan told me had been shot in the raid on the Bates ranch.”

“Could very well be, sir.”

Captain Ron Craddock said, “Look over there, Colonel!”

Smith saw him pointing to several beef carcasses that had been skinned and dressed out, hanging from trees in a small patch of woods off to the east side of the village. “Yeah. Probably Bates cattle.”

The two warriors were now in the village and there was a stirring among the people who were milling about.

The day brightened, and a long bank of high, fleecy clouds
was turning a bright rosy color. The sun would soon put in its appearance.

By the time the army unit was drawing up to the edge of the village, the scene had changed. The only Indians in sight now were warriors who were scurrying about, rifles in hand. Chief Tando was moving toward the oncoming army unit with several warriors collected around him. A few women could be seen peering out of the tepee openings, but no children were in sight.

“Looks like we’ve got Tando’s attention, Colonel,” said the major. “That’s his son, Latawga, beside him.”

Smith nodded. He said loudly, “Everybody stay alert. Be ready for anything.”

“We are, Colonel,” said one of the men in the wagon with a Gatling gun.

The mounted men remained in their saddles as previously instructed by their commandant. When the chief and the group with him drew up and halted, Colonel Smith raised his hand in a sign of peace.

Tando’s dark features were like stone as he eyed the white flag held by Sergeant Clint Burke and the formidable Gatling guns. Then set his icy glare on the colonel. “You are from Fort Junction?” he grunted in English.

“Yes. I am the commandant, Colonel Perry Smith. You have been in conversations with some of my officers before, including Major Colin Harper.”

Tando fixed his gaze on the major, but made no comment. He looked back at Smith. “Why are you here?”

Latawga glanced at his father. The tension in the chief’s jaw and the pinched wariness at the corners of his dark eyes told Latawga that his father was very uneasy.

Feeling the pressure of Tando’s glare, Colonel Smith replied, “There was a Ute band that stole cattle yesterday morning from a rancher named Jack Bates near Central City. Bates caught them in
the act. A gun battle followed. Bates and his family were gunned down. Neighbors saw it, and reported that it was definitely Utes. There were eight of them.”

The seven surviving young warriors who had stolen the cattle and gunned down the Bates family were clustered together within the group who stood with the chief. Each of the seven felt tension rise within him at the colonels words.

The stony look remained on Tando’s dark face, but he did not comment.

The weight of the colonel’s gaze was as heavy as a hand against Tando’s forehead as Smith said levelly, “Chief, I want to know if it was one of your warrior bands who did this.”

Tando’s mouth pulled down at the corners. His voice was as cold as his eyes. “It was not one of my warrior bands.”

Smith had expected him to deny it. He then pointed to the carcasses of the cattle that were hanging from the trees. “Where did you get those cattle you just butchered?”

“There are Utes who raise cattle on the plains west of the mountains. They often give me and my people some of their cattle for food.”

“I want to see the hides. Where are they?”

The chief bristled. “I know you want to see if there are brands on the hides. There are no brands. Indians do not brand their cattle. The Utes who brought us the cattle had need of the hides for making winter coats for their people. They waited here until the cattle were slaughtered, then took the hides with them.”

The colonel felt confident that Tando was lying and knew he would not give him the true names nor the location of the Ute cattle raisers who were supposed to have given them cattle and left with the hides. He adjusted himself in the saddle. “Chief Tando, the Bates’s neighbors reported that one of the warriors among those who stole the cattle and shot down the Bates family was shot by Jack Bates.”

He looked toward the burial ground, then back at Tando. “I see two fresh graves. Who is buried in them?”

The chief’s wrath was rising in him at the colonels brazen question, but he suppressed it. “Two of our women died yesterday. We buried them before sundown.”

“I’m having a hard time believing you, Chief. I am going to have my men open the graves so we can see if two of your women are buried there.”

Tando stiffened and his voice jumped at Smith. “You cannot do this! The graves of our people are sacred to us!”

“I do not order this with pleasure, Chief Tando, but my government needs to know who killed the Bates family and stole their cattle.”

The warriors around Tando were showing their anger. The chief’s face was a mask of fury. “Do not give the order, Colonel Perry Smith! If you do, blood will be shed!”

Smith turned and nodded at his men.

Rifles were brought to bear, and the men at the Gatling guns released the safety switches loudly and aimed them into the group.

The Ute warriors tensed.

Smith cleared his throat. “Chief Tando, we will open only one grave. If we find one of your women in the grave, we will believe that there is a Ute woman in the other one.”

In his mind, Smith knew if there was a dead warrior in the second grave, he would possibly have made the Indians and their chief nervous enough to bring their thefts and attacks on white ranchers to a halt.