Edge of the Wilderness (10 page)

Brady Jensen emerged from the post headquarters followed by Captain Willets.

“I’ve ordered another tent put up near your camp,” Willets said to the men. “We’ll arrange something more permanent if you’re to stay the winter. For now, let me know what you need.” Willets eyed Jensen and then looked back at Robert. “Take a while to get your women settled. Then I’d like to hear what you found down south.”

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.

—Proverbs 17:17

The sky was just blushing coral-pink when Big Amos roused Daniel early the next morning. “Private Jensen turned his team and a few horses out last night to graze. They wandered off somewhere. Captain wants us to find them.”

Daniel got up slowly. He stretched and twisted from side to side. Running his hands through his tangled, dark hair he looked past Big Amos and grinned. Big Amos turned around to see his wife peering out from the tent’s opening. Motioning toward the tent Daniel said, “You stay here.”

“You sure?” Big Amos said hopefully.

Daniel pulled his boots on. “Just tell Rosalie to name the baby Daniel.”

From inside the tent, Rosalie laughed aloud. Big Amos grinned and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but Daniel waved him toward the tent and headed across the road to the stables. He had just mounted a lanky mule named Hank when Brady Jensen appeared from the opposite end of the building. “I told the captain I’d take care of it,” he said gruffly.

“Robert Lawrence and I scouted south of here yesterday,” Daniel said. “We found signs of an Indian camp. As far as we could tell, it’s just a small band of old women. But you shouldn’t go out alone.”

Jensen patted his holster. “Don’t think I’ll have any trouble I can’t handle,” he said and headed out toward the south.

Daniel urged Hank to a sloppy lope and caught up with Jensen at the top of the first rise. He nodded in the opposite direction. “Trail leads that way,” he said. “One of them has a loose shoe. They shouldn’t be too far away.” He pulled Hank around and rode away without waiting to see if Jensen was following.

An hour passed with no signs of the team. Daniel had just turned back to get help when two Sioux rode up over a hill and headed for him and Jensen, whooping and yelling at the top of their lungs.

They were too far from the fort to expect any help. The only hope was to head for Jeb Grant’s house to the south and hope that Jensen was a better shot than he was a soldier. Screaming for Jensen to follow him, Daniel kicked Hank and headed out, thankful he had at least chosen the biggest of the mules available in the stable that morning.

They had raced along for nearly half a mile, the Sioux steadily gaining in spite of Jensen’s wild firing, when Daniel headed down into a valley and saw Jensen’s team off to the right. One brave headed after the team. But the second warrior was obviously more intent on scalps than horses. Glancing behind him, Daniel saw why. Not a single horse at the fort could begin to compare with this warrior’s mount, a sleek white stallion that glided over the rough terrain effortlessly and, Daniel noted grimly, tirelessly.

The lone Sioux was gaining with every stride. An arrow sailed past Daniel’s left ear, so close he felt the feathered tip brush against his temple. His pursuer was quiet. Daniel leaned down over the mule’s neck, willing the animal to go faster. Glancing behind him, he saw the warrior raise a long lance in the air and knock Jensen off his horse. He counted coup on Jensen, then raised his war lance and charged after Daniel, his mount easily eating up the distance between them.

Daniel slid to the side of the mule, but Hank was not accustomed to such maneuvers and the minute Daniel’s weight shifted, the mule slowed up and began to bray loudly, sidestepping and crow-hopping until Daniel’s grip around his scrawny neck was loosed and Daniel fell off with a thud. He rolled instinctively, simultaneously avoiding the warrior’s lance and landing his head a glancing blow that left him lying on his back looking up half-dazed toward the sky.

Sensing victory, the warrior leaped off his mount and knelt beside Daniel. With his left hand, he grabbed a wad of thick black hair. He raised his knife just as Daniel’s vision cleared. The two men’s eyes met. The Sioux warrior frowned and grunted. Exhaling sharply, he slumped onto his backside in the dirt and began to laugh, revealing the space where two teeth had been knocked out long ago.

Daniel reached up to rub his scalp, pushing himself upright with his free hand.

“The only soldier I have had a chance to kill in over two moons,” Otter grumbled as he got up and stood facing Daniel, “and he turns out to be my friend.”

The two stood gasping for breath, staring wordlessly at each other. Daniel finally broke the silence. “I hoped you were far up north, free, living the old way.”

Otter shrugged. “When the other chiefs would not unite with him, Little Crow said he would come back to the Big Woods. Some of us came with him.” Otter pointed toward his horse. “Some got good horses.” He shrugged. “Some got killed. I am glad you listened to me that night in camp. When we came back from fighting, Mother Friend told me you were gone.” He smiled. “But she wouldn’t say where.”

“I took the missionary’s children and Blue Eyes down the river in a canoe. I left them at Fort Ridgely and then I went back to the camp to help my friends.” Daniel shook his head. “They put us all in prison for a while.”

Otter poked at one of the brass buttons on Daniel’s worn blue coat. “And yet you serve them?”

“We find our peaceful brothers and bring them to safety. We protect the supply lines taking food west.” He looked at his friend. “And if we find hostile Indians, we are to take them to the fort.”

“That will be hard to do, my friend,” Otter said, smiling. “Since you have no gun.”

“And since I have no gun,” Daniel said quietly, “you will probably be able to escape unharmed and I will have to go back to Fort Ridgely and report that I chased you halfway to Dakota Territory but you had a fine warhorse while I was riding only a mule and you will probably never be heard from again.”

Otter sighed. “We have come a long road since we were two young braves with no problem bigger than getting Genevieve LaCroix to notice us when we visited her father’s trading post.” He shook his head. “These are bad times for a Dakota warrior. The white man’s God gives His power to the white soldiers and they defeat us everywhere we go.”

“He is not the ‘white man’s God,’” Daniel said quietly. “He is your God as well—even though you have not acknowledged Him.”

Otter pondered what Daniel had said. “Tell me something,” he asked abruptly. “Why do you care about this God? Has He given you anything you wanted? Has He protected you from danger? Has He made the white man give your farm back? Have you got the woman you wanted?” Otter spat on the ground. “What kind of God sees His children suffering and gives yet more power to evil men to make them suffer more?” He put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder and shook his friend gently. “Answer one of those questions, my friend, and perhaps we will talk more of your God.”

Daniel opened his mouth to say something but his words disappeared in the sound of gunfire. Otter’s eyes opened wide as a spot of red appeared on his chest. He took one step backward and crumpled to the earth.

Daniel whirled around to see Jensen standing a few feet away, his smoking gun at his side. Screaming a protest, Daniel lowered his head and charged like a bull. He heard the air escape from Jensen’s lungs, heard a crackling sound as two ribs gave way. He landed atop Jensen, meeting with no resistance as he grabbed the gun out of the man’s hand and flung it as far away as he could. Making a fist he landed a crushing blow to Jensen’s jaw. The soldier went limp.

Otter was trying to get up, but by the time Daniel knelt at his side, the red spot on his chest was spreading and Otter was coughing up blood. He put his hand on Daniel’s forearm and stared into his friend’s eyes.

Daniel gripped Otter’s forearm and returned his gaze for what seemed like an eternity. When at last he let go and closed his friend’s eyes, he sat back on the earth, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

“Don’t,” Daniel growled. “Don’t touch him.” He had just come back from rounding up his mule and Otter’s stallion to find Jensen standing over Otter’s body.

Jensen whirled around. “You stay away from me!” he mumbled. Fear shone in his eyes as he coughed, grimacing in pain and clutching his side. “I heard what you said. That savage was a friend of yours. You were going to let him go. When Captain Willets hears—”

Daniel grabbed Jensen’s shirt collar. “When Captain Willets hears
what?
That you wouldn’t have gotten within five miles of those lost horses without the help of a
savage?
That you nearly fainted out of fear when you saw your first real Dakota warrior? That you shot an unarmed man?” He stared coldly into Jensen’s eyes before letting go of his shirt collar. He shoved the mule’s reins into Jensen’s hand. “You’re going to tell Captain Willets that a small war party stole the horses. You’re going to tell him that I sent you back to get the other scouts and that we’ll report back to him tomorrow about what we find. Then you’re going to go to Robert and Big Amos and ask them to meet me at ‘the farm’.” He glared at Jensen. “Of course, if you prefer, you are welcome to come with me to get our horses back. My friend here mentioned only four or five other braves waiting just across the river.”

Jensen blanched. He rubbed his jaw. With a grunt, he climbed up onto the mule’s back and was gone.

Daniel hefted Otter’s body over the stallion’s back, then led the horse into the shade and let him drink noisily from a nearby creek while he thought. Finally, he leaped up behind Otter’s body. He barely touched the stallion’s sides with his boots and the animal moved into an easy, smooth lope.

Jeb Grant called “whoa” to his team and shaded his eyes with his hand to watch the lone figure approach. His heart lurched when he realized the rider was probably Indian. He had some kind of blanket rolled up in front of him. Nice horse. Mopping his forehead with a soiled kerchief, Jeb stepped away from his team. He tried to appear relaxed as he quickly stepped from row to row of the newly plowed field toward the house. He whistled sharply, relieved when Marjorie appeared in the doorway of the house, his rifle tucked under her arm.

When the rider came closer and Jeb recognized Daniel Two Stars, he relaxed momentarily. But then he realized the “blanket” draped in front of the scout was a dead Indian. “You all right?” Jeb asked abruptly.

Daniel nodded. “I wanted—” He choked up and sat staring down at the body. He sat for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath he laid his hand on Otter’s back and said, “This man was my friend. If I take him back to the fort, they will—”

“They’ll likely scalp him like they did Little Crow,” Jeb said quickly.

Daniel swallowed hard. He looked away as he said, “You said your family never hated Indians. I wondered—”

“Of course you can bury your friend here,” Marjorie said abruptly. She looked at her husband. “Can’t he, Jeb?”

Jeb looked surprised, but he hesitated only a moment before nodding toward the barn. “There’s a big oak tree just up the rise there. Shades a big flat rock. There’s a spring—”

“I know the place,” Daniel said. He slid off the stallion and stood leaning against the animal’s side for a moment.

Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll—I’ll have supper waiting when you—when you come back down the hill,” she said softly and disappeared back inside the house.

“There’s a shovel just inside the barn door,” Jeb said, nodding up the hill. “I’ll be along directly.”

Daniel led the stallion to the barn door. Reaching inside, he retrieved the shovel and headed up the hill. Tears nearly blinded him as he began to dig. He had barely marred the earth when Jeb Grant led his team into the barn. It wasn’t long before Jeb climbed the hill, another shovel in hand, and took his place alongside Daniel.

Pointing at a small white cross a few feet away, Jeb said abruptly, “Our baby.” He stabbed the earth and turned another shovel full before adding, “It was a boy. He lived half a day.” He inhaled sharply and blinked back tears.

Before Daniel could say anything Marjorie appeared around the corner of the barn, a tattered quilt folded over her arm. “I don’t know what the right customs are,” she said shyly. “But if you wanted to wrap him—” She held out the quilt.

Jeb stood his shovel up in the mound of earth beside the open grave. Putting his arm around his wife, he said to Daniel, “You come have supper when you’re done. We’ll wait.” They walked down the hill and disappeared inside the cabin.