Meet the New Dawn (7 page)

“Considering all she has been through, she’s fine. She still weeps for Lillian,” Zeke answered. “It’s never easy for a woman to bury that which has come from her womb.”

Swift Arrow nodded, while Wolf’s Blood only sat and listened quietly, petting Wolf and waiting for his turn to talk. Something was bothering his father, and it worried him.

“It took her a long time to get over what Garvey did to her,” Zeke went on, poking at the fire then with a stick.

“And Margaret?” Swift Arrow asked, thinking it best to change the subject not just for Zeke but for himself, as the thought of men hurting Abbie brought a hot rage to his own heart.

“Margaret is as dark and beautiful as ever—all Indian like Wolf’s Blood. I’m sure Wolf’s Blood has told you the fine man she’s married to—Morgan Brown.” He leaned back and rolled and lit a cigarette. “I like Morgan. He’s a mulatto, so he understands the hardships mixed bloods suffer, understands some of the problems Margaret had. He’s a strong, tall, very handsome man. And you know how beautiful Margaret always was. They make a damned handsome couple, and their children will be beautiful. I trust Morgan completely. He helped me get back on my feet after the Comanches stole my horses. We work the ranch together now. And Margaret is pregnant. She’s due in about six months.”

Wolf’s Blood and Swift Arrow both smiled warmly. “Father, why did you not tell me sooner!”

Zeke grinned. “Just thought I’d save it. Abbie’s trying to get used to the thought of being called grandmother. She certainly doesn’t look like one. She’s as young looking and beautiful as ever.”

He met Swift Arrow’s eyes again and saw the love there. “I
wish I could see her,” the man admitted. “But if I go near whites, I will be arrested. And this country is no longer safe for white women. There was a time when you could have brought her among us and she would not have been harmed. But there is too much hatred now. Our people have lost too much, their own women raped and butchered by soldiers and miners. I do not like what we do, and yet we have no choice. We will fight to the end.”

“I’ll give her your love, Swift Arrow, and tell her you are well. She talks about you often, worries about you, prays for you. She loves you like a brother.”

Their eyes held and Swift Arrow’s teared. “Of course. Like a brother. And she is my sister in spirit. I think of her often also.” He took a deep breath. “And what about the rest of the children? Your son Jeremy?”

Zeke puffed the cigarette quietly, his eyes sad. “Jeremy is gone, too. He came with us to Julesberg and got himself a job loading baggage cars for the railroad—said he wanted to work for the railroad and learn all he could, maybe get into the business end of it some day. He’s always been fascinated by trains, and he never liked ranching. He’s seventeen—old enough to know what he wants, I guess, or at least to find out.”

Wolf’s Blood frowned, rubbing Wolf’s fur. “My brother was always the smart one with books. But it is strange that he would work for the iron horse, hated enemy of the Indian. It makes me feel like he is not my brother.”

The remark brought a heaviness to Zeke’s heart. “He has to go his own way, Wolf’s Blood, just like you did.” He stared at the flames of the fire, taking another drag on his cigarette. All was quiet for a moment until Wolf’s Blood spoke up again with a frown.

“Father, what is wrong? What is the real reason you came here? It was a dangerous thing to do.”

Zeke met the boy’s eyes. “You know I’d walk through fire to see you again. I just wanted to find my son. And I … I hoped maybe you’d come back with me, Wolf’s. Blood. It’s torture for us never knowing how you are, and I miss having you around. Now with Jeremy and LeeAnn gone, Lillian dead, it’s hard on
your mother. Here you’re always in danger, and a worry to both of us. Abbie doesn’t need anything more to worry about. And it worries Dan, too. He has nightmares about going out on a campaign and shooting down his own nephew.” Zeke threw the remainder of his cigarette into the fire.

The boy shook his head. “No. Here I am free. Father. I can live the way I really want to live. And you say Morgan helps you at the ranch, and Jason is getting older now. You do not need me.”

Their eyes held, and there was an alarming sadness in his father’s. “I miss you, Wolf’s Blood.”

The boy’s eyes teared. He cherished his father above all things, but his experience at Sand Creek had left a terrible bitterness in his heart that only raiding and killing could help sweeten. “I miss you too, Father,” he said quietly. “Surely you know this. You are my life. But I need to be here. I am not saying it will be forever. But I love it here!”

Zeke forced back the urge to beg, to tell his son he had a crippling disease, that he feared dying without ever seeing his precious firstborn again. But he would not use that as a tool to manipulate his son’s life. And he understood full well the boy’s need to be Indian.

Their eyes held and Zeke reached out and grasped the boy’s wrist. “Well then, I’m glad that I at least found you well and happy. Your mother will be glad for that much. You could at least try to find a way to get word to us more often, Wolf’s Blood.”

The boy nodded. “I will try. And tell my mother … tell her I love her … and I miss her also.”

Zeke nodded, forcing a smile. “Well, since you don’t think you can come back with me, then I will stay here a few days—be an Indian again. This might be my last chance at living the old way. I want to hunt buffalo, Wolf’s Blood, and I’ll show these Sioux what a Cheyenne can do in the shooting and wrestling games, right?”

The boy smiled through tears. “Yes, my father. You can show them a thing or two. I have told them many stories about my great warrior father and his knife that is great medicine.”

Zeke smiled, and Sweet Grass came near him then, bending close to offer him more meat, the side slit of her dress falling away and exposing her leg all the way to her bare hip. Zeke took in the sight and Wolf’s Blood laughed.

“She likes you, Father. You had better not tell Mother about Sweet Grass.”

Zeke grinned and rolled another cigarette, finding her beauty difficult to ignore. “I see you have learned about women, my son, and what a pleasure they can be.”

The boy laughed, understanding more than ever the pleasure his own father must find in his mother, for their love was strong and good, and his mother was beautiful. “Sweet Grass enjoys all men,” he answered. He turned to Swift Arrow. “My uncle can also tell you so.”

Swift Arrow’s handsome dark eyes moved over the woman. “All a man has to do is be a good hunter and bring her plenty of meat,” he answered.

They all laughed together, and Zeke rose, lighting his cigarette. “I’m going out to get the rest of my gear.” He glanced at Sweet Grass. “And it would be easier on me, Wolf’s Blood, if you slept with Sweet Grass in her own tipi. I’ll share this one with Swift Arrow.”

They laughed even harder, and Zeke left. Wolf’s Blood started to rise, but Swift Arrow grasped his arm, forcing him back down. “Something is wrong, my nephew!” he told the young man.

Wolf’s Blood frowned. “What do you mean?”

“There is another reason he wants you to go back with him. There is something he is not telling you. I am sure of it. There is fear in his eyes I have never seen before. Your father fears nothing—nothing! Yet I see it there; it is something he cannot stop, something he cannot control.”

Wolf’s Blood frowned. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“You watch him, Wolf’s Blood. You are close. You will see it, too. I love you, my nephew. I would miss you painfully if you left, for I am a lonely man. But the father is more important than the uncle. And your father needs you, for more than helping on the ranch, for more than just missing you. You must find out what it is that frightens him and why it is that he
wants so badly for you to return with him.”

Wolf’s Blood’s heart tightened. Perhaps his uncle was right. He would watch his father for the next few days. They were one in spirit. If something was wrong that Zeke was not telling him, he would know, and he would make his father tell him before they parted.

Chapter Four

The days that followed were good ones, rich with shared stories of great hunting and warring against enemy tribes. There was feasting and celebrating, drumming and dancing, and even Zeke, who normally stayed away from excessive amounts of whiskey, drank his share of the firewater. That was when Wolf’s Blood knew for certain something was deeply wrong, for Zeke seemed to want to be constantly drunk. Surely it was more than the joy of being with Indians and living that life he seldom shared anymore. It was as though he were making an effort to be happy and pretend nothing was wrong.

Women stretched and cleaned hides, hung meat in strips to dry, carved useful instruments out of buffalo bones, and made new clothing for their husbands and children. It was one of the last great periods of plenty that these Indians would know, and it was good. Zeke won his share of wrestling matches and all the wrist wrestling, basking in secret joy that he was still strong. He would fight this ridiculous disease. He would never be crippled!

But in the wee hours of the night he knew the disease would not go away, and that the coming winter would bring back the dreaded pain. Even in this warm weather, there were hints of it, and after a day of wrist wrestling, his right arm throbbed with it. He should have known better, but he didn’t care. He’d had something to prove to himself, and he’d done it. How he would cover the pain the next day when they went on the buffalo hunt, he didn’t know. But he would do it.

The morning dawned to find him sitting near a freshly stirred fire, holding his arm over the flames to absorb the warmth. Swift Arrow watched him quietly, allowing Zeke to think he was still asleep. Zeke flexed his arm, wincing as he did so, then flexed his fingers, beads of perspiration on his forehead. He moved the arm up and down then, breathing deeply. Swift Arrow suddenly sat up and stretched, and Zeke put his arm down quickly, picking up a piece of rabbit and putting it in a black frying pan that he set on the fire.

“You are getting lazy, my brother,” he told Swift Arrow. “Already I am up and have breakfast started. This easy life you have now that Red Cloud has won this land is making you soft,” he teased.

Swift Arrow grinned. “There is a time for making war, and a time for peace,” he answered. His smile faded. “And there is a time to be silent, and a time to speak out.”

Zeke cast a look at him, meeting his brother’s knowing eyes. “You have something to speak up about?”

“No, my brother. But you do. I was watching you.” Zeke simply scowled and turned the meat. “Something is wrong, Lone Eagle,” Swift Arrow went on. “You need not tell me. But you should tell Wolf’s Blood. You are in pain.”

Zeke set the pan down. “I’m fine.” He rose then, pulling on a buckskin shirt. “I’m going to get my gear ready for the hunt.”

“You are a fool to go on the hunt if you are in pain. It is dangerous.”

Zeke whirled, looking angry. “I have hunted buffalo all my life! I know whether or not I’m able!” He stalked out and Swift Arrow sighed, his heart heavy.

Nothing more was said. They rode out, following the instructions of Heavy Foot, their leader for the hunt. It was vital that the hunt be organized and that each man did as he was told, or it would be a failure and someone might be badly hurt or killed. When the time was right Zeke rode down his own beast, his surefooted Appaloosa, steady and dependable and unafraid of the great beast it charged. The village had been moved to this place where the buffalo had been found, and it
had taken only a few hours to ride out and stalk one of the last few great herds left. Zeke’s heart beat excitedly as he came close, the large, white eyes of the great cow beside him rolling up to look sidelong at the man and horse that chased her.

Zeke readied his lance. He would do this the old way. He would not use a gun. He could do all the things he’d done in the old days, including lancing a buffalo. He aimed the spear, then flung it. But at the last moment pain shot through his elbow and shoulder, and the lance did not land right, nor with enough force. The cow rumbled on, the spear sticking out of her side but doing little damage. Zeke cursed it vehemently and charged forward again. He pulled out his knife, and as he approached the buffalo he let go of the reins, riding the horse with only the strength of his legs holding him on. He came closer, horse and man understanding one another, and as soon as they were side by side with the buffalo, Zeke leaped off the horse onto the other animal’s back. He would prove his manhood in the very ultimate sense. Few ever tried such a dangerous venture. He clung to the cow’s thick shag and began stabbing at it—the neck, the heart, the throat, hanging on for dear life as his huge blade found its mark over and over until the buffalo began to finally stumble. It went down hard then, its legs folding, and Zeke went flying off, tumbling for several feet, the buffalo tumbling beside him. If it had landed on top of him, he knew he would surely be dead. But
Maheo
was with him this day. Both man and beast finally came to a stop, several feet from each other.

Zeke got to his feet, panting and grinning. He was covered with scrapes and dirt and buffalo dung, but he didn’t even care. This was a great feat! He laughed, ignoring the pain in his arms and back. He raised his arms and gave out a belting war whoop, just as Wolf’s Blood came thundering up on his own horse, his young dark eyes angry.

“Father! Why did you do such a thing!”

“Because I wanted to!” Zeke answered with a grin.

Wolf’s Blood just stared at him. It was true his father would find much honor and attention that night, and what he had done made the boy very proud. But he had also seen Zeke miss with the lance, something unusual for his father. And there were all the other things—the whiskey, the wildness. He
watched Zeke kneel down to rip open the buffalo’s hide so he could gut it right away. He laid the knife at the animal’s throat and started to slice downward, but he only went about a foot when he stopped and suddenly dropped the knife. The man said nothing and did not look up at his son. He flexed his hand and picked up the knife again, forcing it the rest of the way down the animal’s middle, but with much effort. This, too, was unlike Zeke, who would normally rip through the hide with ease. The knife was as sharp and useful as it had ever been. Zeke Monroe did not let a knife get dull. There must be another answer. His father suddenly did not have the strength to slice the hide, or he was in some kind of pain.

Wolf’s Blood threw his leg over his mount and slid off, kneeling beside his father, who suddenly looked weary. He reached out and grasped Zeke’s wrist. “Stop, Father. I want to know what is wrong—the truth.”

Zeke just looked at him, then turned away and started gutting out the buffalo carcass. “Nothing is wrong, nothing being a few years younger wouldn’t cure. I’m just getting older and a little lonely, that’s all. Don’t pay any attention to my asking you to come back, Wolf’s Blood. This is the good life right here. You enjoy it for as long as you can have it. When you’re ready we’ll be at the ranch, and you’ll always be welcome.”

The boy rose, watching Zeke continue to gut out the carcass, seeing that the act took great effort. The man was trying to make it look as though there were no problems. “I guess I proved to your friends today that I’m no white belly,” Zeke told him, holding up the heart of the animal. “Let them call me that now! I’ve made more war and killed more men than any of them.”

Wolf’s Blood smiled, but his heart was heavy. His father was lying when he said that nothing was wrong. But whatever it was, he didn’t want Wolf’s Blood to know about it, and the boy would respect that. He only nodded to his father. “You have,” he said quietly. “You are a better warrior than any of them. And I have never seen a man ride a buffalo. You will be a most honored man tonight. But you had better be careful of Sweet Grass. She will want to please the great warrior who was brave
enough to mount the buffalo.”

Zeke looked up at him and grinned. “I’m feeling pretty good about this myself. You’d better not let her catch me alone.”

Three days later Zeke Monroe packed his gear, including many gifts from others in honor of the man who had ridden the back of a buffalo. Zeke joked with Wolf’s Blood and Swift Arrow that he’d better not tell Abbie about what he’d done, or she’d chide him to no end for performing such a foolish and careless act.

“White women do not understand such things,” Swift Arrow agreed. “But then Abbie is different. She would understand better than you think. If she did not understand, she would not even have wanted you to come here, knowing you would stay and be Indian again.”

Zeke glanced at Sweet Grass, who smiled seductively. He sobered and looked back at Swift Arrow. “You’re right. I was blessed with a good woman, even if she is white.” He met his son’s eyes then, seeing tears in them. They had already embraced inside Swift Arrow’s tipi before coming outside. Nothing had been said about the day Zeke had trouble opening up the buffalo’s belly, and he had seemed fine since then. He had said nothing more about Wolf’s Blood returning with him, and now he gave the boy a supportive smile, even though his own eyes were wet with tears. “It is good here for you, Wolf’s Blood. Enjoy it, son, while you can. I am glad there are still places where an Indian can live like an Indian. I have enjoyed being here and am sad to leave. Yet I miss your mother and will be happy to take her back home and be with my kindred spirits—my horses. I will pray for you, Wolf’s Blood. And you know your mother does, even though it’s to her own God. But then our Gods are probably the same after all.”

Wolf’s Blood nodded. He put a hand on his father’s arm. “I still ride every morning, father—and think of you. We are together, even when apart, just as you have always said we would be.”

Zeke swallowed, wanting to beg the boy to come. But his pride would not let him. He pulled away and quickly eased up
onto his Appaloosa, turning the horse and looking down at his brother and son. “May you always ride the free wind,” he said, his voice husky with emotion, “as all Indians once were able to do.” He kicked the horse’s sides then. If he had to leave, it must be done quickly. He galloped through the camp and into
Paha-Sapa,
the Black Hills.

A mist hung in the meadow, partially shrouding the lone man who rode there. Zeke was taking his time returning to Fort Laramie. He needed these last days alone, to wrestle with his sorrow over leaving Wolf’s Blood behind, and his fear and anger at the disease that interrupted his life now. He had too much to do. He loved his Abbie too much to consider leaving her through death. The thought of leaving her alone was torture. He thanked his God for Morgan and Margaret, and the knowledge that the ranch would keep going and Abbie would at least always have a home and protection.

But being with Wolf’s Blood again had made it harder. He had wanted to see the boy, yet doing so had made it all the more difficult. To see him and leave him behind tore at his guts, yet how could he ask the boy to come back when he was so happy being right where he was? Memories of early days with a young Wolf’s Blood plagued him in the night. He could hear the boy’s voice, see him riding beside him. But Wolf’s Blood was a grown man now, with his own life to lead. And it was the very life his father had hoped he could have, so how could he take him away from it?

He breathed deeply of the early morning air. The overnight fog and dampness had left a dull ache in his back and hips that riding didn’t help. But he refused to let this thing change anything about the way he lived. One thing was sure—he would ride a horse until his last breath. He was as natural on a horse as on his own two feet. Men came from miles around to ask Zeke Monroe to doctor their horses or to train an especially ornery steed. He had a way with horses that few men enjoyed, and his own stock were some of the best in Colorado.

Birds began breaking into song as he headed for a distant butte, and an owl gave its last hoot. The sun was just beginning
to peek over the trees behind him, and the moon still hung in the sky, faded by the mist. Flowers bloomed abundantly in the meadow, surrounded on all sides by hills black with pine. The morning was already warm; it would be a hot day. Zeke wondered how long it would take white men to finally invade this beautiful land and destroy it, as they surely would one day, The Sioux had won, but only for the moment.

He heard a sound then, a strange birdcall that did not fit in with the others. He frowned, reining his horse to a halt and studying the thick forest all around him, seeing nothing. He moved his mount forward again, and again came the call. He halted a second time, wondering if he should find cover.

“Pave-voonao!”
someone hailed then in Cheyenne, a morning greeting.

Zeke turned his horse to look behind him, his hand cautiously on his rifle. A gray wolf came bounding out of the trees then, running hard toward Zeke, but alone and not growling. Then a lone man on a painted Appaloosa appeared from the trees, holding up his rifle. “You move slowly, my father!” he shouted. “I waited two days and still caught up with you! Perhaps it was because you were hoping I would come!”

The voice echoed across the meadow in the morning mist, and Zeke’s eyes teared. Wolf’s Blood! Did he dare believe the boy had come because he’d decided to go home with him after all? Wolf ran in circles around Zeke’s horse then, as Wolf’s Blood galloped forward, his horse’s mane and tail flying, as well as his own long hair. The young man galloped past Zeke, laughing, then circled back.

“Once we raced every morning,” he told his father with a daring grin. “Have you forgotten?”

Their eyes held. He would not ask—not yet. “Hell no, I’ve not forgotten,” Zeke replied. He kicked at his horse and charged off with Wolf’s Blood galloping after him, catching up and riding side by side toward the butte. Hooves thundered and horses breathed in loud, rhythmic pants, as father and son charged toward their destination, reining their horses when they reached the hill, Zeke’s horse a nose in front of Wolf’s Blood’s. For years father and son had both wondered if each
was just letting the other win, or if he was really trying. They still wondered.