Song Of The Warrior (31 page)

Willow nodded and smiled at her. Cub had curled up asleep in Willow's lap. Maybe someday, when the old grandmother died, she would have to raise these two, but Willow didn't mind. She looked up suddenly and caught the two brothers staring at her. No one said anything and she glanced away. She couldn't stand to hurt either of them, but her heart belonged only to the older one. That one didn't want her; well, maybe she couldn't blame him. About that time, the wind blew so hard, the lodge shook. “It is bad out there tonight,” she thought aloud, “I'm glad we are all safe and warm inside.”

Bear stuck his head out the lodge flap. “It is spitting snow; let us hope we don't get a blizzard tomorrow.”

Willow's heart filled with dread at the thought. The Nez Perce had come so far and suffered so much. Now all they needed was a little luck for a few more hours and they would be safe. “Is there any danger of the soldiers surprising us?”

“No,” Raven said, “our scouts are watching the colonel Sturgis and his pony soldiers. They won't be moving in this weather, either. In another two days, we won't care where they are.”

Bear's brow furrowed. “I wish I could be so sure. After all the time and trouble the army's gone to, it doesn't seem like them to let us escape.”

“Looking Glass isn't worried,” Raven snapped.

“But Joseph is.” Bear frowned at him. Again, Willow felt the tension between the two.

“Why don't we try to get some sleep?” she suggested. “The pace will be hard all day tomorrow.”

Soon they were all lying around the lodge. It was crowded with the six of them sleeping close to the fire. However, Willow didn't drift off to sleep for a long time. She lay listening to the wind blow and thinking about her child, wishing for the one millionth time that it was Bear's. Yet all those regrets wouldn't change a single thing, no matter how hard she wished it.

She heard Bear move restlessly on his side of the fire and knew that he didn't sleep, either. How she wished she was curled up in his arms, but things were changed now; forever changed. She made a decision then; when she got to Canada, she would see if she could get a job with the Canadians to teach all the Indian children. She would find herself a small cabin and raise her child alone. Without her in their midst, maybe the two brothers would finally make peace. She didn't see any other solution. The wind howled around her lodge again like a ghostly warrior's song and she wondered if it were an omen of bad luck or was she reading something into it that simply wasn't there?

 

 

Two Arrows rode across the prairie in the cold darkness. The Cheyenne scout was used to riding alone; in fact, he almost preferred it. Soon it would be dawn. Right now, the wind felt chill against his brown face and a light crust of snow had formed on the ground. It crunched under his stallion's hooves as Two Arrows loped across the rolling hills of the Bear Paws.

He rubbed his hand across his mouth, wishing he had a hot cup of coffee. Once he had been a respected warrior; a Dog Soldier of the Cheyenne. Now he was a hang-around-the-fort redskin, he thought with bitterness, scouting for the bluecoats. What had happened to his pride?

He frowned, remembering. It had been a chill day in the season of
Hikomini
, the freezing month that the whites called November, a dawn much like this coming one; cold and snowy. Two Arrows was asleep with his woman, Pretty Flower, and their children, safe and warm in their lodge on that river called the Washita. The officer called Yellowhair had hit that camp hard on the cold, gray dawn. How long ago had that been? Nine winter counts. What did it matter to anyone but Two Arrows? Even Yellowhair was dead now on the Little Bighorn River.

Two Arrows rode up to the top of a hill and looked across the rolling prairie. Bear Coat Miles was waiting in his camp not far away while the Cheyenne scouts searched out the Nez Perce for him. Two Arrows strained his eyes in the early gray darkness, searching the vast landscape for lodges and grazing ponies. For the man who found the Nez Perce, there would be a reward. Nothing much mattered now that Two Arrows's woman and children were gone. He was dead, too; dead inside, only it didn't show and he tried not to think about it. Where his other relatives were, he didn't know; all the Cheyenne battles had scattered them or imprisoned them on reservations where they starved now because the buffalo were almost gone. Once the great brown beasts had been as numerous as the leaves on the trees, now there were only a handful.

Once Two Arrows had fought the soldiers, now he scouted for them. Pride meant nothing anymore; all that mattered was surviving and getting enough to eat. He stood up in his stirrups, taking a good look at the distant scene. Yes, that was the Nez Perce camp, all right. Two Arrows watched the vague outlines of the horses pawing up grass, the thin ropes of gray smoke drifting from the small lodge fires. As cold as it was, the Nez Perce might take their time breaking camp this morning, certain they would soon be safe with Sitting Bull.

It struck him then how much this winter camp on Snake Creek resembled that long-ago Cheyenne camp on the Washita River down in the Indian Territory. Just like that one, when the pony soldiers attacked and took the people by surprise, there soon would be dead women and children scattered across the bloody snow. That was not his worry; it was only his task to report what he saw. His own woman was dead; his children slaughtered; he could not feel for other tribes' families anymore.

He rubbed his hands together, wishing again he had a hot cup of coffee and some tobacco. Back at Fort Keogh, there was plenty. Bear Coat Miles would pay him well for finding the Nez Perce; that was all that mattered. Wheeling his stallion, he took off at a gallop to report. In two more hours, there would be blood on the snow, but Two Arrows must not think about that or remember the slaughter at the Washita. Nothing would bring his family back to him; or restore the proud past glory of the Cheyenne. No, nothing mattered anymore but surviving and the gold the soldiers paid him.

Willow came awake with a start. The first cold gray light was filtering into the lodge. Thunder? Did it thunder when it snowed? For a split second, she puzzled and then she knew what the sound was, drumming across the earth. “Soldiers!” she shouted as she jumped up. “Soldiers coming!”

Everyone came awake, the toddler crying. Bear and Raven raced from the lodge even as rifle shots echoed through the camp.

What to do? Willow ran from the lodge. Around her in the cold, snowy morning, confusion reigned. People ran and shouted, dogs barked, horses reared and neighed in confusion. Then she saw them, cavalry galloping across the frozen crust, led by Cheyenne scouts. The blue uniforms stood out against the white dust of snow. Among the soldiers, she saw Billy Warton's grinning face as he aimed and fired at the running Indians.

“No!” she shrieked. “No, it isn't fair! We were so close! So close!”

Around her, women screamed and children paused in confusion, only to be cut down by rifle fire. From somewhere, a cannon boomed. On the perimeter of the camp, she saw Bear and Raven behind a rise, both of them firing at the soldiers as the horses came on. Here and there a bluecoat cried out and tumbled from his plunging, running mount. The scent of blood set all the horses rearing and snorting.

Bear yelled, “Get down, Willow, save yourself!”

The children; she must save the children. She ran back into the lodge. The old grandmother had little Cub in her lap, her arms around Atsi's shaking shoulders. “I don't understand how—”

“Cheyenne scouts,” Willow yelled, grabbing up food and blankets, “it must be someone besides Sturgis! Let's get out of here!”

They ran outside into a foggy gray morning that seemed almost ghostlike in the cold mist. What to do now? She turned toward the old woman, who grabbed the children and was hurrying toward an earthen bank. From here, Willow saw other women with digging implements tearing at the earth, trying to hollow out refuge from the cannon that boomed and echoed.

A shell hit nearby, throwing dirt and snow in the air. Willow paused to help a woman to her feet. “Take cover!” she shouted, “under the bluff!”

She paused, breathing hard herself, watching Bear organize the warriors around him, he and his brother fighting side by side as he had once envisioned. Willow blinked back tears and put her hand on her belly. It wasn't going to matter now; none of them was going to make it to Canada. She looked over her shoulder. Less than forty miles. It didn't seem fair that they had come all this way and were going to die here in the snow only a few precious hours from freedom.

Chief Joseph looked exhausted and bewildered, attempting to lead the women and children to safety, but there was no safety anywhere. The warriors had rallied now under Looking Glass and Ollokot, joining Bear and Raven who concentrated on the officers, picking them off one at a time, knowing that leaderless troops would be milling in confusion. In the distance, she saw a big white man wearing a fur coat and hat, a man with a gray handlebar mustache. She recognized him from the newspapers. Bear Coat; Colonel Nelson Miles. How had he managed this surprise attack? Billy Warton. She had seen him in that charge and there had been hatred burning in his eyes. As long as Billy lived, she could never feel safe.

Willow started toward the dirt mounds, but an old man collapsed at her feet and Willow stopped to help him. There was blood on the snow and on Willow's hands. The ancient warrior was dead. Willow raced to the ravine where Bear and Raven crouched.

“Get down, Green Eyes!” Bear jerked her into the ditch.

She was too scared to answer as she peered up over the edge at the soldiers. “I-I saw Lieutenant Warton out there!”

The two brothers exchanged glances, and she knew they were thinking the same thing she was. For revenge, the treasure and possession of Willow, that ruthless officer would follow them to the ends of the earth.

“It doesn't matter.” But Bear's expression said he lied as he aimed, knocked another soldier from his saddle. “They're retreating!”

She hardly dared to hope, but yes, the galloping horses had wavered and seemed to be milling in confusion without any officers as Bear and the others kept up their deadly rifle barrage. Finally, the soldiers turned and fled back behind the safety of the hills. “They've gone!” she shouted. “We've beaten them!”

Bear shook his head. “No, they'll be back. If we can just hold out until dark, maybe by then, we can escape through their lines.”

Raven looked over at them. “If Joseph's messenger got through, soon Sitting Bull will show up with thousands of warriors.”

Her heart leaped with hope. “Yes, of course. All we have to do is hold out until then.”

She started to raise her head, but Bear pushed her down again. “Watch out, Willow, some sniper will pick you off.”

Behind her, a woman moaned in pain and somewhere a child screamed in terror. “I can't just crouch here in safety; people need my help.”

Both men reached out as if to stop her, but Willow avoided them and crawled across the frozen grass on her belly. She took a rock and broke a hole in the ice on the creek, took a long drink. It tasted cold and good. Somewhere a wounded woman cried for water. Willow crept to her lodge, got a canteen, hurried back to the creek to fill it. Around her, cannon boomed and bullets whined as she crawled toward the woman.

It was someone she knew, a warrior's woman. Willow winced when she saw how bad the wound was. “Here, I bring you water.” She held the canteen to the woman's lips and the woman drank deep. “Someone ... someone must save the children....” The woman whispered and died.

The children. Over the hell of gunfire and shouting men, Willow heard the frightened whimper of a child and looked around. A young girl was crouched down behind a dead horse, shivering in the morning chill. “Come with me.” Willow grabbed her hand. They ran toward an embankment where others huddled out of the line of fire.

The cannon boomed again, throwing dirt and shards of ice in the air. An occasional horse galloped madly through the camp. All around her was smoke and screams and confusion. The scent of blood seemed so heavy, she thought she could taste it. Wounded women huddled protectively over their children, others manned the bluffs with the men, firing at the soldiers. Next to one lay the dead body of her warrior. Tears ran down the woman's face, but she didn't stop firing. Willow lost all track of time as she carried water to the men, reloaded guns for them.

Raven looked over his shoulder at her. “Willow, be careful; the baby ...”

She nodded. Yes, the baby was important; no matter whose it was. The babies and the unborn were the hope of the next generation; the promise that the Nez Perce would survive as a people, no matter what. She crouched down between the two of them, reloading rifles in the cold.

Bear looked over at her, frowned, pulled off his heavy fur vest, put it around her. For just an instant as his fingers touched her shoulders, a spark seemed to pass between them and he looked into her eyes. She almost wept then, but she knew she mustn't break down. That was what a white woman would do and she wasn't a white woman, she was of the heart's own blood people; a Nez Perce woman.

The soldiers, with many of their officers dead, had ridden out of range.

Willow looked from one brother to the other. “Look, they're retreating again.”

Neither of them said anything and she knew what they were thinking. Sturgis and Howard were coming soon; all these soldiers had to do was keep the Nez Perce pinned down until the other troops arrived.

Raven looked over at her. “Remember, we sent a rider to Sitting Bull; maybe in a few hours or at least, a day or so, a thousand Lakota will come riding down from the north.”

He was hoping to encourage her, she knew. Willow put her cold hands under the vest to keep them warm and looked toward the north, then to Bear. It wasn't likely; she could read that in Bear's grim face.

The gunfire had died now except for sporadic shots echoing across the desolate, rolling hills. Around them, women wept and wailed, lost children wandered, crying and looking for their mothers. Here and there, a wounded man moved weakly.

Willow stopped thinking about herself then and how scared and cold she was. “I'd better do what I can to help.”

“Be careful,” Bear said, “the baby.”

She nodded and crept away. Even to him, the unborn legacy was important.

She and the others who weren't hurt tended wounds and carried canteens of water. The old grandmother had left Atsi looking after Cub and was staunching the flow of blood from a warrior's head. She looked up at Willow and shook her head.

Willow winced. It was a bad wound, all right, and they had no medicine, not much of anything. There would be a doctor maybe with the soldiers but the soldiers never took good care of wounded Indians. The warrior might as well die among his own.

Nearby, Willow's beautiful Appaloosa mare lay injured and kicking, attempting to get up, but it was hurt too much from the shell fragments from the cannon. The old grandmother killed it mercifully. “It is out of its pain, which is more than I can say for our people.”

Once, Willow would have winced, wept for the dead horse, but that had been a long time ago before she had endured so much. “Raven says maybe the Lakota will come to help.”

The old woman didn't say anything for a long moment. “If I am wounded,” she said, “and you have a chance to get out, leave me; but take the children.”

“Leave you?” Willow shook her head in horror. “No, we've come too far together, I couldn't—”

“A Nez Perce woman does what she must.” The grandmother sighed. “Some of us must survive. If the time comes, I have faith you'll do the brave thing.”

How courageous could she be? Willow turned and looked toward the two brothers manning the barricade. Even to save her unborn child, could she escape and leave them behind? She didn't think so. “Maybe the soldiers will go away.”

“They won't go away,” the old woman said, “they only wait for us to run out of bullets and freeze to death.”

Willow looked yearningly toward the north. It was afternoon now, but the wind was cold and the sun lost behind gray clouds. She shivered as she surveyed the death and destruction. Somewhere a woman wailed as she found her warrior dead. “We won't dare build fires tonight, will we?”

The old woman shook her head and looked at the dead horse. “Before this ends, we may eat meat raw.”

Once that thought would have made her retch, but now Willow thought about Billy Warton out there waiting to capture her and how terrifying it would be. She would rather die here with her people than submit to his lust. Willow had no doubt he would treat her as a spoil of war, and she feared for her unborn child.

With the soldiers retreating out of rifle range, there was nothing to do but wait, either for the Lakota or more soldiers to show up. The women moved cautiously, doing what they always do in war, binding wounds, scooping out shallow graves, feeding children, carrying water to the warriors who watched for soldiers to make another attack. At least they had water, Willow thought, even though in places, it ran pale pink. She wouldn't even think about that. She and the other women worked for hours as Joseph and his chiefs met out of the range of fire to discuss what to do. She watched Bear's face as the men talked, hoping for some clue. When he crawled back up the bluff next to Raven, Willow scurried over to them. “Have they heard from Sitting Bull?”

Bear started to say something, seemed to reconsider, shook his head. “Time is on the soldiers' side; they have food and tents.”

She blinked back tears of frustration. “We don't even have blankets for our wounded,” she said, looking up at the cold, overcast sky. The day had lasted an eternity and she knew that while the night might protect them from the soldiers' bullets, the cold would be even a worse enemy. Some of the cannon shells had set tipis ablaze and destroyed others. There were some horses in the camp, but the army had run off most of the big herd. Willow looked toward War Paint. The big stallion was still in camp and her travois looked intact. What good would that do with the soldiers surrounding them?

Finally, night descended on the Bear Paw Mountains and the Nez Perce knew what true misery was. There was not enough food or blankets and they dare not light fires for fear of drawing the soldiers' bullets. The women did the best they could for the children and the wounded, but they knew some of them would freeze to death and die during the night. Willow took her one blanket over to the dirt bank where the children had dug into the side for protection and gave it to them. The old grandmother snuggled down with the children to keep them warm.

Willow found some stale hardtack in her things from the Cow Creek army depot raid. She hurried up between the two brothers and held it out.

“You're freezing,” Bear said. “Here, take my buffalo robe.”

“You'll need it,” Willow protested.

“Shut up and take it,” Raven said, “we're both trying to look after you.”

Had they come to some kind of truce? Of course, it only made sense if they were all going to die here anyway. She took the fur and wrapped up in it, grateful for the warmth.

Raven sighed. “It's going to be a long night.”

“And a dark one,” Bear said, “no moon.” He looked around. “The soldiers' lines are stretched thin tonight until Sturgis and Howard get here. A few people might manage to sneak away in the dark.”

Her heart leapt with hope; then fell again. A few people. “Not everyone?”

“There's too many wounded,” Bear said, “some of them won't last through the night and there's no way to take them. The old ones can't walk fast enough and there's only a few horses.”

She was horrified. “You're not saying leave them behind?”