Sweet Savage Surrender (14 page)

"Praise the Lord". he shouted, feeling instant camaraderie for those of his own.
The dust cloud was caused by a
cavalry column winding along the
bluff in standard four
-
abreast formation.  He could see the two officers in front and the standard bearer carrying the American flag
,
which
flapped
wildly
in the breeze. 
He had never been so glad to see so many blue coats in his entire life.

Sliding from the horse’s back, he ran out in the open and climbed a large rock where he could be seen more easily. John  took off his
blue coat and waved it in the air while he shouted
,
"I'm Major Hanlen.  I'm Major Hanlen.
Here! Here!"

One of the flank guards and an officer rode at a  fast trot to meet him.  As they approached, John quickly put his on jacket  again.  It would be needed for identification
,
for it was the only article of clothing he had left to substantiate his claim that he was indeed a major in the United States Cavalry.   Standing there in
mo
ccasined
feet  John  awaited his comrades
,
anxious to tell them all that had happened to him.

Chapter Fourteen

Young First Lieutenant, Samuel Dunham, and the Second Colorado Company's  trumpeter, Franklin Grier
,
eyed the man standing before  them for a m
inute or two before speaking. 
Although he claimed to be a major in the First Colorado Cavalry Unit from
Fort
Lyon
, he certainly didn't look like a
ny major they had ever seen. 

"Major John Hanlen!" He said again, his voice booming with an authority that se
emed to affirm that he was an officer.

"
Major
John Hanlen?"  Just to be doubly certain they did not get into any trouble if he
was a major, both men saluted.

"I ran into some trouble...."

"I can see that
,” Samuel
Dunham exclaimed.

John
was quite a sight to behold.  He looked as if he had been
in some
kind of trouble al
l
right.  His blonde hair was long, his mustache could have used a trim, his clothes were torn and dirty
,
and upon his feet were a pair of beaded, knee high moccasins.   Not boots
,
but leather leggin
gs like
the Indians always wore.  Moccasins!  He was wearing no hat so they could not identify him as being in a cavalry unit, though he
adamantly
claimed he was.   The black patch embroidered with gold crossed swords, worn by all cavalry members to indicate their branch of the service, was noticeably absent.  The dark blue double breasted jacket with several buttons missing
was
an officer's jacket.  One epaulette was hanging by a few threads
,
but the other did indicate his rank insignia was that of ma
jor.

"First Lieutenant Samuel Dunham.  Colorado Second Cavalry Unit, sir." the young stocky dark-haired officer said by way of introducing himself.  He
saluted again
as he spoke.  "You say that you are Major John Hanlen 
of the Colorado First Cavalry?"

"Yes."  John
didn't know whether to be amused or angered by the two young men's reaction to him.  He supposed he did look a sight.   "I
am
Major John Hanlen."

Both men's heads snapped around as they searched the ridges, rocks and crevices with their eyes.  "Where are the others of your company?" 
The
m
an holding the trumpet asked.
             

John  swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat as he thought of his dead mutilated  comrades.   "They are all dead,  Lieutenant," he said solemnly.  "I am the only survivor of a Ute ambush near the
Republican River
."

With that statement
,
the First Lieutenant and the trumpeter removed their hats and signaled the others to do likewise in reverence for the dead.  The silence stretched out to a long
,
agonizing moment.  Memories
crowded
into John Hanlen's head, thoughts he had successfully buried but whi
ch now came back to haunt him.

“
Po
or souls,” Lieutenant Sam Dunham said at last. He looked at John quizzically. “How did you come to be so
far from the Republican? 
Bijou
Basin
is at least
forty
m
iles west of that river,"  The look on his face seemed to ask just how come the major was still
alive
.

John answered quickly.
"I was rescued from the arms of torture and d
eath by an Arapaho Indian woman."

“Rescued from a band o marauding Utes by a woman?”
Lieutenant Dunham and Trumpeter Grier glanced at each other as if to say "Come on now.  You really don't expect us
to believe that story do you?"

That look did not go unnoticed by John.   "It's a long story that requires some
explanation
.   If you two officers will but grant me permission to mount my horse and
accompany you,
I can fill you in on all the details as we ride.
I assure you that what I said is true!”
"

The trumpeter was contrite. “Of course,”
Dunham
answered. “Imagine you’d like some company, under the circumstances.”

“Indeed I would.” John made quite a show of mounting running antelope in proper army fashion, despite the lack of an army saddle. Once he was mounted, he frowned at the lieutenant. “She wasn’t just
any
woman, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant looked sheepishly at the major and saluted again. “Forgive me for doubting your story, Major. It’s just that dressed as you are, you don’t look like a major in the United States Cavalry.”

John glanced down at his attire. “You’re absolutely right, Lieutenant.” Had the circumstances been different, he might have found humor in the situation. He must have looked quite strange. “Absolutely right. But I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Quite, sir.”

Once again they exchanged a quick glance. It was obvious that they were very, very curious.

“I have
quite a story to tell if you care to listen.
It’s a lesson to us all that such a thing can happen if we are taken unaware.”

“Unawares?” The young trumpeter’s face registered a slight twinge of fear as he looked hastily over his shoulder. It was obvious that the thought of what had happened made him more than just a bit edgy.

"Listen we will.
” The lieutenant saluted again.
 
“
After all, you
outrank any of the rest of us in this company.”

John looked around him. “That’s right, I do.” He returned the lieutenant’s smile, finally feeling completely at ease among his comrades. “Then I guess you’re going to hear the story. Who knows, you just might find it interesting.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that a bit!” The lieutenant motioned for the major to take the lead in the formation. “We
may bend the rules occasionally but we never break the rule of a senior officer's right to command."   With a gesture he indicated that the trumpeter should drop  back into the next row.  He and
the Major would take the lead.

John patted Running Antelope's nose to reassure her that everything would be alright, mounted and ga
ve the command "
Forward
  ho!"

The sun was a faint glow in a deep purple haze. John was tired, but he somehow managed to sit tall and straight in his saddle. He would lead these men to a place of safety a little farther off, and there they would make camp. The spot that he had chosen was too small to accommodate so many soldiers. Besides, now that he had reinforcements, his plan had changed. Alone he had felt like a sparrow, but with these soldiers he was an eagle.

“We’ll ride until we find a stream or pond for fresh water, then we’ll make camp,” he told the lieutenant. “Have you seen any Indians?”

“Indians! Yes, sir.” As they rode, he and the young lieutenant
stories about their recent encounters with the Indians
, the lieutenant speaking first. It seemed that while John and Skyraven were together in the cave there had been a confrontation between some
Cheyenne
braves and a troop of white soldiers. “The troops were ordered out to scour the area when a report was sent to them by messenger that some cattle had been stolen. They were to pursue the Indians, disarm them, and recover the stock before resuming their search.”

“
Cheyenne
?”

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Sam Dunham explained. The group of forty men had divided into two groups of twenty men each. One of the group’s lieutenants, Dunham himself, had picked up a trail and followed the ten Cheyenne braves seen driving horses. They finally caught up to them near the American Ranch on the South Platte River about forty miles northeast of
Denver
city. Lieutenant Dunham sent a man ahead of the rest with a signal that they wished to parley. After some talk among themselves, one brave rode out to meet him. Both men dismounted and walked forward to shake hands, but when the young cavalry sergeant saw the Indian up close in full battle regalia, he panicked and tried to disarm the brave.

“Good god, man. No!” Hanlen exclaimed. To even try to separate an Indian from his weapon was considered an act of war.

“Unfortunately, yes. None of the soldiers had had very much experience in the field. Not only did they not know which tribe the Indians came from, but they did not know that when the young sergeant reached out to wrestle the rifle from the brave, that move was an automatic breach of friendship and a signal to fight.”

“What happened then?” John was extremely interested, after having experienced his own tragedy.

“Both sides began firing. The battle lasted for almost an hour. The Indians then retreated to the bluffs. Whew!” He shook his head. “Those Indian ponies very easily outdistanced our tired cavalry horses.”

“I can well imagine.” John Hanlen reached down to stroke Running Antelope’s head. “I have seen both riders and horses in action. I know my men, and I sure as hell wasn’t any match for them. That’s how we got ourselves into a mess.” He related the gruesome story of his men’s fight with the Indians, their deaths, his own capture. “When I awoke, they had me tied up, and it was then I realized why they had kept me alive.”

“Dear God!”

John could see he understood. “They had some very brutal entertainment planned. To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I would have gone insane first or died. Neither choice seemed agreeable to me at that moment.”

“No, I don’t imagine so. But how did you get free? You spoke about a woman?”

“A
very
beautiful one. Damned if she didn’t risk her own life to come to my aid.” He told his story, smiling as he remembered. “I’ve never met a woman like her and I don’t think I ever will again. But taking me to that cave wasn’t the end of it. She nursed me back to health. Fed me. Cared for me.” He pointed at his moccasins. “even brought me these shoes to replace the boots that fool Indian stole.” His eyes had a faraway look as he remembered more intimate details of his relationship with
Skyraven
—things he could not, nor would not, reveal. “She gave me her horse and enough food for the journey, told me which direction to go, and sent me on my way.”

The young lieutenant smiled. “If she was as beautiful as you say, at least you had some compensation for our pain. With my luck, such would have
been
as old as a hag.”

“Skyraven wasn’t old. She was very young and very beautiful.”

“So tell me, are you a career man, your being an officer and all?”

“No. I got involved in the Army like most others, because of the war.” John cocked his brows in question. “How about you?”

"I have always wanted to fight Indians since I was a child. Several days  ago  I had my first encounter with the real thing."  The twenty -one year old lieutenant looked toward John with admiration "Of course, my experience wasn't anything like yours.  I can't imagine being captured
,
Tortured
and left to die."

"I can tell you one thing, Lieutenant Dunham.
  I would go through it all again just to meet Skyraven."  He smiled wryly.  "Well, maybe not everything.  I could do without those screaming Ute savages."
He shuddered at the thought. For just a moment he could feel those ropes cutting into his flesh again.

"I'm sure you could, Major.  A few days ago I also heard them shriek and yell that blood
curdling
yell of theirs.  It's enough to set your teeth on edge.  Tell me, what makes an Arapaho so different from a Ute?  An Indian is an Indian.  They are all alike regar
dless of  what you call them."

"No they're  not.  I used to think that way too until I learned
differently from Skyraven. Many tribes are enemies. According to her, the Utes are one of the most vicious.  The Arapaho are not a warring
tribe
but traders. Her
gr
andfather is the medicine man.”

"A medicine man
? That’s
the
same thing as a witch doctor, isn’t it?” He grimaced, making a frightening face.

“Far from it, Lieutenant.” John held his anger in check. The young man just didn’t understand, but how could he? People only understood their own ways. Perhaps that was one reason why there were wars. "We whites don't comprehend
the Indian
customs the way we should. A medicine man is not just a man
who
uses rattles and herbs. He is called wicasa waken—holy man.”

“Like a preacher?” the lieutenant seemed amazed.

“I suppose you could say that.” John Hanlen remembered Skyraven’s pride as she talked about her grandfather. “The medicine man conducts the peace-pipe ceremony. He doesn’t even carry weapons.” He gestured to the bow he carried. “Skyraven gave me this, and these arrows that I am carrying. They belonged to her grandfather, but he had no use for them, she said, so she gave them to me.”