Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Thus she (the female of the race) ruled undisputed within her own domain, and was to us a tower of moral and spiritual strength… When she fell, the whole race fell with her.
— CHARLES A. EASTMAN, THE SOUL OF THE INDIAN
A Plantation in Mississippi, Evening
“Iwant them found, do you understand?”
The backwoodsman, clothed in buckskin breeches and a red plaid shirt, clutched his dirty black hat in his hand. Head bowed slightly, he shifted his feet and uttered, “But they’s disappeared, gov’na—inta the West. Lookin’ fer them’s a little like searchin’ fer a—”
“Needle in a haystack?” interrupted Elmer Riley, a balding and plump man, who was known as the “little Napoleon of the Mississippi.” In truth, the man physically resembled the part—short, sparse, black hair slicked over a bald head.
At present, he reclined in a plush chair, booted right foot crossed over his left knee.
An oak table, covered in glass, sat at his fingertips.
They were a study in contrasts, these two men. While the backwoodsman looked to be the uncouth primitive that he was, Elmer Riley was clothed in the latest fashionable wear—a stylish Redingote, checked woolen trousers, vest, linen shirt, silk cravat.
A cigar drooped from Riley’s fingers as he glanced up. “Can’t you be original for once in your life, Hooper? They’re somewhere out there. They haven’t gone Indian on us, have they, and disappeared into some tribe or another?”
“Don’t think so.” Hooper shuffled his feet.
“Which means,” continued Riley, “they’ll be heading for either Santa Fe or California. Those are the only civilized places out there. Did you search every wagon train leaving from Independence?”
“Yes, sir, I did. They wasn’t on any of them.”
“They weren’t on any of them,” corrected Riley.
“Thar’s what I said.”
Shaking his head, Riley sighed and muttered to himself, “What an idiot. Why? Why am I reduced to sending a simpleton on a king’s errand?”
“Don’t know ’bout no king. Seems more like a fool’s errand to me,” answered Hooper.
Riley inhaled deeply, as though, like a great northern wind, he meant to blast the man.
But Hooper barely noticed and continued, “Now, we all knows that the man that got hisself almost killed was shot in self-defense. There was people there what saw it. The way I see it, ain’t no reason to go after these two.
They ain’t done nothin’ a hundred men haven’t done. ”
“Except seduce my daughter,” observed Riley, letting his breath out slowly.
“Seduced her, got her pregnant and then left her. Don’t be forgetting that.
My own sweet daughter…” Riley exhaled forcefully, ramming his hand down against the table.
The crash of hard flesh against glass, along with Riley’s heavy burst of exhaled air, caused Hooper to jump.
“He’ll hang for that, I swear it. Julian Honeywell will hang for that. ”
“Fair enough, gov’na. Fair enough,” said Hooper, his voice calm, though he took several steps backward. “But what about the girl? She ain’t done nothin’ ’cept be his sister, and that ain’t no crime.”
“No, I guess you’re right,” Riley uttered a little too calmly. The older man stood and poured himself a shot of whisky straight. Looking up, and with eyes squinting, he bellowed, “Except it’s believed that she’s the one who actually shot the Olson boy!”
Hooper drew back still farther. “Whoa there, gov’na. Like I says, we all knows it was self-defense.”
Riley took a step forward, as though he would physically challenge Hooper, but he seemed to have another thought and stopped.
Instead, he brought the cigar to his lips, smiled and muttered, “That’s right.
” The smile widened, the look of that grin evil.
“Self-defense. I know it—you know it—but the governor of Mississippi doesn’t know it.
And that’s the beauty of my scheme because, you see, the governor will believe me, not their foolhardy father.
Now, here’s the plan. We capture the brother and sister at the same time.
We’ll hang the brother outright, for he’s a good-for-nothing.
But the girl… I’ve a good mind to buy her freedom, once she’s put behind bars. ”
“Buy her freedom? But how can ye buy her freedom when she ain’t done nothin’?”
“Ain’t done nothin’?” Riley mimicked. “Why, she’s wanted for attempted murder.”
“But, gov’na…”
“Yes, that’s the plan. I’ll buy her freedom, and she’ll be…beholden to me. I like that.” Riley strummed his fingers against the glass of whisky he held. “Beholden. I like that very much.”
The long grasses waved in the ever-present wind, their grassy tops rippling rhythmically, as though they were a sun-bleached sea of silver stretching out infinitely.
The prairie, scarcely broken by tree, rock or other landmark, was a thing of beauty, Angelia decided, gazing outward from her perch.
She sat on a buffalo robe, a long blade of grass in her mouth and her back leaned up close against a rear wagon wheel.
Soon she would arise and prepare a cold, noonday dinner for herself, Pierre and the Hudson family, but not right now. For now, all she could think about was the unending stream of land that seemed to stretch out to the horizon—and the fact that she had yet to confront Swift Hawk with her decision.
Their caravan had stopped to “noon it,” the white-topped wagons pulled into a circle in case of trouble.
Here, the men lay beneath their wagons, hats pulled down over their eyes in sleep, while the tired mules, happy to be free of their loads, frolicked within the camp circle, some rolling in the grass.
Before long, however, those same animals would, like their masters, succumb to the noonday nap.
In front of her and to her left could be seen a flock of curlews, their brown bodies glistening under the sunshine.
“Watch the birds,” Swift Hawk had told her once when they had still been encamped at Fort Leavenworth. “Where there are flocks of birds, you may find water.”
And so it had been with the curlews, who relished the moist grasses and buffalo wallows. Also she had discovered that the buffalo trails that were everywhere led to water, though the distance to them might be great.
The buffalo trails, which were no more than eight to ten inches wide, usually traveled north and south, for the buffalo was a wise animal in this regard, and seemed to know inherently that the water running from the great Rocky Mountains flowed east.
“If you are ever starving from thirst, follow a buffalo trail,” Swift Hawk had said as well. “They will always lead you to water.”
The prairie abounded with these narrow paths and wallows, these wallows being made by the bulls in the mating season.
Swift Hawk had told her that the males would lock horns in their fights and would slowly walk round and round each other, until they had made an almost perfect circle, one that was deep enough to catch rainwater.
The odd thing was that despite having such an inauspicious beginning, these hollows were a thing of beauty, for the water within them glistened, reminding her of turquoise jewels.
Sometimes there were several of these wallows in a row, and the trails leading from one to another of them gave the land the appearance of being adorned with blue-green beads, strung together by a brown chain.
She should be content with the simple beauty of the plains. But she wasn’t. Hanging over her like a dark haze was the ever-present knowledge that she must, very soon, seek out Swift Hawk and confront him.
But he was not here at the moment, and the sun shone warmly upon her, enticing her to forget her troubles and rest. At least for a while.
She drew in a breath, relishing the scent of the grass, dirt and pure air, all of which tickled her nostrils.
Angelia sighed once again and shut her eyes. Soon, however, a shadow fell between herself and the sun.
Pierre? Was it time to eat already?
Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head. “Yes, yes, Pierre, I’ll prepare dinner in a moment.”
She settled back for another few minutes’ nap, when she noticed that Pierre was being awfully quiet. Curious, she opened her eyes and, shading her face with her hand, she gasped.
It wasn’t Pierre standing over her, it was Swift Hawk.
Raising an eyebrow, she said, “Hello,” taking good stock of him before she once more closed her eyes. “What’s the matter?” she asked, faking another yawn. “Are Julian and Red Fox not here? Or have you somehow become lost from them?”
She heard his soft chuckle. But she paid it no attention, choosing to snub him also.
Drat the man. Truth be told, he had brushed her aside lately, neglected her at a time when she needed to speak with him and settle things between them.
But she hadn’t seen him, or her brother or Red Fox these last few days, except from afar.
The three seemed to be always together, but never with her.
While they had on occasion returned to her campfire in the evening, it was usually for only a short period of time, and then so late in the evening that she was almost always abed. Certainly, few could suspect her and Swift Hawk of anything irregular now.
But here the man was, standing over her, and she could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to look at him or start the conversation. She wanted to sulk.
However, the silence was grating on her nerves, and so, peeping one eye open and then closing it, she said, “What brings you here on this fine spring day? Have your friends gone off and left you behind?”
Swift Hawk made no comment to this rather crass remark.
She took a good look at him, then closed her eyes again and silently moaned. Aloud, she yawned once more, pretending boredom.