Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
…Scenes of the old trail come flooding back to me: Places where the earth was like a Persian rug, the lavender, red, and yellow wild flowers mingling with the silvery green prairie grass.
There were places where we saw wild turkeys among the cottonwood trees, and where the wild grapevines ran riot.
Always there were buffalo… The old trail, the long trail over which once flowed the commerce of a nation, lives now only in the memory of a few old hearts.
It lives there like a lovely, oft repeated dream.
— MARIAN RUSSELL, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT: MEMOIRS OF MARIAN RUSSELL ALONG THE SANTA FE TRAIL
“No!” Angelia jerked herself free of the bounty hunter and ran to Swift Hawk. “No! No!”
The bounty hunter had dropped the rifle to the ground. Julian rushed forward to take possession of it. But no threat was necessary. The bounty hunter was backing away from them, his eyes staring into space and popping open. He looked as though he were seeing ghosts.
With a shrill scream, the man turned—abandoning Julian, Angelia and his horse—and ran in the opposite direction.
An odd silence descended over the prairie. One that even the wind did not disturb.
But Angelia could barely sense it. “Please, Julian,” she cried into that silence, “run to the wagon train and see if a doctor can come here at once.”
Julian didn’t move.
“Please, Julian. Hurry!”
But there was no answer from Julian. Looking up, Angelia could see that he too was staring around him as though he were confronting something supernatural.
What was happening? Something was. But what?
And then she saw it. Mists had taken form over the prairie, appearing like… Were they shadows? Shadows of people?
Gradually they were coming more and more into focus. People were materializing from that mist. Instead of shadows, they were real people. A people she didn’t know, she was quick to realize, a people she had never seen. They surrounded her, Julian and Swift Hawk.
More and more mist appeared, more and more hazy images appeared, then became real, more substantial, until they seemed as real as any person walking the face of the earth.
They were Indians, these people, though their appearance, their style of clothing, looked ancient.
From out of the foggy haze one man stepped forth. He was an old man, a very old man. He trod toward them, and, bending at last, he touched Swift Hawk’s face.
He spoke, and amazingly, Angelia understood every word of what he was saying, although she could never be certain that he spoke in English.
“Behold, I am White Claw, medicine man of the Blackfoot Tribe.” He regarded her solemnly, his old face wrinkled with age.
“This man before you is a great warrior. He has broken a spell that has enslaved his people for hundreds of years.”
Angelia stared, then slowly nodded. “But he needs attention. If you are a medicine man, can you help him? He has been shot—whilst he was saving my brother’s life, and I fear… I fear…” Her voice caught, and she bit her lip.
“There is little I can do,” said White Claw. “It was his privilege to die for his people. His name will be remembered forever. And we will sing songs to his glory so long as we exist.”
“No! No! I won’t accept that, and if you say he must die, then you must go away from here. Julian, go get that doctor!”
Julian didn’t move.
“What’s wrong with you people?” There were tears in her eyes. “Don’t you understand that I don’t want songs or glory? Neither does he. He sacrificed himself for me, for my brother. That man back there—I think that was the man Swift Hawk was supposed to have helped. But he didn’t, because of me.”
The old man gazed at her, his look wise, yet his eyes were wet. “Are you saying he committed a completely unselfish act?”
“I…I—”
“No, I acted selfishly,” said a deep voice, one Angelia recognized at once.
“Swift Hawk?” Angelia cried, and bending down to him, she placed her face next to his. “Swift Hawk?” One of his arms came around to pull her close.
“Yes.”
Rising up slightly, he glanced down at himself, and placing a hand over his side, his fingers came away with blood. “I think I was knocked unconscious when I fell.”
Angelia was crying. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be strong. But she couldn’t help it. “You’re alive. You’re alive,” she sobbed over and over.
With his arms wrapped securely around her, she wept.
The sun was leaving the sky in glorious colors of red, gold and rust, the heavens magnifying the hues until the prairie and everything that covered the earth was bathed in color.
His arm in a sling, Swift Hawk sat surrounded by friends and family.
Already, he had recounted his story so many times that he was becoming tired of it.
Though it was not the custom of his people that a woman was allowed to sit next to her husband in council, Swift Hawk had done away with the general rule, and no one seemed to object. After all, if not for Angelia, he would not have broken the spell.
But how was it that the spell had been broken? What had he done? In a way, he had shown the enemy mercy, for he had not killed Black Hat. But it had been in his heart to do so.
These and other questions filled his mind, and in truth, Swift Hawk was patiently awaiting the time when he and Angelia would be left alone with the medicine man, White Claw. Perhaps White Claw might be able to explain it.
Red Fox had joined Swift Hawk in celebration and had taken a place next to him. From every corner of the camp was much talk, laughter and happiness.
Soon a dance was announced, and many of Swift Hawk’s people rose to leave the council. One of these was Red Fox, who appeared to have his eye fixed on a particular Indian maiden.
Though Swift Hawk was happy to be reunited with his relatives, he had to admit he was not unhappy to see them leave the council. It meant that soon he would be alone with White Claw.
Almost at once, having materialized on the prairie, his people had pitched a camp within the grove of cottonwoods, somewhat near the white man’s camp, yet apart from it.
If anyone in the caravan wondered where all the Indians had come from, no one said a word.
Perhaps the white man was simply happy to discover that the Indians were friendly.
Gay fires scented the evening air, and on the wind was the sound of drums, much singing and joy. One by one, more and more people departed the council until at last, only Swift Hawk, his wife, her brother and White Claw remained.
Julian was the first one to speak. “Thank you, Swift Hawk, for saving my life.” He, too, wore a sling around his arm. “I am in your debt. And I wonder how I can repay you for what you have done for me.”
Swift Hawk raised an eyebrow and slanted a glance toward Julian. “Perhaps you might begin by giving your blessing to your sister and me. And then maybe you might practice scouting, so that you can elude this bounty hunter in the future.”
Angelia opened her mouth as though she might say a word or two, but Julian spoke up first. “That would be good. I am happy for you and my sister, and you have my blessing. And what you say about the bounty hunter is true. Had I been a better scout, this man might not have found me.”
“You are a fine scout,” Swift Hawk was quick to respond. “What you lack is practice…and perhaps patience. But these things can be learned.”
“Yes. And I must learn them, for he will be back.”
“But, Julian.” It was Angelia speaking up at last. “Didn’t you hear? Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Honestly. I thought you knew. I saw you and Red Fox talking, and so I thought… Well, no difference. Earlier, when I went to the wagon train in search of a doctor, I found out…” She smiled at her brother.
“Do you remember that the caravan was waiting for a government train to pull in and join them?”
“Yes.”
“Well, an outrider from that train arrived here only hours ago. The outrider carried a letter.”
“Oh?” Julian raised an eyebrow, a gesture quite like that of Swift Hawk’s.
Angelia ignored the look and continued, “It was from our father, who has, indeed, been busy.”
“You mean…?”
“We are absolved, Julian. We don’t have to hide anymore. The man whom I shot never died, and there were many witnesses who saw it, who were only too happy to testify that the shooting was done in self-defense.”
“But what about the girl in Mississippi?”
“It was a lie, Julian. It was all a lie.”
“Then…then I’m free to—”
“Free as the wind,” said Angelia.
Jumping up, Julian gave a hoot and a howl, and taking two giant steps toward Angelia, he pulled her up, one handed, into an enormous bear hug.
Angelia laughed.
Swift Hawk smiled. However, glancing at White Claw, it was easy to see that his elder was shocked over such behavior between a brother and a sister.
And so Swift Hawk explained, “Grandfather, the white people have many unusual customs. And though we might little understand it, a brother and sister are allowed to speak to one another—even to hug—in front of all eyes.”
“Soka-pii.” White Claw nodded, and using the hand language, he made the gesture for good.
Julian let her go, only to grin inanely.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go celebrate.
Where is this dance?” With a merry laugh, he turned and walked away, toward the general direction where Red Fox had disappeared.
In the distance Swift Hawk could see Julian catch up to where Red Fox was standing, and together the two men sauntered toward the dance.
So it was that only Swift Hawk, Angelia and White Claw remained seated around the evening fire.
As was custom amongst his people, no one spoke for many moments. Because White Claw was the elder, Swift Hawk waited for him to begin the conversation.
At last White Claw seemed inclined to talk. “Let us smoke.”
“Yes,” said Swift Hawk.