Climb the Highest Mountain (7 page)

Zeke rubbed at his eyes. “Who can explain it, son? Please let me help you.”

The boy’s shoulders shook in great sobs, and Zeke gently pulled him away. He helped the boy to his feet, unable to carry him because at seventeen Wolf’s Blood was just as big as his father, only slightly more slender. He was a handsome, powerfully built young man, and just as Abbie had said, Zeke wondered himself if this son of his had ever been a child.

He led the boy to a tipi, sitting him down beside it and lifting the entrance flap to look inside. Two wounded women lay there, along with four wounded children, all tended by an old woman and a middle-aged warrior. Zeke asked in the Cheyenne tongue if he might come inside and share the warmth of the tipi so he could nurse his wounded son. Sad eyes greeted him in reply as the pair nodded their approval, and Zeke half dragged and half carried Wolf’s Blood inside, laying him down on a buffalo robe offered by one of the others.

Zeke’s chest tightened when he saw the blood stains on the front of Wolf’s Blood’s sheepskin jacket. The boy had apparently been sleeping at the time of the raid, for beneath the jacket that had been loaned to him by the rescuing Cheyenne, he wore only leggings. His chest was bare of clothing, and blood was clotted thickly on his belly. It would be difficult to find and treat the wound, since it was already a couple of days old.

“Wolf’s Blood, was this caused by a gunshot or saber? And is this your only wound?”

“Bayonet,” the boy moaned. Then he began crying again. “Morning Bird! She was so … innocent!” He gritted his teeth in anger and pain. “I will kill them! I will kill them all! I will go north and make war with my uncle, Swift Arrow! There shall be … no peace for the … soldiers … or the white settlers!”

Zeke did not advise him otherwise. How could he do so at this moment, when the boy was so full of sorrow? If he were in the boy’s place, he would be saying the same things.

“I’ll have to clean out this wound somehow, Wolf’s Blood. It will be painful.”

“I… don’t care! I want to feel pain!” The boy wept. “They … killed her! They killed … so many! So many! We were all sleeping … doing nothing wrong!”

“I know, Wolf’s Blood. This will leave a stain on the hands of Colorado politicians and peacekeepers for a long time to come, perhaps forever.”

“And it will bring more war!” Wolf’s Blood growled. “They will see! They will… regret that they … deceived us! They told Black Kettle … to wait there and remain peaceful. Then they came … and slaughtered us!”

“What about Black Kettle? Is he still alive?”

“He is … somewhere in the camp. He is alive …
but his wife is badly wounded. She fell… while she was running. Black Kettle … thought she was dead … so he kept running. Then soldiers came … and while she was lying helpless … they put many bullets into her and rode on. Black Kettle … went back … found her still alive … brought her with him … carried her on his back.”

Zeke fought his own rage. It would do no good at this moment. He had to help his son. “Try to relax, Wolf’s Blood. I know it’s hard. And I’m damned sorry about Morning Bird. You’re young, Wolf’s Blood. You will find another.”

“Never! I want no other! How did you feel… after those white men killed your first woman … back in that place called Tennessee!” the boy sobbed. “You wanted … to kill! You did kill… all of them! It is the same … for me!”

Zeke closed his eyes and nodded. He would never forget the horror, nor his own need for revenge. “I know, son,” he said sadly. He started to rise to get his parfleche which contained the items necessary to treat the wound, but Wolf’s Blood grasped his wrist.

“Father, the one who stabbed me … as I fought those who rode down on Morning Bird … I recognized him.”

Zeke frowned. “Who?”

“I looked deep into his eyes … as he pushed the bayonet at me. He could not push it deep enough … to kill me. I shoved my lance deep into his thigh. He was not… at a good angle. I was on foot. He was on horseback … but I managed … to get my lance into him. He is … badly wounded … I am sure. If he lives … he will be crippled.”

“Who was it, Wolf’s Blood? You said you recognized him. Someone from the fort?”

“It was that same boy … the one I fought back in
Denver a long time ago … the one whose father we killed for hurting my mother.”

“Garvey’s son? Charles Garvey?”

“
Ai.
The same one. He must… hate Indians as his father hated them. He rides … with Chivington. And I could see him killing them … great joy on his wicked face.”

Zeke’s own eyes glowered with hatred. How well he knew Charles Garvey! The day Zeke had gone to the Garvey mansion years ago to rescue his own sister-in-law from Winston Garvey’s clutches, the younger Garvey had kicked at him and cursed him, spouting all kinds of obscenities against Indians even at a very young age. Now the boy had grown up to ride with the Colorado Volunteers. The father was dead, at Zeke’s own hands. But what of the son? He was as bad as the father. Zeke wondered what Charles Garvey would think if he knew he had a half brother with Cheyenne blood in him, if he knew that his own father had slept with an Indian woman who had borne him a son, a crippled boy who now lived with their missionary friends in the north. Zeke would love to see the look on Charles Garvey’s face if he knew, but he didn’t dare let him find out, for Charles Garvey would try to find his half brother and have him murdered. Abbie had suffered greatly to keep that information from Winston Garvey, and now that he was dead, the secret must die with him. Zeke looked down at Wolf’s Blood.

“You say you wounded him badly?”

The boy grinned wickedly. “I buried my lance deep into his thigh. I heard the bone snap. It was a good sound!”

Zeke smiled himself. “Maybe he’ll die,” he answered.

“I hope he does!” Wolf’s Blood sneered. “And I hope he suffers greatly first!”

Zeke shared the same hope, even though Charles
Garvey was not much older than his own son. The boy was evil and the world was better off without him. Zeke laid a robe over his son to keep him warm until he would be able to wash the wound.

“Where’s your wolf?” Zeke asked his son, referring to the pet wolf the boy had raised from a cub.

Wolf’s Blood’s eyes teared more. “I think he is dead. I am not sure. I saw him leaping at a soldier, who shot at him. I saw him fall, but then I had to help Morning Bird. After that I could not find Wolf.” That was all the boy called the animal, simply Wolf.

Zeke sighed and put a hand to the boy’s face. “He probably went off to die someplace.”

A tear slipped down the side of the boy’s face and trickled into his ear. He pressed his lips tight and did not reply. Zeke squeezed the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “I’m going outside to get some supplies to treat your wound.”

Zeke rose and went to get his parfleche. So, Charles Garvey rode with the Volunteers. It was no great surprise. The boy’s father had come west years ago, first setting up an empire in Santa Fe, then moving to Denver when the gold strikes there presented a need for saloons and businesses. The man had been a senator in Washington, D.C., and he had gotten involved in politics in Colorado. But he’d met his end at Zeke Monroe’s hands, a terrible end that no one but Zeke and Wolf’s Blood knew about. However, he had left a son who had been reared to hate Indians and to do whatever it might take to rid the territory of them because they stood in the way of progress and riches.

Zeke went back inside to find Wolf’s Blood crying. That tore at his guts, for Wolf’s Blood was proud and brave and would never let anyone see him cry. But the girl Morning Bird had meant very much to him, and he had seen horrors that he would never forget. Zeke sat
down beside his son and pulled him into his arms, holding him tightly, not knowing what else to do to comfort him. The two were close, always had been, and now Zeke could feel his son’s great anguish. He would not tell the boy yet that his uncle Black Elk was dead. The sad news could wait, although the boy must already suspect it to be so.

And even as they sat there together, Chivington and his Colorado Volunteers headed for Denver, searching for Indians to kill along the way, disappointed that they found no others. Soon they would be in Denver, and when they arrived they would be greeted by cheers for the “brave soldiers” who had daringly attacked the “savage Indians” and won a “great victory.” They would be paraded down the street to the accompaniment of shouts of praise and admiration, and some of them would carry Indian scalps with them as they accepted the gratitude of the settlers who would now be “safe” from warring red men. But no act could have done more to increase raiding than the unwarranted butchery at Sand Creek.

Before long, stories would begin to filter in about what had really happened there, but the damage was already done. There was no changing it. And in those moments Zeke wanted only to comfort his son, to save the boy’s life, and to get back home to Abbie.

Chapter Five

Abbie pulled her robe closer and walked behind the cabin, brushing snow from the wooden planks that covered her outdoor vegetable bin. She pulled up one board and set it aside, then reached down inside the hole where potatoes and carrots were kept beneath the earth to preserve them yet keep them from freezing. She felt through the straw and took out some potatoes and a few carrots, putting them into a burlap bag. Snow stung her face. It was warmer in the vegetable pit, but cool enough to keep the food fresh. She pulled out some more carrots, holding one to her nose and smelling the sweet odor of fresh earth. Its scent made her long for spring and warmth.

That thought brought memories of the past summer, when the family was reunited after her terrible ordeal at the hands of Winston Garvey. It had been a time for quiet loving and for being together, a time for her and Zeke to pick up the pieces of their lives and to find one another again, in body and in spirit.

A harsh gust of wind brought her back to reality, and she tied the bag and placed the board back over the vegetable pit. She shivered, wondering where Zeke and Wolf’s Blood were now and if they were alive. Zeke had
been gone over three weeks. She had sent Lance to Fort Lyon for news, and what he had found out had been devastating. The Cheyenne village at Sand Creek had been attacked by Colonel John Chivington. That was all they knew. There had been no word from Zeke or from their son, and most people around Fort Lyon didn’t even know the actual outcome of the battle—how many had been killed, how many had survived. Had Zeke been there when it had happened or had he arrived later? And what about Wolf’s Blood? He was not a boy to run. He would fight back if attacked. That was the hell of it. So would his father. And there were others she worried about: Zeke’s brother, Black Elk, and his family; and an old and dear friend, Tall Grass Woman, who had befriended Abbie years earlier when she came to live among the Cheyenne with her new husband.

She had spent many sleepless nights, and her eyes burned from being so tired. She had prayed so hard she was sure God must be tired of listening. When she managed to nod off, she always awoke with a start, and her anxiety for her husband and son would overwhelm her, plunging her into a painful depression, especially in the wee hours of the morning. Where were they? Were they hurt? Were they warm enough? She refused to believe they were dead. She dared not let herself believe it or she would lose her mind and be useless to the rest of her children. Her emotions were still too tender. She hadn’t recovered from her own ordeal. It was hard enough just to sleep alone, to be unable to turn to Zeke when the terrifying nightmares woke her, but at least if she continued to believe he would be back, she could bear it.

She rose, holding the bag of vegetables in one hand, and pulling the hood of her heavy robe tighter under her chin with the other, she started back around the
house to go inside when she saw the movement—a small, dark figure against the bright white of the snow on the distant hill. It was some kind of animal, too small to be a deer, too big to be a skunk or fox or any of the smaller animals found around the ranch. It kept coming, and she kept staring, squinting her eyes against the blinding whiteness. It moved slowly but deliberately toward the house, and her heart pounded harder when it came even closer.

“Wolf!” she whispered. She scanned the horizon desperately. It was her son’s pet, she was sure of it. Wolves traveled in packs, and seldom ever came this close to the house and barns. This one was alone and seemed to know exactly where he was going. Surely if Wolf was coming, his master would not be far behind, but there was no sign of Wolf’s Blood or of Zeke.

She hurried to the house and set the sack of vegetables on the table; then she ran back outside. Some of the children bounded out behind her, having noticed the concerned look on her face when she came in and hurried out again.

“What’s wrong, Mother?” Margaret asked.

“Wolf is coming,” Abbie replied, going down the steps. “Get back inside and wait where it’s warm. And if Wolf comes into the cabin, don’t go near him. You know how unpredictable he can be. I don’t want the little ones to try to touch him.”

Margaret herded the others back inside, her own heart racing. She all but worshiped her older brother. Why was his pet wolf here without Wolf’s Blood? Was her brother dead? She fought tears of fear while Abbie ran to the barn calling for Lance. Her brother-in-law came out, young Jeremy at his side and holding a pail of milk.

“I think Wolf is coming,” Abbie said. She looked at Jeremy. “Get to the house with the milk, Jeremy,” she
told the boy. He hurried to do as she bid, milk splashing from the pail. Jeremy was afraid of his big brother’s “wild animal” pet.

Lance took Abbie’s arm and they walked to the corner of the house. Wolf was closer now, obviously limping. They stood very still as the silver gray animal stopped and stared at them with steely black eyes. He growled at first, then slunk closer, sniffing Abbie’s winter moccasins. There was dried blood on his left hip, and Abbie wondered if there was a bullet in the animal or if the wound was from a saber. She would probably never know, for she was not about to approach him to find out. Wolf was touchy even when healthy, but in his wounded state it could be dangerous to try to handle him. He had never harmed anyone in the family. He seemed to understand that they were to be trusted because they were people his master loved, but only Wolf’s Blood could actually hold and pet the animal. Now that Wolf was wounded, he would be more distrustful.

“Lance, why is he here alone like this?” Abbie asked, clinging to his arm.

“Hard to say. Just stay back from him, Abbie.”

The animal left her and hobbled up the steps to the door of the cabin, scratching on it. Abbie hurried up behind him and carefully pushed open the door. “All of you children stay back,” she called out. As the wolf entered the cabin, followed by Abbie and Lance, the room was silent. All the children stared at their brother’s pet while the animal casually walked to the wood-burning potbelly stove that heated the cabin and lay down in front of it. His black eyes looked up at the children, scanning them carefully before closing.

“Mother, why is he here without Wolf’s Blood?” Margaret asked.

None of them wanted to think the worst, so Abbie
suddenly gave them a reassuring smile.

“As far as I am concerned, this can only mean that your brother is alive,” she told them.

“But Wolf’s Blood isn’t with him,” Lillian spoke up, her thin, pale face looking sad.

“Exactly,” Abbie answered, going to the table and dumping out the potatoes and carrots. “We already know something terrible happened at Sand Creek. Wolf is wounded. Somehow he and Wolf’s Blood must have got separated. If your brother was dead, Wolf would never have left the boy’s side. He would have stayed beside the boy; even if it were buried he would stay by the grave. Your brother must have escaped somehow. Wolf probably went off to tend to his wounds, as wild animals often do. He has come here now to wait for your brother.”

“Are you sure, Mother?” Margaret asked.

Abbie glanced at Lance, warning him to go along with her. She buried her own panic at the real reason the animal might have come home. She would not let herself believe it.

“Of course I’m sure,” she answered, pouring some water from a bucket into a shallow pan. “Now come and help me wash the potatoes, Margaret. From now on we will fix a fine supper every night. We can’t be sure just when your father and brother might show up, but there is no doubt they’ll be looking forward to a good hot meal when they get here.”

She turned and set the bucket of water back on the counter, biting her lip and breathing deeply to keep from breaking down in front of them.

Dan Monroe looked up from his desk when the door to his office opened letting in the noises of the parade grounds outside. With Indian hostilities increasing
daily in Nebraska territory and the nearby Dakotas, Fort Laramie was bustling with soldiers, government agents, scouts, and Indians. Dan was grateful for being assigned to the place where he’d served in the Army for so many years before the Civil War. That war still raged in the East, but he no longer wanted to be a part of it.

A woman entered, her soft blond hair shielded from the strong prairie wind by a shawl, her blue eyes smiling at him as she closed the door and came inside. The years had not detracted from her gentle beauty, but she looked tired.

“Bonnie!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair. He walked slowly around the desk, his severe war wounds still not totally healed. “How long have you been here?”

“About five months,” she replied, coming closer and taking his hands. “How are you doing, Dan? I was so worried after Zeke left to take you back home to your father’s farm in Tennessee. You really weren’t healed enough yet, but Zeke was so anxious to get back home to Abbie …”

“Apparently I’ll live,” the man told her, leading her to a chair. “Thanks to the skills of you and your father. Is he here, too?”

“Father stayed behind. There’s still a war going on, you know, and plenty of wounded men need attention.” She sat down and removed her shawl, studying Dan as he walked, with some difficulty, back to his desk. How much he resembled his half brother, Zeke! He had the same height, the broad stature, yet he was so unlike Zeke in coloring. He had thick blond hair and handsome blue eyes.

Zeke … Occasionally she allowed herself to think about him, when she dared risk acknowledging her secret needs and emotions. It had been eleven years since he’d rescued her from the horrible men who had
intended to sell her in Mexico—eleven years since she’d first set eyes on his masculinity and had been awakened to true desire for a man, eleven years since she’d quietly and secretly fallen in love with Zeke Monroe. But there was only one woman for Zeke, his Abbie. Bonnie had known from the beginning that her rescue had been a simple act of chivalry on the part of Zeke. She knew her love was unrequited, so she had returned to her missionary work after Zeke had saved her. That had been in New Mexico. Since then she had married a missionary, a preacher—a marriage that had been expected of her, one with cool love and almost no passion. They had come north to Fort Laramie to doctor and teach among the settlers and Indians, and later Bonnie had agreed to take in Zeke Monroe’s crippled nephew, little Crooked Foot, now called Joshua, the half-breed son born of Zeke’s now-dead sister-in-law and the hated Winston Garvey.

“And how is your husband faring?” Dan was asking her. “Still on the preaching circuit?”

Her face saddened. “Rodney was killed by Sioux Indians ten months ago, Dan. I didn’t know myself until I came back.”

Dan frowned. “I’m damned sorry. I just got here a few days ago, Bonnie. I didn’t know.”

She smiled softly. “Of course you didn’t.” She sighed. “I guess I almost expected it. I wanted him to come East with me and father and Joshua, but he said he would stay and tend to the spiritual needs of the people here while I went East and tended to the physical needs of the wounded soldiers. With all the raids and uprisings, I wasn’t totally surprised Rodney died at the hands of Indians.” She looked at her lap and toyed with her shawl. “Rodney was a good man, brave in his own way, but he could be very stubborn. I pleaded with him several times to stay close to the fort,
yet he insisted on completing his circuit and visiting the settlers no matter what. He was a very passive man and would not have fought back when attacked. I can only hope he didn’t suffer too terribly, still I can’t fully blame the Sioux for what they’re doing. They’ve simply been driven beyond the point of reason.” She met his eyes again. “If the government doesn’t start treating the Indians fairly, things will just get worse. I will continue to teach the peaceful ones what I can, and I’m staying right here in spite of the danger. I feel safe here at the fort.”

Dan studied her pleasant form, still firm although she was in her mid-thirties. He knew little about Bonnie Lewis, except that Zeke had once saved her from outlaws and that several years later she and her preacher husband had taken in the half-breed boy fathered by Winston Garvey. During the Civil War, Bonnie and her father had set up a clinic back East to doctor wounded soldiers, and it was there Zeke had taken Dan after he had been wounded at Shiloh. There, too, Dan had determined that Bonnie was secretly in love with Zeke. While Zeke had waited for Dan to recover from his wounds, Dan had noticed how Bonnie watched his half brother, a look of near worship in her eyes. Dan knew Zeke would never return Bonnie’s love, but he couldn’t help but wonder about her inner torture.

“I suppose you think I’m terrible for not blaming the Indians for Rodney’s death,” she was telling him.

Dan took a pipe from his drawer and began stuffing it. “Not at all. I’ve seen what the Indians can do to their enemies, yet I don’t blame them for calling us their enemy, Bonnie. That’s partly why I rejoined the Western Army, to help see that they get a fair deal, at least within the extent of my power.”

She watched him light the pipe. “I was so surprised
when I heard you were here, Dan,” she told him. “What happened after Zeke left to take you to Tennessee and the old farm? I thought you would stay there.”

He puffed the pipe quietly for a moment. “Well, to make a long story short, Pa was killed. Zeke, of course, had no intention of staying at the farm, and my younger brother, Lance, he’d been wounded in the war too, and had lost his enthusiasm. Zeke left right away, and once I was healed, Lance left too. Said he was going to Colorado to help Zeke on his ranch. That was about six months ago. Far as I know, that’s where he is right now. Me … I sold the farm and left too. With our older brother dead, there wasn’t much point in staying around. I’d lived out here in the West for so long that I was used to Army life and I didn’t feel like I belonged in Tennessee anymore. The only bad part is after stopping in St. Louis to be with my wife and little girl, I couldn’t convince Emily to return to the West with me. She’s always been afraid of this place, afraid of the Indians. And with everything that’s going on right now I suppose she is safer where she is. She has her father’s big, rambling home to live in, and she and my little Jennifer are comfortable and happy there.”