39
Kate woke up alone shortly after the first light of dawn. She looked over and saw that Reed had already saddled up the horses and was waiting. She wondered if she had dreamed of falling asleep in his arms.
As the sky turned pink they headed out. Reed was close and guarded all morning, as if he regretted what had happened last night. Kate tried to convince herself the kiss had been spontaneous, born out of the solitude of the trail and their mutual concern for Daniel. She told herself that nothing had changed between them and wished that she believed it.
Reed looked as worn as she felt. Dark circles tinted the skin beneath his eyes. A full day’s growth of beard shadowed his jaw. She didn’t know how he could make out any kind of trail on the hard, grassy soil. The ground all looked the same to her, but he claimed to be following the Andalusian’s shoe prints. Now and again he would lose the trail, but they kept heading northwest, and he would eventually rediscover it, almost as if he were following Daniel by instinct.
She marveled that the landscape had not changed in two days and was lulled into the notion that the prairie rolled on forever. She tried not to picture them as two lone, vulnerable specks adrift in a sea of dying summer grass.
She concentrated on Daniel, reminding herself that he was riding across the same lonely stretch of prairie all by himself.
Was he afraid or rejoicing his escape with every mile? When she thought of all the hours she had spent reading to him and trying to teach him to speak English again, or how willing Charm had been to spend hours sewing for him, of all the cookies and treats the girl had baked to please him, it nearly broke her heart. When she remembered the quiet hours she spent trying to establish a bond between them, she could hardly bring herself to accept the fact that he had been planning this escape all along.
She had been foolish not to believe Reed’s warning.
The farther they rode, the more she wondered what would become of Daniel if they took him back by force. Knowing how sorely he wanted to escape, she wondered if there was any way to reach him or if all they would initiate was more heartache.
Fast Pony had ridden into the camp at dawn when no one but one of the old men guarding the village was there to witness his return. He did not care that there was no crowd to hail him as a hero, for he was too tired to boast, too exhausted to do more than mumble when No Teeth Left took the prize white horse from him and pointed him toward the teepee of his uncle, where his mother now lived.
At first he was so happy to hear that his mother was alive he did not realize she was living in his uncle’s tepee because his father was dead. The truth hit him as he stepped through the opening and looked around the dusky interior. Gone were many of the things that usually hung around the walls. There was no decorated shield, no medicine bag, no hide backrests. The dwelling looked as if it had been stripped of all but a handful of necessary items.
His mother was sitting near the cook fire stirring a stew bubbling in a buffalo paunch. He smelled wild onions and turnips, and his mouth watered. Her long shining hair was gone, shorn because she was mourning. When his mother did not look up from her task, her sadness introduced itself to him. She sat with her shoulders bowed, huddled in upon herself. The corners of her mouth drooped sorrowfully. There was a distant, lost look in her eyes.
One of his uncle’s wives glanced up and shrieked with gladness. His cousins and aunts soon surrounded him, and his heart leapt with joy. He had eyes only for his mother, Painted White Feather. She looked at him as if seeing a spirit.
He had prayed and planned this homecoming for so long that it seemed like a dream unfolding. He wanted to be as brave as his father. He wanted to hold his head high. As he started toward his mother, he walked straight and tall without showing any sign of his faded limp.
But when his mother rose to her knees and held her arms out to him, he no longer wanted to be brave. He ran to her, not as a warrior, but as her son. He let her enfold him in her embrace. Then he cried.
Later she took him outside and together they walked to a nearby stream to collect water. They sat side-by-side as she spoke to him of his father, of how Many Horses had died bravely during the same raid in which Fast Pony had been captured.
She told the story in great detail, of how she had saved herself by running and hiding behind a smoldering pile of buffalo robes. She risked death by crawling beneath one very close to the burning heap. The Rangers left without finding her. Later, as the survivors crept back to the ashes of what was left of their encampment, she had found his father’s body. When she did not find Fast Pony and realized that he must have been captured and not killed, she rejoiced.
He told her of Tall Ranger, the one who had taken him away to live in a huge wooden dwelling a long ride away. He spoke of how he planned his escape and of the fine white horse he had stolen.
Boasting, he recited all the white man’s words he knew:
cookie
,
chicken
,
cake
,
eat
,
water
,
horse
. And his favorite,
chock-o-late
. Laughing, he described all the sweet foods they had given him, but then he felt bad, thinking of all his hollow-eyed cousins.
Times had not been good among the Nermernuh, his mother said. Many of the warriors were dead now or imprisoned at Fort Sill. The raids between the Tejanos and their people had been many. The blue coats were paying for the return of captives, so the warriors raided more, taking captives and turning them over to the blue coats for money—money they turned around and used to buy guns from the Comancheros. Guns for taking more captives.
Fast Pony laughed at the stupidity of the whites.
They sat in silence for a time, happy in each other’s company. His mother did not seem to mind at all that Tall Ranger had cut his hair. She stroked it just the way she used to and held him close.
Then she began to ask him many, many questions about Tall Ranger. She asked what the man looked like and about the woman, Soft Grass Hands. He admitted that, other than cutting off his hair, they had treated him very well, for a prisoner. They never beat him or cut or burned him, either, even when he was bad. He thought of the way he had fought and cursed and the terrible way he grabbed and ate their food.
His mother sat in silence, her thoughts far, far away. Then she grew very still. When he looked into her face, he saw tears glittering in her eyes.
“What is it, Mother? Why do you cry?”
She wiped her tears and tried to smile, but her lips were trembling. Even a baby could have seen that she was very, very sad. “Do you know the way back? To the home of the Tall Ranger?”
“I think so. Yes, I could find it again.”
He threw back his shoulders and stuck out his chest. Perhaps she was going to send him back to steal more horses. He pictured himself leading a raiding party back to the Tall Ranger’s land to bring back more of the fine stock. This time he would claim the spotted mare and her foal as his own.
The look on his mother’s face quickly dampened his joy. He had never seen her so sad. He thought he knew why. “Are you thinking of Father?”
She hugged him close, kissing the top of his head. “No, my son. I am thinking of
you
. I want you to go back.” She took a deep breath and shivered, as if she were freezing cold, even on such a hot, dry day. “I want you to take your fine white horse and go back to Tall Ranger.”
“To steal more horses?” He felt her trembling beside him and grew frightened.
She shook her head. “No. I want you to go back . . . to live with the Tall Ranger again. I want you to stay with him forever.”
If she had struck him with a war ax, he could not have hurt any worse. He tried to understand. Perhaps losing his father had left her confused.
“Why do you want me to go back there? I hate them.” She took hold of his hand, studied it as if she had never seen it before. She turned it over, traced his palm with her fingertip. Then she looked down into his eyes and the sorrow he saw in hers made him afraid.
“Listen to me and listen well, Fast Pony. You are my son as surely as if you had come from my belly, but you were not always my son. Many Horses stole you from the whites when you were little more than a babe. He gave you to me, for we had no children of our own.” She looked off across the stream, toward the embankment. “I think maybe you once belonged to this Tall Ranger. Perhaps that is why he took you to his dwelling. Because you were his son long ago.”
“But I don’t want to be the son of a white man.” He spat on the ground beside him to rid his mouth of such horrible, frightening words.
“You are a white man’s son by blood. You have the eyes of the whites.”
“You told me my eyes were different because the Great Spirit made me special. That I am not like the others because my father was a great warrior and his son was not like other little boys.” He was furious at her for saying such things to him, for lying.
“In your heart you will always be Nermernuh, but you are truly white, and I am afraid for you if you stay here. Our people are dying faster than the summer grass withers. Your father is gone. Soon we will all have to go onto the reservation to survive, and when we do, those adopted into our clan will be sent back to their white families.”
She took his face in her hands. “You will be taken from me, and I will not be able to stop them. Tall Ranger and his people treated you well. You say he has many horses, that he can take care of you. He can give you all I cannot anymore. Without your father here to protect us—”
He jumped to his feet before she could say any more. “I can protect you! I won’t go!” He pounded his fist over his heart. “I am
Nermernuh
.”
She grabbed his wrist, kept him from running away. His tears shamed him now, tears that betrayed his weak and broken heart.
His mother held him by the shoulders, gently shook him, and made him listen to the terrible things she was saying. “I want you to live, Fast Pony. I want you to grow up safe, away from death and sickness. With a full belly. To send you away is like tearing out my own heart, but it must be done. You have always been the best son a mother could ever want, so do not argue with me now. Make me proud of your bravery. I only want what is best for you.”
“What is best for me is to stay here with you, with all my cousins and friends.”
He wiped his runny nose on his arm. Despite the warmth of the day, his teeth were chattering. He was frightened to death. He felt as if the earth had fallen out from under him and he was hanging over a deep, dark, bottomless pit.
His mother wanted him to leave her and go back.
“No!” he shouted, turning away from her, running back toward the camp. “I will
not
go! You cannot make me go back there!”
He dodged children and dogs. Little Badger, a boy of twelve summers who always taunted him, shouted his name. Fast Pony ran on, blinded by tears. He was halfway through the encampment when the terrifying sound of the blue coats’ horn raked the air.
He stopped running, too confused to move. Was he dreaming or was it really happening all over again? He turned, started to run back to where he had left his mother by the stream.
The first shots were fired when the blue coats came swarming out of the wash. He was running back the way he had come when he tripped and fell headlong onto the hard ground. His knee was skinned, his palms, too, but he jumped up and kept on running.
An old woman ran past him. She screamed and fell. Fast Pony nearly tripped over her body. He kept running. The blue coats were everywhere at once. Through the noise and smoke he saw his mother racing toward him, saw the fringe on her doeskin dress flying, her arms outstretched.
She screamed his name.
By midday, Kate was already trail weary and tired of tasting dust when they stopped in a sparse grove of trees along a river bottom. Since Reed was loath to light a fire, they ate a cold meal of hard cheese, apples, and biscuits.
She washed her face and hands in the trickle of water. Kneeling in the dirt beside the stream, she blessed Charm for convincing her to wear pants. A dress never would have survived.
Pushing herself up, she walked to where Reed held the horses, watching her. His deep-set eyes never betrayed his thoughts, but today there was something in them that made her blush. Though she could not define it, she felt it. Every so often she caught him looking at her in ways he never had before.
She found herself thinking about last night and the hint of tenderness, a certain closeness, between them.
He held her horse while she hooked her foot in the stirrup and then settled in the saddle. She admired his easy grace as he mounted up. Soon they were clearing a gentle rise that brought them out of the creek bottom.
Then, without warning, Reed suddenly pulled rein. His horse danced back into hers. Kate tightened her grip on the reins and held the little mare steady. When she looked over at Reed, he was staring off into the distance. His face slowly drained of color.
Terror gripped her hard. The realization of where they were and what they were doing came slamming back. “What is it? Reed? What’s happening?”
Suddenly she was all too aware of the heavy gunbelt she had tried to ignore. Black smoke billowed up from the ground, snaked like separate writhing arms against the sky. The usual stillness was broken by the popping sound of gunfire.
“Get back down into the gully and wait for me by the creek.”
Was her heart
trying
to shatter her rib cage? “Are you insane?”
He edged his horse close enough to grab her arm and forced her to look into his eyes. “Calm down, Kate, and listen to me. There are no settlers this far out. That has to be an encampment going up in smoke. That has to be where Daniel was headed. I’ve got to get to him before . . . before anything happens.”