Black Horse (18 page)

Fort Keogh had been built even more recently than the Canadian fort in the Cypress Hills that Meadow had just left. After the Battle of the Little Bighorn, the military post was constructed in the hope of being able to control the Indians who were threatening further retaliation against the white men. This fort, however, was already much larger than Fort Walsh, and buildings were still being erected on both sides of the courtyard that stood in the center of the large post.

Even if it was still hundreds of miles away from the wide-open plains of the Dakota Territory that she loved so dearly, Meadow was happy to be on the other side of the Canadian border.

“Miss?”

Meadow jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to look at the man who had suddenly appeared at her side. He was a young, redheaded man, probably not much older than she was, but he was wearing the dark blue uniform of the U.S. Cavalry.

“Hello,” Meadow said clearly. Her English was improving daily.

“Hi. Hello. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Miss…?” He smiled at her as he fidgeted nervously with the hat he held in his hand.

Without hesitation, Meadow returned his smile.
“Meadow—just Meadow. That’s my name,” she answered.

The young soldier shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I am Private Jensen, and I am here to see to it that you have everything you need.”

“My quarters are quite comfortable. I don’t think there is anything I need at this time. But I am looking forward to exploring the fort,” Meadow answered. This young soldier had no idea just how anxious she really was to learn all about Fort Keogh—especially regarding the Sioux prisoners who had been incarcerated or executed here in the past few months.

The prospect of escorting such a lovely girl around the fort brought an immediate smile to Private Jens-en’s mouth. In a gentlemanly fashion, he crooked his arm and held it out toward Meadow. She hesitated, but remembered that she was supposed to be acting like a white woman now. She slipped her arm through his as he guided her down the front steps that led from the small private room she had been given at the end of a long row of barracks.

“Many wives and children have already relocated to Fort Keogh, so you will have lots of women to keep you company,” the private said as they walked along the dusty street. “We have dances on most Saturday nights, and Sundays are always a very pleasant social event. Everyone attends services at the chapel, and then there is a great meal prepared by all the women. You’ll enjoy those gatherings, I’m sure.”

Meadow managed a weak nod of her head and a faked smile. She could only hope the white women at Fort Keogh would be happy to meet her, but the activities the young soldier had just described did not sound
like anything she would enjoy doing. It made her even more anxious to get the information she sought so that she could return to the Sioux village.

“And this is the mess hall, and also where we have our Saturday-night socials,” Private Jensen added as they walked past a large, newly built structure. “Well, that is just about all that there is to see, except for the prison. But I’m sure you want to stay as far away from that place as possible, especially since we have some of the country’s most dangerous Sioux warriors imprisoned there.”

The soldier’s unexpected words took a minute to penetrate into Meadow’s thoughts. But, when she was able to grasp the full meaning of what he had just said, it took all her willpower to keep from grabbing the private and demanding to know just whom it was that he was talking about. A rush of blood to her head made Meadow feel as if she was about to pass out, and the pounding in her chest made her entire body shake.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” gasped Private Jensen. “I can tell by the look on your face that the idea of having any of those animals from the tribe who kidnapped you so close by is terrifying for you.”

He took the liberty of wrapping his arm around her shoulders because she was shaking visibly, and even though the young man’s attempt to comfort her was misguided, Meadow knew she must continue to play along with whatever it was that he believed. “Th-There are Sioux h-here at th-this fort?” she managed to ask with the little amount of voice she could muster.

“They can’t hurt you,” the private said in a compassionate tone. “There are only a few of the younger warriors and several old men, but they are all kept in
heavy chains and haven’t even seen the light of day for months. If they were considered dangerous at one time, I can assure you that they are as meek as kittens now. There is absolutely nothing for you to be afraid of.” His hold around her shoulders tightened when a heavy shudder bolted through her body again. “You poor little thing. You must have suffered terribly at the hands of those savages.”

Meadow desperately tried to corral her wild thoughts and emotions until she could get away from the soldier. Until then, she knew that she had to find a way to convince him that his instincts were correct. “I—I am fine. Thank you for your concern. It will take some time, I’m sure, before I will feel safe again.” Meadow glanced around the fort. “Just so I know what area to avoid…where are the Sioux prisoners kept?”

The young soldier hesitated before answering, “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” Meadow demanded. “Yes, it is important for me to know…j-just s-so I can stay as far away from there as possible.”

“Well then, you’re in luck, because the stockade is all the way across the courtyard, behind the general’s quarters. There is no way any of those heathens will ever be able to harm anyone again.”

Meadow swallowed hard and fought back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. The tone of the young soldier’s voice left her with little doubt as to how much he hated all Indians. She took a deep breath and hoped that she could continue with the act that she knew was crucial at this time.

“Th-thank you f-for everything. I would like to rest up for a bit before dinner.”

Normally, only the enlisted men without families would eat in the mess hall. Families usually dined in their own living quarters, unless it was a special occasion. Tonight was considered a special occasion, since it was Meadow’s first night at Fort Keogh, and it was everyone’s opinion that she needed to befriend as many of the women as possible to help her get past the horrible ordeal she had been through with the Sioux. She was dreading the eve ning.

“I will call for you shortly before six p.m.,” Private Jensen replied in a less serious tone. “And tomorrow we can start searching for your family. We have been granted full access to all of General Wray’s rec ords regarding any little skirmishes we have had with savages in these parts, so at the very least, we should be able to find a starting date for our search.”

Meadow turned away from the private before he could see how much his words had pained her. Little skirmishes? Is that what soldiers called it when entire villages of Indians—or wagon trains of whites—with women, children and elderly were slaughtered and mutilated as if they were nothing more than a pack of dogs? She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

“I’ll be ready for dinner when you call for me,” Meadow said hoarsely as she hurried into her room. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it in an attempt to breathe normally again. Was there a white man alive that had any empathy for the plight of the Indians? White Buffalo had told her so many times that all men—red, white or brown—had red blood and hearts that beat the same. She had yet to meet another man who was as insightful as her cherished
ate ate
.

The thought of White Buffalo returned Meadow’s thoughts to the important task she had to complete here at Fort Keogh. Somehow, she had to get into the stockade where the Sioux prisoners were being held, for two reasons: to find out if they knew anything about Black Horse and to find a way to get them all out of this hellhole!

The evening was a blur as Meadow nodded automatically to the sea of faces belonging to the officers’ wives and daughters she was introduced to at dinner. Although most of the women made an honest attempt to be friendly to Meadow, she sensed that some of them were keeping their distance from her as if they worried that her life with the Sioux had somehow contaminated her. A couple of the women insinuated that decent people would have a difficult time being in her presence, and told her how lucky she was to be at a military base where the residents were more tolerant of women who had been “ruined” by Indian men. Even the girls who looked to be around the same age as she was acted as if they were afraid to sit too close to her. She did not feel a connection with any of them, as she had with the girl she had glimpsed walking down the street with her mother at Fort Walsh the first time she had been there.

Meadow knew she would not be here long enough to care one way or the other how the “decent” women of the fort felt toward her, so instead she concentrated on listening to conversations among the officers and enlisted men in the hopes that she would hear something about the Sioux captives held at the fort. Unfortunately, she did not learn anything useful.

By the end of the long eve ning, when Private Jensen
walked Meadow back to her own quarters, she was more determined than ever to finish her mission here as quickly as possible, so that she could return to the Sioux village.

As tired as she was, Meadow could not fall asleep. She was sure she would never sleep again until she saw who was being held in that prison and found out whether or not they knew anything about the alleged death of Black Horse.

Holding the door to her quarters wide open, Meadow stared out at the dark buildings and courtyard. The nights were growing warmer, now that summer was rapidly approaching. All that remained of the past winter’s snowfall was high on the mountaintops, but on some of the tallest peaks the snow did not entirely melt away all year long.

The first hazy rays of the morning sunlight found Meadow anxiously waiting in her open doorway for her carefully planned day. When she saw Private Jensen headed toward her quarters to escort her to breakfast, she eagerly rushed out to meet him. A fluttering in the pit of her stomach told her that today would prove to be very productive, and she couldn’t wait to get things started.

“Well, you’re bursting with energy this morning,” the private said as she stopped before him. “I take it you slept well?”

“Yes, very well, thank you,” Meadow lied. If today turned out as fruitful as she hoped, she would sleep well tonight because she would be one day closer to going home. “Are we still going to research the Indian battles in this area today?”

“We’ll start immediately after breakfast,” the private
said as he took Meadow’s arm and led her down the boardwalk.

Feeling ravenous for the first time since she had left the Sioux village, Meadow devoured two flapjacks, scrambled eggs and some elk sausage as Private Jensen watched in amazement. Although she still preferred the blander Indian food, she was growing accustomed to the more seasoned food eaten by whites.

“I’m ready to get started,” Meadow announced as she bounded up from the hard wooden bench that lined one of the long tables in the mess hall.

“I can see that,” Private Jensen said with a wide smile. He swung his leg over the bench and stood up beside her. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

As they walked toward the far end of the fort, Meadow felt as though her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Every step toward the general’s quarters took her one step closer to the prisoner barricade. Someone there had to know something about Black Horse’s presumed execution. As they approached the general’s office, Meadow quickly scanned the area surrounding the officers’ quarters. The sight of an armed guard standing in front of a square building with window bars caused Meadow’s footsteps to falter.

“Are you all right?” Private Jensen asked with concern. When he saw the direction she was staring in, he sighed. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s not where the savages are kept. That’s where we keep enlisted men who have gotten themselves in fights or deserted or something like that.” He tossed his head back. “The heathens are locked up in an underground cell behind the prison. There’s no chance that they’ll ever get out of there!”

A chill ran down the length of Meadow’s spine as
she tried to envision the horrible condition of the Indians who were locked in that hellish hole. She drew in a heavy breath, but made no attempt to speak—the choking lump in her throat would not allow her voice to escape anyway.

“Come on, now,” the soldier prodded as he forced Meadow to turn away from the direction of the prison. “We’ve got much better things to think about today—like finding your family.”

His words had little meaning to Meadow, since the only thing she could concentrate on was finding a way to get in to those prisoners. She stumbled into the general’s office and glanced around absently. With a feeling of relief, she noticed that the general was not there. It was obvious that an important man occupied this office because of the massive desk that sat in the middle of the room and the impressive looking awards and pictures that decorated the walls. Along one entire wall was a row of tall cabinets filled with papers and books.

“I took the liberty of coming over here last night to do some research after I escorted you back to your room.” Private Jensen smiled proudly as he strutted over to one of the cabinets along the back wall and pulled open the top drawer. “I think the information we are looking for is in these files, so it shouldn’t take too long to discover what happened to your family.”

Meadow leveled her flashing emerald gaze on the soldier. “I don’t think there has ever been any question as to what happened to them. They were killed fifteen years ago in a battle with the Sioux, and that’s why I was taken to live with the Hunkpapa tribe.” Her hands clamped down on the curves of her hips. “And
the reason our wagon train was attacked was because just days earlier, a village of women, children and old men had been slaughtered by white soldiers!”

Meadow’s unexpected outburst left Private Jensen speechless. As he stared at her, she noticed a red blush work its way up from the collar of his navy—blue jacket, not stopping until it reached the brim of his hat. She drew in a deep sigh and inwardly berated herself for letting her emotions get the best of her. “I’m sorry for my rash words. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember who I am or where I am supposed to be.” She was relieved to see the soldier’s expression soften and a slight smile curve his thin lips.