Meet the New Dawn (22 page)

Zeke lit the cigarette. “Most illegal things are done after dark, aren’t they? Kind of like when you sneak around enjoying another man’s wife.”

Rage laughed and put out his hand again, but Zeke still refused to shake it. “Sorry, Mr. Rage. Shaking hands signifies friendship. I don’t make friends with the men I deal with. A man tends to trust his friends too much. We’re strictly business.”

Rage pulled back his hand. “You’re a cautious man, Lone Eagle.”

“That’s why I’m still alive,” Zeke answered with a nod. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.” He turned and left without another word.

For three months Zeke and Wolf’s Blood made the deliveries. Each time it tore at their hearts to watch the Cheyenne and other tribes eagerly trade valuable goods and government issue for the cheap whiskey. There were many of them Zeke knew, but none of them even seemed to blame him for what he was doing, actually thanking their “old friend” for bringing the whiskey. Some wondered why he was doing it, for their friend and kin Lone Eagle once preached against the firewater, warning that it would turn them into weak women. But they supposed he was doing the only thing left for him to do, just as they were doing. Why should they blame him? After all, wasn’t he doing them a favor? A few of them even offered him their wives and daughters for the whiskey, when they had nothing left to trade. He refused, saying only that he was required to return with actual goods and he could not accept physical services for the drink. But inside he was enraged, wanting to strangle the once proud men who would stoop so
low as to trade their women for the firewater. It sickened and depressed him, for he realized how unhappy these warriors were. They were so desperate to feel good, even if just for one or two nights a week, that they would do anything to get their hands on the magic water. There was nothing else now for them to do. They had lost their pride and their fighting spirit. Only a few hung on, holding back and not going to meet the whiskey wagons. Still, even those few would not tell the Army or the primary agent how they got the whiskey and what secret routes the traders took to get to the reservation. That would be like telling on their own people.

Zeke and Wolf’s Blood kept up the job long enough to prove to Julius Rage that they were trustworthy. It was not until May that Zeke made his first contact with Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen. After leaving with a shipment from Dodge City and getting into backcountry, they pulled the wagons into a remote canyon. Zeke held up while Wolf’s Blood rode hard for Fort Lyon, a five-day trip even for a man riding alone. Their own mounts were always taken along as extras in case of trouble, tied to the wagons. In three days Zeke would head out again, tying one team of horses to the back of his own wagon and driving both on south. It would not be an easy feat, but somehow they had to make contact with Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen. On the last trip south Zeke had managed to fully win over the trust and friendship of Peter Holbrook, the assistant agent who helped with the whiskey trading. He got Holbrook drunk and even talked him into laughingly revealing who the source of whiskey was in St. Louis. Holbrook had been so drunk that the next day he didn’t even remember what he had said to Zeke, but trusted him so well by then that he didn’t bother worrying about it.

Now Wolf’s Blood would ride hard to Fort Lyon to get the news to Petersen, while Zeke took his time heading south, not wanting to lose too many days and arouse suspicion. Wolf’s Blood would ride fast to catch up so that the two of them would ride into the reservation together as they always did, each driving a wagon.

Zeke prayed his son would have no problems. The secret to stopping a great deal of illegal whiskey was to get the man in St.
Louis, not the middle men like Julius Rage. He knew it was most likely this was not the only whiskey the man in St. Louis supplied. Surely there were other runs being made, by other men. The answer was to kill the source, and Zeke Monroe knew who that source was—Thomas West, one of the wealthiest men in St. Louis, owner of West Enterprises, a vast supply warehouse for western outlets, the army, and Indian reservations. To stop Thomas West would be a huge step forward in cleaning up reservation cheating and illegal trading. Zeke knew it would not stop it all together. There were too many white men ready to get in on the lucrative business of dealing with the government. But it would help, nonetheless.

Now if Wolf’s Blood could get to Petersen with the name, the lieutenant-colonel would take care of planting a man in West Enterprises, who would follow the next shipment bound for Camp Supply to Dodge City and watch it being loaded onto Zeke’s wagons, waiting for Zeke to return with supposedly empty crates. As soon as the crates were taken to Julius Rage’s barn, they would be inspected and found to contain buffalo robes and government supplies already issued once to the reservation but traded back for whiskey. Normally the illegally traded goods were packed into different boxes marked “U. S. Government” and shipped by rail back to St. Louis to be stored in a warehouse, designated for “Thomas Supplies,” a nonexistent company. They were then picked up from the warehouse by West Enterprises, returned to West Enterprises, and resold to the government, while the robes were sold at a great profit to tent and clothing suppliers.

The operation was intricate, and no other drivers for Julius Rage had ever bothered to try to figure it out, or cared. Only one man had put it together, but his plan had been to try to blackmail Rage and West. Zeke was not about to be that foolish. He only wanted to get his information to Petersen and have it over with. He could only hope it wouldn’t take much longer. He missed Abbie desperately, longing only to be in her arms again and be back on the ranch. His pay for this job would be very good—and badly needed. But he was playing a dangerous game, and he missed his family. There had been many nights that he had thought again about Jeremy, with a
heavy heart. He would simply have to accept his fourth child and second son for what he was, and realize he would probably never see him again.

After a lonely three days of waiting in the canyon, he set out for Camp Supply, praying Wolf’s Blood would show up before he reached the Oklahoma reservation.

Abbie opened the note Sergeant Daniels brought her from Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen.

“I saw your son, ma’am,” he told her. Her eyes lit up, and Sonora gasped.

“Wolf’s Blood! Is he all right? Why did he not come with you?” the young woman asked, her eyes tearing.

Daniels removed his hat. “He couldn’t, Sonora,” he answered. “I can’t say what him and his pa are up to. I can only tell you their job should be finished soon—maybe in another month or so, if all goes well.”

Abbie frowned. “Are they in danger?”

Daniels sighed. “Not too much, I don’t think. I don’t know all the details myself, ma’am. Only Petersen knows for sure. Wolf’s Blood had me write that note for him—said he’s not too good at writing. But he wanted to get it to you. I said I could just tell you, but he wanted it on paper—figured it would be something you could keep, I guess.”

Abbie smiled through tears and opened the note.

We are fine. Father had bad pains in March, but is much better again. Do not worry, We will be home by the Moon of the Red Cherries. Miss the ranch and the whole family. Especially miss my Sonora and Kicking Boy, and Father is restless in the night missing you, my Mother.

Abbie blushed, and Daniels glanced at Ellen, who also blushed and looked down. He had called on her three times, whenever he could get away from Fort Lyon. They enjoyed each other’s company, and Daniels was determined that the next time he was allowed to take her alone for a walk, he would be brave and steal a kiss.

We will make very good money, and this will be good for the ranch, but I think Father will wait a while before doing this again. He misses home too much, and so do I. Our love is with you, and the summer moons will find us all together again.

Abbie put down the note. “That’s all there is,” she told Sonora. Sonora put a hand to her stomach. She was pregnant again, although not showing yet. She would not say anything in front of Daniels and had asked the others not to tell him. She did not want to risk Wolf’s Blood finding out. The news might make him in too much of a hurry to return. Perhaps he would do something careless. How she longed to see the happy look on his face when she told him!

“Thank you for letting us know you’ve seen Wolf’s Blood,” Abbie told Daniels. “Zeke wasn’t with him?” she asked hopefully.

“No, ma’am. Wolf’s Blood couldn’t tell me where he was, and he came and left the same day, saying he had to ride hard to meet his father. That’s all I know.”

Abbie sighed. “I’m worried, Sergeant. Zeke isn’t a well man.”

Daniels twisted his hat in his hand. “One sure wouldn’t know it by looking at him, ma’am. And he’s a capable man, that’s for sure. He’ll be all right. He’s got Wolf’s Blood to help him.”

Abbie folded the letter carefully. “Yes. Thank God for Wolf’s Blood. I wish I would hear from Jeremy or LeeAnn so I could give Zeke some kind of news about them when he returns.” She rose from the table, looking tired. Abigail Monroe wasn’t her usual strong and spirited self when her husband was gone for long periods of time. “If you’ll excuse me,” she told them, “I’m going outside for a while. I’d like to be alone.”

She left without another word, walking several hundred feet behind the cabin to a little grassy spot beside a stream, a special place, hidden by bushes and undergrowth, a place where she and Zeke often went to talk, sometimes even to make love when the weather was warm. It was here she had sat and wept once,
sure her husband was dead. But he had come to her there, by the stream. How many times had he gone away and she had worried he would not come back? But he always had. The only difference now was that she knew it would not be long before he really wouldn’t come back.

She picked a few purple irises, her favorite flower. It bloomed abundantly in this spot. She sat down beside the stream, the flowers in her hand. “Don’t let this be the time,” she said aloud, watching the rippling water. “Not yet, Zeke. Please not yet.” Her throat hurt with a need to cry, but the tears would not come. She must pray and believe. They were the only two things that had kept her going for twenty-eight years—praying and believing. “I love you, Zeke,” she shouted into the wind. Surely he would feel her words in his heart. Surely the Wind Spirit would take them to him and whisper them into his ear.

Chapter Thirteen

Bonnie opened the letter from Joshua. The nineteen-year-old boy was doing well in college now, living with his adoptive grandfather in Virginia but sometimes going into Washington D.C. for lectures and to visit museums and historical sites. He was also busy writing for an Alexandria newspaper. Bonnie sat down, eager to read the letter. With Dan gone so often now trying to keep a very tentative peace and always searching for whiskey traders and gunrunners, she was often alone and missed Joshua painfully.

The letter was full of news about college and about newspaper writing. Then her heart tightened as she read:

I have seen my brother. Of course I did not tell him who I was, so don’t worry. He was at a library, giving a special lecture to teachers and the like who were considering going west to pursue their careers. His speech was very fine, until he got to telling about Indians. Mother, he exaggerates so, and his hatred for Indians is very intense. It’s sad, because he is doing so much damage, ruining everything Indian sympathizers try to do. I am afraid I found myself unable to refrain from arguing with him on many points, and he became extremely angry. I am afraid, Mother, that I do not like Charles Garvey, even one little bit, even if he is my half brother. I can see in his hateful eyes that you are right. He is
very powerful, and he probably would try to quiet me if I told him who I was. But I swear to you that someday I will be prominent and important myself—important enough that he won’t dare try to harm me. When that day comes, I will end Charles Garvey’s lies about the Indians. I will tell the truth, and I will show him up for what he is and tell him about his half-Indian brother. Someday people will know my name through my newspaper writing, and I will stop people like Charles Garvey.

I saw his new wife. She is very beautiful, with blond hair and eyes as blue as the sky. She wore the latest fashion, of course, and is very gracious and charming, but I also saw a sadness in her eyes and am sure she cannot be happy with a man like Charles Garvey, who although not ugly, mind you, is also not handsome. I think it is because there is a certain evil air about him, a coldness in his dark eyes that unnerves people. If he were a good person with kindness in his eyes, I think he would be more handsome. It is his attitude that detracts from his looks. Why a beautiful, obviously gentle woman like his wife would marry him, I cannot understand.

Bonnie took a deep breath. The thought of Joshua actually coming face-to-face with Charles Garvey—even arguing with him—made her tremble. She prayed he would have sense enough to keep his secret until the time was right.

Zeke and Wolf’s Blood headed back north with another load of skins and government supplies. Zeke breathed easier now. Wolf’s Blood had made it to Fort Lyon and had given the message to Lieutenant-Colonel Petersen. In return he had learned from Sergeant Daniels that the family all were well, a great relief to Zeke. It wouldn’t be long now. Petersen would get word to a contact in St. Louis, who would investigate West Enterprises. The soldiers were now aware of some of the most secret routes, and also that the aide at Camp Supply, Peter Holbrook, was assisting in the illegal trading. He would also be closely watched, for there were other shipments he helped with
besides those coming from Julius Rage, most of them also originating with West Enterprises and ending up there. No matter what happened now to Julius Rage, West Enterprises and Peter Holbrook would still be caught and arrested. It was good to know that there were a few things the soldiers were trying to do right, even though it concerned Indians already forced onto a reservation. The whiskey only kept tensions high, and although this plan would eliminate some of the trading, Zeke knew whiskey would still get into the hands of his brothers, who had nothing left besides the white man’s firewater to bring excitement and wild freedom to their souls. But he had at least done something to help stop the rotgut drink that was killing his red brothers. The most satisfying part was that he had exposed greedy white men who were making money off government supplies and desperate red men who practically sold their souls for whiskey and guns. The whites had beaten and murdered Indians, stolen their land, forced them onto hated, barren reservations; then turned around and stole from them even more, taking valuable hides in return for killing whiskey, taking advantage of the Indians’ ignorance of the white man’s greedy trickery.

Zeke smiled. Now an Indian had performed his own trickery on such white men. Zeke Monroe and his son had totally won the confidence of Julius Rage, and by doing so would expose the man for what he really was.

All they needed to do now was deliver this load of goods. He was slightly ahead of schedule, due at the Rage ranch by the eighth of July. Plans were for Sergeant Daniels and a company of men to raid the ranch on the tenth of July, finding the skins and government goods in Rage’s barn, all the evidence they needed. By that time Zeke and Wolf’s Blood would not be around, and their identity and location would never be given to Rage. Rage would be told the two had been arrested and then killed trying to escape, and that would be the end of it. Zeke wanted no connections between Julius Rage and his own family. Things had gone so well that he and Wolf’s Blood had found a couple of days to hole up on the Cimarron River, relaxing, talking about wives and family, and each dreaming
his own thoughts of what he would do when he got home. Their mission would be accomplished, and they would have money in their pockets.

Zeke counted his days, arriving on Rage land on the eighth of July as planned. The two big wagons clattered through the gate to Rage’s thousands of acres and rattled on for the two-mile trek from the gate to the buildings. The two of them headed for the barn, where Zeke spotted Frank Dole taking a bridle from his horse. The man looked up and waved, and Zeke waved back. Dole hurriedly opened the barn doors for them, and Zeke and Wolf’s Blood pulled the wagons inside, their own horses tied to the backs. Dole closed the door while Zeke and Wolf’s Blood climbed down.

It was then that Julius Rage stepped out from behind several bales of hay, wielding a rifle at Zeke and Wolf’s Blood. Dole latched the barn doors, turning and pointing his six-gun at the two. A man called Huston also stepped forward, pointing an ugly-looking shotgun at father and son.

Zeke and Wolf’s Blood stood still, wary, surprised. What had gone wrong?

“Have a good trip, Lone Eagle?” Rage asked the man.

Zeke studied the man coldly, keeping his hands visible, glancing at Wolf’s Blood quickly to warn the boy to keep quiet and let him talk. He faced Rage again, as Dole stepped closer, standing behind Zeke and Wolf’s Blood.

“Best trip we’ve had yet,” Zeke answered him. “What the hell is this all about, Rage? The goods are on the wagons, like always. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Haven’t you?” The man shifted nervously. He had the upper hand, but this man called Lone Eagle and his vicious-looking son were men of obvious skill. He could not take any chances. “Why did your boy ride to Fort Lyon this time around, Indian?” the man demanded.

Wolf’s Blood looked surprised but kept quiet. Zeke just frowned. “Who says he did?” he asked.

Rage grinned. “Dole saw him—followed him.” The man signaled for Dole to take Zeke’s and Wolf’s Blood’s guns from their sides. “You see, Indian, just as you once told me you
don’t make friends with the men you do business with, neither do I. Nor do I ever fully trust them. You had done a fine job for me, but that meant nothing. So I told Dole to tag alone this time—make sure all you did was go straight south and come right back. But your son there took a little side trip of his own, while you went on south with the wagons. Dole followed him—all the way to Fort Lyon. And I am very interested in hearing your explanation of why he went there.”

Zeke lowered his arms carefully, as Dole took his gun and Wolf’s Blood’s, throwing the weapons into a corner. Their rifles were on the wagons. The only weapons they had were their knives, and for some reason Dole didn’t take them. Apparently these white men didn’t consider knives a weapon to worry about, not against guns. Zeke grinned inwardly. He needed no gun when he had his knife at his side.

“I don’t owe you any explanations for anything,” Zeke said coolly. “If you think I’m stupid enough to pass up a good deal like I’m getting here, think again. You think I’ve betrayed you. Well I haven’t. It just so happens there is a little Mexican girl at Fort Lyon that my son gets a need for from time to time. He’s young and eager. What handsome young buck his age doesn’t need to get rid of his desires once in a while? I can’t control something like that.”

Rage scowled, eyeing Wolf’s Blood. “That true?”

The boy grinned in a bitter sneer. “She is the grateful kind. Sometimes I burn for her so much that if I do not go there I think maybe I will grab the first white woman who comes along and violate her.”

Rage chuckled but kept his rifle on them. “And what about the whore down in Texas? I thought that was your woman.”

Wolf’s Blood eyed him haughtily. “What man keeps just one woman when he is married to none?”

Rage studied them closely, still wary. “What man keeps just one woman, even when he is married?” he replied. The other men laughed, but Zeke and Wolf’s Blood just glared at them. Rage sobered, backing up a little. “I think I’ll make double sure you’re telling the truth. Personally I don’t believe you.” He motioned to Dole, who had been standing behind Zeke and
Wolf’s Blood and had quietly picked up a shovel. The man abruptly slammed the shovel into Wolf’s Blood’s lower back, buckling the boy’s knees, then whacked the shovel across the back of his head.

Zeke whirled at the movement, grabbing the shovel and wrenching it from Dole in a fierce rage, yanking the man around in front of him as he tried to cling to the shovel handle. The movement was so fast that Huston panicked and fired the shotgun before waiting for Dole to be free of Zeke. The pellets ripped through Dole, opening up his back. Zeke pushed the man from the shovel toward Rage and Huston, part of his own side catching some of the shotgun pellets, his flesh and a side of his buckskin shirt ripped away. Blood began immediately running from his side as he ducked and rolled toward several bales of hay, crawling as fast as a centipede behind the hay. Rage and Huston immediately moved back behind hay themselves, Rage cursing at Huston for being too quick on the trigger.

“We’d have had him if you’d waited for Dole to let go, you stupid son of a bitch!” the man growled, afraid now for his own life. They had injured Lone Eagle’s son, and Rage did not like the look in the father’s eyes—the kind of look that told of a man who would kill before he let himself die of whatever wounds he might suffer. Rage’s idea had been to lash Wolf’s Blood with a bullwhip until his father told the truth. Those plans were foiled now. Both must die, and the buffalo robes and government goods had to be shipped out right away. But first they had to get out of the barn, and Lone Eagle had grabbed up a six-gun as he moved behind the hay bales. Rage had no idea how many bullets were in the gun, but Lone Eagle’s ammunition belt had been removed, so he could not reload. The man still wore a knife, but what good was a knife against their guns and rifles?

“Want me to try to sneak out and get more men?” Huston asked.

“Hell no! I don’t want the others knowing what’s going on or what’s in those wagons!” Rage hissed. “And if you try to get out, he’ll kill you. Let him make the first move!”

Wolf’s Blood lay on his stomach, groaning, everything a blur, his body screaming with pain.

“Come on out, Lone Eagle, or I’ll blow your son’s brains out!” Rage shouted. “I’ve got my rifle right on him!”

The only reply was silence. Wolf’s Blood lay still, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to remember what had just happened.

“You’ll die either way, Rage,” Zeke finally answered, his voice calm and determined. On the inside he was exploding with a need for vengeance. His son lay badly injured. He had gotten Wolf’s Blood into this and he would not forgive himself if the boy’s injuries were irreparable. It mattered little that a great deal of flesh had been blown away from his own ribs and he was bleeding badly. The important thing was to get these men. Zeke and Wolf’s Blood had to flee the ranch without either of them being killed. He could only pray that his own loss of blood would not weaken him or make him pass out before the deed was done. But one thing was certain, it had to be done and quickly too.

He let out a war whoop and stood up, running fast across the top of the bales of hay, yelling blood-curdling Indian yelps and firing the six-gun rapidly as he moved. Zeke kept ducking and moving, making himself a difficult target for Rage and Huston, neither of them a good aim and both of them in a panic. They didn’t pay any attention to Wolf’s Blood for the moment. The boy was surely injured badly enough that they could finish him off later. It was the father who demanded their attention at the moment. Julius Rage knew instinctively that even wounded, Lone Eagle was not a man to deal with lightly. He was a warrior at heart, and now he fought like one, cunning and devilish, using fright as just as strong a weapon as his gun.

The barn was suddenly silent again, and Rage and Huston searched the hay bales above, where they had seen Zeke running and ducking. They heard nothing now, and gripped their rifles nervously, paying no attention to Wolf’s Blood at all.

“Where the hell is he?” Huston whispered angrily.

“He’s up there—the loft,” Rage answered. “And I counted.
He used six bullets. He’s got none left, and he’s hurt besides. He won’t last much longer. Just keep your eyes open.”

“I don’t like this,” Huston fumed. “Why in hell did you have Dole hit the boy? That was stupid!”

“Shut up and listen!” Rage growled.

Something fell to the right side of the loft and Huston fired off three rapid shots at the noise. At the same time a chilling scream came from behind them. In the next moment a big Indian was on top of Julius Rage from behind, knocking the man forward. The rifle fell from Rage’s hands. Huston whirled to take aim at Zeke, but a strong arm grabbed him from behind, around the throat. A shining Bowie knife was slammed into his heart. Wolf’s Blood moved back and threw the man’s body to the floor. Meanwhile Zeke yanked Julius Rage around onto his back, just in time to see Huston falling, his chest ripped open, a wobbly Wolf’s Blood standing there with a bloody knife and a grin on his face.