Meet the New Dawn (36 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

There was no arguing with his mother. Wolf’s Blood was to take her to the mountain, and that was that. The next disagreement was over how she would go. He wanted to take the wagon. She insisted on riding.

“It will be too hard on you riding that far,” her son insisted.

The old spirit that was Abigail Trent rose to the surface. “Look, young man, I have been riding a lot more years than you. You might be able to do fancy tricks and shoot a bow and arrow from under a horse, but when it comes to endurance, I can keep up with you or anyone else. And I will thank you to stop treating me like a feeble, old woman. I am only forty-eight, and I am so excited I feel twenty-eight.” She met his sulking eyes and folded her arms. “I am riding, as I always did with your father, and that is that. Besides, would you mind telling me how you expect to get a cumbersome wagon up a mountain?”

He grinned then, leaning back in his chair. “I am beginning to see what father meant.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? And just what do you mean?”

“He said sometimes you could be as stubborn as that pack mule we had for a while. I used to pull, and father would push, and neither one of us could make him go if he didn’t want to go.”

She smiled a little herself. “He said that, did he?”

The boy grinned more. “He also said although you were an obedient wife, he had a feeling he was the one doing the
obeying, without even knowing it. He said sometimes an obedient wife can tie a man to her apron strings more tightly than one who is always complaining.”

She picked up a potato and began peeling it. “I never once tried to tie him to any apron strings.”

“Mother,” she raised her eyes to meet his again, “he knew that. He told me such things in a joking manner. He wanted to be tied to you and you know it. And whenever he spoke of you, it was always with much love in his eyes.”

Her eyes teared, but she smiled. “Your father used to tease me mercilessly. He was always joking about my old Spencer Carbine, or about how I looked when I sometimes wore a man’s clothing to go and hunt with him. Or he’d tell me a tall story, and I would believe him until it suddenly became preposterous and I realized he was fooling me. I’d see that twinkle in his eyes, and he’d say, ‘Abbie-girl, when will you ever catch on?’ Sometimes I’d get so … mad …”

Her eyes teared more and she quickly wiped at them with the sleeve of her dress, continuing to peel the potato. She sniffed and swallowed. “My God, I’m so lonely for him, Wolf’s Blood,” she whispered. “What am I going to do?”

He came to her side, squeezing her shoulder. “You will do just fine, just like Father said you would. He always talked about how strong you are, how you would survive after a time. I will take you to the mountain, Mother, and I think you will find strength and peace there.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

They followed the Arkansas River along rich bottomland and thick cottonwoods, where it was cooler. It felt good to Abbie to be out riding again. She had not returned to her normal weight, but she felt much stronger now, part of her energy coming simply from excitement. Zeke had come to her in a dream. She was doing what he had asked her to do.

It was June, the weather pleasant and bright. She was proud, riding beside her handsome Indian son. Surely in looking at the boy, it was obvious Zeke Monroe still lived. Wildflowers bloomed in abundance, and as the land began to rise, Abbie felt
her spirits rising. First came the high rolling hills that led to the mountains. Then the terrain became more rocky, the earth harder. They had long passed Pueblo and now were climbing ever higher, into places still wild and untamed, as they made their way toward the
Sangre de Crista
Mountains, where Zeke Monroe had been laid to rest in a remote, obscure place chosen by his son.

The traveling became slower, as the altitude winded the horses. The river was still below them, but now it surged and rumbled through great canyons. Abbie had never been on this particular route, had never seen this part of the Arkansas River. On the plains where they lived, it was wide and usually calm. Here it tore through canyons and rumbled over rocks, far, far below them. And yet even here there were signs of white man’s progress and settlement, for deep in the canyon below, along the very edge of the river, lay the narrow gauge tracks of the Denver & Rio Grande. The railroad would provide the white men with an easier way into the depths of the mountains, so they could bring out the gold that lay in towns like Leadville and Rock Creek. Yes, they must get the gold. Abbie was overwhelmed herself—even though she, too, was white—at the ingenuity of her fellow men when it came to getting to the riches that lay waiting for them in the Rockies. A railroad deep in a raging canyon! How on earth had it gotten there? What compelled men to take such risks? And the saddest part was that even this remote and beautiful place had been marred by white man’s greed. Plans were already in the making to take the D & RG all the way to Durango and to Gunnison. And one day in the not-too-distant future it would go all the way across the Rockies to the western side of Colorado. How its builders would accomplish such a feat was beyond Abbie’s imagination, for few more formidable obstacles existed than the Rocky Mountains. Some peaks would be impossible to crest. They would surely have to somehow tunnel their way beneath the great granite barriers.

She did not want to think about it. There apparently was no place a white man was not willing to go if he thought he would find riches. They had overrun the Black Hills, shoving the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne aside. They were swarming now
in the southwest, creating more havoc for the Apaches. California had long been totally invaded and overrun, some of its Indians already extinct. And there were rumors that they were going to create a reservation for Crow Indians in Montana, right beside the Northern Cheyenne Reservation. Crow! Once they were a bitter enemy of the Cheyenne, and now the white man was going to make them live side by side! She had killed Crow Indians herself!

She decided that she must let nothing surprise her anymore. The extent to which white men would go to invade this land from the Atlantic to the Pacific was apparently endless. She was almost glad Zeke had died, for surely things could only get worse.

They rode on, into ever more beautiful places: hills rich with green pine, its sweet scent filling her nostrils, the clean air bringing new life to her veins. The trees were alive with birds and squirrels. The horses’ feet made almost no sound as they walked over ground padded with layers of fallen pine needles. The winter snows had not even totally thawed, and the ground was wet and soft. The pungent smell of rotted logs was mixed with the smell of pine, and hardened snow lay in patches.

They made camp along a rushing stream, and Abbie wondered if she would ever be able to leave this place, where surely few men if any had ever been. They were far from any railroads now, far from any town. They were alone, and all around the woods were alive with life, the hills adorned with wildflowers. The sky was a brilliant blue, the grass deep green, the waters so clear one could see the bottom of the creek and the rainbow-colored fish dashing about. Wolf’s Blood speared some for their supper, and it was the most pleasant, peaceful time Abbie had enjoyed in many months.

“I’m glad I came, Wolf’s Blood,” she told her son. “I can see why you and your father came here whenever you could. A person feels renewed in such a place, more in touch with God. I don’t feel so lonely.”

“Wait until you see where I left Father. It will be many years before any white men find him—maybe never. It is a good place—high and peaceful.”

“How long before we get there, do you think?”

He chewed and swallowed a piece of fish. “Three days perhaps. We must be careful. This is grizzly country, and it is the time of year when the great bear is his meanest, for he is coming out of his long sleep and is very hungry. If we see one, do not move too quickly. And do not go wandering off alone.”

She studied him quietly for a moment. “Thank you for bringing me here, Wolf’s Blood.”

He smiled shyly. “I had no choice. It was Father’s wish, or he would not have spoken to you in the dream.”

“Then you believe me?”

He set down his tin plate. “Of course I believe you. You and Father were very close in spirit, even though you are white. He loved you as much as any man can love a woman. If you say he came to you in a dream, then I believe it.”

Her eyes teared. “I’m sorry to take you away from Sonora. No man likes to be away from his wife.”

He began rolling a cigarette, taking up the habit his father had enjoyed. “Sonora understands. She wanted me to bring you.” He lit the cigarette and puffed it a moment, then met his mother’s eyes cautiously. “She misses her own people, Mother. It is possible I will take her to find some of her relatives.”

Abbie frowned. “I would hate to see you leave, Wolf’s Blood. I need you.” She sighed. “That sounds so selfish. If Sonora wants to find her relatives, you should take her. But the Apaches are in the middle of their own warring, Wolf’s Blood. It would be dangerous.”

“That does not worry me.”

She studied her warrior son. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Her throat tightened. How she needed him! “You won’t go soon, will you?”

He studied the cigarette. “No. I would not be so cruel as to leave you for a long time yet. Father would be displeased, and I would worry too much myself. I just wanted to tell you I am thinking about it, so that you also could think about it and not be surprised if I decide to go. Besides, I would come back. You know that.”

How familiar the words sounded! How often had Zeke told her the very same thing? And he had always kept his promise,
until he could no longer make the promise.

For three more days they made their way through rocks and canyons, great waterfalls and quiet streams. Once a grizzly chased them in a meadow. Wolf’s Blood smacked his mother’s horse and ordered her to ride hard. He stayed behind her, and they galloped through the green meadow, splashing through a stream and into thicker woods until the grizzly finally wearied and stopped chasing them. They reined their lathered mounts to a halt and turned to watch the animal lumber away, Abbie’s heart pounding furiously with fright and excitement. Wolf’s Blood shook his fist and shouted at the bear, saying his spirit was stronger than the grizzly’s spirit, calling the bear a coward in the Cheyenne tongue. He laughed then as the animal kept lumbering away, its great wide paws splashing through the stream, the hump on its neck wiggling as it moved.

“I did not want to shoot him if I could help it,” he told his mother. “I do not like to shoot something without reason. But if he had not given up, I would have had no choice. Now he can go find a mate and make more grizzlies so that they will not die out like is happening to so many other wild things.”

His smile faded, and she knew he was thinking of the Indians. He met her eyes. “Come. We will make camp soon, and in the morning we will reach my father’s burial place. Remember it is sacred. Do not touch the platform or anything on it.”

She nodded. “You forget that I understand these things, Wolf’s Blood.”

He smiled softly. “Sometimes I do. I am sorry. I should have known I need not tell you.”

The next morning found them struggling up a dangerously steep mountain, their horses picking their way over large boulders and fallen trees until they came to what appeared to be a cave. Wolf’s Blood led her inside, and she could hear rushing waters. Her heart pounded, for she sensed they were close now—very close. She had to duck her head at times
because of the low ceiling of the cave. She could see light at the end of a distant tunnel, and the sound of the rushing water came closer. Soon they emerged from the tunnel, and Abbie found herself in a cove that seemed to her to be a place put there from heaven itself. A thundering waterfall came crashing down from unknown places higher up, roaring into a deep pool that churned with white water and literally disappeared under a rock to more unknown places. Everything was green, and birds and small animals scattered when they entered the cove. Wolf’s Blood turned her horse then, nodding toward a high, flat area near the waterfall, where the well-built platform rested.

She went numb. Her son could not have picked a better spot to leave his father. The sun’s rays were beaming through pine trees, and at the moment they lit up the place where Zeke rested. She dismounted slowly, but could feel nothing. Were her own feet carrying her toward the platform? She couldn’t tell. Wolf’s Blood kept hold of her arm, helping her over large boulders and around the pool toward the platform. She could not take her eyes from the spot, not even looking where she was walking.

They came closer. The body still rested on top of the platform, still unmolested, too high for animals to disturb it. It was thoroughly wrapped in heavy buffalo robes and topped with a bright Indian blanket. All sorts of religious articles were hung around the platform: Zeke’s prayer pipe, eagle feathers, a bear claw necklace.

“I buried all the things with him that he will need in the hereafter,” Wolf’s Blood told her, keeping hold of her trembling arm. “I packed pemmican and jerked meat on the platform, nearly all of his gear, his tobacco, his rifle.” He swallowed. “The knife … is in his hand, Mother.”

The knife. No other man would equal Zeke Monroe in the use of a knife. It held great power. Yes, it was good that it was with him. Yet it was difficult to believe that the life had truly gone out of the powerful, virile man who once wielded that knife. So handsome! So sure! So hard and strong!

“I … have to sit down,” she told her son in a weak voice. He helped her sit on a flat rock, kneeling near her.

“His parfleche of supplies is with him, and his personal medicine bag, with his most sacred possessions. I do not know what was in it. It is forbidden for another to explore a man’s medicine bag, or to take anything from it. I do know that once he told me he kept the head of the arrow in it that he took from your body when you were a young girl. He said he kept it as a charm to keep you from ever again being wounded by an arrow.”