Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) (9 page)

Hanes looked with tearing eyes from his daughter to Zeke. “You saved my foot. If you think you can save my daughter, then go ahead. You do whatever you have to do.” His voice broke, and he knelt down beside his wife, who was crying, stroking the girl’s hair, and telling her to lie still.

Yellow Grass was already making a campfire and throwing something into a black kettle, while Zeke took out a big knife and a flask of whiskey. He poured the whiskey over the knife, ordering the Haneses to hold the little girl still. He quickly cut an
x
over the bite mark, while the child screamed and others gasped and turned away. Then Zeke bent down and sucked on the bite several times, spitting out blood and venom each time.

“Somebody make some strong coffee!” he ordered. “We have to keep her awake. Olin, there’s a mud hole up ahead. Go dig it out some! Is Yellow Grass done with that brew yet?”

“I’ll check,” Kelsoe replied.

Abbie stood and stared admiringly as Zeke again took hold of the situation. He seemed to have a remedy for everything. He picked up little Mary and held her close, speaking softly and tenderly to her and telling her she must be very still and that he was going to play a little game with her and that soon the bite wouldn’t hurt anymore.

Yellow Grass finally came running with a tin cup, and Zeke talked soothingly to little Mary while he quickly stripped off her clothes. The others watched in bewilderment as he said something in the Sioux tongue
to Yellow Grass. She nodded, and then he dipped his hand into the cup and smeared something green and greasy over the bite on Mary’s thigh.

“There now, doesn’t that feel better?” he asked. The girl nodded but continued to sniffle. Zeke quickly stood up and started running with her to the hole Olin had dug. He put her down into the hole up to her neck, and as Olin started shoveling the mud back in around her, Mary started screaming with fear.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Hanes asked anxiously.

“It’s the only thing that might work,” Zeke told her. “That stuff we put on the bite dulls the pain and draws the poison. The mud will help even more, plus it’s cool and will keep her from getting the fever bad. And once she’s buried good, it will keep her immobile. It’s important she doesn’t move, Mrs. Hanes, and important to keep her head up like this. Go ahead and let her cry. At least it means she’s awake and alive. We’ll hold up the train a day or two till we know which way she’s going to go.”

“A day or two!” Hanes replied. “You mean you’re going to leave her in there like that? Buried to her neck for a day or two?”

“It’s better than burying her for good, isn’t it?” Zeke replied. “You want her to die?”

Hanes blinked and looked ready to cry. His wife did cry quietly as she watched Olin shovel the mud in around little Mary.

“I’m sorry, Hanes, but this is my remedy,” Zeke explained. “If you’ve got a better one, you can dig her out of there. I know it’s no fun for her, but dying is a lot worse.”

Hanes ran a hand through his hair. “All right. You’ve been right about other things. I’ll have to trust you on this one.”

“I’ll stay right here by her,” Zeke promised. “We’ll take turns filling her with coffee and keeping her awake. She’ll urinate right into the mud, but we can clean her up when it’s over. It won’t hurt her any. I’ve seen it done with Indian children … and it almost always works.”

“Almost?” Mrs. Hanes asked through tears.

“Depends on how much venom they take, the size of the child, how long between the bite and the treatment. A little praying doesn’t hurt.”

“What would you know about praying?” the preacher asked, now standing near them with a bloody mouth. Zeke rose and stepped closer to him.

“A lot more than you think, preacher! You delayed me in helping this little girl, and you’d best not let me set eyes on you if she dies!”

The preacher looked around at the others, who all looked at him scornfully, so he turned in a huff to go back and nurse his lip. Zeke looked down at little Mary; then he knelt and touched her head with a big, strong hand.

“Don’t you cry, honey,” he told her gently. “We’re going to play that game now.”

Four

Camp was quiet, and through supper Abbie kept glancing over to Zeke who was still sitting by little Mary as he’d promised. He had not budged since she had been buried in the mud, nor had he eaten. With Yellow Grass’s help, Abbie was packing away dishes as Olin Wales approached and handed something to Yellow Grass that looked like a homemade brush. He spoke to her in her own tongue, and the girl’s eyes widened with pleasure as she nodded in agreement. Then she turned and hurried off to where Zeke sat. Jealousy returned to Abbie’s heart, for Zeke must have asked for Yellow Grass. But she grew curious about why Yellow Grass had left with the brush, so she quickly finished cleanup and took her shawl from the wagon. The sun was disappearing beyond the horizon that had not changed for weeks, and she felt a slight chill as she walked quietly toward the spot where Zeke sat with Mary. Mr. Hanes had built a campfire near his daughter, and the Haneses sat by it with Zeke, while the others on the train left them alone and waited to
see if Cheyenne Zeke’s remedy was going to work.

Abbie stayed in the shadows, watching with a mixture of jealousy and curiosity as Yellow Grass unbraided Zeke’s hair and began brushing it. Abbie’s amazement at seeing more of Zeke’s Indian side revealed helped block out her jealousy, for now she was interested in just watching and learning. Cheyenne Zeke sat cross-legged behind little Mary, his hands gently rubbing her hair and temples, and the child was calmed and quiet. Zeke was shirtless, and noticing the scars on his back, Abbie remembered Zeke’s statement about a whipping by Rube Givens. She wished she knew more about what had happened between the two men, and she wondered if Cheyenne Zeke bore as many scars on the inside as he bore on the outside.

Zeke was all Cheyenne that night, the muscles of his bronze arms and shoulders glowing provocatively in the firelight, his long, black hair being brushed by Yellow Grass and falling to his waist. Abbie looked in awe at his magnificent build and handsome face. Olin approached them, carrying a cup of water and something in a leather pouch. He spoke to Yellow Grass, who handed him the brush and then dipped her fingers in the water, then into the pouch. She leaned around Zeke and with the tips of her fingers she smeared white streaks on his cheeks, then across his chest. Zeke sat silent, his eyes still closed. He seemed lost unto himself, until Olin handed him an odd-looking pipe.

Zeke put the long pipe to his lips, still not speaking. The pipe stem was very long and light colored. It was painted, but Abbie could not decipher from where she stood what the pictures were. The bowl of the pipe was
a reddish stone shaped like a tomahawk, with the bowl on the top end and the tomahawk blade pointing downward beneath it. Picking up a burning twig from the fire, Olin dipped it into the bowl, and Zeke puffed. Then Olin stepped back, and Zeke pointed the pipe skyward.

“Heammawihio,”
he said quietly. Then he pointed the pipe at the ground and in all directions, after which he repeated the word,
“Heammawihio,”
closed his eyes, and puffed the pipe for several minutes. Then setting the pipe aside, he raised his hands toward the sky and spoke in an odd, clipped tongue. Olin handed something to Yellow Grass, and she in turn handed it to Zeke. Now Abbie could see that it was a feather. Zeke placed it in Mary’s hair.

“Now the great spirit of the gray eagle will be with you,” he told the child. Yellow Grass sat down beside Zeke and, closing her eyes, began to sing a soft chant as she swayed sideways, while Zeke closed his eyes again and sat silent. The Haneses watched without interference, and Abbie was glad to see they were putting their trust in Zeke.

Olin Wales walked away from the scene and, spotting Abbie, came to stand beside her.

“It’s best you stay back and don’t try to talk to Zeke,” he told the girl. She looked up at him curiously.

“Why?”

“He’s prayin’. He has to concentrate.”

Abbie stared back at the Tennessee man who was now all Indian. “Who does he pray to?”

“Religion is a real personal thing to the Cheyenne. Zeke’s prayer color is white. That’s why Yellow Grass
put the white paint on him. He prays to what they call The Wise One Above -
Heammawihio.
His God is really no different than our own, perhaps the same God, only with a different name is all. Smokin’ the pipe is a prayer offerin’. When he points it different places, he’s offerin’ love and prayers to all the spirits of the earth and sky and animals that are a part of
Heammawihio.
The most powerful spirit is that of the gray eagle, and that’s why he’s put the feather of a gray eagle in Mary’s hair. He’ll stay with her till she’s through the crisis, and he’ll fast until it’s over. Fasting is a form of sacrifice to get prayers answered.”

Abbie watched in fascination. How different this man was! He lived in two worlds, and it was not likely she would ever reach him in either one. But she was convinced that a more perfect specimen of man surely could not exist, in outward appearance, inner strength, or power and courage.

“Does he have a Cheyenne name?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s Lone Eagle. Got it from a vision he had after fasting for several days in the mountains alone … after he returned to his people a few years ago. Somethin’ happened to him back in Tennessee that brought him back out here, and because of what happened, I expect for the rest of his life Zeke will be a lot more Cheyenne than white. He’ll never do much livin’ in the white man’s world again.”

Abbie looked up at Olin again. “What happened to him?” she asked curiously. “How did his wife and son die?”

Olin grinned. “Oh, no you don’t. I told you once that was his private matter.”

Abbie sighed with disappointment and looked back
at Zeke. Others from the train were tending to their chores and preparing for bed. Some approached quietly to watch for a while then left again, whispering about how changed Zeke was with his hair hanging long and his face and chest streaked with paint. “Like the savage people he comes from,” some of them said. The young, pregnant Yolanda Brown hurried away, frightened now of the “wild Indian,” but Abbie just watched him with total admiration and love. However, when Preacher Graydon approached the scene, she panicked.

“What’s going on here?” the man demanded to know, stepping closer to Zeke and little Mary. Zeke did not reply or even look at him, and Olin Wales gave Abbie a warning look to stay back, while he walked over to where the preacher stood. Bradley Hanes rose and faced the preacher angrily.

“Get out of here before you upset my daughter!” the man exclaimed to Preacher Graydon.

“I’ve come to pray for this child, and I find her being chanted over by heathens!” the preacher shot back. “What kind of a Christian are you, Hanes? Do you want your little girl to go to
hell?
”

Hanes gave the man a shove. “I just want my daughter to
live!
” he replied angrily. “And part of the way to do that is to keep her
still!
I believe Zeke here prays to the same God as you do, mister, and he’s sure as hell done a lot more to help her than you have! Now go away! Please!”

The preacher glowered at the man, his breathing heavy. “You’re a fool!” he hissed. “Do you really think God is going to save a child being chanted over by these heathens?”

Little Mary started crying, and Olin grasped the preacher around the chest from behind, holding a knife against the preacher’s cheek.

“The girl’s pa asked you to leave, mister. You’ve already got the child upset again. I suggest you get the hell back to camp, before I give you more of what Zeke done give you earlier today!” He yanked the man around and gave him a shove, and the preacher looked scornfully at the whole group, his eyes resting last on the beautiful Yellow Grass, whom he had watched hungrily for several days. As he turned and left, little Mary’s tears spilled into the mud. Zeke began stroking her temples again.

“Don’t cry, Mary,” he said gently. “Have you ever heard the story of the crying stones?”

His comment immediately made some of Mary’s tears subside because of the curiosity it provoked in her, and Abbie, too, listened for the story to begin, the interest of the child that still dwelled within her changing body aroused.

“No, Mister Zeke,” Mary replied, choking on a sob. Mrs. Hanes reached over and wiped the tears from the girl’s face.

“The stones can keep you from crying,” Zeke told Mary. “You must let them cry for you, so that you can be strong.”

“I don’t know… what you mean,” the girl whimpered in her tiny voice.

“Olin, you know where I keep them,” Zeke spoke up to his friend.

“I know,” Olin replied. The man hurried off, and Abbie stepped closer now, her curiosity and awe compelling her to watch everything Cheyenne Zeke
did. She quietly sat down beside the Hanes, and for a moment Zeke’s dark eyes met hers. He looked almost frightening, sitting there in the night with the white streaks on his face and body glowing in the firelight. At that moment, he was all Indian, and it was a side of him she knew was worlds apart from anything she had ever known. She felt small and insignificant under his piercing eyes, and she also felt a certain animallike power emanating from his sleek body. It stirred desires in her that she had never before experienced, and the look she returned was suddenly that of a woman and not a child. He quickly looked away when Olin returned with a little leather pouch which Zeke opened, taking out four lovely turquoise colored stones, each one polished smooth. He placed them in front of Mary where she could see them well, and they seemed to glow in the firelight. Each stone was about one inch in diameter, and each shaped differently.

“These are crying stones, Mary,” Zeke told the girl.

Utterly fascinated Mary stared at the stones, and it was obvious that whether Zeke’s story was true or not, it would at least take her attention away from herself, which was his ultimate aim.

“Look real hard at the stones, Mary,” he told her, rubbing her temples again. “They’ll cry for you if you concentrate hard enough.”