Sweet Savage Surrender (18 page)

Skyraven
selected a choice spot near a giant cottonwood to set up her grandfather's lodge and her own teepee.  Here, there was good drainage in case of a storm
,
and the sun would not shine directly upon the teepees during the hottest part of the day.  The small stream nearby also gave them easy access to water
, which pleased her for s
he did not like to carry the heavy leather
water bags
any further than necessary. 

Feeling quite pleased with herself, she stepped back to look at her handiwork.  Living here would be almost as comfortable as the site they had just left.
It was in skyraven’s nature to find happiness in her heart.
Else wise
she would spend her life frowning, she thought, and look old before her time. She was still admiring the site when her grandfather came to her and placed his hand upon her shoulder, patting it affectionately.
"The domestic atmosphere you have created for us is appreciated, Skyraven.  
How do you like our new home?"

She sought to please him with her answer.
"I think I will like it here.
”

“
It is good to stop our travels for awhile.
I tell you, Granddaughter, I am growing old. My bones are as brittle as dried buffalo bones.”

“You old? Never!” She pointed to a spot where several of the women were setting up their tepees. “
Look at how c
ontent the women
seem to be.  They are quite relaxed and eager to show goodwill
. That pleases me, Grandfather.”

“And are you likewise content?” Though he didn’t directly refer to her yellow-haired soldier, she knew he was in his thoughts. Still, she didn’t want to speak of him. Not yet. So she ignored his question and gestured to the
few naked children darting
past them in pursuit of a butterfly.  

"The little ones are contented to be here too, it seems. "

He looked at her for a long, tender moment " Ah, Skyraven, i
t was not too many moons ago that you were little a
nd chasing
after butterflies
."

“Longer than I care to remember.”

Buffalo
’s Brother sat down upon the ground near the huge tree trunk, leaned his head back, and motioned for her to do likewise. It was the kind of quiet time she truly appreciated, a time when they could just be together. “Let us rest for a while from our chores,
Skyraven
.
After the long ride my bones are weary.
” His eyes mirrored his concern for her. “
You have worked very hard and must be tired too."

Ind
eed she was, but even so, didn’t want to nap. As
her grandfather closed his eyes to catch a few winks
,
  she looked around  the  campsite .   Now that the camp had been set up others were beginning to rest also.  A few men were fishing along the stream
,
some others sat around telling jokes and
laughing
.  The women visited and gossiped.  A few mothers nursed their babies or placed the
little ones in their cradleboards
upon a tree limb where they could easily
be watched. A
mixture of pleasa
nt smells drifted through the site
.  The air was fresh, the sky blue
.

Yes
,
Skyraven
thought to herself,
it is a good place for us. I think I will like it here very much.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying their new surroundings.
Even the dogs scampered about.  On
ly one face looked sad and melan
choly.  W
h
ispering Wind sat alo
ne brooding over her lost love. Skyraven felt sympathy for her, but as she caught the Indian girl’s eyes, the look of glaring anger reminded her that the she-cat had gotten her due.
             

But what of Lone wolf? She couldn’t help but wonder, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t turn out to be a renegade. It would have been a sorry end for Left hand’s son, and  a humiliation for a chief who prided himself on being peaceful. Skyraven decided that it was best to put the matter out of her mind,
and  a
few days after they had
arrived
at their destination near the sandy c
reek area, some scouts returned with a report that they had seen some lone riders far out across the Arkansas River and on the ridges along the southern skyline.
Skyraven hoped that Lone wolf had to come to his senses
.
 

Chapter Eighteen
             

Major John Hanlen was miserable
,
and he was bored.  He had been in the guard house at the far end of the fort for almost a week now. 
His cell was large enough but it was completely constructed of adobe with only a solid wooden door and a small, barred window.
There was not much to see and nothing to do except when the young lieutenant, Sam Dunham, came to see him. 
He looked forward to the stout, amiable lieutenant’s visits, for it was the only time he could indulge in friendly conversation and also find out what was happening outside his tiny prison.
To Sam, John was still a hero in spite of what had happened, perhaps more so.  He confided to John that he had heard the whole conversation with Chi
vington and that he was on the major's side.  The c
olonel was being unreasonable and shortsighted
,
he had said.  John readily agreed.  If Chivington was any example of the commanders in the area, then the cavalry was in a great deal of trouble
—not to mention the Indians.

Last night
,
when Sam had come to see John
,
he had brought h
im a glass of beer from the sutl
er's store and
told him that a small force, under the command of a Captain Wilson, was sent out to
investigate
his story
of the ambush
and
had returned to report that they had seen hundreds of
milling Indians but no bodies of
white soldier
s.
  According to Sam's story,  Frank, his trumpet
er friend, had gone with them.

"Frank said that the captain didn't want to go too far.  He told them that the remaining fighting men left in the garrison were diminishing and they would be of more use to their country if they  stayed  alive. 
A streak of yellow down his back if you ask me! Anyway, t
hey galloped back to the for
t with inconclusive evidence
which will go bad for you.
”

“What in the hell did they expect to find?” It was the most idiotic thing John could think of, sending out a party to gather evidence. “As if there would be anything left, for god’s sake.” He shivered. “the vultures and crows
would
have made certain that there wasn’t anything left of my men, and the Ute would have taken weapons, clothing, or anything of use.”

“I guess Chivington expected to find skeletons clothed in uniforms or some such thing.”

John plopped down on a stool, the only furniture in the boxlike tiny room besides a
narrow
, rock-hard bed. “I told him about the Indians taking my boots and hat. They would have stripped my soldiers clean since army uniforms are quite a treasured item for them.”

Sam
Dunham
shrugged. “Maybe Chivington didn’t want to find evidence but was covering his bacon by sending out that search party! Or maybe he was hoping to find a body or two so that he could bring the gruesome things back to aid his vengeful cause.”

“I
hadn’t
thought of that.” Covering his face with his hands, John let his breath out in a deep sigh. “Dear God, I’d thought to find a rational man. I wanted to tell the truth of what happened, but maybe by my honesty I’ve somehow endangered  Skyraven. Seems to me that there isn’t much distinction made between tribes. But I suppose I thought so, too, once….”

Sam went on with his
story.  "Anyway
Wilson
didn’t even follow the route you described to them.” John could not miss the expression of concern in the young lieutenant’s eyes.
"He can be a hot-headed son-of-bitch.  Now the talk around the for
t is that you are a deserter, t
hat you ran away from your men and then conjured up a cock-and-bull
story to cover your actions."

John
bolted to his feet.  "That's a
damn
lie!
”

Sam made himself comfortable on the bed, the place he seemed to claim whenever he visited.  "
It just isn’t fair to you to be here in the first place—not after what you witnessed and went through yourself.”
  Lowering himself into a reclining position he put his hands behind his head.
"
It must have been sheer
hell to see your comrades slain before your very eyes and then
to be
captured and be
aten nearly senseless
yourself
.
Chivington is being as r
uthless as an old snarling wolf, but then I guess only a fool would expect justice from that fanatical old bible thumper.”

"He isn't punishing me for what happened to my men but because I spoke kindl
y of Skyraven's tribe
."  In frustration John struck his fist into his open palm.  "Can't anybody else see that, or are they steeped with hatred too?"

“There are many soldiers who don’t agree with the colonel’s Indian policies, but nobody dares to cross that big bear of a man. Why, hell, he’s six feet five and weighs at least two hundred and sixty pounds—his size alone is enough to frighten anybody.”

Sam filled his friend i
n on the details of the man in
whose hands his fate rested.  
When the War Between the States started, Chivington had been  offered a chaplain’s commission.
He had made it clear from the first  that he preferred fighting to preaching.  Apparently he had meant every word of that statement.   Everybody knew
,
however
,
that the trouble with
the
Indians had increased since he became commander o
f the garrison just last year.

“Some people say
Chivington
has
his eyes on a political career
,
using the military as a stepping ston
e.  The talk was that  he wants
to become a congressman if and when the territory became a state.
”

John
’s answering laugh was tinged with sarcasm. “Oh, and he
would
be just the man
Colorado
would need.”
He guessed that many military men did want political careers
, but that route never held appeal for him
.  His own father
, who had risen through the military ranks to become a general, had held
such ambition
.

Sam wiggled his feet, making himself comfortable.
"
Let those that want it have it. As for me, I’m reasonably content. Food and a bed is about all I need.”
He looked up at John
and grinned.  "I guess by now you've realized that I have a bit of an ulterior motive in these visits of mind.  Give
s
me time to relax
."

"I wish I could!"  Worry about what might happen to Skyraven played on his mind.  Never would he ever want her to be at the mercy of a man like Chivington.  Thank God she was where she was.  It seemed a safe enough distance away
, a
t least until he could make somebody see reason
. He hadn't given up hope that he could help to bring about a peaceful solution—if they would only listen to him. A parley with Skyraven’s grandfather and the chiefs could be the answer.

Hell, what did they expect the Indians to do when the government kept chiseling away at their
hunting grounds, confining them to smaller and smaller portions of land?
Sam
Dunham
had given him a great deal of insight into what was happening. The situation reminded him of dogs and cats, baiting each other into trouble. The soldiers
would
do something to cause anger, then the Indians would retaliate.
There would be a moment of peace, then the whole thing would start up again.
 
If incidents provoked by both the whites and the Indians continued piling up
,
there soon would be an all o
ut war that nobody could stop.

“Colonel
Chivington
is
constantly calling for more and more troops when he knew ful
l well that the government can’t  spare any  more men,” Sam observed.

“We’re fight a war, for god’s sake. The government needs more men themselves.” He thought a moment. “But he knows that. He’s trying to call attention to himself and make it look bad for the Indians.”

"Leave it to Chi
vington," Sam said sarcastically. “Somehow he’ll get just what he wants. He always does.”

John was to learn very quickly just how ri
ght Sam was.  When Chivington's plans
for more men did
not materialize, he demanded authority to raise more troops from the
Colorado
Territory
. He got his authority and his one-hundred-day volunteers—a sad  a
ssortment of riffraff
,
yet
probably the best they could get on such short
notice
and to serve for such a brief time. The pay for enlisted men was poor. Nobody could survive on thirteen dollars a
mont
h, or so
it
was always grumbled. Most soldiers couldn’t even afford to get married and support a wife on a salary like that, John thought. That was why the enlisted men’s barracks was known as “Suds Row”. The few wives who were here at the fort had to work in the laundry room to supplement their husbands’ meager earnings.
John on the other hand
, made a good salary.
Were he to marry
,
his wife
would
never
have to perform such a demeaning task.

Placing his hands on the bars
,
he put his nose close to them and looked out. 
He could
see the parade grounds from where he was.  The new recruits
,
  known as the Colorado  Third Cavalry Regiment
,
were practicing out on the field now.  What an odd assortment of  men they were.  Mainly settlers, miners and farmers.  There wasn't a real soldie
r in the entire bunch. There
was an atmosphere of contention at the fort, the enlisted men against the officers and both sticking their noses up at these knew men.   And all the while Chivington growled like a
bear, trying to mold his hodge
podge into
some kind of manageable unit. He suspected  the truth was that
Chivington was feared
,
but
also hated.

The staccato rhythm of snare drums so
u
nded like volleys of gunfire as the new group of men marched back and forth.  Left, right, left, right , marching on and on.  Marching.  Drilling.  Marching.  Drilling.  Monotonous and tiring.  Even so
,
John thought he
might as well watch them for awhile. There wasn’t anything else to do. God, but they were a disorderly bunch. Although
Chivington didn't know it yet,
the colonel needed him.

John  watched  now as a tall,
lanky
red-haired recruit who wasn’t watching where he was going ran smack-dab into the man in front of him. “No, no, look out, you fool,” he shouted out on impulse, relieved that nobody could hear him since he was too far away. The discipline was so terrible as to be almost funny.
And these were the men they were
going to send to fight Indians? 
Remembering the Utes and their well-organized
maneuvers,
he knew at once that the cavalry was in a whole lot of trouble
.

There really wasn't much hope for any kind of future unless the cavalry could do better than that.
But at least these bumbling fools would ensure Skyraven’s safety, and that was his foremost
concern--
Skyraven
!  Oh how he wanted to see her again.  It was a need festering within him.
He had to get out of here. He had
to warn
Skyraven’s
people about
Chivington and talk about peace
.
  If the
Arapaho
s
made it absolutely obvious that their intentions were to remain friendly with the white man
,
then perhaps there was hope that they would not become victims of
Chirington’s
obsession.
With Skyraven’s help, he was sure that they could succeed.
The alternative was
so odious he hated to think about what would happen if something wasn’t done soon.
Chivington had already proven to be  as touchy as an old bear disturbed in hibernation.

Oh, Skyraven. I told you I’d come back for you and I will find some way to do it
, John thought as he sat on the small stool, staring at the earthen floor. He couldn’t
dig his way out. 
The floor was as hard as baked clay. He put his head in his hands and began to think.
  No, he'd have to do this legitimately.  Legally.