Sweet Savage Surrender (2 page)

Lately he had taken to preening himself before her, however,
much like an
over proud
quail, j
ust as he was doing now.  And yet he had a reason today.  It was an honor to be chosen as one of the four young men to find and bring back the white oak central pole for the Offering lodge.  The pole was sacred and could not be touched by human hands after it was felled.  Instead it had to be transported quite cleverly by carrying it with sticks. 

"I see the way you are looking at him!"  A voice hissed behind her and Skyraven whirled to find herself looking into Whispering Wind's scowling face.  The dark-eyed Indian girl had proclaimed herself Skyraven's rival on more than one occasion.  Now it appeared she had set her sights on Lone Wolf.  "But he is mine!"

"You may have him, I care not."  Skyraven shrugged his shoulders.  She wasn't about to spar like a she
-
wolf and
bare her claws for any brave.

"Then keep your distance!  You with the tainted blood.  Whiteman's spawn!"  The squinting eyes were flashing with jealousy and malice.  Whispering Wind had always been hateful to her, though Skyraven
did not really understand why.

"Silence your tongue or I will do it for you," Skyraven warned the girl now.  It was a time for religious ceremonies so she did not want to quarrel, but neither would she take any insu
lt from this spitting wildcat.

"Lone Wolf would never choose you.  It is good that you have
resolved
yourself to losing him.  You are too pale, to fragile.  He will want a strong woman to warm his bed and give him sons.  Just remember that when you seek him with your eyes."  As a final warning she pulled  Skyraven's hair before she ran away.  Skyraven would have chased her at any other time but now as her grandfather motioned her to him, she fought her anger.  She would not foul
the air with her angry words.

Skyraven watched as the pole was brought back and the sacred lodge built.  Even after the pole was secured in the ground no one was allowed to touch it.  The sick and troubled were allowed to sit inside the lodge and were offered healing by prayers, gourd rattling and the roots offered them by her grandfather.  Skyraven put
away
her hostili
ties toward Whispering Wind
as she took a place by the medicine man'
s side.  It was during the sun d
ance ceremony that the tribe pu
t themselves in touch with the s
pirit
w
orld, her grandfather acting as the link.  Closing her eyes she leaned against a rock.  The soft splashing along the banks of the
Platte
River
was a comforting sound, as if Man-Above was walking in its depths.  Skyraven gave herself up to the mood of contentment, but was startled suddenly by a strange feeling that swept over her.  A strange foreboding, an uneasiness as if something u
nforetold was going to happen.

Opening her eyes she looked around.  It was quiet.  Peaceful.  Why then was she uneasy?  Putting her fingers to her eyes
,
she pressed on the lids, as if forcing the thoughts away, concentrating instead on the soft chanting around her.  It was no use.  Over and over again she was overcome by the awesome feeling that somehow the soothing routine of her life was about to change.

Chapter Two

The distant mountains were a purple backdrop against the sky in the early
-
morning twilight. They could make good time today, Major John Hanlen thought as he led his men single file up the canyon which formed a natural gateway to the otherwise impassable barrier of bluffs and deep ravines bordering the
Platte
River
. Their first day's ride had brought them to a tributary of the
Repulican
River
where the cavalrymen camped f
or the night.  Now they were asc
ending from the valley to the plateau overlooking
the same valley they had left.

Hanlen knew that smaller groups of men moved more quickly than larger ones.  That was why he had hand picked ten cavalrymen and one guide, making an even dozen when he included himself. Bending close to the churning muscles of his horse, he sought a firm grip on the reins, thinking again how little he liked this errand he had been sent u
pon, to spy upon the Indians.
He had been advised to lead his tiny group of men into this  desolate area, to work himself into the Indian's confidence and
report all that he had heard, p
romptly.  It was his mission to discover the main camp, a job that made him nervous and wary.  Still, he was determined to accomplish his purpose and would
,
if hard riding and keen watchfulness would bring about success. They were riding through unknown country.  The Indians here were generally reported to be friendly, although lately, other scouting parties had reported seeing a few h
ostile Indians here and there.

Taking off his French style major's cap with the tall orange pompom, he ran his fingers through his long blonde waves
,
attuning his eyes to any danger.   He had no doubt but that coming across a group of galloping
wild men
would be an unwelcome experience.  Facing a  group of yahooing rebels was bad enough
,
but at   least the Confederates were somewhat civilized.  The same most certainly could not be said for the red
men.

Major Hanlen had been a Union Cavalry officer stationed in
Missouri
, his home state.  When it was learned that the Confederates were trying to persuade the Indians towards their cause, however, he had quickly had a ch
ange in assignment and
sent into
Indian territory
before he could blink an eye.   His job
,
  and the job of his comrades, was to keep the savages out of the Confederate's sphere of influence.  Even if that meant killing them like the vermin they were, the Colonel had said.  The thought was unnerving.  He had no wish to take part in a slaughter
,
but a soldier had a duty to perfo
rm and he meant to do his best.

U
ntil now he had rather enjoyed being in the Colorado First Cavalry unit.  It had been a welcome relief from the constant fighting broiling at home.  Then
,
when the pacific Railway Act
was passed, 
it became necessary for the soldiers to oversee an important section of land
, earmarked for the railroads,
two hundred
feet wide, running through the b
uffalo grazing land. 
It was a necessary evil if the W
est was going to be connected with rest of the lands, he supposed.  Still,
the knowledge that
the government would
use the
Fort Wise Treaty
to
extinguish the Indian
’
s rights to land  t
hat was theirs
bothered him.  The land was legally owned by the Arapaho and
Cheyenne
.  It had been granted to them as hunting ground by the same government that now want
ed to undo what they had done.

"Unfortunate!" the territorial governor John Evans had said when Major Hanlen had asked about it.  "but  you must remember no other land offers such opportunities for the vast accumulation of wealth.  There are settled towns here, gold mining camps and open plains that promise expansion t
o a steadily growing country."

Later he had found that the government held hopes that the tribes would cede the land.  Hanlen's job was to see that they did.  Only a small group  manned
Fort
Lyon
now.  Many troops had been cal
led back to active duty in the War Between the S
tates and were now serving east of the
Mississippi
.  The few remaining cavalry personnel were expected to do whatever they were called to do.  The situation was tense. Already some Indians were openly displaying their disfavor of a peaceful settlement.  There had been cattle raids, looting, burning of fields
and other
atrocities
.  Tempers were beginning to heat up.  So far the chiefs had been successful in couns
e
ling restraint, hoping that some acceptable settlement of the land question could be made, but how long would the peac
e last?  He could only wonder.

Riding  as silently as they could so as not to stir up trouble, John Hanlen  and his men watched as the first rays of sun came over the hilltops.  It gave him a feeling of relief, knowing it would soon be light.  It would add further safety to be able to
see where they were going.  Hanlen’s company
had been instructed to bivouac at day's end
,
  with two men standing watch.  They were to travel in t
he dawning hours of the morning, through
early afternoon. 

Unable to talk much while proceeding in single file and lulled by the monotonous movement of his horse, Major Hanlen let his thoughts wander.  It seemed only yesterday that he was a law student at Harvard, the middle son of a career general.  He'd had a hell of a time convincing his father he didn't want to go to
West Point
.  He  had nearly been disowned.  Then his mother, God bless her, had taken his side.  He'd been granted his wish only to find himself in uniform after all when the war had started.  What a rueful irony!  Now he was finishing his term of enlistment in this God forsaken territory.  Ah, well.  He'd signed up for three years and had only served one.  If he survived
,
perhaps he could go back East and continue hi
s education.  One thing certain
, with all this expansion
, the W
est was going to need lawyers.  He'd sure as hell rather be slinging a law book than a gu
n any day.

A chorus of
twittering
birds
and the contented hoot of an owl far away soothed him.  The early morning hours seemed quie
t, p
eaceful. Suddenly Major Hanlen was dis
turbed by another noise
.  Reaching down
,
he patted his trusty Spencer rifle which was alway
s at his side
.  As he listened
,
he heard the sound  of horses' hooves coming closer and closer until they echoed in his ears.  Indians!  It had to be.  No crickets or birds or owls. Owls were
night birds
!  Why hadn't he realized? That peaceful sound had been the Indians way of signa
ling his advancing party. 
             

"Ho
....!"  Ride!  Get the hell out of here, men!"   He'd been instructed not to issue the first shot.  If they could only outride the Indians they might have a chance
.  Thank God it was daylight!.

John Hanlen rode with his men at a furious
pace.  Their death sentence--t
hat was what it could mean if they were caught.   Drenched in perspiration from the exertion of the chase
,
he looked over his shoulder and saw the band of war-painted Indians coming upon him from the rear.  No peaceful hunters these!  Feeling the pulsating rhythm of his horse's flanks beneath the high leather of his boots, he plunged onward but the Indians, about fifty of them, had taken advantage of a ravine and had managed to approach quite close before being discovered
and thus held the advantage
.  There was no way his soldiers could outride them now.  One of his men had already been run down and the entire war party had galloped
ruthlessly
over his body.  The speed of the Indian ponies and the expert horsemanship of the Indian warriors was too much to compete
with, but t
hey couldn't just giv
e up and be slaughtered
.  At least they would go down fighting, he thought.  Hanlen
ordered his men
to dismount and form a circle, using the horses as a barrier between themselves and the redskins. The war-whoops were falling clearer and louder upon the soldiers' ears, mingli
ng with the sound of gunfire.

Soon the soldiers were surrounded by the s
uperior force of the savages as t
he Indians circled around and around.  It was obvious that they were on the war path.  The loss of two of their warriors
, both
slain
by one trigger-happy soldier, compounded their hostility.
A
fter several warriors had dismounted and dragged the bodies of their fallen companions from the field of battle
,
they soon were back in the saddle again
, Dangerously eyeing their captives.
Hanlen knew it was an Indian custom in battle that warriors would risk their own lives to prevent a warrior's body from falling into enemy hands. 
They believed that if
a slain
warr
i
or were
not retrieved,
he could not go to the Happy Hunting Ground but would be suspended between earth
and sky in a sort of limbo.

John Hanlen  searched the area with his eyes for his men and was thankful to see that most of them
had made it safely to the
circle.
They
had miraculously survived this long. 

"I'll be g
oddamned,
major
," a soldier next to him was saying.  "I've never seen the like.  Just look
at them Red skinned bastards."

The Indians were arrayed in full war costume
.
Their faces, arms, legs, bodies and even their horses were painted various bright colors
and on their heads were brightly colored war bonnets
.  They had a hi
deous,
repulsive
appearance now
that he could see them from a closer distance
.  Some were carrying lances and a
ll had round bullet proof buffalo hide shields fastened to their left arms.  The bullets seemed to just glance off the shields.  They were well armed
,
which made for a more precarious position f
or his soldiers,
Hanlen thought. 
They carried n
ot only bows and arrows but carbines and revolvers
as well.

Despite the
India
’s weapons, however, he held off the order to fire.
. Suddenly with a wild ringing war cry the Indians bore down upon the little party of defenders
, shattering any hope whatsoever that there could be any peace.
.  They rode boldly forward as if preparing to dash over t
he mere handful of cavalrymen.

Hanlen
heard their shouts and the plop of their horses' hooves and prepared himself for the inevitable.  "Steady men...."
He
commanded
.

Not a soldier faltered as the painted warriors came thundering upon them.  They dropped upon one knee, took aim and fired.  Several warriors were brought down by gunfire
,
but moving at such rapid speed and coming like a swarm of ants
,
it was difficult to bring them down.  Their expert riding and well trained war ponies were certainly superior to anything any of the soldiers had seen before.  Throwing themselves to the side of their war ponies
, the warriors
were able to fire from above or beneath the horses' necks and were themselves well protected.  The few who had lost the horses beneath them in the firi
ng were now fighting on foot.

Edging toward the cluster of remaining men, an Indian with bear claws around his throat raised his
tomahawk
and grabbed a young wounded sergeant by the hair
, preparing to scalp
him.  Major Hanlen sprang into action.  "Leave him be, you savage bastard!" he screamed.  Co
cking his gun he took  aim but
was struck from behind before he could even fire a shot.  Three jabbering, painted Indians were babbling in his ear as he slumped to the ground.  His last coherent thought
was that he was about to die.

But they didn't kill him.  Instead
,
he awoke to find himself at the center of a desolate clearing, his hands roped together and tied to a post behind his back.  The Indians surrounded him, knives drawn.  John Hanlen had the feeling it might have been be
tter if they had killed him.