The Crossed Sabres (16 page)

He made his own purchases, then helped her load the wagon with more packages. Finally, Nick Owens said, “Miss Faith, that wagon won’t hold any more. I’ll get the lumber on another one, and you go get a good night’s rest. Be here at dawn, and I’ll ride out with you.”

“Thank you, Nick,” Faith said. “I’ll be here.”

She got the books for Laurie and a small case, then let Tom assist her into his wagon. The night air had turned cool. “Winter’s coming soon,” Tom said. “Be sure you have plenty of wood cut. This weather can be a hungry wolf sometimes.” He admired her covertly, taking in her high color and the brightness of her eyes. At the same time, he was afraid of his impulses, for he had built such an impenetrable wall around himself as far as women were concerned that he wasn’t sure how he should act.

When they arrived at Tom’s place, Laurie came bursting out of the house. She hugged her father and greeted Faith warmly.
“Miss Eileen let me make most of the supper, Daddy!” she cried, then asked, “Are you going to eat with us, Miss Faith?”

“She sure is,” Tom nodded. “And she’s going to spend the night with you. I’ll have to go to the barracks, so you two can talk about books all night.”

Eileen had watched them from the window and met them as they stepped inside.

“This is the new missionary, Faith Jamison,” Tom said. “And this is Mrs. Jennings.”

The two women spoke, each with some restraint. It was a delicate situation, for Eileen had no idea what Tom’s relationship with the attractive young woman was, nor did Faith know why the woman was in his house.

But Laurie broke the ice, getting them all to the table as soon as possible. And when they sat down, Tom said, “I wish you’d bless the food, Faith. I do a sorry job of it.”

Faith asked a brief blessing, then was generous with her praise of the meal as they began to eat. “This roast is so good!” she exclaimed. “Better than I’ll get from now on. Unless you’ll come and help me cook sometimes, Laurie?”

Tom saw the curiosity on Eileen’s face and explained that Faith had come to Dakota to open a school for Indians. Neither Tom nor Faith missed the slight hardening of Eileen’s face at that information, but it was obvious she was not impressed. Tom thought,
She probably hates Indians for killing her husband.
He changed the subject immediately, and the rest of the time went very well. After they were finished, Eileen rose and said, “I must leave as soon as the dishes are done.”

“You’ve done enough,” Tom smiled. “I can’t thank you enough, Eileen. But don’t run away so soon—”

Eileen shook her head, and after saying good-night to them, she gave Laurie a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear,” she said, then turned to Tom. “If you get called out, please leave Laurie with me.”

“That’ll be a help,” he said warmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she was gone, he said, “Now, you two can look at books, and I’ll do the dishes.”

Laurie was enthralled over the books that Faith had brought, asking her one question after another. Tom watched them as he cleaned up the kitchen. He was happy for Laurie. When he finally came to sit down beside them, Laurie showed him the books, going over all the pictures as one by one Tom exclaimed over them. After a while he said to Faith, “I’ll have to find a way of making this right with you. Maybe I can do some work on your school.”

“Oh, I loved doing this! But if you really want to help, tell me about the Indians.”

“What about them?”

“What they’re like. What I should do to reach them. What I should be aware of. There must be mannerisms we have that would offend them, customs I’d never think of.”

That was the beginning, and for the next two hours, Winslow talked. Laurie read for a while, then came over to sit beside him, looking up at him as he talked. He had a vast knowledge of Indians and respected them. Faith said little, but soaked up his words, storing them up for future reference.

Finally he rose, with an embarrassed laugh. “Never talked so much in my life! Getting to be a regular bore.”

“No,” Faith countered, coming to stand beside him. “It’s been so helpful, Tom. I can tell that you love the Indians—many people don’t.” She hesitated, then asked, “Tom, I . . .don’t like to ask for help, but I know so little. I’m willing enough, but there’ll be times when I won’t have the least idea of what to do. If you’d just . . .”

When she hesitated, Tom said, “Be happy to do what I can. The school is a good idea, but some of the tribe will be against it. I know one or two of the leaders. Maybe I can put in a word for you.”

He was surprised to see tears in her eyes, and even if she turned away so he wouldn’t notice, saying nothing, he understood her a little better. She was a courageous woman, but
she was being thrown into a world so different from the one she’d known that she was somewhat apprehensive. The sudden glimpse of vulnerability he’d seen made him say, “Faith, you can do it. These people are going to be hurt. They need to see someone who cares for them—someone with a white skin. I can’t think of anyone who’d do better at it than you. You don’t know the language, but if you love them and are kind to them that’s a language we all understand.”

Faith brushed the tears away, then turned to face him. “Thanks, Tom. I . . .I needed to hear that.”

He kissed Laurie, who had been listening to them, and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he nodded to Faith. “I’ll be here early to take you to Bismarck. Laurie, you can go, too.”

When the door closed, Laurie said, “I saw you crying.” She came closer and said shyly, “I didn’t know grown-ups cried.”

“Sometimes they do, Laurie.”

Laurie hesitated, then put her arm around Faith’s waist. “It’ll be all right. My daddy will help you!”

“And will you help me, too, Laurie?”

“Me? Why, what could I do?”

“You could ask Jesus to keep me safe from harm.”

Laurie looked at her wide-eyed. “But—I don’t know how to talk to Jesus!”

Faith gave her a warm hug. “Then maybe I can teach you how to do that, Laurie.”

CHAPTER TEN

“Nothing Ever Dies”

Lieutenant Charles Varnum looked less like a soldier than any other officer of the Seventh, but Tom Winslow soon discovered that beneath the deceptive appearance lurked a tough, hard fighting man. When Winslow walked into Varnum’s office early Friday morning, the man before him resembled an unsuccessful banker or a Boston shoe clerk. A fussy-looking individual, thin and pale, with a high balding forehead and a carefully trimmed mustache overlapping his lips.

The steely look in the officer’s brown eyes reminded Winslow of Sergeant Hines’ words:
He don’t look like much, but he’s tougher’n whang leather. He knows something about Indians, too, which this outfit is gonna need pretty soon.

“Sergeant Winslow reporting, Lieutenant,” Tom said, giving a precise salute.

Varnum returned the salute. “You’re new?”

“Yes, sir. Enlisted last Monday.”

A smile tugged at Varnum’s thin lips. “Rapid promotion,” he commented, then added, “You’re to work with the Ree scouts, I’m told. Captain Custer mentioned you.” He studied Winslow carefully. “Have you had prior service, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. Five years of the Civil War—on the losing side.”

Varnum’s eyes gleamed with humor. “We’ll try to see that you’re on the winning side this time. I believe Captain Custer
said you’d been working with the Indians. Speak any of their languages?”

“Sioux pretty well. Some Crow and a little Cheyenne.”

“That’ll be a help!” Varnum exclaimed. “Well, the scouts are probably over at the stables. Let’s go.”

As they walked along the parade ground toward the stables, Varnum filled him in on the scouts. “We’ve got two fine white scouts, Lonesome Charlie Reynolds—he’s General Custer’s favorite—and Mitch Bouyer. Two others, Herendeen and Girard, are used part of the time. All are civilians, of course. You’ll be the only soldier represented.”

“What about the Indians?”

“All Crows. They hate the Sioux so bad they don’t feel it’s a betrayal to try to crush them. All of the Ree tribe. They can move about better than any white man, but their information isn’t always accurate. General Custer doesn’t trust them as much as I do. Bloody Knife is their leader. He’s a good one. Doesn’t blow up his report of ten Sioux into two hundred the way some of the others do.”

They turned toward the large barns used to hold forage, and Varnum nodded. “Looks as if they’re getting ready to pull out over there. You can meet the men and get some kind of a feel about them, but don’t make this trip.”

The scouts stopped talking and turned to face the two men. “Hello, Charlie—Mitch,” Varnum greeted. “Got someone for you to meet—the man we talked about.”

Lonesome Charlie Reynolds was stoop-shouldered, short and stocky, with restless gray eyes. He surveyed the new man silently. Winslow learned later that Reynolds was a man of few words, soft-spoken, and quiet to a fault.

Mitch Bouyer was somewhat taller than Reynolds—a spare man with moody brown eyes and a large nose. He was dressed in a faded brown suit and wore a broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow. His thin lips opened in a slight smile. “Hello, Tom. Kind of pulled your picket, ain’t you?”

“Guess so, Mitch,” Winslow smiled. “Good to see you.”

“You two have met?” Varnum asked, surprised.

“Sure have, Lieutenant,” Bouyer nodded. “Winslow here pulled my bacon out of the fire down south. I got crossways with a Cheyenne war party and was about to give up when Tom here come along. Saved my scalp, I reckon.”

Varnum was pleased. “Well, that’s fine. You can help Sergeant Winslow get settled. You’re going out today?”

“Taking a little trip over to Wolf Canyon.” It was Reynolds who spoke this time. “Heard that Gall was in those parts. Like to know about it if he is.”

“Lieutenant, I may as well ride along, part of the way, at least,” Winslow offered. He wanted to talk to Bouyer and to get better acquainted with Reynolds and the Ree.

“Of course,” Varnum agreed. “Report to me when you return.”

He turned and walked away, and Bouyer chuckled deep in his throat. “Another old acquaintance of yours here, Winslow.”

He gestured toward the small group of Ree Indians, and Winslow smiled. Walking over to the group he nodded to a tall, heavy Indian. “Hello, my friend Yellow Face,” he said in the Sioux language. “It is good to see my brother again.”

The Indian nodded. “You are in this place,” he answered. “But you will not put your friend Yellow Face in the jail this time!”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Winslow had gone into an Indian camp to rescue a pair of Mexican teamsters captured by the band of Yellow Face, and when the big Indian had tried to stop him, Tom had been forced to knock him out with the butt of his revolver and put him in jail for the night. “My brother is much wiser now than to drink the firewater that eats the brain.”

A laugh went up from the Indians around Yellow Face, and Mitch Bouyer inserted, “Ain’t got no more sense now than he did then, Tom!”

Yellow Face grinned.

Winslow met the rest of the Indian scouts, one of them Bloody Knife, whom he rode beside as the group left. This was, according to Varnum, the Indian the general trusted the most, so Tom wanted to find out what he was made of.

Bloody Knife was better looking than most of the Ree Winslow had met—smooth aquiline nose, small ears and mouth, superbly cut lips. But there was a curl in his mouth that indicated he was a scornful man, which proved to be true, as Winslow learned later. The Indian was impertinent toward whites and even ridiculed Custer’s marksmanship. Instead of being offended by the latter, Custer was amused and made him a court jester.

He seemed amiable enough, however, and spoke freely with Winslow as they rode along. Tom learned that the Indian was half Sioux, a fact the Ree seemed to hate. Bloody Knife was well aware that the Sioux hated him more than the rest of the Indian scouts, the full-blood Ree, and this pleased him greatly.

“What will the Sioux do, Bloody Knife?” Winslow asked.

“They will fight,” Bloody Knife nodded, his lips drawn into a scowl. “They are gathering now, and they will be many when all are come. More than any gathering of the people!”

More for a test than for information, Winslow said, “But there are many old enemies among the people. The Sioux and the Crow have killed each other for many years. They hate one another greatly.”

Bloody Knife shot Winslow a brittle look. “They hate each other—but they hate the white eyes more!” Those cryptic words Tom would never forget.

All day the small band rode through the broken country, keeping their eyes peeled for any trouble. At noon, the Ree were sent in another direction so more terrain could be covered. As Winslow watched them go, he repeated to the two men what Bloody Knife had said.

“He’s not wrong about that,” Bouyer nodded emphatically. “Me and Charlie have tried to tell Custer the same thing, but he’s a stubborn man.”

The three rode along for a time, and then Winslow said, “I’m heading back. Just wanted to get acquainted.”

“Keep your scalp on tight, Tom,” Bouyer grinned, and when Winslow was out of earshot, Mitch turned to Charlie. “What you think of him?”

Lonesome Charlie Reynolds was chary with his praise. “Knows how to keep his mouth shut, and that is good. But can he scout?”

“Good as you or me, Charlie.”

Reynolds snorted. “Let’s not be giving the man too much credit, Mitch. If he’s half as good as either one of us, he’s an angel!”

“You’ll see,” Mitch nodded confidently.

****

Winslow had left the scouts purposefully, having an errand on his mind. He rode south, following the snaky windings of a dry riverbed, crossed over and let his horse pick the pace. The country was broken by raw outcroppings of rocks, and he deliberately kept away from them out of habit. As he rode along, his eyes moved restlessly from point to point. He was not expecting trouble, but he had lived with danger so long that it was second nature for him to look for it, to expect it even when there seemed to be no danger. Many of his friends had died because they had let their guard down, and he wasn’t taking any chances.