Dakota Dream (5 page)

All the warriors shared a hearty laugh. Then Redfoot announced, "I am ready, Father."

Through a broad smile, Gall answered, "Then let us
begin
. I fear if you do not join this poor woman of a soldier soon, his timid heart may give out on him."

Little Wound, nephew of Sitting Bull, chuckled and said, "The Long Knife cries in his sleep. He fears that we plan to roast him over a large fire at dawn and feed him to our dogs."

Again the warriors laughed, and then the small circle broke up and the men began to move about, this one opening the flap and retrieving the supplies the women had left outside for them, that
one stripping
Redfoot's clothing from his body, and yet another sharpening the blade of his knife on a stone.

Redfoot filled his belly with buffalo pemmican as the other warriors draped him in the clothing of an unfortunate homesteader who now rested beneath the soil he'd hoped to farm one day. When they'd finished dressing him, right down to a pair of too tight boots, Chief Gall approached him. In his hand he carried the newly sharpened knife.

Holding the weapon between their bodies, he addressed his son. "The Great Spirit,
Wakan
Tanka
, shall watch over you. Little Wound will leave now and return to Red Cloud's camp in the Black Hills. He will inform the chief of our plans, and Red Cloud will send his thoughts to help you in your mission."

Chief Gall paused as Little Wound took his leave
,
then Sitting Bull joined him. The great shaman pulled a medicine bag made of deer hide from beneath his breastplate of bear claws.

"This medicine," he announced, taking a small portion from the bag, "is made of eagle heart and brain mixed with dried aster flowers. It will protect you and bring you good luck." He rubbed some of this on Redfoot's chest and offered him the rest. "You must chew this, Jacob Stoltz, and you will have good medicine until you return to our camp as Jacob Redfoot again."

Jacob took the mixture into his mouth then slid the pouch and its leather string over his head. Tucking it well inside his shirt, he turned and faced his adoptive father.

"From this moment," Gall went on, "you are called by the name of your birth. My son Jacob Redfoot is no more. Now you are Jacob Stoltz." He circled behind him and sliced off his braids in two quick motions. "You are a white man and we spit on you."

Then the warriors set upon him. They spat on his flesh, punched at his body, and tore at his clothing until he became dizzy and his mind swam in darkness. When he regained consciousness, Jacob Stoltz was lying in the dirt at the back of the prisoners' tipi.

"Mister?
Hey, you all right, mister?"

Jacob lifted a bruised and puffy eyelid and tried to focus on the man. "I—I do not know."

"Boy, those bloodthirsty Injuns really pounded the
bejesus
outta
you. Maybe some of this water will help."

Jacob watched as the man made his way across the floor with the pouch, but he kept his swollen mouth closed. Instead of speaking, he moaned his gratitude as the stranger soaked a piece of material torn from his shirt and bathed his battered features with it.

"These danged Sioux are just plain
loco,
there ain't another word for it. They
oughta
do themselves and us a favor and go back to the reservation where they belong before we have to waste the lead and shoot em all."

Jacob's fists tightened, but he kept his silence.

"Can you
talk,
fella? What's your name?"

Through barely parted lips, he whispered, "Jacob."

"Well, despite the circumstances, it's nice to meet you, Jacob. I'm Lieutenant Barney Woodhouse, Seventh Cavalry, at your service."

Jacob tried to smile at the man, but his lip cracked and a trickle of blood crept into the corner of his mouth.

"That's all right, Jacob. Don't try to talk yet. If you can, just listen and think. I've been here two days now—wouldn't be here at all if I hadn't been so stinking randy that I went across the river and got all
drunked
up at a hog ranch. These damn Sioux found me passed out in the back of a wagon."

"You ..." Jacob
moaned, eager to get on with his lessons in the ways of the white man, “you were captured while stealing pigs?"

"No," Barney laughed. "Guess you ain't from around here."

Jacob shook his head slowly, carefully.
"Black Hills."

"Oh," the soldier commented, wondering if this man had been one of the gold-crazed prospectors who'd driven the Sioux from their reservations. "Anyways,” he said with a shrug. “A hog ranch in these parts is a bawdy house. You know—women and whiskey. I went over to the Dew Drop Inn. Get it? Do drop in. Anyways, I guess I stayed a little longer than I should have." The soldier slapped his hands against his thighs. "General Custer's gonna skin me alive when he finds out what happened—that is, if these Injuns don't get to me first."

General Custer?
The Long Hair.
"I have heard this Custer's name spoken."

"Hell, who hasn't? I'm proud to say he's my commanding officer, and I answer to him personally—at least, I did."

Jacob smiled as he thought of how well Little Wound and Spotted Horse had chosen their random target. If he could strike up a friendship with this man, then convince him he'd saved his life as well, the Lakota would know the Long Knives' plans sooner than they had hoped.

This time suppressing the urge to grin, Jacob moved forward with his plan. "Have you thought of a way to escape?" he rasped through a groan. "We must find a way to escape."

"Hey, take it easy, mister. From here on out, you just nod yes or no. I'll do the talking."

Which was exactly what Jacob and the Hunkpapa had counted on.
By the end of his ten-day confinement with the Long Knife, his superficial wounds would have healed and he would have refreshed his knowledge of the white man's language and learned the phrases used by soldiers at the fort. By then, if all went according to plan, Jacob would blend into life in the army like any other recruit.

In just over a week, Jacob Stoltz would be ready to take his place in a world he hadn't seen since his eleventh winter.

 
Chapter Three

Dominique wrenched her arm free of the soldier's
grip, and even though she realized her anger was directed at the Sioux, still she was somehow unable to stop making the young soldier pay for her grievances. "I'm not injured or crippled, sir," she snapped. "I have been through a terrible experience indeed, but I'm just cold and desperate to get out of these stinking buckskins. Please take me to my uncle Armstrong at once, if you please."

"Uh, yes, ma'am," the sentry said briskly. "I'd be glad to, I guess." Still shocked at having found a disheveled woman,
any
woman, floundering about in the frozen dawn as he completed his rounds, he approached her with a cautious inquiry. “Is your uncle with the infantry or the cavalry?"

"I don't know." Dominique rubbed her fingers across her swollen chin, then pressed them to her aching temples and groaned. "I think he's in charge of the whole blasted fort."

"In charge of the fort, ma'am?"
He chuckled before asking, "Why don't you give me his full name? If he's enlisted here, I'm sure I can find him for you."

"Of course he's here. I may have lost my favorite traveling dress and the better part of the last two days, but I have not lost my mind." Or had she? She suddenly had to wonder as more wildly colored lights exploded in her
head. With a sigh, she tried to explain. "Uncle Armstrong is a very important officer. Now, please, will you—"

"An officer, ma'am?"

"Yes, he graduated from West Point. His name is George Armstrong Custer."

"General ... Custer? Brevet Major General Custer, ma'am?" the soldier gasped, clutching at his chest.

"Yes, I suppose that's what he could be called. Most of our friends just call him the General." She shivered as the young man struggled to get over his shock,
then
began stamping her numb feet. "Please take me to him before I freeze to death."

"Yes, ma'am, right away, ma'am." The officer snapped to attention, suddenly awed by his find. "You must be the gal General Custer has been so worried about. He's had his troops out looking for your body since yesterday.''

"My body?"
She sniffed.

"Well, that is, we assumed you'd drowned. He's going to be mighty glad to see you're alive." In his excitement, the soldier saluted her, then whirled on his heel and started for the gate.

Afraid he would leave her alone, exhausted and still fighting off the effects of the medicine, Dominique forgot her manners and called after him, "Wait for me, you nincompoop. '' Then she lifted the fringes of her dress out of the slush and stomped after him. "You're not leaving me behind. Being the hostage of a band of savages once is bloody enough adventure for me."

Lieutenant Macky turned back, his thin features florid, his expression mortified. Again he saluted her, then stammered, "Sorry ma'am, I meant—that is, I didn't forget you. I was just going after a buggy." He reached out to take her arm, but she waved him away.

"I can walk, Private."

"That's lieutenant, ma'am." He grinned, looking sheepish and uncertain. "I only wanted to help you."

"Oh, of course."
She sighed. Ashamed of her waspish tongue, Dominique lowered her voice and assumed a more ladylike demeanor. "I know you're only trying to help. I'm afraid I'm a little on edge and not feeling too well after all I've been through. I also have a bruised chin and ribs that feel as if they're on fire. I'm sorry if I offended you, Private."

This time Lieutenant Macky didn't bother to correct her. He offered his arm again. "Please, then, allow me to escort you to your uncle."

But just as she was about to accept, Dominique had the strangest sensation she was being watched. She snapped her head around to the north and stared at the distant stand of juniper trees. Although she couldn't see them, she could feel the Sioux's eyes on her, watching, laughing.

Dominique lifted her chin and her buckskin skirt and sashayed on past the lieutenant. "I appreciate the offer, sir, but I'm feeling much better now. Which way to the general's quarters?"

The buggy turned out to be a mule-drawn cart with only two wheels and a hard wooden seat. It bounced and lurched down the mile-long hill separating the infantry garrison from the cavalry post situated in the valley below. By the time Dominique stood before the large wood-frame home, her backside was nearly as sore as her ribs. She quickly forgot her discomfort as she approached the front porch. A grand white stairway, built in the shape of a pyramid with the top removed, beckoned.

Dominique sighed as her moccasin touched down on the first tread. "Why, this is just like walking up one side of a fancy wedding cake. Is the rest of the house as grand, sir?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know, ma'am," he said as he knocked on the glass-framed door. "I've only been inside the parlor, but it's sure nice.
Real nice."

The wide door swung open to reveal a large colored woman. The maid stared through skeptical black eyes,
then
wrinkled her nose. In a voice that twanged like a southern guitar, she said, "What business y'all got here?"