Dakota Dream (53 page)

Gall shrugged. "We lost some warriors, but it was a day of victory for the Lakota. A day the Long Knives will not soon forget."

"From what I saw," Jacob said, unable to hide the disgust in his voice; "you did not leave anyone to remember."

"I admit that we did not show them mercy, but the Long Knives brought that on themselves." At his son's raised brow, Gall explained. "Before we knew they were upon us, before we could hide our families, the soldiers came into our camp firing at all who moved. I lost two of my wives and three of my children to their guns before we were able to drive them off."

"Oh, my father," Jacob groaned. "I am sorry."

Gall waved him off. "After that, I fought with a bad heart. I admit this."

"There is no need to explain. I would feel the same." At his own words, a sudden fear shook him. What if Spotted Feather had not spoken the
truth.
What if she thought to ease his troubled mind with a lie? Jacob quickly looked up at Gall. "What of the crazy one? Did you see her to safety?"

Gall shook his head. "I did not see your woman, but Drooping Belly tells me he watched her attack one of the Long Knives, then steal his horse. He said she rode off screaming at any who would listen. As for her safety, there is no way to know for sure." At Jacob's frown, he managed a rare smile and said, "Do not concern yourself with the safety of your crazy wife. She had the women of our village shaking whenever she passed by, and, I must admit, even a few warriors as well. You would spend your time better worrying about those who might cross her path."

Jacob let out his breath in low chuckle, wincing as the wounds below his ribs complained about the movement. "I believe she has probably survived this war better than
I."

"Better than most," Gall agreed.

Now that his initial concern about Dominique was eased, Jacob worked at concentrating on the ruins of his memory. "Spotted Feather also tells me I am among a small number of our people. Where have the rest gone?"

"All councils have split and gone in separate directions. The Long Knives did not learn their lesson at the Greasy Grass. Still they hunt us."

Jacob thought back to the carnage, to his memories of life among the soldiers, and groaned. "Now they will hunt you in bigger numbers than ever. I feel sure they will not stop hunting you until they have avenged the death of their great leader, Custer, and his men."

"Ah," Gall sighed, "then we did battle the Long Hair. None of those who viewed the bodies could be sure. He was among the dead?"

Jacob nodded. "I saw him myself before one of our friends shot me."

Satisfied with that much, Gall nodded,
then
proclaimed, "The Long Knives will send new leaders to take his place, but we shall battle and subdue them as well. The Hunkpapa will never be ruled by the whites."

"These are foolish goals for any of the Lakota. Where do you think this will all end?" Angered and sickened by the memory of those who'd died, white and red man alike, Jacob struggled to his feet. His legs as weak as those of a newborn fawn, he stood on his own and waited for the pounding in his head to ease.

"My son," Gall said, joining him, "
do
not try to move. We have until the next moon to rejoin Sitting Bull and move onward toward the grandmother's land. You must rest."

But wobbly as it was, Jacob stood his ground,
then
took a couple of steps toward the crest of the hill. "It is your intention to go to Canada?" he asked of his father.

"That is where Sitting Bull goes. That is where we will join him."

Jacob looked out at the hills, beyond the forests and to the east. "That may be where you go, but you do not go of your own choice. Still you run. Still your people are afraid."

Gall stepped up beside him, a thousand questions glittering in his eyes.
"My people, son?
What of
our
people?"

Jacob turned sad blue eyes on his father. "They are your people, not mine. Go, run to the grandmother's land, but do not count me as one of your warriors."

"Ah, so then it has come to pass. Your heart has returned to the people of your birth. You have become one of them."

"I belong to no one," Jacob said, the force of his words exploding shells of pain in his head. "I have tried to understand both the Lakota and the soldier, tried to find a reason to do battle with either side, but I cannot understand."

"My son," Gall said gently. "You have been ill, your mind is hurt."

"Yes, it is hurt, but it is from the foolishness I have seen all around me, not from this wound. This war has been a terrible thing, can you not see this?" But he wasn't interested in Gall's reply just then. He cared only about the answers his fragile brain had saved and then unraveled for him.

"The Lakota," he went on, "fight for the land they call theirs, for their sense of honor. I see this, I understand this. The Long Knives battle in the name of their government, for the right to take your land as their own, and I think because they wish to gain ultimate power over the earth. I see and almost understand this also. What I cannot see, what I will never understand, is why no one thinks to fight for
peace. Why does no one fight for peace?"

Jacob raised his hand to the side of his head, soothed the angry valley the bullet had seared into the side of his head, and waited for the throbbing to ease. At his side, Gall stood, open-mouthed, deep in thought.

Finally after several moments of silence, the chief spoke. "You ask many honorable questions. I do not have the answers you seek. Perhaps after a long winter of councils, we will find some of these answers for you."

Suddenly weary, barely able to keep his eyes open, Jacob rested his hand on Gall's shoulder. "Find the answers, but discover them for the Lakota, not for me. When I am ready to travel, I will go to the east and search for my woman. After that, I cannot be sure where my life will lead me."

Clearly disturbed, Gall gripped Jacob's shoulders. "You plan to ride into the soldiers' fort? Do they know your identity? Do they know yet that you wore the uniform of a soldier but hid the heart of a Lakota warrior? Will they be pleased or angry to see that you live?"

Jacob shrugged, unable to remember at that moment.

Gall persisted. "Do not be foolish, my son. Try to think back to that terrible day. On whose side did you fight the afternoon your life was nearly given up to the Great Spirit?"

Jacob smiled and managed a few last words as a sudden fog enveloped his brain. "I fought on no man's side that day. I battled for only one thing. I was a lonely warrior waging a fight for peace."

Then the fog thickened into a great dark storm cloud. Jacob fell to the ground.

 
Chapter Twenty-two

October 25, 1876

"Whoa, Sampi, my friend," Jacob said, pulling the
big stallion to a halt.

From behind, Peaches ignored the man's command and continued walking until she stood beside the big sorrel. After nudging the rider's thigh, she lifted her head and emitted a shrill whinny.

Laughing, Jacob said, "So you know how close you are to home, is that it?"

Still chuckling, he looked over to the stand of cottonwood trees, to the spot where he'd hastily set up the Sioux warning pole the day he'd kidnapped Dominique. That was so long ago, and yet the memories of her, of her laughter and her touch, seemed fresh and alive within him. If he should find her again, would she accept him as she once had?
he
wondered again, as he had throughout his long journey. Had she gotten over the loss of her family, been able to forget and forgive the fact he'd been unsuccessful in his quest for a peaceful end to the battle?

Jacob pulled off his buffalo robe and tossed it over near the trees, exposing his cavalry uniform. Then he reached into the pack strapped on Peaches' back, took out his broad-brimmed hat, and carefully positioned it on his head.

The time was near to seek answers to his many questions about Dominique. But first he had to make peace with the army. Jacob kicked
Sampi's
flanks and tugged on the lead line attached to the mare. In a short time the
blockade was in sight. Less than an hour later, Jacob arrived at the outer perimeters of Fort Abraham Lincoln.

As the weary trio approached, a guard called out, "Who goes there? Stop and identify yourself."

"Private Jacob Stoltz, Company C, Seventh Cavalry, reporting, sir."

"Company C?
But that's impossible. Company C was with the general at the Little Bighorn, and there were no survivors."

"It is a very long story, sir. One I wish to repeat only once. Will you please tell me where I can find Lieutenant Barney Woodhouse? I would like to report to him."

The man continued to stare at Jacob, awestruck, but finally said, "Just ride on up to Officers' Row, over yonder.
Captain
Woodhouse has the place next door to the schoolmarm's little house at the end. You can't miss it."

"Thank you." Jacob saluted,
then
continued on his way. When he reached Barney's quarters, he slid down off Sampi and tied him and Peaches to the rail out front. Then, knowing full well his visit might result in an arrest, a court-martial, and even a death sentence, Jacob walked up the stairs and rapped the brass knocker against the wood.

When the door opened, Barney's lean form blocked the entrance. Grinning at the man he hoped he could still call friend, Jacob said, "Private Stoltz reporting, Captain, sir."

Barney gasped, and his eyes bulged. "
Stoltz ?
Is it really you?"

Jacob removed his hat. "It really is—what's left of me, anyway."

"Oh, damn,
Stoltz
. Get on in here." Barney hauled him through the doorway, clasping him in a quick bear hug before he closed the door and caught his breath.

"I can't believe this. I mean, I really can't believe you're alive. I was sure, you know, the way you left and all ... and then the
battle ...
I didn't see how you could possibly have gotten through that mess and damn,
Stoltz
. You look like hell."

"How nice of you to say so.
I am very happy to see you again, too, Barney. Or should I say Captain?"

"Oh, Stoltz," Barney muttered, strangling on a dose of brand-new and very unfamiliar pride. "Get on over to the couch and sit a spell. We got lots of catching up to do."

"Thank you," Jacob said, unable to hide the weariness in his voice. He sank into the cushions
slowly,
trying to ease the inflammation the long ride had brought to his wounds, then took a deep breath and said, "Why don't we get the military explanations out of the way first? Which officers should I see, and what charges am I to defend? Is there to be a court-martial?"