Song Of The Warrior (22 page)

“That's what the troops at White Bird Canyon and Clearwater River thought, too, Captain Rawn.”

“For that, the newspapers and some in Washington are yelling for Howard's resignation. There's talk of bringing in General Crook to replace him.”

“I don't know as how Crook could do any better, sir.” He didn't continue, but Rawn knew what he was thinking. Crook had been supposed to be one of those who attacked the Little Bighorn with Custer the previous year. However, a few days before that battle, Crook had come up against those same Cheyenne and Sioux at Rosebud Creek and his forces had been badly mauled. Crook decided at that point not to continue on to the Little Big Horn, nor did he alert Custer to the large group of hostiles in the area. His whole force, one-third of the troops, had sat out the ambush that slaughtered Custer's men.

Rawn shrugged. “Funny, the public doesn't feel any sympathy for the Sioux and Cheyenne, but they do for the Nez Perce.”

“Maybe that's because the Nez Perce have always been friends to the whites; have tried their best to keep the peace.” Dugan frowned. “Besides, they're underdogs, sir, even Howard seems to hate what he's having to do.”

“Well, I don't feel as sorry for them as Howard does, but they do remind me of Southerners in the late war; fighting to protect what's theirs. In that situation, even old grandmothers can wield a weapon and fight rather than surrender.”

The Irish sergeant nodded. “A lot of them won't survive that trail, sir, or maybe General Howard will catch them before they reach us.”

“I'm not that lucky,” Rawn grumbled. “I'll stop them at the end of the trail, all right, and it will be one hell of a bloody fight! Otherwise, we'll be chasing them all over Montana and they know the country better than we do. Whatever we do, the newspapers will make us look like incompetent fools.”

Sergeant Dugan seemed to consider saying something, but didn't. “Well, sir, what is the public to think when the world's biggest, most powerful army can't seem to capture and disarm this pitiful little handful of Indians? They're saying, at this rate, it's going to cost well over a million dollars for this campaign, and there's not mor'n seven hundred Indians.”

Captain Rawn squared his shoulders. “We're going to stop them; I've got a few days to build a fort blocking that trail and I'll need volunteers to cut logs. I'm about to put those irate citizens to work!”

 

 

On Sunday, July 29, the devout General Howard attended religious services. Then on Monday morning, in a pouring rain, his troops set out up the Lolo Trail in pursuit of the Nez Perce on the move ahead of them through the mountains. While he wasn't looking forward to this arduous campaign through the Bitterroots, he was convinced, that caught between his forces and those of Captain Rawn's, Chief Joseph's people would either be defeated or forced to surrender.

 

 

The ordeal of the Lolo Trail was worse than Willow could have imagined, but there was no going back. Scouts reported that General Howard was now in pursuit and it was either go forward or die when the soldiers got close enough with their cannons and Gatling guns to fire at the people trudging along the jagged rocks. More than once as the days passed, an old one or a heavily pregnant woman lost her footing in the loose rocks and tumbled to their deaths. Beloved Appaloosa horses broke legs or fell, too exhausted and bone-thin to go on. There was a shortage of cartridges, so nothing could be done except to mercifully cut their throats and leave the animals by the trail. It was pitiful, Willow thought with a sigh, to hear the orphaned colts crying for their mothers. Sometimes they found another mare to feed the colt; sometimes, they had to kill it because there was no milk or it was too weak to walk that long distance.

Very quickly, the livestock looked like washboards and coat stands because there wasn't enough forage at that high altitude to sustain the big herd. Soon, the people could no longer afford the luxury of leaving the dead horses by the trail. Now as food ran out, they began to eat their beloved ponies.

Willow did the best she could for her little group, and Raven helped her, coming back often to check on how she was doing or to help her with the old grandmother. There were days Willow was not sure the old woman would be able to take another step, and she dreaded that day. She was certain she could not leave
Intetah
by the trail as was starting to happen with some of the other elderly ones.

Willow was weary, cold, and hungry and the pace was beginning to wear on her. She no longer had the time and strength to mourn Bear, it was only important to get the people across these towering mountains and into Montana. Whether the army chased and caught them there didn't even seem important anymore. What did seem important was being warm and having enough food.

Still, that night, she gave most of her meager ration to the old woman, little Atsi, and Cub, who had ridden most of today on Willow's travois.

Now it was late, everyone slept the sleep of exhaustion, but Willow was too miserable to sleep and she kept a vigil beside her tiny fire.

Raven finally rode up and dismounted. “Keep that fire small; we do not want the Howard's Shoshoni scouts to see it; the
Te-wel-ka
would delight in sneaking in, cutting throats.”

“I know, but I was determined you would have warm food tonight; you have worked hard the last several days.”

He dismounted and took the bowl gratefully. “You have eaten?”

“I've had plenty,” she lied. “A warrior needs to keep up his strength.”

He huddled closer to the fire and shivered. “We lost another wounded warrior today; it's just too cold.”

She got up and wrapped her heavy buffalo robe around his broad shoulders. “Here, I'm warm enough; you'll need rest with everything there is to do tomorrow. Where's your blanket?”

“The old grandmother had none and Cub was crying.” He looked embarrassed and shrugged. “It was no big thing.”

“It is something a warrior would do.” She put her arms around herself and smiled at him. This ordeal was maturing Raven. For the last several days, she had watched him struggle to help old men along dangerous ledges and stop to assist women who were almost too exhausted to continue.

“Here,” he gestured, “you are cold, come share this robe.” He smiled so gently in the pale firelight, that she was reminded of the love that was dead. Only Raven knew and understood how much she had lost because he had lost Bear, too.

“For a moment,” she said and moved to lean against him in the flickering light of the tiny fire. He wrapped the buffalo robe around them both.

“You are freezing!” he scolded and pulled her up against him, wrapped his arms around her. His body was strong and big and warm. If she closed her eyes, it was almost as if her love were still alive.

She was so very tired and cold and hungry. Willow closed her eyes tightly to hold the tears back. There were others in this wretched little group who were in worse need than she was.

“Willow, what is it?” he whispered against her hair.

“Nothing,” she gulped. Raven must be hurting, too, but he was a warrior; he was expected to bear it with honor and without complaint.

“I know; I miss him every hour, every day of my life. I don't know how we two are going to make it without him.”

He was only a boy, still, she thought, and he was as bereft as she was; so lonely, yet trying hard to fill Bear's moccasins so his dead brother would be proud of him. She turned her face so she could rest it against his chest and feel the warmth of him. “Are we going to make it, Raven? It seems so far and it's so hard. Everyone is hungry and cold or dying.”

With one finger, he gently wiped the tears from her cheek. “Some will not make it through these mountains,” he whispered, “and the old ones are beginning to drop out. Yet, I know I have no way to carry them all. I have to pass them, have them look up at me with big, suffering eyes. I can do nothing but leave them, knowing the Shoshoni scouts will probably kill and scalp the ones we leave behind along this trail.”

“It isn't your fault!” she insisted loyally. “It is only important that the tribe survive. Tomorrow, it may be me who can't go any farther.”

“Don't say that!” he ordered and held her very close against him, speaking hoarsely in her ear. “Willow, you are what keeps me going; knowing I will save you and a few others, take you to the freedom of the buffalo plains. I will not leave you behind!” He kissed the tears from her cheeks gently.

“I couldn't have made it this far without your help; I wanted to die back there at the Clearwater with Bear.”

“No, we will both live and fight on as he would have wanted.”

“Oh, Raven, why do we speak so bravely?” She hugged Raven as she thought of his brother. With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend he was Bear. “We know many won't survive this; neither one of us may have more than a few days left to live.”

“You will survive if I have to carry you in my arms all the way,” he promised with steely resolve, “because I loved him; because I love you, I will get you through the mountains.” And then he kissed her; a gentle, brotherly kiss that started innocently enough, then deepened into something more intense.

For a moment, Willow felt so startled, that she didn't move. His big body was warm against hers as he kissed her and if it meant little to her, she realized, it meant everything to him. Willow let him kiss her, knowing deep in her heart that she would never love again because the only man she would ever feel passion for was dead. But the night was cold and their bodies were warm, wrapped in the soft fur of the buffalo robe. As a woman, she sensed that Raven was desperately in need of the comfort her body could give him.

He was kissing her as if he would never let her go, holding her so tightly, that she couldn't breathe. Bear was dead, forever and eternally dead and she wished she were, too. “Raven, no,” she began but he was kissing her, caressing her desperately as if he expected to die tomorrow and this was the one and only time he would ever hold her in his arms.

“Oh, please, Willow, I love you, need you so....”

She tried to pull away but he was kissing her, stroking her body, feverishly, desperately begging.

Willow felt dead inside; would never again feel passion. There was not enough food or blankets and they all might die tomorrow. There was nothing to give her husband's beloved brother. No, there was one thing she could give him; the momentary comfort of a woman's body.

Willow stopped protesting as he kissed her; pulled her against him protectively as he lay down before the tiny fire. He was inexperienced and hot-blooded, fumbling in his eagerness. She tried not to remember Bear's experienced lovemaking as his brother kissed her. She felt nothing, but she did not try to stop Raven. He needed her tonight and it was all she could give him. She lay there and let him take her. He was not built as big as Bear, she thought with calm detachment, and he came too fast as young men will, without the control and the long stroking that pleasures a woman. It was over in seconds and now he was weeping. “What have I done? Oh, Willow, I never meant . . .”

“It is all right,” she soothed him, blinking back her own tears, holding him in her arms to comfort him. “It is the custom that a warrior often takes his brother's widow; it is no big thing.”

He held her very close, sheltering and warming her with his big body. “I will take care of you, Willow. When this is all over, if you will have me, I will look after you.”

He was just a boy after all, Willow thought with a sigh as she brushed his hair from his eyes with a tender gesture. “Bear would like that. He would want you to look after me and the old grandmother and the two children.”

She kissed his cheek, feeling nothing except gentle tenderness. She had brought momentary warmth and comfort to her man's beloved younger brother. None of them might survive this ordeal of the mountains, so maybe it didn't make any difference. A thought occurred to her suddenly. “Oh, Raven, the taboo; you've broken the taboo!”

She saw the sudden horror in his dark eyes. On the war trail, a warrior might not lay with a woman; to do so would weaken his medicine, bring him bad luck. “I-I thought of nothing else for those moments you were warm and soft and giving in my arms.”

“Well, what's done is done,” Willow said, sighing, “and tonight, we've only got the one robe to warm us.” She held him close like a small, lost child while he dropped off to sleep, but she didn't sleep. She wept silently for her lost love and the bad medicine she was certain that would now befall Raven for breaking the taboo!

After that one desperate night, Raven did not touch her again. Willow only felt the affection she would have felt for a brother. She did not mention what had happened that night because he seemed deeply ashamed of the moment of weakness that had caused him to seek solace in her arms. Both knew he had broken a terrible taboo and that it might bring him bad luck. Yet, while the people labored to cross the high, terrible trail through the mountain passes, Willow knew he watched her with soft eyes. He loved her, and even though her man was dead, she knew she would never feel passion again. Not that it mattered, she thought as she trudged on. With so little chance that any of them would survive this ordeal, there was no point in discussing the future.

However, as the days passed, Raven seemed to be maturing as a warrior, gaining new respect among the tribe with his brave deeds and selfless courage. Somehow, she sensed it was because of those few moments he had spent in her embrace. How could she have let him make love to her? She comforted herself with the knowledge that the taking of a brother's widow was an old Nez Perce custom, and besides, she was certain her beloved Hohots might have been happy to think his woman and his brother could comfort and love each other. With all they were enduring, the past seemed far away and the future uncertain. Willow drove herself to help with those who were faltering, especially the sick and the wounded. Most of the time, she was too exhausted and sorrowing to think at all.

Also, some of the very old and very young, they lost to cool weather and hunger. Some simply gave out, sat down by the trail, promising that they would catch up with the moving column when they were rested. Most were never seen again and she did not want to think about what happened to these stragglers when Howard's Shoshoni scouts found them.

Her moccasins were worn out on the sharp rocks and her feet bleeding. Raven cut up his heavy shirt to wrap her feet and insisted he wasn't cold anyway. Willow cooked a stew of the children's favorite colt and pretended it was a deer Raven had shot. Many days, she carried Cub ahead of her on her stumbling mare. A few days, she gave her horse to Atsi and walked herself. One day, the grandmother looked so weak, Willow insisted on pulling her on her travois. She knew the old woman was determined to live to look after the motherless girl and the toddler.

With Howard's troops coming behind, there was no way to go back, they had to continue the long trail through the mountains. Just as it looked as if there was some hope, that they might make it after all, dejected scouts brought news that soldiers were hastily building a fort directly across the end of the trail.

Joseph called a council of the warriors to discuss this latest news. Willow was pleased that Raven, because of his conduct these past weeks, was invited to sit in. She only wished her beloved Bear could know that his faith in his younger brother had finally been justified.

Raven sat down beside the council fire, proud that he was now accepted. He only wished that his brother could know that saving Raven from the grizzly those long years ago had not been in vain. Raven would follow Bear's example; do his best to help his people. What had meant most to Bear were his people and the green-eyed woman.

Willow. Raven loved her; he had always loved her from the first moment he had seen her. If there was any chance at all that they might make it to safety, he would take care of Willow; he owed that to his brother. Raven was not a fool; he realized where Willow's heart was, but perhaps she would be content to be Raven's woman and that would have to be enough for him.

Chief Joseph passed the pipe as the warriors sat into the campfire. “You have heard the news that citizens and soldiers block our trail; what say you?”

Each spoke gravely, having earned that right. Some wanted to surrender at this hastily built new fort. Some wanted to go back and surrender to the one-armed general.

Raven accepted the pipe reverently, took a long puff.

“Raven,” Looking Glass said, “along this trail, you have earned the right to speak.”

He had waited a long time for this; being accepted as an honored warrior; yet he would trade it all to bring his brother back to life. “I say we bypass the fort.”

Ollokot snorted. “Did you not hear it is being built right in the middle of the trail?”

Raven nodded. “They do not expect us to attempt to go around it.”

“With good reason!” Looking Glass said. “With steep cliffs and rocks on each side of the trail and thick forests, there is no way around it.”

“There might be,” Raven argued, “if we simply take to the sides of those steep rocks, go through those dense woods.”

“Impossible!” Joseph said, with a sad shake of his head.

“The whites thought it was impossible for us to cross the Lolo Trail,” Raven answered with great respect, “but we are doing it. The Nez Perce are formed from a heart's own blood; we do the impossible.”

A murmur of agreement went through the circle.

“We'll lose many horses and some of our people down those steep cliffs,” Looking Glass said.

Raven looked at him and nodded. “You speak true. Now tell me how many we will lose if we attack this fort or sit and wait for the one-armed general to catch up to us?”

Ollokot's handsome face furrowed with thought. “Raven speaks as well and as thoughtfully as his brother once did. The whites will be surprised if we sneak past their fort.”

There was a long silence as the men contemplated the brave thing they were about to ask of the people. Some would die along those rock ledges; fall to their deaths. The forests on each side of the trail were dense and impermeable. They would have to cut their way through with nothing more than knives. It was impossible, but they must try.

Joseph bent his head and sighed. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the small fire and the scream of an eagle as it dropped off a precipice to grab a rabbit. “We have friends among the tribes in this place called Montana; they will give us food and shelter if we can reach them. We will try this brave thing Raven has suggested.”

“Bypass the new fort?” Looking Glass asked.

“Bypass the fort or die in the attempt!”

Colonel John Gibbon was on his way from Fort Shaw to assist Captain Rawn in stopping the Nez Perce when a messenger galloped up, to where the troops had dismounted to rest, saluted and handed him a dispatch that the Indians had slipped past the hastily constructed fort and were now in Montana.

“Ye Gods!” Colonel Gibbons wadded up the message, threw it down in the grass and looked around at his assembled officers. He was fifty years old, a little long in the tooth for a field officer, and he didn't need the extra aggravation. “What is happening that the whole United States Army can't stop this handful of ragtag Indians?”

A young captain cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, but gossip from our scouts said the Nez Perce did the impossible by slipping past Rawn's barricade. In fact, everyone is laughing and calling it ‘Fort Fizzle.' ”

“Well, I'm not laughing!” Gibbons scowled and pulled at his graying Van Dyke beard. “Now we'll all be chasing after Chief Joseph with the newspapers having a field day!”

“In Captain Rawn's defense, sir,” said the messenger, “he thought he was going to get a lot of help from civilian volunteers, but when the whites saw those Indians, a lot of them faded away from the stockade and went home.”

“War-painted braves have that effect on the faint-hearted,” Colonel Gibbon commented wryly. His thoughts went to last year. Custer had been supposed to wait until Gibbons joined him to begin that attack at the Little Big Horn. Gibbon's forces had been the first to reach the scene of slaughter; he would never forget those mutilated bodies lying so white and naked on the Montana prairie grass. “What else do you know?”

“Sir,” the wiry private said, “some of the whites in the settlement of Stevensville, just outside the Lolo Trail, are selling them food, trading cartridges for some of them Appaloosy horses.”

Gibbon swore under his breath and stared off into the distance. “With friends like those, who needs enemies?”

“In the town's defense, sir,” a young officer said, “it's a little town. I'm sure if they didn't give the Indians what they want, the warriors would take it by force.”

The colonel snorted. “I'll bet the storekeepers didn't wait to find out. Funny how a little gold and the lure of fine-blooded horses can change a town's mind.” He turned to the dispatch rider. “Which direction are the Nez Perce headed?”

“South, sir,” the man answered and pointed. “Appears they're following the north fork of the Big Hole River, good hunting there and they've got friends among those tribes.”

The early August heat made the sweat run down into his eyes. Gibbon took off his hat and wiped his dripping forehead. “The Nez Perce are about to find out just how few friends they have.”

“Sir?” asked the captain.

“While waiting for Howard to get across the Lolo Trail, we're going in pursuit. Chief Joseph will find out that many of the friendly tribes don't like the Nez Perce well enough to risk trouble with the army.”

A grizzled sergeant shook his head. “You have to feel sorry for the poor devils, admire them for their spunk.”

Gibbon shrugged. “No room in this man's army for that. It'll be a feather in my cap if I can defeat them, get this all wrapped up and the newspapers silenced before the outbreak gets any bigger. Send for Chief Buffalo Horn and his Bannock scouts.”

The old sergeant nodded. “They're enemies of the Nez Perce, all right; they'd help us just for the pleasure of scalping Nez Perce.”

“Tell them they'll get more than that,” Gibbon said and limped toward his horse. He had been wounded at Gettysburg, but he had managed to stay in the service. It wasn't for nothing his men affectionately called him “Old War Horse.” The Indians, less respectful, noted his limp and referred to him as “No Hipbone.” He would teach them some respect, he thought as he swung up in his saddle. “They can have loot and captured horses, too. God, it's hot!” He wiped his face again. “Sergeant, pass the word along the column to mount up.” To the messenger, he said, “Where do you think the Nez Perce might be headed?”

“There's a wonderful valley with good hunting and camping south of here, sir. They call it ‘the Big Hole.' ”

“The Big Hole, huh? Gentlemen, mark my words, there's where we are going to give the Nez Perce one helluva fight!”

 

 

Back at Fort Lapwai, Billy Warton slouched in his chair outside the stockade cell and grinned, remembering. Boy, he was lucky! Weeks ago, in that July battle at the Clearwater, he and Deek Tanner had thought that any minute, one of those damned Indian riflemen would pick them off. They had advanced gingerly, trying to save their skins and terrified that any moment, they might die. They hadn't come all the way to this wild Idaho Territory to die, they had come for treasure.

Clearwater. Billy remembered stripping some fancy beaded decorations off a body, then he moved up the bluff where three or four Nez Perce braves had held the army back while the tribe escaped. “Hey, Deek, come here!” he motioned. “I just found that damned Bear's body.”

“Good!” Deek grinned and tucked a scalp in his belt, wiped his bloody knife on the grass. “I want his hair and any gold he might be wearin'.” He started across the grass.

“Hey, he's still alive!” Billy exclaimed. “If that don't beat all.”

“Just barely alive.” Deek spat to one side as he came over, stood looking down at the prone body. He looked around to make sure there were no troops close. “I'll cut his throat; I want his scalp.”

“Wait a minute,” Billy said. “Bear is one of Joseph's best warriors.”

“So?” Deek shrugged, reaching for his knife. “Even better reason to finish the redskin off.”

“Wait!” Billy held up a hand to stop him. “Suppose there's a slim chance he knows where Joseph has hid the gold?”

Deek paused and scratched his dirty beard. “What difference does it make? He's all but dead.”

“I got more reason to hate him than you; I think he was topping that girl I wanted.” Billy looked down at the still body. Bear was barely breathing and covered with blood. “If there's the slightest chance he knows, I'd hate to lose that treasure. Maybe we can keep him alive long enough to find out.”

“Boy,” Deek said, grinning, “you got a good head on you.” He reached for his canteen. “I hate to have an Injun drink out of my canteen.”

“Think of gold,” Billy said as he propped the unconscious man up, wet his bandana, and wiped the man's dusty, bloody face. “You can buy a dozen new canteens. Aren't you the one who's always imagining himself weighted down by nuggets so heavy, you can't carry them?”

Deek grinned and nodded. “You're right.” He handed over his canteen. “This man needs a doctor bad.”