The Vengeance of Mothers Page 22

  “Aye, and the soldiers don’t generally bring their infants to the battlefield, do they now?” says I. “That is where the tribes are so vulnerable. But I cannot imagine our women warriors, all of whom but you, Phemie, are mothers … or at least were mothers … I cannot imagine them killin’ other women’s babies. That’s the business of men.”

  “We shall talk about such matters at our next meeting,” says Phemie. And just so you girls know … I, too, am going to be a mother.”

  Me and Susie are taken back by this news, for Phemie always said that she did not want to have children, and she even wore the chastity string to ensure against it. “Is that a wish, Phemie, or a fact?”

  “Both.”

  “You must believe in a future then to bring a baby into this world.”

  “One day I neglected to don my chastity string … perhaps I did so on purpose for I have not worn it since. Black Man, who remained a patient and loyal husband through my long unavailability, took full advantage of the opportunity, and I confess that I have not objected. Now I have no other choice but to believe in a future.”

  “And you are going to carry that baby to war in your belly?”

  “I have no other choice in that matter, either, do I?”

  It is just then that we hear a commotion in the hills across the river, the war cries of our scouts, a sound we know all too well. Me and Susie feel the shivers and gooseflesh runnin’ over our skin. Is it possible that the Army has discovered us? We all stand to gather our horses and return to the village, when suddenly we get a glimpse of a lone horseman cresting one of the far hillsides, headin’ our way, his mount at a dead run, disappearing from our view into the swale on the other side, behind him five Cheyenne warriors ridin’ hard in pursuit. A moment later the horseman crests the next hill, disappears again, and a third and fourth, our warriors closing fast behind him. Now he appears on the high bluff just above the riverbed, downstream from us. Here on the crest, he is forced to rein up suddenly for below him the hillside has been carved out by the river, forming a steep-cut bank of loose soil and rock, too treacherous to ride down, and surely impossible at a gallop. We get a bit of a look at him now. He is clearly not a soldier for he is dressed in a fringed buckskin outfit, and a broad misshapen cowboy hat cinched up to his chin with a rawhide tie-down, his face thus obscured. We see now that he rides not a horse at all, but a big gray mule. He looks behind him, clearly sees the warriors closing in, their war cries louder now, though they are not yet visible to our view. And damned if he doesn’t urge his mount over the edge of the embankment. The mule sets its front hooves in the loose soil but begins to slide sideways, it looks like a sure wreck comin’, like the poor beast is goin’ to roll over with his rider. But somehow he manages to straighten himself and he sits back on his haunches, the rider too leanin’ back in the saddle against the downhill pull. Together they slide down the embankment to the river below.

  The warriors have appeared now at the top of the bluff, where they mill about on their ponies, clearly not plannin’ to follow. The rider begins crossin’ the high swollen river, his mule havin’ to swim the middle part of it, until his hooves find bottom again and he splashes out on our side. Now he wheels his mount around, looks up at his pursuers, takes off his hat, gray braids spilling over his shoulders, waves it in the air at ’em, and calls out in Cheyenne. Me and Susie figure a rough translation is: “You didn’t catch me, you sons of bitches! You didn’t count coup on old Dirty Gertie, did ya now?” And then she whoops it up, laughin’ an’ flappin’ her hat.

  At this the head scout on the bluff, a fella named Medicine Wolf, raises his lance, shakes it at her, and returns her laugh in good-sport acknowledgment that she beat ’em fair and square.

  Gertie turns her mule back around and sees us standin’ on the bank upriver. She rides over to us, her fringed pants drippin’ wet. “Well, I will be goddamned,” says she with a smile, “fancy runnin’ into you gals out here.”

  “You outdid yourself, Gertie,” says Susie. “That was some entrance, even for you. But why were those scouts chasin’ you?”

  “Because I breached their perimeter, snuck right past ’em. It’s a game we play. They knew it was ole Dirty Gertie all along, but by the time they figured out I had got through, I had enough of a lead on ’em. They wanted to catch me and count coup on me to save face for lettin’ me sneak past. But my old mule here … for all his other fine qualities … cannot outrun an Indian pony, and it’s lucky for us we came up on that cut bank when we did…” She pats her mule on the neck … “Ole Badger here knows how to slide downhill on his ass.”

  Gertie looks at Phemie, smiles, and nods. “Yeah, I heard from the Arapaho that you come back from the dead, Euphemia. That makes two of us.”

  “Hello, Gertie,” says Phemie. “And I heard the same about you from them. I’m glad we meet again here, rather than on the hanging road to Seano that you and I were so close to taking.”

  “I’m mighty glad, too, darlin’,” says Gertie. “Then again, we’re all headed that way one of these days, an’ some of us sooner than others.”

  “How did you find us, Gertie?” Susie asks.

  “You gals always ask me that same question, and I always give you the same answer: I used to live among these folks, remember? I know all their favorite campsites. I figured Little Wolf would look for a protected valley, a little out of the way from his regular haunts, a place to hole up for a while and replenish supplies. They had nothin’ much more when they escaped from the Red Cloud Agency than the clothes on their backs, and pitiful little of those to boot. There ain’t no richer country than this here. An’ you know I’ve always had a good nose for an Indian village, I’m like a damned coyote that way, can smell it on the wind from miles away.”

  “You bring news for us, don’t ya, Gertie?” says I.

  “’Deed I do, ladies, ’deed I do … but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, let’s not spoil our reunion just yet with talk a’ business. I see you been fishin’,” says she, pointing at the pile of fat trout Christian left on the bank. “I sure could stand to eat a couple of those beauties for supper. You gonna invite me to stay over, ain’t ya?”

  “Aye, a’ course we are,” says Susie. “You can stay with us as long as you like, Gertie, you know that. You come at a good time, for the Cheyenne are holdin’ a dance in a few days to welcome the greenhorns and to pair ’em up with husbands. You should stay around at least long enough for that.”

  “You gals know there ain’t nothing ole Dirty Gertie likes better than a damn Injun dance,” says she. “It’s been a real long time since I been invited to one. Hell, if I get the notion, I may even cut a rug myself. When I was your age, I could dance with ’em all night long. By the way, how those new gals doin’, anyhow?”

  “They’re doin’…” says I … “still gettin’ settled in, but we’d say they’re doin’ as well as can be expected. It was a long ride for ’em here … for all of us … some things happened along the way … unexpected things … you know how that is, Gertie.”

  “Yeah, things have a habit a’ happenin’ that way in this country, don’t they?” says she … “unexpected like. I figured you gals’d have plenty of news for me, too.”

  “Aye, Gertie, you have no idea the news we got. We’ll tell ya all about it over a trout dinner tonight.”

  19 May 1876

  So last night me and Susie get Gertie all fixed up in our lodge, with a real comfortable backrest and sleeping place, and we share a fine dinner of trout grilled over the fire. We got an old widow woman livin’ with us, Mó’éhá’e, Elk Woman. She’s from the Southern Cheyenne band and lost her family at the Sand Creek massacre in Colorado in ’64. Afterward she came to live with Northern Cheyenne relations, who are also gone now. She’s all alone in the world, so we’ve taken her in. She looks after us around the tipi, and for our part in the bargain, we see that she’s got food, shelter, and a warm place to sleep. Our own needs this way are met by relations of our
dead husbands, who hunt for us, bring us hides, and supply us with lodge poles. It is the Cheyenne way to look after their own, and though we don’t have much, we got enough.

  Because Gertie was living with the Southern Cheyenne at the same time and lost her own family in the massacre, she and Elk Woman know each other. They have a little reunion of their own, reminiscin’ about old friends and family way back when. It is sweet and sad at the same time for me and Susie to listen to ’em … there is so much loss, so much heartbreak in this big country.

  We tell Gertie about Martha, and about Molly’s rescue of her from Jules Seminole, her return here to find her baby, and how she’s still not right in the head. When we finish the story, Gertie sits real quiet for a time, thinkin’ things over, her face set hard as granite.

  “The son of a bitch,” she whispers finally, shakin’ her head. “When I got back to Camp Robinson after my visit with ya in Crazy Horse’s village, I heard that right before they put Martha on the train to Chicago, the Army took her baby away from her and returned him to Tangle Hair. I figured they didn’t want her goin’ home bearin’ hard evidence of the brides program.”

  “That’s what Meggie and me been thinkin’, too,” says Susie.

  “I heard they sent an escort of two soldiers with her on the train,” says Gertie, “and that they had to carry her on board, kickin’ and screamin’ for her baby. But how the hell did Seminole get his hands on her?”

  “We don’t know the answer to that, Gertie,” says I. “She doesn’t seem to remember any of it … or if she does, she ain’t talkin’ … before Molly got away with her, Seminole introduced Martha to her as his wife.”

  “Son of a bitch,” says Gertie again. “Jules Seminole’s wife … real pretty fate to imagine, ain’t it? No wonder she don’t want to remember. All I can figure is that somehow she escaped her soldier escort and got off the train. She must have been tryin’ to get back to her baby when Seminole came upon her. One thing I do know is that the Army has been loanin’ him and his scouts out to guide private parties of cattlemen, land speculators, mine owners, and journalists. They want to prove to the white world that they got the region more or less secured from Indian depredation, that it’s safe now for settlers. The government don’t want to scare away the moneymen, or the homesteaders, with more stories about white folks gettin’ scalped, which is about all the newspapers out here report anymore, even if they have to make it up. Martha musta run into Seminole while he was guidin’ one of those bunches.”

  “Aye, the day Molly came upon him and Martha, Hawk’s scouts reported a party of white men camped upriver from us, with some Crow among ’em. We figured that’s what Seminole was doin’ there.”

  “You mark my words, girls, I’m gonna get that son of Satan if it’s the last thing I do on this earth. As if I didn’t already have enough reason, doin’ that way to our poor Martha just gives me more.”

  “She’s a lot better than she was, Gertie,” says Susie. “But we still don’t know if she’ll ever really be right again. We’re thinkin’ maybe it’d be better if she never remembers.”

  “I seen things like this before,” says Gertie. “Hell, I been in this country so damn long now, I figure I seen about everything … I’ll wager that somewhere deep down, some part of Martha remembers, and that one day, no matter how hard she tries to keep it buried there, that memory is goin’ to bubble up to the surface like one a’ them damn hot spring geysers. And when it blows, God knows what’ll happen to her. I just hope you gals are around.”

  “Aye, now it’s your turn, Gertie,” says I. “We know you came here for a reason, so let’s hear your news.”

  “You know, ladies, I been thinkin’ on it all evening,” she says, “and I decided we got some time for all that. I’d like to tell ya my news in front of the new gals, too. Saves me havin’ to repeat myself. Things is happenin’ back at the fort, that much I’ll say right now. But they ain’t gonna happen overnight. So if I tell ya now or I tell ya in a few days, it don’t make no difference, see? I need to talk to Little Wolf about it first, too, seein’ as how he’s the Sweet Medicine Chief, and is the one who’s goin’ to call the shots. So let’s don’t get all worried about it just yet.”

  “Gertie,” says Susie, “Meggie and me got worried about it soon as you rode in today. Aye, we know damned well you didn’t come all the way out here just for a social visit.”

  “You gals know me too well. And maybe that’s so. But why not we just call it a social visit these first few days. I got some catchin’ up to do with other folks here, too. I’ll let ya all know everything before the dance. Wouldn’t be fair not to, especially if old Dog Woman is fixin’ the greenhorns up with husbands … because what I got to tell ya might change some a’ their minds about that … or maybe it won’t. One way or ’nother, it’ll be a hoot to watch those gals meetin’ their betrotheds, and Injun dancin’.”

  We tell Gertie that she’s goin’ to see more from ’em than just Indian dancin’, but we don’t spoil the surprise for her. It’s funny, ain’t it, how even though we all know there’s another shit monsoon on the way, as Gertie calls it, we still manage to find somethin’ to hang on to. Aye, we know more or less why she’s come to see us again, we see the black storm clouds gatherin’ on the horizon, we feel the cold wind blowin’. But still, me and Susie are lookin’ real forward to the dance, too. It brings back memories of how it was with our group when we first came out here. We watch these lasses tryin’ to settle in with the tribe, and it’s like gazin’ in a mirror with us and our old friends reflected back …

  “Damn, we were so young and innocent then, weren’t we, Gertie?” says Susie. “We had no idea what was headin’ our way. Just a wee bit over a year now since we arrived, and look how the whole fooking world has turned upside down … it seems like ten years, and we feel like we’re a hundred years old … and we sure ain’t innocent anymore.”

  “Oh, hell, you pair a’ Irish scamps,” says she, “you gals ain’t been innocent since you was five years old.”

  And we all get a good laugh outta that, because even though we know Gertie is only playin’ with us … she’s right.

  22 May 1876

  Gertie has been to powwow with Little Wolf, and this morning she’s comin’ to meet with us and the greenhorns. Me and Susie are nervous about what she has to say, for we been enjoyin’ these past few days of not knowin’ the full details … course we understand damned well that somethin’ big is afoot … somethin’ which is likely to involve more travelin,’ more runnin’ … and just when we’re gettin’ rested and settled in the new village.

  We get there just about the same time Gertie does, and we can tell straightaway, just from lookin’ at her face, that for now, anyhow, the social visit is over indeed. After she says hello to the lasses, she doesn’t waste any time gettin’ down to business.

  “Ladies,” she begins, “on May twenty-ninth … that’s one week from today … General George Crook will be leaving Fort Fetterman on the banks of the North Platte River, Wyoming Territory, with fifteen companies of cavalry and five companies of mule-mounted infantry—well over a thousand soldiers altogether, headed northwest toward old Fort Reno on the Powder River. For support he’ll be travelin’ with a mule train of one hundred thirty-six wagons and a couple hundred pack mules. This I know because Susie and Meggie’s old pal here, Jimmy the muleskinner hisself, aka Dirty Gertie, will be meetin’ up with ’em at Fort Reno to take charge of one a’ them wagons, presently being driven by my assistant muleskinner, a fine boy named Charlie Meeker.

  “At about the same time,” Gertie continues, “the Dakota column, commanded by General Alfred Terry, will be marchin’ out of Fort Abraham Lincoln on the western bluffs of the Missouri River, headed west toward the Yellowstone. Terry leads fifteen companies, nearly six hundred soldiers, including twelve companies of the Seventh Cavalry under the command of Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer. And, ladies, that ain’t all … a third force, the Montana column, c
ommanded by Col. John Gibbon, is leaving Fort Ellis, east of Bozeman, movin’ west to meet up with the Dakota column on the Yellowstone.

  “The War Department is callin’ this campaign the Bighorn and Yellowstone Expedition, the largest military force ever deployed on the Great Plains, the plan bein’ to throw a net a’ soldiers around all the remaining hostile Injuns—Lakota, Cheyenne, and Arapaho—still at large from the Black Hills of the Dakotas, south to the Platte River, and west to the Yellowstone. That, a’ course, means these folks here … and you gals … yup, I’m mighty sorry to have to tell ya this, but you all are hostiles now, too.

  “I should also mention somethin’ I didn’t bother to tell Little Wolf, because it wouldn’t mean anything to him, and it don’t change a thing. And that is, travelin’ with Crook’s column are five members of the national press, reporting for nine newspapers across the country—the New York Tribune, The New York Herald, the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Times, The Chicago Inter-Ocean, the Omaha Republican, the Cheyenne Sun, the Rocky Mountain News of Denver, and the Alta California of San Francisco. See, the government wants to make it clear to the whole goddamned nation that not only is this the largest campaign ever against the Indians, it’s also gonna be the last. The reporters have been invited along to confirm to the public that we’re wipin’ the bloodthirsty savages off this land once and for all, and it’ll soon be secured for God-fearing American people … that is to say, the white homesteaders, miners, and ranchers who are takin’ over this country in the name of God and manifest destiny…”

  This news, that me and Susie had been more or less expecting … although maybe it’s even worse than we expected … the greenhorns receive real quiet for a long time, while everyone has a chance to think things over.

  Finally Astrid breaks the silence: “What is manifest destiny?”