The Devil's Paintbox, page 10
One of the soldiers, caught up in the hunt, chased wildly after the pronghorn, firing shot after shot, but the others quickly reined in their mounts when they saw the Indians. Aiden saw alarm and fear on their faces. Tupic's horse, frightened by the gunshots, began to rear and jump. Tupic struggled to control it. Clever Crow reined his horse to a stop, and Silent Wolf rode to his side. The first soldier shot one prong-horn cleanly through neck. A jet of bright blood shot out of the wound. The soldier gave a great whoop of triumph and fired at another pronghorn. That animal fell with a terrible cry, merely wounded. Only then did the soldier notice the Indians. He yanked his horse around and galloped up to the other soldiers. He was a small, thin man with broad, knobby shoulders and a sharp fringe of greasy black hair stuck to his forehead. There were sergeant's stripes on his filthy uniform jacket. The other soldiers were all privates and looking to him for orders.
“Well, lookee here, boys!” he crowed. “We got us some Injuns.”
“We do not fight,” Clever Crow said calmly, his hands in the air.
The sergeant looked surprised to hear him speak English. “No? What about you, scar face?” he taunted, riding in close to Silent Wolf. “You wanna fight? You ugly enough I might put a bullet through your head just to save any more looking at you!” One of the other soldiers laughed. Clever Crow spoke to his son, and Silent Wolf reluctantly raised his hands. Tupic's horse shied and he patted its neck. Two soldiers immediately pointed their guns at him.
“Get your hands up, boy!” the greasy-haired sergeant shouted.
“I calm the horse,” Tupic said. “We do nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, well, I know your Injun tricks!”
Aiden winced to hear the same ugly accusation he had made himself just moments ago.
“Keep your hands up where I can see them!”
As Tupic slowly raised his hands, the sergeant jabbed him hard in the ribs with the muzzle of his rifle. Tupic almost fell off but made no sound and showed no sign of pain. Then a commanding voice thundered from the bluff behind the soldiers.
“Halt!”
Galloping over the rise were a dozen more soldiers, led by a lieutenant atop an enormous and stunning chestnut horse. The lieutenant was a plump little man with a face pink as a boiled ham and shocking orange hair that frizzed wildly from beneath his hat.
“Lower your weapons, boys,” he said calmly, his deep, booming voice incongruous with his physique. He looked for all the world like a gnome out of a picture book, Aiden thought. While most men were fat in certain places, in the belly or the face, this man was plump all over. His fingers were sausages, his wrists like bread rolls. His calves oozed over the tops of his shiny boots. There were pads of fat behind his ears, which pushed them out slightly. Despite his odd and somewhat comical appearance, however, he rode very elegantly.
“Looks like we've gone a bit sideways here, boys,” he said calmly. “So let's all catch our breath and live awhile more, what do you say?” No one said anything, but the tension did ease somewhat. He looked very intently at the Indians, like a dressmaker sizing them up for fit and style. The silence was pierced by the terrible cry of the dying pronghorn.
“Sergeant Todd,” the lieutenant said, “see to that animal, please.”
The black-haired sergeant reluctantly left off tormenting Tupic and rode over to the wounded antelope. Now the lieutenant turned to Aiden, quickly surveying him from head to toe with eyes pale as milk.
“What are you doing here with these Indians, lad?” he asked. “Have you been captured?”
“Captured? No!”
The dying pronghorn gave one last cry; then a shot echoed across the prairie. “Don't be afraid, lad. We're here to help you. Are your people nearby? Have they been hurt?”
Aiden remembered the sound of Silent Wolf's arrow zipping inches from his head the day before. He knew all he had to do was say the word and the soldiers would arrest the Indians, if not outright kill them. More soldiers began trotting over the rise, alerted by the shots. All of them grew visibly tense at the sight of the Indians.
“No,” Aiden said. “No one is hurt. These Indians are—” He hesitated. Trust them or not, he had to decide now. The soldiers looked twitchy and eager to shoot at the slightest movement. “They're friendly. They're guides,” he said. “For our wagon train.”
The lieutenant looked around. “What wagon train?”
Aiden waved his hand toward the river. “They're on the way. They should be here by noon, I expect.”
“I'm not sure I understand, boy. If you're with a wagon train, what are you doing out here all alone with these Indians?”
Aiden scrambled to make his explanation work. “We tried to cross at the usual ford yesterday, about ten miles upriver. Only, the water turned out to be too high. I swam across with the rope, then didn't want to swim back. The Indians knew the river had broken out the banks here.”
“And how did they know that if they were already with your wagon train?”
The lieutenant had tripped him up already.
“Well, they suspected, I mean. They know the land and how the river is, they suspected it would break out down here. That's why they're our guides.”
“Why were you swimming when these men could cross on horseback?”
“They couldn't,” he said. “I mean, ah, we didn't believe them at first. We thought we should use the regular crossing place. I—uh, I said I could make the swim, but it turned out the water was too fast. I got stuck on the other side, so they rode down on that side, crossed here, then rode back up to fetch me.” Aiden felt woozy with the tension of trying to make his fabricated story fit right.
“And they never thought to bring you a coat? Your shirt or boots?”
“No,” he said lamely. “They're Indians.” He rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated shrug, as if to say What do you expect?
“Guides, you say?” The lieutenant's piercing gray eyes did not give away what he was thinking.
“Yes, sir. They're Nez Perce, sir. Nez Perce are peaceful,” he added.
“No Indians are peaceful out here these days, lad.” The lieutenant's mouth made either a slight smile or an involuntary twitch, showing a tiny ridge of very white teeth. “What's your name?”
“Aiden Lynch, sir.”
“Irish, eh?”
One could never know if Irish was a good thing to be or not, so Aiden just gave a vague shrug. Maybe if he seemed stupid enough, the damn lieutenant would just leave him alone.
“I'm Lieutenant Caerwyn Gryffud, B Troop, Third Western Cavalry out of Fort Laramie.”
It was a Welsh name, a common one in the coal mines of West Virginia, but that still didn't reassure Aiden. The Welsh were as clannish as the Irish, and fights between the two groups were common.
All of the soldiers had arrived now. There were about thirty of them, and most looked mean, hungry and tired. Toward the rear of the group, a few men looked sick and were so weak they slumped in the saddle.
“We'll wait for your wagon train,” the lieutenant said. “Franklin, Bailey—”
Two very young-looking soldiers trotted over.
“Take some men and gather wood for fires. Tell Cook we have some antelope to butcher. The men could all use some fresh meat. He's to cook it all and serve it out now. Have him make a broth for the sick.”
Now Clever Crow spoke up, his voice as measured and authoritative as Gryffud's.
“My uncle says you may have our antelope as well,” Tupic translated. “To feed your men.”
“Your antelope?” Gryffud said.
“The two my cousin killed for the wagon train,” Tupic said firmly. “We wish to make them a gift to you, in friendship.”
Sergeant Todd gave a snort of laughter, but the lieutenant raised a hand to silence him.
“Thank you,” he said simply, nodding to Clever Crow.
“I will take the arrow out,” Tupic added defiantly. “So it doesn't get broken.”
he soldiers took the Indians’ bows and knives and tied the four ponies up with their own horses but did nothing else to restrain them. They were left alone, and even given portions of the pronghorn once it was cooked. The meat was charred black, tough and unsalted, far different from the tender steaks of the night before.
Lieutenant Gryffud gave Aiden one of his own shirts to wear, for his back was badly sunburned. The sleeves were six inches too short and the tail barely covered his waist, but Aiden was grateful for the protection as the sun climbed higher. The shirt was made of silk, and the strange fabric felt wonderfully cool against his tender skin.
“It's my battle shirt,” Gryffud explained. “Better to get shot through silk, you see—leaves a much cleaner wound.”
The shirt was clean, unpatched and deeply creased from being folded, so Aiden guessed Gryffud had not had much need for a battle shirt so far in his military career.
“When the wagon train comes, will your Mr. Jackson agree with your story?” Tupic asked when they were alone. “Will he say that we are guides?”
“I don't know,” Aiden replied. “Even if he does, there are plenty of others who won't. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I didn't trust you.”
“We have not told you the truth either,” Tupic said quietly. “Not all. You are partly right; we are not just traveling to trade and visit. This is a troubled time.”
“Why?”
“Have you heard of Sand Creek?”
“No.”
“It was in your newspapers.”
“I haven't seen a newspaper for a year or more.”
“In your state of Colorado, there was a great chief of the Cheyenne Nation called Black Kettle. One of your soldiers, a Major Wynkoop, talked many months with Black Kettle, to make a peace treaty. Everyone was tired of war. So Black Kettle agreed to a treaty. He brings his people to talk with your chiefs in a place called Sand Creek. Many Indians went, from the Cheyenne and Arapaho. They bring their families, their children and old people, and made their camp. They trusted Major Wynkoop, but over him was an evil man called Colonel Chivington, who did not want peace.
“One morning, Chivington and his men attacked Black Kettle's camp when all were sleeping. Some of the men ran out. They waved an American flag and a white flag of surrender. They did not have guns or any weapons. They think it was a mistake. They put their hands in the air, but the soldiers shot them dead. Then the soldiers killed everyone who could not run away. More than two hundred lives. Babies they stabbed with swords to save the bullets.”
Aiden felt a sick twist in his stomach. It couldn't be true. No soldiers would do such things. But then he thought about how ready Sergeant Todd had been for violence. Tupic reached into a saddlebag and took out a rolled-up piece of leather. He lifted the flaps on a sort of envelope, took out a page from a newspaper and handed it to Aiden. It was yellow and stained, but the photograph was still clear. It was the inside of a grand theater with a chandelier over the stage, on which smiling soldiers and men in suits stood proudly in a row. Colorado soldiers have again covered themselves with glory! read the caption under the photo. Colonel Chivington triumphs over the savages. Not one soldier perishes! To one side of the stage was a line of people dressed up in their Sunday best: men, women and children waiting to view an exhibit, a long string of what looked like small animal pelts.
“Those are Indian scalps,” Tupic explained in a flat voice. “Also, the parts of Indian men.” He looked away, embarrassed, and pointed to his own crotch. “Also their ears. Also the hair from the women, the hair from their woman place. Your soldiers cut them.” Tupic looked out over the calm river.
“All is different now,” he said. “Sand Creek changes the way the heart beats in a man. It changes the way stars move in the sky. Your Constitution, your books of law, your Bible, all are now waste to us.”
“I'm sorry,” Aiden said lamely. Tupic folded the clipping and put it away.
“After the massacre, there were months of revenge attacks,” he went on. “Indians burned white houses and knocked down the telegraph. Your army sent out many soldiers, like these.” He nodded at the regiment nearby. “But since winter, Cheyenne and Arapahos, Teton Sioux, Nimipu, many others, ride to councils with the other tribes.”
“That's why you're out here? For councils?”
“Yes. For many years Clever Crow talks peace with other tribes.”
“So what did your councils decide?”
“Most agree to stop the revenge, to take time and think. After that, I don't know.”
“What do you think will happen?” Aiden asked.
“Some say white men will kill all Indians and take our land and we will be gone from the earth, so we must be ready to return to the spirit world. Others say we should fight; that even if you kill all of us, from every drop of our blood will grow ten new warriors.” Tupic looked at the soldiers lounging in the grass.
“What do you say?”
“I say it is wrong to die today, on a beautiful day when peppermint candy is coming to me.” Tupic stared at the white clouds drifting across the clear blue sky. “That lieutenant does not believe your story.”
“I know.”
“Your head man Jackson knew our greetings,” Tupic said. “Do you think he knows more of Indian ways?”
“He's been out west a long time. He was a fur trapper,” Aiden said. “I'd say yes.”
“We will try to use sign, then.”
hortly before noon, a dust cloud across the river heralded the approach of the wagon train. Aiden climbed the bluff and saw Polly and Annie Hollingford and Therese Thompson and some other girls walking together as if they were on a holiday outing. In a way they were, with an easy march of only five miles along a riverbank on a nice summer morning. As the wagon train neared the crossing, people began to notice the soldiers. Aiden saw the girls giggling with excitement. He searched the column for Maddy, and soon saw her running ahead and looking for him. He whistled and waved and she waved back. Then Aiden saw Jackson halt the wagon train and ride out alone into the river. Aiden ran down the bluff.
“Come on,” he said, nodding to the Indians.
“Mr. Jackson, Reverend True, William Buck.” Tupic quietly reviewed all the names Aiden had taught him as they walked toward the river. Lieutenant Gryffud rode up beside them on his chestnut horse, and Aiden slowed down to let him pass. They couldn't very well do any secret signing with the officer right next to them. Gryffud reined his horse to a stop near the water's edge and waited for Jackson to come across. The other soldiers all watched from their camp on the bluff. As Aiden had hoped, midway across the river, Jackson looked at him and tipped his head slightly in query. Aiden nodded at Clever Crow, and the older Indian quickly made some signs. Aiden couldn't tell whether Jackson saw them or not, or understood them if he did.
“What did he say?” Aiden whispered to Tupic.
“That one moon is passed, one month, and that we feast together. It is a way to say we are friends,” Tupic explained. “Also the sign for ‘look’ or ‘seek the way’ Sorry—sign is a very simple way of talking.”
Simple or not, the message seemed to get through to Jackson, or he guessed the situation on his own. Cavalry and Indians could never be an easy combination. As Jackson approached the riverbank, Aiden waded out to meet him and took the horse's bridle.
“Tupic and old Clever Crow picked out a good place to cross, didn't they, sir!” Aiden said, stressing the Indians’ names. “But I guess that's what you've been paying them for all this time, right? And Silent Wolf saved you a chunk of meat from our dinner last night. He shot a pronghorn.”
Jackson paused, then frowned. “Well, I hope it ain't old and tough like the last one.”
Lieutenant Gryffud clicked at his horse and rode a few steps forward, until the two men were only a few yards apart.
“Good morning,” Jackson said cautiously, like one who never quite trusted authority of any kind, and soldiers especially.
“Good morning, sir,” Gryffud said in his most authoritative voice. “I am Lieutenant Gryffud, B Troop, Third Western Cavalry out of Fort Laramie.”
“Jefferson J. Jackson.” Jackson touched the brim of his hat.
“The boy tells me these Indians are in your employment.”
“That's right.”
“So you will vouch for them?”
“I will.”
“They've given you no trouble?”
“Not so far.”
Gryffud seemed to be looking for a little more information, but Jackson remained taciturn.
“Where's their horses?” Jackson asked.
“I secured them with our own,” Gryffud said. The day was warm, but he wore his uniform coat fully buttoned, so his pink face was turning bright crimson.
“Well, I'd appreciate it if you unsecured them now,” Jackson said firmly. “I need all my hands.”
The lieutenant looked for a moment like he might question things further, but then ordered two soldiers to retrieve the Indians’ horses.
“I'll ride back over and start things moving,” Jackson said by way of ending the conversation. He pulled one foot out of his stirrup and held out his hand to Aiden so he could mount. “Get on behind, boy. You're no use to me idling here.” Aiden climbed on the back and Jackson wheeled the horse around. “Don't dawdle,” he called to the Indians.
“Aiden, I thought you were drowned!” Maddy threw her arms around Aiden's neck as soon as he slid off Jackson's horse. Aiden, glad to see her but embarrassed, pried her off.
“You saw I was fine,” he said. “You know I can swim.” He took her hand and pulled her close. “Now I need you to do something for me quick. Help me tell as many as you can that these Indians are our guides and have been with us one month. Will you do that? Quick as you can? Otherwise, they may get killed, and they did save my life.”
“Killed? Why?”
“Don't ask me now; please just trust me.”
“Shouldn't I know their names, then?”
Will she always be one step smarter than me? Aiden thought. He told her the three Indians’ names, and Maddy darted off. Aiden saw Mr. Hollingford and some of the other men in a tense discussion with Jackson, but somehow Jackson convinced them all to go along with the ruse.
