Climb the Highest Mountain Read online

  She sipped some of her coffee, and he stirred his tea. “So, you are both from Tennessee?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I never knew Zeke then. And we no longer feel any attachment to Tennessee. Colorado is our home now, and the Cheyenne are our friends and family.” She pulled her braid around over her shoulder and fingered it nervously. “Zeke’s white father returned to Tennessee after Zeke was born, taking Zeke with him. He married a white woman and they had three sons, so Zeke had three white half brothers. One was killed in the Civil War. Then there is Lance, whom you have met. The other was also in the war but he’s probably back up north by now, at Fort Laramie or thereabouts. He was going to rejoin the Western Army. He had served in the Dakotas for a long time before the war broke out, then he fought on the Confederate side and was wounded. If Zeke hadn’t gone east to find him, he might be dead now.”

  Sir Tynes wondered about the rumor Hank Buckley had told him, that while Zeke was searching for his brother Abigail Monroe had been taken by outlaws and later rescued by her husband. It was said she’d been raped and tortured, for what reason no one knew. But those who knew about her abduction were all certain of one thing: whoever had manhandled Zeke Monroe’s wife must have suffered terribly. Sir Tynes didn’t doubt that. But he would not ask her about the affair. It was too personal. Still, he admired the woman’s obvious courage and stamina.

  “His name is Dan,” she was telling him. “He resembles Zeke in build, but he certainly doesn’t look like him in any other way,” she said with a smile. “Dan has very blond hair and very blue eyes, like his white mother. He’s a wonderful man with a lovely wife and daughter.”

  She sipped her coffee again.

  “And Zeke has full-blood Indian brothers?” Sir Tynes asked.

  She nodded. “One is dead now. Another, Black Elk, lives among Black Kettle’s band. I’m worried about him too. He is at Sand Creek. The other brother is Swift Arrow. He’s very warlike, lives in the north with the Sioux.”

  Tynes smiled softly. “What an interesting family you have, Mrs. Monroe. I feel very lucky to have you for neighbors, especially upon hearing how good your husband is with horses. I’ll be getting those thoroughbreds soon. If he won’t work for me, I do hope he will at least come to my aid if I have a problem with any of them.”

  She tossed the braid back behind her. “I am sure he would help if you needed it, Sir Tynes. He might appear savage and ruthless to you, but I know another side of him. He’s a very good man, a very loyal husband and father. It is only his enemies who know another side of him, so I would suggest you don’t do anything to make him your enemy.”

  There was a warning look in her eyes, and Margaret caught the inflection in her mother’s voice and smiled. She had nothing to worry about from the fancy Sir Tynes. Tynes himself studied Abbie’s dark eyes and felt a chill at the thought of Zeke Monroe having it in for him. Certainly if Monroe were aware the Englishman had an interest in his wife, that would be more than enough reason for the man to use the big blade on him. Still, that made the challenge presented here even more tempting. He finished his tea and rose.

  “I thank you for the tea and hospitality, Mrs. Monroe. Your cabin is charming, your children lovely. You are an admirable woman.” He bowed slightly. “By the way, I have a bolt of cloth I brought along, something I was going to use for curtains but I changed my mind. I don’t suppose you might have any use for it?”

  She raised her chin slightly. “Not if it is in the form of charity or bribery, Sir Tynes. I don’t need either one.”

  “On the contrary, it is neither. I simply—”

  “I don’t need your gifts, Sir Tynes,” she said quickly. She frowned. “If it is simply friendship you want, if you are lonely,” she added, “then we are here, and we can help you with any problems you have with your horses. But you must be honest with us, Sir Tynes. Zeke will know if you’re being honest, and you will know it if he thinks otherwise. I hate to keep sounding so rude, but it is men of wealth, like yourself, who have given us the most trouble and who pose the biggest threat to Indians. We find it difficult to trust such men.”

  The man smiled nervously. “Well, you do have a way of putting things openly, Mrs. Monroe. I assure you I am an honest man. I have no connections with the wealthy political machinery of Colorado. I am simply here because it is exciting and beautiful. Since my wife died fifteen years ago, I have done nothing but travel and try new things.” His eyes saddened. “Perhaps, I suppose, to help me forget.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry about your wife. And I am sorry that things have happened to us—to me—that come through rather bitterly at times. I would show you some horses, since that is why you came here, but I have no idea which ones Zeke would be willing to sell, so you’ll just have to come back after he is home. I can send Lance for you if you like.”

  Her full breasts looked soft beneath the tunic. How he wanted her! But such a woman was impossible to have. “Yes. I would like that. And thank you again for the tea.”

  He put on his hat and went to the door, and she followed him. When they went outside, Lance was approaching, dragging the deer. “Get a couple of knives, Abbie, and we’ll have this thing carved up in no time.”

  She smiled. “I’ll get them and put my coat on. It’s too bad Zeke isn’t here. He’d have that thing opened up and sliced into steaks in one quarter the time it would take both of us.”

  Lance laughed, and Sir Tynes felt a chill at the stories he had heard about Zeke Monroe and his knife. If he was going to be interested in any man’s wife, he had certainly picked the wrong one. He nodded a good-bye to Abbie and mounted his horse, turning and riding away while Lance threw a rope over a clothesline crossbar and pulled until the deer hung by its front hooves. He counted ten points on the sprawling antlers and grinned at the thought of Abbie showing Zeke the rack as proof of her catch.

  Abbie closed the door and went to get her buckskin jacket, glad for the diversions that Sir Tynes and the deer had brought to her day. They had helped her to forget her increasing worry over Zeke and Wolf’s Blood. She touched a jacket that hung on the wall hook next to hers; then she buried her face in the thick sheepskin lining, breathing in her husband’s scent.

  “Zeke,” she whispered. “Please be all right.”

  When Zeke rode into the camp along the Smoky Hill, his heart was torn by the weeping and wailing that could be heard throughout the village. Even some men were crying, a sight seldom seen among Indians. But the losses had been too great: wives, husbands, sons, daughters, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, nephews. The slaughter had been sudden, uncalled for, and had left the survivors in shock. Some now sat around campfires warming frostbitten toes and fingers.

  Zeke rode up to Blue Bear, an old man who had been a friend of his mother’s. The old man had tears on his face and rubbed at a shoulder that was caked with dried blood.

  “Zeke!” the old man said in a weak voice. “Our … village … the soldiers came—”

  “I know,” Zeke said quickly. “Have you seen Wolf’s Blood?”

  The man shook his head. “Some survivors … are still coming in. I saw … your son once … before the attack … saw him fighting some of them off to protect Morning Bird … saw them push a saber … through the girl. Then I got hit. I don’t know what happened then. We all… fled. Those of us who … got away … spent the night on the open plains … with hardly any clothing and the wind biting into our skin. Many more … died.” The old man coughed.

  “Wolf’s Blood!” Zeke repeated. “I didn’t find him at the scene of the massacre, Blue Bear. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?”

  “I… don’t know. You’ll have to … search the village. I was in much pain. I didn’t pay much attention. Some of the others … who managed to get right away on horses … they came here and gave the alarm. Our Cheyenne and Arapaho friends here … rode back to look for survivors … brought clothing, food, and extra horses. If they had not come, we would all have died … out th
ere in that awful wind. Some may still die … others will lose their feet and hands to the cold. Perhaps your son … is among the survivors. I do not know. You will… have to search.”

  Zeke patted the man’s shoulder. “Can I do anything for you, Blue Bear?”

  The old man touched his hand. “Not now. I have what I need. Go and look … for your son.”

  Zeke sighed and rose. It seemed everyplace he walked there was weeping and groaning. Some sat with gashed chests and arms, letting blood in mourning for lost loved ones. He knew most of them, had once ridden with some of them on buffalo hunts and even on raids against their enemy the Pawnee, Crow, and Utes. But that time seemed long ago.

  He searched throughout the camp until he found one old woman who nodded and pointed when he asked about his son. Zeke’s heart pounded when she pointed to two bodies lying near a fire and wrapped in blankets. He forced his legs to move, afraid of what he would find. When he came closer, he knew it was his son.

  “Wolf’s Blood!” he groaned, kneeling down to touch the young man’s shoulder. The boy lay with his arm around a girl, whose back was to him. The boy turned his head slightly at the sound of his name and opened bloodshot eyes to look up at Zeke.

  “Father!” he whispered. “How … did you find me!”

  “I heard about Chivington and those bastard volunteers out hunting for Indians. I was worried about you.”

  “Father, they attacked us. It was … terrible.”

  “I know. I’ve been to Sand Creek. Are you hurt, son?”

  The boy’s forehead and hair were soaked with perspiration in spite of the cold. “Morning Bird. She is hurt. Help her first, Father. I tried to stop them … from hurting her … but there were so many!”

  “Be still, son.” He reached over to touch Morning Bird’s forehead, then felt the chill of sorrow sweep through him. He knew immediately she was already dead, probably had been for quite some time. Perhaps Wolf’s Blood knew also but didn’t want to face it. Zeke sighed and gently pulled the boy’s arm from around her body. “She’s dead, Wolf’s Blood.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he put the arm back. “No. She is not dead! She is not dead!”

  “Yes, she is. Calm down, Wolf’s Blood. Let me tend to your wounds.”

  “No! I love her. I am going to marry Morning Bird!”

  Zeke’s eyes teared. “I’m sorry, son. The girl is dead. I’ll bury her for you just as soon as I tend to you.”

  A shuddering sob exited his son’s lips and ripped at Zeke’s heart. “Why?” he groaned. “Why did they … do that? They rode right down on her … for no reason! They pushed a big sword right through her—and laughed!” The boy rolled back to his side and put his arm around the girl again. “Why did they do that?”

  Zeke rubbed at his eyes. “Who can explain it, son? Please let me help you.”

  The boy’s shoulders shook in great sobs, and Zeke gently pulled him away. He helped the boy to his feet, unable to carry him because at seventeen Wolf’s Blood was just as big as his father, only slightly more slender. He was a handsome, powerfully built young man, and just as Abbie had said, Zeke wondered himself if this son of his had ever been a child.

  He led the boy to a tipi, sitting him down beside it and lifting the entrance flap to look inside. Two wounded women lay there, along with four wounded children, all tended by an old woman and a middle-aged warrior. Zeke asked in the Cheyenne tongue if he might come inside and share the warmth of the tipi so he could nurse his wounded son. Sad eyes greeted him in reply as the pair nodded their approval, and Zeke half dragged and half carried Wolf’s Blood inside, laying him down on a buffalo robe offered by one of the others.

  Zeke’s chest tightened when he saw the blood stains on the front of Wolf’s Blood’s sheepskin jacket. The boy had apparently been sleeping at the time of the raid, for beneath the jacket that had been loaned to him by the rescuing Cheyenne, he wore only leggings. His chest was bare of clothing, and blood was clotted thickly on his belly. It would be difficult to find and treat the wound, since it was already a couple of days old.

  “Wolf’s Blood, was this caused by a gunshot or saber? And is this your only wound?”

  “Bayonet,” the boy moaned. Then he began crying again. “Morning Bird! She was so … innocent!” He gritted his teeth in anger and pain. “I will kill them! I will kill them all! I will go north and make war with my uncle, Swift Arrow! There shall be … no peace for the … soldiers … or the white settlers!”

  Zeke did not advise him otherwise. How could he do so at this moment, when the boy was so full of sorrow? If he were in the boy’s place, he would be saying the same things.

  “I’ll have to clean out this wound somehow, Wolf’s Blood. It will be painful.”

  “I… don’t care! I want to feel pain!” The boy wept. “They … killed her! They killed … so many! So many! We were all sleeping … doing nothing wrong!”

  “I know, Wolf’s Blood. This will leave a stain on the hands of Colorado politicians and peacekeepers for a long time to come, perhaps forever.”

  “And it will bring more war!” Wolf’s Blood growled. “They will see! They will… regret that they … deceived us! They told Black Kettle … to wait there and remain peaceful. Then they came … and slaughtered us!”

  “What about Black Kettle? Is he still alive?”

  “He is … somewhere in the camp. He is alive … but his wife is badly wounded. She fell… while she was running. Black Kettle … thought she was dead … so he kept running. Then soldiers came … and while she was lying helpless … they put many bullets into her and rode on. Black Kettle … went back … found her still alive … brought her with him … carried her on his back.”

  Zeke fought his own rage. It would do no good at this moment. He had to help his son. “Try to relax, Wolf’s Blood. I know it’s hard. And I’m damned sorry about Morning Bird. You’re young, Wolf’s Blood. You will find another.”

  “Never! I want no other! How did you feel… after those white men killed your first woman … back in that place called Tennessee!” the boy sobbed. “You wanted … to kill! You did kill… all of them! It is the same … for me!”

  Zeke closed his eyes and nodded. He would never forget the horror, nor his own need for revenge. “I know, son,” he said sadly. He started to rise to get his parfleche which contained the items necessary to treat the wound, but Wolf’s Blood grasped his wrist.

  “Father, the one who stabbed me … as I fought those who rode down on Morning Bird … I recognized him.”

  Zeke frowned. “Who?”

  “I looked deep into his eyes … as he pushed the bayonet at me. He could not push it deep enough … to kill me. I shoved my lance deep into his thigh. He was not… at a good angle. I was on foot. He was on horseback … but I managed … to get my lance into him. He is … badly wounded … I am sure. If he lives … he will be crippled.”

  “Who was it, Wolf’s Blood? You said you recognized him. Someone from the fort?”

  “It was that same boy … the one I fought back in Denver a long time ago … the one whose father we killed for hurting my mother.”

  “Garvey’s son? Charles Garvey?”

  “Ai. The same one. He must… hate Indians as his father hated them. He rides … with Chivington. And I could see him killing them … great joy on his wicked face.”

  Zeke’s own eyes glowered with hatred. How well he knew Charles Garvey! The day Zeke had gone to the Garvey mansion years ago to rescue his own sister-in-law from Winston Garvey’s clutches, the younger Garvey had kicked at him and cursed him, spouting all kinds of obscenities against Indians even at a very young age. Now the boy had grown up to ride with the Colorado Volunteers. The father was dead, at Zeke’s own hands. But what of the son? He was as bad as the father. Zeke wondered what Charles Garvey would think if he knew he had a half brother with Cheyenne blood in him, if he knew that his own father had slept with an Indian woman who had borne him a son, a crippled boy who now lived wi
th their missionary friends in the north. Zeke would love to see the look on Charles Garvey’s face if he knew, but he didn’t dare let him find out, for Charles Garvey would try to find his half brother and have him murdered. Abbie had suffered greatly to keep that information from Winston Garvey, and now that he was dead, the secret must die with him. Zeke looked down at Wolf’s Blood.

  “You say you wounded him badly?”

  The boy grinned wickedly. “I buried my lance deep into his thigh. I heard the bone snap. It was a good sound!”