CHAPTER

13

I was unconscious when the Indians arrived the next morning. Raised angry voices broke through the dark curtain covering my mind. My eyes fluttered open to see Kindle and Aénhé’ke arguing with four Indians dressed as white men.

Aénhé’ke was between the four Indians and Kindle, her arms out as if to separate them, speaking as animatedly and quickly as the men. Kindle raised his hand to show them he wasn’t armed and glanced over his shoulder at me. He saw I was awake and came over.

“Laura. How do you feel?”

I sat up and swayed. He put his arm around my shoulders to steady me. “Dizzy. Queasy. Hungover.”

“And how do you know what a hangover feels like, Slim?” How he could tease me when four angry Indians were ten feet away, I didn’t know.

“I’ll tell you later. Who are they?”

“Their friends.” He pointed to the dead Arapaho on the ground.

“I suppose if they wanted us dead, we would be already.”

“Let’s hope you’re right. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Go.”

I swung my legs off the back of the wagon, steadied myself against the side, and watched. Aénhé’ke apparently told an enthralling story. The men were quiet and looking back and forth between her and me. The Indian at the front of the group stared at me with a steady, inscrutable expression. He was tall and handsome and held himself regally. He reminded me of Quanah, the Comanche chief who sold me to Cotter Black for guns. Whereas Quanah was fierce, this man seemed calculating. He held up his hand and Aénhé’ke stopped talking. He turned his attention to Kindle.

“I am Bob Johnson.”

Luckily, nausea kept me from laughing. “You’re joking.”

Kindle shot me a warning glance.

“Aénhé’ke tells us your woman saved her,” Bob Johnson said.

“Yes.”

“She also says she killed two of our brothers last night.”

Kindle’s head moved slightly in my direction. I had been too dizzy to give a description of what happened the night before. “If she did, it was in self-defense. Your brothers killed the whisky traders whose wagon this was and stole the whisky. The men we were with were out for blood.”

“And you assisted.”

“We did what needed to be done to escape the men. We were their prisoners.”

Bob Johnson glanced around the site, his eyes settling on the ten horses and two oxen picketed beneath a cottonwood.

“We will give you five of the horses and the whisky,” Kindle said.

Bob Johnson turned his gaze back to Kindle. “We want the white men’s guns.”

“You can take the Indians’ weapons. We keep the white men’s. You can comb through the dead’s possessions and take what you want.”

They wouldn’t find much. The night before while I watched woozily, Kindle and Aénhé’ke had gone through everyone’s pockets and saddlebags and taken the money and what valuables would help us on our journey. Bob Johnson’s companions moved toward the dead bodies. Apparently, they all understood English.

“We want the wagon.”

“We need the wagon to travel to Independence. My wife is not well, as you can see.”

I didn’t need to try too hard to look sick.

“The Indian woman goes with us,” Bob Johnson said.

“No.” I stood on wobbly legs. Aénhé’ke came to me and held me up. “She has been sold and traded enough. We are taking her to Darlington Agency so we can find her tribe and reunite her with her people.”

Bob Johnson spoke to Aénhé’ke. The Indian woman paused before answering firmly.

“She isn’t part of the deal,” Kindle said. “We do not trade humans like horses or cattle.”

Bob Johnson leveled his gaze at Kindle. “Your woman bought her.”

“To save her, not to abuse her.”

“We will take her to her people.”

“You’re welcome to ride to Darlington with us, to make sure we keep our word.” Kindle rested his hand on the gun at his hip. “We will not hand her over unless it is what she wants.”

Though Bob Johnson’s eyes didn’t move, I could tell he noted Kindle’s movement to his gun. He spoke to Aénhé’ke at length, and she replied in kind with hand signals so quick, I wouldn’t have been able to understand her even if I knew more than friend and thank you.

“We will travel with you,” Bob Johnson said. “Five horses, the whisky, and the guns.”

“Your brothers’ weapons, five horses, the whisky and found.”

“You have already picked over the bodies, there will be little found to be had. I want the Mexican’s bandolier.”

“Without the bullets. They will do your guns no good.”

One side of Bob Johnson’s mouth curled into a smile. He stuck out his hand and Kindle took it. “Now, let’s talk horses.”

Kindle and Bob Johnson walked to the string of horses and divided them up. The Indian wanted Kindle’s gray, but he refused to part with it. When they finished, the Indian spoke extensively. Kindle stared at the ground in contemplation and glanced in our direction. He nodded and walked away.

Kindle came to us and took me from Aénhé’ke. He motioned Thank you to the woman and helped me walk to the front of the wagon.

“Should we have given them so much?” The night before, we’d talked about how trading or selling the horses and guns would allow us to hold off selling Mother’s necklace a while longer.

“Trading with them bought goodwill. You never know when we will need it.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Aénhé’ke is Cherokee. She was a child when she was taken by the Cheyenne. She was adopted and raised Cheyenne, married a warrior.”

“How did she get traded for whisky by a band of Kiowa?”

“Her husband lost her in a game of dice with the Kiowa.”

My jaw dropped. “My God. That’s reprehensible.”

Kindle’s expression turned stern. “Indians aren’t the only men who gamble with flesh. I’ve seen white men do the same with children, slaves, and yes, wives. The Cheyenne are one of the few plains tribes that don’t treat their women like chattel. My guess is the warrior has been shunned for his bad judgment.”

“I should hope so.” Aénhé’ke’s attention alternated between us and Bob Johnson and his companions, as if trying to decide where her loyalty lay. “How far is Darlington?”

“Less than a day’s ride, I expect.”

“Will the Army be there?”

“They bring the allotment.”

“Then it’s not safe for us. Should we let Bob Johnson take her and ride on for Independence?”

Kindle’s gaze moved to my forehead. “Yes, but you’re not fit to travel.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Your eyes are glassy and you’re swaying on your feet.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You need a bed, and good food. We go to Darlington, for a day at least. It will be crawling with Cheyenne and Arapaho and Army men. Let’s hope none of them recognize me.”

Midday we rolled out of the cottonwood grove and north toward the Darlington Agency. Along with the extra saddles and gear we hoped to sell to the livery, the bodies of the four members of the Bell gang were in the back of the wagon, covered with a buffalo robe. Kindle said there was an even chance there was a bounty on their heads and we could use all the money we could get.

I drove the wagon and Aénhé’ke sat shoulder to shoulder with me, effectively holding me up. The midday sun beat down on us from a cloudless sky. Grasshoppers swarmed and chirped with each step the livestock took across the parched landscape. Any evidence of the storm the day before had evaporated, leaving only the dusty scent of sun-baked grass. Occasionally, we would roll across wild sage and the aroma of anise and lemongrass would tease me, relax me briefly, before dissipating into the enormous sky.

My vision swam and tiny pinpricks of light flashed in my peripheral vision. I wanted to lie down and sleep forever, but could not. Kindle rode next to us and watched me. When I tipped forward Aénhé’ke caught me, took the reins from my hands, and with one hand around my shoulder, drove the two oxen with the other.

“Stop,” Kindle ordered. Aénhé’ke understood that word in English, at least. He edged his horse next to the wagon and motioned to Aénhé’ke. She pushed me to my feet and helped me climb on in front of Kindle. He wrapped one arm firmly around me, said, “Lay your head back.” I did as I was told, and turned my face into his neck. The brim of his hat shielded me from the sun. He smelled of sweat, leather, and horses. I smiled and closed my eyes.

I don’t remember the rest of the trip.