NOT MANY HOURS AFTER Flattery Jack Belcourt and Major Easterwood departed from Fort Carrothers, leaving everyone there in a state of alarm, Lean Bear and Red Bird Woman materialized like ghosts out of the stream behind the trading post. Lean Bear had led several Dog Soldiers and their families from Sand Creek to the Cheyennes’ former winter camp at the Ghost Timbers, traveling by night as Yellow Hawk had done, using streams for pathways and avoiding soft ground so as to leave as few tracks as possible.
Other groups of Big Star’s Cheyennes were following them, a day or two apart, no more than eight or ten families together, in hopes that most of them could elude the Bluecoat patrols, their plan being to rendezvous at the Ghost Timbers. From there they would go north together through the dry sandhills, moving as rapidly as they could until they reached the sanctuary of the Powder River country.
“Big Star has thought of this for a long time,” Lean Bear said. “By going north we are turning against the treaty that old Wannesahta signed for the Cheyennes at Horse Creek. This troubles Big Star’s heart. He does not wish to break his word even though the Veheos have broken their word on the treaty twenty times over. Big Star has seen in a vision that we will all die of starvation if we stay below Sand Creek. No rain has fallen there through the summer moons. Even the rabbits have fled. We must break our word to survive.”
Because they had traveled without travois, the Dog Soldiers and their families at the Ghost Timbers had no shelter and very little food. “We left our tipis standing,” Lean Bear said. “The others are leaving theirs. With dragging travois we could not escape the Bluecoats, and besides they will see our tipis across Sand Creek and think we are still there.”
The Dog Soldiers had dug holes for concealment among the willows at the Timbers, covering them with limbs and brush, but as they dared not go out to hunt by daylight they would soon begin to hunger. “You must be very careful,” Dane warned him. “The Bluecoats have built a new fort on the South Fork less than half a day’s ride from the Timbers.”
Lean Bear’s full-lipped mouth fixed in a hard line. “We did not know of this fort,” he said. “I would take the families on to the north, but Big Star will need the Dog Soldiers if the Bluecoats find him.”
With Griffa’s permission, Dane gave Lean Bear and Red Bird Woman a few bags of flour from the diminishing supply in the trading post. After these unexpected visitors rode away, Dane and Sweet Medicine Woman and Griffa sat with their sons in the unlighted trading room until almost dawn, weighing the dangers of remaining any longer at Fort Carrothers.
Griffa decided that she and Young Opothle and Meggi would stay until Jotham came for them. She and her children, and Pleasant, were no darker than the sun-tanned Bluecoats, and none was Cheyenne. “I am less afraid of your Colonel Belcourt than of the war in the Cherokee Nation,” she said. “Jotham does not want us there, with homes being burned and battles being fought everywhere. Bibbs and Wewoka will not go back. They are afraid of being made slaves again. So we will stay here.”
Dane also thought it best for his family to remain at Fort Carrothers until all of Big Star’s Cheyennes reached the Timbers. Then he and his family would join them in the flight to Powder River. By remaining at the trading post they could furnish some food to the helpless Cheyennes in hiding at the Timbers; they at least could risk hunting by daylight. But because of Belcourt’s threat to arrest any Cheyennes found there on his next patrol, they decided to start keeping a watch from the loft room. Through slits in the high walls they could see any movement on the Plains for several miles. If an approaching patrol was sighted, all the full-blood members of the family would conceal themselves in the root cellar.
Old Jim Carrothers had built his root cellar well, its entrance so secret and unhandy to use that Jotham and Griffa never bothered to store anything there. It had no trapdoor. To gain access, a heavy kitchen table had to be moved to one side, and two full-length floorboards, with false wooden pegs in them, lifted at the ends. At daybreak Dane inspected the cellar and found it dry and free of snakes, with more than enough space for his family to conceal themselves in comfort.
Sweet Medicine Woman proposed that Griffa and her children go north with the Cheyennes. “Never,” Griffa replied with a laugh. “In a village of tipis I would be as helpless as a fresh-hatched bird. No, we will stay here.”
And so they began their new daily routines, each member of the family taking turns as lookouts in the loft, Pleasant and Swift Eagle venturing for short distances to hunt what wild game they could find. A day or so later, Meggi excitedly called from the loft that a single Bluecoat was approaching from the east. The horseman was Major Easterwood. He stopped to rest in the trading room, was friendly but sparing of words, and was soon on his way to Denver.
During the next few days several more small parties of Cheyennes made their way safely into the Ghost Timbers, the news of their arrival being brought by Lean Bear, who made frequent night visits to obtain what meat or other rations those in the trading post could spare. Aside from the shortage of food, Lean Bear said, their greatest difficulty was concealment of horses, which were growing in numbers with the arrival of each group of fugitives from the south. He had seen Bluecoat patrols far out on the Plains and he feared they might come closer and discover the horses. If Big Star did not arrive soon, Lean Bear thought, it might be best to start with the women and children for the sandhills.
One afternoon Susa cried out from the loft that a Bluecoat was approaching on foot from the west. Dane walked out to the trail and soon recognized the limping man as Major Easterwood. Saddling a horse, he rode to meet him. The major barely had the strength to mount behind Dane’s saddle. His face was scratched and bruised, his uniform encrusted with drying mud.
“My two wagons of rifles that I was bringing to Fort Starke were ambushed by Indians,” he told Dane.
“What Indians, what tribe?” Dane asked.
“I know nothing of your tribes. Their faces and upper bodies were painted ferociously. Had they not slain my horse so that I was plunged into a ditch and knocked senseless I am certain they would have killed me as they killed at least one of my drivers. When I regained consciousness one of my wagons and its driver were missing. The other wagon was still there, but the driver and both draft animals were dead.”
Taking the two largest horses from the corral and a pony for Major Easterwood, they started back for the site of the ambush. On the way Dane wondered if one of Big Star’s small parties from Sand Creek had chanced upon the wagons and attacked them, but he quickly dismissed the thought. The Cheyennes would have been accompanied by their families, they would not have wanted to be seen, and they certainly would not have been painted for war. He had heard of Oglala Sioux being in the area, but none had come as far as Fort Carrothers.
“You had only the two drivers and no soldier escort?” he asked Major Easterwood.
“I requisitioned a squad,” Easterwood replied, “but the commander at Camp Weld assured me no escort would be needed.”
Dane was puzzled. “The army always guards shipments of arms with several mounted men,” he said.
“These people are not army,” Easterwood answered dryly. “They wear the uniform, that is all.”
They crossed a rotting bridge over a stagnant creek that turned and ran along the right side of the road. High grass and briers clogged each bank.
“The wagon’s gone!” Easterwood cried.
In the road ahead lay a man and two draft horses without harness. Lying with half its body in the road and half in the brush-bordered creek was Major Easterwood’s riding horse.
“They must have returned for the other wagon,” Dane said, dismounting to study the tracks and other sign. He thought it odd that marks of wagon wheels led off into the creek. He picked up an eagle feather from the dust; it was smeared with red paint. Two or three arrows were scattered here and there. The dead driver had not been scalped.
“Did they use arrows?” he asked Easterwood.
“I don’t recall seeing any, but they may have.” Easterwood pointed into a patch of thick briers that overhung the green-scummed stream. “That’s where I was thrown. Lucky my head was out of the water.”
“How were the Indians dressed?”
“It happened too quickly for me to see them well,” Easterwood replied apologetically. “The nearest one to me wore buckskin leggings, and he had long hair. Black and red paint all over his face and upper body. I think it was he who killed my horse. I fired only a single shot at another who came up out of the brush on foot. He was shooting at the draft horses of the lead wagon. I remember seeing a flash of brass buttons along the sides of his pants. He stumbled and fell back, and then my horse went down and I lost consciousness.”
Dane walked along the edge of the road, kneeled and looked at the cluster of small dark spots in the dust. “If he was about here,” he said, “you must have hit him.”
“Yes, it would have been along here.” They both pushed into the brush. Dane reached the waterline and saw what appeared to be a green plant floating in the scum. He grabbed at it, caught slippery hair in his hand and pulled a human head above the surface. He dragged the body out into the road. The dead man’s white skin bore faint markings of paint, not yet completely dissolved by the water. His sopping black velvet pants had brass buttons on the side.
Major Easterwood bent over to study the face. “I’ve seen this man at Fort Starke,” he said. “He was a junior officer, a white man!”
“Most likely the others also were white,” Dane said.
“Why would they attack their own wagons?”
Dane shook his head. “Maybe to sell the guns back to the army. Maybe to start an Indian scare. Is that not what you said Belcourt and his men want?”
“I can’t believe they would go this far.”
“They may already have reported an Indian attack. All they need is a rumor, and passing stagecoaches will spread it.”
“Perhaps I can put a stop to their deviltries,” Easterwood said. “Let’s clear the road.” Using their horses they pulled the dead animals into the creek. “Now, if you’ll consent to lend me this pony and one of your horses,” the major continued, “I’ll take the two dead men into Fort Starke and report an attack on the wagons by renegades dressed as Indians.”