Chapter One
The captain paced back and forth in front of his officers as a lieutenant attempted to explain why the Indians refused to walk. "It's all because of one squaw, Sir. She's about to give birth."
"We don't have time to wait. Winter is already upon us, and these poor souls will freeze to death before we get them to Indian Territory."
"They won't leave her, Sir. We've tried."
The captain turned his back to them, but they knew by the way he clasped his hands behind him what he was about to tell them. They had seen it time and time again. The lieutenant held his breath as the major slowly turned around and gave the order. "Execute her. Then they'll have no excuse."
"Sir, the talk is that one of our men is the father."
"I don't care. I doubt whoever couldn't keep his trousers up is going to claim the child with the possibility of court martial looming over his head."
"But Sir, it's a woman and a child."
Relaxing his posture, the major gave the lieutenant a defeated glance. "She is only one among thousands. If she can walk or be carried…otherwise, carry out your orders."
When the lieutenant and other officers saluted and left the tent, the captain sat heavily on his cot, hanging his head. Never in his life had he been given such a deplorable task. These people had little to cover themselves for the winter. Most were barefoot. Many were ill when they left the compound in Tennessee and were no better weeks later. The closer they huddled together, the more became ill. Burials occurred each day of the journey.
He was already doomed to Hell's fire. One more wouldn't make a difference.
Before the lieutenant went back to the lean-to the Indians had hastily built, he stopped by the rows of tents belonging to the enlisted men in their company. Walking around outside the tents, the lieutenant occasionally stopped to listen until he finally heard what he had hoped he eventually would.
"You shouldn'a messed with her. If they find out…"
"And just how do you think they're gonna find out? She's just a squaw. She ain't gonna tell 'em. Probably won't make it to Indian Territory anyway."
"All they have to see are the scars on your arm where she fought you. And it don't matter none that she's an Indian. It's still a court martial."
Hearing the confession, the lieutenant threw the tent flap open and ordered the two soldiers out into the cold night air. "If I had the time, I'd beat you near to death myself. Lucky for you, I don't. Now, which one of you is the father of the child?"
Neither man spoke.
"It doesn't matter. Each of you will be held equally responsible as criminal and accomplice. I heard the whole thing. I've been standing outside your tent for the last ten minutes. Now, if I have to order each of you to roll up your sleeves, I'll see to it that you both face court martial."
"It was Starr, Sir. He has the scars to prove it." Starr glared over at his tent mate, who grimaced. "He was gonna find out anyway. At least this way, it's a little less painful. I'm in as much trouble as you."
"Men, I don't want your heads," the lieutenant said quietly. "But I will be taking your extra blankets, your burlap, and part of your rations. The woman and her child will not suffer because the United States Army has reprehensible blackguards among its ranks."
"But Sir, if you take our burlap, our feet will freeze."
"Keep your socks darned, men, and you'll survive. The woman will not. She has no shoes." Turning to the sound of a distant shrill wail floating through the darkness, the lieutenant allowed himself a deep breath of relief. The child had arrived; a new life among the senseless death. With help, the woman could walk.
Ben Cartwright's wagon, carrying his eight-year-old son, Adam, and his two-year-old son, Eric, traveled slowly through an early snow, taking a southern route to hopefully avoid suspending their journey west any longer. He stopped the wagon when they came upon what looked like a migration, only this wasn't elk; this was a herd of humans.
The lieutenant rode up next to the Cartwright wagon. "Good morning, Sir. May I ask who you are?"
"I'm Ben Cartwright. We're heading west. I was wondering if we could follow you. There's safety in numbers, and I'm alone with my sons."
"I see no reason you can't, Mr. Cartwright. But I would stay away from the Indians. They tend to appropriate what they need from anyone they pass."
"I'll keep that in mind," Ben said, nodding.
"You can fall in line between my men and the Indians."
After several hours, the signal to stop was given and passed down the line of soldiers, who turned to face the Indians, raising their rifles over their heads. It was as if a wave moved onto shore, settling there instead of flowing back. Standing from the seat of the wagon, Ben looked over the throng behind him and slowly dropped his lower jaw. There must have been close to one thousand people gathering in as close as possible in an attempt to withstand the cold.
Adam crept out of the back of the wagon to the seat and leaned around the canvas top. "Pa, who are they?"
"They're Indians who have been removed from their lands, Son."
The lieutenant sat back on his horse waiting for the Cartwrights to turn back around. "Mr. Cartwright, we'll be camping here. I suggest you and your son stay away from the Indians. Many of them are diseased."
Ben nodded, but said nothing. He had heard of the removal of several tribes from their land in the South, but he had not known the conditions under which they traveled. He stepped down off the wagon, went to the back and began to remove what he would need to prepare his son's supper. As he built a fire, he watched the Indians do the same.
Some of the men carried wood for poles. These were set into the ground, and skins they had carried on their backs were draped over to provide shelter for the young and the weak.
Holding a bucket for water, Adam stood next to his father as he knelt down over the fire. "Pa?"
"Yes?"
"Why were they removed?"
Ben looked ahead into the darkness, the sadness on his face shadowed from Adam's view. Should he tell his young son of gold…of greed, or should he shelter him from the disgrace. "I'll tell you all about it once we get settled in. How's your brother?"
"He's sleeping."
"Climb into the wagon and bring out the kettle and the pot, and check on your brother once more before you come back."
Adam set the bucket down next to his father and turned. "Yes, sir."
Ben had a warm fire glowing in the darkness, and had gone to fetch a bucket of water. When he came back, he expected to find Adam warming himself by the fire, waiting, but he wasn't there. Setting the bucket down, Ben went to the back of the wagon and found Adam, standing with the kettle and pot in either hand, watching the Indians. "Pa, there's a woman with a baby over there."
Following Adam's eyes, Ben watched as several women helped a younger woman, who was carrying a bundle in her arms, underneath one of the shelters. "She's with her people. It's none of our concern, Adam. Now, come along. I want to get supper ready before your brother wakes."
Back at the campfire, the lieutenant had watched the young woman, too. "Mr. Cartwright, I was just checking to see if you had gotten settled."
"We're doing fine, Lieutenant." Ben nodded toward the young woman. "She doesn't seem well. Isn't there a doctor who can see to her?"
Bowing his head, the lieutenant answered. "No. I'm under orders not to help her at all."
Disbelief took over Ben's face. "But why?"
"Mr. Cartwright, more than half of these Indians are sick and dying. Yet I can offer them nothing. I'm afraid our orders prevent it."
"Orders!" Ben scoffed. "Do they at least have food and water?"
"They have whatever food and water they can gather."
"Lieutenant, do you know anything about that young woman?"
"She gave birth to her child last night, Mr. Cartwright. The fact that she did and was able to get to her feet this morning is the only reason she is alive. The weak who cannot travel are..." The lieutenant brought his hand to his mouth in disgust. "Unfortunately, I don't make the rules."
"Well, I'm not under orders, Lieutenant."
Smiling, the lieutenant quickly replied. "No, you are not, Sir. I have appropriated rations for the woman from the rank and file as well as blankets and burlap for her feet. May I bring them to you to give to her?"
"Why don't you give them to her yourself if you have them?"
The lieutenant looked at Ben sadly. "I would face court martial for doing so. It will do them no good if I am removed from my post. They have no other advocate here. If you will help, at least two among hundreds might be saved. In another day, she will be too weak to carry on, and the captain will order her execution."
"Execution!" echoed Ben incredulously.
The lieutenant stood up straight and looked ahead to recite his orders. "The journey will not be slowed or halted by the weak. Nor are they to be left to die in the elements."
It took some coaxing on Ben's part, but that night while Ben bundled Adam and Eric in their beds at the front of the wagon, two Indian women helped the young mother into the back, covering her and her child with the extra blankets and leaving the rations next to her. She traveled in the back of the wagon until they reached their new home known only as Indian Territory.