I do NOT own The Big Valley or any of the original Barkley characters. (When it comes to Wyoming scenery, I'm going off what my husband says. He's a former trucker.)

Last Train to Freedom

Chapter Seven

Deborah did her best not to stare as she and Jarrod, along with the others, entered the Cheyenne village. It sat on a flat plain surrounded by a few rolling hills. The small wooded area they'd passed through had long since disappeared. She'd never seen a teepee or so many Indians in one spot before; even her brother had a look of surprise on his face. The children, who had been playing, stood still next to their mothers. Some of the women had babies wrapped and secured on a board they carried on their backs and Cheyenne braves stood keeping a close eye on the approaching men. The buckskin dresses and buckskin shirts and pants couldn't but help catch her eye. Without thinking, Deborah slipped her hand into Jarrod's and walked close by his side. Jarrod only smiled; having dealt with the Modocs he had no problem being around a Cheyenne. Still, he understood her reaction.

Every head in the camp was turned and watched the small group entering their village. Gasps could be heard as they saw who was on the gurney. For the first time, Jarrod and the others wondered just who had they helped? "Just remember they don't bite, unless you bite first," Jarrod turned his head and smiled at her. The brave on the gurney smiled and his eyes laughed; the man had heard what Jarrod said. Deborah was embarrassed and quickly removed her hand. She hadn't meant to send the message she was necessarily afraid of the Cheyenne themselves; she was just nervous, as it was all so new to her.

The brave who was hurt looked up at Jarrod, "Stop horse by farthest teepee on north side." Jarrod did as the man asked. Once they were in front of the teepee an older man who held himself erect and had an air of importance about him stepped outside. Jarrod and the others assumed it was the chief. They were right. The injured brave began talking. While they didn't know what he was saying, they could see the surprise on the chief's face and that of those listening. When the brave was finished talking the chief pointed to two teepees and began talking. Once he was done their guide turned and looked at Jarrod.

"She," the brave pointed to Deborah, "your woman? These" he pointed to the two children, "your children?" He looked at Jarrod. Almost instinctively, Jarrod slid his arm around Deborah's waist, "Yes, she is. The children are not ours, but we are taking care of them." For the first time since she'd waked up to find Jarrod in her sleeping compartment, Deborah found herself very grateful he had taken a wrong turn.

"You, your woman, children stay in teepee on left. Is my teepee, but you stay there. My woman dead. I stay with my mother and father. Your friends," he looked at Roy and Benjamin, "may stay there." He pointed to a nearby teepee, "We find woman to cook for them. You," he pointed to the entire group, "live here until trouble with Sioux over then go back your own homes. That is, if all four chiefs agree. For now, go rest." The chief was his father! Shock waves ran through Jarrod and the others; no wonder there had been so many gasps as the Cheyenne village saw who they were bringing in!

"Thank you." Jarrod smiled politely and nodded towards the chief. The brave relayed what Jarrod had said to the chief who in turn answered back.

"My father thanks you. He grateful you help me. He says you good white man." The brave stopped talking as other Cheyenne braves helped him into his father's teepee. Jarrod and the others turned away and walked towards the teepees they'd been instructed to use.

"How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" Roy asked. His father was right; Roy had not wanted to leave the city. He didn't care for the idea of sleeping on the hard ground.

"Guess that depends on the Sioux," Jarrod sighed, "All I know for sure is that we have a chance for survival here. The Sioux would kill us all before we even saw them; at least, I don't think they'd be beating around the bush."

Benjamin might have said something, but a Cheyenne woman had caught his eye; she looked to be in her thirties, her hair was unrestrained and hung to her waist. She was smiling at him; he smiled back at her. "I wouldn't mind tasting her cooking," he said as he entered the teepee, unaware the chief's other son was standing nearby and heard what he said.

Before entering the teepee they'd been assigned Jarrod and Deborah stood and watched the Cheyenne children rolling what looked to be hoops with some type of rope or string wove in such a way to leave small holes through the circle. The children were throwing wooden spears, the object being to get the spear to go through the holes as the hoop rolled on the ground. "That looks like fun."

"May I go play with them?" Paul, the boy they'd taken under their wing, looked up. Before they could answer a brave walked up to them. While they could not understand what he was saying they understood what he meant as he pointed to Paul and then to the children playing.

"If they're helping protect us from the Sioux," Jarrod looked at Deborah, "I see no reason to argue."

"Just be careful." She smiled at Paul; the lad didn't hesitate, he ran towards the game. Deborah watched amazed as the children, while they did not speak English, were able to convey, through demonstration, how to play the game. It didn't take Paul long to catch on.

Jarrod, Deborah, and the young girl they cared for, her name was Abigail, stepped into 'their teepee'. Once inside, Jarrod let go of Deborah. She then insisted Abigail lay down and rest. After the young child was down Deborah turned to look at Jarrod, "Thank you," her gratitude and appreciation shown in her dark blue eyes.

Jarrod smiled, "No problem," he said the words, but his eyes betrayed him; something was troubling him. "What is it?" Deborah asked, "What's wrong?"

Ever since Mr. Hansen had died from his injuries Jarrod had been thinking; Jarrod had been thinking even harder since they'd found the Cheyenne brave and had to flee away from the scene of the accident in order to avoid being attacked by the Sioux. He sat down on the buffalo rug that sat on the south end of the teepee. Deborah joined him. When Jarrod did not speak Deborah grew even more concerned. "Jarrod, what is it?" she did her best to press him to talk without making him feel like she was being impatient.

"…do right by her." Those words, and the way some of the men, both around the train and in the Cheyenne village had looked at Deborah, ran through his mind. He looked again upon the brown haired woman before him. If she was 24 his family would raise an eyebrow, but if she was below twenty he was sure both eyebrows would be raised and maybe even a jaw or two lying on the floor. Still, he'd seen her fortitude in the face of disaster and her compassion on those who had been injured in the accident; too bad they had let their own fears stop them from coming with the small group, if they had maybe the news that had reached the camp via another Cheyenne brave would have never need been delivered. "Just how dead set against being my wife are you?" because he didn't want her to get any wrong ideas, he quickly added, "I promise I would not insist on consummating the marriage until you say so." If he had to find himself with a wife he had not intentionally chosen, he could be grateful it had been Deborah who had been in his arms when he awoke that fateful morning.

Deborah felt a few shock waves go through her though she was not totally surprised, not with everything that had happened, the situation they now found themselves in, his promise to her father and she could see in his eyes, he was genuinely concerned about her. Still, every man had his needs and how fair was it to make your own husband wait as he was offering to do? "I need time to think," she finally answered, tears began rolling down her face faster than water running downriver, the events finally catching up with her, even her shoulders shook.

Jarrod hurried and wrapped his arms around her and held her close; he more than understood. Only after her tears had turned into a trickle, which felt like a good fifteen minutes, did Jarrod speak, "That's fine. I have a feeling we're going to be here awhile and you're still in a state of grief. I'm sorry the timing for asking you the question is not better." That part, the timing of the question, was something he really did regret.

Deborah pulled away and gave him a sad smile, "You are very much a gentleman, Jarrod Barkley. I know you are sincerely concerned about me, your promise to my father and our situation. I will think on it."

Jarrod lay down hoping he could indeed do right by her. Soon he was fast asleep.

Deborah was tired, but couldn't sleep as she gazed more intently on the man she'd grown to admire in the short time she'd known him. He was definitely an honorable man and had a heart of gold. "Why did that train have to go have that blasted wreck?" She thought as she lay down beside Jarrod and continued to ponder everything that had happened, and the decision she now had to make.

Author's note:

In the past, the Cheyenne's were led by a council of 44 chiefs, four from each band. The Cheyenne people really valued harmony, so every council member had to agree on a decision before action could be taken (this is called consensus.) Today, Cheyenne council members are popularly elected... but they still work by consensus.

A Cheyenne mother traditionally carried a young child in a cradleboard on her back-a custom which many American parents have adopted now.