Chapter 3

That night was the tensest of the entire trip. Word had spread that Bronco and Tom had been scouting for Benteen, so all of the adults were anxious to get as far as they could before sunrise. Cheyenne made sure everyone took adequate time to rest and eat while the horses rested, but no one felt safe stopping after only twenty miles, so they pushed on and reached the foothills of the Bear Lodge Mountains around sunrise.

Cheyenne and Small Bear had just hidden the wagons out of sight of the main trail and posted lookouts when a male voice hailed them in the language of the People. Small Bear answered, and a lone rider came into camp from the northeast.

"I come from Little Wolf," he announced as he rode up to Cheyenne. "My name is Blue Horse. Who are you, and what are you doing in these hills?"

"I am Grey Fox, son of White Cloud," Cheyenne answered. "My father bade me bring our people to Little Wolf. I must return to the white men soon and cannot stay with the band, but we know Little Wolf to be a strong chief whose word is good and who looks after widows and orphans."

Blue Horse gave Cheyenne an appraising once-over. "Where has your band come from?"

"The Bighorn Mountains, seven days' walk west of here. For many summers, my people hunted there."

Blue Horse looked like he was about to say something skeptical, but Small Bear piped up, "It is as Grey Fox says. I am Small Bear, and I have known Grey Fox all my life. He is a blood brother of the People, a true son of White Cloud, and his word is good."

Blue Horse's eyes narrowed. "And where is White Cloud?"

"He died of a broken heart. Grey Fox had come back to him, but the white man had killed all his other sons and driven off the game."

"I see." Blue Horse nodded slowly.

"We haven't yet laid the cooking fires," said Cheyenne, "but you're welcome to stay and eat with us before you return to Little Wolf. Tell him also there's a cavalry patrol a day's ride behind us."

That startled Blue Horse out of whatever he was thinking. "Cavalry patrol? Coming here?"

"We don't know. We rode through the night to get here, and we've been brushing over our trail. I don't think they'll follow us, but I can't be sure."

"And their scouts?"

"White men, known to me. They met us on the trail yesterday. They warned me about the patrol, and I'm certain they won't betray us. But they didn't say where they were headed."

"Of course not," Blue Horse muttered, looking away and clearly thinking hard. Then he looked at Cheyenne again. "I will signal Little Wolf and then return and eat with you."

Cheyenne nodded. "That's fair. We'll wait for you."

"I'll be back soon," Blue Horse promised and rode away.

Cheyenne turned to Small Bear. "Watch his signals. Tell me if there's anything out of the ordinary."

"Right." Small Bear clapped Cheyenne on the arm and went to climb a tree while Cheyenne got on with helping set up camp.

An hour later, storm clouds were building to the west when Cheyenne finally set his coffee pot on the fire in his own tepee and Small Bear rejoined him. "Looks like Thunderbird's on our side, anyway," Cheyenne observed.

Small Bear chuckled. "Well, so is Little Wolf. I'll let Blue Horse give you the details."

"He'd better hurry. We've only got another hour or two before that storm gets here."

There were hoofbeats outside just then, and Small Bear ducked back out to usher Blue Horse in. Blue Horse didn't seem to know what to make of the bacon and beans Cheyenne was fixing, but he happily accepted a serving of corn mush with dried chokecherries on top. Small Bear did most of the talking during the meal, informing Blue Horse of the band's numbers, history, and deeds in war and peace.

For his own part, Cheyenne waited until the meal was over to ask, "So what was Little Wolf's answer?"

"White Cloud's people are our cousins," Blue Horse answered. "Little Wolf is pleased to welcome them. Our stores are not as plentiful as in some years, but we have enough to share. But he does worry about this patrol you spoke of. The storm will hinder them, but will it be enough to give all of us time to move on from this place?"

Cheyenne had a feeling there was more to it than that, but whatever Little Wolf had actually said, Blue Horse and Small Bear were determined to be diplomatic about it. Or maybe Small Bear was determined not to let Blue Horse make an issue of Cheyenne's being white. Either way, Cheyenne decided as he stared into his coffee cup, the next move in this little chess game was his, and there was really only one way to resolve the whole thing honorably and peacefully.

"All right," he said, meeting Blue Horse's eyes again. "You know the way to Little Wolf's camp and I don't. You guide my people to Little Wolf. Leave me and the wagons here."

Small Bear's eyes widened in alarm. "Grey Fox!"

"Remember, I know those men," Cheyenne continued, looking at Small Bear. "Sweet Foot and Bucking Horse are my friends, and they're volunteers—if Benteen orders them to harm me, they'll leave his company at once. I'd stack the three of us up against the rest of the patrol any day of the week. I doubt it'll come to that unless Reno's with them, but I'm ready if it does. At the very least, I can buy you more time. Besides, I'd be telling the truth if I said I don't know where you've gone. The Crow scouts know Little Wolf's in these mountains, but their information's nearly a moon old. And since we're nowhere near Custer's gold camp in the Black Hills, there's not much chance of Benteen seeing you as an active threat."

"But we don't know that the patrol is coming this way, and you haven't even spoken to Little Wolf yourself, and…."

Cheyenne put a hand on Small Bear's shoulder. "Just leave me enough food for five days, my brother. I'll be fine."

Small Bear was blinking back tears. "Five days?"

"I'll camp here tonight, then leave the wagons and ride south. That's the way I want to head anyway, and there's a chance it'll lead the patrol away from you. It should take just about five days to reach Fort Laramie, and there's a trading post there." The trail south would take Cheyenne through the J Rolling M Ranch before that, but after his dealings with Abbot, he wasn't anxious to deal with another land-hungry rancher so soon.

"But if you leave the wagons, what will you trade?"

Cheyenne hadn't figured that out yet, but there was no way his horse could pull even one wagon alone. "I'll think of something." If all else failed, he could enlist as a scout for another six months; at least at Fort Laramie, he wouldn't be likely to have to serve under Custer again.

"Grey Fox…." Small Bear swallowed hard and switched to English. "Cheyenne. Do not do this."

"I don't see as I've got much choice," Cheyenne admitted in the same language. "It's hard to say goodbye like this, I know that. I'll miss you, too. But it's better this way. I'll be all right."

Small Bear looked crushed, but he nodded. "Very well."

"Thanks." Cheyenne squeezed Small Bear's shoulder and let go of him.

"Cheyenne?" Blue Horse echoed, confused.

Cheyenne turned back to him and switched languages. "That's what the white men call me: Cheyenne Bodie."

Blue Horse raised his chin as recognition flared in his eyes. "I know that name. They say your word is good, that you argue our cause before the white men."

"Not always with much success," Cheyenne admitted, thinking of his recent failure to convince Custer not to violate the Fort Laramie Treaty. "I try, though."

Blue Horse nodded. "It is good. I will lead your people."

Cheyenne heard a splatter of raindrops hitting the side of the tepee and grimaced. "You'll have to wait until the rain stops, I'm afraid—but that's just as well. My people are exhausted after having come so far in one night."

"Yes, I could tell. I told Little Wolf as much; he understands. I don't think we should wait for full dark, though. If we can leave when the sun is still a quarter above the horizon, it would be better."

Cheyenne shook his head. "You'll have to take that up with the others. I can't guarantee they'll be awake by then."

Small Bear had pulled himself together by this point and said, "I'll introduce Blue Horse to the elders. They'll have a better sense of what time we can leave."

Cheyenne nodded his approval, and Small Bear and Blue Horse left. Once they were gone, however, a bone-deep weariness came over Cheyenne that even coffee couldn't dispel. He used what was left in the coffee pot to put out the fire, wrapped himself in his blanket, and fell asleep with his head on his saddle to the drumming of the rain on the hides covering the tepee.

When Small Bear finally woke him, the rain had stopped; the tepee was gone; the sun was beginning to appear below the western edge of the clouds; and the band was packed and ready to leave.

Cheyenne frowned blearily at Small Bear. "Why didn't you—"

"You are near the end of your own strength, Grey Fox, whether you know it or not," Small Bear replied. "We know how little you've slept on this journey, how many days you've watched with the warriors to ensure our safety, but even the greatest chiefs must rest. We thought it only right to let you sleep until it was time for us to go."

Part of Cheyenne's mind rebelled against that logic, but what was done was done, and everyone seemed to be waiting for him to say something. So he got up, took a deep breath, pushed his hair out of his face, and turned to the others.

"My people," he said, "this is where we must part once more. I have brought you as far as I can. I do not know if we will meet again, but know that I will hold each of you in my heart as long as I live."

In response, the entire band burst into a song of parting, and there were quite a few tears shed on all sides. Then everyone bade Cheyenne farewell individually, after which Small Bear helped him move his bedroll into one of the wagons, where they'd already placed the rest of his gear. The two men exchanged some final private words of thanks, and Cheyenne crawled into the wagon, lay down again, and slept like the dead until a bird singing loudly from its perch on the tailgate told him it was morning.

Other than the day-old remains of his own fire, there was no sign left that the band had ever been there. All was still and quiet… too quiet. Cheyenne hadn't realized how much comfort he'd been taking from the familiar quiet bustle of the camp, the giggles of the children and the voices of the elders he'd known all his life. Now they were gone, and he truly had no idea where—he hadn't heard them leave, and there was no trail to follow. Granted, that had been the plan, and it meant that he couldn't tell Benteen anything even if he wanted to; he just hadn't expected it to hit him this hard.

He might never see White Cloud's band again.

He could only hope he'd done the right thing by trusting Blue Horse and Little Wolf. Small Bear had seemed to think Blue Horse was trustworthy enough, so Cheyenne wasn't overly worried about Little Wolf treating the band poorly. There was always that niggling doubt, however, and then there was the larger question of Custer. How long would the People be safe in these hills? Would anyone else suffer Black Kettle's fate? How many more people would have to die before white men learned to keep their word and treat the Indians with the respect they were due?

His mood as gloomy as the previous day's weather, Cheyenne rousted himself out to check on his horse and fix himself some breakfast. That gave him enough energy to shave and wash his dishes, his clothes, and himself in a nearby stream. Yet refreshing as the bath was, the cold water and the damp air left him shivering as he dressed for white society, and while another cup of coffee put the shivers to flight, he didn't think he was up to hitting the trail quite yet. So he lay down in the wagon again for a nap.

He woke to a vaguely familiar male voice ordering in English, "Check the wagons. See if there's anything left."

Cheyenne eased his rifle out of its scabbard as he listened to footsteps outside. One particular set tromped around the wagon he was in and approached the tailgate. When he heard the latch rattle, he rolled over and aimed—right between a very familiar pair of blue eyes, whose owner threw his hands up and staggered back with a squeak of "Whoa!"

Cheyenne sighed, relaxed, and lowered his rifle. "Hi, Tom."

Tom put a hand to his chest. "Boy, you scared me out of ten years' growth, Cheyenne!"

"Good," Cheyenne couldn't resist teasing. "Means I'm still taller'n you."

Bronco guffawed from somewhere outside. Tom just shook his head with a wry smile and lowered the tailgate to let Cheyenne out.

"Is that Bodie?!" Benteen asked and came around the wagon as Cheyenne emerged. "Good Lord, man, where have you been? Col. Custer said you disappeared the moment your enlistment ended."

"I didn't disappear; I was sent for," Cheyenne answered, turning back to retrieve his hat before facing Benteen again and continuing. "Somethin' came up a few days' ride from here that I had to take care of at once. While I was there, I ran into a friend. Other business didn't pan out, so the friend said he had some precious cargo to deliver out this way and needed my help. We got this far, but last night he ran off while I was asleep. What you see here is all that's left."

Out the corner of his eye, Cheyenne could see Tom frowning slightly as he filled in at least some of the blanks. Bronco was still out of Cheyenne's line of sight, but he was probably doing the same. Neither of them said anything.

Benteen's eyes narrowed in calculation, too, but of a different sort. "We were sent to investigate a report wired to Col. Custer by Lionel Abbot stating that there were hostile Indians moving in this direction."

"Abbot's a liar," Cheyenne growled before he could stop himself. Tom looked startled, but Cheyenne continued, "He's been in a blood feud with the Cheyenne since they killed his wife and son in a raid on a wagon train. Now he's tryin' to use you to finish the job."

Benteen looked skeptical. "We did sight a party of Cheyenne two days ago, but they vanished overnight."

Now Cheyenne's eyes narrowed. "Benteen, you know as well as I do that if those Cheyenne had been hostile, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation."

"Where are they, Bodie?"

"I don't know, and I'd swear to it in court."

"Did you give them rifles?"

"No, and I can prove it."

"Liquor?"

"No, and I can prove that, too."

Benteen studied Cheyenne's face a moment, then took a deep breath, let it out again, and nodded. "I believe you."

Cheyenne was almost dizzy with relief, and Tom visibly relaxed.

"Perhaps it's just as well the rain delayed us yesterday," Benteen continued, looking a bit haunted. "I wouldn't have wanted a repetition of what happened at the Washita River."

Neither Cheyenne nor Tom responded.

After a moment, Bronco came around the corner of the wagon. "So what now, Benteen? Trail's stone cold. Every route outta here's got the same brush marks. I doubt if we could even find Cheyenne's friend, let alone those Indians."

Cheyenne resolutely did not shoot Bronco a look that could convey his gratitude.

Benteen sighed. "Well, since we're over this side of the Black Hills anyway, we may as well go down to Fort Laramie to make our report and pick up some supplies. We'll take the wagons."

"Now, hold on, Benteen," Cheyenne interrupted. "These wagons are mine, bought and paid for—I've got the bill of sale in my saddlebag. And I'm a civilian now. You take my wagons, you've got to pay me for 'em."

"He's right," Tom chimed in. "Under the Fifth Amendment—"*

"I'm aware of the Takings Clause, Counselor," Benteen stated with a look of mingled irritation and amusement. "All right, Bodie, name your price."

Cheyenne quoted a price, less than the wagons were worth but more than he'd paid for them, "and I go with you as far as Fort Laramie."

Benteen laughed suddenly, but it was a relieved laugh. "Bodie, you're a wonder. It's a deal."

They shook hands, and Benteen paid Cheyenne on the spot. Then, while Benteen set the rest of the patrol to hitching up the wagons, Tom and Bronco helped Cheyenne get his gear out of the one wagon and get his horse saddled.

"You sure weren't kiddin' the other day," Bronco said under his breath as he set the saddle on the blanket Tom was arranging. "If I hadn't seen you in that get-up, I'd never believe you'd come out here with you-know-who."

"That's the idea," Cheyenne murmured back and buckled the cinch strap.

Tom shot him a worried look from the other side of the horse. "Are you all right, Cheyenne?"

Cheyenne hesitated before deciding it was safe to be honest with them. "No."

Tom and Bronco looked at each other.

"How long are you gonna stay at Fort Laramie?" Bronco asked.

Cheyenne shook his head. "Probably just overnight."

Tom made a considering face. "We'll see if Benteen will let us have a separate fire."

Cheyenne smiled tightly at him. "Thanks."

Bronco looked away and muttered, "Guess it's a good thing Smitty ain't here."

Cheyenne snorted, barely managing to stop short of helpless laughter. Smitty was a good egg and a dear friend, but he'd never be able to keep this particular secret. And frankly, his brand of humor would be mighty trying at a time like this.

It wasn't much longer before Benteen was ready to move out, and Cheyenne rode with Tom and Bronco at the head of the column. After the first rest stop, however, Benteen sent the three of them to scout ahead, which gave Cheyenne the chance to tell the short version of the rest of the story without the patrol overhearing.

"Land o' Goshen," Tom sighed when Cheyenne finished. "I'm amazed you're still on two feet after all that."

"I wasn't yesterday," Cheyenne admitted. "If you fellas hadn't come along when you did, I'm not sure I'd have made it down the trail today, either."

Bronco pushed his hat back and reseated it. "Reckon that does explain Abbot's telegram. Like you said, Cheyenne, he was wantin' us to finish your father's band off, and maybe you with 'em. He musta been real ticked off to find out they escaped an' you helped 'em."

Cheyenne looked at him. "That why you didn't tell me about that telegram two days ago?" When Tom and Bronco exchanged an awkward look, Cheyenne smiled and shook his head. "I ain't mad."

"Benteen didn't tell us, either," said Tom, and Cheyenne believed it. Tom could keep a secret, but he couldn't tell a lie to save his life. "All he said was we were lookin' for hostiles headed for the Black Hills. Bronc kinda had a hunch, though."

"I didn't have all the pieces," Bronco agreed, "but those orders came in two days after you'd asked about Little Wolf, an' you'd said it was urgent. Since Little Wolf's Cheyenne, I didn't figure you were askin' 'cause you expected trouble from 'im. So I told Tom we'd best tag along, just in case."

Cheyenne nodded. "I'm glad you did."

Tom shifted in his saddle. "Why would Abbot swear out a complaint like that, though? He'd won."

"Not to his mind," Cheyenne replied. "He'd vowed to see every member of White Cloud's clan dead, not just off his land. He probably doesn't even know my father's dead—the only people outside the band who I've told are you two and Blue Horse, and I'm not sure Blue Horse has even told Little Wolf yet. It's like Puma said: a range war that turns into a blood feud is about the only fight you can lose by winnin' when the other side quits and walks away. And Abbot can't bear to lose, 'specially to me or my father."

"Well, he'll hafta get used to it," said Bronco. "Heard Benteen say Abbot may own half the territory, but he don't own the Army."

Cheyenne's estimation of Benteen rose several notches.

After a pause, Bronco asked, "So if you're not stayin' in Fort Laramie, where are you headed?"

Cheyenne shook his head. "Don't know yet. Got enough money now to get to Texas, see if anyone down there needs a hand for the winter. Maybe come back north with a herd in the spring."

Tom shot him a worried look. "So what can we do for you in the meantime?"

Cheyenne smiled. "You're already doin' it, Tom."

Tom smiled in relief, and so did Bronco.

With few exceptions, Benteen allowed Tom, Bronco, and Cheyenne to continue riding ahead of the patrol the rest of the way to Fort Laramie. Bronco had apparently said something to him—what, Cheyenne never learned—but given that the talk among the troopers always seemed to be of gold and killing Sioux whenever Cheyenne did turn back to report, he suspected Benteen would have wanted him out of camp anyway. As it was, the arrangement suited Cheyenne just fine. Tom and Bronco were willing to talk about things when Cheyenne needed to, avoid sensitive subjects when he needed them to, and not talk at all (or let him not talk) when conversation got to be too much. He couldn't have asked for better friends, especially at the moment.

Even so, they parted company at Fort Laramie. There was a letter waiting for Tom, asking him to take a case in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, as soon as possible, and a marshal needed Bronco's help to transport a prisoner to the territorial prison. So after a night's rest on a real bed, the three of them took their leave of each other, and Cheyenne headed south to the town that shared his name.

It was after dark, though early in the evening, on his second day out from Fort Laramie when Cheyenne left his horse in the livery stable and headed to the nearest hotel, thinking of nothing more than a hot bath, a hot meal, and a soft bed. He'd just signed the hotel register, however, when a passing lady stepped wrong and turned her ankle. Cheyenne caught her out of pure reflex—but when she looked up to thank him, her face was familiar.

"Cheyenne?!" she gasped.

Hearing her voice put a name to her face with a snap. "Lorna! What are you doin' here? Thought you two would be all the way back East by now."

"It's a long story," said Lorna Abbot. "Oh, it's so good to see you!"

She started to hug him, but he pulled back. "I've been on the road a while," he explained with a rueful chuckle. "Best let me get cleaned up 'fore I get any more dust on your dress."

She smiled. "All right. When you've finished, come and have supper with us."

"I will, thank you."

"We're in Room 12." She turned to the clerk. "Put Mr. Bodie's room on our bill."

"Yes, ma'am," said the clerk and gave Cheyenne the key to a room on the same floor, with a promise to have a bath sent up right away.

Once he was fit for polite company, Cheyenne presented himself at the door of Room 12, where Lorna hugged him properly and ushered him in and over to the bed, where a pale-faced James was reclining in his nightclothes.

"Well, well," James said in a mocking tone. "If it isn't Brother John!"

"That's not funny, James," Cheyenne cautioned, even as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

James snickered and dropped the act. "How are you, Cheyenne?"

"Been better, been worse." Cheyenne shook hands with James and dropped into a chair beside the bed.

"How's Father?"

"Left 'im with a sore jaw an' a sore head, but that was two weeks ago. At least his jaw shoulda mended by now."

James chuckled. "And White Cloud?"

"Died the day after you left."

James' smile faded, and Lorna sat down on the bed. "What happened?" Lorna asked.

"His heart gave out."

"I'm sorry," James said sincerely. "He was a better man than Father would have had me believe."

Cheyenne nodded, unsure what to say.

"Is that what kept you so long?" Lorna wondered.

Cheyenne nodded again. "Had to get the rest of the band to safety. Seems your father found out and sent the Army after us. By some miracle, they had friends of mine with 'em, so there was no trouble, but it sure was a tense journey."

"I see." Lorna didn't seem to know what else to say and simply took James' hand.

Cheyenne looked from wife to husband and back. "So what's kept you here?"

James huffed. "It seems my drinking problem was worse than I realized even after you pulled me out of that river."

"We came this far on the stagecoach," Lorna explained, "but before we could decide which train to take, James… er… fell ill. He's only just recovered enough to get up for part of the day and eat without his hands shaking."

"Yes, and write without my hands shaking." James looked down and squeezed Lorna's hand before looking at Cheyenne again. "Almost the first thing I did when I had the strength was to write Father a letter stating that even if he didn't disown me, I was disowning him. With it went a copy of a court record. You're now looking at Mr. and Mrs. James Wilson."

Cheyenne let out a low whistle. He wanted to ask whether James was sure he wanted to do that, but the memory of Abbot's domineering ways, down to demanding that James and Lorna give him a grandchild before he'd agree to let them move out of the house, was still too fresh. Only a step this drastic could possibly make Abbot see the need to reconcile with his last surviving flesh-and-blood son—Cheyenne's own words certainly hadn't, although they had seemed to find their mark. But even now, Cheyenne could picture Abbot standing in the family cemetery, alone with the terrible knowledge that he'd lost his last chance to establish the dynasty he'd so desperately wanted… and blaming the whole thing on White Cloud to the end.

Two elk with their horns locked, indeed.

"So what'll you do now?" Cheyenne asked instead.

James sighed and shook his head. "I'll have to get a job somewhere, but I don't… I don't have any idea where or what yet. We need to get out of this territory, but we can't go all the way back East, either. Father's got too many friends in San Francisco."

"Well, like I said, you've got a good head for business." Cheyenne thought a moment. "I know some folks in Kansas City who might be able to use your help."

James and Lorna both brightened at that.

"Ranching business?" James guessed.

Cheyenne nodded. "Yeah. Nothin' like your—like the Abbot spread, but big enough they could use a good man with management skills and pay you well enough to support as big or small a family as you want."

James and Lorna looked at each other and squeezed each other's hands, long enough that Cheyenne could see a slight tremor still plaguing James' hands.

"It's worth checking out," James agreed. "The worst they can do is say no."

Lorna nodded and looked at Cheyenne again. "The doctor says James should be well enough for train travel in another two or three days. Will you go with us, at least long enough to make introductions and see us settled?"

The irony of her request wasn't lost on Cheyenne. But he was in fact going to Kansas City anyway to catch the train to Austin, and no one was expecting him at the other end, so spending an extra few days here and in Kansas City wouldn't do any harm.

"Sure, Lorna." Cheyenne smiled. "What else is family for?"

* Most people remember only the self-incrimination clause of this amendment to the US Constitution, but it's also the amendment that states, among other things, "nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation." (This is the clause that gives rise to the vexed question of eminent domain, but it would also apply to commandeering a civilian's wagons this way.)