The Holy Warrior Read online

  Nathan studied him, then said quietly, “I reckon you’re right, Knox—I’ve been thinking the same thing. When we fought the Revolution, we were just a few colonies strung out along the coast—I’m sure even Washington himself never dreamed how God would pull together this great country of ours. Back then, all we thought about was freedom for ourselves—we never had a chance to think about growing west. But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the western territory. It’s the richest chunk of land on the face of the earth!

  “And America will grow west—it’s only a matter of time,” Knox put in. “That’s why I want to go back now. It’s a big land, and I want to be a part of it.”

  They sat around the table and talked until Julie finally said, “Well, you won’t be going back until summer, Knox. I’ve got that long to pray about it—and to get my husband used to the notion of taking me to see my grandchild.” She got up and admonished, “You get to bed now—and tomorrow I’m taking the shears to that hair and beard. You look like a wild bear!” She stopped and gave him a quick look. “I suppose you told the Greenes about Chris?”

  “Stopped on the way—Chris sent them all presents. They’re worried about him.”

  He did not miss the pain in his father’s response. “We all are, son—we all are.”

  The next few days passed quickly, and most of the time, Knox enjoyed being home. He was warmed by the avid curiosity that drew people to hear his stories of the western territory. This feeling of goodwill, however, was slightly ruffled after the church service his first Sunday home.

  Rev. Josiah Landers was a fine minister, and welcomed Knox home from the pulpit. Afterward, when the church members gathered around Knox and his family to welcome him home, Deacon Simms’ wife Martha overheard Julie say, “Our son Christmas is married now.”

  “Oh, how nice!” gushed Sister Simms. “Who is his bride, Sister Winslow?”

  “Her name is White Dove.”

  Her quiet words fell like a bolt of lightning on the group, stunning them into shocked silence. In that moment Knox was proud of his parents’ courage; he was well aware of the embarrassment Chris’s marriage would probably cause them here.

  “I see.” Mrs. Simms cleared her throat and looked at Julie carefully. “Does that mean that he has married... an Indian woman?”

  Julie’s face was calm, and she smiled sweetly. “Why, yes. Our daughter-in-law is a member of the Sioux tribe. And you may wish us double joy, Sister Simms, because Chris and White Dove are going to give Nathan and me our first grandchild.”

  Sister Simms seemed to have trouble breathing just then, and gave something like a snort before she turned and stalked away, her back stiff. Mrs. Landers, the pastor’s wife, had been on the outskirts of the crowd, but now she came forward and put her arms around Julie, saying with a smile, “Well, now! Isn’t that fine? I’ll be so jealous of you with a grandchild... and me wanting one so bad!”

  Knox watched as the crowd divided itself into two groups: those who came forward to congratulate the family, and those that turned and walked away. The latter group, he noted, was much larger.

  None of them mentioned the incident after it was over. Later in the week Adam came in from Boston, and after he had eaten dinner with the family and rested a bit, he went on a long walk with Knox. He listened carefully to Knox’s story, as always, before he said anything. Finally, he observed, “It’s a hard way Chris has chosen.” The old man lifted his head and looked west as if he could see the mountains where his grandson was. “He’s trying to run from God, Knox—but God will catch him sooner or later.”

  “Chris doesn’t say much about God, Grandfather. Or if he does, he seems angry.” Knox looked embarrassed, but he added, “Matter of fact, he’s downright outspoken about his views on religion.”

  Adam smiled at him. “Men who run from God are angry men, Knox. Chris is like Jonah, I think. A reluctant prophet who has to be swallowed by some monstrous fish before he’ll give in.”

  Knox spent much time with his family, for he knew that by summer’s end he would be leaving for the mountains. The days sped by, turning into weeks, then months. Knox and his father worked long hours planning the trip, and it pleased him to see that his father trusted his judgment on many of the details.

  Chris’s name was seldom mentioned during this time. Then late one August night, Julie sat with her second son, talking about Chris and his wife and child. To her, the matter was simple: Her son had married a woman who would now give her a grandchild. Period. Her joy was not marred by racial prejudice. Knox had never loved his mother more than he did that night.

  But there obviously was more that weighed on her mind. “Knox, are you a Christian?”

  He stared at her, astonished. “Why, Mother, I’ve been a member of the church since I was thirteen.”

  She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I know.”

  The silence grew uncomfortable, and Knox’s face became flushed. He tried to speak, but all he could think of was the way he’d lived for the past year. Finally he whispered, “I—I’ve not done right always, Mother.” Still she did not speak, but only looked at him, and he bit his lip, saying, “It’s hard to be a mountain man and follow God.”

  “It’s always hard to follow the Lord—no matter what you are.”

  With those words every excuse he could think of was stripped from Knox, and he dropped his head with the shame he could no longer bear. A momentous struggle was taking place in the young man’s soul. And his mother, who saw it, could only sit by him, praying for her son as she never had before.

  The next thing she knew he was weeping, his head in her lap. His mother listened quietly as her son poured out his heartfelt confession to the Lord, stopping only when his conscience accused him no longer. The battle was over.

  The next day the change was evident; Knox’s heart was so light that he even walked with a new spring in his step. His father, misunderstanding the source of his son’s joy, was annoyed. “Blast it, Knox, the closer it gets to the time you leave, the happier you are! Can’t you at least be a little sorry to leave us?”

  Knox laughed and put an arm around his father. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, Father. Mother and I had a long talk last night, and I’ve made things right with God. It’s made a world of difference—I was getting pretty far from Him.”

  Nathan smiled and gave Knox a hug. “Oh, that’s it! Well, I’m happy for you, son—although I don’t know why your mother didn’t tell me. Your mother has been praying for you—for all her children—since before you were born. And when she prays, the very gates of heaven rattle. I’ve been on the receiving end of those prayers a time or two myself, come to think of it.”

  Julie appeared in the doorway, a smile playing about her mouth. “Breakfast is ready.”

  A few days later, Knox rode out with Con and Frenchie as his parents watched from the porch. The last they saw of him was when he stood high in his saddle and turned back to wave.

  “I’ll miss him, Julie,” Nathan said wistfully. “If our boys keep going west, pretty soon we’ll have to pack up and go, too.”

  He looked down and saw the tears in her eyes. “Aw, don’t cry, Julie! He’ll be back in the spring—and maybe he’ll bring Chris and his family with him.”

  Julie did not answer. She stood quietly for a moment, looking at the trees that covered the pack train, and as she turned to go back into the house, there was a stoop to her shoulders and a pain in her eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE REVENGE OF RED GHOST

  The trapping party traveling up the Missouri that season went in eleven canoes instead of four, loaded to the gunwales with trading goods. Knox discovered he could now keep up with any of the others and remembered with amusement how pitiful he’d been at paddling only a year earlier.

  This time Con and Frenchie would go on to the Yellowstone country once the group got to the White River, pausing only long enough to throw up a stockade, which they dubbed Fort Winslow
. The single log building, surrounded by an eight-foot fence made of logs, would be used for storing the trading goods and the furs.

  Already it was late in the season, so the men drove themselves to get the structure in place. When it was finished, Con and Frenchie departed with five of the canoes. “Keep your hair on, Leetle Chicken!” Frenchie laughed as they pulled out and headed north. “We’ll ’ave more furs than you, I bet, when we come back!”

  The winter was mild that year, and game was plentiful. The only time Chris had set for their rendezvous was “winter,” so Knox settled in the fort to wait. He and his Indian workers hunted and fished all day. Reading the Bible during the long nights, Knox wondered how he’d missed so much when he had read the book before.

  On the night of December 25, he remembered it was Chris’s birthday; and Knox kept an eye out for his brother, hoping to see him, but to no avail. Another two months went by before the white warrior materialized out of the woods, surrounding the fort with a party of mounted Sioux—more than forty of them. Knox looked up from his fishing just in time to see them walk their horses toward him. Sliding off his horse, Chris helped a woman with a baby down from her mount, then turned to his brother with a smile. “If we’d wanted your scalp, you’d never known what happened, Knox. Better stop picking daisies and pay attention if you want to live long enough to see your grandchildren.”

  Knox was embarrassed to have been taken off guard, but he was so glad to see Chris that he only grinned. “I was a mite careless, for a fact.” Then he turned and said to White Dove, “What’s that you’ve got?” He reached out, took the baby, and held the bundle in his hands. “Wow—how about that!” He looked down at the child, and had to smile at the blue eyes that gazed at him solemnly from a fat, dusky face. He laughed. “Well, I’ll be dipped, Chris, if you ain’t got yourself one fine boy! What’s his name?”

  “Dove named him Sky Blue Eyes—but I just call him Sky.” He touched the baby’s fat cheeks with a finger, adding, “Never thought I’d be one of those daddies that get silly over a baby, but...” His eyes twinkled.

  Dove said something in Sioux, and Christmas chuckled. “She wants to know if you’ve got a wife. These Indian women get right down to basics fast.”

  “Tell her if she’s got any sisters pretty as she is, I’m available,” Knox replied with a grin at Dove.

  Chris interpreted, and the tense look on Dove’s face left. A smile curved her lips, and she reached for the baby as Chris announced, “Time for you to meet my people.” One by one he named the solemn men who had dismounted and stood in a semicircle around them. “It’ll take you a while to get to know them all, Knox. Guess you think like I did once—that all Indians look alike.”

  “I reckon they think we all look alike, Chris.” He contemplated the silent stares of the Indians. “Well, we got nothing fancy to offer y’all, but we’ve got plenty of meat, so let’s get the cooks cookin’.”

  Knox spoke to the Mandans, who had been watching the armed Sioux nervously, and soon they were scurrying around building cooking fires. The Sioux women began cutting elk, deer, and buffalo steaks and roasting them over the fires. They laughed and chattered loudly, excited over the pewter spoons and ladles—things they had never seen before.

  When the men sat down to eat, Knox seated himself beside Chris in the midst of a circle of Sioux warriors who were relaxing and laughing as they ate. Knox told Chris about his trip home, making it plain that their parents were ready to welcome Dove and the baby.

  Chris listened without comment as he ate, until Knox had finished speaking. “I figured they’d take it like that, Knox, though I don’t imagine everybody would.” Subtly shifting the subject, he asked, “How about Brother Greene and his family?”

  “Why, fine as silk—except for Miz Greene. She’s expecting again, and Dan told me she’s not doing well.” Then Knox’s face lit up, and he slapped his leg and laughed. “That little girl—Missy, is it?—is a caution! She loved the moccasins you sent, and wears that pearl you gave her around her neck.” He looked over at the pearl that adorned Dove’s finger and said, “I see where the other one went.”

  “I had it made into a ring for her,” Chris smiled. “Made it too small, so Dove can’t get it off—but she claims she would never have taken it off anyway.” He smiled briefly at the thought of Missy, then grew sober. “But I’ll never go back, Knox. No way at all—so don’t build the folks’ hopes up.”

  “Guess they know that already—but Mother, she’s set her foot down like she does sometimes when she gets a notion in her head. Told Father she’s comin’ to the mountains to see her grandchild if she has to paddle up the Missouri by herself. I think Father was hopin’ you’d make the trip just to spare her.”

  Chris looked down at his hands for a long time. He had, Knox realized, taken on the ways of the Indians at times like this. He doesn’t want me to see what he’s thinkin’. They sat like that for a time, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Knox shifted uneasily; there was something more he had to say to his brother, but he was not sure how Chris would respond. Chris looked up and noted his brother’s discomfort. “What’s gnawing on you, Knox?”

  “Now don’t get your hackles up, Chris. I been wonderin’ about—well, about what you’re going to do about God.” Knox raised his hands hurriedly as if to defend himself. “Reason I asked—I been having a pretty hard time myself the last few years. I’d seen hypocrites like Miz Simms that gave me lots of doubts. Pretty soon I gave up... figured it was no use... I guess I lived pretty bad the last few years.” His voice trailed off as he brushed his hair back from his forehead and stared off into the distance, struggling to find words.

  “Then there’s people like Grandfather and our folks, and the Greenes—I could tell what they had was real. Well, while I was home this time, I talked to Mother about it, and she helped me see it. And this time when I prayed, God was real inside me, too. I found Him in a way I never had before—and I haven’t been the same since.”

  “I’m glad for you, Knox.” He looked up sharply. Chris had a curious look on his face; his eyes were warm, but there was a familiar stubborn set to his lips. “Maybe religion works for some and not for others. It’s not for me, Knox, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Knox said no more; he knew it would do no good. Still, it saddened him to hear Chris’s answer, knowing how much it would have pained his parents had they been there to hear it.

  Later that night, there was a tribal meeting in the open space in front of the trading post, and for the first time Knox smoked an Indian pipe. At one point in the ceremony Four Dog spoke up, and although Knox didn’t know what he was saying, the tone of the man’s voice made it clear that it was something serious. The stocky Indian’s face was grim and there was a light of anger in his black eyes.

  Chris said, “He says it’s not good for you to trade with the Pawnees.”

  “What should we do, Chris?”

  “Better not trade with the Pawnees, I reckon.”

  “Red Ghost—he bad medicine,” Running Wolf said in English. He had been following the talk as closely as he could, and now he shook his head and scowled. “He make vow, kill Bear Killer.”

  “What for?” Knox asked.

  “I killed his son on a raid,” Chris explained. “Now he’s got to kill me to save face—though the Pawnees don’t really need an excuse for fighting the Sioux. Red Ghost is pretty shrewd. He’s using this to get his braves all worked up. Sent word to Running Wolf that if he’d hand me over to the Pawnees, Red Ghost would make peace.”

  Knox looked around at the hard faces of the Sioux, swallowed and inquired nervously, “Don’t it worry you any, Chris—that they might do it?”

  “They’re my in-laws, Knox—and family means a lot to them. And the Sioux know Red Ghost wouldn’t stick to his word. He’d carve me up, then find another reason to fight the Sioux.”

  Knox shook his head, worry clouding his eyes. “Wish you’d stay here with me, Chris. Hate to think of
you getting scalped out there.”

  Chris looked across to where White Dove sat with her back to the wall, nursing Sky. “No way to stay safe in this world, Knox. A Pawnee arrow in your liver out here, or getting cholera in Kentucky—it’s all the same in the end.”

  Knox said no more, for he knew it was no use to argue with the dark streak of fatalism that ran through Chris.

  The next day the trading took place, and although the Sioux grumbled when they got no whiskey, most of them were pleased with the useful goods they received in exchange for the beaver pelts. They stayed the rest of the day and camped again that night; this time their meeting did not include Knox.

  Chris came in later, and there was a sober look on his face. “What’s wrong?” Knox asked.

  “Some of the young bucks want to raid the Pawnees’ camp. Four Dog doesn’t like it, but a war chief don’t last long unless he gets plunder pretty regular. I’ll have to go along, Knox.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “No choice,” Chris shrugged. “I’m hoping we’ll be able to hit the camp by surprise and get away with a few horses. Be all right to leave the women here? We’ll pick them up on the way back to the village.”

  “Sure.”

  In less than an hour the war party was assembled. Just outside the fort, Chris stood beside Dove, saying, “Take care of Sky. I’ll be back with a pony for him.”

  She lifted her face for his kiss, holding the baby up to him to be kissed as well. “Be careful. Don’t try to count coup on Red Ghost.”

  Counting coup was an old Sioux custom by which many warriors lost their lives. It involved getting close enough to your enemy to touch him without killing him.

  “Don’t worry,” he smiled down at her. “That’s one mean Pawnee. If I catch a glimpse of that Indian’s feathers, I’ll show him how fast a white man can run.” He kissed her again, then whispered in her ear, “Please... don’t worry.”