Chapter Seventeen—Somber News

     The news of Robin’s abduction spread through Whitewater like a whitewater current—rapidly spilling into every nook and cranny of the town. When Robin didn’t get home within a reasonable amount of time, Aunt Martha waited up for her, angry at her niece’s tardiness, then concerned, then downright worried as the clock slipped past 1 AM. She went to the sheriff’s office to speak to the deputy, who was on duty at that time of the night.
     “My niece is missing, deputy. She went to the town meeting this evening, but never returned. Robin would never be out this late without telling me.”
     The deputy gave her a wry smile. “Now, Mrs. Morrow, don’t be too hasty. You have an extremely attractive niece and, I’m sure you’ve noticed, much of the single male population of this here town has been flockin’ to her front door ever since she got back. She’s probably just forgot to look at the time. I’ll bet she’s home right now, wondering where you are.”
    During this speech, Aunt Martha was shaking her head back and forth. “Then can you explain to me why her horse is in our small stable, still saddled, unbrushed, and unfed. Robin loves that horse like her own life. She would never treat her that way.”
     The deputy—whose name was Stewart—frowned. “That is a bit peculiar. Does your niece have a habit, or perhaps better, has she been late from outings before?”
     “Never this late, deputy. Never. This is not Robin, I tell you it’s not.” Aunt Martha was gravitating between volcanic anger at the truculence of the deputy, and rising anxiety over the fate of her niece. “If you do not come and see, I will immediately go to Sheriff Bernstein’s house and pound on his door until I get some attention to this matter.”
     Deputy Stewart held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “All right, all right,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll take a look. Can’t hurt, that’s for sure.”
     Stewart got a lamp and followed Aunt Martha to her house. Once they arrived at the stables, the deputy lit the lamp. “Horse is here, unsaddled, just like you said.” Then hastily, “Though I never doubted it.” Then he shone the lamp down to the ground. “Hmmm…” he murmured, stroking his chin. He moved the lamp around a little. Then nodded.
     The deputy was a competent, if not especially brilliant, law officer. But this one wasn’t difficult for any man who had been out west for any length of time. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to inform you that your niece had been abducted. By Indians. Three of ‘em. Notice these moccasin tracks here.” He pointed. “They was hidin’ out right here,” he showed her where, “and when she dismounted here,” pointing, “they come up behind her and snatched her. You can see where her boot heels slid a little as they pulled her back. Clear as sin.”
     “Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my,” Aunt Martha wailed, literally wringing her hands. “Indians. Oh, my poor baby. Oh, no.” She started to weep, but she was a strong woman. “Well, what do you intend to do about it, sir?”
     “I intend to go tell the sheriff, right now.” And he headed off in the direction of the sheriff’s house, Aunt Martha hot on his heels.
     There wasn’t anything that could be done that night, simply because it was dark and impossible to follow any tracks. But at first light, Sheriff Morris Bernstein roused several solid men, who were ever ready for occasions like this, and said, “Come on, posse time. Injuns have kidnapped Robin Morrow.”
     One of them, who had been at the town meeting the previous evening—indeed, they all had—grumbled, “Why would they do that when she’s on their side?” But he was as much sore about having to get up at the crack of dawn as anything.
     Indians are masters at tracking, and just as good at covering their tracks. Bernstein and his men easily detected that the sign led northwest, towards the Santo Colorado Mountains, but when they got to the foothills, they lost the trail. The Indians had simply vanished. The men of Whitewater searched for hours, until daylight was gone, but they were unable to discover any indication of where the natives had gone. Dejected, they returned to Whitewater.
     “Poor girl,” one of the men said. “I didn’t agree with her last night at’all, but nobody deserves what she’s going to get.”
     There was a somber silence of agreement.
     Sheriff Bernstein, as gently as he could, broke the news to Aunt Martha. “Now, don’t you give up hope, Mrs. Morrow. I’m going to report this to the territorial authorities and the army and I know they’ll get on it right away.”
     Aunt Martha, though, was heart-broken. She had lost her dear husband just a few months back, and now, her last living relative, her lovely, lively niece, had no doubt been taken away from her forever as well. She was inconsolable. The town doctor gave her a sedative so that she could sleep, and asked a couple of Aunt Martha’s best friends to stay with her as much as possible. This they were more than willing to do.
     Even though Robin’s stance at the town meeting had been less than popular, this kidnapping rallied the town around her—for sympathy’s sake, not in agreement. Indeed, it only hardened the resolve of nearly everyone that “them dirty, low-down, sneakin’, stinkin’, pagan savages” needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. Sam Burke was the only voice of reason and moderation: “Let’s catch and punish, to the full extent of the law, the perpetrators, but let’s don’t destroy an entire culture and punish innocent people for what a few renegades do.”
     “They’re all renegades, mister,” and somebody even took a swing at Sam, but that was a mistake. Two broken teeth and two broken ribs later the fellow had decided he had had enough and nobody was foolish enough to try Sam on again.
     Sam was angry, and told the men standing around him, “Listen! I happen to be very fond of Miss Morrow. In fact, she and I had a dinner engagement this evening. If anybody ought to be fit to be tied, it’s me. And if I ever get my hands on those Indians who kidnapped her, believe me, I’ll wring their necks and send them to whatever hell is waiting for them. But if we are ever going to bring civilization to this territory, we’re going to have to act civilized ourselves. Yes, defend when we are attacked. But until that day comes, let’s do everything we can to avoid shedding the blood of innocent human beings.”
     “Them savages ain’t human—“ somebody objected, but Sam cut him off in mid-sentence with strong, powerful words.
     “Yes, they are! Just because they don’t believe what you believe or live the way you do, doesn’t make them sub-human. And Robin was exactly right last night in her reference to Sand Creek. The natives have done nothing any worse than that. And how many of you men fought in the Civil War? And you want to tell me that the Indians aren’t human?”
     “We was just fightin’ to defend our way o’ life,” somebody muttered weakly.
     “And just what do you think the Indians are doing? No, I don’t agree with their kidnapping of Robin. Of course, I don’t. And as I said, I hope we can find and punish those who did it under civilized law. Because if we act the same way they act, what makes us any better than them and how will we ever bring decency, law, and order to this country so that our wives and children can live safely?”
     Mumbling in the audience. “We ain’t givin’ them back our mines, tho.”
     Sam shook his head. “I’m not asking you to. And maybe there’s no other way to solve this than through bloodshed, as sad as that would be. But I think we’d at least want to give peace a chance first. If we don’t try to understand them, then how can we ever expect them to try to understand us?”
     Sam’s speech was smoke up a chimney to this mob who had blood in their eyes. But maybe they’ll think about it in days to come, when they are a little less riled up…
     “Mister, what do you think we ought to do about Robin?” somebody asked him.
     “Well, I don’t know what you men are going to do but, after I take care of some business that I simply cannot put aside, I’m going to go look for her. I may never find her, and I probably won’t. But at least I will have tried.” He looked at the man who had asked him the question. “What are you going to do?”
     The fellow shifted his gaze downward and said, “I got a business and wife ‘n kids.”
     “In other words, nothing.”
     “I thought you was fer lettin’ the law handle these things,” another man countered.
     Sam responded, “I certainly am. But we all have a part to play in seeing that the law is upheld and defended.”
     They all mumbled and began walking away. Sam Burke knew he wasn’t going to get any help from these men. And he really didn’t think he’d be able to find Robin. But he had to try. It would, however, be Saturday before he could leave. I ought to just quit this stinking job. It’s hardly worth the pittance they pay me…
     Sam also went by the Kilmer Mining Company building because he knew Robin worked there. Shirley, the secretary, told him that Len was in a meeting with several people concerning the Robin Morrow matter.
     Sam smiled. “Well, actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to him about, too.”
     “Oh. Well, then go on into the conference room. They just started. They’ll be glad to see you. They are trying to get as many people to help as possible. The room is down the hall, turn left, first door on the left.”
     “Thanks.”
     There were several people in the room. Len was chairing the meeting. Sam also saw Chris Draeger, Cameron Collins and a couple of his cowhands, along with Judy Fagan, Jennie Adams, Russ Hensley, Susan Markum, and Drew Harrington, all of whom were friends of Robin. Sam didn’t know any of these people, but he got introduced around.
     “Thank you for coming,” Len said to him. “We’re all very upset with what has happened to Robin and are trying to put our heads together to come up with something that can be done.” He looked at Cameron. “Mr. Collins, you were about to tell of some prior experiences with Indians.”
     Cameron nodded, and his face was grave. “Yeah. The problem is, Indians can be so unpredictable. We can be almost totally sure that they’ll…abuse her…and probably multiple times. Whether they’ll then kill her or not…” He shrugged. “Sometimes they keep white women around, sometimes they don’t, just depends on whether they want them or not. No way of telling.”
     Russ Hensley, a local pharmacist, who was a tall, slender young man with short, fair hair, with an intelligent face made even more so by the round wire glasses he wore, asked Cameron, “Any idea what tribe they were from?”
     Cameron shook his head. “I went over to Martha Morrow’s and examined the tracks. Unfortunately, too many people had been over there and had messed them up, so it was hard to distinguish. Sometimes you can tell by the print of the moccasins. Nipita moccasins tend to be rounded at the top, Tilachi square, Santara pointed. But that’s not always true. Best I could tell among all the pointed boot feet and women’s shoes, probably Mrs. Morrow’s, the moccasins appeared to be square at the toe. That would indicate Nipita. Wouldn’t bet my life on it, but with that bunch of Nipita gathering northwest, it fits. I suspect she’s up there with them.”
     “But why?” Hensley asked.
     Cameron shook his head. “Haven’t the foggiest.”
     “Do you know anything about how Nipita treat white women?” Len asked Cameron.
     “Actually, the Nipita tend to be a little more civilized than some of the other tribes. They do have a bit more respect for womenfolks than most Injuns. If I had to pick any tribe I’d want her to fall into the hands of, I’d pick the Nipita. But again, I can’t be absolutely sure that’s who got her. There are other tribes in the area and they all like to snatch white women on occasion.”
     “Well,” Len said, “it’s a place to start. Do you know where the nearest Nipita camp is?”
     “Southeast of here, ‘bout 60 miles.”
     "But don’t their horse tracks indicate they went northwest?” Sam asked.
     Cameron nodded. “That was pretty obvious. Three unshod ponies, Injun for sure, unless it was some sneaky white man trying to make us think it was Indians. But in this case, I’d put my money on the Indians. And if they were headed northwest, then that probably means they may are going to the big Indian encampment up in the Santo Colorados,”
     Len had a puzzled expression came over his face. “I thought the report was that there were no women in that camp.”
     Drew Harrington, who owned a local furniture store, said, “I’ve heard some rumors that there are some women up there. A few.” He shrugged. “Some say they are squaws, some say they are white women. Nobody seems to know.” Drew had met Robin and talked with her for several minutes at Jennie’s party the week before. He had become attracted to her and she had seemed to enjoy his company as well. He asked her if might come calling on her sometime and she had said yes. They had randomly met again in town a few days later, and had an extended, friendly conversation then, thus Drew was sufficiently interested to attend this meeting when he had heard about it.
     “Might be a good idea to ask that Lt. Veal fellow. He should know,” Russ Hensley said. Russ and Robin went back a long way, to when she had lived in Whitewater before. They had been friends, but had never dated. Yet his wife had passed away about three years before and so he was single again. He and Robin had renewed their friendship when she had returned and there had been nothing beyond that. He was just an old friend.
     Len said, “We can ask, next time we see him.”
     Susan Markum, who was one of Robin’s best friends, asked Cameron, “Do you think it might be worthwhile to visit the Nipita village down south?”
     Cameron looked skeptical. “The way the Injuns are all riled up now, ma’am, I’d be real hesitant to get anywhere near an Indian village.”
     She nodded, then spoke to Len Kramer. “Has there been any discussion about perhaps doing what Robin suggested and talking to the Indians? I realize you can’t close the mines, but you can talk to them, can’t you?”
     Len’s lips tightened. “That isn’t impossible. But it would need to be coordinated, especially with the army. I’m not going to walk into that encampment alone. The army would have to go in under some kind of flag of truce.”
     “It’s worth the effort, isn’t it? I mean, how many people are going to die if you don’t?”
     “Kilmer Mining is willing to do anything it can to help in this situation. I can suggest a meeting with the Indians to Lt. Veal, press him about it, and tell him that we are in favor of it. I don’t know what the army will say, though, Mrs. Markum. They tend to shoot first and ask questions later, thinking that every problem can be solved with a gun.”
     Drew spoke up. “There’s probably not much Veal can do on his own. That would have to be decided at Fort Tyler, is my guess,” and he received a few nods in agreement.
     “Well, we can at least talk to him,” Susan said.
     “And I will do that,” Len responded. He looked around the room. “In the meantime, does anyone else have any suggestions as to what we can do?”
     Sam said, “I work for Union Pacific and we are surveying the area to locate a decent route for a railroad through here. I’m going to be tied up pretty tight for the rest of the week, but I’m heading out Saturday to see if I can find some trace of her, or maybe even that Indian camp.” He shrugged. “It may be like searching for a needle in a haystack, but I can’t sit around and do nothing.”
     Chris scrutinized Sam closely. “How do you know Robin?”
     Sam replied, “I met her in town not long ago and we went to dinner one evening. I sat next to her at the meeting Sunday night and appreciated at least some of the things she said. I don’t know her as well as the rest of you, but I think an attempt should be made to rescue her. But I would also think that about anyone who had been kidnapped by Indians.”
     “Yeah,” Chris responded. “I think the sheriff ought to be doing more myself.”
     “Well, he did contact territorial authorities and the army. He can’t just leave town indefinitely because he needs to be here in Whitewater to protect his citizens. Especially with that riffraff in the northwest part of town.”
     “That’s true,” Chris conceded, then said again to Sam. “When are you leaving?”
     “Saturday is as soon as I can get away.”
     Chris frowned. “I’d like to go with you, but I doubt my father would let me, he can’t stand Robin ever since they had that row at the ice cream social a few weeks ago. Of course, I could tell him to go to Hades, but I have to work with him so I have to make some effort to keep the peace. And frankly, I’m not sure it would be right of me to leave him to handle the feed store alone.” But then he said, “But I may go with you anyway and forget the consequences.”
     Cameron pitched in. “I think me and a couple of the boys can ride with you, too, Mr. Burke.”
     Drew Harrington, the furniture store owner, smiled. “I need a little vacation as well. The people of Whitewater can just sit on what they have for awhile.” He got a few chuckles for that.
     Russ shook his head. “I do wish I could go with you, but I’m the only pharmacist in town and I just can’t close my shop. Too many of the older folks need medicine and only me and the doc can get it to them.”
     “We understand, Russ,” Len told him. “I’ll ride with you fellows,” he said to the group that was going. “My secretary does all the work around here anyway, so they’ll never know I’m gone.” And there was another general chuckle.
     Sam said, “I have another suggestion.”
     “What’s that?”
     “Why don’t we split up? That way we can cover more territory. I’m used to surveying land by myself, so I can go alone. Mr. Kramer, why don’t you and Mr. Harrington ride together, and Mr. Collins, you and your men. I’m sure Kilmer has a topographical map of the area”—he looked at Len who nodded. “Let’s take a look at it, mark out some routes, and then plan a central spot we can meet after three days or so. If any of us has spotted something promising, then maybe we can join forces and pursue it together.”
     The others thought that was a good idea. Len said, “Ok, let’s meet here at 7 AM on Saturday and be off. Is that agreeable to everyone?” It was. “Any other suggestions?” Nobody had any.
     But Jennie Adams spoke up for the first time. “Do you…have to wait until Saturday?”
     Len smiled at her softly. “Like Mr. Burke said, he can’t get away until Saturday, and I’m sure that’s pretty much true for all of us.”
     Then Cameron pitched in. “And Miss Adams, they’re gonna do to Robin what they’re going to do as soon as possible. It’s already started, I suspect. And if she’s still alive right now, chances are pretty good she’ll be alive Saturday. If she ain’t alive Saturday, chances aren’t she ain’t alive right now. Or won’t be for much longer, it just depends on when they get tired of her.”
     And on that somber note, the meeting broke up.