Chapter Twenty Three—One Final Thing To Do

     It wasn’t that I was chicken and avoiding the fight, it was simply that there was some unfinished business to take care of and I didn’t think one more gun would help the U.S. troops anyway. I headed for the box canyon where the Indian encampment had been—and still was to a large extent. There were 24 American women there and I didn’t intend to leave without them.
     It took me about three hours to get there. I had left about 1 o’clock so there was still quite a bit of daylight left when I arrived. Indeed, the battle for Whitewater had not even begun yet, though it would in short order. I stopped at the mouth of the canyon and surveyed the camp.
     There were still a lot of teepees and there were still a lot of Indians—mainly those who had been wounded during Robin’s little uprising a few nights before and some older braves who were taking care of them. The Nipita were fierce warriors like all the other Indians, but if you showed them respect, they would respond in kind. I did not just ride into their camp, I waited for them to come and greet me.
     And they did. Five men, bronze warriors, yet older, walked up to me as I sat on Ol’ Paint. I held my hands loosely over the saddle horn, no indication of a threat. Two of the warriors carried lances, but they held them loosely at their side. They were ready—and I was, too—just in case.
     “The white women,” I said, “I come for them.”
     The Indian in front, a man with only one eye, the other obviously being lost in battle, spoke. “The Fox Eating band. You must go to them.” He pointed in the general direction of the back wall of the canyon. Fox Eating band? They eat foxes?…
     I nodded. “Thank you,” and took the reins of my horse. I waited for them to stand aside to let me pass, and they did so. I rode slowly, never knowing if I might get a lance in my back. No, I wouldn’t get one in the back; no Indian would be so cowardly as to do that.
     I wound my way through the encampment, still riding Ol’ Paint slowly. I saw a number of Indians lying on blankets, others limping, a few preparing food, some tending to the wounded. Every one of them looked at me as I passed. No smiles. Faces chiseled in granite, men who hunted, fought, loved, and tried to preserve their way of life, a life that men like me were destined to destroy. Yet they made no attempt to stop me nor made any menacing motions. One white man was no danger to them; the issue would be decided on the battlefield outside of Whitewater. These men no doubt would have preferred to join that battle, but circumstances prohibited such, and the Indian always stoically accepted his fate. I nodded at a few of them as I passed; occasionally, I would get a nod back, and after I passed, they would go back to whatever they were doing.
     Given how far back the Fox Eating camp was and the pace I was moving, it took me almost a half hour to get there. I saw several of the white women performing various chores, mostly cooking and taking care of wounded braves, but they all stopped and looked at me as I rode up. I looked around. The women didn’t seem to be hurt, and I could read hope in their eyes, as in “Have you come to take us home?”
     I saw an old Indian walk towards me. Long, gray hair, a little stooped, worn. He stopped a few feet in front of me and, as best I could tell, had a resigned expression on his face. “My name is White Crow. I guess you’ve come for the women.”
     I nodded. “I think you’ve had them long enough. The battle will be fought today; you must take care of your own from here.”
     He nodded in return. “Yes. We will go home when our warriors return and our squaws can mourn and wail over the dead and provide and care for the living. It is the way it should be.”
     I looked around at the women. “How many of you are there?” I asked the nearest.
     “24. One escaped a couple nights ago.”
     “She’s safe.” The ladies were obviously relieved.
     I spoke to White Crow. “We need 24 horses. It is the least you can do for holding these women against their will.”
     “Yes. This is true. Food and water?”
     “Yes, thank you.”
     White Crow turned and spoke to a younger brave behind him. He used his own tongue so I couldn’t understand him, but the man walked away, obviously obeying some kind of order. Then the old Indian said to the women, “Get your belongings, if you have any, and some food. I will take you to your horses.”
     It took a moment for the women to move; it may have seemed a little unreal to them that they were actually going home. But then, I saw several smiles and they quickly started chatting excitedly and went to gather up whatever they wanted or needed. I said to White Crow, “I cannot thank you for kidnapping them, but I can thank you for not harming them.”
     “I never wanted to take them in the first place. I said, ‘Why don’t we just bring some squaws?’ But I was told squaws can’t cook as well as white women, which is a bunch of buffalo chips, but a few of the younger braves wanted to prove themselves anyway by capturing a white woman.” He shrugged. “But none of the women were abused.” He looked at me. “You say that Robin got home safely?”
     “Yes. But barely. Apparently some of your men went after them.”
     “That is correct. Six of them. They didn’t care anything about her, they just wanted the horse back. But they never returned.”
     “They won’t.”
     “Ah,” is all he replied to that.
     “You speak English well.”
     “I went to Cambridge.” He had told Robin that he had schooled at Oxford, but I didn’t know that, of course. And I didn’t believe him, although I did wonder where in the world he had ever heard of the place, but chose not to pursue the matter.
     The ladies started gathering round. One of them spoke to me. “My name is Rita Carver. Thank you for coming. White Crow…said they would release us, but not when.” She threw a quick glance at him.
     “I was waiting for this fellow to show up,” the old Indian responded. He never cracked a smile so it was hard to tell when he was joking.
     “I’m Robert Constance,” I said to Rita and the others around. “I’ll take you to Fort Tyler and let them escort you home.”
     She nodded. Then, a worried expression came over her face. “The other Indians…maybe 2,000. They left. Will there be a battle?”
     “I’m afraid so. This afternoon, may have already begun.” I shook my head and sighed. “So useless. So many will die.” I looked at White Crow. “No matter the outcome of the battle today, the white man will eventually take the mountain. There are too many of them.”
     He nodded. “This I know. But we must fight for what we believe is ours for as long as we can. You would do the same.”
     Would I? I thought back to the ranch I had lost. I didn’t fight for it. I left. The pain hit me again. Julie…I couldn’t stay there…I couldn’t…I simply responded, “Yes.”
     All the women were ready. White Crow made a motion with his hand for us to follow. “Come,” he said.
     He led us towards the north wall where we saw a couple of men putting blankets and rope bridles on horses. White Crow spoke to the women. “They are yours. Our gift to you for your generous service. I apologize for my people for taking you from your homes and causing you and your loved ones needless pain and suffering.”
     Rita actually went over and hugged him. “You have been good, White Crow. We won’t forget you. But we must go home.”
     “I understand.”
     The women settled their belongings as best they could on the horses and each of them mounted. Since there were no stirrups, a few of them needed some help, which the Indian men supplied. In a few moments, they were ready and looked at me.
     I rode slowly over to White Crow, and reached down, holding out my hand. He took it, our eyes meeting and holding for several seconds. “Go with your God, white man,” he said to me.
     “And you, old warrior.” We released, I nodded to the women, and we rode out of the Indian camp. Every eye watched us, but no one made a move to stop us.

     It was about a 50 mile trip from the box canyon to the fort and the first 10 or so miles of that was over some pretty rough terrain. So, since it was dark by the time we reached the valley, we didn’t go the whole way that night. That would have worn the horses out, too. Around midnight, we found a stream about halfway to the fort and stopped to rest for a few hours. Not surprisingly, the women were anxious to get to the fort so they could start on their way home, so we were up before dawn and on our way. The women had all become good friends during their experience at the camp and they talked and laughed joyfully pretty much the whole way. Got on my nerves a bit, actually. A couple of them tried to engage me in conversation a few times, and I tried not to be rude, but I wasn’t terribly communicative. I had other things on my mind like—what was I going to do when I left the fort?
     Head north, I guess…that’s what I intended to do in the first place…My heart was a little heavy. No, it was a lot heavy. I was leaving behind…everything. My home, my ranch, my wife and never-born baby, another woman, Robin, who had gotten to me like no other woman, maybe not even my Julie, had ever done before. Leaving all of that for what? I sighed. I wouldn’t know until I arrived at wherever I was going, I supposed. All I knew was I sure wasn’t looking forward to getting there. Wherever it was.
     We topped a hill about mid-morning and there, in a valley below us, about half a mile away, lay Ft. Tyler. “There she blows, ladies. Just ride on up and knock on the door and I suspect those fellows will be more than happy to let you in.”
     Rita gave me a puzzled look. “You aren’t coming?”
     I shook my head. “No. If I do, they’ll just find something else they want me to do, and I don’t want to do it. So I’m going to head out. They’ll take care of you.” I also didn’t want to see Julie Ratliff again. Well, I wouldn’t have minded it, but we had said our good-byes, nothing was ever going to come of “us,” so it was better left alone.
     Rita replied, “Well…thank you.” She didn’t seem to know what else to say, but she was echoed about 23 times. “Be safe and careful wherever you are going?” Then, still perplexed, she asked, “Where are you going?”
     I gave her a soft smile and pointed north. “Thataway.”
     “But…you said your home was near Dry Gulch?”
     “Was.”
     One of the other ladies, whose name was Marilyn, spoke up. “I live in Dry Gulch. How come I’ve never seen you? Seems kinda strange…” She left it hanging and I read a little suspicion on her face.
     I smiled at her. “Well, you don’t look like the type to go into saloons and brothels.”
     “You don’t, either.”
     I just shrugged, still smiling.
     She continued to have a suspicious expression on her face, but all she said was, “Well, whoever you are and wherever you came from, thanks again.”
     I nodded. “I’m glad you’re all safe.”
     With a few more “thank yous” and “good-byes,” they all started towards the fort, setting their horses at a light canter. They wanted to get home more than they wanted to know anything more about me, and I would have felt the exact same way.
     I watched them all the way to the gate. I saw them stop for a few moments, then the gate swung open, and they all rode in. The gate swung shut. I dropped my head and sighed.
     “Well, Ol’ Paint, I reckon we done our good deed for the day. And I reckon we’ll head on north now. Does that meet with your approval?”
     He snorted, and I got the impression he couldn’t have cared less. Just as long as we went some place where he could get a good meal and rubdown.
     So, with one last glance at the fort, I turned north and headed in that direction. Going I did not know where. Only knowing that I wished I could go home. Or that I had a home to go home to. I thought about my Julie—and didn’t want to go there. I thought about Robin—and didn’t want to go there, either. But I couldn’t help it; my mind had a mind of its own.
     I wondered how the battle turned out yesterday. I wonder if she’s ok…
     I wonder if I’ll ever know…