STORY ONE: BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS
By Molly M. Moon
Written: 5/1/99-8/5/99
Posted: 8/8/99
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1878 – Dakota Territory
The tall figure turned in the saddle one last time before the fort closed its gates on him and his past life. The beautiful spring day brought gold to the Dakotas and even the Black Hills seemed to profit from the benevolence of the sun.
Captain James Ellison gave a final farewell wave to Colonel Pendergast, easing the strain of their last serious talk. Jim pulled his hat down low over his eyes and gently urged his horse into a run…he couldn’t get far enough away, fast enough.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Jim?” Pendergast asked. “You’re willing to throw ten years of army service away? For what? Pride? Your own personal punishment?”
“It’s just that, sir, personal. I don’t expect you to understand,” the blue eyes bore into his friend’s eyes, not wanting or needing understanding.
Colonel Jack Pendergast came around his desk and stood eye-to-eye with his best commanding officer and friend. Remembering the stubborn, cocky young military man he whipped into shape ten years ago, he couldn’t help but wonder where he went wrong. Right now he wanted to push the rock hard, stubborn soldier up against the wall and pummel some sense into him.
“Choidan was not your fault, nor Hobson’s nor any of the other men in your unit. Let it go, Jim, just let it go. Quinn’s marauders are to blame. You have a great career in the army, all you have to do is re-enlist, sign these damn papers,” he said, pointing to the small stack of forms on his desk, “one signature and you get your regiment back.”
“No, sir, I’m through.” Ellison stood stock still, rigid and professional, always the military man. They’ll never take the military out of him; he’s a damn fool if he thinks he can by walking away, Pendergast thought.
“Choidan disobeyed orders. He lied to Hobson, straight out obfuscation to bend things to his way. He was a glory man who wanted to earn medals and a name for himself. The army isn’t for individual glory, Jim. You and I, we’ve been in this business long enough to know it’s based on orders, rules and regulations, and following the book. “ Pendergast eased his stance and locking his hands behind his back he walked over to the window. Peering out he saw the men about their business, the sentries walking the parapets, the supplies being unloaded and stored in the sheds, the busy life of military existence, a place and time for everything.
“Sir, he was young, inexperienced, and my friend,” he heard the break in Ellison’s voice, “and he never should have died, if I hadn’t…”
“STOP IT!” Pendergast roared, “and that is a order, Captain.”
On that clipped note, Pendergast walked back to stand in front of Ellison. “Jim, what will you do outside the military? You were born to command men. I’ve seen how your soldiers look at you, the respect and awe that sometimes is almost tangible. Leaders like you don’t come along often, and the army doesn’t need to lose men like you, especially not now, with the Sioux becoming more and more hostile. You’re the only white man they listen to. Wind Walker is off to the Plains, but he won’t stay quiet for long.”
“Wind Walker is a friend.”
“Yeah, you’re the only white man who can enter his camp and still walk out alive.” Pendergast returned to his desk. Easing his tall frame into the chair he clasped his hands together in front of him.
“Does this have something to do with the headaches, the unconscious states you’ve been drifting in and out of since they found you walking in the Badlands two years ago?”
“Like I said, sir, it’s personal.”
“If you believe that, Ellison, I think you’re in for some hard lessons.”
The pain in his side was becoming unbearable. The young Indian who had jabbed a sharp elbow in his ribs had been trying to show his fighting skills. Well, there’s nothing to show against a peaceful opponent , Blair thought. The huge cross bore his weight in uneven measure, putting stress and strain on his outstretched arms as they were pulled tautly up and out. His legs equally distanced on the huge x-shaped cross, pulled at his groin. However, it was the nakedness, the utter vulnerability of his private parts, exposed to the sticks and rocks thrown by the women and children, that made the misery unbearable.
How could I have been so foolish to think I could just walk into their camp and study them, live among them for awhile. Sir Burton would have been impressed, I know that much, but I never thought they would be hostile if I wasn’t hostile in return, he lectured himself halfheartedly. It’s not my fault, I never guessed.
Besides, I had the falsified papers. It was easy passing the exam. They never questioned any of the answers on the entry form, Blair thought now. When the small Philadelphia College had offered a summer sabbatical studying reservations and Indian Life, Blair had done everything within his powers to obfuscate. Even telling Naomi that he was going on the expedition with Professor Dunthorp and a cavalry escort. She had given her only son her blessing and said she had some exploring to do on her own. She never questioned that her seventeen-year old son had lied his way into the school. Blair was a special boy in her eyes and she left him to his own fabrications. It made him strong, independent, and his own man. They would see each other in one year’s time back in Philadelphia. Well, he misunderstood the time they said they were leaving Fort Bismarck. Thinking he could catch up, he purchased a small map from a trapper. It would be easy finding the reservation and the rest of his research team. However, he had forgotten his propensity for getting lost.
This morning, loaded down with books and blank notebooks and some items for trade, he had ridden into their camp. More than anything, Blair wanted to attract the attention of Sir Richard Burton. The man’s studies and travels from his very first lecture had enchanted the young student. Sir John Hanning Speke, the explorer, would have Blair Sandburg along on his next expedition into Africa. This was the key to getting invited into that rare and closed circle.
Imagine, living on a reservation for one year, learning all their ways, gaining their trust, studying their culture and mannerisms. I could have been the talk of the educated masses. If only they had been a bit more friendly. I could have studied their guards, the warriors who protected…what if there was a sentinel, a man with superior eyesight among them. Burton would take notice…the first one found in North America…found and notated by Blair Sandburg, seventeen-year-old college student, Blair almost smiled to himself lost in the dream.
Jerking his head up, roused from his musings by a sharp jab in his side, he groaned as he saw the small boy who took an unusual pleasure in persecuting him, once again start a new round of torture.
Ellison stopped his horse, bringing the packhorse next to him. He reached down and with great pomp and ceremony, a show for his audience’s sake, he undid his gun belt. Holding it high in the air, he made a big production of draping it over the pack animal’s back.
Hands held high in the air, reins hanging loosely down, he calmly eased his Bud forward. He didn’t need to wait long. The young warriors came out of the bushes and grabbed the reins. Ellison said two words, “Wiconi - Dakota,” the latter being the Sioux word for friend.
The young braves looked at each other and in a silent agreement, led Ex-Captain James Ellison into the Sioux camp.
The camp was like many easily mobile villages, teepees sprung up in vast sectors, skins were laid out to dry and tan in the warming, mid-day sun. A group of women and children immediately came forward, brave under the aegis of all the male warriors in camp. Ellison sat stoically in the saddle, showing neither fear nor impatience, the rituals of command long ingrained in his own soul.
A middle-aged brave came towards him, parting the crowd of observers. “Elleeson, welcome,” he said in a strained, tight command of the English language.
“Bear Claw, it is good to see my old friend,” Jim said as he took the offer and dismounted. The Indian moved closer and wrapped his arms around Jim in a warm, friendly embrace.
“Wind Walker will be poleezed to see his old Dakota.”
“The joy is mine as all old friends give joy and strength to one another,” with this Jim tapped his fist against his heart in the unspoken language of friendship.
The rituals of Indian relations had always been foremost in Jim’s mind. He had established many strong bonds with the Indians during his time in the army. It was the government’s lies and treatment of the Indians that had helped seal his decision not to renew his commission, that, and of course, Choidan’s death.
The Sioux were run out of the Black Hills when gold was discovered; now they settled farther west and still suffered the persecution of the cavalry and white settlers. Jim sympathized with men who could not fit into the white man’s world. He had learned long ago, that fitting in was impossible when you were different. Long years of suppressing his unruly senses in childhood had taught him the safety of discipline. Now a world without discipline and regulations awaited him. He would just have to abide by his own rigid guidelines.
As the camp spread itself out for the new arrival, Jim saw some children around a prisoner, hanging on a cross pole. The man was completely naked; his head drooped onto his chest in thick brown curls that caught fire in the midday sun. He was a white man and Ellison knew that he would have to talk to Wind Walker about a trade. Sighing heavily, burdened now with the hard talk of trade and negotiations, Jim cursed whoever hung there. Damn fool deserves to die coming into Blackfoot territory.
With casual indifference, he turned towards Bear Claw. “Where’d you collect the pale face?”
“Came into camp. Walk in like white man, fool. He run in morning. Young braves sharpen skill with hunt.”
Jim nodded his head in complete understanding. You did not wisely push the Sioux too quickly.
The teepee opened as they approached. A beautiful young woman came out, smiling shyly at Jim. He returned the smile and she gasped at the wonder of such a sight. Ellison smiled with his eyes, his whole countenance, and his soul, on those very rare occasions when he chose.
The darkened tent cast a soft glow from a fire lit in its center. Near the fire sat an old Indian, cross-legged. He looked up at Jim, nodded his head slowly, spread his hand next to him in a gesture of welcome.
Easing his tall, tired body down, Jim settled himself across from Wind Walker. “It is with warm heart that I come. I come to say goodbye to my good friends. Dakota, always.”
The hours passed slowly. The time filled with much talk of old times, old memories and the bonds that led to their friendship.
After a delicious dinner of rabbit and cornbread, Jim rose to collect his saddlebags from the packhorse. There were gifts he had brought for Wind Walker and Bear Claw. Heading for the horses tethered along the perimeter, he checked on the prisoner. Looking up just in time to see him throw back his head and scream. A small boy was poking his genitals with a stick. Shaking his head, Jim called the boy. “Eagle Eye, come,” he fell easily into the Lakota tongue.
Tired of the old game, the small boy raced off to Ellison. Jim looked at the prisoner whose face was now visible with his hair thrown back. He was a kid. “Damn it,” Jim swore. He focused his sight in on the lines of pain that etched the smooth features. The blue eyes squinting against the fading light, the grim set of jaw and lips biting against the pain and abuse, and he felt protective. The strong urge to gather the young man in his arms and tend to his wounds became so overwhelming; he bit his lower lip. The beating heart that called to him was like no other experience he had ever had. Even when Choidan lay dying in his arms, he was not so drawn to the incessant beating of the other’s heart.
A tug at his jacket brought him out of his musings, the small lad now waited for the attention promised him. Ellison wanted to spank the cruel boy, take him by the scruff of his neck and deposit him over his knee delivering to him the same pain and torment he seemed to pleasure in giving others. Instead, knowing it was the Indian way taught early to the young, he reached into his saddlebags and produced a long licorice whip and a whistle. Then pointing towards the prisoner, he shook his head. “No more,” he said with control and authority, spoken in Lakota. The boy nodded his head, stuck the whip into his mouth, then the whistle and happily bounced off in the opposite direction.
Jim collected the rest of the gifts he wished to present to Wind Walker, and now determined as ever to free the prisoner, he reached in for the one added item that would cinch any trade. Giving the prisoner one final look, he realized the kid did not know another white man was in camp. Now his head laid back against the pole that helped support the cross beams, his eyes closed, and Jim focused in on his heartbeat and vital signs. It was steady and strong. Keep it up, kid, I’ll get you out of here, Jim thought. Re-entering the teepee, he set his mind firmly, he would not leave without the prisoner.
Blair Sandburg, seventeen-year-old wanderer and free spirit, wanted to die. His stomach growled while his body ached, and the long hours in the sun had burnt his fair skin to a crisp. The taut muscles pulled and screamed and any movement only increased his agony. Suddenly he felt his hand grabbed from behind and the bonds were being cut. Adjusting his eyes, he saw a tall, broad-shouldered man off to this right. This man was dressed like a white man.
“Oh, ank God,” he croaked, his mouth dry and uncooperative, not forming certain letters.
“Shut up,” was the cold reply.
The darkness had fallen swiftly upon the camp and Sandburg thought the man had snuck in during the night to help him escape. Instead, he made his presence known, not covering his movements or silencing his angry words. Blair looked on in shock as warriors came out, saw him releasing the prisoner and merely returned to their teepees. The sentries around the camp, talking amongst themselves, were pointing and laughing.
“You’ll probably wish I’d left you here in time,” the harsh words fell upon his confused brain.
He remained silent, not tempting the fates, choosing not to anger this stranger any further.
When the final bond was cut, he fell forward finding no strength to bear his weight on his weak legs. Ellison bent slightly and hefted the naked figure over his shoulder. Blair began to protest, resenting the further indignities after all he had suffered already.
Kicking his feet out, he tried to push himself off by bracing his hands on the man’s hips. A sharp, resounding smack met the left cheek of his exposed bottom, before he could cry out a similarly sharp retort decorated his right side. “Who the hell do you think you are?” Blair squawked, indignantly.
Instead of walking away from the camp, Blair looked up to see himself being taken to a teepee next to the one he knew the Chief occupied. “Someone die and make you chief?” Blair said, peevishly.
When the flap closed, Jim tossed his prize down hard upon a bed of animal furs and straw. The fire warmly glowed igniting the space and all within its circle with a soft, tender light. The blue eyes that looked up at him with shock and hurt, were the most outstanding thing about the heavy featured young man. The jaw, stubbled with growth, quivered under the intense scrutiny. He pushed his hair back behind his ear, more in a gesture of uncertainty than any real need. The wide forehead parted the curls to each side of his face and Ellison felt sorry for the boyish uncertainty that gave him a frightened, doe-eyed look.
“Morning Mist is coming with water and herbs. I’ll tend to your wounds. Are you hurt seriously anywhere?”
Blair immediately grabbed the furs and crawled beneath them. Obviously embarrassed that a woman might find him exposed. “No. Let’s just get out of here,” he suggested, near panic.
“Can’t. Be most inhospitable.”
“Inhospitable? INHOSPITABLE YOU SAY?” Sandburg shouted out, a slight laugh touching off the nerves of hysteria. “Look, Mister, I don’t know who or what you are,” his voice broke in a loud squeak, “but, these people have been torturing me. God only knows what they have in store for me come morning.”
“They were going to run you,” was the curt reply.
“What the hell is that? What the hell are they going to do to me?” Agitation caused him to push back farther into the shadows, pulling the furs with him.
Jim dropped to his knees and grabbed the young man by his shoulders, giving him a firm shake. The wince brought him up short. Cursing himself, he pushed the kid back down into the furs. “They’re not doing anything to you now. You were given to me, as a gift.”
The tent flap was pulled back and the same beautiful young woman Jim had smiled at earlier came in with a pan of water and some bowls filled with paste. Jim smiled. Reaching out a hand he gently stroked the soft cheek as she squatted down next to him. “I’ll take care of it, Mist. Just bring us some food.” Jim accompanied the request with a hand to mouth gesture.
She reached a hand up and warmly pressed the larger one to her cheek, closing her eyes, she muttered sweetly, “Jim.”
“Go, I need to tend to him.”
Jim watched the woman leave, longingly. Then he turned a critical eye back towards his patient. “Let me take a look,” he said, reaching to pull back the furs.
Clutching the covering to his chest, Sandburg held on. “I’m fine, really.”
Ellison looked coldly into the blue eyes, “One….” He continued to stare.
The other’s eyes widened, not quite comprehending the routine. God, he has cold eyes. I think I was better off with the Indians.
“Two….” The countdown continued.
Suddenly, Blair threw back the covers and turned his face away, realizing the true fear rested in the unknown retaliation of the final “three.”
Examining the cuts and bruises with tender fingers, Jim determined that most of the wounds were superficial cuts and scratches, sunburn and exposure, but when he touched the rib cage, the young man gasped trying desperately to hide the pain.
“You’re fine all right, with a broken rib. Do you always lie?” he asked, coldly. Reaching over into his pack, he pulled a shirt out and began tearing it into fine strips.
“I don’t lie,” the kid said, “I obfuscate sometimes,” he added with a slight smile to his lips, wanting to break the hard atmosphere this man seemed to create. Ellison remembered Pendergast’s observation of Choidan’s obfuscation. He returned a disgusted look to his patient.
“I won’t tolerate any more lies, obfuscation or whatever the hell you choose to call them. Life out here is not a game and you will do what I tell you and answer me truthfully when I ask you a question.”
“Look, I’m grateful to you,” Blair said, as Jim motioned for him to sit up. The older man extended an arm and helped ease him into a sitting position. “I’m grateful and all, but once we’re out of here I’m on my own. I have plans.”
“What’s your name?”
“Blair Sandburg, anthropologist.” He extended his hand.
Grabbing it firmly, Jim gave it a slight shake, “Jim Ellison. Mind telling me how the hell you got yourself into this mess.”
“Well, I came to study them. I wanted to live with them for a year or so and I have this idea for a book. Boy oh boy, if I could get it published and Sir Richard Burton…well, Burton is this great explorer and he studies tribes and there’s these men, these sentinels…”
“Whoa…slow down. You mean you came waltzing in here thinking they would let you just settle down in their midst, a white man, and let you study them?” Jim sat back eyeing the strange young man before him. “How the hell did you think they would receive you?” Jim finished angrily, at the end of his patience.
“The Bureau of Indian Affairs sent us out here to study the reservations, well, not me in particular…a group of college students. I unfortunately got separated from them. I had this map, but I think I might have gone the wrong way. I had some goods to trade with them. I guess I just figured if I came in peace…” he drifted off, not sure he was winning any points with this man.
“Well, I don’t know how you made it into college, Junior, but it’s the Crow who are on reservations and good terms with the army. The Blackfoot Sioux are at war with the white man. Haven’t you heard of Little Bighorn in 1876?”
“I think I was down in South America then with Naomi?” Blair said sheepishly.
Wrapping the long strips around his ribs, Ellison pulled tightly. Blair’s stomach started growling. “I’ll tend to your cuts and then you eat. You need to get some rest. We’ll be leaving first light.”
Part 2 of Story One