Read Online Climb the Highest Mountain by Rosanne Bittner - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosanne Bittner
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Chivington ordered Anthony to join him, so they’re about a thousand strong now, all well armed. They even have mountain howitzers with them, and he forced poor young Robert Bent to go along as a guide. It will be bad for the Cheyenne, Zeke. They must have already got there by now.”
Zeke’s jaws flexed in anger. “Have you seen Wolf’s Blood, John?”
The man’s eyes saddened. “He out makin’ hay again?”
Zeke couldn’t help but grin a little. “I’m afraid so.” He sobered again. “The worst part is he’s got a yen for a little Cheyenne girl. I’m afraid he might have gone to Sand Creek.”
The man frowned. “Then you’d best get up there. Ain’t nothin’ but bad times comin’ for them people. Orders are to kill all Indians, take no prisoners. Them words is right out of Chivington’s mouth.”
Zeke gripped his knife. “I’d like to get my hands on the bastard!”
“You’d have to go through about a thousand men to do it.”
Zeke’s eyes glittered with hopeless rage. “Thanks for the information, John. I’d best head out right away.”
The man nodded. “Good luck, Zeke. I hope you find your son okay.”
Zeke hurried out. He didn’t care what the orders were regarding Indians. He’d worn his buckskins and left his hair loose, decorating it with ornaments. He always felt happiest when he rode as an Indian, using no saddle, only a blanket over a rawhide seat stuffed with buffalo hair. He wore a buffalo coat and winter moccasins. His soul was Indian, and he had prayed to the spirits that morning for his son’s safety and his own.
“Help me, Maheyo,” he prayed now as he eased himself up onto his Appaloosa with a young man’s agility. He headed out of the fort at a fast gallop.
There was no sound but the howling wind as Zeke’s mount moved silently through the deep snow toward the edge of the bank that looked down on the Cheyenne village below. Zeke was already alarmed because he had seen no smoke. Any village in the dead of winter would put out smoke from the warming fires of everytipi, and there should be at least a hundred lodges at Sand Creek. When he’d climbed the bank, his chest filled with pain at the sight below.
“Ihaveseva!”
he gasped. “Wolf’s Blood! Nahahan!”
He could only pray that Wolf’s Blood was not among the bodies that lay strewn and mutilated throughout the now-burned village below. There were too many to count. As he rode forward, shuddering with fear that Wolf’s Blood’s corpse would be among them, his eyes filled with tears at the horrible sight. This had been the most peaceful band of Cheyenne. They had been waiting faithfully beside the creek for instructions from Major Anthony. From the looks of the half-naked bodies, they had been attacked at dawn, before they had a chance to dress.
He dismounted as he rode closer, knowing he must perform the gut-wrenching chore of inspecting each body to see if Wolf’s Blood or his brother Black Elk and his family might be among them. He looked down into the faces of women and small children, noting the huge gashes on their limbs and chests. He groaned at the sight of women’s bellies riped open, their female organs removed. Some children were dismembered, and some lay naked, sprawled where they had run with little feet to get away from the huge men thundering down on them atop big horses, men wielding sabers and guns. Parts of bodies were still inside the remains of tipis that had been hit by howitzer shells.
Zeke could scarcely believe his eyes. He spotted a huge, battered flag lying next to one tipi. “Black Kettle’s,” he muttered. The banner lay wrinkled and matted on the frozen ground. The flag had been presented to Black Kettle by President Lincoln himself. The Indian leader had trusted the white man’s promises. Had Black Kettle escaped? Zeke walkedamong the frozen bodies that lay in grotesque positions, stuck to the ground by their own frozen blood. He walked along the creek, where it was
Zeke’s jaws flexed in anger. “Have you seen Wolf’s Blood, John?”
The man’s eyes saddened. “He out makin’ hay again?”
Zeke couldn’t help but grin a little. “I’m afraid so.” He sobered again. “The worst part is he’s got a yen for a little Cheyenne girl. I’m afraid he might have gone to Sand Creek.”
The man frowned. “Then you’d best get up there. Ain’t nothin’ but bad times comin’ for them people. Orders are to kill all Indians, take no prisoners. Them words is right out of Chivington’s mouth.”
Zeke gripped his knife. “I’d like to get my hands on the bastard!”
“You’d have to go through about a thousand men to do it.”
Zeke’s eyes glittered with hopeless rage. “Thanks for the information, John. I’d best head out right away.”
The man nodded. “Good luck, Zeke. I hope you find your son okay.”
Zeke hurried out. He didn’t care what the orders were regarding Indians. He’d worn his buckskins and left his hair loose, decorating it with ornaments. He always felt happiest when he rode as an Indian, using no saddle, only a blanket over a rawhide seat stuffed with buffalo hair. He wore a buffalo coat and winter moccasins. His soul was Indian, and he had prayed to the spirits that morning for his son’s safety and his own.
“Help me, Maheyo,” he prayed now as he eased himself up onto his Appaloosa with a young man’s agility. He headed out of the fort at a fast gallop.
There was no sound but the howling wind as Zeke’s mount moved silently through the deep snow toward the edge of the bank that looked down on the Cheyenne village below. Zeke was already alarmed because he had seen no smoke. Any village in the dead of winter would put out smoke from the warming fires of everytipi, and there should be at least a hundred lodges at Sand Creek. When he’d climbed the bank, his chest filled with pain at the sight below.
“Ihaveseva!”
he gasped. “Wolf’s Blood! Nahahan!”
He could only pray that Wolf’s Blood was not among the bodies that lay strewn and mutilated throughout the now-burned village below. There were too many to count. As he rode forward, shuddering with fear that Wolf’s Blood’s corpse would be among them, his eyes filled with tears at the horrible sight. This had been the most peaceful band of Cheyenne. They had been waiting faithfully beside the creek for instructions from Major Anthony. From the looks of the half-naked bodies, they had been attacked at dawn, before they had a chance to dress.
He dismounted as he rode closer, knowing he must perform the gut-wrenching chore of inspecting each body to see if Wolf’s Blood or his brother Black Elk and his family might be among them. He looked down into the faces of women and small children, noting the huge gashes on their limbs and chests. He groaned at the sight of women’s bellies riped open, their female organs removed. Some children were dismembered, and some lay naked, sprawled where they had run with little feet to get away from the huge men thundering down on them atop big horses, men wielding sabers and guns. Parts of bodies were still inside the remains of tipis that had been hit by howitzer shells.
Zeke could scarcely believe his eyes. He spotted a huge, battered flag lying next to one tipi. “Black Kettle’s,” he muttered. The banner lay wrinkled and matted on the frozen ground. The flag had been presented to Black Kettle by President Lincoln himself. The Indian leader had trusted the white man’s promises. Had Black Kettle escaped? Zeke walkedamong the frozen bodies that lay in grotesque positions, stuck to the ground by their own frozen blood. He walked along the creek, where it was
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