Chapter Twenty-two

Serene I fold my arms and wait.

—Burroughs

After seeing that Speckled Fawn was well hidden in the trees outside Fort Dennison, Blue Thunder and his warriors rode onward toward the tall walls of the fort, their packhorses heavily laden with plush pelts.

After arriving at the gates of the fort, Blue Thunder and his men stopped, except for two who approached the two white sentries standing guard.

Blue Thunder sat stiffly in his saddle as he waited for his warriors to do their normal report to the sentries of how many warriors were in their party, and how many skins were being brought for trade.

Although this was the routine whenever they came to the fort for trade, Blue Thunder’s jaw tightened. Today they had much more to accomplish than trade.

Once inside the walls of the fort, he would have to behave normally, bargaining for supplies in exchange for his furs, while his mind and eyes would be on other things.

While exchanging small talk as well as food and smokes with the colonel in charge, Blue Thunder would be watching for a blondhaired, blue-eyed man who fit the description of his woman’s husband, as well as the child who was reported to be with him.

He hoped the plan would all go smoothly, for he did not want to return to his home, or Shirleen, empty-handed.

Still waiting, and observing what was happening at the closed gates, he saw one of the pony soldiers hand over a packet of tobacco, which would be brought to Blue Thunder with an invitation for his party to proceed into the fort. Even now the gates were being opened as his warriors rode back toward him.

Proud Horse came up beside Blue Thunder, stopped, then handed over the buckskin packet of tobacco.

“We are welcome to trade,” Proud Horse said quietly. “But I have news, and I am not sure whether it is good or bad.”

“And what news is this?” Blue Thunder asked as he took the tobacco packet and tied its drawstrings to the waistband of his fringed breeches.

“I think the news is good, and I believe you will think so, too,” Proud Horse said, slowly smiling. “My chief, there is a new colonel in charge of Fort Dennison, replacing the one who has been known to say he would proudly spit on all Indians if he had the chance. The young sentry who gave me the tobacco seemed proud to say that the new colonel is one who is kind and who strives for peace.”

“That is good . . . if it is true,” Blue Thunder replied, always skeptical of news that was said to be good and should make the red man happy.

He had heard of such tricks before, of leaders who were said to be good-hearted toward Indians, and then killed and even scalped them at the first opportunity.

“His name is?” Blue Thunder asked. He was proud to know many of the colonels in charge, who traveled from one fort to another.

“Colonel Cline,” Proud Horse said. “Colonel Harold Cline.”

“It is a kindly sounding name, though not one I know. I hope the man himself is kind as well,” Blue Thunder said. He turned to address his other warriors. “We have been given an invitation to enter the fort walls. We shall go in now. But you know what role you must play while we are there, besides making a good trade. You are to watch for a white man such as Shirleen described to us. Also notice whether a white child of my daughter’s age is with this man.”

Everyone nodded, and then Blue Thunder pointed the way forward and they all rode into the fort. Since Blue Thunder was a well-known and admired chief who strived for peace with white people at all times, he was greeted with the usual recognition of such a leader. The American flag was raised and cannons were fired to announce his arrival.

The first time that had happened, Blue Thunder had been alarmed by the pony soldiers’ response. He had thought he was being mocked and was riding into the face of danger.

But after he’d heard the commander’s explanation of the salute, he had realized that he should be proud of such a greeting, not angry, afraid, or suspicious.

Now he smiled and nodded at the soldier who was raising the flag, and then at the one who had fired the cannon.

Trusting the white pony soldiers’ intentions, and also having faith in the commander whom Blue Thunder had not yet met face-to-face, he rode on inside the fort walls. His warriors and their heavily laden packhorses followed him.

Once they were all inside, several soldiers came and saluted them, then led them on foot to a large outdoor receiving area.

There the horses were unpacked and each warrior took charge of his own skins, placing them on tables for the trading that would come after food and smokes were shared with the new colonel.

Having brought no pelts of his own, Blue Thunder dismounted and led his horse over to where many of the pony soldiers’ steeds were lined up along a hitching rail.

As he wrapped his reins around the rail, he heard heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

He turned on a moccasined heel and found himself face-to-face with the new colonel, who wore a freshly ironed blue uniform with shining brass buttons that reflected the rays of the late afternoon sun.

His face was square-jawed, his black hair was sprinkled with gray, and his eyes were of a violet color that Blue Thunder had never seen before.

But it was the man’s smile and firm handshake that told Blue Thunder that what he had heard about the new commander was true. His eyes shone with kindness as he smiled at Blue Thunder, his hand now lowering away from Blue Thunder’s to rest on a sheathed saber at his right side.

“Welcome to Fort Dennison,” Colonel Cline said, smiling broadly and revealing a smooth line of sparkling white teeth. “I have heard about you. It is good to finally make your acquaintance.”

“It is good to make yours,” Blue Thunder replied. He walked with the colonel toward a large table that sat away from the other tables where the pelts and robes were being neatly displayed.

As they sat down opposite one another, so that Blue Thunder would have a full view of the bargaining that was to take place, food was brought to the table and plates were stacked for those who wished to eat.

“I hope you will enjoy the feast I offer you and your warriors today,” Colonel Cline said, also watching the Assiniboine warriors unload their packhorses. When they had finished, they came with some of the soldiers and were offered places at the table.

“You are kind to offer such a feast,” Blue Thunder said as he eyed the platters piled high with venison meat, fruit, vegetables, and bread. “Pila-maye.”

He smelled the familiar aroma of the black drink called coffee, which had become one of the usual offerings at a time of trade.

And then a soldier brought a wrapped pipe and handed it the colonel.

Blue Thunder watched as the colonel unwrapped the red cloth, revealing a beautifully feathered, long-stemmed pipe.

“This was a gift given to me by a Cheyenne chief some time ago after a peace treaty was signed between us,” Colonel Cline said. He shook tobacco from a leather drawstring bag into the lovely painted bowl of the pipe. “Smoke with me. It will seal our friendship and future trades.”

Blue Thunder hoped that he hid his uneasiness and resentment at the sight of the pipe. Such a gift, after a peace treaty was signed, was supposed to seal the friendship which had resulted in peace. In reality, most of the time those treaties had been broken by whites and the gift of the pipe was made a mockery.

Knowing that he had no choice but to take a smoke from the pipe or insult this new white leader, Blue Thunder accepted it.

He held the long stem and took one long drag from the pipe, quickly inhaling the smoke, then returned the pipe to the colonel. He watched as Colonel Cline smoked from the same pipe stem, exhaling the smoke much more slowly as his eyes met and held Blue Thunder’s.

And then, that quickly, that part of the ceremony was over.

Then the feast began.

Many white soldiers came and sat at the same table as Blue Thunder and his warriors. They laughed and ate and seemed sincere in their kindness toward their visitors.

But all the time that Blue Thunder sat and ate, his eyes were never still.

He looked over his shoulder, and then straight ahead, and then glanced to one side and another, as other white people, both uniformed and not, came to look at the rich pelts and robes that had been brought for trade.

Suddenly Blue Thunder’s heart skipped a beat when he spied a man with golden hair worn to his waist, and piercing blue eyes. He held a small girl in his arms . . . a child who perfectly fit Megan’s description.

She had wrapped one tiny arm around the man’s neck, and in her blue eyes there was such sadness!

Blue Thunder did not want to attract the attention of the colonel or any of the other soldiers at the table. He had to be subtle in his observation of the man.

The golden-haired man moved slowly down the line of long tables piled high with items for trade.

Trading was the last thing on Blue Thunder’s mind as he tried not to stare at the white man and child. He must not draw suspicion toward himself, or their plan might be jeopardized.

So he finished the food on his plate, as did everyone else, and then the white and redskinned men rose from the table and the bargaining commenced.

As the white people made their choices, Blue Thunder stood back with the colonel, awaiting the time when his warriors would receive their payment in the large room where supplies were kept. Then each would choose the items he wished to take home to his wife.

When the colonel excused himself after a soldier came with news that required his attention, Blue Thunder seized this opportunity to approach the white man he’d been surreptitiously watching. He sidled up next to him and walked along the tables beside him.

Surprisingly, the white man stopped and turned to Blue Thunder, who was known far and wide as a good and peaceful chief.

“Good afternoon, Chief,” Earl said, a glint in his blue eyes as he gazed at Blue Thunder. “Mighty fine pelts you and your warriors have brought for trade.” He reached his hand out toward Blue Thunder for a handshake. “Earl. Earl Mingus is my name, and this here is my sweet daughter Megan.”

Now that he knew for certain that he was face-to-face with Shirleen’s husband and her pretty, sweet daughter, for a moment Blue Thunder could not find his voice to respond.

Quickly pulling himself together, Blue Thunder took Earl’s hand and politely shook it. “Yes, the trade is good today,” he said, but he removed his hand as soon as he could without letting on that the very touch of this man’s flesh filled Blue Thunder with loathing.

Blue Thunder turned his attention elsewhere. He smiled at Megan, whose eyes showed anything but happiness. “Your child is how many winters old?” he asked.

He was trying to think of a way to carry on a conversation with the man until he could get away from him. Now that he knew Earl and Megan were in Fort Dennison, he was to contact Speckled Fawn so their plan could proceed.

He was anxious to get this accomplished so that he could return to the safety of his village with the little girl who showed fear in her beautiful blue eyes . . . fear of her very own ahte.

Earl gazed at Blue Thunder as he raised an eyebrow. “What did you just ask me? What does it mean . . . how many winters?”

“Your daughter’s age,” Blue Thunder said, smiling to himself at this man’s ignorance of Indian terms. “You see, I have a daughter who might be the same age.”

“My Megan is four years old,” Earl replied, a hint of mockery in his voice.

“And do you have a wife?” Blue Thunder asked, wondering just how this man would choose to lie to him.

“There are only my daughter and myself waiting for a paddlewheeler that will take us away from this godforsaken place,” Earl said. He was suddenly aware of a glint of hatred in the chief’s eyes and wondered what had caused it, especially since it was rumored that this particular chief was friendly to white people.

Not really caring, Earl excused himself and hurried away. He didn’t notice that one of Blue Thunder’s warriors followed him.

Just as Earl walked away, the colonel returned.

Blue Thunder turned to him and shook his hand. “It has been a good trade, a good time of camaraderie,” Blue Thunder said pleasantly. “But now it is time for me and my warriors to return to our homes. Thank you for the generous food, drink, and smoke. My warriors and I will return later in the fall with even better and thicker pelts for trading.”

“You do not wish to spend the night?” Colonel Cline asked as he slowly took his hand away. “It is the custom, you know, for me to offer the chief a night’s lodging in my home while the warriors sleep in the courtyard.”

“I know, and I thank you for the invitation, but I have an ailing uncle who awaits my return,” Blue Thunder said. Although that was true, Blue Thunder had another reason for making such a quick retreat from the fort. Speckled Fawn awaited his return with news of whether the white man was there with the child.

“I am sorry about your uncle,” Colonel Cline said, walking Blue Thunder to his horse. “Will you give him my best?”

“I shall do that,” Blue Thunder answered, untying the reins as his warriors also prepared their horses for travel, strapping the goods they’d acquired onto the backs of their packhorses.

They all mounted their steeds and rode slowly through the courtyard, then out the wide gate.

Short Robe, the warrior who had followed Earl to learn which cabin was his for the night, soon joined them. He smiled at Blue Thunder. “The dwelling and its location will be easily described to Speckled Fawn,” he said. “Thus far, the plan seems to be working, do you not think so?”

“It is not wise to become too confident about such things,” Blue Thunder replied. “We must still proceed with much caution, and so should Speckled Fawn.”

Soon they entered the dark shadows of the forest, where Speckled Fawn awaited their return, and told her the good news, that the child was there for the taking. They were then forced to wait several hours so that Speckled Fawn’s arrival would not be connected with the Assiniboine’s visit.

When the sun began to lower toward the horizon, Blue Thunder stepped up to Speckled Fawn, and as was planned, he ripped the skirt of her dress, mussed up her hair, and smeared dirt on her face.

When that was done, he held her hands in his. “Are you ready?” he asked as he searched her eyes. “Do you still feel confident about our plan?”

Smiling broadly, Speckled Fawn raised her skirt and patted the knife sheathed at her right thigh. “Here is my confidence,” she said smartly. “Just stay here, close to the fort, so that I will not have to run too far when I escape with the child.”

She and Blue Thunder embraced one another.

And then she left.

Although she had not admitted it to Blue Thunder, Speckled Fawn was actually terrified.

She focused all her energy on playing the role she had undertaken. She faked a limp and made herself look distraught as she walked in the direction of the fort.

When she finally came into view of the sentries at the gate, she pretended to stumble even worse and began screaming for help.

The sentries ran to her.

They stood on each side of her and took her gently by her elbows to hold her steady as she told them she was the only survivor of an Indian massacre. She told how murdering renegades had attacked her homestead; how she had walked for many miles to get to the fort.

She begged for their help.

She was quickly reassured and taken inside.

Speckled Fawn had never been much of a praying woman, but at this moment, she whispered a prayer that all would go well. If Earl saw through her act, both she and Megan would be doomed.