Wild Splendor

When he drew away from her and they started walking toward their hogan, another thought came to Leonida. She grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Darling, what about the captives?” she asked. “Are they going with us, or are you going to set them free and allow them to join Kit Carson? You did promise their release.”

Sage glowered down at her. “Yes, I promised their release,” he said, his voice flat. “But that was before Kit Carson decided to destroy all that is precious to the Navaho. So now Sage will keep that which is precious to those soldiers who have set the fires and who have stolen the Navaho animals. The captives will accompany us down the back side of the mountain. Those who live through the dangerous ordeal may be released at a later date. Those who die, die . . .”

Leonida paled at the tone of his voice. Never had she heard it so filled with hatred. She thought it best to say nothing against his decision, for deep down inside herself she understood.

* * *

Kit Carson paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind him, and watched the flames roar through the tall grasses. He flinched when he heard the scream of another animal dying amid the fire; he had not been able to save them all, as he had planned. A Navaho sheepherder stood by, blackened by the smoke, his eyes dull and empty as he stared in space.

“Damn it, Sage,” Kit mumbled to himself, wiping beads of perspiration from his brow. “Why’d you force me to do this? Why?”

He stopped in his tracks when one of his soldiers began shouting, saying that some of the Navaho people had been seen on the paths, coming down from the mountain. It was obvious that they were surrendering.

Kit Carson mounted his horse and rode through the smoke and flames, up to the paths where there was clear passage. He maneuvered the steep, winding paths until he reached the first group of Navaho.

Swinging himself out of his saddle, nervously twining the reins around his fingers, he met the approach of the Navaho. “You are now my prisoners,” he said stiffly, nodding at one of the soldiers who had accompanied him up the mountainside to place ropes around each of their waists so that they could walk in single file the rest of the way down the mountain. The fire was abating. The smoke was thinning. By the time they reached the charred valley, the fire should be completely out.

Kit Carson looked from one Navaho to the other. “Did your chief release the white captives?” he questioned. “Are they coming down behind you? Where’s Sage? Is he also surrendering?”

He became disgruntled when no one offered a response. He could see that they remained loyal to their leader even though they had lost their freedom as they had always known it.

Kit Carson stared up at the high cliff overhead. He no longer saw any Navaho looking down from it. In fact, he saw no activity whatsoever.

Kit shook his head slowly and slipped back into his saddle. He was not going to walk into any of Sage’s traps. If he had to, he would camp out at the base of the mountain until Sage and the remainder of his people were starved out.

He regretted that Leonida was among those who were being forced to follow the orders of the powerful Navaho chief. He knew that General Harold Porter would not take this news civilly in the least.

Chapter 22

Keep thee today,

Tomorrow, forever.

—EMERSON

Pure Blossom was safely on a travois, wrapped snugly in pelts to keep her from rolling off the traveling apparatus. Horses and mules were loaded down with the personal

belongings of the Navaho. Some preferred to walk. Others chose to ride on horseback down the narrow paths. Leonida was on horseback, Runner on the saddle before her, tied to her with a rope that reached around each of their waists.

Tumultuous emotions flooded Leonida as she watched Sage take one last walk through his village while everyone waited for him to give the order to start. She wanted to go to him, to be with him in his time of sorrow, yet it seemed inappropriate at this time. It was a private mourning of sorts for her husband, having to leave his home behind because of the cruel, insensitive plans of white men. At this moment Leonida was ashamed of her heritage. To see such innocence taken away from such a beloved band of Indians tore at her heart. Would it never end? This constant choice of destroying the lives of innocent Indians to make things better for white people?

Her eyes widening, Leonida wondered why Sage had called many of his warriors to his side as he gazed down into the valley below, where occasional belches of smoke still rose from the destroyed crops. Her back stiffened when each of Sage’s warriors picked up torches that she had not noticed lying at the edge of the cliff. She gasped as the torches were lit, then tossed down the sides of the mountain, igniting all of the trees and grass that clung to the sides of the mountain, setting them all ablaze. The fires were fanned by the breeze, and a mile-wide line of flames soon swept down the sides of the mountain like a giant scythe.

Sage and his warriors hurried to their horses. Sage mounted his close beside Leonida’s. Before they left, she reached to grab his arm. “Why did you set the fire?” she asked, wishing that she could remove the pain in his eyes.

“It is a fire wall of sorts,” Sage said, his voice emotionless. “We will escape behind the cover of the dense smoke that rolls ahead of the flames. Also, it is to give Kit Carson cause to wonder about the fate of our village. It is best to draw him to the village rather than to us. By the time he reaches my stronghold, we will be long gone, safe from the man who was once a friend, now turned tyrant.”

The long, dangerous march down the back side of the mountain began. Leonida kept a close watch on the one side of her, where the sides of the mountain dropped off sharply. She clutched the reins hard, feeling as though she were scarcely breathing. Runner sat stiffly in front of her, his steady gaze on the cliff, his eyes wide as silver dollars.

Sage headed the travelers. Pure Blossom’s travois was attached to the horse of a warrior who traveled just behind Leonida. Occasionally, when Leonida felt it was safe, she would cast a worried glance back at Pure Blossom. From this vantage point she could not see her face, to see how she was faring.

Leonida turned her eyes back to the path, smiling. Of late, she had sat at Pure Blossom’s bedside, holding her hand, making up one story after another, feeling rewarded for her efforts when Pure Blossom would emit a soft laugh and give one of her warm smiles. Leonida hoped that she could give her the same sort of pleasure for many, many more months.

They moved relentlessly onward, through the tangled brush and occasionally across a wider span of ground, with trees and creeks alongside the path.

Again, then, they traveled on a narrow, slippery, winding path, the air filled with the fragrance of wildflowers that grew strangely from the sides of the mountain, in yellows, reds, and pinks.

As the day began to wane and the air became brisk, they arrived at the base of the mountain, the halfway point of their travels to their final destination.