Wild Splendor

Sage’s search went well. Because Kit Carson’s return to Fort Defiance was being slowed by the many Navaho people accompanying him, traveling on foot, they had not gotten far. Night had just fallen again, and the white pony soldiers’ campfire, like a beacon in the night for Sage, had quickly drawn his keen attention.

Sage stopped far enough away so that his horse could not be heard if it whinnied. The rest of the way he was going by foot; the knife clutched in his right hand would be the quietest way to silence anyone who tried to stand in the way of this abduction.

The smell of cooked venison wafted through the air, teasing Sage’s hunger, for he had not stopped to eat—nor would he stop to sleep, until he was among his people again, Kit Carson with him.

When he got close enough to the campsite to be able to distinguish faces, pain circled his heart at the sight of so many of his Navaho people who had unwisely chosen the life of a reservation over trusting their chief. As he watched the Navaho eat good portions of meat and drink from canteens of water, it appeared that they were being treated fairly enough. That somewhat alleviated his pain at no longer being an integral part of their lives.

Sage’s gaze shifted, singling out Kit Carson from among the soldiers sitting away from the Navaho, closer to the fire. Kit was eating and talking, laughing when one of the soldiers told a raunchy joke.

This lighthearted side of Kit Carson reminded Sage of a time when he had called Kit a friend of the Indians. It had been good to ride with him, to challenge him with looped ropes and races on horseback.

Sage smiled grimly. No one had ever been able to outrope Kit Carson, and scarcely anyone ever won against him while racing horses.

Sage squatted on his haunches behind a thicket and rested his knife on a knee, forcing himself not to remember the good things about Kit Carson. At present, too much bad flooded his mind.

It was up to Sage to change that bad to good again.

Time seemed to move slowly, but finally everyone had finished eating, and all that was left to do was to move comfortably into their bedrolls. Sage watched guardedly as first one man and then another went into the brush to relieve themselves before retiring for the night.

He then watched the women take the children into the privacy of the bushes, aching inside when he realized that the young braves among the children would never experience the wonders of being a Navaho warrior, riding free across uncharted land. They might never feel the rush of the wind on their faces while on horseback or the feel of a lance clasped tightly in their hands.

“By living on a reservation, these young braves will lose everything that is naturally Navaho to them,” he whispered to himself. “It is sad that they are not old enough to make their own decisions as to where they wish to live.”

He circled a hand into a tight fist, and his eyes narrowed angrily. “It is sad that they will be raised to behave more like women than men!” he hissed under his breath.

Soon everyone was settled in for the night. Sage watched slowly from bedroll to bedroll. The soldiers seemed to be asleep.

And then he eyed the two soldiers who had been chosen to keep watch. A smile crept onto his lips when he saw these men sit down and lean their backs against a tree, their heads soon bobbing as they fought off sleep.

Sage patiently waited, watching the soldiers, smiling again when he saw them sitting perfectly still now, their heads bowed. He watched the slow heaving of their shoulders, showing that they were sleeping soundly, hopefully soundly enough for Sage to get in and out of the camp without being detected.

Moving out of the thicket, Sage crept into the camp. Kit Carson was sleeping partially away from the others. He had stayed awake the longest, studying what seemed to be a map. Then he had folded the map, slipped it into his front shirt pocket, and crawled into his bedroll. Soon he was fast asleep.

His knife poised before him, ready for action should someone awaken and find him there, Sage moved stealthily around the soldiers, glad when he finally reached Kit Carson. Without hesitation he yanked a red handkerchief from his rear pocket.

Bending down beside Kit Carson, Sage momentarily lay his knife aside. Then as quickly as lightning strikes, he had Kit Carson gagged. The little man’s eyes gleamed wildly as he peered up at Sage in the dim shadows of the campfire’s glowing embers. Sage hurriedly picked up his knife and held it at Kit Carson’s throat, giving him a message that Kit interpreted well enough—to do as he was told or be killed.

Sage rose slowly to his full height. Kit Carson got slowly to his feet also, careful not to stumble since the knife followed his every move. Scarcely breathing, Kit Carson walked easily and lightly through the camp as Sage led him with a firm grip on his arm, the cold blade of the knife still against the flesh of his throat.

When they were finally out of the camp, Sage took Kit to his horse. Kit hesitated before climbing into the saddle. He gave Sage and the knife a nervous look.

Sage understood this silent message. He lowered the knife, then nodded silently toward his saddle again.

Grumbling obscenities against the fabric of the neckerchief, Kit put his foot in the stirrup, then swung himself into the saddle.

Sage eased onto the horse behind his prisoner, took the reins into his hands, then sank his heels into the flanks of his stallion and rode in an easy lope away from the camp. When they were far enough away so that no one could hear the horse’s hoofbeats, Sage urged his mount into a hard gallop across the land. When he saw Kit reach for the gag, Sage did nothing. He allowed it. He smiled, knowing that Kit Carson could shout and scream and curse all he wanted now, and no one but Sage would hear him.

They rode until the sunrise was splashing great orange-pink streaks across the heavens. Then Sage drew his steed to a whirling halt beside a coolly glowing river. He said nothing to Kit, just nonchalantly dismounted and led his horse to the water to get its fill.

Then Sage bent to a knee and scooped mouthfuls of water down his parched throat with his hands, not flinching when Kit Carson came and knelt down beside him. His angry words seemed to echo across the river and back again. “Do you honestly think you will get away with abducting me?” Kit shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands. “When the soldiers discover that I’m not at the camp, they’ll come looking for me, and by God, Sage, you have to know they will find me.”

“Drink your fill of water now because we will not stop again until we reach the camp of the Navaho,” Sage said flatly, giving Kit an indifferent stare. “And if I must gag you again to silence you, I will. From this point on, your hands will be tied behind you and you will be blindfolded. It is not wise to allow you to see where you are going. That way you cannot return once I have set you free.”

“Ha!” Kit said sarcastically. “At least I am able to look forward to freedom again. But when, Sage? Why have you abducted me? What plans are you setting into motion with my abduction?”

“You still talk instead of drink?” Sage said, frowning at Kit. He shrugged. “That is your choice, but if you start begging for water later, this Navaho chief will ignore you.”

Sage’s eyes danced, and a slow smile tugged at his lips when Kit uttered a sigh of frustrated annoyance, then began drinking from his cupped hands.