Wild Splendor

Somberly, cautiously, the entourage moved onward. When they arrived at the death scene, Kit turned away and held his head low, retching. He closed his eyes, yet he could not keep the picture of what he had just seen from surfacing in his mind’s eye.

Harold, scalped.

Chief Four Fingers, scalped.

All of the others, scalped.

“No one survived the massacre, soldiers and Kiowa alike,” Lieutenant Nelson said somberly as he rode to Kit’s side. “Who do you think did it? Could Sage have done this to stop Harold and the Kiowa from finding his new stronghold?”

Kit removed a handkerchief from his back breeches pocket. He gave his brow a nervous swipe and turned his horse around so that he would not have to see the dead bodies again, with the flies buzzing over them and the lizards scampering around in the sand close by.

Kit glanced up into the heavens at the buzzards circling in the sky. He shivered, then glared at the soldier. “I’ve known Sage for many years,” he said flatly. “The man that I have always known and admired could never be responsible for this heartless act. So don’t let me ever hear you suggest that he was again. This is the work of renegades, surely the same ones who’ve been slaughtering innocent settlers. It seems we should’ve concentrated more on finding them instead of running the Navaho from their land.”

Kit gave Harold only another fleeting glance, then turned quickly away. “Lieutenant Nelson, those men must be returned to the fort for proper burial,” he said somberly. “See to it.”

He swung his horse around and rode away, his head hanging low.

Chapter 32

Serenely in the sunshine as before,

Without the sense of that which I forbore.

—ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

Like a desert mirage, the canyon spread an emerald counterpane among the arid vastness. Irrigated by springs that swelled to a river, the valley bloomed with lofty cottonwoods and willows. In the distance, twin sandstone pinnacles rose into the sky.

Sage reined in beside Leonida’s horse and reached for Runner, bringing him over onto his lap and smiling at his wife. “This is your new home,” he said proudly. “Was not it worth waiting for?”

“It is so lovely,” Leonida sighed. “It is so perfect.”

The music of the river could be heard as it rippled beneath limestone cliffs. Lizards and chipmunks scampered to and fro, the inhabitants of this paradise.

“Look at the little animals,” Runner squealed as a chipmunk dashed toward Sage’s horse, then stopped to peer up at humans, obviously for the first time. “Can I have him? Can he be my pet?”

Sage laughed throatily as he slipped Runner from his lap onto the ground near the chipmunk, surprised when the animal did not run away. “I started to say that I doubted if it would let you come near,” he said. “But it seems, Runner, that you may have found a friend.”

“It apparently doesn’t know to fear humans,” Leonida said, watching Runner bend to the ground and scoop the chipmunk up into his hands.

When Runner held the animal close to his face, the chipmunk emitted a strange, soft barking sound, yet still did not try to escape. It locked eyes with Runner, fast friends, it did seem.

Her back aching, Leonida placed her hands at her waist, stretched, and groaned.

Sage saw her discomfort and slid quickly from his saddle and helped her to the ground. “The ride was long and hard,” he said. “But it was necessary. I still do not altogether trust Kit Carson. I especially don’t trust Harold Porter. Once he hears that you are my wife, he will hate me with a vengeance. He will stop at nothing, I am sure, to see me dead.”

“I wish I had never met that man,” Leonida said, moving into Sage’s embrace. Over her shoulder she was watching everyone dismount. She could tell that, as she was, they were all in awe of this place that was now to be their home.

She eased out of Sage’s arms and with him watched the activity of the people. The men were unloading supplies from their horses. The women were herding the smaller children into the shade, telling them to stay out of the way while the hogans were being built. The older children began scampering around, searching for the proper trees from which bark would be taken to cover the hogans. The men were inspecting the trees, from which the frames of the hogans would be made.

“I must join the men in preparing the wood and bark for the hogans,” Sage said, turning apologetically to Leonida. He frowned, noticing how pale she looked, with dark rings beneath her eyes. And he had not failed to see her keeping herself from retching these past couple of days. He wondered what she could have eaten to cause her to be ill. They had eaten the same food, and he had felt nothing akin to nausea. He would not allow himself to think that she was in her first stages of prairie fever. That possibility pained him too deeply.

“You rest beneath the trees with the children,” Sage flatly ordered Leonida.

“While the other women do my part?” she said, gasping at the thought. “Never.”

She worked her fingers through her hair, combing out the tangles from the windy ride on the horse. She ran her fingers down the front of her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from sitting in the saddle so long.

“The saddle was so very uncomfortable,” she complained. “So hard. So narrow.”