Wild Splendor

The smoke from the large outdoor fire curled skyward in the courtyard of the fort. Around it sat the many Indian leaders who had come to the fort for a council with Colonel Kit Carson and the leaders at the fort. Everyone was sitting in a wide circle around the fire, Leonida among them.

Dressed demurely in a plain cotton dress devoid of any trim, her hair drawn back with a ribbon, Leonida sat in silence, looking and absorbing, while a long-stemmed pipe was passed around the circle of men.

Leonida ignored the occasional angry glances that Harold sent her way; she had defied his orders to stay away from the meeting. She felt a trace of hope that the Indians would be given a choice of where they wanted to live instead of being automatically forced onto a reservation. She knew that the other Indians had been rounded up without notice and marched to the reservation, as the Apache had been forced to do. At least some semblance of respect was being shown the Navaho by first talking to them about it.

Also, she hoped to get to speak with Sage before he left, to apologize for her hasty retreat the night before. She now regretted it, for she had not slept a wink all night, worrying about what he must think of her to allow a kiss, then to flee from it. She could not let them part forever without telling him that she had not meant to lead him on, that she had true feelings for him, though telling him was perhaps foolish.

Her heart pounding at the prospect of allowing herself another glance across the fire, Leonida lifted her eyes slowly. She could not stop the thrill that enveloped her when she gazed at length at Sage again. He was dressed in his fi

nest clothes. A striped blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and belted at his waist. His deerskin moccasins reached to his knees, his tight breeches were slit down the side and edged with silver buttons shining in the sun. A red silk handkerchief was tied around his brow to hold his sleek black hair in place.

As he looked her way and she discovered that he seemed indifferent, she flinched and turned quickly away, shame overwhelming her.

Soon, unless the plans had changed, Sage’s eyes would fill with feelings, those of hate and anger, directed toward her as well as Kit Carson and those responsible for the fate of his people, for she was white, as were they, soon to be Sage’s enemies.

Fighting back tears of frustration, shame, and hurt, Leonida lifted her chin and stared ahead, not resting her gaze on any one thing. She crossed her legs on the ground before her and stiffened her arms, placing her palms on her knees, gripping them so hard that the flesh of her fingertips turned ghostly white. She swallowed hard and began dying a slow death inside when the conversations began and grew more heated as each moment passed.

Nothing was in the Indians’ favor.

Leonida grimaced as she listened to the debate between the two factions of men, Kit Carson and Sage now the main speakers.

Kit’s voice became measured and calculated.

Sage’s became cold, his face grim with anger as he rose to his full height over the circle of men, towering over Kit, who moved over to stand next to him as their debate heated up even more.

Leonida smiled, somehow pleased that Sage was so much taller than Kit. It was a well-known fact that he was the runt of fourteen Carson children, and when he was sitting down he always tried to conceal his short legs.

“Damn it, Sage,” Kit said in his soft-spoken way. “You know I’ve always been sympathetic to Indians. But now I’ve got to think of the settlers. The settlements and ranches are being raided. Caravans are being plundered. Travelers are being killed. To stop the raids, all Indians must be transferred out of the territory, even the Navaho.”

“You know that the Navaho do not go to war as a whole nation,” Sage said, angrily folding his arms across his powerful chest. “It is the renegades who raid. There is no central Navaho government, and the chiefs speak only for their tiny bands.” He paused, then added more softly, “Sage has never wanted trouble with whites,” he said solemnly. “Sage’s heart has been good toward the whites. So has Sage’s people’s heart.”

Kit Carson shifted his feet nervously and stroked his clean-shaven chin in contemplation before responding, the fringe of his buckskin shirt and breeches blowing in the gentle breeze. Then Kit placed a fist over his heart, as though to prove to Sage that his heart was good also.

“Sage, you know that not long ago I was an Indian agent at Taos when escaped convicts, thugs, and outlaws of every description were pouring into the West,” he said softly. “There the laws were few and the enforcement agencies fewer. You know that then I was as determined to protect the Indians from the whites as to protect whites from Indians. When a white man injured an Indian, he had Kit Carson to deal with, and that dealing was sharp and to the point.”

Harold, dressed in full uniform, got hurriedly to his feet and interrupted just as Sage was about to respond. With an even and impersonal voice, he stamped over to Kit’s side and glared down at him. “Get on with it, damn it,” he said. “We didn’t come here to play footsie with the Indians. Tell them exactly why they have been brought here.”

Harold peered up at the blazing sun and wiped beads of perspiration from his brow. He wiped his damp fingers on his breeches leg, glaring down at Kit again. “Damn it, Kit, why drag it out to ungodly lengths?” he said, his voice drawn. “I’d like to get out of this damn sun.”

Kit’s face became hot with anger as he glared back. “I’ve been brought here to handle this matter,” he said icily. “And I will do it at my own pace and in my own way. If you don’t approve, wire Washington about it. Until you get a response, though, and perhaps a replacement, I will deal with this problem as I see fit.”

Harold’s face tightened and his lips pursed angrily. He glared for a moment longer down at Kit, then swung around and moved in measured steps away from him, his eyes shifting momentarily to Leonida. He flinched when he found Leonida smiling devilishly up at him, having obviously enjoyed Kit’s reprimanding him. His eyes narrowed as he paused long enough to stare at the Indian necklace that she wore so boldly around her neck.

There had been only one way—the damned Navaho leader. The thought of them being alone together made him grow cold inside with rage. He vowed to himself that never would it be allowed to happen again. He would marry Leonida now, even if he had to hold a gun to her head to get the words out of her. No Indian would humiliate him by taking his woman away from him.

Yet Harold had known for some time now that Leonida had changed her mind, that she was not planning to marry him. Ever since her father’s death she had been biding her time until it became safe to travel again. She had promised to marry him only to please her father.

And now he was gone.

“What is that you have to say that has not yet been spoken today to Sage and the other leaders who have come to your fort, as requested, for council?” Sage asked, taking a step closer to Kit. Sage felt the eyes of all the Indian leaders on him, trusting that in the end he would make all wrongs right for them. He had been their spokesperson for many moons now and had achieved peace between them all and the white chief in Washington.

“As I said before, Sage,” Kit said, “the raiding must not be allowed to go on. A new home has been provided for the Navaho. There will be land for grazing, good flat land for farming, and a big irrigation ditch.”

As Sage’s eyes narrowed with anger, Kit cleared his voice and continued. “It’s time for this empty land to be turned into wheat fields and grazing grounds to produce food for the country,” he said, his voice low now. “So many Indians often do not produce but only use what the wild land gives. This is why they—why you—are being asked to make room for the settlers, who will use the land in the right way. It is the only way, Sage. Your people must move into reservation land called Indian Territory, in the country east of New Mexico.”

The sudden silence, the hush that washed over the group of Indians, made Leonida suck in a wild, horrified breath of air. She looked guardedly around her as the Indian leaders rose angrily to their feet. Though weaponless, they still looked threatening as they moved closer to the soldiers who had seemed to have come out of nowhere to make a wide circle around the council of men, their hands resting on their holstered pistols.

Her knees weak, Leonida pushed herself up from the ground and inched away from the Indians, her gaze never leaving Sage. Never had she seen anyone as controlled in his anger as he. She was proud of his ability to restrain himself from lashing out at those who were intent at imprisoning him and all of the Navaho people alike. She watched, breathlessly, as he began to speak, his voice calm and collected.