One man talking to four men. “All right, what happened Friday night?”
One of the Four spoke up. “We hit the ranch, but that ranger showed up, started shooting. We thought it was a good idea to skedaddle.”
One Man replied, angrily, “The four of you couldn’t handle one ranger?”
The Speaker for the Four replied, “Yeah, we could have, but what if one of us had gotten killed? We can’t be leaving dead bodies around—at least not ours. And killing rangers is serious stuff. Listen,” he reasoned, “in effect, we accomplished the same thing. An Indian raid. So what if it was thwarted? People still know that Indians are doing it. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
Another of the Four mumbled, “Besides that ranger was Allie Summer. You ain’t payin’ us enough to mess with th’ likes o’ him.”
The One Man looked at Another of the Four with a great deal of annoyance. “Yeah, but that ranger is running around claiming that white men are dressed up like Indians. It’s all over the area. We can’t have that. If he keeps interfering, you may have to take him down.”
“Well, then, unless you want to pay us the big bucks it would take to kill Allie Summer, we’ll just have to make another raid again soon, won’t we. Before everybody starts believing him.”
The One Man nodded. “Yes. Soon. And more often.” He thought a moment. “Raid the same ranch again. Nobody will expect you to do that.”
“This weekend?”
“No, that’s a little too soon, people might still have their guard up. Wait till the following weekend. Saturday night. Don’t muck it up this time. Leave some dead bodies, scalped…”
Later that night…
Allie and Dan Harmon were sitting in his office, drinking coffee. “Well, I guess that solves one issue, but not the major one,” Harmon said.The ranger agreed. “Cui bono didn’t lead to the banker, did it?” She shook her head. “That never did sit right with me, Dan. I’d met Fontenot and I didn’t especially like him, but hiring whites to dress up like Indians to kill other whites, hoping there would be a mass exodus from the area so that he could sell the land later at a higher price…too weak, too thin. His funding the raid on the village makes more sense, especially if, as he and everyone believed, the Cheyenne were doing the killing.”
“Yeah, especially with Einarsen dragging his feet.”
“Correct. If the army won’t do anything, the mob must. Kinda stupid, but people do stupid things, and his business does depend upon people moving in, not out.”
Dan put his cup down onto his desk. “But as I see it, this doesn’t get us any closer to who has been raiding the white settlements.”
“Well, we’ve eliminated Indians and we’ve eliminated banks,” Allie said with a wry smile. “What’s left?”
Harmon slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Surely somebody has a motive for doing this, it just may not make any sense to us. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yeah, I’m not ready to give up on ‘cui bono’ yet. Somebody, in their own mind, will benefit from this. Let’s analyze it a minute. Why are these raiders dressed like Indians?”
Dan pulled a face. “Well, obviously, to pin the blame on the Cheyenne.”
“I agree. But since we’ve pretty well eliminated ‘mass exodus’ as a motive, what would be the other reason for wanting to assign guilt to the Indians?” Allie paused. “What’s Einarsen wanting to do?”
The sheriff spoke slowly. “Move the Indians down south.”
“Right. So, with the Indians gone, all that land becomes available. Don’t you think there are a number of cattle barons in this area who would love to get their hands on that land?”
Harmon leaned back, a reflective expression on his face. “Yes. There are plenty of those around here. Bing Houseman, Jack Owens, Warren Angler…to name a few. Especially Owens. He hates Indians and has been bellyachin’ for years about giving that reservation to them. Says he could lose 30,000 cows on there, it’s so big.” Dan drummed his fingers on the desk and looked out the window at a dark, deserted street. “Moving the Cheyenne off that land could set off one heck of a range war.”
“Well,” Allie answered, “if one of the ranchers is behind the raids, then Einarsen is playing right into his hands. Why doesn’t that moron believe us when we tell him the Cheyenne aren't doing it?”
Dan grinned wryly. “He hates Indians, too.”
Allie grunted. “The whole army does.”
“Honestly, Ranger Summer, can you blame them? Especially after Custer?”
“Custer was a blithering idiot and everybody knows it.”
“Yeah, well, he’s still a hero, and the Little Big Horn battle isn’t going to be forgotten any time soon, not by the army.”
Allie waved it away. “Regardless, we need to do something and we need to do it pretty quick.”
Dan was still thinking about Allie’s latest hypothesis. “Your idea about a cattle baron being behind this is worth examining.”
“Do you know all the big ranchers in the area?”
Harmon nodded.
“Do any of them have the conscience—lack of it—to pull a stunt like what’s been going on around here?”
“Yeah. And they’ve got the men to do it, too. I’ve actually been a little concerned about some of the ‘cowboys’ I’ve seen in town lately. They look more like gun throwers, as if somebody might be expecting a war. Or wanting to start one. Jack Owens has murmured about ‘too many small fry’ moving into the area, too. Small farmers and ranchers.” An idea struck Dan. “You know, Allie, if some of these smaller ranchers do get spooked and leave the area, some of these bigger outfits could buy up the notes fairly cheap.”
Allie nodded. “That song has been sung before a few hundred times in human history.”
“That’s true. It’s an idea worth pursuing. One thing we need to do,” Dan said, “is stake out that hideaway 15 miles from here.”
“Yes, we do, and I’ve got somebody in mind to do it. But, we have no idea when they might strike again. So far, the attacks have been a few weeks apart.” Allie smiled. “I think we need to speed them up a bit.”
Harmon raised his eyebrows. “How do propose to do that?”
Allie got up, went to the stove, and poured herself another cup of coffee. As she was doing so, she outlined her idea. “Ok. From what you’ve been able to determine, the same four men have been involved in each attack. We are assuming, and I think correctly, that somebody is paying them. One person is probably masterminding the whole thing for reasons of his own. Mister X, we’ll call him. What if there was another raid not involving Mister X and his men? What do you think he would do?”
Dan frowned. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“We need a rancher in the area with a lot of credibility and who is a good actor. Do you know somebody like that?”
“Well, yeah,” Dan said, “but…why? What are you getting at?”
Allie looked at the sheriff and smiled. “In a few days, I want our actor to come rushing into town early in the morning, claiming that his ranch had been attacked last night. By four men dressed as Indians. Drums, music, the whole thing. It will all be fake, but the news will spread. Mister X will be concerned, to say the least, especially when he finds out his own men weren’t involved.”
Dan pondered the idea. “You think you can smoke him out that way?”
Allie pulled a face. “I don’t know, but it might rattle him a little. I think we need to shake a few trees and see what falls out. Try to force somebody into a mistake. We can’t just sit around and wait for the next raid, Dan. People could, probably will, get killed. It was sheer luck that I was camped near the Rogers ranch last Friday. That kind of luck isn’t going to happen again.”
“It could really backfire, Allie. Once news of our fake raid gets out, that might be all it takes for Einarsen and Gordon to convince Washington to move the Cheyenne. Mister X, as you call him, could just sit back and do nothing, having let you accomplish his purposes for him.”
“Granted, it’s a calculated risk,” Allie replied, “but the way I read this guy is, he’s not going to just sit there and smile. If he sees somebody cutting into his bailiwick, he ain’t gonna like it. Especially if he’s a cattleman wanting a jump on that reservation land. He’s got to keep the pressure on until Washington gives the Trail of Tears directive.”
“You think Mister X will order another raid?”
“I think it’s highly likely. That’s why the stakeout is the key…”
Wednesday, June 22…
“I need your help.” And then Allie gave a little smile. “Your country needs you.”Swift Current grunted. “You mean the great Allie Summer and her all powerful, white family faces a problem that requires the aid of their vassal red children?”
Allie simply replied, “Something like that. Since it also affects the Cheyenne, then, as a leader of your people, I thought you might want to know about it.”
“Quit patronizing me, Summer Rain. You have been doing that for years, and I weary of it.”
“All right, I’m sorry, but I’d still like your help.”
Allie was on the Big Horn Reservation. She and Swift Current were standing near his house in the village on a warm, bright summer day. The wind was brisk. As always, the people were happy to see her, but they were also busy. Homes were being rebuilt and crops were being managed, all under the not-so-watchful eye of 25 of Colonel Timothy Einarsen’s finest. The lady ranger was impressed by the Cheyenne’s efforts. There were more houses now and they were far more effectively built. A well was being dug. From somewhere, the people had gotten some vegetable seeds, and there were small gardens here and there among the houses, and several fruit trees had been planted.
Allie asked Swift Current, “Did the army provide you with those fruit trees and the seeds for the gardens?”
“We found the seeds and the saplings in the basement of Mighty Mouse’s house.”
“None of the army people asked where you got them?”
“They don’t care. As long as we don’t give them any trouble.”
Allie could believe that. “Well, if Einarsen has his way, you are fixing to be a lot less trouble—at least to him. That’s why I’m here.”
“What help can I give you?”
Allie explained to him the recent assault on Art Rogers’ ranch. “I was lucky enough to be in the area and was able to stop it.” She paused a moment. “They dress like Indians, Swift Current. One of them beats on a drum and sings a song that, to whites, sounds like an Indian song. They shoot arrows with turkey feathers.”
“Those aren’t ours,” Swift Current interjected angrily. “Only the Southern Cheyenne use turkey feather arrows.”
“I know that, but the whites don’t. At least the ones that count. There are moccasin tracks all over the scene—but not Cheyenne moccasins. I explained all of this to the sheriff of Arkmore.”
“So you believe me now that I am not involved in the killing of the whites?”
“I believed you when you told me, Swift Current. That’s why I did not take you to jail. But Einarsen still thinks Cheyenne are guilty of the raids, so he has asked his superiors if he can move all Northern Cheyenne down to Indian Territory.”
Swift Current cursed. “Doesn’t he know about Morning Star?” The story of the Cheyenne chief Morning Star—or Dull Knife, as he was better known to whites—has been recounted earlier in this tale. To refresh the reader’s memory, he was a Northern Cheyenne chief who resisted the army and was moved to Indian Territory with his rebellious band. They proved to be quite a headache to the army. Many of them escaped and headed back north, but were subsequently captured and killed. Chapter 2 has a little more information about what happened.
“I’m sure he does, Swift Current, but Morning Star and his people were moved because they fought against the white man. Our people were allowed to stay here because Fleet Fox, Bear Claw, and Winter Wolf counseled peace.”
The young Indian brave caught on quickly. “So now, because of these raids, we are in…rebellion…so we must be moved, too.”
“That’s what Einarsen believes. Somebody, apparently, wants the Northern Cheyenne off this land.”
“Do you know who is guilty of the killings?”
“No, and we don’t know why, either, but we do know we have to stop it, soon, or our people are going to get a quick ticket to Indian Territory.”
For a few moments, Swift Current watched the work being done in the village. “It will kill most of the old ones. This has been their home for generations.”
“So you’ll help me?” Allie asked him.
The young man looked at his cousin. He almost laughed. “Help the white man…well, I guess it is helping our people. What do you need?”
Allie explained how she had followed the men who had raided the last ranch to a hideout 15 miles from Arkmore. “They weren’t there when I arrived and it appears no one lives there on a permanent basis. I need you to stake out that cabin, and as soon as someone appears there, to let me know.”
“You expect them to raid again?”
“Even if they don’t, we need to capture them and arrest them. There are four horses corralled at that cabin. Somebody will show up again sometime. I’ve got a plan that might hurry that along.”
“So I watch the cabin and report to you when someone shows up.”
Allie nodded. “I will be in Arkmore every night. When the men arrive at the cabin, come tell me.”
“What if they leave when I am gone?”
That stopped Allie for a moment.
Swift Current said, “I will take Live Spirit with me. When the men arrive, I will send him to you. And if they leave, I will follow them to their destination.”
Allie replied, “Ok. But, Swift Current, please don’t attempt anything on your own. I need to arrest these men and hold them for trial. All I want of you is to watch that cabin and report to me. Will you promise me you will take no further action?”
Swift Current actually smiled. “I will make that promise to you, Summer Rain. But I will help you further, if you need it.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For the moment, all I need is the stakeout.”
“When do we start?”
It was nearing dusk, too late to leave. “I will spend the night here. Tomorrow I will ride off. Get your horses and meet me, as soon as possible, where the road forks from Sugarloaf to Arkmore. I will await you there.”
“What if the army catches us leaving the reservation?” Swift Current asked.
Allie just laughed at that.
And when she laughed, her cousin laughed, too. “It is good to hear you laugh, Summer Rain.”
“It is good to hear you say something humorous, Swift Current.” She smiled at him, then reached out and took his hand. “Come, let us share a meal together…”
Thursday, June 23…
The three Indians—two and a half, Allie, Swift Current, and Live Spirit—got away early enough the next morning that they were able to arrive at the hideout after dark. It had been a long trip, and the horses were very tired, but there was plenty of hay and water in the corral for them. The cabin was, as Allie expected, deserted, and it was obvious to her that no one had been there since she had left a few days before.
“Let’s feed and water the horses,” Allie said, “and then move them. You can camp upstream aways. There is water and graze for your horses.” She had brought a large sack full of coffee and foodstuffs. “This should last you at least a week. If I haven’t heard from you in seven days, I will bring you some more.”
“So you want us to stay until—“
“Until I tell you otherwise,” Allie interrupted. “I don’t know how long that will be, but I don’t think it will be too long.”
They were standing near the door of the cabin. Live Spirit was caring for the horses. Swift Current looked at his cousin and asked quietly, “How long are you going to play this game, Summer Rain? Chasing criminals. Bah. It is white man’s work, beneath the dignity of our people. You need to be with us. You need to toil and labor with your hands, bear and raise mighty sons for the Cheyenne.”
They started walking towards the opening of the horseshoe. It was a lovely night. The moon was only a sliver, but the air was clear and there were countless stars overhead. Somewhere, not far away, a coyote yapped.
Despite the bluntness and crudity of his words, they had some affect on Allie. She was a woman and the maternal instinct was in her, though perhaps not as strong as in some women. The pull of her Cheyenne heritage, however, was very strong, and there was uneasiness in her about not being with them. But, she was also half-white and much of the white man’s world attracted her, too. It was simply part of the dilemma she faced being half-Indian and half-white.
“I am good at what I do, Swift Current, and I enjoy it. I help people. I save lives. I make the territory a better place to live—for everyone. Is that so bad?”
“No, that is not a bad thing, Summer Rain. But are you the only one who can do this? Are there not others who would step in and take your place if you were not there? If your Captain had not sent you on this job, would he not have sent someone else?” He stopped and Allie did, too. “How long will it be before some white eyes barbarian puts a bullet in your back?”
The latter was a question Allie tried never to think about, but she knew that the longer she worked with the Rangers, the more her reputation grew, the greater that possibility existed. And all the other things in life she might want—husband, family, home—would end with that bullet. But, “there are no guarantees in life, Swift Current. Yes, it is a dangerous job…” Allie was frustrated and turned away. “How can I explain it to you so that you can understand?”
“Oh, but I do understand. It is simple. You would rather chase white outlaws than be with your people.”
“No! Stop that. It is not that simple, Swift Current. Life demands that we make choices, and many of them are difficult. I love our people, you know that. But we live in a different world now. It is not a world any more where we can count coup, move our homes from place to place, following the buffalo freely, where our Dog Soldiers can make war with the Sioux and Arapaho. It is a world now of law and order, of towns, commerce, agriculture, the Iron Horse and talking wire. It is a world to which the Cheyenne must adapt. Or die. I cannot change it, I can only try to improve it—for everyone, white and native. You mustn’t fight it, Swift Current. You will lose, it is much bigger than you, it is bigger than the Cheyenne, and if you fight it, you will destroy yourself and our people.”
They were standing now on a small ridge, overlooking a vast valley. Though it was dark, still the outlines of a powerful land were visible, a land that had supported the Cheyenne for thousands of years, but now was yielding itself to the labors of a different race of people—and in a much different way. Allie looked at her cousin. He was staring out over the valley, his face strong, handsome, determined. The wind was blowing lightly, and since the death of Wylie Wilcox, Swift Current had let his hair grow again. The dark strands held by the red bandana headband were wafting slightly in the breeze. Allie perceived that there was a great struggle within her cousin, too. The history, the legends, the tales, the traditions and culture and blood of a thousand bygone generations coursed through his veins and were fighting against progress—the white man’s progress. Swift Current’s heart wanted to return to the old ways. But his mind knew that such could never be again.
“Who needs you more, Summer Rain?” he asked quietly. “The white man or your own people?”
“The whites are my people, too, Swift Current.”
“Is that your answer?”
Allie sighed. “No, that is not my answer. It is just the truth. My blood is not like yours. My father instilled in me a love for the Cheyenne, but my mother also taught me the heritage and tales of her people. I am both. I can never be only one or the other, any more than you could ever be a Sioux or Crow or Blackfeet.”
“Then, let me ask it this way. Who needs you more—the white man or the Cheyenne?” He looked at her. “The white man…or me?”
Allie swiftly glanced at him, then turned her head away. Her heart rate speeded up and an anxiety swept over her. It was the second time in the past week that Swift Current had, in a distorted way, asked her to become his wife. His pride would forbid him from being more open about it, and she knew it. But it didn’t matter. It was his way, it was the Cheyenne way, and it was all she ever expected.
But it wasn’t enough. It may have been enough for Summer Rain. But it wasn’t enough for Allie Summer. She looked at him. “Do you need me, son of Bear Claw?”
A wolf howled in the distance. Swift Current turned his head in that direction, but he wasn’t searching for the wolf.
Allie then said, “I have to hear you say it, Swift Current.”
Her cousin then turned and looked at her. It was the part of Allie Summer Rain he would never understand—the romantic European. It was also more than he could be.
“If it takes words in order for something to be true to you, then perhaps, indeed, our worlds are too far apart, Allie Summer.”
With that, Swift Current turned and walked back towards the cabin.
Allie Summer Rain watched him go, her blood running hot…and cold.
Red…and white.
Ancient…and modern.
Allie turned her head and looked out over the vast ocean of land upon which her people, the Cheyenne, had lived for so long, made their homes, built their families, told their stories, fought their wars, shed their blood, laughed, wept, rejoiced, mourned…but land that now belonged to…her people, white Europeans.
Who needs me more?
Allie sighed. I hate it when he calls me Allie Summer…