Montana
Echoes From the Past
Mabel G. Ebner
Smashwords ebook edition published by Fideli Publishing Inc.
© Copyright 2011 by Mabel G. Ebner
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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ISBN: 978-1-60414-506-9
Dedication
I want to dedicate this book to my beloved brother, Mitchel Jerry Stoumbaugh. His unending patience in helping me complete this tremendous undertaking was extraordinary. Without his invaluable help, I would have abandoned this work long ago. As he read and proofread the content, he constantly encouraged me and made me feel that I could do anything. During the completion of this novel, he gave me a lot of exceptional advice on different points in the book and kept me on track. Mitchel died of cancer before we were able to get the final corrections made and off to the publisher. I want all to know that I dearly loved him and am eternally grateful for all he did to make this work possible.
Foreword
From the time I was a child, my mother read to my brothers and me. As a result, reading is one of my passions. I love sitting down with a good book and my get so involved that I lose all track of time and become oblivious to everything around me. One afternoon, when I was in my mid-twenties and had gone to visit my parent, I began reading “The Prairie Wife” by Arthur Stringer. While reading the book and laughing my head off, I shared many parts of it with my parents. Before we knew it, we were all taking turns reading aloud from the book, until we had completed it late that evening. The laughter and shared moments are very special memories that will be treasured always … for both of them are gone now.
I love books that the entire family can enjoy together. Louisa May Alcott, Johanna Spyri, Charles Tritten, and Gene Stratton Porter are a few of my favorite authors. While reading Gene Stratton Porter’s works, I was amazed at her ability to make me laugh, cry, feel anger and joy. She had a gift for uplifting and inspiring her readers.
I have always wanted to write a novel, but it was several years before I found the courage to attempt this feat. It is doubtful that I would have ever gotten started if not for the fact that this story came to me in a dream. Then the characters became such a part of me, invading my waking hours as well as my sleep, that I finally put pen to paper.
As I struggled to write all of this, I felt overwhelmed. My brother Mitchel kept making the comment, “It’s your story, Sis … so tell it like you want.” Well … I have done exactly that. All of the places, names and events within this story are as I envisioned them to be — possible, but not necessarily real. There was a Fort Owen, but it was a trading post and was never used as a military base. The Fort Owen in my book is not the same as the present day fort, nor is it in the same location. Mine is nestled between the Sapphire Mountain and the snow-capped Bitterroot Range, which is located between Corvallis and Stevensville, Montana. Again there is a Fort Missoula, but it is not the one I used in the book. The fort’s locations and description in this work are absolutely fictional.
Because there are so many Indian Tribes living in that area, the tribe in my book is also fictional, therefore there is no tribal affiliation. Although Hellsgate was the original name of Missoula at the time this story would have taken Place, I chose to use the name Missoula because I loved the Indian meaning and wanted to honor the Salish Indians. The name Missoula means: “Near the cold chilling waters.”
The Missoula River was given many names though the years. The Indians called it Yellow River, then it was changed to Clark Fork River, Missoula River, then back to the Clark Fork River, and finally to the Bitterroot River.
For same reasons above, I chose to retain Missoula as the river’s name. As I stated before, I love books the entire family can enjoy, so I tried to create this novel in like manner. Therefore, I have tried to bring the characters to life in such a way as to touch the reader’s heart with their daily struggles, their joys, and their triumphs. If perchance you see your name within the pages of this book, it is purely coincidental. Names have fallen upon the pages as I foresaw them.
In life’s echoes from the past, perhaps there was a little window of time when the white man and the Indian did live together in harmony. Perhaps … in spite of evil, good could and did, prevail. So, let go of the known and travel down the trail of the unknown with me now, as I weave a tail of love, honor, courage, justice, and adventure throughout the pages of this book. I hope you enjoy reading this novel as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
Acknowledgement
I would like to thank all of those who have always believed in me, in spite of myself. A special thanks goes to my husband, Maurice Arnold Ebner, who not only loves me, but also encouraged and supported me from behind the scenes in every way possible. Not only did he put up with a lot of long hours, but also whenever there were meals to be made, he chipped in and saw that it was done so that the work wouldn’t have to be put on hold. He never complained when something didn’t get done, but stepped in and helped where needed.
I wish to thank my daughter, Jennifer L. Nef, for giving me a lot of excellent advice, as I wrote this novel. Many nights she allowed me to read each chapter to her when she returned home from work. She rescued the book when I was about to junk it. I thought it was not good enough, but she put me straight. Without a moment’s hesitation, she informed me that if I threw it away, it would be the dumbest thing I’d ever done. I removed it from the trashcan and reviewed it again. There was a lot of work ahead, and I’m grateful she had the courage to tell me like it was.
Many graciously proofread and gave me constructive advice on how to improve it. To these special people I would like to extend a special thank you: Amber Peterson, Drew and Janice Lyon, Lonna Holmquist, Donna Tracy, Niels and Wanda Rasmussen, and Pauline Perkins.
Edna Nasca and Leah Buhler, who live in Corvallis, spent many hours doing research for me. Benjamin Sheppard answered a multitude of questions that I fired at him, regarding parts of the book. Many others took time out of their busy schedules to help me with the completion of this book. To them goes a heartfelt thank you.
My friend Mary Elison graciously jumped in and helped me prepare this work for publication. She has given many hours of service and has been a tower of strength when the work grew tedious. Never once did she complain about what had to be done, but rolled up her sleeves, so to speak, and dove in and went to work. Throughout the many weeks as we worked side by side, I came to realize how truly special she is. I always thought she was a grand lady, and through this endeavor, my estimation and respect for her have risen tremendously.
A special thanks goes to Bonnie Benson, who helped edit this work. She has had perhaps the most difficult task of all, one of checking and rechecking to see that it was right. Bonnie and I go way back. Together, we wrote a three-act play entitled “I’m Worth It”. I had never written music and Bonnie had never written poetry. As we worked together, we learned to do both. Throughout the years, she has always encouraged and strengthened me in whatever endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. This latest has been no exception.
While preparing this for publication, I needed another person to help with typing final corrections. Little did I know that a rare jewel would be sent my way. When Becky Robertson came to work for me, I discovered that she could not only type exceptionally fast, but was multi-faceted as well. She freely gave of her time and talents, teaching, encouraging, and uplifting as we worked. I want the world to know that I am eternally grateful that my Heavenly Father sent her to me. There are many others who worked behind the scenes to ensure this work’s completion. There are just too many to mention, but nevertheless, my thanks and gratitude go out to each and every one of you.
Finally, and most importantly, I want to thank my Heavenly Father for giving me the courage and talent to even attempt … let alone accomplish, this.
— Mabel G. Ebner
Contents
Chapter 1
“Company … HALT! … Dismount!”
A troop of cavalry soldiers, from Fort Owen, Montana, dismounted to make camp for the night near the Missoula River. The turbulence of this mighty river was awesome in its beauty, as well as its strength. White water licked at the boulders in its path, creating little eddies in some places, and boiling, swirling rapids in others. The river’s roar was deafening; yet there was a calming effect also. It was flanked on both sides by giant pines, rocky, snow-capped mountain grandeur, shrouded in clouds.
Sergeant Peters issued camp duties, posted sentry duty for the first watch then helped where need. In no time, tents were set up, wood was chopped, water hauled, as well as the horses’ needs taken care of. Soon the hungry, travel-weary men were eating a hearty meal of beans, ham sourdough biscuits, along with steaming cups of coffee. The only sounds heard during the meal were the roaring river, the crackling fire, rattling of dishes, along with the occasional neighing of a horse. Slowly, the sun slipped behind the mountains, leaving behind a magnificent sunset.
Captain Paul Thompson toyed with his food, eating very little. Finally giving up, he left camp to wander aimlessly for a while. With heavy heart he gazed out at the Montana landscape before him. Thompson stood six foot four inches tall in his stocking feet. Although he weighed in at two hundred and fifty pounds, his body was a mass of rippling muscles. He stood by the river, twisting his neatly trimmed mustache. Sandy hair set off his sensitive blue eyes. Thompson’s gentle spirit made it difficult for him to hurt others unjustly; yet he was a dynamic force in defense of another’s rights.
Thompson took the orders from his shirt pocket and reread them. As he did so, his very soul quaked at the absurdity of its contents:
Exterminate all the Indians at Lost Trail Pass. Take no prisoners
He bit his lower lip in exasperation. “How can a human being be so cold … so calculating?’ muttered Thompson. The orders went against all of his principles and beliefs. He began walking along the riverbank, trying to figure a way out of this dilemma; yet no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t find an escape.
Coming to a large boulder overlooking the river, he sat to watch the sun’s last glowing rays disappear as it slipped behind the rugged mountains then gazed in awe as night’s shadows spread slowly across the landscape. The moon slowly rose, causing eerie shadows to dance in iridescent splendor. Montana thrilled Thompson more every day. When Thompson was first stationed at Fort Owen in 1845, which would be four years in June, he’d wondered if he would ever get used to its many changing moods. It always made him feel as if he were walking on hallowed ground … as if he were glimpsing into a window of time and feeling footsteps echoing from the past.
Some areas of Montana are flat rolling plains, sown into rich-producing fields of wheat, oats, and other grains. Still other areas are comprised of majestic, mountain monarch, reaching heavenward through soft velvet clouds resting against the backdrop of a brilliant indigo sky. It’s not uncommon to see rocky mountain goats or big horn sheep playing, feeding, or just standing on the mountain’s stony ledges, their fur rippling in the breeze. Waterfalls can be found Plummeting or cascading down rugged crags, it mist spewing upward.
Shimmering Lakes, rivers, creeks and stream, filled with enough fish to fulfill any fisherman’s dreams, meander throughout Montana’s vast rugged grandeur. Flanked along the rocky shores are many types of multi-colored shrubs. Lush grassy meadows are encircled by giant quaking aspens, gnarly tamaracks, and stately pines, which enhance the state’s extraordinary beauty. Wildlife ranges from elk, deer, moose, bear, to mice, rabbits, wolves, coyotes, plus many assorted species of birds. Winters can be harsh. Howling winds not only cause blizzards or create huge snowdrifts, but can also plummet temperatures to near forty degrees below zero.
For a while Thompson sat dejectedly upon his boulder then sighing, he got up to wander farther along the river. Coming upon another large boulder, he knelt down, covered his face with his hands, soon groaned in abject despair. He was still in this position when Sergeant Peters came upon him.
Sergeant Peters was stocky, grizzly in appearance with a thick gray beard. Bushy eyebrows accentuate his mischievous, twinkling, blue eyes. A lock of his wavy, salt and pepper hair, which was always in constant disarray, fell across his high forehead. He removed his hat, ran his fingers through his hair then replaced the hat so that it was tipped back on his head. Peters was a bowlegged man, who walked with a proud gait. He paused as he came upon Thompson then hastily turned to retreat.
Thompson looked up when Peters approached. “What is it, Sergeant?”
“Nutten’, suh. Ah were jest takin’ a stroll when Ah accidentally stumbled onto ya.”
“Oh.” It was plain by Thompson’s countenance that he felt satisfied by this statement.
Peters turned as if to go then turned back, spit into a bush. Pausing a moment, Peters’ sifted the wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. While taking a deep breath, he hitched up his pants. Stepping closer to Thompson, he continued, “Suh, Ah know ya’ve been given an awful order.” When Thompson glared sternly at Peters, he hesitated a fraction of a moment before proceeding. “Ah also know how ya feel, suh, t’wards takin’ a innocent life.” Thompson remained silent, touched beyond words. “Know this, suh, thet Ah feels the same way! We know ya’ll do what’s right in the eyes of the Maker, so ifn’ ya decides not ta obey them there orders, suh, the whole troop’ll support cha … whatever way ya decide.”
Surprised for a moment that Sergeant Peters could know the contents of his orders, Thomson gasped inaudibly. Peters hitched his pants once more, spit at the same bush, then stood stiffly at attention. Thompson scanned the face before him, all the while struggling to swallow past the lump in his throat. Rising he extended a hand to Peters. “Thanks, Peters. That means a lot to me. It also helps with the decision I must make.” Turning toward the river, his hands behind his back, he stood gazing thoughtfully at the turbulent water. Peters watched in silence as Thompson giant among men, wrestled with his weighty problem. Turning back to face Peters, Thompson spoke. “You know, I have never disobeyed an order in all of my years as a soldier, yet here I’m facing the most difficult decision in all of my career. I don’t want to retire knowing that I have the blood of all those innocent Indians on my hands. On the other hand, if I refuse to kill them, I face court martial … including certain death.” He threw up his hands in abject despair. “Some choice, huh!”
“Yes, suh, it shore ez”. Peters rubbed his chin thoughtfully then added, “Ah means what Ah said, Suh. We’ll do what’er ya decide en let the chips fall where’er they may. He again ran a hand thoughtfully over his beard. “Cap’n, not a man in this here outfit cares much fer Major Thornton, but we do try ta do our best.”
“I know. That’s why your sticking behind me means so much.” He paused to clear his throat.
“Thanks again, Peters.”
Peters waved off the comment. “Don’t mention it, suh.” Turning, he trudged back toward camp.
Bowing his head, Thompson began praying for help in doing the right thing including the strength to stand by his convictions. He expressed his feelings toward Major Thornton’s attitude then how he felt about the orders that the major had issued. He knelt for a long time in prayer. Finally, lifting his head erect, he rose with determination. Raised a clenched fist skyward, threw his head back so the he was looking heavenward. With great feeling, he cried aloud: “I won’t do it! Let come what may … I just won’t do it! Let come what may … I just won’t do it!” With these words came a peace of mind. There was a spring to his steps as he made his nightly rounds. Turning in for the night, he fell immediately into a deep, restful sleep.
Thompson awoke to the ringing of an axe. Soon the tantalizing aroma of coffee came wafting on the air. Rising, he began to ready himself for the day. After he was presentable, he went again to his private spot to petition the Lord. He needed reassurance that he had indeed made the right decision.
Again receiving confirmation, he cheerfully returned to camp where he ate a hearty breakfast. He had made a decision, now he would faithfully stand by it. Seeing Peters, he motioned for him to join him. The two men walked toward Thompson’s tent.
In his tent was a bed, a table with two chairs. A map lay open on the table close to a lantern for light. Thompson motioned for Peters to be seated. Peters sat opposite him then leaned back in his chair, folded his arms to wait for Thompson to speak. The Captain began, “I noticed that Nataka hasn’t returned from his scouting trip yet, so we’ll stay here until he returns to report his findings. I want regular guards placed on duty at four-hour intervals. The men can lounge around until Nataka returns.”
Sergeant Peters nodded. “Right away, suh!” He stood to go, then as an afterthought, he turned back to Thompson, with a grin spreading across his face. “It shorely ez good ta see ya so chipper, suh.”
Thompson smiled. “Thanks, Peters.” Peters saluted before exiting. After Peters left, Thompson leaned back in the chair a moment. Rising, he went out to mingle with the men. He grinned as they rose to salute. “As you were, men.” Thompson watched the card game for a while, cheering for the winner. Peters challenged him to a game of horseshoes, ribbing his friend unmercifully when he won three out of three games. As he wandered among t the men, who were doing nothing but resting, Thompson felt an inner peace flow through him. The day wore slowly and tediously on.
At dusk a soldier rushed up to him. “Rider approaching, sir.”
Thompson acknowledged him, “Bring the rider to my tent immediately!”
“Yes, sir!” The soldier saluted, turned to carry out the order. Thompson entered his tent, lit the lamp then waited.
It wasn’t long until a handsome young man, dressed as a scout, entered the tent. Thompson always felt pride when he gazed at this strapping young man. From the time Thompson arrived at the fort, there had been a special spot in his heart for him. Nataka stood six feet tall. He was broad at the shoulders, tapering into narrow hips. His high cheekbones, along with a wide nose, lost their hardness when he smiled, making the rich, velvety softness of his brown eyes twinkle. He studied Thompson’s face intently as he stood waiting to speak, his hand extended.
Thompson clasped the extended hand before him. “How goes it, Nataka?” With his free hand, he pointed to the vacant chair. “Come, have a seat.” After they were seated, Thompson placed his clasped hands upon the table the asked, “Now, what have you found out?”
Nataka placed his hat upon the table, moved his chair into a better position then looked up to meet Thompson’s eager gaze. “Well, sir, it looks like you can conquer the tribe easily, as they all seem to be dying off by some disease.”
“Do you know what it is?”
Nataka shook his head. “No, sir.”
Thompson rose to pace the area inside his tent. Turning to the young man, who hadn’t moved, he stepped over to face him, “Nataka …” began Thompson, only to pause in uncertainty. He walked the floor a moment then came to stand across the table from the young man. “Nataka, I know this assignment irritates you. Well … I feel the same way.” Nataka blinked in surprise, silently searching Thompson’s face. “It’s true! I feel that Major Thornton is wrong! After much deliberation, I’ve decided to disobey his orders.” Nataka inhaled deeply as he leaned forward to stare at Thompson as if he’d suddenly gone daft. “I’ll not be party to wantonly killing innocent people … no matter what their race!” He paused to let Nataka digest his statement before going on. “What I want to know is this: Will you keep our secret?” When Nataka remained silent, Thompson hastened on. “Another thing to consider is the fact that if we help them … and are caught, it will mean court martial … including certain death for the two of us! Because of the Major’s hatred of you, he’ll hang you for the sheer pleasure of it.” Nataka sat thoughtfully mulling Thompson’s words over in his mind, searching for the answer. As he was about to speak, Thompson held up his hand. “Wait just a minute, Son.” Stepping to the door, Thompson peeked out in time to see Peters step out of the shadows. “Come in here at once, Sergeant!”
“Yes, suh.” Peters turned back toward the tent, entered, saluted then stood rigidly at attention.
“As you were, Sergeant.” Peters quickly lowered his arm. “Sit here on the cot.” motioned Thompson. Peters sank onto the cot. When all three men were comfortable Thompson explained the orders he had received. When he was finished, he looked from one man to the other. “Before you give me an answer, I want you both to think it over carefully. If we are all in agreement, we’ll help the Indians then transport them to a safe place.”
Jumping to his feet, Peters saluted. “Ah don’t hafta thin’ it over! Ah ne’er liked it from the beginnin’!” He began to pace excitedly about the tent, stopping near Nataka. ’Sides, Ah only haf two an a haf months left ta go afer Ah kin retire. Shorely they won’t find out afer then.”
Thompson shook Peters’ hand. “Thanks, Peters. I knew that I could count on you.”
“I want some time to think things over,” said Nataka thoughtfully. “Guess I’d like to understand why you’d go against your orders … just to save these people.”
Snorting in disgust, Peters flopped onto the cot. Thompson deliberately ignored him. “That’s okay, Nataka,” encouraged Thompson. “It’s important that you are sure of how you feel, so take all of the time you need. As you do so, take into consideration the fact that the Indians have honored the treaty: therefore, they have done nothing to warrant their extinction.
Nataka nodded appreciatively. “Thank you for understanding, sir. I will take all of this into consideration. I’ll give you my answer as soon as I have one.”
“That’s fair enough, Nataka.” Thompson rose, as did the other two. Together they ambled out to join the others for the evening meal.
The air grew colder, with a hint of rain or snow. Being mid-May, the weather was still unpredictable. A slight breeze came up, causing the temperature to dip even lower. Thompson longed to be back at Fort Owen. His thoughts turned to his wife, Kate. How would she feel about the orders if she knew? Somehow he knew that she would go along with his decision, because she was such a kind, gentle hearted woman. He shivered when the wind began to howl in earnest. Soft, misty rain began to fall as he plodded wearily back to his tent. Looking around, Thompson wondered if the rain would turn into ice or snow. Entering his tent, he felt grateful for the tents, which would keep the men dry.
The men, who were not on guard duty, turned in to ensure an early start. He had just taken a seat at the table, to pour over the map, when a voice called softly from outside his tent. “Are you busy, Captain Thompson?”
The captain recognized the voice immediately. “No, Nataka,” called Thompson. Rising, he walked over to the tent entrance. “Come on in out of the storm.” Nataka entered.
Thompson replaced the flap. “Come, take a seat,” Thompson invited, motioning to the vacant chair. Nataka moved over to the chair opposite him. When they were seated, Thompson folded his hands before placed them on the as he had earlier. “Now, what can I do for you, Nataka?”
“Well,” said Nataka, brushing at some imaginary speck on the table, “I need to ask you a question, sir.”
“Ask away,” replied Thompson, watching the young man cautiously.
“I’ve felt for some time that you know the reason for Major Thornton’s hatred toward the Indians. I need to know why.” He watched the Captain’s face intently. Thompson hesitated, not sure of what to do. “Sir, I know that Mrs. Thornton is my mother.” Nataka held up his hand when Thompson would have spoken. “I accidentally overheard my parents talking one night, about a month ago, when they thought I was asleep.” Sighing, he watched Thompson intently.
“Please! Don’t you think I have the right to know, now?”
Thompson nodded as he sighed resignedly, “Yes … yes, I do!”
“In order to make a proper decision, I need to know more.”
Thompson rose, paced the floor, a habit he had when nervous or uncertain, while Nataka sat patiently. Sighing deeply, Thompson dropped wearily onto his chair. “Colonel Dawson ordered Major Thornton to take a troop of soldiers out for a routine patrol one day … about twenty-one years ago. It was during a period of great fighting between theses two people. There were several tribes in the area, many of which were on the warpath, so many troops were either out patrolling or engaged in some terrible skirmish. While the fort was vulnerable, Swift Eagle, chief of those we are now ordered to eliminate, came to the post in Missoula with a large number of Indians braves to raid, rape, and plunder those left behind. Chief Swift Eagle’s brother, Storm Cloud, violated Anna Thornton … beat her and left her for dead. Shortly afterward the tribe fled, leaving devastation in its wake. Many people were lost that day. Among the dead were old men, women including several children.” Nataka shivered at the horror of it all.
“When Major Thornton found out about his wife, he went on a rampage that lasted several days. No one could deal with him, least of all Anna. To top everything off, your mother found out a short time later that she was pregnant with you.”
Nataka’s jaw dropped in consternation. “Are you saying that Storm Cloud is my father?”
“Yes, I am,” affirmed Thompson.
“Oh!” Nataka’s mind reeled, with the absurdity of it all, making it difficult for his tortured mind to take it all in. How long he sat there, he never knew. To his beleaguered mind, it seemed as if eternity had come and gone.
All at once Thompson’s voice drew him back to the present. “Thornton wanted Anna to find a way to get rid of ‘the thing’, before it was born, by any means she could … but she had refused. When she told Thornton that it wasn’t the baby’s fault, her words only infuriated him more. Thornton vowed that he would, as he put it, ‘kill the brat’ when it was born. To protect you, Anna took nineteen month old Miles and ran away to Denver, Colorado. Thornton searched for eight long months for her, growing bitterer with every passing day.”
Thompson paused to let Nataka digest the facts then went on with the narrative. Nataka remained motionless. “Major Thornton didn’t love Anna. I doubt that he ever knew what love was. She was like some type of property … to be used any way he wanted. Her feelings didn’t matter in the least. He regularly told her that no one else would want her because she was so ugly.
‘Why, your own father couldn’t even stand you’ was one particular comment he’d fling at her every chance he got.” Thompson continued to pace the length of the tent then turned back to face Nataka. “Thornton didn’t care who heard him. In fact, if someone did hear him, it pleased him immensely.”
Nataka’s brown eyes snapped with unspoken anger, but he remained silent. “When Thornton arrived in Missoula, he met Anna’s father. Her father, Fred Hawkins, invited Thornton out to his place for dinner. When Thornton met Anna, he became enamored with her, but she disliked him on sight. She made it clear that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Her father pestered, even going so far as to beat her, all to no avail. Then on night he sold Anna to Thornton … for a measly bottle of whisky!” Nataka flinched as though he’d been struck. “A few nights after the wedding, they found Hawkins in the alley behind the bar … dead. In his hand they found a crumpled note telling Anna that he was terribly sorry for what he had done … although it was now too late … much too late.” Neither Nataka nor Thompson spoke, for they were lost in their own thoughts.
Sighing, Thompson continued. “To Thornton, it was a mark against his character for Anna to be pregnant with another man’s child … especially an Indian’s child! Running away only served to complicate the problem more. You were two months old when he finally found her. Thornton grabbed you to make good his threat when Henry Hansen, who was with Thornton, intervened. He told Thornton that he, along with his wife, Jane, would raise you. Seeing no other way to spare your life, Anna begged Thornton to spare your life. Seizing the opportunity to strike out at her, Thornton gave his consent … if … she promised never to have anything to do with you … or divulge that she was your mother. He swore that if she ever broke her promise, he’d kill you without hesitation. Everyone present knew that he would do so in a heart beat. Sobbing brokenly, Anna agreed. Thornton watched, smiling fiendishly, as Anna placed you in Henry’s arms.”
Nataka stared dubiously at Thompson. It was so difficult for him to comprehend an individual so filled with hate that he would take his malicious feelings out on an innocent, defenseless infant. Is the man crazy? he wondered. Sighing, he looked over at Thompson. “I don’t understand why they named me Nataka. Isn’t that an Indian name?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Wouldn’t that bring Thornton’s wrath down on me, as well as my parents?”
A mischievous gleam came into Thompson’s then a smile spread slowly across his face. “No one thought of that at the time. It seems that Henry knew an Indian by the name of Nataka, who had saved his life. Henry wanted to name you Nataka Leroy … to honor his father and the brave. Jane wanted to name you Henry Josephus after Henry and her father. To solve the problem, they decided on a compromise and named you Nataka Josephus.”
“I see.” Nataka rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while digesting this new piece of information. “How did this Nataka save Pa … I mean Henry?”
Thompson peered at Nataka. I can only tell you the story the way Henry told it to me. True it happened many years ago, but I’ve heard Henry recount the story to others so often, including a few weeks before we came on this maneuver, that I know it almost by heart. I’m surprised that he hasn’t related the story to you.”
“If he ever did, I’ve long since forgotten it.”
“Very well, I’ll do my best to relate what happened. Shortly after his marriage to Jane, your father, Henry went hunting where he got stranded in a blizzard. When the visibility got so poor that he couldn’t see where he was going, he trusted his horse to get him to safety. All at once his horse heard a cougar scream a short distance away. Snorting in fright, the horse panicked. Throwing all reason to the wind, the horse bolted. Henry was hard-pressed to get him stopped. The horse stumbled, pitched Henry over a rock-filled embankment, rolled a couple of times before plunging to its own death in the ravine below. When Henry caught his breath, he tried to rise, but searing pain pierced through him like a fireball. Looking down at his leg, he was surprised to see that it was turned inward. A strange lump was protruding at the outer side of his pants. The sight terrorized him, because he knew in an instant that his leg was seriously broken. With this thought came the realization that he was so far from civilization that it could be days, weeks, even months before his body was found. When the horse tumbled to its death, it took the rifle, canteen, food supplies, including his bedroll with it. All that Henry had to rely on were the clothes on his back, flint to start a fire, a knife in a sheath at his side, plus some jerky in his coat pocket. The loss of the canteen didn’t worry him, since he could eat the snow to quench his thirst.”
Thompson continued, recalling every word that Henry had told him. “Realizing that he couldn’t stay there, because of the exposure to the inclement weather, he looked around for shelter. Seeing none, he gritted his teeth then began to drag his body upward, moaning in agony with every movement. Waves of nausea washed over him, growing in intensity, until he began to relieve his stomach. After resting long enough to gain control of the pain, he gathered renewed strength. Again, Henry began pulling himself toward the top. Inching along, beads of perspiration broke out of his face. Many times, Henry was forced to pause to rest, until he could summon strength to move on. Finally, trembling with shock, exhaustion, as well as agonizing pain, Henry pulled himself over the top. Lying prone on the ground, Henry closed his eyes as he struggled for control. Shock was setting in, even though he fought hard to remain coherent. Opening his eyes, he looked around for adequate shelter. Seeing a large pine tree nearby, he summoned all his remaining strength then began inching toward it. Crawling under the tree took more effort than he anticipated, Henry lost consciousness.”
“Opening his eyes sometime later, he looked around. The snow had stopped, but night was fast approaching. Having to relieve himself, he dragged himself a short distance from the tree, in an effort to preserve the condition of his new shelter. When he got back to the tree, he rested awhile. Feeling hungry, he reached into his pocket to take out a large piece of jerky. Sighing, he took a bite. While he chewed he pondered his situation. Finding no solution, he finished the jerky in his mouth; put the remainder back in his coat pocket. After finding a comfortable position, he waited for sleep to claim him. No matter how hard he tried, like an elusive shadow, sleep eluded his every effort. Thoughts of home, along with visions of his young bride, Jane, both comforted and troubled him. Being five miles from their nearest neighbor left Jane vulnerable. She would worry herself sick when he didn’t return that night. Although Henry rubbed himself in an attempt to retain his body heat, the cold continued to slowly seep through his clothes, causing the pain in his leg to intensify. Unable to tolerate the agony, he once more lapsed into the state of unconsciousness. Waking a few minutes later, he was trembling uncontrollably, causing his body to ache with the cold.”
Thompson recognized that he was going into great detail about the story, but he had gotten caught up in the drama, plus the emotions, as he watched Nataka’s obvious interest. He resumed, “Reality told him that if he didn’t get a fire going, he’d freeze to death. Dragging himself over to the trunk of the tree, he removed the knife from the sheath at his side. Peeling away some of the bark, Henry tossed it toward the designated fire spot. He repeated this until there was enough to start the fire. Replacing the knife, he crawled over to some dead wood. Slowly, because of the pain, he dragged it behind him. Resting several times between each trip, he finally had enough to last the night. Clearing away the snow from the chosen spot, Henry arranged the bark along with some pitch he’d found to help it ignite the bark. Then taking the flint, he began to coax a fire. At first the fire smoldered, refusing to start. However, through determination on Henry’s part, the tender caught then began to burn. Satisfied that it was going strong, he placed a good portion of the dead wood on top. Lying back upon the ground, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.”
Thompson’s voice increased in volume, including eagerness, as he continued to relate the most intriguing part of the story. “Awakened by a strange noise, Henry opened his eyes. Cautiously gazing around, he noticed that there were only a few hot coals left of the fire. He made a mental note to replenish it with the remainder of the wood. Raising his arm to brush back a lock of hair from his face, he saw droplets of blood on the coat sleeve. He wasn’t bleeding, so how did it get there? Slowly, looking upward into the snow-clad branches, his heart nearly failed him. Crouched, not far above him, ready to pounce, was a large, full-grown male cougar. What an impressive sight it made! Sunlight highlighted the tawny, gray body, aggressively flicking its tail back and forth. Shivers of fear ran along Henry’s spine, his eyes grew large his mouth fell slack causing him to look like a crazed man. The cougar laid its ears back on its short, round head, licked its lips as if in anticipation then bared his teeth defiantly. Little pinpoints of light flashed from the cat’s large, brown eyes. Fearing that he provided an easy meal, the helpless, prostrate man lay there, hearing only the deafening beat of his heart. Lying back onto the ground, he waited for death to strike. A deep, full-throated scream rent the air just a moment before the cougar lunged.”
Thompson paused at this point. He smiled when he saw that Nataka’s interest had been captivated. “No one ever knew for sure if it was the cougar or Henry that screamed”. Chuckling softly, he flourished his narrative. “The animal, as if in slow motion, fell from the tree. Henry said his senses were so keen that he could even hear the whoosh of air over the falling animal, including the thud of the body striking the ground. What a shock it must have been to find the animal lying next to him, its head cradled in his lap! Even more shocking was the fur clad Indian, striding toward him with his gun still smoking!” Thompson paused again before abruptly changing the tone of his speech. He smiled in amusement. “Henry told me he did a really brave thing … he passed out.”
“I would have done more than pass out. I would have died right there on the spot!”
Thompson smiled knowingly, “Yeah, me too!”
Nataka sat forward in his seat. “But what happened next?”
Thompson took a deep breath to collect his thoughts before continuing the story. “Well, having a broken leg, including being exposed to the inclement weather, Henry was in a bad way. In spite of the fire, his feet and hands were badly frostbitten. Both lips were cracked making it was difficult for him to swallow. The Indian brave built up the fire then searched for straight limbs to make splints. Finding what he was looking for, the Indian returned, set Henry’s leg, binding the splints to his leg with strips of rawhide. Through hand signs, Henry made him understand that he needed to relieve himself. The Indian carried him away from the tree. Meanwhile the brave set about finding wood to make a travois. Dumping the wood near the tree, he went to carry Henry back to the tree. While Henry rested, Nataka fashioned the travois. When it was ready, he positioned it for the horse to pull, placed Henry on it. When they were almost ready to depart, the brave slung the trophy cat over the back of his horse. After dousing the fire, he checked to see how Henry was doing. Satisfied that he was as well as could be expected, the brave walked over, untied the horse’s reins then started for the village.”
“The chief and others of the band weren’t too happy to see Nataka bring a white man into their village, but they relented when they saw how bad off he was. Henry stayed in this man’s tepee until he was well enough to go home. A great friendship sprang up between the two men, despite the language barriers of.”
“Oh, I bet Ma was beside herself with worry.”
“If Jane could have, she would have sent out the entire army. However, she hitched the team to the wagon and went to the neighbors for help. After searching for four days, these neighbors told Jane that in all likelihood Henry was dead. Having no recourse but to stay in her home, until the end of winter, Jane dealt with her grief pretty much alone. Imagine her surprise when Henry’s new friend brought him home.”
Nataka sat thoughtfully silent, then looked over at Thompson. “What a great man this Indian must have been! I’m glad they gave me his name.” Thompson nodded, moved beyond words. “Why was this Nataka out there in the first place? Why was the animal wounded?”
Laughing, Thompson raised his hands. “Whoa! One question at a time!” Nataka grinned. Thompson drew another big breath before resuming the saga. “It seems the cougar was so old that it could no longer hunt properly. It had been attacking the villagers when they were away from camp. Nataka was out hunting when the cougar cornered him. He got off a shot when the cougar sprang at him. Whipping around, the cat sped away. From the amount of blood on the ground, Nataka knew that he had no choice but to track it so that it didn’t come back to the village. He’d tracked it to the tree, unaware that Henry lay there wounded. After the Indian brought Henry home, Henry and Jane thought they’d never see this brave again, but a few weeks later, Nataka, including his woman, came to see how the invalid was. Moonbeam, his woman, had made the cougar’s hide into a lovely vest, decorated it with multicolored beads as well as created a fringe around the bottom. She also fashioned a pair of moccasins from a buffalo hide, decorated them with the same multicolored beads. The patterns on both items were identical. Moonbeam had also made a beautiful tunic with matching moccasins for Jane. Nataka said he felt that Henry should wear the cougar’s pelt. Henry started to protest, but the brave waved his argument aside. Remaining adamant, he presented them with the gifts.”
“Jane and Moonbeam hit it off well. They shared many of their talents with each other, even taught each other their languages. When the men went hunting with the other braves, Moonbeam came to spend time with Jane. Unfortunately, a neighboring tribe, who raided their village, killed them both. After their death, Henry joined the army. When he made his current rank, they He and Jane moved to Fort Missoula, where he remained for several years. When Fort Owen was opened, he was sent to serve under Major Thornton.” Thompson paused to let Nataka think about the story. Looking up at the young man before him, he went on. “I don’t think Henry realized when he gave you the name of Nataka that he was openly adding insult to injury. That the name infuriated Thornton was an unknown added bonus.”
Nataka grinned impishly as he added sarcastically, “Oh, isn’t that just too bad!”
Thompson snorted in surprise. “My sentiments exactly!” Both men burst out laughing, grateful for the reprieve from the mounting tension. It was a while before they were able to regain control.
Finally, Thompson was able to go on. “For a time Anna kept her word to Thornton, though it nearly destroyed her. It was Jane, your ma, who devised the plan for Anna to see you. When Thornton, along his handpicked men, went on lengthy maneuvers everyone would meet at some secret rendezvous point. When you grew old enough to talk, the two women concocted a foolproof plan. They would meet in public places as though it were by accident. They never stayed long when they were together, but it gave Anna something to cling to.”
Nataka sat thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “I remember when I grew older that, Ma … Jane … said that we couldn’t speak to Mrs. Thornton. I guess we finally passed that point when I was about sixteen.”
Thompson nodded absently, then rose and paced the floor. Taking a deep breath, he sank onto the chair to resume his story. “Thornton took pleasure in tormenting Anna. He took great delight in teaching Miles to do the same. Your half brother, Miles, was the apple of Thornton’s eye; therefore, he could do no wrong. When Anna tried to correct Miles, Thornton would strike her at the same time calling her a terrible mother. He even threatened to kill her if she didn’t leave him alone. Everyone knew that he was dirty enough to do it, too.”
When, Thompson looked over at Nataka, he wasn’t surprised to see anger written all over him. “Why didn’t someone do something to stop him?”
“Because he was our superior officer, so no one dared buck him for fear of bringing down his wrath down upon them. You know how difficult he can be sometimes as you have personally tasted his fury.”
Nataka nodded thoughtfully before replying, “Yes I have.”
Thompson continued, “Then sixteen years ago Anna discovered, to her horror, that she was with child. In an attempt to disguise her condition, she tried hard to gain a lot of weight. Even thought the weight gain helped, she knew that she couldn’t conceal her condition from Thornton for long. At the time, Jane was very plump, so she could have been in the family way and no one would have been the wiser. Fearing Thornton would learn of the coming baby, she took her problems to the Hanson’s. They took her away while Thornton was off on some secret mission. When all returned, the Hanson’s … your Ma and Pa … had a baby daughter, Sylvia Louise.”
Nataka stared at Thompson in stunned disbelief. “Are you saying that Sylvia is really Thornton’s daughter?”
“Yes, Nataka,” said Thompson softly. “I am!” Nataka shook his head. He could only stare incredulously at Thompson. “I don’t know if Thornton ever figured it out, Nataka. If he did has, hasn’t let on. Jane and Henry have tried to be good parents to both of you. Anna confessed to my wife, Kate that she lives in constant fear of Thornton’s finding out about Sylvia. He won’t hesitate to take her away from your folks so that he can raise her to become like Miles. Anna also told Kate that missing out on the growing up years, of both of you, has been very difficult for her. So many times she has longed to tell you both that she loved you, also that she is very proud to be your real mother, yet she never dared to speak to you.”
Nataka remained silent for so long that Thompson began to worry about him. Finally, Nataka raised his head. Rising, Nataka extended a hand toward Thompson. “Thank you, sir.” He hesitated a moment to gain control of his emotions. A mischievous grin lit up his face before adding, “Regarding the orders, sir … I’m with you all the way … whatever the outcome. In fact … take great delight at the prospect of thwarting old man Thornton. He’ll pay for the treatment of my mother … Anna!”
Thompson rose then clasped the hand heartily. “Good!”
Nataka smiled snidely. “What’s the plan in regard to the Indians?”
“Well,” said Thompson, reaching for the map. “I thought we could sneak up on them … take them by surprise.” After placing a map on the table, he walked to the tent flap. Throwing it back, he peered out into the inky darkness to speak to the guard, “Private Cooper, wake Peters and tell him to come here on the double.”
Cooper resounded, “Yes sir! Right away, sir!”
After the guard hurried off, Thompson re-entered, lowering the flap. “Hopefully, we won’t have to harm anyone.” Nataka nodded then waited for Thompson to go on. “Then after Doctor McCabe has examined all of them, we’ll go from there. My biggest concern is that our men will be affected by whatever is making the tribe ill, also causing our soldiers to die from it.”
“I surely hope that’s not the case.”
“Guess only time will tell.” He was prevented from saying more when Peters entered, came to full attention. Thompson returned the salute. “At ease, Sergeant.”
“Thank ya, suh.” Lowering his arm, Peters awaited further instructions.
“Sorry about waking you Peters,” said Thompson, “but we need to formulate a plan for when we reach the Indian village.” While Thompson spread the map out on the table, the two men walked around to peer over his shoulder. The three men worked far into the night, trying to figure out the best strategy for all concerned. Finally, a few hours before reveille sounded, they got some sleep.
Two days later, sunrise caught the troop nearing Swift Eagle’s camp. Nataka was quickly dispatched to check things over. From where he was positioned, Thompson had a commanding view of the camp. What he saw was appalling. Never had he seen such filth in all his life. Knowing how meticulous the tribe usually was, he was able to judge that this disease had been running rampant for sometime. Rats brazenly scurried helter-skelter, while dogs fought over what little food there was left to eat.
“No one is stirring, sir,” reported Nataka.
Thompson acknowledged him, but remained thoughtful for a moment longer. Finally, turning to his men, he gave the signal for the troops to circle the camp. Soft, misty rain made it seem as if Mother nature was against them. Wanting to be sure that nothing would go amiss, he watched the Indian village for a few more minutes. Assuring himself that there would be very little resistance, he gave the command: “Charge!” Waving his arm, bugle blaring, the captain saw the men obey as one. The poor Indians were so startled that the tribe was captured without incident or one life lost. Not long afterward, Thompson ordered Doctor McCabe to examine the Indians. This task wasn’t easy, as the Indians were so frightened that they hid; thus, the doctor was hard-pressed to get the job done.
Doctor McCabe was a short, wiry man of five foot six inches. His black hair was streaked with gray, especially around the temples. Twinkling, kind, brown eyes offset his protruding jaw. He was rather overweight, but that didn’t stop him when it came to meeting other people’s needs. He was a powerhouse of energy as he struggled to examine each patient. There were many who were too ill to protest which caused his brows to draw together in concern.
A detail was ordered to set up camp, while another was assigned to begin cleaning up the debris. The stench from the discarded trash made everyone gag. One of the first things on the agenda was to destroy the starving dogs. This was painful, yet it had to be done. Rats were another problem, because they would viciously attack as a group if one of their own squealed in pain or fright, so they, too, had to be destroyed. The soldiers would burn what trash they could, hauling the rest away to bury it. It was also imperative to quickly bury the dead. They would find that all of this would take considerable time to accomplish.
When all of the patients were examined, the four men … Nataka, Peters, Thompson, and Doctor McCabe … met in Thompson’s tent. Thompson waited for everyone to be seated then turned to McCabe, “Okay, what is it?”
“Typhus!”
“Typhus!” Thompson repeated. A deadly silence hung in the air, as he stared at McCabe in stunned disbelief. “Are you certain man?”
“Yes.”
Peters expressed what the others were thinking, “What do we do, now?”
Doctor McCabe quickly replied, “No one is to drink the water without boiling it first. There are other precautions that must be rigorously followed as well, so I will make out a list of things you’ll need to follow. Meanwhile, we need to set up a makeshift hospital.”
He turned to Thompson. “Captain, we need the largest tent we have set up in the middle of the village.”
Thompson nodded agreeably. “Peters, you see to the rest of the clean up. I’ll assign two details: one to set up the makeshift hospital while the other ferrets out those who are affected with the disease. We need another detail to bury the dead.”
McCabe turned to Thompson. “I’ll need someone, well enough, from the tribe to act as an interpreter.”
Thompson nodded to Nataka, “Take care of that, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nataka. Further instructions were given then each man set about their various tasks.
After the makeshift hospital was set up in the center of the village, Thompson went to check on the other details. He knew they were in for a long siege … that his worst fears were being realized. “Typhus,” he groaned aloud. Shuddering, to rid himself of the fear and dread that gripped him, he set about keeping busy … determined not to think about the dilemma before him.
Chapter 2
Kate Thompson awoke to the sounds of reveille. Groaning, she burrowed deeper under the covers, drifting off to sleep for another five minutes. Slowly, she became aware of the many different sounds outside. Opening her eyes, she noticed sunlight streaming through the window. Flinging the covers back, she sat on the edge of the bed. After yawning a few times, as well as stretching, she struggled to stand up. When she finally achieved a standing position it was very apparent that she was going to have a baby.
Kate, normally a very petite woman, had beautiful auburn hair and green eyes. She had delicately shaped cheekbones, a short, well-defined chin that complimented her light complexion, which was generously sprinkled with freckles. Thick, sensuous, ruby-red lips showed perfectly matched teeth. She had a slight Irish brogue, which became very pronounced when she became excited or angry. Kate was not only fun loving, but was also generous to a fault. Her greatest delight came from finding ways to serve those in need of help or comfort. Her great sense of humor cheered those around her.
Dressing as quickly as possible, under the circumstances, she went to the kitchen. Taking the lid lifter from its place on the wall, she removed the front lid of the range where she added kindling to the smoldering coals. Opening the damper, she replaced the lid. After returning the lid lifter to its place on the wall, she filled the teakettle from the reservoir. The fire was going good, so she added more wood then turned the damper. When the water was hot, she filled the basin so that she could make herself presentable.
Kate had just finished preparing breakfast when someone knocked on the door. Moving the food to the back of the range to keep it warm, she walked over to see who was at the door. John Whipple, with a covered dish in his hands, smiled at Kate cheerfully. “Morning, Mrs. Thompson. Ma thought you might like a couple of cinnamon muffins with your breakfast.”
“Why, thank you, John,” replied Kate taking the plate. “They smell so delicious!” Nineteen year-old John beamed at the compliment paid his mother. “Please be sure to thank your mother for me. Hattie has been a good friend.”