Eagle’s Song by Rosanne Bittner Page B

ever
have
to sell out, I want it agreed that they are the ones who keep the money. They and their children. They’re the ones who stayed here and worked the ranch.”
    “I have no problem with that,” LeeAnn put in. “Lord knows I, too, deserve no claim to it.”
    “Ellen and Hal have helped us very much,” Margaret told them, “but things are not going well on their own ranch. Carson Temple has cut off their water supply. He’s after their land, too.”
    Abbie sighed in exasperation. “Ellen, why didn’t you tell us?”
    “Like Margaret, she didn’t want to worry you,” Hal answered for his wife. “In our case it’s not so important. I’m not the best at this life. I’ve been thinking of moving to Pueblo. What I’d like to do is have our piece hooked onto the Monroe land under a new deed. Morgan can pay us for it as he can. I have a legal deed to that property. With it, Morgan would have even more land for grazing and such, and with more land comes morepower. We don’t want anything from Morgan if he should have to sell this place. All I’d want is something for the five hundred acres I’ll add to it.”
    Abbie rose, folding her arms. “That gives Morgan thirteen hundred acres. Not much compared to Temple’s eight thousand, but as long as it’s all legal, he can’t do anything about it.”
    “Ten thousand,” Margaret answered. “We’ve heard Temple recently bought up more land than the Tynes property. He has ten thousand acres, and word is, he’ll acquire twice that much before he’s through, between harassment and help from the land agent. What makes me sick is, most of the land he’s acquiring once belonged to the Cheyenne, part of the original Treaty of Fort Laramie, back in fifty-one.”
    The words brought back so many memories for Abbie, of days when Zeke and Swift Arrow were both young warriors. Thousands of Indians from many tribes had attended that council, games were played, horse races took place nearly every day for weeks. There was feasting, challenges between enemy tribes; but all knew it was a peace council. All believed the Treaty of 1851 was the last treaty they would have to agree to, that the vast lands granted to the Indians under that treaty would remain forever theirs.
    How wrong they all were. The Great Smoke was the beginning of the end for the Cheyenne and so many other tribes. Countless promises had been broken since then. That original treaty took years for Congress to sign, and by then it had been altered so drastically that it barely resembled the original. The government continued to treat the Indians as though they had no importance whatsoever, and as though promises meant nothing. Could anyone blame them for their uprisings, their anger?
    So, now men like Carson Temple would own muchof that land. Not one bit of it was left to the Cheyenne. She reached over and took hold of Swift Arrow’s hand, realizing the memories that treaty stirred for him, too. “All we can do now is try to hang on to what we’ve managed to keep in the Monroe name,” she told all of them. “I think we should pray about it, and then I think we should sing some of your father and grandfather’s Tennessee mountain songs. I remember many of them.”
    Everyone seemed to relax a little, and they held hands and prayed. As soon as they were finished, Abbie noticed Zeke still looked very troubled. He left the circle as they sang and walked off into the darkness. After several songs Abbie made an excuse to also leave. She walked in the direction Zeke had gone and called out to him.
    “Out here,” he said, calling from near the corral.
    Abbie allowed her eyes to adjust to the moonlight, then saw his silhouette near the corral gate. She walked in that direction, wishing when she reached her handsome grandson that she could see Zeke’s eyes better. “You’re still troubled, Zeke. Is there something more we don’t know about?”
    The young man sighed, turning to rest his elbows on the top rail