goodnumber of whom were now daubing at their eyes with their handkerchiefs. For a moment they were all sisters, each watching, each worrying, each wondering if the men riding out would come back to them. Julia sought out Andrew’s erect figure. Without conscious thought, she murmured a brief, fervent prayer for his safe return.
No one moved until the column had climbed the sloping incline that led to the bluffs. The lilting strains faded on the morning air. Disturbed by the lump that had formed just under her breast, Julia lifted her skirts with one hand and looked around for her daughter. Her light brown ringlets were nowhere to be seen.
“Do you see Suzanne?” she asked Mary.
Rising up on tiptoe, the sergeant’s wife peered around. “There she is.”
Julia followed her pointing arm to the two girls standing in the shade of one of the barracks’ buildings. A wary Suzanne held her precious doll close to her chest while a dark-haired sprite in a fringed buckskin shirt and calico skirt reached out a tentative finger to trace its porcelain features.
“Do you know that girl with her?”
“Oooch, everyone on post knows Little Hen. She’s a sweetheart, don’t y’know? She won’t lead Suzanne into mischief.”
“It’s more likely to be the other way around,” Julia drawled. “Does Little Hen live here in camp?”
“To be sure, she does. Her father’s an Arapahoscout in Company C. Her mither’s a Brulé Sioux by the name of Walks In Moonlight.”
Although unfamiliar with the customs of the native tribes, Julia had somehow formed the impression that the Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho didn’t intermarry.
“Not usually,” Mary confirmed. “I think the story is Lone Eagle stole Walks In Moonlight from her band. She fell in love with him, and begged her father to let her to stay with him. I think she’s a cousin or some such to Yellow Buckskin Girl.”
“Chief Spotted Tail’s daughter?”
“D’you know about her, then?”
“Andrew…Major Garrett…mentioned her name yesterday, when we walked by the river.”
“Did he now?”
The odd note in Mary’s voice drew a questioning look from Julia. “He said he knew her.”
“To be sure he did.”
Curious about the woman whose coffin rested on the raised scaffolding in the cemetery, Julia probed for a little more information.
“She was a beauty,” Mary confided. “’N proud, too. Whenever her father came to treat with the commander, she’d ride about the post on one of her white ponies, all decked out in beadwork and feathers. Half the troopers were hot for her, me own Donovan included, but she had eyes only for one.”
Her sideways glance told Julia exactly who that “one” was.
“She was sickly, though. It was the lung disease that took her, I’m told. Everyone was surprised to hear she wanted to be buried here, at the fort. Her father wrapped her body and put it on a travois. One o’the other of her ponies pulled the little cortege for fifteen days until Spotted Tail and his band reached Fort Laramie. The whole post turned out for the funeral, don’t y’know?”
“No,” Julia murmured. “I didn’t.”
“They wrapped her in a white buffalo skin ’n placed her in a pine coffin. The band played a funeral dirge that brought tears to me eyes, I can tell you, when they raised her on the scaffolding.”
Her bosom heaving, Mary concluded her tale with a sigh.
“The post chaplain said the words, and her friends left gifts for her to take with her to the next world. Colonel Maynadier, the post commander at the time, presented a pair of leather gauntlets to keep her hands warm on the journey. The major…”
She paused, sending another quick glance toward her companion.
“The major?” Julia echoed.
“The major tucked something wrapped in oilcloth among the rest of the gifts. It disappeared soon after, along with most of the other presents. To this day, no one knows what it was.”
An odd, prickly sensation formed in Julia’s
No one moved until the column had climbed the sloping incline that led to the bluffs. The lilting strains faded on the morning air. Disturbed by the lump that had formed just under her breast, Julia lifted her skirts with one hand and looked around for her daughter. Her light brown ringlets were nowhere to be seen.
“Do you see Suzanne?” she asked Mary.
Rising up on tiptoe, the sergeant’s wife peered around. “There she is.”
Julia followed her pointing arm to the two girls standing in the shade of one of the barracks’ buildings. A wary Suzanne held her precious doll close to her chest while a dark-haired sprite in a fringed buckskin shirt and calico skirt reached out a tentative finger to trace its porcelain features.
“Do you know that girl with her?”
“Oooch, everyone on post knows Little Hen. She’s a sweetheart, don’t y’know? She won’t lead Suzanne into mischief.”
“It’s more likely to be the other way around,” Julia drawled. “Does Little Hen live here in camp?”
“To be sure, she does. Her father’s an Arapahoscout in Company C. Her mither’s a Brulé Sioux by the name of Walks In Moonlight.”
Although unfamiliar with the customs of the native tribes, Julia had somehow formed the impression that the Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho didn’t intermarry.
“Not usually,” Mary confirmed. “I think the story is Lone Eagle stole Walks In Moonlight from her band. She fell in love with him, and begged her father to let her to stay with him. I think she’s a cousin or some such to Yellow Buckskin Girl.”
“Chief Spotted Tail’s daughter?”
“D’you know about her, then?”
“Andrew…Major Garrett…mentioned her name yesterday, when we walked by the river.”
“Did he now?”
The odd note in Mary’s voice drew a questioning look from Julia. “He said he knew her.”
“To be sure he did.”
Curious about the woman whose coffin rested on the raised scaffolding in the cemetery, Julia probed for a little more information.
“She was a beauty,” Mary confided. “’N proud, too. Whenever her father came to treat with the commander, she’d ride about the post on one of her white ponies, all decked out in beadwork and feathers. Half the troopers were hot for her, me own Donovan included, but she had eyes only for one.”
Her sideways glance told Julia exactly who that “one” was.
“She was sickly, though. It was the lung disease that took her, I’m told. Everyone was surprised to hear she wanted to be buried here, at the fort. Her father wrapped her body and put it on a travois. One o’the other of her ponies pulled the little cortege for fifteen days until Spotted Tail and his band reached Fort Laramie. The whole post turned out for the funeral, don’t y’know?”
“No,” Julia murmured. “I didn’t.”
“They wrapped her in a white buffalo skin ’n placed her in a pine coffin. The band played a funeral dirge that brought tears to me eyes, I can tell you, when they raised her on the scaffolding.”
Her bosom heaving, Mary concluded her tale with a sigh.
“The post chaplain said the words, and her friends left gifts for her to take with her to the next world. Colonel Maynadier, the post commander at the time, presented a pair of leather gauntlets to keep her hands warm on the journey. The major…”
She paused, sending another quick glance toward her companion.
“The major?” Julia echoed.
“The major tucked something wrapped in oilcloth among the rest of the gifts. It disappeared soon after, along with most of the other presents. To this day, no one knows what it was.”
An odd, prickly sensation formed in Julia’s
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