“Her name is Mahwissa,” Romero called back. “Claims to be a sister to old Black Kettle. She says he was killed in the fight.”
“Sorry to hear that. I was hoping to have a chance to meet him. Bargain for captives, perhaps. Unfortunate.”
“She says he died down at the river crossing. Trying to make a run for it.”
“Live to fight another day, eh? So, with all that talk she’s made, what else she tell you about herself?”
“She wasn’t jabbering about herself. Busy telling me about the young one.”
“Yes?”
“She’s the daughter of Little Rock, who was second in power only to Black Kettle. Seems we rubbed ’em both out this morning.”
“A chiefs daughter, you say?”
The interpreter spoke again to Mahwissa.
“Girl’s seventeen summers now,” Romero reported to his commander. “The old gal says Monaseetah is married.”
“Her husband run off with the rest?”
“Lucky one to get his tail over the hills when we rode down on this camp. But, there’s something more.” Romero shook his head.
“How’s that?”
“Old woman says the young gal’s father had to buy her back. Eleven ponies. And the usual plunder: blankets, robes, a kettle or two, maybe a gun … such truck as that. Seems she brought such a fancy price since she was a chiefs daughter.”
“Not married now, you say?”
Romero glanced at the young woman, seeing how she flicked her black-cherry eyes at Custer. Eyes showing no fear. Instead, Romero saw a welcome for the soldier chief written there. In Custer’s eyes gleamed a great interest.
“By Cheyenne custom, Little Rock had no choice when Monaseetah’s husband gave her back.”
“Her mother here in the group?”
Romero shook his head. “Killed by Chivington’s dirty work at Sand Creek. You like the gal, eh, General?”
Custer blinked. But his eyes hardened once more. “Interested only in her sad story. The girl without any family. She just might be of some service to us yet.”
“No good to a man except in the robes—”
“A guide! She knows this territory. I’ll use her to translate.”
“You’re not serious, are you, General?” Romero didn’t wait for an answer. “Shit—I forgot more about this country than she’ll ever know. And you go try to make a translator out of her? She can’t speak a word of English!”
“Perhaps she’s bright. And can learn enough to act as an interpreter.”
“General, all due respect—”
Soldiers’ shouts and women’s screaming whirled Custer about. One of the bloodied captives wrenched past a young private, rushing for the soldier chief. Romero grabbed her before she reached Custer.
“What the devil’s this one babbling about, Romero?”
“This one … isn’t Cheyenne!”
Custer studied the woman. “What, pray tell, is she?”
“She’s Arapaho.”
“What in God’s name is she doing in a Cheyenne camp?”
“Been visiting relatives in Black Kettle’s camp. But she didn’t come from a long way off.”
That stopped Custer cold. “Not far off?”
“A short ways down the river, better than nine hundred lodges all fixing to ride down on your soldiers here.”
“Utter nonsense! It simply can’t be. Those pony tracks led us right here. Question that other one, Romero … Black Kettle’s sister. See if she has anything useful to tell. When you’re done with her, I want one of the captured ponies selected for each of our prisoners. Woman and child. They’ll ride back to Camp Supply.”
“Few of ’em aren’t able to sit the back of a horse, General. Figure we could pack ’em in the wagons?”
“Splendid idea. Put the little ones … and the wounded in some of Lieutenant Bell’s wagons for the trip —”
“General!”
Custer turned as Captain Thompson lumbered up, two troopers behind him. Each soldier had a small white child clamped fiercely to his back.
“General,” Thompson wheezed, “we found these two young’uns hiding in a lodge down a ways. Must be white captives. What we do with ’em, sir?”
“Why … find them some clean clothing. Then feed them a decent meal. We’ll take them back to Camp Supply, then forward them to Fort Dodge on the Kansas frontier. Likely someone will soon be around to claim them.”
“General Custer!” Romero shouted. “C’mon over here. The old woman … she wants to see you. Something to do with the young one in the red blanket.”
“By all means—let’s see what this squaw has to say.”
Mahwissa trudged up to Custer, stopping toe to toe with the soldier chief as she began jabbering.
“Says the Cheyenne call you
“Which means?”
“What’s this to do with the young one there?”
“Seems the girl’s got no mother or father now—”
Custer shook his head. “Hurry with this. I’ve got pressing matters to attend to.”
Mahwissa had watched confusion slowly cloud the soldier chief’s face. Pushing Romero aside, the old woman laid Monaseetah’s hand in Custer’s buckskin glove, holding both hands out before her. When Custer tried to yank his hand away, Mahwissa refused to let go, raising her mystical chant to the heavens, eyes closed in prayer.
Intrigued, Custer stopped pulling to free his hand, gazing down into the young girl’s deeply beautiful face. Her eyes never rose to his, but closed in prayerful reverence.
With each passing chorus of Mahwissa’s singsong chant, Romero’s smile widened.
Suspicions pricked, Custer demanded, “What’s this all about?”
Mahwissa released the couple’s hands.
“Prayer to the Everywhere Spirit, for his blessing.”
“Blessing!”
“Mahwissa’s married you to this young gal.”
“By the gods, Romero! You bloody well know I’m married already!”
“I know. But the Cheyenne don’t.”
Custer seethed with rage. “You tell them I’m already married. I won’t be made the butt of their pagan hoax!”
“Not a joke, General.”
“Tell them I already have a—”
“No difference to them Cheyenne. Monaseetah won’t fret being your left-hand wife.”
“You already got a white woman for your right hand.”
Custer calmed a little. “A ceremonial thing, is it?” He drew himself up, puffing his chest. “Given the formality of this woman as a conquering hero.”
“Not just a ceremony to the Cheyenne, General. A real wedding. The young one’s your wife.”
“My
Romero listened to the nearby troopers snicker at the shriek in Custer’s voice.
“You’re her husband. General—till you send her packing someday … back to the Cheyenne.”
“I see. When we’ve completed this campaign, hmmm? A long, long winter gone from now.”
“Hey, General!” Clark intruded, hurrying over. “Take a look yonder.” He waited for Custer’s attention to be
