She took his hand, placed it on her belly. “I am meant to carry your child. My body is dark and fertile, like the soil. Many times you dropped your seed on that fertile ground.”
“Stop it!”
As he said it, he knew she told the truth. The many times he had crawled atop her young body, taking his pleasure there. Now, it was all jumbled inside him: the relief of knowing he could have a child, the fear of having a child of his own, the fear of Libbie finding out. Always the fear …
He looked at her. Afraid most of all of losing Monaseetah.
“I wanted Yellow Hair happy with this news,” she pleaded.
“Happy? Yes, I am happy. You are sure? I am the child’s father?” As he said it, he saw the wounded fawn in her eyes.
“There is no doubt in my heart, Yellow Hair. You have been the only one. No other seed but Yellow Hair’s grows within me.”
He ran his palm over her belly, feeling it tumble in response to his touch. “It moves … so much.”
“More than my first child,” she replied. “It could have no other father. This little one moves as you do.”
“Like his father.”
“Your child will be born in the Moon of Black Calves. The moon when the buffalo born in spring finally shed their coats of red.”
“Fall?”
“Before
“It comes so soon.”
His brow knitted as he paused, considering, brooding. He must find some way to return her to the Cheyenne reservation before she grew so large there would be questions.
“I must find a way to return you to your people,” he told her.
“But I am with my people. And you are here. I will stay.”
“No, it is for the best. This child cannot be born among the white men. I fear for its safety.”
“Someone would harm our child?”
“Perhaps.” Custer sighed. “Among the Cheyenne, children of many colors are adopted all the time. As Romero was when he was a child.”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“But it is different among whites. To them, our child would be nothing more than a half-breed.” He did not like the taste of that word on his tongue.
“He would not live well in your world, Yellow Hair?”
“Far better that he grow up Indian, among those who will accept him.”
“Your people would harm our child?” Her eyes filled with fear.
“He might be a curiosity for a time. The half-breed child of Yellow Hair, the great Indian fighter.”
“If the child is a girl?”
“She would be treated poorly. Perhaps used by some man, then discarded.”
“If our child is Yellow Hair’s son …”
“Worse yet. He would not be allowed to be his own man. He would always be threatened by men who thought less of him because of his Indian blood. Especially those who wanted to attack me by attacking my son. He would never be his own person, but instead a spirit without a home.”
There was but one choice. Monaseetah had to leave for the reservation and raised their child among the Cheyenne.
“Monaseetah, it rests with you to see that our child grows strong.”
He clutched her shoulders more tightly than ever before. She winced in pain beneath the iron of his grip.
“What of you, Yellow Hair? Will you come see your child?”
Custer sensed something more painful than fear in her voice. “I will come see my child. Before he grows to be a man.”
“When will I see you next?”
“I will come soon. I must hurry, to plan the return of your people to their reservation. Sooner than I had hoped. I did not want you to go.”
At the gate, she looked for prying eyes before taking Custer’s freckled hand in hers, again pressing his palm against her belly.
“See?” she giggled softly. “The little one kicks for you.”
“This second child, Monaseetah—
She closed her eyes, as if heeding some mystical voice within her. “Yes, Yellow Hair will have a son.”
CHAPTER 29
“HEY, Autie!” Tom Custer stood with several other young officers, waving him over. “You gotta hear this story Yates is telling.”
“Good to have you back from furlough, George,” Custer said to Yates. “How was Monroe?”
“Perfect as ever, General. No better hometown in all this great land.”
“What’s this story you were recounting for the boys?”
“I was telling about California Joe. Soon as you mustered him out, he was determined to have a ride on a train. Bought a ticket east to Leavenworth. Watched him sitting at his window seat like a boy handed some penny candy, eyes big as a schoolhouse clock when that steam whistle blew and they dumped sand under the wheels. He must’ve figured that was about the grandest thing he’d ever done—getting pulled along without mule nor horse.”
“You rode east with him?”
“Not exactly. Bumped onto him in Hays City when I laid over for an hour of switching engines. Found him right in front of Drum’s Saloon—or maybe it was John Bitter’s place.”
The staccato of pounding hooves drew their attention down company row.
“General Custer!”
Three horsemen galloped up to the group, horses lathered.
The sergeant among them saluted. “Danged happy to catch up with you. Begging pardon, sir.”
The mounts snorted and stamped, prancing sideways, fractious with the closeness of so many men on foot.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“There’s been a disturbance among the prisoners, sir.”
“Prisoners?”
The sergeant nodded, catching his breath. “The three chiefs calling for
Tom stepped up. “That’s Cheyenne for Creeping Panther.”
“What about the prisoners?” Custer asked.
“Them three bucks you brought from the Sweetwater, sir. Fat Bear, Big Head, and Dull Knife. Been some stabbings. A little shooting too. Colonel Miles sent me to fetch you, sir.”
“Moylan! Someone, bring me a fresh mount. Saddled or not—just bring me a horse!” He asked the sergeant, “Any other casualties?”
“Can tell for sure, sir. Time I left, no one gone in the stockade. Injuns running all about in there. No soldier would be safe to check on them Cheyenne, you see.”
A horse was led to him. Custer lunged to the saddle in a fluid motion, pivoting the animal into the company street between rows of tents. With a leap, the horse wheeled and galloped away, followed by the sergeant, caught
