Could he live with it? Tom still didn’t know the answer, and now as he continued to ride south, he held up his hands and looked at them. The blood was there still. How could he ask for Rebecca’s love?
The Washita River was directly ahead of him now; he could see the long line of trees growing along the banks of the river. Tom remembered crossing it on the way up to Dodge City. He remembered being particularly interested in it, because he had read all about its bloody history. Custer and Black Kettle had fought a battle here. And, because there were several Indian encampments along the river, they had all come to join in the battle, which resulted in over one hundred Indians being killed and fifty-one lodges and their contents burned. In addition, the camp’s pony herd of roughly eight hundred horses was killed. The Seventh Cavalry suffered twenty-two men killed, including two officers, Major Elliot and Captain Hamilton. Captain Hamilton was the grandson of Alexander Hamilton.
It had been bitterly cold on the day of the fight, and it was very cold now. Tom couldn’t help but relate to the soldiers of the Seventh Cavalry, not only because of the cold, but because he was riding to meet some Indians, and he had not the slightest idea as to what was going to happen.
He knew, though, that he was about to find out, because ahead, emerging from the line of trees, he saw a number of Indians coming toward him. A quick count determined that there were ten of them approaching. If Ashki had been accurate with his own count, that meant that at least five of the Indians were staying out of sight.
As one, all ten started galloping toward him, yipping and yelling at the top of their voices, urging their horses to top speed. Tom was pretty sure, at this point, that he if dropped the rope to the cows, turned around and gave Thunder his head, he could easily outrun them. But that wouldn’t accomplish anything. The herd would still have to come through here to cross the Washita, and if this issue wasn’t resolved now, the Indians would still be here waiting on them. Because of that, Tom stopped his horse, and simply stood his ground as the ten Indian ponies thundered toward him.
Smoke had told him to crook his arm at the elbow and hold his hand up, palm out, so that is exactly what he did as they approached.
The Indians reined up when they reached him, then looked at each other in surprise. They had expected the lone rider to turn and run.
“How,” Tom said. “Good morning.”
The Indians began speaking to each other, but as they spoke in their native language, Tom could not understand what they were saying.
“
Though Tom had no idea what they were saying, he was certain they were talking about him, and when one of them raised his war club and let out a menacing, blood-curdling yell, he knew they were talking about him.
He also sensed, though he had no idea how he was able to sense this, that the Indian had no real intention of killing him, but was just testing him.
“Show fear, White Man,” the Indian said in English. “Show fear, for I am about to kill you!”
Tom remained motionless, staring directly into the eyes of the club-wielding Indian.
“Show fear!” The Indian shouted again, his voice as loud and menacing as he could make it.
Suddenly, Tom realized that he wasn’t going to be killed. He realized too, that he had passed the test, and he smiled.
One of the Indians, one who had not spoken before, held his hand out toward the Indian with the war club. Tom knew then that this was the leader. It was as Smoke had told him.
“Put the club away,” the leader said in English. Then he spoke to Tom. “My name is ...”
“I know who you are,” Tom said. “You are Dohate.”
During the entire confrontation, Tom had not let go of the rope by which he had been leading the three cows. He handed the rope to Dohate.
“How is it that you know my name?” Dohate asked.
“I have heard stories told of Dohate, a brave and fearless warrior,” Tom said, playing up to the Indian’s ego. He knew that he had scored when he saw the look of pride and satisfaction on Dohate’s face.
“Because the cattle we are driving are black, you thought they were buffalo,” Tom said. “But as you can see it is only cattle.”
“I have never seen cattle such as these.”
“They are called Angus,” Tom said.
“Angus,” Dohate repeated, though when he spoke the word it came out as “Angoose.”
“Never have you eaten meat that is better than this,” Tom said.
Dohate took the line. “You make gift to Dohate?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tom said. “In return, we ask that you let us pass through.”
“What is your name?” Dohate asked.
“My name is Tom. I am told, also, that you like this candy.” Tom handed a little bag of horehound candy to the Indian and he looked inside, smiled, then took one out and put it in his mouth. He did not offer any of the candy to anyone else.
“Your cattle may pass, Tom.”
When the others saw Tom returning, they hurried out to meet him.
“You are here and the cows aren’t,” Clay said. “I take it that means you and Dohate worked things out?”
“Our cattle may pass,” Tom said.
“Good job, Tom!” Clay said.
“Smoke?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your briefing. It proved to be very helpful,” Tom said.
They were within sight of Texas now, and though they were still quite a way from their ultimate destination, there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing that they would be back in Texas by the next day. It was bitterly cold, much colder than it had been during any part of the drive, even though they were significantly farther south from where they started.
