“I only know that here, you have been able to make a new start. Half the men in the West are not that different, Tom. There are many men here, and women too, who are making a new start.”
“Tom, we’ve got the horse here, ready to go,” Clay called.
“Do you love me, Tom?”
“This is not good for either one of us, Rebecca.”
“I’m only going to ask you this one more time, Tom. This has nothing to do with who you are, what you are, or what you are running from. This has only to do with you and me, right here, and right now. Do you love me, Tom?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “For both of our sakes I wish I could say otherwise, but, God help us, yes, Rebecca, I do love you.”
Rebecca smiled, then kissed him, a short, brushing peck only, on the lips.
“Come back to me safely, Tom,” she said.
Tom nodded and looked at her, opening himself up to her so that she could look deep into his eyes, all the way to the scars on his soul. Then, turning away from her without speaking another word, he started toward Dalton, who was holding both Thunder, and the string of three cows.
Smoke came over to talk to him.
“Tom,” Smoke said. “Even leading the cows, you should be there within an hour. As soon as you give them the cows, turn and start back. Do not break into a gallop. At a gait that is comfortable for the horse, you should be back here within two hours from right now. If you are not back here within two hours, we are coming after you.”
“I’ll be back,” Tom said.
Smoke reached out to shake Tom’s hand. “I’m sure you will be,” he said.
As Tom rode toward his rendezvous with Dohate and the Indians Dohate had with him, he thought of his conversation with Rebecca. Should he have confessed to her that he did love her? Wouldn’t it have been much better to tell her that he didn’t, rather than build her up for what could never be?
Or should he tell her of his past? No, he had told her, but it did no good.
Like turning the pages of a book, a part of his past opened up to him.
“I’m telling you now, Tom, don’t do this.”
“But I can do it, I know I can.”
“It is too big a risk.”
“I have to do it, don’t you understand?”
“Maybe, for one, but not for both of them.”
“Are you telling me I must choose?” Tom asked.
“Yes. Choose one, or lose both.”
“I can do it. All it takes is a steady hand and self-confidence,” Tom said.
“Yes, but there is a difference between self-confidence and arrogance. A big difference. Somehow you don’t seem to understand that.”
“Arrogance? My God, do you think I’m doing this from a sense of arrogance? This is my wife! This is my child. Now either help me, or get the hell out of the way, because I’m going to do it.”
“You are going to have blood on your hands, Tom. Can you live with that?”
Can you live with that? Can you live with that? Can you live with that?
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.
“He is a man with powerful medicine. He has no fear.”
“He has fear. If I raise my war club over his head, he will show fear.”
“No, I think not. I do not see fear in his eyes.”
“His medicine is not strong enough to overcome the fear of dying, this I will prove to you. I will raise my war club over his head. If he shows fear, I will kill him. If he shows no fear, I will let him live.”
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.
“Ayiee,” one of the warriors said in his own language. “Look at him, how he smiles at death! His medicine is great.”
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.