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She was recalling the animals, both goats and sheep alike, that had grazed on the abundance of spring-fed grasses in the valley. These animals were surely now either dead or captured by the enemy.
It sickened her when she came to stand at Sage’s side and peered over the ledge at the devastation below.
Everything was on fire.
There was a stiff breeze blowing. The brush in the thicket was powder-dry, and as it burned it set the tall grass afire. Flames were leaping high, the breeze sweeping them straight into the midst of the thicket. Animals were scattering, and then Leonida saw something else.
Soldiers.
She gasped. Even from this high vantage point she could recognize Kit Carson among those who were still setting fires along the valley, while others were beginning to round up the animals, herding them away from the fire.
“Kit Carson,” Leonida gasped, her voice drawn. She looked quickly up at Sage. “Do you see? It’s Kit Carson. It isn’t Chief Four Fingers. Kit Carson found your stronghold.”
Sage was watching the destruction, his muscles tight, knowing that there was nothing that could be done to stop the devastation below. It had begun too quickly for his warriors to go down the steep sides and paths of the mountain to kill the white pony soldiers. He could tell that Kit Carson had methodically scouted both sides of the canyon and had stationed soldiers to cut off the escape of the Navaho from any side exits. He was not trying to keep his troops concealed but was letting the Navaho see what he was doing. He knew that the Navaho were too high up on the buttes to be able to shoot and kill the soldiers.
Sage knew that Kit Carson was not clever enough to have found the stronghold of the Navaho. He had been led there by someone who knew where it was—and who hated Sage and his people. There was only one man: Chief Four Fingers.
Sage’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, as he vowed revenge.
For now, there was only one thing to do. He would most definitely not bow down to defeat. He woul
d go elsewhere and begin a new life.
Those who believed in him would follow. Those who did not would surrender to Kit Carson and allow themselves to be placed on a reservation where men became children again in their hearts, minds, and souls.
“Sage?” Leonida said, stepping closer to him. “Darling, you didn’t answer me. What are we going to do?”
Sage turned to her, his eyes no less proud and confident than before he had seen the devastation below. “We are powerless against the fire,” he said. “But I know an escape route on the back side of the mountain. I know another canyon, untouched and undiscovered by the white man. I will take my people there. Kit Carson will not have informants this time to lead him to the Navaho. Only I know of this place. I have kept it a secret within my heart just in case of such a tragedy as today’s.”
“Then you aren’t devastated, darling, over this?” Leonida murmured, weaving her fingers through Runner’s thick hair as he stared down at the fire below.
“What Kit Carson has done today is an act against all humanity, not just the Navaho,” Sage said, his jaw tightening even harder. “It is a coward’s act that destroys food, animals, and land. He thinks this will force us out, to beg for mercy at his feet? He is wrong. He is the one who will be forced—forced to live with his decisions today. The Navaho will be elsewhere, planting new crops. Somehow we will also find sheep to fill the fertile valleys of our new home. It will take time, but it will be done. My people will never have cause to lose hope in their future. Not as long as I am there to chart it.”
Runner began coughing and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t like the smoke,” he whined. “Take me away from here.”
Sage put an arm around Leonida’s waist and led her away from the cliff. His warriors followed, their expressions drawn, some even looking as though they had lost not only crops and animals but also hope.
Leonida felt drawn to them as never before, wanting to be able to help them in their time of hardship and loss. But she couldn’t find the words to say to them, and she thought perhaps that was best. Her skin was white. Those who were destroying the Navaho’s crops and animals were white. The Navaho just might decide that she was at fault somehow, because of her presence in their village.
They might look to her as a bad omen—as bad luck.
As they entered the village, Leonida eased Runner from her arms and watched as he joined the silent group of children. Everyone had left their hogans, stopping to stand in a circle in the center of the village, around Sage and Leonida.
Leonida looked slowly around her, feeling out of place as the Navaho were standing so quietly, gazing only at Sage, looking desperately to their chief for guidance. She was glad when he once again placed a comforting arm around her waist, as though he sensed her uneasiness.
“My people, this is a day we shall look back upon with much anguish in our hearts,” Sage finally said, his voice booming above the silence of the crowd. “But it is not the end of the Navaho. It is a beginning. It is a new beginning for those who put trust in me. Those who feel as though we have failed and do not want to try any longer—those who wish to surrender to the white man’s ways—go! Go to them. Those who don’t wish to submit to the white man’s ways ever, flee with me to a place far away, known only by me. Live in peace and harmony with me and my family there! Those who wish to surrender to the white pony soldiers, go now without looking back. Those who wish to travel with me, go to your hogans and pack up your belongings. But make the load light on your horses. It is a dangerous path down the back side of the mountain to get us free of the white men. Make haste. We leave soon.”
Leonida clung to Sage, scarcely breathing, as several of his people walked lifelessly away, their heads hung, toward the paths that led downward, to Kit Carson. It was apparent that they had given up—that they did not believe that such a place as Sage had described existed.
She watched as others rushed into their hogans, readying themselves for this new land of promise.
“Pure Blossom,” Sage said, his tone worried. “I must find a way to travel with Pure Blossom so that she will be comfortable. The paths are narrow. It will be hard to travel with a travois. But that is the only way.”
Sage turned to Leonida and framed her face between his hands. “I vow to you, my wife, that this is only the beginning of our happiness,” he said. “No white man is going to win against Sage now or ever.”
He sealed the promise with a kiss.
Leonida clung to him, yet she was so afraid, she felt sick to her stomach.
