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“Perhaps because she has no choice? Is not this something you are forcing on her?” Sage said, patting Runner on the head. “Now take them back where you found them. Leave them there so Chips can feed and care for them. My son, they are not your responsibility. I do not even think you want them to be. They require being fed many times during the day and night.”
“Darling, she has her family now, as you have yours,” Leonida said softly. “Let them go and enjoy life as a family, and Runner, don’t look for them again. It is in their best interest to live their lives separate from yours.”
Runner sighed, then nodded.
Sage picked Chips up and placed her among her babies in Runner’s outstretched hands. “Take them to their home, Runner,” he said in a flat command. “It is best for them.”
“Oh, all right,” Runner said. Then he turned and walked briskly away.
“He has so much to learn about life,” Leonida said as Sage helped her back to her feet. She put her hands on the small of her back and groaned.
She peered down at the saddle again, then smiled over at Sage. “Thank you, darling, for the gift,” she murmured. “I will use it proudly.”
The sound of a horse approaching the hogans from behind drew Leonida and Sage around at the same time. Sage shielded his eyes with his hands, then stiffened. It was Spotted Feather. Sage had been awaiting his scout’s return after having sent him away many sunrises ago to investigate the land around them, to see if any intruders were near, and to go on to Fort Defiance.
Sage had made the saddle for Leonida not only because of his devotion to her but also because he had needed to keep his fingers busy to make the days pass more quickly until the scout returned with answers that the chief so badly wanted.
Spotted Feather wheeled his horse to a stop and dismounted. Leading his horse behind him, he went to Sage.
“What news have you brought me?” Sage said, going to clutch Spotted Feather’s shoulders.
“The news will give you cause for different emotions,” Spotted Feather said, his gaze stoic. “Some is good. Some is bad.”
Sage’s jaw tightened. “Tell me the bad news first,” he said. “Then good news will be even more appreciated.”
“Our Navaho people that surrendered to the white pony soldiers were forced on ‘the long walk’ across three hundred miles of barren wastelands and are now on a reservation, confined at Bosque Redondo, in New Mexico, far from their beloved homeland,” Spotted Feather said bitterly. “They are made to live among unfriendly Mescaleros. Where they live now is a flat, colorless region, and they are being forced to eat alien food and to drink bitter water which makes them ill. They are a most miserable people and are constantly pleading with their captors to be allowed to go home.”
A sick feeling swirled in Sage’s stomach. “And how do you know this?” he said, his throat tight.
“I cleverly hid away in the bunkhouse at the fort and listened to conversations between the white pony soldiers about our people,” he said thickly. “They laughed at our people, mocking them for being Indian.”
There was a strained silence. Leonida looked up at Sage, feeling bad. The Navaho were a proud and courageous people. How could anyone mock them?
But of course, she knew who would. Ignorant, pitiful fools.
Filled with a deep sadness, bitter and disheartened, Sage wanted to go and release his imprisoned people, but he knew that his efforts would be for naught. They had chosen the road on which they wanted to travel, knowing that at the end of this road they would not find anything akin to happiness.
Sage and his other, most devoted people had chosen theirs. He would not risk the lives of those who had shown their devotion to him and go and release those few who had not trusted his judgment.
“Tell me the good news,” Sage said, ending further talk of the imprisoned Navaho. “What news have you brought that will please me?”
Spotted Feather’s eyes brightened, as though he felt relieved not to have to discuss further those who had chosen reservation life. “As far as the eye can see, and as far as my horse traveled, there is no one who will spoil our newly found peace,” he said proudly. “And I have news of Kit Carson and General Harold Porter.”
“What of Kit Carson?” Sage implored.
“He won a battle with prairie fever and is now far away, at another frontier outpost,” Spotted Feather said.
Leonida’s breath quickened. “What about Harold?” she asked, feeling Sage’s eyes on her.
“He is no longer among the living,” Spotted Feather said smugly. “Nor is Chief Four Fingers. Seems they had formed a partnership of sorts. They were searching for our new stronghold when they were cut down by a renegade band of Indians, perhaps Navaho, perhaps Kiowa. There were no survivors to point an accusing finger to those who are guilty of the crime. Kit Carson found their remains in the desert. Everyone had been killed by arrows and then scalped.”
A tide of light-headedness overwhelmed Leonida. She paled and reached for Sage’s arm, for which to steady herself. “Dead?” she gasped. “Scalped? Good Lord. I terribly disliked Harold. But I would never wish that on him, or anyone.”
“It is best that he is dead.” Spotted Feather said. “The white leader, Harold, was intent on finding you, Leonida. And Sage. He would have never given up the search. Never.”
Thinking of the welfare of the baby, Sage swept an arm around Leonida’s waist. He nodded to Spotted Feather, then walked Leonida into their hogan. There he eased her down onto a blanket. “Do not mourn the man,” he grumbled. “He was nothing, my woman. Nothing.”
Leonida reached her hands up to Sage’s face. “Oh, darling, I’m not mourning him,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I can’t help but be sad. I pity Harold for having turned into such a tyrant. He made his own life a living hell.”
