Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,33
her head. “No. Why?”
Gen read aloud, “‘One of the women claims to be the daughter of Cloudman who she says died in battle against the troops in Minnesota. She is quite lovely and boasts finer blankets and ornaments than the other women. This has given her some power over the soldiers assigned to guard the prisoners, which would be opportunity for evil if she did not use it to benefit her fellow Dakota. Since she generously shares whatever favors she receives with the other women, I cannot fault her enjoyment of the attentions she receives. She speaks most graciously of her days at the Hazelwood Mission and remembers the new work I had just begun near her father’s camp when the outbreak began. She expresses an interest in the gospel and sits in rapt attention when I teach. It is quite encouraging to have a woman whose labors are many take time to attend to the preaching of God’s Word.’”
Miss Jane chuckled and shook her head. “You are jealous, Miss LaCroix.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gen protested. “I’m just concerned for Simon’s reputation. A missionary serving alone has to be careful.” Gen traced down the letter until she located another passage. “Listen: ‘Our Indian princess says that her name is Light of the Moon. She seems hurt that I do not recall meeting her in her father’s camp. Tell me, my dear, do you recall Cloudman having a daughter? She would have been a bit older than you. Other than an aristocratic face the only thing I can think that you might recall is her hair, which is exceedingly long and reaches nearly to her ankles.’”
“Write the reverend and express concern for the princess,” Miss Jane advised quickly. She looked at Gen over her glasses. “And sign it as affectionately as you dare.” She smiled knowingly. “You are jealous.”
Gen blushed. “I suppose I am. A little.”
Nine
This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed.
—Lamentations 3:21–22
“What you think you’re doin’ in my cornfield?”
Daniel Two Stars stood as still as possible, trying to keep his voice from trembling as he explained, “I’m a scout for the army. See my uniform?”
The farmer’s cold eyes showed surprise at being answered in English. He scanned Daniel’s blue jacket. “I heard about Sibley using Dakota scouts. But all those troops left for Dakota Territory. For all I know you took that jacket off a dead soldier.”
“I have a paper from General Sibley,” Daniel said evenly. He looked down toward his left. “In that pocket. Can I show you?”
“Turn around.” The farmer motioned with his rifle.
Daniel moved slowly until his back was to the farmer. He could feel sweat trickling down his back while the wiry little man stepped up and searched him, then carefully reached into his left pocket and withdrew the piece of paper.
“All right,” the farmer said. “Turn back around.” When Daniel once again faced him, the man balanced his rifle across one forearm while unfolding and reading the paper. It was dated June of 1863—just a few weeks ago. The farmer read,
The Bearer, Daniel Two Stars, is a civilized Sioux Indian who deserves the gratitude of the American people for having been prominently involved in saving the lives of white women and children during the late Indian war. He is employed as an Indian scout and assigned to Fort Ridgely for the purpose of reconnoitering the area to apprehend any Sioux Indians, be they hostile or friendly, and returning them to Fort Ridgely from whence they will be removed to the Sioux Reserve in Dakota Territory or imprisoned after due process of the law of the United States of America.
I recommend Daniel Two Stars to the kind consideration and attention of all citizens of the United States.
General H. H. Sibley United States Army
“Says here you saved white women and children,” the farmer said, squinting up from the paper.
Daniel nodded. “I did what I could.”
The farmer folded the paper and put it in the breast pocket of his red plaid shirt. He motioned again with the rifle. “You can put your hands down. Just don’t make any sudden movements.”
Daniel lowered his arms, rubbing his numb hands and waiting for the farmer to speak.
The farmer patted his pocket. “It says you’re a scout for the U.S. Army. But like I said before, Sibley took his scouts with him. So what are you doing in my cornfield?”
“Since Little Crow died there have been rumors hostiles might