Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,5
up immediately. “Robert and I will go.”
Good Voice joked, “Daniel and I have no wives. Will they bring us one?”
“When do these come off?” Daniel asked, rattling the chain that joined him and Robert together.
The guard who had replaced Jensen didn’t speak Dakota. Still, he knew what Daniel was asking. Holding up a small brass key he said in English, “If you swear allegiance to the United States, those come off now. Scouts leave at dawn tomorrow.”
Daniel looked up at him, studying the young face, wondering if what sounded like kindness in the yellow-haired man’s voice was real. The soldier met his gaze honestly and pressed his thin lips together in a faint smile. When Daniel and Robert slid their feet across the floor toward him, he knelt, quickly unlocking the shackles. When the other new scouts followed suit, he worked quickly, tossing the shackles in the far corner of the room with obvious relish. He inspected the spot where Good Voice’s ankle had been rubbed raw. “I’ll get the doctor over to look at that before we leave in the morning,” he promised. He smiled at Good Voice. “Can’t have a lame scout.”
“Wait here until I come back,” Sacred Lodge said. The men waited, moving as close to the stove as possible, rubbing their ankles, grunting with satisfaction as they walked about the room, free of chains for the first time in months. Big Amos leaped off the rough board floor and stomped around the room in an exaggerated dance that made the other men laugh under their breath.
Daniel wrinkled his nose as the five men’s unwashed bodies began to warm up and sweat. He looked down at his filthy hands and ran his hand over his matted hair. Glancing toward the blond-haired soldier who was standing near the door sucking in fresh air, he felt ashamed.
Sacred Lodge returned followed by a dozen soldiers carrying stacks of blankets and clothing. They brought in buckets of snow and set them around the stove to melt.
Brady Jensen dropped a half-used bar of lye soap at Daniel’s feet. “See you don’t eat it. It’ll gnaw a hole in your gut.” He stomped off, commenting to the blond-haired soldier about the stupidity of wasting soap on filthy savages. Once the men had washed and donned their outdated army uniforms, their clothing was burned in a bonfire just outside the front door.
That night they ate army rations for supper, stuffing themselves with fresh boiled beef and potatoes and corn bread until their bellies swelled. One by one they staggered away from the stove and fell on their bedrolls with satisfied sighs.
Late in the night, Daniel woke thirsty. He took an empty pail and stepped to the door, asking permission to get more snow. Once back inside he set the bucket on the stove and crouched down, waiting for it to melt. His first taste of the ice-cold water reminded him of a spring bubbling out of the earth near one of his family’s favorite campgrounds. He remembered following the stream of water from its source all the way to a lake they called Singing Waters, then alongside the lake and across the prairie to another creek and thence to Broken Pipe’s trading post. He had visited the trading post often with his friends Otter and Red Thunder, who enjoyed flirting with Genevieve LaCroix, the trader’s beautiful daughter.
The fire was dying again. Daniel looked outside. Snow was falling thicker and faster. Someone inside the log prison across the street was wailing a death song. It had become a familiar sound. Daniel looked toward the door. The guard stationed there was sitting on an upturned barrel, half asleep. Beyond him was the town of Mankato, and beyond Mankato, Fort Ridgely, and beyond that, far to the north, he imagined his friend Otter still living the old way, hunting buffalo, making war against his enemies. Somewhere out there, beyond Mankato and Fort Ridgely, was a beautiful half-Dakota, half-French girl named Genevieve LaCroix, whose dazzling blue eyes had once promised him everything a man could want.
After swallowing another mouthful of icy water, Daniel lay down. Pulling a buffalo robe around his shoulders, he stared into the darkness, wondering if the scouts would eventually revisit the agency and the nearby mission where he had once attended school. Someone had told him all the old mission buildings were gone now, burned to the ground along with the agency that had stood only a few miles from the mission. He wondered