home yet knowing enough time had not passed. Zeke was studying the ground, and she noticed several places had been torn up as though a herd of buffalo had been through. Piles of horse dung were scattered as far as she could see.
“What is it, Zeke?” she asked.
“Stay put,” he answered, dismounting.
Her face and chest were suddenly cold when he left her, and she shivered as he walked around for several minutes, stooping down occasionally to look at the tracks. Finally he gazed at the barren horizon, a worried look on his face. Then he mounted up again.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning up near his shoulder.
“The way I read it, Army troops have been through here, maybe five or six hundred men, maybe even more.”
Abbie’s heart pounded with apprehension, and there seemed to be a mournful wailing in the wind. “Are you sure it couldn’t be something else?” she asked, knowing this was a foolish question.
“All the horses are shod, and there are wagon tracks besides, some deep and close together, like the kindmade by the contraptions that pull mountain howitzers. I don’t like it, Abbie. Soon as we get home I’m riding to Fort Lyon to talk to Major Anthony—see what’s going on.”
“But Black Kettle and his band are at peace. They’ve been waiting at Sand Creek for Major Anthony to bring them final word on the peace treaty.”
“Something’s in the wind, Abbie. I can smell it just as sure as I can smell a skunk. After what happened to Lean Bear, how can the soldiers be trusted, especially the Volunteers? They’re all Indian haters, mostly rabble—undisciplined men with nothing better to do than kill Indians.”
She hugged him tighter, feeling an unexplainable urgency. “Zeke, let’s get home. I’m worried about the children.”
He nodded. “So am I, especially Wolf’s Blood. I hope he has sense enough to stay at the ranch until we get back. He’s so infatuated with Morning Bird it would be just like him to go to Black Kettle’s camp to see her, even in this weather. It isn’t safe for him to be with the Cheyenne right now.”
He urged his horse into a moderate gallop. Abbie hung on tightly, not to stay on the horse, but from fear … for her children, for her very Indian husband, and for her eldest son.
Finally they crested the low hill that looked down on the ranch. Fear had filled their hearts all day, for the tracks of the large troop of military men had followed the same route Zeke and Abbie were taking. Zeke could see that most of his prized horses were corralled as usual, and in the dim dusk of evening they made out a curl of smoke coming from the chimney. All looked peaceful, but the fact remained that a huge body of troops had gone right through the ranch. They headed down to the cabin, and before they reached it, the dooropened and Zeke’s half brother Lance stepped out, brandishing a rifle. He lowered it when he realized who was coming.
“Zeke! Thank God you’re back,” the man called out.
Zeke came closer, dismounting and reaching up to help Abbie down. Her legs were stiff, her knees cold. “Let’s get inside,” he told her. “Damn it, you’re shivering.” He looked at Lance. “We followed the tracks of one hell of a big army battallion all the way here,” he said, quickly tying the two horses.
“That’s why I’m glad you’re back, Zeke. They came right through here. Must have been seven hundred of them. They were led by that John Chivington.”
Zeke halted his movements at the mention of the name. “Chivington!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, no,” Abbie whispered.
Zeke kept an arm around her. “Let’s go in,” he muttered, helping her up the steps and through the door. The house was warm and welcome, and they were greeted by a barrage of excitement as six children inside surrounded them, helping their mother remove her robe and coat, bringing her over by the fire to warm herself, and all the while talking nonstop about the hundreds of men who had