Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Pa, do you know anything about his girl?” asked Joe while they waited for Adam outside the hut.

Ben leaned back against the tree they were sitting under.  “When Adam and Hoss found that you were missing…found all your things, Cochise…they also found wagon tracks and followed them south.  They had gone far enough south that they knew the wagon wasn’t going to California, and the only place south was desert, so Adam spoke to old Luther in Virginia City, asking if he knew any guides who could take him through.  Luther told him to look for this Mike Dutton in Aurora.  Evidently, she was his guide, and in order to get to the mine, he had to go through the Indians. How and why he changed, I don’t know, but we have to assume it was the only way to get to you.”

“Joe, there’s an Indian war goin’ on down here,” said Hoss.  “And since we found out in Aurora that the army might be involved in the mine, I reckon Adam, did too.  That only left the Indians for help.  This girl is part white. And it looks like she’s part Shoshoni and part of them others…I heard ‘em call themselves Aha macave.  She brings medicine to both tribes.”

When Joe moved to sit down, Hoss saw a stain on his back, and moved to look at it.  “Boy, what’ve they done to you?” he asked, pulling Joe’s shirt up.

Standing up quickly and turning, Joe said, “It’s nothing.  At least, nothing you can do anything about.”

Now, Ben was on his feet.  “Turn around, Son.”

Joe recognized that voice and the stern, but concerned look in his father’s eyes and knew there was no point in arguing.  When Ben pulled Joe’s shirt up, he sucked in a breath while Hoss winced at the reopened wounds.  “Hoss, get something to bandage this.  Joe, why didn’t you tell me you were whipped?”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Pa.  We had to leave.”

Adam came out of the hut, looked at his family, and then turned to walk away. “Adam, wait,” called Joe.  “How is she?”

Looking up at Joe, Adam shook his head, then left.  In that brief moment, Joe saw Adam’s eyes; wet, red, and full of hurt.

Standing behind Joe and taking his shoulders, Ben said, “He’ll be alright, Son.  He just needs time.  And you, you need food and rest.   We’re making camp for the night.  Come on over here and let Hoss take care of your back.”

Joe watched as Adam disappeared through the towers of rock in the desert.  Walking over to their camp, he sat down while Hoss bandaged his back.  When Hoss had their dinner prepared, he offered a plate to Joe. “Thanks, Hoss, but I’m not hungry.”

“Joe, you look like you’re about to dry up and blow away. What’d they feed you anyway?”

“Mine rations they called it.  Dried meat, stale bread and water…twice a day, before we went into the mine and when we came out.”

“You need to put some good food in you.  Eat this.”

Joe took the plate and sat it on his lap, staring at it.

“Son, there’s nothing else you can do.  It’s over.  Now eat your dinner,” said Ben quietly, studying his youngest.  One would think Joe would be happy that he was back with his family away from the horrors in the mine, but he looked like he’d lost something…something important.  Ben put his plate down. “What is it, Son?”

“There was an Indian in the mine.  His name was Mutheel munagh.  We sort of became friends.  We couldn’t really speak to each other.  We weren’t allowed to say anything, but when the soldiers weren’t around, we talked.  He told me what I had to do to stay alive, and I promised him that you would come for me.”  Joe snorted.  “He didn’t think much of that…his own people couldn’t get them out.  The Indian slaves never left the mine.  Except for dumping rocks in a bucket at the entrance, they never saw the light of day.”  Joe paused, trying to control his emotions.  “I didn’t see Mutheel managh when Adam came back to the camp.  There were so many more in the mine, but only a few came back, Pa, and it was the army that did this to them.”

Ben watched his son tell his story; watched tears form, and even though he was sharing Joe’s pain over the plight of the Indians, he was proud of his son.  Joe wasn’t telling him about what he had endured. He was telling him what those around him had gone through and lost.

“This girl that helped Adam; she saved my life, Pa.  She told me where to go to find Adam, and then she ran down into the compound with her people.”  He looked up at the sky, his eyes glistening with tears, his brows drawn in anguish, reflecting a pain that went far deeper than any physical wound.  “And now she’s dead, and the men who are supposed to protect us are the ones that did this.  And Adam, Pa, something has happened to Adam that has changed him.  All because I took a shortcut so I could get back in time for a dance.”

By now, Ben was at Joe’s side, holding on to him.  “Joe, you can’t take the blame for this.  You’ve done nothing wrong.  If you hadn’t been taken, those Indians would still be in the mine with no chance of ever leaving.  They chose to fight once they were free.  Mike chose to keep riding when she was shot.  The Indians…all of them…the Paiute, the Shoshoni, and these Aha macave…are fighting the same war.  They’re fighting to keep what is theirs.  It’s no less than what we do to keep what’s ours.”  Taking Joe’s shoulders, Ben moved Joe back so he could look into his eyes, hoping that what he said had sunk in.  “There’s nothing left that any of us can do except mourn the dead and pray for the living.”

“What about Adam?”

“I think Adam is feeling something like what you’re feeling.  He’s lost friends just like you have.  But you know your brother…he’s not one to talk about how he feels.”

“She was more than his friend, Pa.”

“She was.  But we’re not going to know anything else until he’s ready to talk about it.  And he may never be. Now, I want you to eat some of this food and get some rest.  We’ll be going home tomorrow, and it’s a long ride.”

Joe nodded and ate a few bites, then lay back on the bed Hoss made for him. Even though it was stinging from the wounds that had reopened during their escape, he lay on his back, looking up at the night sky and thought that never again would he complain about sleeping under the stars.