White River Massacre Chapter 1

WHITE RIVER MASSACRE

The Bear Dance

A Park on the Western Slopes of the Rocky Mountains

March 15, 1878

The Tabeguache band of the Ute assembled in the high meadow for the first ritual dance celebrating spring. Cray Eachin shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wondering how the hell he had convinced himself that sneaking into the most important ceremony of the season was a good idea. Then he saw her.

Towa was about the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She wasn't tall but carried herself proudly, chin high and ebony eyes bright and alert. Her long black hair was pulled back and held in place above her eyes by a headband fashioned from a broad strip of ginger-colored bear fur. He knew it was bear fur because he had made it for her.

The young woman strode past where he stood in shadows hoping to catch a glimpse of her. An electric surge filled the air, more compelling than the steady beat of the Ute drums down near the bonfire. Their eyes locked, her dark ones and his chocolate brown. In that instant a world of communication passed between them. She reached up and brushed her fingers along the bearskin band, smiled, then pointedly looked away and joined other maidens around the blazing fire a dozen yards away.

"She knows I gave it to her," Cray said to himself, smiling like a fool. The Ute were good hunters, and all the braves could boast of killing a bear, sometimes with only a knife. Cray had not been that courageous or skilled. For him it had been a matter of killing the bear before it killed him. It wasn't any great feat of pluck or hunting prowess that had brought the she-bear to his camp. The bear had been half-starved and hunted for food after rousing from a warm, dry winter. The bear had started pawing through his supplies while he watched in futile rage. Cray had decided to let the bear have all the food she wanted until the close-set, hate-filled ursine eyes had turned on him and chosen him as a better meal.

His first shot had been accurate--and had only infuriated the bear. His musket had spat out its .60 caliber ball to a target directly between the squinting eyes. The thick bone of the bear's skull had deflected the musket ball, even as it must have given the enraged creature one massive headache to avenge. Not having time to reload his rifle when the bear charged him, Cray had hightailed it up the slope toward his mine.

Cray swallowed hard as he remembered how he had started to run into the narrow, ineptly shored up shaft, only to decide he didn't want the bear looming between him and escape. If he was going to be bottled up, he wanted a chance at fighting for his life that being trapped in a mine shaft did not offer. He had spun around, grabbed a long pry bar and used it to lever up a large rock that had tumbled downhill during the winter, budging it slowly at first and then with increasingly deadliness, into the bear.

He had crushed the hungry bear in less time than it would have taken him to reload his ancient musket.

The bear skin had cured nicely, and he had made jaunty ornaments out of the claws and teeth. But he had taken special care to make the headband attractive, combing and cleaning it a dozen times before he was satisfied. He had left it in front of Towa's father's tepee, praying to a god he didn't believe much in anymore that the lovely young girl would find it before Kanneatche discovered it. On that spring morning almost a week before, Cray had watched anxiously until Towa poked her head out and grabbed for the lovely headband. He had ducked away since her father hadn't liked him when they first met.

Truth was, none of the Tabeguache Ute much liked Cray because he was rooting around hunting for gold in mountains promised them in an 1868 treaty. But the lure of riches was strong enough for Cray to dare even their ire. After all, he had killed a bear. A few Indians weren't going to run him off when he was certain he would pull true color out of the mine.

And the lure of Towa's beauty was enough for him to face the wrath of her father, whose twin brother Curicata was chief of this band of Tabeguache Ute.

Cray stepped even father back into the constantly twisting shadows cast by the bonfire when Kanneatche came strutting from his tepee, his old plug hat looking out of place amid the other braves in their finery as they prepared for the dance. Cray had asked about Kanneatche's curious headgear and had been told, somewhat contemptuously by another miner, how it had been given to him by a printer in Denver when Kanneatche and Curicata had visited the Rocky Mountain News offices. A large, dangling white tag with the inscription "Superior Cocktail Bitters" flapped as Kanneatche swaggered about, as if he was the reason the Bear Dance was being performed this night.

Cray knew the festivities hid his presence as well as anything could. From the way Towa glanced surreptitiously in his direction, feigning a lack of interest in anything but the progress of the Bear Dance, the object of his affections was not likely to say anything to her father. Kanneatche was something of a roué and inclined to get drunk whenever he could, giving Cray added reason to give the man a wide berth. Kanneatche might have five wives but that didn't mean he would look kindly on his favorite daughter taking up with a white man who wanted only one.

He took an involuntary step forward to follow Towa and the other bear dancers moved away from the fire to the dance area, set off by willow poles interwoven with horizontally twined tree branches. Cray hurried around to the east side so he could watch them enter the enclosure. His heart hammered in his chest as he saw Towa vanish to one side of the cleared area. He stared straight across the meadow to the west side at the large hole, symbolizing a bear's den. He remembered his own fight with the she-bear and had the sinking feeling he had to do even more if he wanted to win Towa's hand.

Cray jumped when six Ute drummers squatted around the hole, lowered a huge drum and began a rhythmic beat that seemed to penetrate to the core of his soul. They did not use drumsticks but laid a curved, notched stick on the taut deerskin, then dragged a gleaming white bone rapidly over the notches. The reverberation made the very ground shiver and shake in sympathy. When they started to sing, the dancers moved, the women going to the south side and the men to the north.

Cray swallowed hard as he moved closer to the entry of the enclosure, his eyes on Towa alone. He didn't even realize he was moving toward her when the women all moved across the willow-ringed dance area and began pointing to the men. Towa smiled and reached out to him, drawing him forward even more.

The chanting began to rise in volume and the tempo changed. The odd resonance of the sticks on the hide drumhead sent Cray's blood racing. Or was it Towa who excited him? The other men formed a line and he found himself advancing with them to where the women waited. For the first time he realized he had joined the dance and self-consciously looked around, wondering what he ought to do. If he bolted and ran, everyone would notice. Standing in the line with the other men, no one took notice of him. The men had eyes only for the women.

And Towa had eyes only for him.

Cray walked forward at the end of the line and reached out for Towa, who took his hand. In time with the music, they began the bear dance, two fearless steps forward, three small ones in timid retreat. As the men advanced, the women ran away; the dance reversed when the women boldly stepped forth. Cray was not certain how long they danced like this but his legs began to cramp. Somehow, being with Towa and not having anyone object to his presence overrode any physical discomfort.

Towa pulled her hand from his and stepped back so she could look past Cray. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a brave decked out in a bear skin come mincing into the enclosure. The bear-man tumbled and danced and reared up and then fell over.

Cray wasn't sure if it was from nervous release or simply because the antics amused him but he laughed. The small buzz that had passed for conversation among the others died suddenly and all eyes fixed on him.

"No, I--" He had no idea what he had done, but he had drawn unwanted attention. He was sure they would throw him out--or worse. Kanneatche didn't like him and might scalp him.

Cray swallowed hard when he saw the bear-man roll to his feet and come stalking over. The bear head bobbed almost hypnotically and held Cray fixed to the spot. Somehow, he couldn't look away from the gaping mouth filled with sharp yellowed teeth, although the bear had long since died.

With a cry of alarm, Cray jumped back when the bear-man made clawing motions at him and reared up to growl ferociously. Laughter rippled through the lines of men and women, setting the bear-man off on a new hunt for others to paw at and menace.

"It's all right," Towa said softly. "The bear is angry when he comes out of hibernation."

The resonant drumming began and the dance resumed, this time with the bear-man joining in. Cray danced and danced until he was sure he could go no longer, then danced some more as the first light of dawn streaked over the mountains to the east. The Shining Mountains, the Ute called them, and he knew why. The pale light dribbled down like liquid silver and lent a magical aspect to the land.

Still the bear dance continued.

Cray found himself barely shuffling as Towa came toward him. When he had to advance on her, his legs almost refused to move. Muscles knotted from more than twelve hours of dancing, but he saw that the others kept at it with dogged determination. Or did until the man next to him stumbled and fell. Cray started to help but a warning cry from Towa froze him in his tracks.

The bear-man rushed over and jumped about, growling and pawing at the exhausted dancer. When this did not rejuvenate the brave, the medicine man shuffled closer, carrying a notched stick he had taken from a drummer. As the drumbeat continued, the medicine man lightly whacked the fallen brave's legs in matching cadence, and he worked his way up to the man's head.

Still the fallen man did not regain his feet. The medicine man repeated his treatment, and this time energy flowed into the brave who had keeled over now revived enough to join in the dance again. Seeing the attention the brave had received from the bear-man, the medicine man and the rest of the dancers convinced Cray to force down his own weakness and continue the rhythmic step the best he could.

Almost in a daze, the sun high over his head after more hours of dance, Cray was not sure what happened when he stumbled. He tried to regain his balance but a sharp push sent him reeling.

"Towa?" He wanted to ask why she was shoving him away like this. He had done everything the others had--more! He had not weakened so much that he needed the medicine man's healing touch.

She shook her head slightly, then reached to brush her fingers along the bearskin band around her forehead. How Cray wished those fingers touched his skin.

He let her shove him ever backward until he noticed the other women did the same to the men they had chosen as their partners. When he bumped into the enclosure wall on the north side, the drumming stopped. The women turned and silently left, but Towa paused at the entrance and smiled at him.

Then she was gone.

Cray stood alone, wondering what he should do now. The smell of meat roasting made his mouth water. The other men walked away, one by one, going to their tepees. Cray wasn't a member of the tribe and had no tepee. But Towa had smiled at him and he had danced with her and no one had objected.

Feeling full of himself, Cray left the willow enclosure, intending to go to Towa and declare his love for her. He had made his way from the sin and degradation of New Orleans, across dusty Texas and New Mexico Territory working at a dozen different jobs and had never seen a woman who could hold a candle to Towa. Emboldened, Cray hurried through the Tabeguache village, only to slow and eventually stop and stare.

Kanneatche stood outside his tepee, arms crossed over his broad chest and looking fierce. Towa knelt by a cooking fire, her eyes downcast and her shoulders slumped in defeat. Cray Eachin sidled away and silently retreated the long miles to his claim, damning himself for being such a coward and wishing he was not confirming the arrogant, drunken warrior's opinion of all Maricat'z.