‘How John!” Spotted Wolf greeted Cade and Jacob when they pulled into the Cheyenne Village with bacon, flour, sugar, and coffee. “How John” was Spotted Wolf’s normal greeting.
“Hello, Spotted Wolf,” Cade replied, raising his own hand. “We brought you some supplies.”
“Any bullets? Spotted Wolf asked. “Any rifles?”
Cade shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Just food.”
“We need rifles and bullets to hunt buffalo.”
“We’ve got a whole wagon load of food for you,” Cade said with a cheerful smile.
“We thank you for that,” Spotted Wolf said.
“We are not children to be fed,” another Indian said, gruffly.
“Who is the ingrate?” Jacob asked.
“I do not understand the word,” Spotted Wolf replied.
“The Indian who does not thank us,” Cade explained, pointing to the scowling Indian. “Who is he?”
“That is Waquini. It means nose that does not run straight,” Spotted Wolf added, laying a finger aside his own nose to demonstrate.
Cade looked at the Indian, and though he had seen broken noses before, he had never seen a nose as crooked as this one.
“It sure as hell doesn’t run straight,” Cade said with a little laugh.
“It is a noble name,” Waquini insisted.
“You’re right, Waquini, and I apologize for laughing.”
“Do you apologize for killing my brothers?” Waquini asked.
“When did I kill your brothers?”
“In the time of the red and yellow leaves,” Spotted Wolf said. “It was Waquini who led the war party against your wagons.”
“That was you, and you want me to apologize? Hell no, I’m not going to apologize. You killed my mule, and besides that, you attacked me, I didn’t attack you.”
So quickly that he didn’t even see it until it happened, Waquini threw a knife that stuck into the ground but inches in front of Cade’s feet.
Spotted Wolf said several angry words to Waquini, who responded just as angrily. Waquini pointed to Cade, and even though Cade couldn’t understand the language, he was fairly certain he knew what Waquini was saying.
“He wants to fight you, Cade,” Jacob, who also understood the intent, said. “That son of a bitch actually wants to fight you.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it.”
“These white eyes are our friends,” Spotted Wolf said to Waquini, speaking in English now so that Cade and Jacob could understand what he was saying. “They have brought food so that our women and children will not starve during the time of snow.”
“If there were no white men to kill the buffalo, if there were no white men to drive us from our own lands, we would not need for them to feed us as if we are children,” Waquini replied, also speaking in English. He pointed to the knife he had thrown.
“Pick up the knife, white eyes. Pick up the knife and fight me, if you are not a coward.”
Cade started toward the knife, but Spotted Wolf spoke up. “If you do not wish to fight Waquini, I will stop him.”
“No, I’ll fight him.”
“Don’t do it, Cade,” Jacob said. “This son of a bitch has probably been fighting with a knife ever since he was ten years old. And what if you win, and you kill him? Even with Spotted Wolf on our side, we would be lucky if we made it out of here alive.”
“I’m going to fight him,” Cade said, as he picked up the knife.
Waquini began shouting, singing, and dancing, keeping it up for at least thirty seconds.
“Spotted Wolf, does he want to fight or not?” Cade said, moving his hand toward the howling, dancing, Indian.
“He is doing his death dance,” Spotted Wolf said.
“Ha! Well, I must say, his lack of self-assurance gives me a little more confidence.”
Suddenly, and with no forewarning, Waquini made a sweep toward Cade, his arm lashing out as if it had been a part of the dance. Cade leaped back from the flashing blade, doing so barely in time to avoid being disemboweled. But he didn’t get back quickly enough to avoid all injury, for the point of the blade cut through the flannel shirt Cade was wearing, and opened up a cut across his stomach.
Although the cut was shallow, it was deep enough to spill blood and, instantly, the front of Cade’s shirt began to stain red. Waquini misinterpreted the effectiveness of his slash and moved in for what he assumed would be the kill. To his surprise, Cade was able to skip to the side, avoiding the thrust, and countering with his own slashing move. He managed to spill some of the Indian’s blood, but the overall effectiveness of Cade’s stroke was of no greater consequence than Waquini’s had been a moment earlier.
There were no surprises remaining between the two men. They thrust and counter-thrust, drawing nothing but empty air with each attempt. By now several of the villagers had gathered, making a large circle around the two fighting men. No advantage accrued to either fighter until Waquini made one longer than normal thrust with his knife. The effect pulled Waquini off balance, and he stumbled forward. Cade took advantage of the situation by hooking his foot behind Waquini’s knee, and sweeping Waquini’s leg out from under him.
Waquini went down, dropping his knife as he did so. Quickly, Cade kicked the knife away, then he dropped down on Waquini’s prostrate form, putting his knee on Waquini’s chest, and placing the point of his knife at the jugular vein on the Indian’s neck.
“One half inch, and you’ll be a dead Indian,” Cade said.
Waquini spit in Cade’s face, and to the amazement of everyone, Cade laughed.
Cade got up, threw the knife so that it stabbed into the ground, then extended his hand in an offer to help Waquini to his feet.
“No!” Waquini shouted, as if he had just been hit. He rolled over quickly, stood, then without looking at Cade, walked away quickly.
Cade watched Waquini hurry off. Then he saw that several of the Indians who had watched the fight turned their backs on the departing Indian.
“What is it? What did I do wrong?” Cade asked.
“You should have killed the son of a bitch, Cade,” Jacob said. “You didn’t and that’s your mistake.”
“Why should I have killed him? The fight was over; I was no longer in any danger. There was no need to kill him,” Cade said.
“You don’t understand,” Jacob explained. “If you had killed him, he could have died with honor. But you spared him, and now he must live with shame.”
Cade shook his head. “I thought that by sparing him, I could make a friend of him.”
“I’m afraid that all you have done is make a terrible enemy,” Jacob replied.
Cade rubbed his hands together, then walked back toward the wagon. “Yeah, well, apparently he was already a bitter enemy. The first thing he tried to do when he saw me, was kill me.”
“Yes, but that was a fair fight, where he could win honor by killing you,” Jacob said. “Now, the only thing he can do to take away the dishonor you have shown him, is kill you.”
“He tried it once; if he wants another try at it, I’ll face him down again,” Cade said.
“You don’t understand. He doesn’t have to face you down. All he has to do is kill you.”
“Where’s the honor in that?”
“There is no honor in it,” Jacob replied. “But since you shamed him by sparing his life, there will be no dishonor in killing you any way he can.”
On the far side of the village, Cade saw Waquini mount his horse, then ride away.
“You mean I’m going to have to look over my shoulder for that son of a bitch from now on?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jacob said.
“For how long?”
“Until one of you is dead.”
“Damn, I should have killed him when I had a chance,” Cade said.
Jacob smiled. “That you should have, my friend.”
As Dodge City was growing, it was acquiring the unwanted reputation of being a lawless and violent
town. With the increase of population came even more gamblers, whores, and desperados who were drawn to a town that had no law. And because there was no law in Dodge City, every merchant, and even the clerks who worked in the stores, were armed, due to the fact that they could be robbed at any time.
Though the citizens of the town, as well as the legitimate businesses, were troubled by this influx of undesirables, the saloons fared well. Even so, there was a shooting in one of the saloons on a near weekly basis, and the saloon that was doing the most business, and which was experiencing the most violence, was the Devil’s Den. Only the Dodge House, of all the saloons in town, was able to maintain a degree of decorum.
Magnolia, who was the chef at the Dodge House, was in Evans’ grocery store buying for the Dodge House, when a young black soldier came in. Billy Taylor was a cook for Colonel Dodge, the commanding officer of Fort Dodge, the similarity in his name and the name of the fort being just a coincidence.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Taylor,” Magnolia said, greeting him with a smile.
“Miz Willis,” Taylor replied, touching his eyebrow in a salute.
“I guess you and I are doing the same thing this morning, trying to decide what we’re going to cook today,” Magnolia said.
“Yes, ma’am, though I ‘spects your cookin’ will be finer ‘n my cookin’.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Monsieur. I’ve been told that you’re a fine cook.”
A proud smile spread across Taylor’s face. “Yes ma’am, leastwise that’s what the colonel says.”
The only other customer in the store at the moment was Weasel Slater, and he watched the interplay between Magnolia, and Billy Taylor with obvious displeasure.
“Hey, Evans, what’s that black bastard doin’ in here? This here store is for whites only,” Weasel said
“You’re wrong, Slater,” Richard Evans replied. “This store is for anyone who has the money to make a purchase, and the commandant’s cook fills that bill. Colonel Dodge and Private Taylor are valued customers.”
“Yeah? Well, he ain’t shoppin’ now, is he? What he’s doin’ now is talkin’ to a white woman, ‘n he ain’t got no business talkin’ to her. You,” Slater shouted, pointing toward Magnolia. “Get away from that man. Ain’t you got no shame?”
Magnolia looked with obvious loathing at the man who had once held her and family hostage. “Monsieur Slater, I will talk with whomever I please,” she replied.
“Oh, I get it now. Since you ‘n your husband lost your saloon, you’ve gone into whorin’, is that it? Well, you don’ have to sell yourself to no black soldier. Why don’t you come over ‘n whore for us? That way, the only people you’ll have to spread your legs for is white men. ‘N me ‘n my brothers, of course. We got to try out the merchandise, don’t you see?” he added with an evil smirk.”
“That’s enough, Slater!” the storekeeper said. During Weasel’s rant, Evans had taken a shotgun from under the counter. “You get out of here, now and don’t come back.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry none ‘bout that. I don’ plan to do no business with anyone who would let trash like this in their store.”
“Now, Slater,” Evans said, raising the shotgun to his shoulder.
Weasel walked out of the store, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Willis, Private Taylor,” Evans said. “The thing is that, right now, the town’s full of trash like that.”
“Why, there’s no need for you to apologize, Monsieur Evans. You handled it beautifully.”
“Yes, sir, I thank you for takin’ up for me like that,” Taylor said.
“Come, Monsieur Taylor, let’s put our heads together and decide what we shall cook tonight,” Magnolia invited. “You for the colonel, and I for the Dodge House.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Taylor answered, proudly.
“I got some apples in, yesterday,” Evans said. “They’d make a mighty fine pie.”
“That’s a wonderful suggestion,” Magnolia agreed.
“Yes, sir,” Taylor said. “The colonel’s got a particular likin’ for apple pie.”
16
When Weasel Slater stepped out into the street, he was still seething in anger over what had just happened. That’s when he saw three men coming out of the Devil’s Den. The three were obviously drunk, and they came across the street to greet him.
“What happened to you, Weasel?” Curly Sheldrake asked. Of the three, Curly, who had ridden on a couple of horse thieving raids a while back, was the only one that Weasel recognized.
“One minute you was behind the bar, servin’ drinks, ‘n the next minute you had plum disappeared on us.”
“Yeah,” one of the others said. “We thought you’d gone upstairs with Cetti.”
“She’s too young.”
“What do you mean, too young? Ain’t you seen how that little girl is all tittied up?”
“She’s too young,” Weasel repeated. “What I come over here for was to buy me some tobacco, only,” he paused and pointed back toward the store, “they’s one of them uppity blacks from the fort in there, ‘n he’s talkin’ to a white woman.”
“How come you just left ‘im there without don’ nothin’ about it?” Curly asked.
“On account of Evans pulled his shotgun on me, that’s why.”
“And you hightailed it outta there?”
“Didn’t you hear me? He was holdin’ a shotgun.”
“Yeah, well, that don’t mean we got to let that black bastard get away with it,” Curly said. “Ain’t that why we fought the war?”
“What do you mean?” Weasel asked.
“Is this here his wagon, do you think?”
The wagon, with US Army markings, was parked in front of the store.
“I reckon it is, seein’ as it’s got army wrote on it,” Weasel said.
“What do you think the army would do to that soldier boy, iffen somethin’ was to happen to his wagon?” Curly asked.
“Like what would happen to it?” Weasel asked.
There was an axe and a shovel tied to the side of the wagon, and Curly untied the axe, then held it over the side of the wagon. “Like, if it was to get all chopped up,” he shouted, as he brought the ax down against the front wheel, severing one of the spokes. Another chop cut through another spoke.
“Yee ha! Give it hell, Curly!” one of the other two men whooped.
By now the team of mules which were attached to the wagon began braying in fear and confusion.
“Private Taylor, is that your mules raising a fuss?” Evans asked.
“It sure sounds like it,” Taylor replied. “You have a good day, Miz Willis.’”
Just as Taylor reached the front porch, the right front wheel on the army wagon had been so weakened that it could no longer support the wagon’s weight, and it collapsed.
“No, what are you doing? Stop that!” Taylor shouted, and stepping down from the porch just as Curly raised the axe over his head to start on the hind wheel. Taylor jerked the axe from Curly’s hands.
“Drop that axe, Taylor!” Weasel shouted as he drew his pistol.
Taylor turned to look at him. “Didn’t you see him? He was bustin’ up my wagon!”
Weasel pulled the trigger, and Taylor gasped, then clapped his hands over the hole in his chest. Looking down at himself, he saw bright red blood spilling between his fingers.
“Lord a’ mercy, Weasel, you shot ‘im!” Curly shouted.
“Shot ‘im hell! He kilt ‘im is what he done,” one of the others said, as Taylor fell lifeless to the ground.
“I had no choice,” Weasel replied. “He was comin’ at me with that axe.”
“Oh!” Magnolia said from the porch behind the grizzly scene. She had come outside to check on the commotion, arriving just in time to see Billy Taylor shot. “Vous avez commis un meurtre, monsieur Slater! You have committed murder!”
“The hell I did!” Weasel replied. “He had a axe. He was fixin’ to kil
l me ‘n would a’ done it too, if I hadn’t shot ‘im.”
“Yeah,” one of the others said. “That’s how it was, all right.”
“It was murder, pure and simple,” Jeter told the others, during an emergency meeting of the town board of directors.
“They are saying that the black soldier went after Weasel Slater with an axe,” Lyman Shaw said.
“Who’s saying that?” Jeter asked.
“There were three witnesses, and they’re all saying that,” Shaw said
“One of the . . . witnesses . . . had just chopped the front wheel off Taylor’s wagon,” Jeter said angrily. “How reliable are they? I’m telling you that my wife saw it, and she said all Taylor did was jerk the axe out of Curly Sheldrake’s hand.”
“Yeah, well, maybe Slater thought Taylor was coming after him,” Robert Wright said. “If he thought that, then the killing is still justifiable as self-defense.”
“It doesn’t matter whether it was justifiable or not,” Herman Fringer said. “We don’t have any law in Dodge City, so there’s nothin’ we could do about it, anyway.”
“Colonel, all ‘n hell Taylor done was jerk the axe outta that feller’s hand to keep ‘im from bustin’ up the wagon any more’n he already done,” Sergeant Haverkost said. Haverkost had been in Dodge City when the incident occurred. “That feller, Slater, shot ‘im dead for no reason a’ tall that I can see.”
“Has Slater been arrested?” Colonel Dodge asked.
“No, sir, he ain’t been arrested on account of there still ain’t no law in Dodge City.”
“Then we’ll provide the law,” Colonel Dodge said. “Tell Captain Kirby I want to see him. Have him get his troopers ready to ride at first light.”
“Cap’n Kirby, sir? He’s in command of the black troops.”
“Yes, I think it would be a fitting conclusion to this affair to have black soldiers arrest the murderer of a black soldier.”
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 51
