“They will all be asleep, and we can walk in and club them to death,” White Eagle had promised.
Even though they had attacked early in the morning when the hunters should have been asleep, they weren’t.
Two times they had charged to the bugle calls of Black Buffalo. White Eagle had promised that by playing the bugle, they would be able to steal the army’s magic, but that did not happen. Quanah could see that many lay dead from the People, Kiowa, and Cheyenne. There would be much weeping by the women and children when they learned that so many were dead.
“Come with me,” Straight Arrow said to Wild Horse and Silver Knife.
Straight Arrow had seen a wagon that was set apart from the rest of them, and he decided to go there. If it was loaded, maybe he could find many things—perhaps guns and ammunition. He would like a white man’s rifle that would shoot a big bullet a long way.
Several others got the same idea, and as Straight Arrow, Wild Horse, and Silver Knife approached the wagon, so too did several Kiowa and Cheyenne.
Straight Arrow rode faster to make certain he got there first. As soon as he reached the wagon, he leaped down, then climbed onto the back of the wagon and pulled the canvas aside. That was when he saw the open end of a shotgun, not two hand widths from his face.
Wild Horse, who was just behind Straight Arrow, heard and saw the blast. He also saw Straight Arrow fall back with only a large red hole where his face had been.
Wild Horse fired, as did all the others who were with him. Everyone shot many times into the wagon.
Silver Knife dismounted and, slowly, approached the wagon. When he pulled the canvas aside he saw the bodies of two white men and a large brown dog. Taking his knife from his belt, he began carving away the scalp of the man who still clutched the shotgun in his hands. Wild Horse climbed into the wagon to scalp the second man, while one of the Kiowa carved a large piece of fur from the side of the dog.
Holding their trophies high and yelping loudly in victory, they hurried back, just in time to join the next attack. This time both Silver Knife and Wild Horse had the bloody scalps hanging from the ends of their spears.
Several guns, as if firing in volley, erupted as they approached the buildings, and many more Indians were unseated from the narrow blankets of rawhide that they used as saddles.
Again, the Indians were forced to retreat.
“Who do you reckon those fresh scalps belonged to?” James McKinley asked.
“Shadlers, maybe?” Billy Dixon asked.
“There’s no way to know,” Hanrahan said.
“Yes, there is,” Cade said.
“How are you goin’ to do that?” Shepherd asked.
Cade walked over to one of the windows and looked out through the shattered glass. When he saw that the coast was clear, he opened the door and stepped outside.
“Fred!” he called. “Fred, are you there?”
The door at Myers store cracked open, and Fred Leonard peered out.
“Are you holding up over there?” Cade asked.
“So far, we’re fine.”
“Are the Shadler brothers with you?”
“No,” Fred replied.
Cade made the same inquiry of James Langton who was in Rath’s store, and got the same response. Nobody was wounded, and the Shadler brothers weren’t with them.
“That answers the question, boys,” Cade said when he stepped back into the saloon. “The two scalps belonged to Ike and Shorty.”
“Too bad,” Billy Dixon said.
“Here they come again, boys!” James Hanrahan called as he raised his rifle to his shoulder.
“How come we didn’t hear no bugle?” Ogg asked.
“Because it isn’t an attack,” Cade said. “Look what they’re doing. They’re coming for their dead.”
Cade held his fire as the Indians dashed in to recover their own.
The others watched as a big Indian rode in, hanging to one side of his horse by a loop that seemed to be a part of the horse’s mane. He reached down and scooped up a fallen Indian. He rode back at a gallop, carrying the Indian under one arm.
“Lookie there,” Billy Ogg said. “That black bugler feller has took him some things from the Shadler wagon.”
The bugler was running from the wagon with a can of coffee under one arm, and a can of sugar under the other. Cade was about to shoot him, but someone from one of the other buildings beat him to it. The bugler fell forward, the tins of coffee and sugar rolling away from him.
“I reckon he won’t be blowin’ that bugle no more,” Ogg said.
Another charge of Indians came, but this time they were firing at the animals that even though they had been hit, had made their way to the buildings. Then they circled around and began firing through the pickets of the stockade.
The gunfire was interspersed by the pitiful sounds of terror from the horses, mules, and even the oxen as they were mowed down by the bullets.
“Damn!” Mike Welch said. “They’re killin’ all the animals. Why the hell would they want to do that?”
“I expect they don’t plan on any of us leaving,” Hanrahan said.
“Yeah? Well I plan on seeing that a few more of the Indians don’t leave as well,” Billy Dixon said.
Dixon took aim again, and pulled the trigger and the big .50 roared.
“That one, for example.”
“Isn’t that Fred Leonard and Billy Tyler?” Andy Johnson said. “Were they in the stockade when all them animals was being kilt?”
“They’re damn fools if they were,” Mike Welsh said.
Everyone watched as Leonard and Tyler raced for the door of Leonard’s store.
“Maybe they were trying to save the horses,” Shepherd said.
The door opened, and Leonard got inside, but Billy Tyler turned to make one last shot at an Indian that was headed toward him. That was when he went down. They all saw him drawn back inside, then the door closed.
“Bat! Billy Tyler’s been hit,” Fred Leonard shouted over to Hanrahan’s.
“Is it bad?” Bat asked.
“Yeah, real bad. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
“I have to go see him,” Bat said. “Billy Tyler’s been my friend since I first came to Dodge.”
“They’ll be watching the front door,” Cade cautioned.
“Then I’ll go through the window.”
“All right, the rest of you men, let’s do a little shooting to keep the Indians busy while Bat runs over there,” Cade suggested. “Bat, let us know when you start.”
Bat opened the window, then stuck one leg through.
“Now!” he called, and every gun in Hanrahan’s saloon opened up.
Billy dashed across the open area between the two buildings and banging on the door, was given entry.
Inside the store, Billy Tyler lay stretched out on the floor.
“He’s frothing blood at the mouth,” Leonard said. “I’m pretty sure he’s been shot through the lungs.”
“Bat?” Billy said in a strained voice, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Is that you?”
“I’m here, Billy.” He took Billy’s hand in his.
“Could you get me somethin’ to drink? I’m powerful thirsty.”
Bat looked up at Leonard, who shook his head.
“We ain’t got a drop o’ water in the place,” Leonard said. “Truth is, we’re all thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water,” Bat promised, and grabbing an empty bucket, he started toward the door.
“Hold on there, youngster,” Old Man Keeler said.
“We need water,” Bat replied.
The old man nodded. “I ain’t sayin’ we don’t. Fact is, I’m thirsty too ‘n I ain’t even been shot. But I know a lot o’ them Comanche ‘n it could be that I ain’t as likely to get shot as you are.”
Keeler took the bucket and started toward the pump. Keeler’s dog, Bo, ran out with him. Hooking the bail over the spout of the pump, Keeler began working the hand
le up and down. For a few minutes, the squeak of the handle was all that could be heard.
Then the shooting started. In all three of the buildings where the defenders had taken shelter, the Indian’s gunfire was returned. Often, the loud roar of a buffalo rifle could be heard, and in every instance, another Indian was knocked off his horse.
The Indians made no effort to return fire, choosing instead to shoot at the old man who stood, unflinching, as he pumped water. The only time he stopped pumping, or showed any reaction at all, was when his dog was hit. Bo gave one little yelp, then died.
When the bucket was filled, Keeler returned to Meyer’s store, even as bullets continued to fly around him.
“That’s the damndest thing I ever saw,” Sam Smith said.
When, safely inside, Keeler set the bucket on the floor.
“I’d sure like to kill the Injun sumbitch that kilt my dog.”
Bat got a cloth from Fred Leonard, wet it, and bathed Billy Tyler’s face. Then dipping a cup into the water, he lifted Billy’s head and gave him a drink.
“Thanks,” Billy said. “That tasted mighty good.”
Billy’s head fell to one side, and though his eyes remained open, they quickly became opaque.
Very gently, Bat closed Billy’s eyes, then he stood up and walked over to the window that faced the saloon. Opening it, he called out.
“Cade! Cade, can you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Cade called back.
“Billy just died. I’m goin’ to stay over here for a while.”
Back in the saloon, Cade turned to the others. “I don’t know if you heard Bat, just now, but Billy Tyler’s dead.”
“Too bad,” Billy Dixon said.
“Black Buffalo is dead,” Quanah said. “So is Straight Arrow, and Walks On The Ground.”
“White Eagle told us that the white hunters would be asleep,” Mean To His Horses said. “He does not speak the truth.”
“Yes,” Red Moon said. “You told us that the white hunter’s bullets would not hurt us, but now many are dead.”
“It is not my fault,” White Eagle replied. “One of your people killed my sacred totem. It is through the skunk that I can make my medicine but now, the spirits are angry.”
At that moment, White Eagle’s horse fell to the ground, a big hole in its forehead.
White Eagle barely managed to leap from his horse before being trapped under it.
“How is this so?” Wild Horse asked. “How is it that the white hunters can kill a horse that they cannot see?”
“The whites have very strong medicine,” White Eagle said. “They can shoot today, and kill you tomorrow.”
“Is the medicine of the white hunters stronger than the medicine of White Eagle, who can go into the sky to speak with the spirits?” Mean To His Horses asked. “How can this be possible? Is White Eagle’s medicine polecat medicine?”
Chapter 25
“Andy, get me some more bullets,” Billy Dixon said as he killed another Indian.
“We’re getting’ awful low,” Andy Johnson said. “James, where do I find some more?”
“I’m afraid when that case is gone, we’re done,” James Hanrahan said.
“Well, that can’t be,” Cade said. “There’s been a lot of shooting going on, but didn’t someone say we’ve got 15,000 rounds of ammunition in this place?”
“That’s right,” Hanrahan said, “but all that ammunition is at the two stores.”
“Well, then, who’s going with me to one of the stores?” Cade asked.
“You can’t do that,” Mike Welsh said. “We all saw what happened to Billy Tyler.”
“And what do you think will happen to us when they find out we don’t have bullets?” Billy Dixon said. “Come on, Cade, let’s get over to Rath’s.”
“I’m goin’, too,” Hanrahan said. “Cade’s right. We’ve got to have more ammunition.”
“We’ll try to keep ‘em busy while you boys run like hell, but keep your heads down,” Carlisle cautioned.
“That’s something I don’t think you have to tell any of us,” Billy Dixon said as he stepped through the window.
After a brief sprint across the space between the two buildings, Cade, Dixon, and Hanrahan reached a side window at Rath’s store.
“Hey, inside! Open up!” Cade shouted.
A moment later the shattered window was opened, and the three climbed through to the inside.
“Langton, we need more ammunition over there,” Hanrahan said.
“What calibers?”
“Lots of .50 caliber, also some .44 for pistols, and some .44-40 for rifles.”
“All right, I can fix you boys right up.” Leonard began filling empty flour sacks with the ammunition.
At that moment, there was a lull in the shooting and Hanrahan ran back to the saloon with the ammunition. Seeing Sybil Olds and knowing what would happen to her if she was captured by the Indians, Cade and Billy opted to stay at Rath’s since there were fewer shooters to protect the store. Also, this was where the most ammunition was.
Cade walked to the front of the store where Sybil and Bill Olds were standing side by side at one of the windows. Both held carbines.
“I’ll bet you don’t have any beignets today,” Cade said.
“Cade McCall,” Sybil said flashing him a big smile. “How I wish I was still at the Red House. If we get through this, I’m heading right back to Dodge, and I’ll open a shop that only serves beignets.”
“You can’t take her away from us,” Tom O’Keefe said. “She’s workin’ just as hard as we are.”
“Can she shoot?” Cade asked.
“Look out there,” O’Keefe said, pointing. “You see those two dead Indians laying just this side of that little rise? She got both of ‘em.”
“That’s pretty good shooting.”
“Then that answers your question, doesn’t it?”
Cade chuckled, and nodded. “I guess it does.”
“And you’re goin’ to see me in action. Here they come again!” Sybil shouted as she raised her rifle.
The intense shooting in the building caused a buildup of gun smoke that burned the eyes, and choked the nostrils. Cade glanced at Sybil and saw that tears were streaming down her face, but she continued to fire.
The attacking Indians swept across the meadow, and though they no longer had a bugler to play the call for attack, they kept their battlefield integrity just as if it were a company front attack of the U.S. Cavalry.
Indian bullets crashed through the windows, breaking what little glass remained, but not one of the rounds fired by the Indians found a victim. The whites were more effective with their fire, however, and when the Indians broke off the attack and retreated from the field they left still more of their number dead or dying on the ground behind them.
When the attackers reached the hill that was far enough away from the buildings to be safe, Black Bird of the Cheyenne spoke.
“Quanah, we are running out of bullets. If we attack again, we will have to use our arrows.”
“White Eagle,” Mean To His Horses called.
Because White Eagle was shorter and fatter than all the others, he was never an imposing figure. He looked even more pathetic now, a totally naked man, his entire body painted a bright yellow, staring at his dead horse as if not comprehending the situation.
“White Eagle,” Mean To His Horses repeated. “You say you can cough up bullets, and many say they have seen you do it. Now is the time. We need more bullets.”
“I cannot,” White Eagle said.
“But you must! We need bullets now.”
White Eagle shook his head. “My magic has been broken.”
“If White Eagle cannot cough up bullets, we will take the white hunters bullets. They have many in their houses,” Red Moon said.
“I do not think we can kill them all,” Black Bird said. “I think if we try to take their bullets, they will kill all of us.”
“White Eagle has promi
sed us victory. We cannot stop now,” Wolf Tongue said.
“White Eagle said that he could cough up bullets, but he cannot,” Black Bird said. “White Eagle told us that the white man’s bullets cannot hurt us, but many lie dead on the ground, and if we attack again, many more will die.”
Mean To His Horses walked over to White Eagle. He spat upon him and hit him with his quirt.
“No longer will you be called White Eagle,” Mean To His Horses said. “You do not deserve such a noble name. From now and forever you will be called Isatai, because that is what you are.”
“Isatai?” one of the other Indians said, and several began to laugh. “Yes, Wolf Shit is a good name for a medicine man who has no medicine.”
The word spread quickly that White Eagle was now called Isatai, and the humiliated medicine man, slunk away from the battle.
After the disgraced White Eagle was gone, Quanah attempted to rally the spirit of the warriors.
“If cowards do not choose to run away, we will defeat the white men. I will lead another attack. The brave will come with me, the cowards will stay behind.”
“I will count coup!” Black Bird shouted and, slapping his legs against the side of his horse, he charged out alone toward the adobe buildings.
“See the son of Spotted Wolf!” Quanah said. “By his bravery we will win this battle!”
“Look at that fool Indian!” Bill Olds said. “What does he think he’s doing, coming all by himself?”
“He’s giving medicine to the others,” Old Man Keeler said. “If he gets all the way here then back, we’ll be fighting Injuns for a month o’ Sundays.”
“Then we’d better not let him do that,” Cade said as he raised his rifle, sighted, and fired.
The lance the Indian was carrying that he intended to use to count coup, fell and stuck into the ground, its decorative feathers fluttering in the wind. The pony continued forward with the Indian still on its back, but no other shot was needed, for Cade realized the wound was fatal. The body fell not ten feet from the building.
Then, with a shock of recognition, Cade realized the Indian he had just killed was Black Bird, son of Spotted Wolf and uncle of Stone Forehead! And the horse he was riding, for a short while following the game of hands, had belonged to Cade. Even though he had killed many Indians on this day, the death of Black Bird, suddenly made him nauseous.
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 78
