by John Legg
Tobias Whitaker strolled up and said, “I hear you’re lookin’ for someone to go with you after the Blackfeet.”
“Aye.”
“I’d like to go, Mr. Squire.”
“That be kind of ye to offer, lad, but I reckon not. Your shoulder still ain’t full right.”
“I’m better,” Whisker said. “Despite their blasphemous ways, I consider Li’l Jim and Abner friends. I’d like to do somethin’ to help find them. And, if you’ll not forget, it was they—and you—who rescued me from that bear, at great peril to yourselves.”
“Aye. But still ...”
“I know you are a nonbeliever, Mr. Squire, to my great sadness. Howsoever, the Good Lord used you and Li’l Jim and Abner to save me from the clutches of that beast for a reason. It is clear now that such is His purpose. If I am to save those heathens from their sinful ways, and make them see the light, then I must face them. Perhaps, with my teachings, we would be able to bring forth our friends without bloodshed. If not, well, the Bible says, ‘The wicked shall be punished.’ ”
Squire bit back the retort that formed, and said instead, “Let me think on it.” He drifted off, searching for another candidate, until he finally realized that the perfect one had already volunteered.
Squire was used to handling his troubles alone. Having Whitaker along might be the next best thing. He would be useless as far as tracking—or fighting. But the pious youth might be able to distract an enemy long enough for Squire to make a move.
And, Squire thought, if they could get close enough to the Blackfeet so that they could hear, they just might figure Whitaker was crazy, and therefore leave him and any of his companions alone. And by taking him, Squire would leave all the valuable men with the Colonel. Melton would need all the able-bodied hands available.
He looked up at Whitaker and said to him, “Ye can be comin’. Have Homer cut ye out a good horse. Fill your possible bag with enough pemmican and jerky for a few days. And be sure ye have enough powder and ball. Them Blackfeet might just think to argue with your preachin’. ”
Half an hour later, Squire was ready to leave. He scratched out a map in the dirt to show Bellows and Melton the trail to travel.
“Keep them lads movin’ fast and long each day,” he said as he mounted Noir Astre. “Winter be nigh upon us, and some places’ll be snowed under afore long. Me, Tobias and the others”—and no one doubted that the others would be back—“will be catchin’ up to ye as quick as we can.”
“God go with you, Nathaniel,” Melton said.
Squire grunted, as he touched the medicine bundle under his shirt. He watched as Bellows ran about cursing, already pushing the men into action. “Ye be in good hands, Colonel,” he said. “I know. One more thing before you go, Nathaniel. I’ve heard you speak of LeGrande since we started our journey. Is he the same as the one in your adventure related earlier by Homer?”
“Aye.”
“Then he lived.” It was more a statement than a question. “How . . . ?”
Squire grinned. “Mon ami be a crafty one. Only two Blackfeet showed up at the camp. The rest was lookin’ toward us in the river. He took on them two, put one under and knocked the other cold. He knew better’n to try’n take time to scalp them, so he just cached.”
“Cached?”
“Hid. Took off and covered his tracks well. He had his rifle, pistol, horse—no saddle, though—and a few other possibles, so he was in some better shape than me. He told me that he started headin’ for the settlements, or the first fort or winter camp he could find. But after a week or so on the trail, he got to be thinkin’ that them Blackfeet bastards needed some punishin’ for puttin’ his partners under. He knew goddamn well ol’ Bug’s Boys was gonna put me ’n’ Marchand under, either then and there, or later in their camp. So he turned round.”
“Did he find them?”
“Aye. It were he that sat up in the hills and fired two shots at them coons. Kilt two. After I rode out of that village, he picked me up a mile or so on down the trail. We been ridin’ and trappin’ together off and on e’er since. He taught me much of what I be known’, Colonel. Seems like he’s my pa most times. Told me later on the reason he weren’t more friendly toward me at first was ’cause Marchand had thought of me as a son, and he didn’t want to get in the way of that.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“Aye, that he be.” He turned his horse and rode out. The lean, pale young Whitaker followed, towing the extra horses behind him.
The two rode silently, Whitaker with Bible in hand, mouth moving silently as he read the verses to himself. Squire rode with all senses alert, his rifle cradled in his arm, ready for instant use.
A bitter wind began to blow in from the west. A few snowflakes fluttered down on the two men. Squire glanced up at the dark, gray clouds and shivered. He tugged fur mittens over his hands. Whitaker pulled up the tall, peaked hood of his capote.
Chapter Thirty-Four
SQUIRE and Whitaker covered ground as fast as the snow- packed trail would let them. They spent from dawn till past dusk in the saddle, with Squire ignoring the youth the whole time. They rode southeast a little, and then turned north along the Bighorn River, winding through steep-walled Wind River Canyon. They came out of the canyon into a land of bubbling hot springs and stark red rocks. But they did not pause.
They were not hampered by the continual snow flurries, but occasionally the snowstorms came in gusty sheets that tore at their faces and hands.
Squire rode with his head high, his senses always alert. Whitaker almost always had his Bible out as he mouthed the words. He would pull off a mitten to turn the pages, his fingers growing numb in those few moments. His shoulder throbbed in the intense cold, but his other wounds seemed to have healed sufficiently as to not give him any trouble.
They were often thrown off the trail by conflicting signs made by fast-moving bands of Blackfeet that had split from the main body. They were in the heartland of the mountain Crows now, and that made things worse, since there was always plenty of sign from those Indians added to the path of the Blackfeet. Squire and Whitaker kept up their dogged pursuit, with Squire cursing the false trails and the cold and the snow and the wind and the miserable icy nights. Whitaker complained little. He seemed, instead, to be living in a constant state of euphoria, wearing a beatific smile.
The two men talked little, and Whitaker’s constant, softly mumbled praying began to gnaw on Squire’s nerves. He wished he had not brought the youth, thinking how much easier this would have been if he had brought Ransom, or Von Eck, or Douglas.
Days passed. Then a week. Their food ran out, and they had to rely on Squire’s prowess with the Hawken to keep meat on the fire. Twice they skirted Crow camps, and once they found one of Blackfeet. They crept up to that one for a closer look, only to discover the band was not the one they were looking for.
Nine days out, Squire sensed something. He stopped and sat perfectly still, his eyes scanning the countryside. “There,” he finally said, pointing to the northwest.
Whitaker looked hard. “I don’t see anythin’. ”
“Smoke. And ye can hear drums real faint, if’n the wind be right.”
They rode on slowly and then stopped again.
“I see smoke now,” Whitaker said. “Over there.” He pointed. Squire smiled, almost pleased.
“Think it’s the ones?”
“Can’t say. We still be in Crow land, so it might be a winter village of them. Then again, I ain’t seen much fresh Crow sign here of late, so it might be them damned Blackfeet.”
“Do you think Abner and Li’l Jim are still alive?” Whitaker asked frankly, blinking at the snow flakes.
“Can’t say that either, but if’n they be, I reckon the Blackfeet ain’t been treatin’ ’em none too kindly.”
“Why didn’t you go back and help them?”
“That’d been plumb foolish. I had no weapons. I would’ve been took agin. Then there’d be no way for m
e to help ’em. And it might’ve given the Blackfeet some poor ideas, like attackin’ all ye others.”
“It wasn’t right for you to leave them, Mr. Squire. The Good Book says—”
“Them Blackfeet don’t read your Good Book,” Squire snapped. “If’n ye aim to go ridin’ into a camp full of fire-eatin’ Blackfeet, boy, ye’d best look to yourself and your weapons rather’n what it be sayin’ in that damned book you always got your nose stuck in. ”
“That’s blasphemous.”
“Mayhap, lad, but the Good Lord provided me with strength and good sense. He ne’er did get round to showin’ me how to read that book ye carry, nor none other. Them words ain’t gonna be helpin’ ye the least goddamn bit with what we need to be doin’.” Whitaker bit back his anger and indignation. Men like Squire would never understand. After calming himself, he asked, “Do you think Miss Hannah is all right?”
So, Squire thought, the word had gotten out all over the camp quickly. Well, nothing could be done about it now; it would have come out sooner or later anyway. “Can’t say,” Squire said, shrugging his giant shoulders. “Mayhap Elk Horn’s already took her to his robes. Or he might’ve e’en given her o’er to some other goddamn buck, but I be doubtin’ that.”
“It’s a pity,” Whitaker said, shaking his head in pious condemnation. “Of course, no white man will have her after she has lain in the bed of a savage,” he said pompously. “But perhaps she can give the rest of her life to the services of the Lord. To pay for the wages of her sin.”
“Her sin!” Squire laughed harshly. “Hell, it ain’t her idea.”
Whitaker’s cheeks pinked. “She will have sinned most grievously,” he argued. “But with penance and a virtuous life, free of all remaining sins of the flesh, she may yet be welcomed into God’s paradise.”
“I reckon she’ll be havin’ some ideas of her own on how she’d like to be spendin’ the rest of her days, lad. And I doubt she’ll be havin’ a heap of guilt in her heart.”
“Humph,” Whitaker grumbled.
Squire looked at the leaden, late afternoon sky. “It’ll be gettin’ dark soon. We’d best be movin’.” He rode on, grinning savagely when he heard Whitaker chanting a quick prayer.
The dark was complete by the time they got close enough to the Indian camp to hear the muted heartbeat of the drums and the eerie guttural chanting of the Indians. Squire sniffed the air and smelled the aroma of wood smoke and roasting meat. It had been a while since he had eaten, and his stomach growled.
“Blackfoot, or Crow?” Whitaker asked.
“Blackfoot.”
A light snow began to fall as the two men dismounted and tied all the horses deep in a copse of aspens. They slipped silently through the barren aspens as Squire listened to the voices and the nickering of horses. They circled the camp, locating guards, searching to see if the captives were even here.
Squire knew they were leaving tracks in the snow that even a squaw could read, but he hoped new snow would cover them quickly. Then he froze. His hand snaked back and slid out the tomahawk as he watched the Blackfoot warrior approaching. He glared in warning at Whitaker, who stood rigid, barely breathing, until the Indian passed by.
They continued their search. Suddenly Squire gripped Whitaker’s arm with one hand. He pointed with the other. In the dull light of the campfires they saw Train and Li’l Jim tied to a tree, their buckskin clothes tattered. Squire studied them for a long moment, then tugged on Whitaker’s sleeve, so the youth would follow him. They completed the circle around the camp, but saw no signs of Hannah or Star Path.
They made their way back to their horses and gnawed on jerky while they waited for the camp to quiet down for the night. The snow, falling hard, clung to their clothes and turned Squire’s thick beard white. A cold, biting wind ripped through them as the Blackfoot camp fell silent.
“It be time, lad,” Squire said, standing and stripping off the buffalo robe that he used as a coat sometimes, as well as for sleeping. “I know what ye be wantin’ to do. But ye’d best listen to me, or we’ll all go under. Wait till we be havin’ Abner and Li’l Jim back safe afore ye start your preachin’ to them bastards. There’s also Hannah and Star Path. Elseways, we’ll be ass deep in trouble afore they start listenin’ to ye.” He tied the robe behind his saddle and turned away from Noir Astre. “Now ye scatter them Blackfoot ponies. That’ll be keeping them bastards busy. I’ll see to gettin’ Abner and Li’l Jim out.”
“But, Nathaniel ...”
“Don’t be sayin’ but to me, boy,” Squire said harshly. “Ye might be thinkin’ God wants ye to go convertin’ them Injins or savin’ ’em or whate’er the hell it is ye’ve been thinkin’ of late. Mayhap it e’en be so. But them vicious sons of bitches down there don’t read your Good Book, nor believe in your God. They’ll kill ye afore ye get two words out, ’less’n ye get ’em when the time be right. And this ain’t the time, goddammit. Now ye do just what’n hell I tell ye.”
“Yes, sir,” Whitaker said, almost contritely.
Squire made no sound as he slipped through the black shadows and came up behind his two friends. Li’l Jim and Train jerked their heads around when they sensed someone behind them. They were shivering from the cold, and their breathing was ragged from exertion and fright.
“Just keep quiet, lads,” Squire whispered. He quickly cut through the rawhide thongs that bound the two youths to the tree, then slit the rawhide around their feet.
Train staggered from weakness but managed to keep upright. Li’l Jim’s legs gave out on him and he slumped against Squire.
“Sorry, Nathaniel,” he whispered despairingly. “You others go on without me.”
“Shut your trap, boy. I didn’t ride all this way through the goddamn snow just to let ye lay here in a heap.” He helped Li’l Jim steady himself “Where be Hannah?” he asked urgently.
“What?” Train whispered, his eyes wide in shock.
“Who’s Hannah?” Li’l Jim asked.
“Hush,” Squire cautioned. “She was took by the Blackfeet and given o’er to Elk Horn. Ain’t she here?”
“No,” Train rasped as a veil of anger covered his face. “Neither’s Elk Horn. We was took out of that camp right after bein’ captured again. Seems like they was some scared of you. We don’t know nothin’ more.”
“Merde” Squire said. “I were hopin’ ye was all together. By the time I got back to that camp on the Wind, there were but half a dozen bucks left, e’erbody else was gone. Some of them bastards must’ve left at diff’rent times. More split off along the trail, into smaller groups.”
At the other end of the camp, dozens of Blackfeet ponies whinnied and bolted into the night. “Good work, Tobias,” Squire mumbled. “Let’s go, boys.”
The camp exploded as armed warriors rushed from their lodges. When they saw their horses running off from camp they shouted and darted after the stragglers. A few warriors grabbed loose horses, mounted, and tried to recover the herd.
Squire threw Li’l Jim over his shoulder. “Run,” he rasped at Train as he took off, gliding easily despite his burden. Train stumbled behind him, fear of the Indians and worry about Hannah chasing him.
Squire glanced back when he heard the war cry and saw one of the mounted warriors rushing toward them. He and Train dashed into the thick forest and headed up the hill.
The mounted warrior did not follow them into the trees, but his cries brought other Piegans, who came on foot and crashed through the brush behind Squire, their feet slipping on the snow-covered rocks.
Squire heard Train stumble and fall behind him. He turned and saw a warrior, outlined by the dim light of the campfires, descending on the fallen youth. The Blackfoot raised the lance in his hand.
Squire dumped Li’l Jim in a heap, snapped his rifle up and fired hastily. The warrior threw himself down, but sprang up immediately and lurched toward Train again. The youth struggled to get to his feet and scramble away.
Squire ran and slammed into the B
lackfoot, sending the warrior flying. Squire tumbled and rolled, coming up with his knife in hand. The warrior made it up, too, and turned to face him. Squire plunged his blade into the warrior’s belly and ripped upward toward the heart. The warrior fell dead at his feet.
Three other Blackfeet rushed in and swarmed over Squire. He shook them off like a dog shedding water after a swim. He roared and lashed out with feet, fists and blade. They came at him again, and he smashed them back with powerful punches and kicks.
Two more warriors joined the melee, but they could not get close to the raving giant who slashed, kicked, punched and gouged. Squire killed two Blackfeet with his bloody knife and knocked another senseless with a mighty fist.
Train lurched to his feet and, with all his waning strength, crushed the head of another warrior with a large rock. He fell back on the ground as the fifth Blackfoot raced off.
Squire wiped off his knife and put it away. Then he retrieved his rifle. He stripped a blanket capote from a warrior and handed it to Li’l Jim. Train helped himself to a buckskin coat, knife and war club from one of the dead.
Slowly, the three made their way back into the woods and found Whitaker waiting for them at the horses. It was pitch black under the canopy of thick clouds. Snow swirled around them more heavily than before.
“Ye lads all right?” Squire asked, looking from Li’l Jim to Train.
“Reckon so,” Train answered.
“Damn right,” Li’l Jim snapped, showing a few signs of recovering.
“Bon. Where be Strapp and Willis?”
“Don’t know,” Train said. “I think they’re with Elk Horn. Do ya know what they was doin’ with the Blackfeet?”
“Plannin’ to start themselves a tradin’ post in Blackfoot country. They got a plan set up through an old fur man named Meisner. William was to be factor of the fort they was aimin’ to build. I reckon Zeb was gonna be the head man in the field. They give the Piegans a few fancy guns, and,” he added grimly, “promised the Blackfeet my scalp to seal the bargain.”
