Trouble Trail

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Cheyenne got him.’

  ‘Huh?’

  Quickly Calamity outlined the situation. None of the others spoke while she gave Resin every detail that came to her mind and described Bigelow’s gallant action to save the girl’s then his capture.

  ‘Poor bastard,’ said Resin quietly at the end of Calamity’s explanation.

  Something in the big scout’s tone and attitude struck Molly with the impact of a mule’s kick. Suddenly she realised just how little hope there was of rescuing Bigelow from the Cheyenne’s clutches.

  ‘I’ll never see him again!’ she moaned.

  ‘Sure you will, honey,’ Calamity answered.

  ‘I won’t! I won’t!’ Molly screamed, turning on the other girl. ‘You lied to me! I could have gone to him. I hate you!’

  And she threw herself at Calamity, little fists striking the girl’s face. Calamity just stood there like a statue, letting the blows land although they were far from light taps. Like Resin, Calamity hated to lie and she hated it even worse when dealing with a friend.

  Resin caught Molly’s hands, drawing the girl gently away from Calamity and Eileen moved forward to take the blonde in her arms. After the rage-hysteria, the reaction set in and Molly collapsed sobbing into Eileen’s arms.

  Slowly Calamity lifted a hand to wipe the blood that ran from the corner of her mouth. She looked at the red streak upon her hand, then turned and walked towards her horse.

  ‘Where the hell are you going?’ Resin growled, catching the girl’s arm before she could mount the horse.

  ‘Molly’s right,’ Calamity replied. ‘I lied to her. I’m going to see if I can rescue him.’

  ‘Damn your fool hide, Calamity!’ the scout snapped. ‘You know better—’

  ‘Let go! Get your goddamned hand off my arm!’

  ‘When you stop acting like a fool kid I will. You know damned well that you can’t handle a chore like that.’

  ‘Can you?’

  Lifting his hand from Calamity’s arm, the scout rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know, gal. But I sure as hell aim to find out. It’s the only thing we can do, and at best I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer.’

  Resin and Calamity’s eyes. went to the Sharps rifle which leaned against his saddle. That gun would carry accurately at ranges of up to a mile and packed the power to knock down a bull buffalo with one shot at the end of the distance. Both knew to what end the accuracy and killing power might be put. If the worst came to the worst, Resin intended to use it to cut short Bigelow’s sufferings at the hands of the Cheyenne—even if doing so led to the scout’s presence being discovered by the same Indians.

  ‘I—I’m sorry, Beau,’ Calamity said contritely. ‘Times I act like a woman.’

  Suddenly scooping Calamity into his arms, Resin kissed her hard, passionately and savagely. He felt no embarrassment at the act, nor did the girl. Way they saw it, a man who might not be alive at dawn the following day had a right to kiss a gal happen he felt that way inclined.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, releasing Calamity. ‘Times you sure do—I’m right pleased to say.’

  After that no time was wasted in preparing to leave. Resin intended to use all three saddle horses, riding relay on them and so having something in reserve if it came to a run for his life. While he saddled his Appaloosa, the two butchers finished loading the wagon and took the saddles from the two reserve horses, for Resin did not wish to have them toting extra weight. Calamity hitched up her team to the wagon, marvelling at the way Eileen soothed and cared for the still sobbing Molly and kept her out of the men’s way.

  ‘Get aboard, all of you,’ Resin ordered when all was ready.

  ‘Calam!’ Molly said. ‘I—I—’

  ‘Get aboard, honey,’ Calamity replied gently. ‘There’s nothing we can do here and folks need this meat.’

  Camp was being made for the night when Calamity’s party arrived. A crowd quickly gathered but Calamity told them to start unloading and sharing the meat among them. In this she prevented any questions being asked, for she wished to give her story to the men who ran the outfit instead of wasting time answering a lot of fool questions.

  ‘What happened. Calam?’ Grade asked, coming up fast, Muldoon, Killem and the wagonmaster on his heels.

  ‘We found trouble,’ she replied.

  ‘Bad trouble?’ inquired the lieutenant.

  ‘As bad as it comes, Dave. Wade got took alive by the Cheyenne.’

  ‘The dirty, murderin’ spalpeens!’ Muldoon growled, sounding as mean as a winter-starved grizzly bear. ‘How’d they do it?’

  Quickly Calamity told most of what had happened, finishing with, ‘Beau took out after them—with the Sharps.’

  Her words met with cold, blank, guarded stares for the men knew exactly what she meant. Behind them, Eileen was already leading a sobbing Molly to the Johnson’s wagon, driving off any inquisitive spectators with cold stare, or brief, concise words if the stare failed.

  ‘Do we try to get him out. Paddy?’ asked Grade.

  ‘If there was only us to be thinking about I’d be after saying yes.’ the burly sergeant replied: and wondered what his reply might have been had the question been put at the start of the trip. ‘Only there’s these good folks to take care of and see through—and precious the little chance of finding the cap’n alive.’

  ‘First sight of the cavalry coming and he’s dead for sure,’ Calamity remarked.

  ‘We’ll wait for Beau.’

  They waited and over an hour later, just after sundown, the scout rode in on his leg-weary Appaloosa: having left the other two horses behind as they tired. Dropping from his saddle, the scout slouched to Killem’s fire and the freighter sent one of his men to tend the Appaloosa.

  Coming up with a pail of water, Calamity handed it to the scout and Resin dropped to his knees to sink his face in, drinking thirstily. At last he raised his wet face and looked at the silent circle around him. Grade, Muldoon, the wagonmaster, Killem and Calamity all stood waiting to hear what the scout could tell them.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ Resin said. ‘I trailed ‘em and found their camp. Moved in close, soon after they arrived and saw them get to talking. Some of ‘em wanted to get started on him, but Sand Runner did some yelling and hollering and they pushed Wade into a tent, tied like a hawg for slaughter. From what I could hear, they don’t aim to make a move until tomorrow.’

  ‘Then we might—’ Calamity began.

  ‘Yeah,’ Resin agreed. ‘We might. Like I said, they held a pow-wow. Seemed like Sand Runner was having to convince ‘em about something. Don’t know what, he don’t speak that distinct.’

  ‘And they aim to keep Wade alive?’ asked Grade eagerly.

  ‘That’s how it looked to me. There’s something about that damned Sand Runner gets me. I can’t put a finger on it, but he’s the weirdest Injun I ever saw.’

  ‘How’s about—?’ Mulduon started to say.

  ‘Hold hard, Paddy,’ Resin interrupted. ‘I’ve been all day without food. Let me eat, then we’ll decide. You boys get pickets out, tend to your work and come back here in an hour and we’ll say our pieces.’

  Before any of the others could object, even if they aimed to, Calamity had come on them and hazed them away, leaving the big Scout to eat his meal in peace. Eileen returned with news that the train’s doctor had attended Molly and left her under sedation. Then for the first time Eileen heard the full story of what occurred on the plains.

  The hour ended and the same party gathered around Killem’s fire watched by almost everybody from the train.

  ‘What we fixing—’ began Muldoon, but once again found his question interrupted.

  First a rifle shot cracked out from the darkness well within the ring of cavalry pickets but beyond the wagon circle; then a voice boomed out ventriloquially so that nobody could say for sure from where it came.

  ‘Tshaoh! I come in peace to your camp-fire!’

  ‘Easy folks!’ Resin roared as travellers grabb
ed for their guns. ‘Just simmer down and don’t nobody make any moves. It’s all right.’ Then he raised his voice and called, ‘Come and go in peace, brother!’

  Gasps and mutters rolled up as the same war-bonnet chief who had acted as spokesman for Sand Runner rode into the camp circle. He came proudly, sitting erect and with a Winchester rifle held by its foregrip in his right hand high over his head, its lever down, showing he came in peace and unable to defend himself.

  ‘How!’ he greeted, riding towards where Resin’s party stood.

  ‘How!’ Resin answered, watching the chief drop from his horse.

  Johnson had joined the party for the conference and he said, ‘Ask him—’

  ‘All in good time, friend,’ Resin drawled. ‘You can’t rush these things.’

  Once again the two men went through the formality of charging, lighting and smoking their pipes, squatting by the fire. People gathered around, staring with fascination at their first close-up sight of a real, genuine hostile Cheyenne war chief. There was some muttering among one section of the party and a burly man slouched towards Muldoon.

  ‘How in hell did that red devil get past your damned sentries?’

  ‘Rode by ‘em, darlin’,’ answered the burly sergeant, for he did not like the man; one of a bunch of political agitators fleeing to the West. ‘If you reckon you could do better, get out and do it.’

  ‘I ain’t hired to stand no guard.’

  ‘Nor do anything ‘cepting moan about any man’s got more than you have, watch to see that nobody does less than you and do damned little yourself,’ growled Muldoon.

  ‘Yeah?’ snarled the man. ‘Well, that damned Injun might not find it so easy to get back out again.’

  Thrusting his sun-reddened face to within an inch of the other man’s sullen features, Muldoon growled a warning. ‘Don’t try it, darlin’, or I’ll take pleasure in stopping ye meself, even if Beau Resin don’t lick me to it.’

  ‘You make plenty good fight last time,’ remarked the chief, sucking appreciatively at his pipe. ‘Spoil Sand Runner’s medicine.’

  ‘It was a trick that won’t work twice,’ Resin replied.

  ‘Good enough trick this time anyway. You Comanche plenty smart fighters.’

  At that moment the pipes ended and the serious business commenced. Both men knocked out their tobacco remains, placed their pipes away and the chief said: ‘We took the soldier-coat chief.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’ Johnson asked.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Resin ordered. ‘Do you still have him, or do the women?’

  ‘He brave man, chief among his people. Not go to women.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Johnson breathed in Muldoon’s ear.

  ‘Mostly they let the women torture the prisoners. But if they respect the man they catch, they don’t hand him over, keep him themselves. There’s devil the bit of difference in the end.’

  ‘Why tell me this?’ asked Resin.

  The chief did not answer for a moment, but sat with his head hanging. Something appeared to be bothering him. At last he spoke.

  ‘These are the words of Sand Runner. He says he want five thousand dollars for soldier-coat chief. You give-um, soldier-coat come back. No hurt except for sore head.’

  ‘I’ve got the money in my wagon!’

  ‘I’ll get the money, Beau.’

  Johnson and Eileen spoke at the same moment, but Resin shook his head.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said and turned back to the chief. ‘Is this the Cheyenne way of making war? Do they now sell their brave enemies like they were Comancheros who will trade their own mothers?’

  Hanging his head in shame, the chief answered, ‘This is the word of Sand Runner. We will meet you by the place where you killed the buffalo tomorrow at dawn, you have money, get soldier. Try tricks, he gets dead.’

  ‘This is a big matter,’ Resin drawled.

  Yet worry nagged him. Again had come the request, demand, for money. No hostile plains Indian had ever before demanded money and Resin mistrusted any change in the smooth order of things.

  ‘You still take Sand Runner’s orders?’

  ‘His medicine not all bad,’ replied the chief. ‘It guided a young brave-heart into your bullet when the bullet would have taken Sand Runner.’

  ‘So he knows about that,’ growled the scout. ‘A man who is a man does not blame a warrior for taking his chief’s orders, even though they be bad orders.’

  ‘My thanks, Tshaoh,’ said the chief, gratitude plain in his voice. ‘I am one called Bear Trailer. Someday I repay you. Now, for the matter of the soldier?’

  ‘We must talk on it among the council. Tomorrow you will know.’

  ‘It is well. I do not care for this way of Sand Runner’s.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come, don’t he speak English?’

  ‘Speak it good enough. Medicine say him not come near white man. I go now.’

  ‘That murdering red devil’s not leaving!’ yelled the man who spoke earlier to Muldoon and his cronies muttered their agreement. ‘We aim to string—’

  Which was as far as he got. Muldoon’s huge right hand clamped on to the front of a greasy civilian shirt and jerked its wearer bodily forward.

  ‘Now don’t be a fool, darlin’,’ warned the sergeant. ‘Sure, I’d hate to be seeing your blood spilled. Look!’

  The man looked, gulped and turned pale. Facing him, the Ames knife looking twice as long as a cavalry sabre as it lined on his favourite belly, stood Beau Resin.

  ‘The chief came here at my word,’ the scout growled. ‘He’s leaving with honour and unharmed.’

  ‘You’re as bad as h—’ began one of the sullen man’s friends.

  His stoppage came as something landed lightly on the toe of his boot. Looking down, he saw the thing to be the lash of Calamity’s whip. The girl stood with legs braced apart, right arm holding the whip handle ready for use.

  ‘Now all of you back off there,’ she ordered. ‘I aim to start practising whip-cracking right where you’re standing.’

  Being well-versed in political agitation, the sullen man knew better than ever place himself in a position of danger; and attempting to harm or impede the departure of the Cheyenne would be dangerous as hell. Turning, he slouched away and his gang followed him, being shepherded by a grim-eyed corporal who knew enough of Indians to respect them and did not intend any murder attempts to be made.

  ‘You’re free to go now,’ Resin said. ‘This soldier-coat chief will take you through our picket line.’

  ‘There is no need for them, Tshaoh,’ grunted the chief. ‘We do not attack you again.’

  ‘May as well fetch the boys in then, Dave,’ Resin suggested and it may be said that Grade took the chief at his word.

  ‘When do we go?’ asked Calamity.

  And when her voice took on that note, no amount of arguing would move her. Knowing that, Resin did not even bother to try. Anyway, he reckoned Calamity could handle herself as well as any man on the train.

  ‘We’ll give him a couple of hours start,’ he said. ‘You, me ‘n’ Muldoon’ll be about enough.’

  ‘If Muldoon’ll volunteer,’ said Calamity, coiling her whip.

  ‘I never volunteered for anything in me life, Calam,’ Muldoon replied. ‘So happen Mr. Grade don’t order me to go, I’ll order meself.’

  On his return Grade gave permission for Muldoon to accompany the rescue party. Instantly preparations were made. Not plans; Resin, Muldoon and Calamity knew better than try to plan ahead when on such a dangerous and practically impossible mission. When they reached the Cheyenne camp area, they would play the cards as they fell, make any arrangement necessary on the spot and hope that whatever Deity they subscribed to looked with favour on their endeavours.

  ‘Want to take my bowie knife, Calam?’ Killem asked.

  ‘I’d as soon tote along a camp-axe,’ she replied with a grin. Instead of the bowie, Calamity borrowed from the cook his highly-prized, seven-inch-bladed spear-p
ointed and razor-sharp Green River knife strapping its sheath on the left side of her belt. Being shorter and lighter, Calamity could handle the Green River better than the bowie and find it Just as deadly for she knew something of knife-fighters even though she had never tried her hand at it seriously. Calamity figured she could handle the knife well enough for her needs.

  ‘I’ll use my Appaloosa, like a hoss I know I can trust,’ Resin drawled. ‘So go pick the three best hosses you’ve got Paddy.’

  ‘Like me life depended on it,’ replied Muldoon cheerfully. ‘Which it does.’

  Men moved fast, collecting and saddling the three horses selected as best by Muldoon. None of the party carried rifles, or anything but the bare essentials for they realised that an ounce saved on the horses’ backs might mean the difference between life and death to them.

  At last all was ready. Resin ordered everybody to act normally, not to come fussing around, Just in case the Cheyenne had wolf-scouts watching the camp. The horses stood waiting in the darkness and the rescue party made their way to the waiting animals separately.

  Eileen and Calamity walked together to the horses. Neither spoke until they arrived. With a catch in her voice, Eileen said:

  ‘Good luck Calam.’

  ‘We’ll need it,’ replied Calamity. ‘Eileen, happen we don’t make it back,’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tell Molly I tried.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MISS CANARY TAKES A WAGON RIDE

  THEY rode through the darkness, two men and a girl who might not see the dawn of the following day. First Resin led them out of the camp in the opposite direction to the one they must take, swinging in a circle well beyond where any Cheyenne wolf-scouts might be hiding and watching the wagons. Guided by his plainsman’s instinct, Resin brought his party on to the correct line and led them through the night in the direction of Sand Runner’s hidden camp. None of the trio spoke much as they rode, for more than one reason. With the possibility of death in a painful manner close ahead of them, conversation did not come easily. Also all knew how sound carried on the still air of the night and of all sounds, none would be more likely to attract unwelcome Cheyenne attention than that of white folks’ voices.