Massacre of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  After looking around to make certain that he wasn’t being observed, Depro stepped into the building, taking shallow breaths in order not to be overcome by the odor. Going to the stall that was most distant from the opening, he brushed away some of the hay, then pulled back a tarpaulin. There were eight boxes beneath the tarpaulin. Lettering on two of the boxes identified the contents as: Carbines, repeating, Cal .30-.30 Sixth U.S. Cavalry. Three boxes read: Rifles, breach-loading, Cal .51. Sixth U.S. Cavalry. Lettering on the remaining three boxes read: Pistols, revolver, Cal .45 Sixth U.S. Cavalry.

  “Yes, sir, Cap’n Gilmore,” Depro said with a little chuckle under his breath. “I’ll keep up with the bill of lading for you.”

  Leaving the stable, Depro saw two soldiers of the Sixth behind the building. At first he was frightened that they might have looked inside and seen the weapons. Then he saw that they had a bottle of whiskey, and were hiding behind the building because they were drinking on duty.

  “All right you two!” he shouted angrily. “I’ve caught you! Drinking on duty ought to get you both a week in the stockade!”

  He marched the two sullen soldiers to the provost marshal, where he said that he had seen the men sneak away and followed, only to find them drinking. Ordinarily, he would have done nothing about it, but this would give him a reason for being around the abandoned stable, just in case someone happened to see him over there.

  Advertisement in the Sheridan Bulletin:

  SHERIDAN AND YELLOWSTONE

  STAGE AND FAST FREIGHT COMPANY

  The Sheridan and Yellowstone Stage Line leaves

  Sheridan for DeMaris Springs every other day,

  making the trip in two days, carrying U.S. Mails and

  Wells, Fargo & Co’s Express.

  Passengers will spend the night in comfort at

  Greybull Camp, on the Greybull River. Fare is $34.

  Obtain tickets at the depot of the

  Sheridan and Yellowstone Stage Line.

  Full particulars will be given at the Sheridan Office and all other offices on the line.

  C.F. Cline, Agent

  Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham stood outside the Sheridan and Yellowstone Stage and Fast Freight Company as the coach was brought around. Six wellmatched fresh horses stood in harness, as if anxious to get underway. The driver of the coach set the brake and remained on the seat, reins in hand as the shotgun guard used the step and front wheel to climb down.

  “Folks, if you’ll bring your luggage around to the boot I’ll put it away for you, all nice and tidy.”

  In addition to Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham, there was an attractive young woman with two small children who would be taking the trip as well. Smiling at her, Falcon took her luggage and handed it to the shotgun guard who put it in the back of the boot.

  “There you go, ma’am,” the shotgun guard said. “Your bag is all safe and steady.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said.

  Buffalo Bill Cody held the door open to the coach, then helped the lady aboard. Once she was aboard, he picked up the children one at a time and handed them up to her.

  It took only a few moments more before all were aboard.

  “You folks all ready down there?” the driver called.

  “We’re ready, driver. Take it away,” Cody called up to him.

  The driver swung his whip, making a loud crack over the head of the team, and they lurched forward. The coach left the town of Sheridan at a rapid trot, and held the trot until they were almost a mile out of town, at which time he slowed the team down to a brisk walk of about eight miles per hour.

  The passengers introduced themselves. The woman was Mrs. Juanita Kirby; her two children were Gary, who was six, and Abby, who was four.

  “Wait until you see where we are going to build my town,” Cody said. “It is the most beautiful area you have ever seen. It is very near Yellowstone Park.”

  “I’ve been to Yellowstone,” Falcon said. “That is certainly a beautiful area.”

  “Beautiful yes, but strange too,” Cody said. “It is filled with boiling lakes and steam gushing from the ground, sometimes erupting into huge geysers that stream hundreds of feet into the air. And there is land that you cannot walk on without fear of falling through it into the very bowels of the earth. No, the land where my town will be built is nothing like that.”

  “How close will it be to the place where we are going?” Ingraham asked. “What is the town called? DeMaris Springs?”

  “Yes, DeMaris Springs. Cody will be very close to where DeMaris Springs is now, and there is no doubt in my mind but that Cody will so overtake DeMaris Springs in development and desirability, that DeMaris Springs will cease to exist.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Bellefontaine may have something to say about that,” Mrs. Kirby said.

  “I’m sure he will,” Cody said.

  “Do you know Mr. Bellefontaine?” Falcon asked.

  “Yes, my husband is a mining engineer and he works for Mr. Bellefontaine.” She paused for a moment. “For now.”

  “For now?” Cody asked.

  “Yes. My husband has been offered employment in the lead mines back in Missouri. And with the recent Indian incidents, he has decided to accept the offer. And, though I shouldn’t be telling tales out of school, Mr. Bellefontaine is not the most—pleasant of men.”

  “Mama, you don’t go to school,” Gary said.

  “What?”

  “You said you shouldn’t be telling tales out of school. But you don’t go to school.”

  Mrs. Kirby smiled at her son. “No, I don’t, do I? How foolish of me.”

  Ten Sleep way station

  The way station at Ten Sleep was in the shape of the letter T, with the cross of the T running east and west. The dining room was in the front, the west wing was a bunk room for the men passengers, and the east wing was a bunk room for female passengers. The driver, whose name was Bo, and the shotgun guard, named Hank, had quarters in the barn, but they ate at the table with the others. Hodge Deckert and his wife Ethel ran the way station. Hodge took care of the livestock and Ethel did the cooking. They lived in a room at the bottom of the “T.”

  “Mrs. Deckert,” Cody said, rubbing his stomach as he pushed away from the table. “That’s about the best thing I’ve tasted in a month of Sundays.”

  “Oh, but you haven’t had your pie yet,” Ethel said. “I made a couple of apple pies.”

  “Pie? Well, I can’t imagine anyone wanting apple pie after a meal like this. You can just save the pie for the next stage to come through, I’m sure no one here wants any.”

  “I do,” Gary said.

  “You? You want some apple pie?” Cody teased.

  “Yes, sir. I like apple pie.”

  “Oh, so because it is apple pie you want it. If it was cherry pie, or blueberry pie, you probably would not want any, would you?”

  “No, I like cherry pie and blueberry pie too,” Gary said.

  “All right, Mrs. Deckert, I guess I’ll have to have some pie too. I sure wouldn’t want Gary to eat all of it by himself.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I could eat all of it,” Gary said, and the others laughed.

  After the meal, Mrs. Kirby and her two children went into the room that was reserved for them and the stage crew went out to the barn, while Falcon, Cody, Ingraham, and Hodge Deckert sat out on the front porch, watching the play of light as the sun set behind the distant Absaroka Mountain range.

  Cody, Ingraham, and Deckert smoked their pipes, Falcon rolled his own cigarette.

  “Mr. Deckert, what have you heard about any Indian trouble?” Cody asked.

  Deckert took a long puff of his pipe before he answered, as if thinking about the question.

  “Well now, it’s just real strange,” he said. “The only Injuns we’ve got close to us are the Crow, and it’s been more ’n twenty years since we had any trouble with them. High Hawk is the chief of the local tribe, and he has always been friendly to the whites. But over t
he last couple of months, there’s been some incidents. A couple of prospectors was found scalped, then, I understand there was some Injun hunters kilt, then a white family was kilt, the husband, wife, and their boy. Scalped they was, all three of ’em. And that seemed to set off the whole town.”

  “Has the army been called in?” Falcon asked.

  “Don’t know as they have. What I think happened was Bellefontaine, you’ll prob’ly meet him when you go into DeMaris Springs, or if you don’t meet him, you will sure hear about him. He seems to be the cockof-the-walk there. Anyway, what I was sayin’ is, Bellefontaine put together a posse, I think, and they kilt a couple of Injuns, and left a note on one of ’em. I don’t know as anything has happened since then.”

  “What about Mean to His Horses?” Cody asked. “Have you heard of him?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him. And from what I’ve heard of that red devil, it ain’t only his horses he’s mean to.”

  Suddenly the loud cry of a child interrupted their conversation, and then they heard Mrs. Kirby call out.

  “Gary!”

  The crying continued and, curious, the four men went back inside, just as a distraught Mrs. Kirby came from their room.

  “Oh,” she said. “Gary was jumping on the bed and he fell. I’m not sure, but I think he may have broken his arm.”

  “Ingraham, you’re a doctor,” Cody said. “Why don’t you take a look?”

  “I was in medical school, but I didn’t finish,” Ingraham said. “But I will take a look.

  All went into Mrs. Kirby’s room, where they saw young Gary sitting on the floor, crying and holding his arm. It was immediately obvious that a bone was broken, because of the protrusion just above the wrist of his left arm.

  “Let me take a look at it, Gary,” Ingraham said. He sat down on the floor beside Gary and looked at the arm, then nodded. “It’s broken.”

  “Can you do anything about it?” Falcon asked.

  “I think so. I can put it back and splint it. You wouldn’t have any laudanum, would you, Mr. Deckert?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have anything like that,” Deckert said.

  “All right, we’ll just have to do it without it. I need a couple of flat boards about this long,” he said, holding his hands apart equal to the length of Gary’s forearm. “And enough strips of cloth to bind them.”

  “I can get the boards easy,” Deckert said. “I repaired a door on a coach last week, I’ve got some of that wood left over.”

  “How thick is it?”

  “Oh, it isn’t thick at all, not more’n an eighth of an inch.”

  “That will be perfect.”

  “I have some cloth,” Ethel Deckert said. “I got it to make some new curtains, but this would be a better use for it.”

  Within a few moments, Ingraham had everything he needed, and he lay it down beside Gary. No longer crying out loud, Gary was still sniffing as he tried to hold it back.

  Ingraham took his arm. “Now, son, I’m going to set the bone back in place. But, when I set the bone it’s going to hurt you again.”

  “How bad will it hurt?” Gary asked.

  “I won’t lie to you. It’s going to hurt pretty bad, but it won’t hurt as bad as it did when you first broke it.”

  “Do you have to set it?” Gary asked.

  “Yes, I have to do that so that your arm will grow back just as good as it was. If I don’t set it, you could wind up not ever able to use that arm again.”

  “All right,” Gary said.

  “Cody, have the splints ready,” Ingraham said. “Mrs. Deckert, when I get the splints in place, you start wrapping the cloth around it.”

  Cody nodded and picked up the splints, then held them apart so Ingraham could get to them easily.

  “Are you ready, Gary?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gary answered in a frightened voice.

  Ingraham moved the arm and pressed the bone down until he knew it had reconnected. Gary winced, and cried out, but he did not cry again.

  Quickly, Ingraham put on the splint, then held it in place as Mrs. Deckert began the wrap. Within a moment the splint and bandage were in place.

  “Son, I saw soldiers in the war who weren’t as brave as you were when they were doing that,” Falcon said.

  “Really?” Gary replied, forcing a smile now through his pain and tears.

  “Really. You are one brave young man,” Falcon said.

  Gary looked up at his mother. “Did you hear what he said, Mama?”

  “I heard. And you are a brave little boy,” Mrs. Kirby said.

  “No, Mama, I’m a brave young man,” Gary said. “He called me a young man.”

  Mrs. Kirby kissed her son on the forehead. “And you are a young man,” she said. “A brave young man.”

  “You are the bravest person I know,” Abby said. “I won’t ever be afraid anymore if I am with you.”

  Mrs. Deckert had a hearty breakfast ready for them the next morning, biscuits, country ham, gravy, fried potatoes, and eggs. The pain had subsided in Gary’s arm, and he now showed it proudly to Bo and Hank.

  “Mr. MacCallister said I was as brave as a soldier,” Gary said.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Bo said. “And I reckon you’ll be showin’ that broke arm to all your little friends when you get back home too, won’t you?”

  “I want him to show it to my friends as well,” Abby said.

  Bo finished his coffee, then stood up. “Folks, we’ll have the coach around front in about fifteen minutes. So if you got ’ny last minute things to do, you’d best be gettin’ ’em done.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mean to His Horses and ten warriors had wandered far south from the Cheyenne reservation, and were waiting at a ford on the Big Horn river. They had no particular target in mind, though they knew that any wagon or coach that traveled the road between Sheridan and Yellowstone Park would have to cross the river here, and when they did so, they would be vulnerable to attack.

  They heard the coach before they saw it, the sound of a popping whip, the whistles and calls of the driver, and the drumming hooves of six trotting horses.

  “Make yourselves ready,” Mean to His Horses said.

  Only Mean to His Horses and one other of his band had firearms. The rest of the warriors had bows and arrows only. But Mean to His Horses believed that would be enough to overcome the stagecoach, which normally had only one armed guard. Then he would be able to take the guns the stage passengers had.

  The six passengers inside the coach were relatively quiet, just enjoying the scenery or lost in their own thoughts. Even though Gary’s arm was in a sling he was holding it, and it was obvious that every bump made it hurt because he winced in pain, though he did not cry out.

  Cody looked him, then smiled. “Gary, did you know that Mr. Ingraham writes stories?” Cody asked Gary and Abby.

  “What kind of stories?” Gary asked.

  “Oh, all kinds of stories,” Cody answered. “Ingraham, why don’t you entertain us with a story? One that the children will like.”

  “Well, what kind of stories do you like?” Ingraham asked.

  “I like stories about princesses,” Abby said.

  “And sailing ships,” Gary added. “Have you ever been on a big sailing ship?”

  “Indeed I have,” Ingraham said.

  “And have you ever seen a real princess?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, I’ve seen a real princess. And it so happens that I can tell a story about a princess and a sailing ship.”

  “Oh, good,” Abby said.

  “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away,” Ingraham began, and within moments he had both children spellbound as they lost themselves in his story.

  The serenity of the interior of the stagecoach was broken by a whizzing sound, followed by a loud “thock.” An arrow had embedded itself in the stagecoach, less than an inch away from the window opening where Falcon was sitting. Looking through the window, Falcon saw several mounted Indians g
alloping toward the coach. Even as he saw them, he also saw several arrows in flight, streaming in the same direction. At least three more hit the stagecoach with the same “thocking” sound as the first.

  “Indians,” Falcon said, though he didn’t have to tell them. By now everyone in the coach was aware of what was happening.

  Falcon opened the door of the stage, which had increased its speed as the driver whipped the team into a gallop.

  “Where are you going?” Cody asked.

  “On top,” Falcon said. “I’ll be in better position to shoot from up there, and it will also draw the Indians’ fire away from the inside of the coach.”

  “Good idea, I’ll join you,” Cody said. “Ingraham, you stay with Mrs. Kirby and the children.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ingraham shouted back, his pistol already in his hand.

  The two men climbed up to the top of the stagecoach, one on either side.

  “Good to see you boys comin’ up here!” Hank yelled.

  “Bo, keep the team running as fast as you can!” Falcon shouted.

  “If we go any faster we’re going to start flying!” Bo replied as he popped the whip over the galloping team.

  Falcon and Cody lay on their stomach on the coach, then began shooting. With their first shots, two Indians fell. The shotgun guard got one, and as one of the Indians galloped up alongside the stage, Igraham shot him. Then Falcon got another one.

  Mean to His Horses saw five of his warriors fall in the first few minutes of their attack, including the only other Indian who was carrying a rifle. That was half of his band, so he called a halt to the chase.

  “Why do we stop?” one of the warriors asked.

  “They have many guns, we have one,” Mean to His Horses said. “We will fight another day.”

  “It would be better if we had guns.”

  “We will get guns,” Mean to His Horses said.

  “They’re gone!” Falcon said to the driver. “Hold it up!”