He turned Smoke around and rode back the way he had come, circling back between the two hills. When he came to the place where he had left the two bodies, he turned his horse up the hill, thinking Smoke’s tracks would hardly be noticed with all the other tracks the Blackfeet had left. It would be highly unlikely any of the warriors would notice a single set of tracks continuing on up the slope among the pine trees. When he was about three-quarters of the way up the slope, he dismounted and tied Smoke’s reins to a tree limb. Then he continued on foot, moving through the trees until he reached a spot where he could look down into the camp. With the buffalo hide draped over his head and shoulders, he slowly worked his way closer, until he could clearly see all the members of the war party. He had been correct in assuming they had only arrived at their new camp short minutes before.
The man he had assumed to be Bloody Hand before, when he had first scouted the camp on the riverbank, appeared to be even more in command as he talked to four other warriors. He seemed to be giving them instructions. One of them carried a trade gun, and when Bloody Hand was finished talking, all four nodded enthusiastically and ran to their horses. Amid war whoops and words of encouragement, the four rode out of the camp and headed back around the rock wall. A scouting party, Luke thought. I’d better keep an eye on them. It was critical for his, Willow’s, and Jug’s safety to know where the Blackfoot scouting parties would be concentrating. He slowly withdrew from his position directly over the camp. Then, when he had the cover of the trees, he hurried back around the hill to a position where he could see the four scouts when they rode around the wall.
In a matter of seconds, they appeared, following the trail they had made on their way to the new camp. He lingered there for a few minutes to watch them till they passed out of sight before he went back to his horse. He stepped up into the saddle and turned Smoke’s head down the slope. Then he reined the horse back suddenly when the four warriors appeared between the two hills and proceeded up the little stream that ran between the hills. He assumed they were still looking for Willow, since that was where her trail had last been discovered. His next thought was that he had unwittingly treed himself right over the Blackfoot camp. He had taken the time and trouble to move the two bodies to the hill he was now on, to lead them away from the trail up to his own camp. When there was no evidence this morning to indicate they had continued on up past the bodies, he assumed they had not bit on his attempt to mislead them. He could only figure that Bloody Hand had sent them to make sure there was no one on the hill now that they had decided to make their camp at the foot of it. I’d better get my behind off this damn hill, he thought and started to sidle across the slope but stopped short again when the four scouts did not even glance at the spot where they had found the bodies. Instead, they turned their horses up the opposite hill, much to Luke’s shock. This was no doubt in response to Bloody Hand’s instructions, for they showed no interest at all in the direction Luke had sought to lead them. Instead, they were preparing to climb the slope toward his camp. With no time to think of a way to stop them, Luke sought to distract them with a plan so desperate that it had little chance of success. He quickly wheeled Smoke around and returned to the position he had taken to look down on their new camp. As quickly as he could, he readied his rifle to fire. And although he sought to catch the scouting party’s attention, he took care not to waste a shot in doing so.
Some three-hundred feet below him, Yellow Rock stood in the center of the clearing, talking to Bloody Hand, who was coming out of one of the shelters at the edge of the clearing. They were both startled when Yellow Rock staggered a couple of steps backward an instant before the sound of the rifle rang out. While Yellow Rock dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, Bloody Hand dived into the bushes to find cover. All of the other warriors were not as quick as Bloody Hand. Confused by the shot, they looked around to see where it had come from. It was a costly mistake because the next rifle ball dropped another of Bloody Hand’s warriors before they realized the shots were coming from the hill above them. In a matter of seconds, there were no more targets for Luke to aim at, so he quickly hurried back to see how the four-man scouting party would react to the shots. He was relieved to see his distraction had worked, and the four of them were galloping back to the camp. He hustled back to his sniper position to be ready for another possible target when they rode back around the rock wall.
His one thought now was to thin the war party down to as few as he possibly could. So he set his sight on the first warrior to ride into the camp. When the rider saw the two men lying on the ground, he reined his horse to a quick stop, giving Luke an easy target. When the riders behind him, confused by the shot, hesitated long enough to give Luke time to reload, a second target fell victim to his long rifle. Certain now that the shots had all come from directly above them, an angry Bloody Hand was shouting out orders to get their horses and give chase. From the time it took between shots, he guessed their enemy was just one man. “After him!” He ordered as he jumped on the gray gelding and headed up the slope.
Above him, Luke retreated hurriedly to his horse, aware that the entire camp of Indians, which was only seven warriors now, was coming after him. To his advantage, the warriors were all coming up the steep slope, which slowed them down a great deal. He was already three-quarters of the way to the top, so he expected to extend his lead. And he planned to take them for quite a ride. As he encouraged Smoke to make the last of the climb to the top, he told himself that this might have been the best thing to happen. Just a few minutes before, the four-man Blackfoot scouting party was preparing to ride straight up the hill that would take them to his camp—and Jug and Willow. With his sniper action, he had reduced the enemy number by four. And his intention now was to lead the Indians in a chase across the top of this hill, which was the end of a range of hills that led into the mountains. He would lead them across the length of the range and into those mountains. From there, he would see if he could lose them somewhere in the many valleys and canyons. The main thing he wanted to accomplish was to make them think his camp was in the mountains and not right next door to their camp—then hope they never became curious enough to climb the hill next to the one they camped by. His plan might have been a good one and possibly one that would have worked on most men. But Bloody Hand was not like most men.
* * *
The Blackfoot war chief had been suspicious about the location of the bodies of Wounded Horse and Crooked Foot. Bloody Hand thought it unlikely the bodies would be lying on top of each other as they had found them, so the arrows would be obvious. Standing between those two hills, he had felt he was being tricked. And he was almost certain the Crow woman he so desired had fled up the hill opposite the one where the bodies were left. That’s why he had sent Yellow Hand and three warriors to climb that hill. And now, he was almost certain Willow was at the top of this hill. So he kept Crazy Wolf and Two Toes with him and sent the other four warriors to follow the man who had killed the other warriors.
* * *
On that particular hill Luke was thinking about, Bloody Hand stood contemplating a pleasure he anticipated enjoying shortly. At the top of that hill, there were now two additional concerned people. At the sound of Luke’s first shot, Jug came out of the corral where he had been feeding the horses, his rifle in hand. When other shots followed, Willow came out of the tipi, alarmed. “What is it?” She asked. “Where is Luke?”
“I don’t know,” Jug answered her, “but that sounds like Luke’s rifle. I hope he ain’t got hisself in trouble.” He looked at her and shook his head. “Them shots sounded like they came from that hill right next to this’un.” He formed a picture in his mind of Luke being chased by angry hostiles, and he felt helpless to come to his rescue. He hesitated to run off to look for Luke and leave Willow alone, defenseless. They hadn’t even gotten around to teaching her how to load and fire a gun. He couldn’t leave everything they owned here unprotected, anyway. When he could think of nothing he could do but wait
, he climbed up the hill over the waterfall where he could see everything from the camp, on down to the cottonwoods, and into the meadow beyond. There was no sign of man nor beast. “Doggone you, partner, you’d better not get yourself kilt and leave me to take care of all this,” he muttered to himself. Ever since he had been a free trapper, he had wintered by himself. But this was the first time he had wintered in the middle of Blackfoot territory. Doing it alone didn’t appeal to him.
* * *
While Jug contemplated the rest of the winter without Luke, Luke concentrated on leading his pursuers as far into the mountains as possible before he tried to lose them. Making no attempt to hide his trail, he continued across the ridge until it began to slope up where it joined a mountain. He decided it was time to try to cover his trail, not completely, but enough to make it look like he was. Heading back down now, he angled toward a canyon with a deep stream that forked to go on both sides of a small island about forty yards wide. This might do, he thought, decided which fork suited him, and headed for it. Finding it only partially frozen, his first thought was, Damn! Maybe we ought to be over here setting traps. He guided Smoke into the stream and rode up it a good way before coming out near the base of a large fir tree. The low branches of the tree were heavy with snow, so he dismounted and led Smoke carefully beneath the boughs of the trees and into the center of the island. Then he went back to the bank of the stream where he had left the water. Watching carefully where he placed his feet, he walked backward away from the stream, gently shaking the fir boughs as he retreated, causing the snow to drop onto the ground to cover his and his horse’s tracks. He paused then to listen. His pursuers were catching up to him, and Smoke needed a rest, so this was as good a place as any to settle this business. He left Smoke there in the middle of the island and carefully made his way back to the end, where the stream forked. With his buffalo hide draped over him again, he knelt low and waited.
In a few minutes time, they appeared, their ponies struggling to keep from sliding down a steeper part of the ridge, but there were only four. Three had stayed behind. It offered no encouragement to Luke because four Blackfoot warriors were as much a chore as any man could ask for. Only one of them carried a Northwest fusil. They followed his tracks to the stream and paused at the fork. Then they divided up, and two followed one fork, the other two took the other fork. Luke’s problem at that point was which two to attack first without leaving himself open to return fire. His problem was solved for him when Talks with Eagle pulled up to load his gun. The other two warriors proceeded to ride on down the stream on their side of the island. “Hurry,” Dull Axe said when Talks with Eagle seemed to be taking too much time. He started to complain, but he was suddenly startled when Talks with Eagle’s gun dropped to the ground. Dull Axe saw the arrow moments before he felt the strong impact of a second arrow when it entered his side. “Ambush!” he yelled painfully and wheeled his horse away from the stream, the arrow embedded deep in his side. Talks with Eagle still sat on his horse, unable to move as he stared at the arrow shaft protruding from his belly.
Luke moved to another position as the other two warriors wheeled their horses around and galloped back to the fork. He brought his rifle up, set his front sight on the first rider, and knocked him off his horse. That was enough to persuade the other warrior to wheel away again and head for the cover of the trees at the base of the ridge where he had seen his comrade seek cover. Luke reloaded his rifle while watching Talks with Eagle still sitting there, his eyes glazed. Luke stepped across the stream and gave the horse a good whack on the behind. The horse took off at a gallop. Halfway to the trees where the other two warriors were, Talks with Eagle rolled over to the side and fell off. To encourage the remaining two, Luke threw a rifle shot into the trees where they watched.
“Come, we go,” Walking Bird said. “They are too many and you are wounded.” Dull Axe didn’t argue and they fled on the trail they had made moments before. The two rider-less horses galloped after them. When he was sure they weren’t coming back, Luke hurried to check on the two he had shot. There was no time spent with the one he shot with his rifle. He was already dead with a hole in his chest. Approaching the base of the ridge, where Talks with Eagle had fallen, he held his pistol ready in case the Indian was playing possum. The wounded man was still alive but suffering great pain with the arrow still protruding from his gut. He made no attempt to resist as he looked up at Luke with mournful eyes almost as if asking him to hurry. To accommodate him, Luke fired a shot into his brain.
His concern now was why the other three Blackfeet had not come with the four he had just dealt with. He had been almost certain all seven of the warriors had come up that mountain after him. At a trot, he hurried back to the stream where he found the fusil that Talks with Eagle had dropped. He had no use for more of the Northwest Trade Guns, and his first impulse was to throw it in the fork of the stream. Then his natural tendency not to contaminate good drinking water caused him to hesitate. So, instead, he swung it like an axe against a tree until the barrel was sufficiently bent and the stock was broken off. Then he tossed it over in a bank of laurel bushes on the little island and went to retrieve his horse.
Chapter 15
Jug caught his first sight of them when they were only halfway up the hill. Three Blackfoot warriors, they were making their way cautiously up from the stream that ran between the two hills. “Oh, Lordy,” he muttered and immediately left his perch over the waterfall to hurry down the snowy hill as fast as his short little legs could take him. He ran straight to the tipi to get Luke’s spare rifle, startling Willow when he burst through the entrance. “We got company!” he blurted. “Can you load a rifle?” When her answer was an expression of frightened alarm, he said, “Never mind. I ain’t got time to show you now.” He picked up Luke’s other rifle and started out the door. “There’s three Blackfoot comin’ up the hill. I’ll try to stop ’em!”
“Bloody Hand!” She gasped, at once terrified.
“I reckon,” he said, knowing there was no safe place for her to go. “You just hunker down here in the tipi. There’s three of ’em, and I’ll have two loaded rifles and a loaded pistol, and I’ll make sure each shot counts. They’ll have to get by me before they can get to you, and that ain’t gonna happen. I gotta go now. You just stay outta sight. You can take this skinnin’ knife, if it’ll make you feel like you ain’t completely helpless.” He drew it from his belt and she took it eagerly. With no more time to waste, he hurried out the door.
With a rifle in each hand, Jug ran up past the fir corral to a barrier he and Luke had constructed of logs to discourage the horses from wandering down the steep side of the hill. When he reached it, he could see the three Indians more clearly. They had dismounted and left their horses behind when they reached the steeper part of the hill. Jug readied his rifle to fire and loaded Luke’s with powder and ball and propped it on the logs beside him. He couldn’t help cursing when he remembered that Willow had remembered five fusils among the eleven warriors. All three of the warriors advancing upon him were carrying firearms. I’ll let ’em get a few feet closer, then I’ll introduce myself, he thought.
When they had advanced to within about forty yards of his position, he took aim at the most generous target and squeezed off a shot. Down on the slope, Crazy Wolf howled in pain when the rifle ball struck him in the chest. “There!” Bloody Hand yelled when he saw the powder flash and immediately brought his weapon to bear on the log barrier. When Jug rose again to shoot, Bloody Hand squeezed the trigger, causing Jug’s shot to go wide of his target when the war chief’s shot knocked the little man on his back. Bloody Hand stood up then, confident that there was no one else to fight. He was sure there were only two men in this camp, two men responsible for the deaths of his warriors. “And now, they have killed Crazy Wolf,” he said to Two Toes.
Thinking the war chief had taken leave of his senses, Two Toes warned, “Take cover!”
Bloody Hand chucked. “There is no one else to
fight. The other man is running for his life toward the mountains. We will take care of these two bushwhackers who have dared to come into this territory to trap our beaver.” He pointed up toward the log barrier. “Go and make sure that one is dead. I will see if there is anyone else in the hut.” He would have gone first to take Jug’s scalp, but he felt certain that Willow was in that hut. He knew in his heart that she had taken up with the fur trappers, and the thought of it brought the blood in his veins to a boil. He would have her, here and now, then he would kill her and tie her scalp on his scalp string. Barely able to control his excitement, he pushed on up the hill to see the frozen waterfall and the makeshift corral for the horses. With one quick glance toward Two Toes, he could see that Two Toes had not met with any opposition, so he turned his full attention to the woman he knew was crouching in fear for her life inside the tipi. There were bound to be many things of value besides the woman, as well, he thought as he reached for the door flap.
To the River's End Page 17
