There was a feeling more like a reunion or a homecoming party that settled over the three of them, as they enjoyed the smoked elk and biscuits, washed down with hot coffee. There was no mention of the hazards that might await them when they attempted to drive a herd of horses and a string of packhorses loaded with beaver plews straight through Blackfoot country without attracting attention. After supper, Luke went outside to take another look at the horses, while Jug took a couple of pulls from his whiskey jug. Luke came back to report that the horses were quiet. “Most of ’em went right back to that corral we built for ’em, just like they’d come home.”
The night passed without incident and they decided to have breakfast before they started out for Luke’s cache. “It’s about time you showed me where your cache was. I was startin’ to get suspicious about your intentions,” Jug japed. “Well, I’ll be . . .” He chuckled when Luke led them to the two bodies in the trees. “You weren’t pullin’ my leg, was you? Two Blackfoot warriors watchin’ it for us.” Luke went to work with his shovel and soon uncovered two packs of beaver pelts. They loaded them on the unlucky horse selected for the job, held on by the special pack harness Jug had fashioned out of buffalo hide. “Don’t look so sad,” Jug told the horse, “we’ll switch it to one of the other horses after today.”
“You still happy with that paint pony you picked out?” Luke asked Willow. “’Cause you’ve got a long ride ahead of ya.” She had selected that horse to be hers when they moved from winter camp, and she used the Indian saddle that Pike Jolley had on his horse for her comfort.
“Yes,” she answered. “He is good horse, and I think he like me.”
“Well, that’s the most important thing, I reckon,” Luke said and winked at Jug. They left the mountains then, backtracking over the same trail they followed into them. Both Luke and Jug led three packhorses with two of those horses carrying nothing but packs of beaver pelts. Willow led two packhorses, carrying nothing but pelts. The rest of the horses were left to follow freely. Of the three riders starting out for Wyoming Territory, only one had no fears or doubts about the trek they were embarking on. And that was Willow, for she was firm in her belief that everything would be all right as long as Luke was there to take care of her. Her deepest concerns were for what might become her fate after they reached the rendezvous. They often referred to the three of them as a family, and to her, it had become a genuine feeling, but she was afraid it might not be so with the two men. Both Luke and Jug had a tendency to joke about most anything, even potential dangers—so much so that it was hard to judge their seriousness about any subject. Once again, she found herself apologizing to Long Runner for not properly mourning his death. She told herself that after her escape from Bloody Hand, there had been very little time to mourn. As for Luke Ransom, she wasn’t sure how she felt about him, but the thought of saying goodbye when they got to the rendezvous filled her with a dread like none she had ever experienced before. She hoped Long Runner would understand and forgive her for the strong feelings she had for Luke. Sometimes she thought she saw signs of those same feelings in his eyes, feelings his lips were reluctant to confess. But she hesitated to approach him on the matter, afraid she might be wrong.
Chapter 19
Due to the terrain and the loads their packhorses were carrying, they walked the horses, making for a slow rate of travel. They figured, at that rate, they could plan to strike Three Forks after three full days of travel, maybe more, depending on water and grass. It turned out to be more because of the horses’ need for rest and grazing. While it was too early for the growth of new grass, there was enough to sustain them. Good fortune had followed them the first few days since leaving the Little Belt Mountains. There had been no sign of Indian hunting parties or individual travelers. As they approached Three Forks, they had reason to be more concerned, for that was a favorite camping area for Blackfoot Indians because of the area’s attraction for all forms of game. And this time of year, many of the tribes were moving out of their winter camps. Luke and Jug decided to wait there, about five miles north of Three Forks, and drive their train of horses through to strike the Madison River after dark.
It turned out to be a wise decision, for when approaching the confluence of the Madison with the other two rivers, they discovered a large hunting party camped on the bank of the Madison. It was close to the point where they, themselves, had left the river when they were on their way to the Little Belt Mountains at the end of the summer. They could not see the camp, but Luke thought, if they could judge the size of the hunting party by the size of their fire, it was too big for him and Jug to deal with. So they walked their horses a good seventy-five yards farther east of the rosy glow of the fire in the dark sky before circling back to strike the river. They continued on, following the river at the same walking pace, for an additional three hours before stopping to make camp for the night. Their choice of camps was influenced by the thick grove of cottonwoods they came to. So with an opportunity to supplement the horses’ feed with cottonwood bark, they built their fire right there. With a clear night, there was no need for a temporary shelter, so they climbed in their blankets and went to sleep.
Awake the next morning before sunup, they hurriedly got the horses ready to go and started out again, having decided to eat when they stopped to rest the horses. Once the sun made its way above the trees that hugged the river, Luke handed his lead rope off to Jug and turned Smoke back to check their back trail. It concerned him because they left quite a trail and there was nothing he could do to disguise it. He waited there for a while longer, but there was no sign of anyone following. It would have taken someone longer than that to catch up, so he still wasn’t ready to think they had slipped by unnoticed. He wheeled Smoke around and caught up with Jug and Willow where they had stopped to rest the horses and eat breakfast.
Willow was waiting to hand him a cup of coffee as soon as he set Smoke free to join the other horses. “I make Johnny-cakes,” she said and held the plate out toward him with two of the fried corn cakes on it.
“I’da et ’em all, if she hadn’ta grabbed that plate outta my hand,” Jug chuckled. “I tried to tell her you wouldn’t miss ’em, if we never said nothin’ about ’em.”
Luke gave her a big smile. “Thank you, Willow. I surely do appreciate it.”
“I make Johnny-cakes for you,” she replied.
“Ohhhh . . . ,” Jug blurted, delighted. “She made ’em for you. I reckon I was just lucky to get a couple.” He chuckled again. “I reckon I’m gonna have to cut all my whiskers off, if she’s ever gonna cook somethin’ ’specially for me. But if I did that, then all the white ladies wouldn’t find me so gol-derned handsome.”
“I expect that is something you have to worry about,” Luke joked. It was a subject they had joked about before, the fact that most Indians didn’t trust a man with hair on his face. Hair did not usually grow on an Indian’s face and they often called white men with beards, dogfaces.
Changing the subject as quickly as he had broached the issue of the corn cakes, Jug asked, “How far’d you go back?”
“About two miles, I reckon,” Luke answered. “I swear, we left a trail that looks like a company of cavalry is riding along the river. But I didn’t see any sign of anybody followin’ us. It’s too soon to tell, though. If we’re lucky, that huntin’ party might set out in the other direction.”
“You’re right,” Jug said. “There ain’t been enough time for them to catch up yet. Hell, maybe, if they see the trail we’re leavin’, they’ll think it is a company of soldiers, like you said, and they’ll hightail it for home.”
“I’ll ride back and take another look when we get started again,” Luke said.
When they felt the horses were ready, Willow cleaned up the pan and the dishes, and the men loaded the horses again. Luke stood there and watched them until they disappeared around a bend in the river. Then he climbed back aboard Smoke and told the big bay gelding, “Let’s go hope we can’t find anybody f
ollowin’ us.” He wheeled the horse around. “And hope Jug don’t run into anybody ahead of us.”
He rode back about half a mile, for no particular reason except to find a better vantage point to see more of their back trail. He reined Smoke to a stop beside a large pine on a slight rise and dismounted. There was nothing on the trail as far as he could see. He was distracted after a few minutes by a disagreement between two blue jays that resulted in a noisy argument in the limbs of the tree above him. When he returned his gaze to the trail behind him, he was startled to discover the lone rider coming toward him. “Damn,” he uttered softly. There was no doubt he was looking at a Blackfoot warrior, even at that distance. A scout, or just a curious observer, whichever, he was definitely interested in the trail of many hooves left along the riverbank. As he came closer, Luke could see that he was a grim-looking warrior, powerfully built. And Luke had a feeling that the warrior had already noted that of the many hoofprints he was following, there was not one that was shod. So much for the cavalry story, he thought. He’s thinking he’s lucked on a herd of wild horses. Luke felt sure the Indian could not see him, but he backed a little farther around behind the pine, just in case.
Still the Blackfoot came steadily onward, obviously determined to see the source of the many horses. Luke very carefully checked his rifle and propped it up close at hand, ready to shoot, if he had to. Then he took his bow off his back, thinking it would not be good for this fellow’s friends to hear a rifle shot. The warrior continued and was now within thirty yards of the tree Luke was waiting behind. Suddenly, he stopped when his horse nickered an inquiry and was answered by Smoke, standing in the pines behind Luke. Luke felt every muscle in his body go tense. The warrior backed his horse a couple of yards and looked quickly to his right and left, obviously thinking ambush, Luke figured.
But Early Thunder wasn’t thinking ambush. Thinking instead that the horses he had been following must have gone into the trees, or at least, some of them did. So he turned his horse off the path, as well, to cut them off, if they were thinking about turning back. His unexpected move gave Luke no choice but to drop to one knee, since he was now fully exposed standing there. Early Thunder did not look his way at once, since his attention was captured by the image of Smoke, standing in the trees wearing an empty white man’s saddle. When the startled Blackfoot turned his head toward Luke, it was to discover the kneeling white man with bow fully drawn. Although quick to react, it was not quick enough to avoid the arrow that pierced his side, breaking his ribs. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow in a futile attempt to pull it out, causing him to slide sideways and fall off his horse. Luke notched a second arrow and hurried to finish the kill. When he got to the wounded man, he could see that his wound was mortal, for he was choking up blood as he tried to crawl on hands and knees. Feeling the same as he would with a dying deer or buffalo, Luke sought to end his suffering quickly and he did so with his knife across Early Thunder’s throat. He took no pleasure in the taking of this man’s life, and he had to remind himself that the Blackfoot warrior would not have hesitated to take his life, had the roles been reversed. And after he did it, Luke thought, he would have taken my scalp and danced around the campfire tonight, singing about what a brave thing he did.
He cleaned his knife on the Indian’s shirt and relieved him of his arrows, leaving his arrow in the body, hopefully to confuse his people when they found him. He also took a fusil trade gun Early Thunder carried and the powder and lead with it. He took the reins of the sorrel horse and led it away from the pines and started out after Jug and Willow. As he rode away, he issued a word of complaint to Smoke. “Whose side are you on? When this sorrel nickered, what the hell did you answer him for? You two messed up a simple ambush and I coulda come up on the short end of it, instead of that Blackfoot.” He gave the bay gelding a nudge with his heels and started after Willow and Jug at a lope.
“I see you brought us another horse to add to our herd,” Jug called out when Luke caught up with them. “I don’t reckon you found someplace to buy one back yonder.” Although his remark was flippant, it was not without concern, for it meant that someone had caught up with them.
“I’m afraid not,” Luke said. “It was just one Indian, by himself.”
“I didn’t hear no shot,” Jug said.
“I didn’t want to fire a shot, in case his partners were close by,” Luke explained. “My dang horse almost got me shot.” He told Jug about his ambush and how it ended up as it did. “I brought his horse with me ’cause I was thinkin’ it mighta wandered back to his friends. We can turn him loose with our other strays.”
Jug nodded agreement. He figured the horse would stay with them, due to the tendency of horses to stay with a group of other horses. “Problem is, you know dang well that buck you killed ain’t likely the only one of ’em that’ll see that trail of horses and figure it might have somethin’ to do with their missin’ buck.”
“You’re right, Jug,” Luke responded, sensing his partner’s discontent with the incident. “I shoulda let the son of a gun kill me, and maybe they wouldn’t have felt no need to come after us.”
Listening silently at the exchange between the two men up to that point, Willow now felt the need to interrupt. “No, no, Luke, he not mean better you be killed!”
Both men laughed at that and Jug proclaimed, “The hell I didn’t. That mighta satisfied them bloodthirsty Blackfeet, and I wouldn’t have to share them Johnny-cakes with nobody.”
Realizing they were japing again, she stuck her lower lip out like a young child and declared, “Maybe I not make no more Johnny-cakes.”
“Now you see what your nonsense has cost us,” Luke said. “We might have to go back to eatin’ those dough-balls you call biscuits.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Jug threatened. “You ain’t gettin’ no more of my biscuits, and Willow ain’t gonna fry you no more Johnny-cakes. Looks like you ain’t gonna eat nothin’ but elk jerky.”
Luke could go only so long with the teasing of Willow. So he told her that he and Jug were horsing around, but they were both seriously concerned about the possibility of a party of angry Blackfoot warriors chasing after them. They were going to do whatever it took to keep her safe. And they were counting on being able to stay ahead of the hostiles until getting a little farther up the river where they would be in Shoshone territory. Underway again, they pushed on, following the winding river until reaching the mountains of the Madison Range. From that point on, they felt a little less vulnerable to an attack. For a party of Indians would be as restricted as they, with the mountains crowding in upon the riverbed to leave little room for a broad charge.
Able to travel only as fast as the horses carrying the load of pelts, they worried about the slain Blackfoot’s friends catching up with them. But it finally reached the point where Luke and Jug were forced to call a longer halt to rest the horses. Faced with the prospect of being overtaken while trying to urge their packhorses forward, they decided there was no choice but to find a suitable ambush spot and wait for the Blackfeet to catch up.
They knew it was the perfect spot when they came to it. Where the river had formed a bend between a steep mountainside and a high, cliff-like bluff, the narrow riverbank was partially blocked by some fallen rock. There was no room left between the rocks and the water, but a thin bank of sand, leaving just enough space for one rider and his two packhorses to pass at a time. When Luke passed through, he pulled up on the other side of the rocks and waited for Jug to come through. When Jug cleared the passage, Luke merely gave him a nod. Jug nodded in agreement, and they signaled Willow to continue for about seventy-five yards where it appeared the mountain slope was gentler. “There’s grass the horses can get to up there and wood for a fire,” Luke said to Willow as she rode on by him. She nodded and said nothing, but her eyes were questioning the early stop for supper. “We’ve gotta rest these horses,” he explained.
Jug and Luke looked the rocks over and picked the spots they planned to use
as firing positions. “We can have Willow set right down here between us and reload our rifles,” Jug said. “I don’t care how many of ’em there are, we can make it pretty dang costly for ’em.”
“You know, we don’t even know for sure if there’s anybody comin’ after us a-tall,” Luke said.
“That’ud be even better, wouldn’t it?” Jug responded. “But I got an itch under my left arm that’s tellin’ me somebody’s comin’.”
“More likely tellin’ you it’s time you took a bath,” Luke said. “But I’ll unload these packhorses, and then Smoke and I’ll backtrack a ways to see if we’re lucky or not. Smoke ain’t hardly tired a-tall, since he ain’t done nothin’ but walk all mornin’.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Jug replied. “If there is a bunch of redskins on our trail, it’d be a lot of help to know how many there are and how soon they’ll likely get here.”
So, once again, Luke rode back over their backtrail, with Jug watching his departure, knowing absolutely why he had never ventured into the Montana country by himself, and wondering if he hadn’t gone just a little bit loco to do it with just one partner. He began to speculate on what he would do if Luke got jumped by a Blackfoot war party. Even if he could manage to get Willow and himself away from them with their lives, he wasn’t sure his spirit wouldn’t be broken for good, if he had to dump the pelts and run. To finally get into those mountains he always knew held such a treasure in beaver fur—and prove it by trapping all he could carry—then to lose it all to the Blackfeet, might be enough to scramble his brain for good. He shook his head and spat to rid his brain of thoughts he had no control over, then turned his horse to follow after Willow.
To the River's End Page 22
