Beneath a Dakota Cross

by Stephen A. Bly

  “He’s thought about it,” Brazos said.

  “Robert’s still ridin’ out with Custer, ain’t he?”

  “Yep. He wants to be wherever the action is.”

  “If they don’t move the Sioux east, the action could be right here in Deadwood,” Big River warned. “Several hundred warriors come ridin’ up this gulch and most of these bummers would get so excited they’d shoot each other.”

  “The government seems to have conceded these hills to us. We just need the Sioux to do the same.”

  The first gunshot in the middle of the night caused Brazos to sit up in bed.

  The second drew him to the window, wearing only his long johns.

  From the lower end of town, no doubt. It’s named correctly … the Badlands.

  Lord, I’ve talked to you about that element before. But you keep sayin’ those are the ones you came to save.

  The flannel sheets felt stiff as Brazos slipped back into bed. His mind jumped from Dacee June … to Todd … to Samuel … to Robert and Jamie Sue … to Sarah Ruth.

  It ain’t fair, darlin’, you interruptin’ my night like this. Here I am worryin’ all about the kids. When you were by my side, I could turn over and go to sleep knowin’ that you would worry about them enough for both of us.

  The banging noise sounded like a loose shutter during a windstorm.

  But the wind wasn’t blowing.

  And they didn’t have any shutters.

  The squeaking of the bedroom door jolted him to swing to the side of the bed.

  “Daddy?” The word floated across the dark room.

  “Darlin’, can’t you sleep?”

  “Not with someone beatin’ on the front door.”

  “Someone’s downstairs? The front door of the store?”

  “Can’t you hear them?” she said.

  I can hear a shot fired from the other side of town, but I can’t hear someone at my door? “Probably a drunk trying to find his way home.”

  “Are you going to check it out?”

  “I’m goin’. Light a lantern for me, Dacee June.” Brazos yanked on his old denim trousers, then fumbled for his spectacles on the nightstand. But his fingers only found dust.

  “Do you need your carbine?” she asked.

  “To open the front door?” He crossed the room barefoot. She handed him the lit lantern … and the Sharps carbine.

  The floor of the hardware and mining supply store was well polished by boot soles, and well swept by the clerks. The merchandise, under Todd’s leadership, was now placed in neatly stacked aisles and shelves, stretched like shadowy hedgerows across the room. Brazos followed the sound of the banging on the ten-foot-tall oak front doors.

  He set the lantern on a barrel of miner’s candleholders, then ­lifted the iron bar with his left hand. His right hand cradled the carbine. Two men stood in the shadows of the open door.

  “Big River? What on earth is goin’ on?”

  A tall, barrel-chested, dark-skinned man next to him sported a thick, black beard about a foot long. He had the smell, and the caked grime, of a prospector. His left arm was wrapped with a bloody flour sack. He toted a brown, burlap bag over his right shoulder.

  “You carryin’ a bullet there, amigo?” Brazos quizzed.

  “I carry the wound,” the man asserted. “The bullet passed through.”

  “We better go wake Louise Driver. She’s a mighty good nurse and the closest thing we have to a doctor.”

  “I was shot last night, and I am not dead yet. It will wait,” the man stoically replied.

  Big River Frank and the man marched into the room. “Stir up the fire and put on a cup of coffee, Brazos. We got some visitin’ to do.”

  “What happened?”

  “Got a wild story you should hear,” Big River reported.

  Brazos lit several lanterns near the stove at the back of the room.

  “Brazos, this here is Tiny Martinez.”

  Brazos nodded at the man, with dark, expressionless eyes. He stirred up the coals in the stove with a small piece of pine kindling.

  Big River Frank and Tiny Martinez plopped down on a bench. The burlap bag hit the floor with a loud bang.

  “I was standin’ guard at the hotel when …” Big River began.

  “Standin’ guard?” Brazos challenged.

  “The boys down in the Badlands was gettin’ stewed and plannin’ a little shivaree for your Robert and Jamie Sue. Me and Grass ­decided to take shifts with the nightguard to make sure the couple weren’t disturbed on their weddin’ night.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have spelled you.”

  “That’s why we didn’t ask. You never get any sleep as it is. Besides, it ain’t your hotel. It’s ours. We didn’t want no windows broke or guests disturbed. Anyway, that ain’t the point. I was sittin’ on the porch a few minutes ago when Tiny comes gallopin’ a mule right down Main Street in the dark of night. I could tell he was wounded.”

  “I rode all night,” Martinez reported.

  “Why?” Brazos quizzed, while scooping coffee into the pot and slapping it down on the cast-iron stove.

  “Just wait …” Big River cautioned. “Tiny has been prospectin’ with Juan Tejunga over in Spearfish Canyon.”

  Brazos realized his hair was wild and uncombed and tried to brush it down with his hand. “How is our friend Juan?”

  “Dead.”

  “What?” Brazos found himself glancing back where he propped his carbine.

  “Some claim jumpers bushwhacked them. Juan got killed,” Big River announced.

  “He got shot in the back,” Tiny reported. “But I don’t think they wanted our claim.”

  “Who did it?” Brazos pressed.

  “That’s the thing. Tiny said he hadn’t seen them before. There were four of them led by a narrow-eyed man with one leg.”

  “One leg?” Brazos rubbed his eyes and wondered where he had left his spectacles. “I don’t know any one-legged man in the Black Hills. Did you catch any of their names?”

  Martinez nodded. “The man with the brown hat and narrow eyes was called Doc.”

  The hair on Brazos neck bristled. He stared into Big Frank’s eyes. “Doc? Doc Kabyo?”

  Big River nodded. “That’s what I was thinkin’. I reckon the gangrene could have took Kabyo’s leg last Christmas when they tried to ambush the freight wagons.”

  The aroma of burning pine filled the room. The heat warmed Brazos’s bare feet. He stared across the shadowy storeroom. “Mr. Martinez, did they steal your pokes?”

  “Our pokes? We didn’t have ten dollars of gold dust between us. I think this is what they wanted,” Martinez pointed to the sack. “But I don’t know why.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “Juan called it our good luck charm, but it has only brought tragedy.” Tiny Martinez reached into the burlap sack and pulled out an eighteen-by-thirty-inch thick, plain, tarnished silver cross.

  Brazos stepped towards the man. “A cross? Where did you get that?” Brazos quizzed.

  “It fell out of the sky,” Martinez announced.

  “It did what?”

  There was a slight smile on the big man’s brown, leathery face. “Juan liked to say it fell out of the sky. When we decided to open a horizontal shaft into the cliff, we set off several loads of dynamite, and this cross tumbled right into camp, barely missing Juan by a foot or two.”

  “You figure it was lodged somewhere in the rocks up the side of the cliff?” Brazos quizzed.

  “That’s what we supposed. The explosion must have loosed some rocks and it plunged down.”

  “Did you ever climb up the cliff to see if you could spot where it was lodged?” Brazos asked.

  “It’s straight up from there. No one would want to climb that wall.”

  Brazos stared at the cross. “Someone did.”

  “Who?”

  “The ones who put it there.”

  “Perhaps it was many years ago.” Martinez fingered
the worn cross. “I think it is very old. Perhaps it was Coronado. Or Juan de Onate and his men.”

  “I don’t think any of them came this far north. But who knows?” Brazos plucked the cross from Martinez’s hand. “Must weigh eight or nine pounds.”

  “Fifteen,” Tiny reported.

  Brazos turned it over in his hand. “This isn’t solid silver.”

  “No, it’s just iron, with some silver wash,” Martinez admitted. “Much of it has been worn off.”

  “It’s quite a find, anyway. I suppose any of the prospectors could have toted this into the hills from Mexico … or Arizona …”

  “That might be where it came from, but it was found in Dakota,” Big River challenged.

  “A Dakota cross? Could it be?” Brazos stammered. “It’s not exactly what I was lookin’ for … a real cross? It never dawned on me to look for an actual cross!” He handed the relic back to Martinez. “Tiny, you might have a treasure there.”

  “I do not think it is worth much. Juan took it to Sundance and offered to sell it for ten dollars. No one was interested.”

  “I’ll give you twice that,” Brazos offered. “But the treasure might not be in the cross, but under it.”

  “I will gladly sell it to you, but what do you mean?” Martinez asked.

  “Some people say there is sixty thousand dollars worth of gold coins buried under a Dakota cross.”

  Martinez whistled through the wide gaps in his front teeth.

  “That’s the rumor. The money was taken during a train robbery three years ago near Cheyenne City.”

  “I lived in Cheyenne about then,” Tiny said. “I don’t remember such a robbery.”

  Brazos paced in front of the stove. “Seems the Central Pacific didn’t want to admit they were carrying such funds, so they’ve kept it quiet.”

  “And if someone found the money, the railroad would either deny it was theirs, or give you an awful big reward to keep quiet,” Big River suggested.

  “I don’t know where it was on the cliff. I doubt if there was any gold buried under it,” Tiny Martinez remarked.

  “It might be worth climbin’,” Big River added.

  “Not with four men waiting to shoot me. I do not intend to be shot again,” Tiny said.

  Brazos leaned closer. “Just exactly how did you get away from them?”

  “I hid back in the mine shaft we were diggin’. They are waiting at the mouth until daylight, I suppose.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “I crawled out an air vent we had dug. We kept our mules in the brush and saddled for such emergencies. There are rumors that the Sioux will try to clean out the canyon any day now.”

  “So, when daylight breaks and they find you’re not there, they’ll be headin’ this way?”

  “Perhaps. But if, as you say, they are looking for stolen money, they might stay and search.”

  “If they find it, they’ll ride on. If they don’t, they might come lookin’ for you,” Brazos suggested.

  “I could wait several days to go back, but I would rather not leave Juan’s body unburied.”

  “Big River, maybe it’s time to saddle up and pay an early morning visit to Spearfish Canyon,” Brazos announced.

  “That’s what I was thinkin’.”

  “They are violent and dangerous men,” Martinez warned.

  Brazos nodded. “We’ve run across them before.”

  “You want me to round up Grass and the Jims?” Big River asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll pack some grub, in case we’re out longer than we plan.”

  Martinez stood. “I will need a fresh horse. I ran the mule down.”

  “You’ll need to get that arm doctored. We’ll get Louise to look at it.”

  “I will survive.”

  “You’ll be the one-armed man if you don’t get it taken care of. You stay here in town, and we’ll check out Spearfish Canyon.”

  “Would you allow evil men to kill your friend, then run away and leave his body for the buzzards?” Martinez challenged.

  Brazos glanced over at Big River, then back at Martinez. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Neither will I.”

  Brazos leaned over and stared into a bushel basket of short, white miner’s candles. Then he lifted a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles off the candles and shoved them on his nose.

  Brazos stuffed his saddlebags with dried meat and .50-caliber bullets. His canvas coat was rolled up and crammed into his bedroll, which lay by the open front door of the hardware store, next to the Sharps carbine. He stood in the doorway and stared out into the black night. He could hear music, shouts, and laughter from the lower end of town. The upper end was quiet. Several lights flickered from the hotel across the street.

  His spurs lay silent on the heel ledge of his worn, brown boots. A slight drift down the gulch cooled the night air. When a small, soft, warm hand touched his arm he almost jumped out into the sidewalk.

  “Daddy?”

  “Darlin’, what are you doin’ up? You should be in bed.”

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “Me and the boys need to ride out to Spearfish Canyon.”

  “In the middle of the night?” she probed.

  “There’s been a little trouble, and we need to help a friend.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “A man was shot.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yes, he is,” Brazos said.

  “Are you going after the wicked men who did it?”

  “Yes, with the help of Big River, Grass, and the Jims.”

  “Why do you have to go?”

  “Mr. Tejunga was our friend. There’s no law out here. The government doesn’t recognize us, so our only law is mining camp law and we have to enforce it ourselves.”

  “Is it that awful man, Doc Kabyo?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “We think so.”

  “Sometimes I have nightmares about him.”

  “I want you to go back to bed and have some pleasant dreams.”

  “I will get dressed and come with you,” Dacee June announced.

  “That’s out of the question. This could be dangerous.”

  “You promised you’d never leave me again.”

  “We’ve been all through that. I am not going to leave you. This is our home. I’m not moving. But you can’t just go everywhere I need to go.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you, young lady, it’s too dangerous.”

  “You mean, you might get shot?”

  “That’s a possibility,” he admitted.

  “That’s why I must go. If you die in some canyon, then you’ll have left me alone in Deadwood. You promised not to leave me alone.”

  “You’re not alone!” His voice grew to almost a shout. “Todd is here in town. Besides, I’m not going to get shot.”

  Dacee June hollered back. “Then I shall go with you.”

  “You will not!”

  “You promised,” she wailed, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

  “Young lady, you are going to stay upstairs until your brother opens the store. Then you will help him and the clerks until I return, which will probably be before supper tonight.”

  “You’re not going to stay overnight?”

  “Probably not,” he snapped.

  “Then why are you taking your bedroll?”

  “In case of emergency.”

  “I don’t see why I can’t go,” she pouted.

  “Look, here come the boys.” Brazos plucked up his bedroll, carbine, and saddlebags. “You lock the door behind me, then go back to sleep.”

  “I will not sleep.”

  “We’ll talk about it when I return. My promise does not mean what you think it means.”

  “That’s obvious,” she pouted, then stormed back inside and slammed the door.

  “Lock the door, Dacee June!”

  As the five
men rode up in front of the store, Brazos heard the iron bar slide into the braces inside the building.

  Lord … why am I snapping at her? She’s my whole life, and here I am yellin’ at her. This is crazy. Sarah Ruth, you’re supposed to be here and explain it to her. Daddies act. Mommies explain. That’s the way it is.

  Isn’t it?

  It took two-and-a half-hours of rough riding to reach the east rim of Spearfish Canyon. By then the sky had gone from black to charcoal gray to pale blue. Brazos had led all the way from Deadwood, but now waited for Martinez riding a short-legged white mare to catch up.

  “Which way, Tiny?”

  “North.” He waved the barrel of his carbine at the cliffs. “Two miles up, on the east side of the creek.”

  Big River rode up beside them. “You think Kabyo and them will still be at the mine shaft?”

  Brazos reached into his saddlebag and grabbed out a handful of .50-caliber bullets. “I reckon we’ll find out.”

  “What will we do if we capture them?”

  “Send them out to Yankton and put them on trial for Juan’s murder.” Brazos shoved the bullets into the pockets of his brown leather vest.

  Quiet Jim rode up. “What’s the plan?”

  Brazos pointed up ahead. “How about me, Tiny, and Big River riding up the right side of the creek. You, Yapper, and Grass give us a three-minute lead. Then ride up the west bank. Whichever one finds trouble first, the others can come to the rescue.”

  “What will be the signal?” Yapper Jim asked.

  “Gunfire,” Brazos said.

  Cottonwood, poplars, and willows lined the path of Spearfish Creek as it wound its way through the limestone walls of the canyon. Ponderosa pines huddled in bunches throughout the canyon, on rocky ledges, and on both rims.

  With sunlight breaking up high on the western rim, and the dark green grass growing in the narrow canyon floor, the scene looked like an artist’s painting.

  Brazos’s carbine balanced across his lap, hammer pulled back to the safety position. In the distance, two jagged, white limestone peaks lipped the eastern rim. “Your claim is on the canyon floor, just right of those peaks.”

  Martinez looked puzzled. “How did you know that?”

  “A friend of mine had a map of this place once. He described it to me, only we figured the cross was a geological formation of some kind.”