The Ghost Dancers (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  The Prophet sat silent for a moment on his horse, deep in thought. He glared at the two white men, then gradually his facial expression softened. “Can you get us guns? Good repeating guns?”

  Hezekiah was bewildered. “Why guns?”

  “To do the Great Life Giver’s bidding.”

  “Uh … uh,” Hezekiah stammered. Then he quickly remembered something. “Yes! We can get you repeating rifles. Fifty of ‘em! Right away.”

  “When you have the rifles, tell Pontaro,” the Prophet said. “We will see if you have big medicine or are crazy.”

  The two Apaches quickly turned their horses and rode out of the oasis into the darkness. Leo Horton was mortified. “How’re we gonna get fifty repeating rifles, Hezekiah?”

  “From Archie Garfield.”

  “The traveling salesman?”

  “Yes! The last time he was in my store he asked me if I wanted fifty second-hand Henry repeating rifles. He wanted five dollars each. I told him I’d buy three or four, but he said ‘no’ that I had to buy ‘em all or none.” He gave out a happy chuckle. “He’s coming back tomorrow to deliver some tools and clothing I ordered. I’ll buy them rifles! By the will of God, I’ll buy them rifles. Don’t you see, Leo? All this is falling into place through God’s grace. We’re part of the second coming. Hallelujah!”

  “That’s gonna be more’n two hunnerd dollars, Hezekiah. D’you think we got that much between us?”

  “It’s gonna be exactly two hunnerd and fifty dollars, Leo. And we’ll get the money out of the church funds.”

  “Ain’t that stealing, Hezekiah?”

  The pastor gave his companion a condescending gaze. “This involves our savior Jesus Christ coming back to us. We are his children! Everything we do from now on is a commandment from God.”

  “Yeah! I reckon so!”

  The pair climbed into the buckboard for the return trip to Hope Wells.

  Chapter Five

  Captain Mack Hawkins and Second Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley’s concentration on the detachment’s latest supply requisitions was interrupted by yet another caller to the orderly room. The soldier was the dispatch rider from Fort Sill. His welcome appearances always meant orders for a deployment. The man saluted Hawkins and pulled out a sheaf of papers from his dispatch bag, announcing, “Compliments from the department adjutant general, sir!” The dispatch rider was in a hurry, and lay the message-received form on the captain’s desk. Hawkins quickly scribbled his name on the paper, and handed it back to the soldier who made a quick exit.

  Hawkins hurriedly scanned the orders then glanced over at Ludlow. “Mr. Dooley, we are going to Fort Stryker in the Arizona Territory. This’ll be like a homecoming to me. I was posted there during the campaigns against the Tijones and Guerras Apaches.”

  Ludlow hadn’t heard much about Hawkins’ adventures in Arizona except for occasional remarks or a brief anecdote. “Well, sir, then we’ll be going back to your scenes of youthful glory. What was it like doing battle with Apaches?”

  “They were bloody fights,” Hawkins answered. “While my regiment was stationed at Fort Stryker we fought the Tijones, using Guerras scouts to help us out.”

  “That’s a bit confusing, sir.”

  “The two tribes were bitter enemies,” Hawkins explained. “And had been for centuries, I supposed. At any rate, our commander-in-chief General Crook took advantage of the situation. The biggest difference between them was their tribal leadership. The Tijones Chief Aprendo was a wise man. He knew when to call it quits. After it was obvious there was no good reason to shed more blood or continue the suffering of his people, he called for a truce.”

  Ludlow was impressed. “He seems to be a compassionate man as well.”

  “You’re right about that,” Hawkins stated. “After the Tijones signed a treaty and moved onto the reservation, the Guerras went on the warpath. So we used Tijones to help us against the Guerras by scouting for us.”

  “What were the Guerras like?”

  Hawkins grimaced. “They had a medicine man named Pasimo as a leader. But he was really no more than an advisor. He did his best for his people. but had no control over the warriors. The Guerras fighting men were fanatically brave and proud. That’s fine when you’re winning, but when fighting to the death it’s a disaster. The tribe paid a terrible price for their war-making. Needless to say, the Tijones scouts played a big part in their enemy’s defeat.”

  “I would call that a very atypical case of divide and conquer,” Ludlow stated. “It’s nothing like the international relations we studied at West Point.” He chuckled. “As a matter of fact, just about everything I’ve seen in my active army service is unlike the lessons I learned at the Academy.”

  “I’ve noticed that, Mr. Dooley. Now let me give these orders a more thorough read, then I’ll fill you in.”

  Ludlow went to the office stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sipped the beverage as Hawkins went through the three-page document. The captain mumbled to himself while reading. When he finished, he looked over at his lieutenant.

  “It appears there’s a possibility of an Indian war breaking out,” Hawkins said. “There was a raid on a horse ranch near Fort Stryker. An investigation by the Army indicates it was definitely done by Apaches. It was a night raid, and a Mexican cowboy watching over the herd was killed.” He looked again. “But the body wasn’t mutilated.”

  “Sir, that probably means it wasn’t Indians.”

  Hawkins shook his head. “The hoofs of the thieves’ horses were not shod. It was Indians all right. And the only ones who are in the vicinity of Fort Stryker are the Tijones.” He lay the orders down. “I believe we should form up the detachment, Mr. Dooley. And since we don’t have a bugler to sound assembly, I’ll have to rely on you to handle the matter.”

  “I’ll tend to the assignment immediately, if not sooner, sir!”

  It was mid-afternoon and Hezekiah Woodward had been a nervous wreck since returning from his meeting with the very impressive prophet. He sent a telegram to the drummer Archie Garfield at the mercantile company to bring him the fifty second-hand Henry rifles. So far, Archie had not responded. If someone else had purchased the weaponry, he and Leo Horton would not be able to participate in the second coming.

  Hezekiah grew more fretful with each passing hour to the point he had been rude to several customers. His wife Mildred finally took him by the arm and led him back to the storeroom. She was angry and worried. “Hezekiah! What in the world is the matter with you? You’ve been pacing around and snapping at people all day long.”

  “It’s nothing that concerns you, my dear. Me and Leo are involved in a…a sort of… sort of business venture.”

  “Oh, my stars and garters!” Mildred exclaimed. “Have you lost a great deal of money in some investment scheme?”

  “Nothing like that. It’s a…well, it’s a matter of some rifles I want to purchase from Archie Garfield.”

  “What does Leo have to do with that?”

  “He…he and I, actually…we know where a customer is available for them.”

  Mildred didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but being a good Christian wife she gave him the benefit of the doubt. “It seems to me there wouldn’t be much of a profit in such a transaction.”

  “We’d better get back out front,” Hezekiah said, leaving the storeroom.

  Mildred, still a bit bemused, followed after him.

  The Kiowa-Comanche Detachment was drawn up in front of the orderly room. Hawkins had just informed them of the deployment to Arizona. The scouts were grinning in anticipation, happy to get away from the tedium of Fort Lone Wolf’s garrison routine. When the captain briefed them on the chance they would be fighting Apaches, they positively glowed with happiness. Michael Strongbow was particularly excited. This would be his baptism of fire.

  “It looks like another train ride for us,” Hawkins said. “I’ll let Lieutenant Dooley explain that part of our coming adventure.”

  Lu
dlow stepped forward, holding the travel portion of the orders in his hand. “Well, men, we’ll begin our journey as usual at the railhead north of Fort Sill. That’s where we’ll get on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe line. We’ll go south to catch the junction with the Southern Pacific. That’s a short distance west of Houston, Texas. That line will take us west to Sherman, Arizona. We’ll get off there and mount up for the ride to Fort Stryker.”

  “Aw!” Sergeant Eagle Heart exclaimed. “How long we be on trains, Lu’tent?”

  “I figure about six days.”

  Everyone’s face clouded over with exception of Michael Strongbow. “Hooray! I’ve never been on a train before! And now I’ll be riding one for six whole days.”

  The rookie quickly quieted down under irritated glares from Sergeant Eagle Heart and the two corporals.

  It was two o’clock in the morning, and Hezekiah Woodward stood at his bedroom window, staring out over his Hope Wells neighborhood. He had visited the telegraph office at the depot twice that evening to see if a telegram had arrived from Archie Garfield. Both times he had received a negative answer from Zeke Mason.

  “Hezekiah?”

  He turned to see Mildred sitting up in bed. “Are you still worried about that gun business you and Leo are concerned with?”

  “I guess so.”

  She got up and padded across the room to stand beside him. “I got a feeling you ain’t telling me ever’thing, Hezekiah.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  She frowned furiously. “How do you expect me not to worry, when you’re making yourself sick over it?”

  He turned from the window. “Let’s go back to bed, Mildred.”

  She watched him get under the covers, then joined him. After a few moments of glaring at him, she lay her head on her pillow and dozed off. Hezekiah, breathing shallow breaths, stared up at the ceiling.

  It was obvious to him that the Almighty was using the Apaches in a great miracle to put them into a state of grace. They certainly did not have a full understanding of what they were to do. And neither did he.

  “Please help me, Lord!”

  Chapter Six

  Captain Mack Hawkins, Lieutenant Ludlow Dooley and the scouts were assembled at the railhead north of Fort Sill. Their horses, weapons and equipment had been carefully packed for the long train journey that lay ahead of them. Since this was Scout Michael Strongbow’s first deployment, he chattered incessantly with endless questions and comments. However, his youthful exuberance was not appreciated. Sergeant Eagle Heart finally ordered him to calm down in the Kiowa tongue as an older male in the family would do. “Bei-toubei!”

  Michael immediately ceased his excited jabbering with a respectful, “Ha!”

  They had arrived at Fort Sill the day before in the late afternoon after an early start from Fort Lone Wolf. Hawkins took them directly to the post quartermaster to draw rations for the trip to Sherman, Arizona Territory. After receiving the dreary army chow of salt pork, hardtack and coffee, the detachment hurried over to the Post Trader’s Store to purchase canned fruit and meat along with packets of cookies and candy. Ludlow, of course, bought an ample supply of smoked oysters; his favorite food.

  The lieutenant also had a medical kit to tote along. He was responsible for the treatment of wounds and illnesses, and had carefully ready the military surgeon’s handbook that came with it.

  The post ordnance officer— a rather pompous captain— was surprised when Hawkins informed him they wouldn’t be drawing any ammunition. The only thing available at Fort Sill were the .45 caliber rounds for the standard issue Springfield carbines. When asked for an explanation, Hawkins informed the captain that he and his men were armed with Winchester 73 rifles that were .44 caliber.

  The ordnance officer was flabbergasted. “How did this come about?”

  Hawkins patiently explained the situation of the “when”, “where” and “why” the Northern Plains Railway System had donated the Winchesters to them without charging the U.S. Government.

  “Is that permitted under Army Regulations?”

  “Of course,” Hawkins assured him.

  “By what authority?”

  “By my authority,” Hawkins testily replied.

  The ordnance officer, noting the challenge in Hawkins’s voice, simply nodded and walked away. Ludlow, who had been observing the conversation, said, “He’s going to turn in a report to higher headquarters, sir.”

  Hawkins shrugged. “We’ll be heading for the Arizona Territory long before he can put the first sentence down on paper.”

  Now, at the railhead, the detachment waited for their train to arrive. Scout Strongbow, on the other hand, was in the telegrapher’s office watching the man as he sent and received messages. The scouts were in a better mood since the youngster was now annoying somebody else.

  Pastor Hezekiah Woodward was a sad sight to behold as he opened his store for business that morning. The expression on his face was one of utter dejection. He stepped aside to allow his wife Mildred to precede him into the building. She gave him a look of concern, but knew better than to make any remarks. He had already angrily scolded her during breakfast when she expressed her trepidation about his appearance.

  It was obvious to him that the salesman Archie Garfield was not going to deliver any rifles to him. Hezekiah tried with all his emotional and religious vim and vigor to figure out why God had caused this calamity. It was the second coming! The Almighty had his plan, Hezekiah knew, but why did the Creator call on him to participate in welcoming the Savior when the Apaches would be enraged when they didn’t get the weapons.

  “Hello, Hezekiah! How’s things going?”

  The storekeeper whirled around and looked straight at Archie Garfield. “By all that’s holy, Archie! Where are them rifles?”

  Archie was puzzled by the anger showed toward him “Hell’s bells, Hezekiah. They’re down at the railroad station. Do you expect me to tote fifty rifles over here all by myself? And there’s ammunition in another crate. Five hunnerd rounds, to be exact.”

  Hezekiah shouted, “Hallelujah! God bless you, Archie Garfield! May God bless you all your days and may he take you unto him in heaven after you die even though you are a blasphemes sinner!”

  Archie frowned. “For crying out loud, Hezekiah! You must have a dazzling affection for Henry repeating rifles.”

  The train to take the scout detachment south arrived at mid-morning. This set off an organized scramble of unsaddling the horses and leading them into the boxcar for the coming journey. The men’s gear was stacked at the back of the conveyance near the horse furniture with their baggage of saddlebags and haversacks. Hawkins, well acquainted with the burning dryness of the Tierra Brava Desert, had seen that each man was issued two extra canteens.

  Because of the likelihood that they would be unable to draw any .44 caliber ammunition at Fort Stryker, Hawkins had ordered everyone to bring double the ordinary amount with them. Thus, each scout had three cartridge belts with fifty loops for bullets. One belt was worn around the waist while the other two were slung crossways right-to-left and left-to-right over both shoulders. The loops were originally designed for .45 caliber ammunition but the bullets for the Winchester rifles fit without a hitch.

  Additionally, the officers and scouts had fifty rounds in their individual saddlebags. These had been taken from the boxes in the ordnance storehouse at Fort Lone Wolf. That gave each man a grand total of 200 bullets. This amount of ammunition added a good deal of weight, but Hawkins had no idea of what they faced in Arizona.

  Although when preparations for the train ride were complete with the detachment on board, they still had to wait a half hour while the railroad employees prepared a manifest for the trip. When the paperwork was finally completed, the engineer and fireman climbed up into the locomotive cab. Three toots of the whistle were blown, then the train lurched forward.

  Scout Michael Strongbow’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Arizona Territory, here we come!”


  Hawkins, who had spent a lot of time on the Tierra Brava Desert, gave the young enthusiast a look of empathetic amusement.

  It was close to midnight on the Guerras Reservation, and the crates of fifty Henry rifles and ammunition sat in the back of Hezekiah’s buckboard. He and Leo Horton had brought a kerosene lantern with them and it dimly lit the area around the vehicle.

  Leo tipped his hat back on his head. “Let me tell you, Hezekiah, I was afeared them rifles wasn’t gonna ever come.”

  Hezekiah gave him a reproving look. “Oh, ye of little faith, Leo! You should have knowed the Good Lord wouldn’t let us down.” The one thing Hezekiah didn’t want to do was show any weakness or worry. Leo was naturally a nervous, fretful fellow as it was.

  “I didn’t really lose my faith, but I figgered God was cutting things pretty close to the bone,” the barber declared.

  Three-quarters of an hour passed before they heard the plod of horses’ hooves out in the darkness. A few moments later, the Prophet and Pontaro appeared in the lantern light. The two Apaches rode up to the buckboard and looked down at the crates. Pontaro asked, “Is that rifles?”

  “Sure is,” Hezekiah replied. “The Little wood box is the bullets. Five hunnerd of ‘em.”

  Leo walked over with a claw hammer and pried the big crate open. He pulled a rifle out and handed it to Pontaro. The Apache examined it in the dull light, worked the lever, then handed it over to the Prophet. He and Pontaro exchanged words, and Pontaro looked at the white men. “He say it dirty. I say it not dirty. I say it is oil. That make gun work more better.”

  “And you’re absolutely right,” Hezekiah happily responded. “And we got fifty of ‘em like I promised.”

  Pontaro turned in the saddle and waved toward the darkness. This elicited a squeaky rumbling sound and a small farm wagon pulled by a mule came into the light. There was a driver and two passengers, all Apaches. Pontaro gestured with a nod of his head, and they jumped down and went to the crate, pulling the rifles out one by one to take them over to the wagon.