Cruel Rider

by Charles G. West

  Finished with the insolent Jim Eagle, Jordan turned on his heel before the body had crumpled to the ground, and shifted his attention toward the shaken woman lying half submerged in the shallow water. With his eyes on Polly, he paused by his horse long enough to reload the magazine and slip his rifle back into the saddle sling. He had been too late to prevent her violation at the hands of Jim Eagle, but at least he had managed to prevent her execution. Now he wondered in what mental state he would find her. It would not be unusual for a woman to be driven insane after the ordeal he imagined she must have endured. Seeing her sitting there, up to her waist in the river, it was hard to guess if she had lost her mind or not. His rifle put away, he took one quick glance back at Jim Eagle’s body, then proceeded to the edge of the water.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” Jordan asked.

  Still somewhat confused by the sudden turn of events, Polly stared up at her rescuer. Jordan Gray—it registered in her bewildered mind—the puzzling scout who had refused her plea to guide her. Then she remembered a remark that a soldier had uttered—that Jordan Gray was a loner. But he seems to show up a lot just when you need him. Still, she did not answer at once. Gradually, her mind began to find its way back from the sanctuary it had sought refuge in, and she realized that she was safe. Without speaking, she nodded in answer to his question.

  “Can you get up?” Jordan asked.

  “I think so,” she replied, and slowly turned to get her knees under her. She accepted his hand, and pulled herself up to stand in the shallow water, dripping wet, her body naked below her waist. Too bewildered to be humiliated, she nevertheless attempted to hide her exposed body with her hands.

  Seeing her blanket on the ground, he quickly picked it up and wrapped it around her. “Here,” he said. “We need to dry you off, get you in some dry clothes.”

  She gazed steadily into his eyes, seeing the compassion there, and a tear slowly formed. She finally realized she really was safe. “Thank you,” she murmured softly. He nodded with a slight smile.

  She continued to gaze into his eyes for a long moment until another tear formed in the corner of her eye, only to be forced down her cheek by another. Once started, the tears began to flow freely as the stark realization struck her that she had been scant moments away from death. At a loss, and feeling totally useless, Jordan didn’t know whether to reach out to the shaken girl or not. He was afraid to touch her, to try to comfort her, for fear she might become terrified that she was about to be attacked again. She made the decision for him. Stepping into his arms, she put her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. Then, like a child, she released the fear that had been choking her. Feeling that it would somehow save her sanity, he held her close until she had cried herself out, and gently withdrew from his embrace.

  Relieved that she seemed to be all right, he said, “I’ll build up that fire, and we can boil us some coffee. All right?” She smiled and nodded, somewhat embarrassed to have pushed herself upon him. He turned away and left her to pick up some dry clothes among the articles strewn over the ground by the late Jim Eagle. Before tending the fire, Jordan dragged the half-breed’s body out of her sight and dumped it into a gully.

  They remained there for the rest of that day. Jordan left her only briefly while he hunted for game to provide some variety from the salt pork she had brought. It was only a rabbit, but it was at least a change. They did not talk about what had happened to Polly before Jordan arrived, but as the day wore on, she became much more at ease. Jordan hoped she would put the ordeal out of her mind.

  “I can take you back to Laramie,” he offered.

  “I’m not going back,” she was quick to inform him. “I’m going on to Deadwood to find my aunt Hattie.” When he responded with nothing more than a tight lip, she continued, “If you still won’t take me there, I’ll find it by myself.” She hesitated. “Maybe you can tell me how to get there.”

  Damn, he thought, too much to ask that she’d give it up. To her, he said, “I doubt that I could tell you how to get there.” How, he wondered, could anybody tell a person how to find their way through all the canyons and over the mountains between the Cheyenne River and Deadwood Gulch? How could he explain to her how dangerous it was for him to return to Deadwood where he was a wanted man? Still, burdened with the guilt for her treatment at the hands of Jim Eagle, he gave himself no choice but to relent. “Hell,” he blurted out. “I’ll take you to Deadwood.”

  Profound relief immediately shined in her face, and she was about to express her gratitude when he cut her off. “Don’t thank me for doin’ such a fool thing. I’ll take you there because you’re Hattie Moon’s niece, and because you’ll most likely end up lost or dead, or both, if you try to go alone. Deadwood ain’t exactly the healthiest place for me, so we’re gonna have to be damn careful.” He went on to explain then. “About a year ago, there was a claim robber workin’ the lonely claims—a few miners were murdered. The vigilante committee got it in their heads that me and my partner were the ones doin’ the killin’—mostly because I got to one of the claims right after the owner had been killed. Well, they strung my partner up. Ned Booth was as fine a man as I’ve ever known, and they killed him. After that, some people got killed, but only those who hung Ned and came after me.” He shrugged, not wishing to elaborate further. “Let’s just say that it seemed like a good idea for me to leave that hellhole and never go back.”

  She did not respond for a long moment, unable to decide if she should now fear this man who had saved her—or feel guilty about placing him in danger once more. “I don’t know what to say,” she at last responded. “I guess it isn’t right for me to ask you to guide me.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna take you to Deadwood.” His face broke out a smile. “Hattie Moon would kick my behind if she found out I let her niece ride through those mountains alone.”

  Chapter 5

  They started out the next morning, Jordan leading on the scruffy, gray mare, and Polly riding behind on Jim Eagle’s horse. After some consideration, Jordan released the horse Polly had purchased in Fort Laramie to fend for itself. Although the horse had a split hoof, he didn’t feel it serious enough to permanently cripple the animal. It seemed content to remain by the river, grazing on the spring grass, briefly gazing after the departing riders before returning its attention to the grass.

  Jim Eagle had ridden a stout horse, a paint, and like Jordan’s, unshod. Polly had half expected Jordan to take the paint for himself, not realizing the cantankerous mare he called Sweet Pea was a match for any horse when it came to strength and determination.

  The paint seemed content to follow Sweet Pea’s lead, moving at an easy pace as Polly gazed up at the steep mountains on either side of them. The slopes were covered with dark pines and etched by impassive rock ledges. It was a strange land, both beautiful and frightening at the same time. She was thankful that Jordan had agreed to guide her. She would have been afraid if she were alone. When they had stopped for the noon meal and to rest the horses, he had told her of the reverence for the hills by the Sioux. Paha Sapa was the Sioux name for the Black Hills, and to them it was a sacred place. It angered them to see white men despoil it.

  Her thoughts returned to the man in the buckskin shirt before her, and she wondered why she felt completely safe with a man she knew so little about. Jordan Gray was a mystery not only to her, but even to many men he had ridden with. According to Lieutenant DiMarco, Jordan Gray was content to let people think what they would—he owed no one an apology for avoiding their companionship. A born loner, DiMarco had said, yet she found Jordan courteous and not at all distant. Her thoughts were interrupted when he held up his hand and pulled his horse to a stop.

  Backing up to her, he said, “Wait here for a moment. I’ll be right back.” She nodded and he rode forward until reaching a low ridge where he dismounted. Leaving his horse behind, he made his way into the trees. As soon as he disappeared into the pines, she immediately felt desperately alone, eve
n though she could see Sweet Pea standing patiently at the foot of the ridge. A long moment later, she felt herself relax when he again appeared, not realizing until then how tense she had become. In no apparent haste, he climbed into the saddle and returned to her, holding Sweet Pea to a slow walk. By his casual approach, she could only guess that he may have simply sought privacy to answer nature’s call.

  When he came up to her, he smiled and said, “I expect it would be better to ride back a’ways to where the valley was split by this mountain, and take the other side.” He offered no further explanation for the change in direction, but urged Sweet Pea forward with his heels. She turned the paint and followed, wondering if he had forgotten the way to Deadwood.

  Upon reaching the point he had suggested, he guided his horse up into the pines that started at the base of the mountain. After making their way a couple dozen yards into the thick forest, he stopped and dismounted, motioning for her to do the same. She did as she was told. “You just sit down here and rest a bit,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  This time, she decided to see what his mysterious actions were all about and, after a few seconds, followed him. She found him kneeling near the edge of the trees. She started to speak, but he motioned for her to remain silent. Then he pointed to the valley below. She drew a sudden breath of surprise. Not more than twenty yards below them, she saw four Lakota warriors, their faces painted for war, riding the same trail she and Jordan had just left. Seized by cold fear, she held her breath until the warriors passed by, and disappeared from view.

  “Come,” Jordan said softly and took her arm. “They don’t know we’re here. We’ll take the other side of the mountain. It’ll be a little bit longer, but there’s about thirty more of their friends up ahead on the trail we just left.”

  It was close to four and a half days before Jordan and Polly made camp in a valley some two or three miles from Deadwood Gulch. It had been necessary to take another trail when they had almost encountered the Sioux war party. The detour had cost them a full day. Now, with several hours of daylight remaining, Polly wondered why Jordan chose to make camp instead of riding on into Deadwood.

  “I’ll take you in tonight,” he explained. “There’s a good chance I might get shot on sight if I go prancin’ up in broad daylight.”

  Polly understood his caution then. “I’ll make some coffee,” she said, and knelt beside the tiny stream that wound around their campsite. She was excited to be so close to her aunt, but could not deny some feelings of reluctance to see her trip at an end. The past few days traveling with Jordan were among the more peaceful days of her life since she was a child. Even the close call with the Sioux war party had given her no cause for real alarm. She felt safe with Jordan. Now there were other things to worry about. Aunt Hattie—what if her mother’s sister would not be happy to see a strange niece show up at her doorstep? How could she be sure Aunt Hattie was still in Deadwood? Jordan said she was there, but that was a year ago. Any number of things could have come to pass in a year’s time. For this reason, she was reluctant to say good-bye to Jordan. The considerate thing to do would be to leave him now. He had said that it was only a couple of miles to Deadwood. She could go on by herself, and not expose him to the danger of being seen by someone. I owe him my life. Why endanger his? But what, she wondered, would she do if her aunt was no longer there? She decided to let him make the decision. If he suggested that it might be best for her to go on alone, then she would. No need to fret over it, she thought. I’ll deal with whatever I find.

  Under a full moon, the two riders made their way along a low ridge toward the thriving mining town. It would have made little difference had there been no moon, for the sky was lit up for a mile or more over the gulch like the glow of a huge lantern. As they neared the lower end of the gulch, the sounds of the settlement reached them. Drifting upon the gentle spring breeze, a cacophony rose up from the saloons and gambling parlors like the woeful lament of the damned rising out of hell. Jordan could not help but think of the outrage felt by the Sioux when they witnessed this white man’s town, lodged like a festering sore in the heart of their sacred land.

  Feeling more and more apprehensive, Polly pulled up closer to Jordan as they rode down the main street of Deadwood. Walking his horse slowly, Jordan kept a sharp eye, scanning the board walkways, lest some member of the vigilante committee might suddenly recognize him. With that potential in mind, he rested his rifle across his saddle before him, just in case. His caution was unnecessary, however, for the hour was late, and honest men had retired to their beds. The hard-drinking, gambling rabble was far too concerned with seeking their pleasures to take note of the two silent figures riding along the muddy street.

  Jordan pulled Sweet Pea to a stop at the upper end of the street, puzzled for a moment until he read the sign scrawled over the door of the wooden structure. THE TROUGH, it proclaimed. He smiled to himself then. Hattie and Maggie must be prospering, he thought. Their dining room had been housed in a tent when he last saw them. Because it was well past the supper hour, the door was closed and the building dark. Jordan led Polly along the side of the building to the back and the detached kitchen and living quarters. They were the same as he remembered. As he stepped down, his mind flashed back to the last time he had come here. It was night then, too, and the eve of a killing time that would last for several days. The thought caused his back muscles to tense. They had hanged Ned Booth the day before. Poor Ned, he thought, he had ridden into town for no other purpose than to make sure the committee knew Jordan had nothing to do with the death of a miner up on Hard Luck Creek. Jordan’s mouth went dry with the bitter taste of that memory, and the rage it had ignited inside him.

  He had sought to put that time behind him. It was the reason he had rejected Polly’s request when she first asked him to take her to Deadwood. Well, he thought. I am here, anyway. The trouble between the men of Deadwood and himself was over a year past. He resolved not to let his mind dwell there. He stepped toward Polly’s horse in order to help her down. Her feet were barely on the ground when he heard the unmistakable metallic click of a pistol being cocked. He froze, his eyes automatically going to the rifle in Jim Eagle’s saddle sling. The voice in the shadows anticipated his thoughts.

  “Reach for it, and you’re a dead man.”

  Jordan and Polly turned to face the direction the voice had come from. Although it had been more than a year, it was a voice that Jordan could never forget. “This is a helluva way to welcome visitors,” Jordan said.

  “This is a helluva time of night for visitors,” the voice shot back. “Step out in the moonlight so I can get a look at you.” Both Jordan and Polly complied. There was a long moment of hesitation, then, “Jordan Gray, is that you?”

  “I reckon,” Jordan replied. “I see you’re as friendly as ever, Maggie.”

  “Well, I’ll be go to hell,” Maggie Hogg blurted out. “I never thought I’d see you around here again.” As soon as she said it, she immediately remembered. “Have you gone loco? There’s still some here that would shoot you on sight.” Not waiting for Jordan to reply, Maggie turned her attention to Polly. “Who’s this you got with you? You ain’t up and married, have you?”

  “Not hardly,” Jordan answered. “This is Polly Hatcher. She’s come lookin’ for her aunt Hattie.”

  “Her aunt Hat—” Maggie blurted out in surprise. “Hattie!” she called out. “Open the door!”

  Hattie Moon was fully as shocked as her partner upon seeing Jordan Gray again, as well as being confronted with a niece she had not known existed. She turned the lantern up, and held the door open wide. When all had entered the small shack that served as living quarters for the two women, she stood appraising her surprise visitor. “So, you’re Florence’s girl. My Lord in heaven,” she marveled. “I swear, I can see you favor your mother.” It had been many years since Hattie had seen her sister and, looking at Polly, it was like seeing her now. “How is Florence?” Hattie asked. When Polly told her
that Florence had passed away some years back, Hattie sighed sorrowfully, disappointed to hear the news. But after the time she had spent on the frontier, she was hardened to the facts of life and death. “God rest her soul” was all she said.

  “How on earth did you wind up out here in Deadwood?” Maggie asked.

  Polly hesitated for just a moment, reluctant to say that she had come all this way in hopes her aunt might help her start a new life, far away from her past. Looking at her, Jordan had wondered himself how Hattie would accept the news that Polly had come to live with her. He listened with interest as Polly explained. “Well, everybody’s talking about the gold strike in Deadwood, and I had nothing back in Omaha holding me.” She sighed. “So, I thought I might as well come see if there was some way I could make a living out here.”

  It was a simple enough answer, and Jordan turned his attention toward Hattie and Maggie to see if they would respond in the way Polly was hoping for. They did. “Why, you could stay right here with me and Hattie,” Maggie immediately suggested. “If you ain’t too proud to work in a kitchen, we could use some help. Couldn’t we, Hattie?”

  “We sure could. We were just talkin’ about hirin’ somebody to help us out. We’re gettin’ a bigger and bigger crowd to feed every day,” Hattie said, beaming her delight. “How ’bout it, honey? We’ve got plenty of room to set you up a bed right here—if you don’t mind bunkin’ with two old turkey buzzards.”

  Jordan was relieved. Even though he considered his obligation ended with Polly’s safe passage to Deadwood, he would not have felt comfortable leaving, knowing that she was trying to make it on her own in an untamed place like this. Polly accepted the invitation at once, and all three women smiled delightedly. Polly’s eye caught Jordan’s, and he nodded approvingly. The new arrangement settled, everyone’s attention turned to Jordan.