Cruel Rider

by Charles G. West

  Sweet Pea snorted and tossed her head as she usually did when catching the scent of a strange horse. Having learned to pay attention to the ornery mare’s fits and moods, Jordan scanned the banks along both sides of the river, but could spot nothing out of the ordinary. He glanced back over his shoulder at Toby. The boy was plodding steadily along behind him, and showed no sign of concern. Jordan decided that Sweet Pea had probably sensed a coyote slinking along in the underbrush near the water’s edge.

  It was nearing dusk when they reached the Rosebud Valley, and although they had seen plenty of sign, they had spotted no hostiles. “There ain’t much daylight left,” Jordan commented. “I expect we’d better find a good place to camp. We can start lookin’ for Mr. Pike in the mornin’. Accordin’ to Stanton, he had two other men with him. If they scouted this part of the valley, we oughta be able to find fresh tracks of three horses easy enough.”

  A campsite was selected near the water where the Rosebud took a gentle turn toward the west before winding back on a more northerly course. There was good grass for the horses and a thick grove of willows to conceal their campfire. Jordan and Toby were not the first to select the spot. There were remains of an old fire tucked into a shallow gully that parted the willows. Jordan raked through the ashes. “Hard to say how long ago,” he answered Toby’s unspoken question. “At least a week, maybe more.” He got to his feet again. “Let’s see to the horses, and then we’ll make us a fire.”

  They pulled the saddles off and hobbled the horses before leaving them to graze the new grass near the water’s edge. Sweet Pea stamped menacingly when Jordan tied her feet. She was not accustomed to being hobbled. It was not her habit to wander far from Jordan, and she felt the need to show her resentment to what she deemed an insult. Knowing her feelings had been hurt, Jordan spent an extra minute stroking her neck and scratching behind her ears. He knew she wasn’t likely to wander, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance when there was such an abundance of Indian sign about.

  The horses taken care of, they set about making coffee to drink with the little bit of bacon that was left. “We’re gonna have to take some time to hunt before long,” Jordan commented as he cut strips from the salted meat. “I can go just so long before I have to have some fresh meat.”

  Toby grunted his agreement, then said, “Jordan, when we catch up with Pike, I wanna be the one that shoots him.”

  Jordan took a moment to study the boy’s face before responding. “Well, it doesn’t make any difference to me whose bullet stops him. I reckon it’ll just depend on what happens when we find him. Why, hell, if he just stands still and says, ‘Go ahead, boys. Who wants the first shot?’ then you’re welcome to take it.” Jordan watched Toby cock an eyebrow in response to his flip reply. Up to now, the boy had said very little about killing Bill Pike. In fact, he had little to say about anything—a trait that had pleased Jordan because it fit well with his own tendencies. He had evidently been smitten with Polly Hatcher. That fact was certainly evident.

  Toby realized that his request may have sounded a bit naive, and he fumbled a bit when he said, “Well, I mean it’s just that it’s important to me to settle a score.”

  Jordan smiled and nodded his understanding. “If he’s in this part of the valley, we’ll find him. We’ll do the whole world some good if we can kill that son of a bitch.” He stopped to think about the statement that just passed his lips, and the casual irony behind it. He was struck by a brief moment of conscience, and he wondered at what point in his life he had come to talk about taking a human life in the same tone as killing a snake or a rodent. The spark of conscience lasted for no more than a brief moment, however, before flickering and dying when he recalled an image of Polly’s face. Then he thought of Jonah Parsons, a man who had no enemies, white or red. Pike deserved a killing.

  In the saddle again at daylight, Jordan and Toby started working their way south along the Rosebud, searching for fresh tracks or the site of a recent camp. There were many tracks, all from unshod Indian ponies, and a mass trail left by a large party of Indians. It was Jordan’s guess that this trail was left when the Sioux retreated to their village after their victorious encounter with General Crook’s troops. But the tracks Jordan and Toby searched for were not found until they had made their way some eight or ten miles toward the headwaters of the creek, and reversed their search to cover the same ground again.

  They almost passed over them again before noticing two clear prints from a shod hoof beside a grassy bank that jutted out into the creek. “Whoa,” Jordan called out. “I think we found somethin’ here.” He dismounted to examine the tracks more closely. “They seem to be pointing toward that ravine.” He stood up and squinted against the afternoon sun as he studied the stand of cottonwoods that framed the entrance to a shallow defile. He was about to caution Toby to watch himself before riding into what could be trouble, but the boy didn’t give him a chance. He kicked his horse hard, and charged into the mouth of the ravine, his rifle out of the sling. Jordan shook his head in wonder. Sometimes Toby could be exasperating.

  Relieved to hear no gunshots, Jordan followed his impetuous young partner. He found Toby standing, staring at two bodies—dead for a couple of days by the look of them. “If I had to guess,” Jordan said with no show of emotion, “I’d say these are the two scouts that went out with Pike.” After a moment, he dismounted and stepped closer. “If I took another guess, I’d say this was the work of our man, Pike, ’cause it don’t look like the work of Indians.” There were no signs of mutilation, no missing scalps. He walked up the side of the ravine to take a look around. About a quarter of a mile down the valley, he spotted two horses grazing in the tall grass. They were still saddled.

  Toby climbed up beside him, and immediately spotted the horses. “I expect we’d best round up them horses,” he said. “I reckon we’ll be totin’ those fellers back to Goose Creek.” It seemed the Christian thing to do.

  Jordan didn’t comment for a minute or more as he continued to stare out across the valley. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, unemotional voice. “I expect we’d best forget about the horses, and leave the bodies where they lie.” He pointed toward the high grass between the water and the horses. Toby stared at the spot indicated for several moments. Seeing nothing unusual, he looked at Jordan, puzzled. Jordan pointed again. This time he saw a gentle movement of the grass. He continued to stare and finally he saw what Jordan was pointing out. Forming a half circle, at least a dozen Sioux warriors were gradually closing in on the unsuspecting horses, their movement through the grass like that of a fox.

  “Goddam!” Toby gasped, and started to raise his rifle.

  Jordan immediately knocked it down. “Be still, dammit! You wanna get us killed?” When Toby settled back, Jordan said, “There’s a dozen warriors out there that we can see. There’s no tellin’ how many more there are that we can’t see.” He motioned toward the horses behind them. “Let’s just back down off this rim nice and easy, and walk the horses out of this ravine. If we can cross over to the other side of the water before those Sioux find out we’re here, we can probably ride on out of here with our scalps.”

  Toby acknowledged Jordan’s instructions with a brief nod, and immediately backed down the side of the ravine. After another look to make sure they had not as yet been discovered, Jordan followed. There was no indication that the Sioux suspected their presence, but Jordan knew it would only be a matter of time. Finding two horses with white man’s saddles and other gear, they would soon comb the ravines and gullies in search of the men who rode the horses. They would find the bodies of the two white scouts quick enough, and that might be the end of it. On the other hand, he thought, they might want to find out who did the shooting. At any rate, it was best to put a little distance between them and the Indians.

  Using the ravine for cover, they led the horses down into the water before climbing into the saddle. Once mounted, they pushed on across in water that came up to the horses’ wither
s in spots before they scrambled up the opposite bank. Everything was going well until Toby’s horse stumbled going up the bank, causing it to slide back a few feet. Unfortunately, it slid close enough so that its rump was in range of Sweet Pea’s muzzle. As she was apt to do any time she was presented with the opportunity, Sweet Pea took a sizable nip out of the roan’s hide, causing the surprised horse to squeal with pain and begin to buck.

  “Oh, shit,” Jordan muttered, and drove his heels into Sweet Pea’s flanks. The mare responded, driving up the bank past Toby who was doing his best to remain in the saddle. “Don’t you fall off that damn horse,” Jordan commanded as he rode past, grabbing Toby’s loose reins as he did. Wasting no time to look behind them, he galloped away from the creek bank, leading Toby’s horse by the reins. In his mind, he pictured the warriors stalking the two stray horses, and figured they would probably pause when they heard Toby’s horse squeal. With no way of knowing what had caused the sound, they would have no reason to immediately give chase. But when they discovered the two bodies, they would no doubt figure that the horse they heard cry out was ridden by a white man. And when they figured that out, Jordan intended to be a couple of miles away.

  It was a reasonable plan, and may have worked had not another file of Sioux warriors appeared on the bluffs directly before the fleeing white men. Jordan pulled up sharply, causing Toby’s horse to slide to a stop behind him. While he considered his options, Jordan tossed Toby’s reins back to him. For the moment, white men and red exchanged stares, both surprised by the encounter. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a high-pitched call from one of the warriors on the bluff. Jordan didn’t have to know Lakota to figure the warriors stalking the horses were being called to close in behind them. He turned to Toby. “I hope that horse of yours can run,” he said.

  “He’ll hold his own,” Toby replied.

  Jordan was relieved to notice that the boy, though worried, showed no sign of panic. “Well, I reckon it’s gonna be a horse race,” he said. “Ready?” Toby nodded, and Jordan smacked the roan sharply on the rump, causing the startled stallion to bolt. Sweet Pea took off in pursuit without Jordan’s urging.

  The chase was on. Overtaking Toby’s horse almost immediately, Sweet Pea surged ahead, and Jordan led as they raced along the narrow, grassy valley. The Sioux hunting party gave chase at once, descending from the bluffs and angling across the tablelands that sloped to the river. Avoiding the clumps of wild rose bushes that grew in profusion in the valley, Sweet Pea pounded the earth beneath her hooves, seemingly aware that she was being tested—and the ornery mare was determined not to lose the contest. Jordan bent low over her neck. His one objective at this point was to gain the end of the valley where the bluffs closed in to form a narrow passage. His major concern was Toby’s horse, for he didn’t know the strength of the stallion. One misstep as they galloped across the uneven ground and the race would be over. Glancing back over his shoulder, he was gratified to see that Toby’s statement was accurate. The horse was holding its own, although falling back a little from Sweet Pea’s torrid pace.

  Several shots rang out as the Indians tried for lucky hits, but the distance was too far for accuracy. The bullets fell harmlessly in the grass behind them. Glancing over his other shoulder, Jordan caught sight of the Sioux he had first seen stalking the scouts’ horses. They were racing along the other side of the river, and would have to cross over before warranting his concern. He returned his attention to the party driving to cut him off before he reached the end of the valley. Their swift ponies were equally up to the task, but the race was gradually going to the two white men—thanks to their initial lead.

  After what seemed an eternity, Jordan reached the end of the meadow where the bluffs closed in. Reining Sweet Pea back hard, he was out of the saddle before she slid to a stop, rifle in hand. Moments later, Toby galloped in. “Get the horses back in that gully,” he directed, handing his reins to the boy. “I’ll slow our friends down a little.” He ran back to a gully at the opening of the passage and settled himself to wait for the pursuing hunting party to get in range. It didn’t take long, for they were already within two hundred yards when Jordan and Toby reached the temporary safety of the passage. He waited, taking an occasional glance back to see that Toby had the horses out of the line of fire. Jordan was as good a shot with a Winchester as any man, but he knew the effective range of the repeating rifle was one hundred and fifty yards at best. And he was not one to hope for lucky shots, so he waited. Toby scrambled up beside him, his Henry in his hand.

  “Wait till they get to that little ridge,” Jordan said, pointing to a swell in the open meadow about one hundred yards distant. “Take careful aim. You take that buck on the paint. I’ll take the one next to him on the gray.” The two warriors he singled out were racing ahead of the others. Jordan was confident that if they knocked those two down, it would effectively put a stop to the charge. The warriors would not continue to rush foolishly into an ambush.

  Steadying their rifles on the rim of the gully, they waited patiently until the two leading warriors reached the designated spot. Almost in unison, two shots rang out, and the two warriors tumbled from their ponies. The other warriors scattered, immediately seeking cover. Jordan cranked another round into the chamber and sent another of their attackers to the ground before they could gain the protection of the rise.

  “By damn, we stopped ’em,” Toby exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement.

  Jordan reloaded his rifle, replacing the two spent rounds before answering. “We made ’em blink, but we sure as hell ain’t stopped ’em.” He slid back from the edge of the gully, and got to his feet. “Come on, we’d better not be sittin’ here when they get up in those bluffs above us.”

  Realizing then that the encounter was far from over, Toby scrambled back after him. “You think they’ll come back for some more after we already killed three of ’em?”

  “They’ll come back for more because we killed three of ’em,” Jordan replied matter-of-factly. “And we ain’t got more’n about ten or fifteen minutes before those bluffs on both sides of us will be swarmin’ with ’em.” Taking no further time for explanations, he ran for his horse. Toby paused only for a moment before following right on his heels. Thoughts of Bill Pike were far from their minds at that moment.

  Riding as fast as possible over the narrow trail that followed close by the river, they hurried to reach a sharp bend about fifty yards ahead. Once they reached it, Jordan figured they would be shielded momentarily from Sioux rifle fire from the bluffs. The horses, only briefly rested after their sprint across the valley, responded once more to their masters’ urging. But the angry Sioux warriors were quicker to reach positions among the crevices along the bluff than Jordan had expected. With still more than a dozen yards to safety, the cracking of their rifles suddenly split the air, sending lead snapping and ricocheting off the rocks around the fleeing pair. Jordan and Toby barely reached cover before a blanket of rifle fire covered the ground behind them. Safe for the moment, there was no choice but to keep moving. The Sioux warriors held the high ground and would soon trap them in a cross fire from the bluffs above them on both sides of the river.

  “Come on!” Jordan called back to Toby when the boy reined back on his horse. “Our bacon is cooked if we stop here.” He nodded toward the steep bluff above Toby’s head. “If we’re still sittin’ here when they get to that spot, they can shoot right down our shirts.” He nudged Sweet Pea, and the mare sprang forward along the bank. Although tiring quickly, Toby’s roan gamely followed.

  Knowing Sweet Pea’s strength, Jordan’s plan initially was to simply outrun their attackers. That plan had to be abandoned, however, because Toby’s horse began to fall back before they had galloped another two hundred yards. Jordan pulled up to let Toby catch up. “Brownie’s give out,” Toby exclaimed when he reached Jordan.

  Jordan nodded. He could see that for himself. He scoured the bluffs above them, looking for a place to make a stand. Anoth
er hundred yards or so and they would have cleared the narrow canyon, and come out on another meadow. One thing was clear—they could not stay where they were, for they were down at the water’s edge while the Indians would soon be swarming the bluffs above them on both sides. Now that Toby’s horse was too tired to make the all-out dash up the open valley, it might be suicide to continue following the river. Searching the gullies and ravines that cut the bluffs down to the water, he made his choice. “Up there,” he said, pointing. “Let’s lead the horses up that gully to the top of the bluff. It looks like it might be deep enough to hide the horses. We oughta be able to hold ’em off for a considerable time up there.”

  At this point, Toby had no opinion one way or the other. Whatever Jordan said was what he was ready to do. He hurried into the mouth of the gully, leading his horse after him, picking his steps carefully as he followed Jordan up the steep defile. Once they reached the top, they quickly looked the situation over. The gully they had just ascended from flattened out near the top of the bluffs. Now they were no longer below the warriors, but Jordan decided the position was too open after all. He looked around for an alternative, cognizant that the Sioux warriors could appear at any moment. “Up there!” Toby blurted out, pointing toward a large outcropping of rocks halfway up the hill behind them.