The rest of the night was peaceful, and the outfit was ready for breakfast when the first gray light of dawn shone in the east. Wovoka had gone to find the dead Paiute’s horse.
“Gus,” said Lonnie, “I want you and Justin to get some shovels from the wagon and bury that Paiute. Try to cover the grave with leaves as best you can. Once they learn their scout is dead, they’ll be hell-bent on revenge.”
“They’ll know he’s dead when he don’t come back,” Kirby Lowe said. “By tonight, I’d say we’d all better be on watch.”
“You’re right about that,” said Elliot Graves.
“We’ll take care of tonight when it gets here,” Lonnie said. “Wovoka will ride along the Chama for at least twenty miles, looking for sign.”
“If they’re smart, they won’t leave any sign along the river,” said Sandy Orr. “They’ll ride far enough from the river to avoid us finding their sign.”
“That won’t stop Wovoka,” Lonnie said. “Once he’s ridden the twenty miles, if he’s found no Indian sign, he’ll ride half a dozen miles parallel to each bank of the river. The Paiutes are going to learn a hard lesson, I think, because it’s Indian against Indian.”
“Sí,” said Wovoka. “Kill Paiute.”
*Present-day name of this is Cañon Largo, a tributary of the San Juan.
15
On the Chama River. August 19, 1853.
Wovoka returned in time for breakfast, leading the horse that had belonged to last night’s dead Paiute. He loosed the animal with their own remuda. Breakfast over, Lonnie spent a few minutes with Wovoka. The Shoshone had learned enough English until it had become much easier to communicate with him. He mounted his horse and rode out, following the Chama. Within minutes, the outfit had the herd moving, with the horse remuda at their heels. Becky was on the wagon box, while Mindy, April, and Laura rode close to the wagon.
“Dallas said we’re supposed to watch the back trail,” Mindy said. “With all our horses back here behind the herd, the Indians might hit the drive from behind. I think all of us ought to arm ourselves with some of the Colts taken from that bunch of outlaws who tried to bushwhack us.”
“Good idea,” said Becky. “Here.”
From beneath the wagon seat, she passed Mindy one of the gunbelts with a loaded Colt in the holster. Laura and April made similar requests, and were each handed one of the gun rigs with its Colt.
“This belt’s too big,” April complained. “It’ll slide down around my feet the minute I dismount.”
“Loop it around your saddle horn,” said Laura. “That’s what I’m doing with mine.”
Dallas, Gus, Sandy, Benjamin, Elliot, and Justin rode drag, bunching the horses close on the heels of the herd of longhorns. Long without rain, the ground was dry, and in the air, clouds of dust hung stationary, as though they might remain there indefinitely. The herd, the horses, and the riders were sweat-soaked. Becky wiped her sweating face on the sleeve of her shirt and made an unladylike comment her three companions thought uproariously funny.
“I need to go to the bushes for a minute or two,” Mindy said, “but I’m afraid to go by myself after having that outlaw carry me away.”
“I don’t see how you could have any moisture left in you, the way we’re sweating,” said Laura. “Dallas is riding drag. You can get him to stop with you.”
“Damn it,” Mindy said, “I don’t want the whole outfit knowing.”
“Then why go anywhere?” said Becky. “Nobody’s going to know it’s not sweat.”
April laughed. “I’ll spread the word that you sweated more than any of us.”
“You do,” Mindy said ominously, “and I’ll tell Dirk some of the things you’ve told me about him.”
“Do that,” said April, “and I won’t wait for an Indian attack to use this pistol.”
Almost a dozen miles ahead of the drive, Wovoka reined up, listening. Hearing nothing to arouse his suspicion, he was about to ride on. Then, several hundred yards upstream, he saw a covey of birds dip down toward a thicket, only to rise again and fly away. There was trouble ahead, and Wovoka suspected it was more than he could handle alone. It was his duty to return to the trail drive and warn them in time to prepare for attack. Quickly he wheeled his horse, kicking the animal into a fast gallop.
“Aaaaiyeee,” came a shout from behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Wovoka could see a dozen mounted Indians pursuing him at a fast gallop. Some carried lances in their hands. Wovoka’s horse was already running at a gait that would soon exhaust the animal, allowing his pursuers to ride him down. While he was tempted to turn and fire, he knew that accuracy with a gun from the back of a galloping horse was difficult. He would save his ammunition. He had learned from the cowboys that three quickly fired shots was a call for help, but he felt he was still too far ahead of the drive for the shots to be heard. On he galloped, aware that his weary horse had begun to heave. He would soon be forced to take a stand, and he began looking for some cover. But time had run out, and fate took a hand. The left front hoof of his horse plunged into an invisible stump hole full of dead leaves. Wovoka was thrown over the animal’s head, and behind him he could hear the victorious whoops of his pursuers. Wovoka had but one chance and he took it. The riverbank was high enough that water had eaten into the bank, leaving a two-or three-foot overhang. A shelf. Wovoka rolled off the bank into the water, and as far under the overhang as he could get. While his enemies couldn’t get at him from his side of the river, he would be in plain sight from the opposite bank. He drew his Colt, prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible. Upstream, he could hear splashing as the riders plunged their horses into the river. Wovoka fingered the deerskin bag on a leather thong around his neck. In it were enough paraffin-coated loads to fill the loading gate of his Colt five more times.* But he was at a disadvantage. The opposite bank of the river had a dense thicket that would provide cover for the attackers, and they wasted no time taking advantage of it. An arrow thunked into the muddy riverbank, quickly followed by two others, all narrowly missing Wovoka. He fired three times into the thicket and there was a cry of pain. But the arrows kept coming, one of them slashing through the buckskin legging into Wovoka’s left thigh. But the wind was out of the west, and the three shots had been heard.
“Head ’em,” Lonnie shouted, waving his hat.
Some of the others had heard the distant shots, and the nearest riders—Dirk, Kirby, Gus, and Waco—galloped their horses to where Lonnie waited. Dallas was the first of the drag riders to arrive.
“Wovoka’s in trouble,” said Lonnie. “Dallas, you’re in charge. Dirk, Kirby, Gus, Waco, and me will get to him, if we can.”
Dallas nodded as his five companions galloped along the river. Eventually they heard two more shots, closer this time.
“He’s got just one more shot,” Waco shouted. “Then the varmints will be rushing him before he can reload.”
When Wovoka fired his sixth round, his companions were close enough to see the puff of smoke rise above the riverbank.
“Fill that thicket with lead,” Lonnie shouted.
The five of them each fired five times, saving one shot. There was no response from the thicket and none from beneath the riverbank’s overhang, where Wovoka had taken refuge. The silence dragged on, evidence that the attackers had obviously retreated. Then Wovoka cautiously raised his head above the riverbank.
“Bueno amigos,” said the Indian. “Follow. Kill.”
“Not this time,” Lonnie said. “You have an arrow in your leg. Mount up behind me and we’ll get you back to the wagon.”
But Wovoka seemed not to have heard. He had thumbed open the loading gate of his Colt and was reloading the weapon. Finished, he thrust it under his waistband and set off across the river.
“That don’t strike me as bein’ a smart thing to do” said Kirby.
“They’re gone,” Lonnie said, “and he knows it. He wants to know if we hit any of the varmints.”
Wovo
ka disappeared into the thicket and almost immediately reappeared, leading a dead Paiute’s horse. He held up just one finger.
“One lucky shot,” said Gus. “Wonder how many there were?”
“Not many,” Lonnie said, “or they wouldn’t have ran.”
Wovoka had splashed back across the river. Climbing out, he held up both hands, all fingers extended. He then raised two more fingers.
“Twelve of them, minus one dead,” Waco said. “I’d bet my boots and saddle they’re part of a larger party. They just took advantage of Wovoka because he was alone.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Lonnie. “We’ll catch hell farther on.”
Wovoka mounted the dead Indian’s horse and they started back to meet the herd. Just a mile distant, they found Wovoka’s horse limping along, grazing as he went. Waco caught the animal, using his lariat for a lead rope.
“He’s just lamed,” Lonnie said, “and he’ll be all right after a rest.”
But the worst was yet to come. Dallas, Justin, Sandy, Benjamin, and Elliot rode a slow circle around the bunched horses and longhorns. Mindy, Laura, and April had remained with Becky and the wagon. It was April who made a startling discovery.
“Indians behind us!” she shouted.
On they came, more than two dozen of them. The lead rider shouted at the others and they kicked their horses into a fast gallop, spreading out. Becky was the first to recover from the shock. Leaping down from the wagon box, she cut loose with her Colt. While the Paiutes were still out of gun range, the shots alerted the riders circling the herd.
“Come on,” Dallas shouted. “We can’t let them get close enough to stampede the herd and the horses.”
Several miles away, Lonnie and his companions heard the shots.
“Let’s ride,” Lonnie shouted. “The varmints are attacking the rest of the outfit. They just created a diversion to draw some of us away.”
The shooting continued as Lonnie and the rest of the outfit galloped to the rescue. The Paiutes were close enough that their arrows were ripping into the wagon canvas. But to the evident surprise of the attackers, the four women beside the wagon were demonstrating a remarkable accuracy. By the time Dallas and his riders joined the fray, four of the Paiutes were down. The others seemed to pause, undecided, allowing Dallas and his companions to gallop within range. With the increased fire, four more Indians went down. That seemed to make up the minds of the others, and they galloped their horses back the way they had come. By the time Lonnie and the rest of the outfit arrived, it was all over.
“Anybody hurt?” Lonnie shouted, leaping down from his saddle.
“Nobody,” said Dallas, “and we owe this one to the ladies. They cut loose before the rest of us was in range, pickin’ off four of the varmints. That confused them long enough for the rest of us to get four more of them.”
“I think we just turned their hole card upside down,” Lonnie said. “They reckoned we’d ride to help Wovoka, and figured to attack the herd while only a few were here to defend it. Great shooting, all of you. Before we move on, Wovoka has an arrow wound that needs tending.”
“I’ll tend to it,” said Becky, taking a blanket from the wagon seat. “Peel off those buckskins, Wovoka, and stretch yourself out on this blanket.”
Clearly embarrassed, Wovoka shook his head.
“Mindy, you, April, and Laura vamoose,” Becky said. “He doesn’t want all of you seeing him without his britches.”
Again Wovoka shook his head, pointing to Becky.
Mindy laughed. “He doesn’t want any of us seeing him without his britches.”
“The four of you make yourselves scarce for a little while,” said Lonnie. “One of us will see to the wound.”
“I’ll start a fire and put some water on to boil,” Becky said. “That is, if Wovoka has no objection.”
None of them had ever heard Wovoka laugh before, and it came as a surprise when he did. It was a strange guttural sound.
“I swear that Indian understands everything we say,” said Becky, after hanging the pot of water over the fire.
“He has more manners than any man in the outfit,” Mindy said. “After the mule bit you and you were sitting around in your shirttails, he hardly looked at you at all.”
“I don’t know if I should feel grateful or insulted,” said Becky.
“Maybe he’s not old enough to be interested in females,” Mindy said. “I think he likes horses best.”
The object of their conversation sat quietly while Lonnie and Waco tended the wound. It wasn’t serious, and the shaft didn’t have to be driven through the flesh. With a bandage on his leg, Wovoka pulled on his buckskin leggings. He stood up, walking without a limp.
“I reckon we can move on,” said Lonnie. “We still have half a day of daylight.”
“We still have more of those Paiutes somewhere ahead of us,” Waco said, “and I don’t doubt the rest of this bunch that attacked from the back trail have joined forces with them by now. That’s enough to lay a pretty solid ambush.”
“I think they misjudged us and our firepower considerably,” said Lonnie. “Altogether, they lost nine men, while we lost none. I’d be more concerned if they were armed with guns. Their daytime attacks having failed, I expect them to try something else, like maybe stampeding the herd and the horses during the night.”
“Kill Paiute,” Wovoka said. “I go, I find.”
“Not this time, Wovoka,” said Lonnie. “They’ll have it in for you, after losing one of their warriors and having you escape. You’ll ride with me, and if we see any evidence of an ambush, we’ll all ride in shooting. A man alone is too much temptation for them, and I don’t want you shot full of arrows.”
“They’d dearly love to separate us and pick us off one at a time,” Gus said. “That’s the way the Comanches in Texas operate, and all the more reason why we’d better all stand watch at night until we’re out of Paiute country. They know if they scatter the herd and the horses from here to yonder, we’ll have to split up for the gather.”
“I’d say you’re right,” said Dallas.
“That means no sleep for God knows how long,” Dirk said.
“Better without sleep than without hair,” said Kirby.
“Once we’re out of New Mexico and into southern Colorado, we should be pretty much clear of Paiute country,” Lonnie said. “We should leave the Chama tomorrow, and if we’re figuring right, we shouldn’t be far from the Animas River.”
In the twilight, Lonnie had the entire outfit—including the women—in the saddle and circling the herd and the horse remuda. Midnight came and went without any disturbance, and quietly Lonnie called all the riders together.
“This is gettin’ on my nerves,” said Lonnie. “We all know damn well they’re out there somewhere, but we don’t know if there’s fifty or five hundred. Wovoka, I want you to go with me and find their camp if we can. At least we’ll know how many we’re up against. The rest of you keep watch just as you’ve been doing.”
“No moon,” Waco said. “They’ll be hard to find, if they’ve put out their fire.”
“They can’t see us any better than we can see them,” said Lonnie, “and we’re downwind. We can hear a horse stomp its foot half a mile away.”
Nobody else said anything. Seeking out the Paiute camp could be extremely dangerous, but the uncertainty, the not knowing, was taking its toll on them all. Lonnie and Wovoka rode away in the darkness.
“He’s right,” Gus said. “The varmints might wait two or three days, knowing we’re on watch all night. Then they’d hit us at dawn, when we was all hungover from no sleep.”
“I just hope Lonnie’s impatience won’t prod him into taking any unnecessary chances,” said Becky.
“Don’t let that bother you,” Waco said. “He’s got Wovoka with him, and he’s a damn savvy Indian.”
“We owe Jim Bridger for insisting we bring Wovoka with us,” said Dallas. “I believe when him and Lonnie return, they�
��ll know where the Paiute camp is and how many of them we’re up against.”
Lonnie and Wovoka kept their horses to a walk, lest the sound of their coming alert the Paiute camp. The wind—from the northwest—had increased, and brought with it the distinctive smell of rain from somewhere beyond the distant mountains. By the stars, they had been riding for close to two hours, and as though by mutual agreement, Lonnie and Wovoka reined up, listening. They heard nothing, but just as they were about to ride on, Lonnie felt Wovoka’s strong hand on his arm. Wovoka dismounted, Lonnie following. For just a moment, the night wind brought the faint odor of wood smoke. Just as abruptly as it had come, it was gone. They waited, but the smell of smoke didn’t come again, and there was only the sigh of the wind in the trees.
“Leave horse,” Wovoka said quietly, looping his reins around a convenient limb.
Lonnie tied his horse beside Wovoka’s and, allowing Wovoka to lead out, followed. It seemed to Lonnie the Paiute camp would be near the river, but that didn’t appear to be the case. In the meager starlight, Wovoka found a shallows in the river, and there they waded across. They were part way through the river when Wovoka paused, Lonnie right behind him. Somewhere ahead, a horse snorted.
“You stay,” said Wovoka softly.
It was a touchy situation, and Lonnie remained where he was. Wovoka quickly vanished in the murky shadows beneath the trees. He crept down a slope to the south of the river, pausing often to listen. Finally, in a puff of wind, a spark rose. It was from a near-dead fire and lasted only seconds, but it was enough to tell Wovoka where the Paiute camp was. He circled around the sleeping camp to the south, and there—alongside a small tributary to the river—horses grazed. Quietly Wovoka made his way to the nearest horse. Getting his arm around the animal’s neck, he calmed it. Keeping his head down, he gently led the horse among its grazing companions. The horse appeared to be moving naturally, and since it did not spook the rest of the horses, it allowed Wovoka to remain no more than a shadow as he tallied the number of grazing horses. He held his Bowie in his right hand, expecting to find some of the Paiutes on watch, but to his surprise, there were none. Quietly, he led his captive horse far enough from the others so that he could avoid spooking them. Then he swiftly made his way back to where Lonnie waited. He touched Lonnie’s arm, and in the starlight Lonnie watched him raise both hands with spread fingers five times.
The Green River Trail Page 23
