“Best not say anythin’ to Ruby about lookin’ for that other lady,” Jake warned them again, his voice lowered almost to a whisper again. “She’s full-blooded Blackfoot, and she thinks like they do on most about everythin’.” His advice was unnecessary, for the woman’s cool demeanor toward them was enough to make them feel they were in the enemy’s camp.
“I reckon we’ll see about settin’ up our camp, then,” Coldiron said.
“Best thing to do is camp down the creek a ways behind my place,” Jake advised. “Ain’t likely anybody’ll bother you there. There ain’t no good reason anybody’d even know you were there. There’s a clearing with good grass right next to the creek for your horses. I notice you’re leadin’ a couple extra horses. And if I had to guess, I’d say two of those horses, the ones with the Injun saddles, mighta belonged to previous owners who most likely died of lead poisonin’. Whaddaya aim to do with ’em?”
“We was thinkin’ about tradin’ ’em to you,” Coldiron said. He winked at Bret. “If you got anythin’ worth tradin’ for two fine ponies like them.”
“Wait a minute,” Myra spoke up then. “You ain’t trading my horse.” She had become quite comfortable riding the Appaloosa gelding.
“I reckon I was wrong,” Coldiron allowed. “I forgot to check with the boss of this outfit.”
“You didn’t get ’em from around here anywhere, did you?” Jake asked. When Coldiron told him how they came to have the horses, Jake said, “Good, just as long as none of Black Bear’s warriors recognize ’em.”
When Myra had interrupted to protest the prospect of trading her horse, Bret suddenly realized he had been blind to further needs the lady had. She had no clothes other than the dress she had been captured in, and it was getting pretty ragged from the hard wear it had been subjected to. He felt remiss in not being more observant. “Have you got any ladies’ clothes in your store?” he asked Jake. His question corralled Myra’s interest immediately.
“Why, no, I ain’t,” Jake replied, somewhat surprised that Bret should ask. “I ain’t got much call for ladies’ clothes. I got some bolts of cloth that some of the women from the village make clothes out of, but that’s all. The only clothes I sell are some trousers and a few shirts, but they’re men’s.”
“That’ll do,” Myra sang out, “a lot better than a dress.”
“I’ll show you what I’ve got,” Jake said. “You’ll have to gimme a few minutes to dig ’em out of my storeroom. Like I said, I ain’t got much call for clothes, men’s or women’s. Matter of fact, I don’t know why in the world I ever bought ’em in the first place.” He gave her a wide grin. “Maybe I knowed you’d come along sometime.”
• • •
They made camp on the grassy clearing Jake told them about, but kept the horses on a rope line close to them just in case Jake might have been overly reassuring regarding their safety.
“I don’t care if we are right behind the tradin’ post,” Coldiron said. “Injuns is Injuns, and Blackfeet ain’t never had much love for the white man.” With that in mind, they made their beds on the sand beneath the creek bank, so they would have cover in case of a surprise attack. “I’ve knowed Jake for a good many years,” Coldiron said, “but he’s been livin’ with the Blackfeet for a long time now, and he ain’t about to do nothin’ to bring ol’ Chief whatever-he-said-his-name-was down on him. I reckon I’ll sleep with both ears open tonight.”
“That might be a good idea,” Bret said.
Myra shifted around from one side to the other on her blanket, trying to gain a comfortable position to sleep. Her new shirt and pants felt stiff and unyielding, but they were a welcome addition to her scanty wardrobe.
“That is one scary woman he’s married to,” she commented when she finally settled down.
Coldiron laughed. “That’s the truth, all right. Ol’ Jake’s been married to that woman for a long time.”
“He must see something in her that doesn’t show on the outside,” Myra said.
“I think whatever he saw in her when he married her dried up long ago, and now he’s too scared to kick her out, scared if he did, he’d end up with his throat cut.” Coldiron stroked his chin whiskers, thinking back. “They had a young’n, but I never heard what happened to him. Jake don’t ever talk about him. Knowin’ that woman, she most likely had a panther. He mighta gone with his mama’s people.” He paused to consider that. “He’d be a man now.”
Chapter 7
“What these people want?” Ruby asked when she placed a plate of food on the table before Jake and sat down to face him.
“I told you, hon,” her husband replied, forgetting that he had advised Coldiron not to tell Ruby why they were here. “They musta hired Coldiron as a guide, and they’re just passin’ through this way, lookin’ for that young white woman that some of your folks snatched down on the Yellowstone.”
“What you tell them?” she asked, concerned, for she knew who had the woman and where she was.
“Ah, you know me, hon,” Jake said. “I told ’em I didn’t know nothin’ about them two women that was took. Ain’t none of my business. That ol’ gal they got with ’em was one of the two, and they got her back. They oughta just figure that’s good enough, and go on back down where they came from.”
“I don’t trust them people,” Ruby groused. “I make clothes fast, so they go from here quick.” Were it not for the money they would receive for her sewing, she would have refused to make clothes for the tall white man.
“They’ll be gone in a day or two, and we most likely won’t see ’em no more.” He paused then when he heard a faint noise outside the door of the cabin. “You hear that?” She nodded, and they both got up from the table, for it was late for a customer to be calling. Jake went to the counter near the door where his shotgun was handy.
“You’re too slow, old man,” John Lame Dog scoffed. “You’d already be dead if I wanted to kill you.” He pushed the door open then and walked into the store. Lean and dark, with a constant look of contempt, he smirked at the man behind the counter for a moment before turning to face the woman coming to greet him. “Mama,” was his only acknowledgment.
“John.” Ruby uttered the word softly. “You stay away so long. Come, you must be hungry.”
He scowled at her greeting, annoyed by her use of the name his father had insisted upon. He preferred his Blackfoot name, Lame Dog, a name that had come to him when he went into the mountains to seek a vision. She led him to the table and sat him down where Jake had been seated.
“Eat,” she insisted, and pushed the plate toward him, unconcerned that it was her husband’s supper. He obliged, stuffing a piece of boiled pork in his mouth.
Accustomed to his place in his wife’s ranking of importance, Jake went to the cupboard to get another plate for himself. He dipped some more of the pork onto the plate and sat down at the other end of the table. “What brings you back here?” he asked, knowing that the only reason would be that he was in need of something.
“I wanted to see my daddy,” Lame Dog replied sarcastically, and grinned. He paused to bite off a large mouthful of meat. “I need cartridges,” he said then. “I need other things, too.” He glanced up from his plate to give his mother a grin.
“You know, it’d be a help if you was to bring some pelts or somethin’ with you to help pay for all the stuff you come here to get,” Jake couldn’t resist commenting.
“Jake,” Ruby scolded. “He’s your son.”
“Well, he don’t hardly act like it,” Jake complained. “Whaddaya need cartridges for, anyway? I don’t reckon you’re wantin’ to go huntin’ for buffalo, are you? I gave you two boxes of cartridges last time you was here. How’d you use them up so fast?”
“Killing white men like you,” Lame Dog said with a sneer.
“I swear, you’re makin’ a mistake, runnin’ with that wild bunch of Piega
ns. We hear about them raids on white settlers on the Marias and the Judith. You forget you’re half white yourself.”
Lame Dog paused to look up at him and snarled, “Yeah, and that’s the thing I’d change if I could. I’d kill that half. The half of me that’s Blackfoot is the only half I claim.”
Making an effort to head off the violent argument that was sure to follow, Ruby placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. “You are great Blackfoot warrior. Your mother is proud of you.”
Lame Dog calmed down enough to change the subject. “Someone is camped down on the creek. I saw their fire when I rode in, but I couldn’t see who they were.”
“Just some travelers passin’ through,” Jake hurried to answer before Ruby could. “A man I’ve known for a long time. Ain’t nobody important. Your mama’s sewin’ some hides for one of ’em.”
“That so?” He looked at his mother for confirmation.
She nodded. “How long will you stay?” she asked. He always stayed in Chief Black Bear’s village when visiting, refusing to stay in a white man’s home. She did not want him to decide to stay the night with them this time for fear he might have a confrontation with the white men camping at the creek. She was familiar with Nate Coldiron’s reputation as an Indian fighter, and the young man with him impressed her as being a formidable warrior.
In answer to her question, Lame Dog replied, “Only long enough to get the things I need. Then I will go to the village.”
“Well, I reckon I can get your stuff together right quick, so you don’t get to the village too late to find you a lodge to sleep in,” Jake said.
Thinking along the same lines as his wife, he wanted to send Lame Dog on his way as quickly as possible. Without finishing his supper, he got up right away and went to his storeroom to get a box of .44 cartridges. Afraid that Lame Dog would come to look for himself, Jake hid the balance of his supply of cartridges under a pile of deer hides.
“Well, you got my last box. I reckon I’ll have to get some more pretty soon,” he said when he returned to the kitchen.
“I need more’n that,” Lame Dog complained. “When are you gonna get some more?”
“Won’t be for a month,” Jake lied, “when a boat comes upriver with some.”
He avoided Ruby’s eyes, in case she happened to know how many cartridges he really had in the storeroom.
Clearly unhappy about the number of cartridges he would have to settle for, Lame Dog gulped the rest of his food down and got up from the table.
“Well, maybe I’ll find some somewhere else. Let’s see what else I need.”
Jake followed him around the little store as the disgruntled half-breed grabbed anything that struck his fancy. Before he was through, he had filled a bulging sack of supplies.
His mother followed him out to talk to him while he tied the sack on his saddle. “Must you stay in Black Bear’s village tonight?” she asked in the Blackfoot tongue.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked. “My village is too far from here to start out before morning.”
“The men camped at the creek have the other white woman with them. They are searching for the young one. I’m afraid, if they know you are here, they will try to follow you back to your village.”
“Huh!” Lame Dog snorted. “How many are they?”
“Two,” Ruby answered, “but one of them is the white scout Coldiron. The other one looks to be strong as well. It’s best that you leave here before they see you.”
“Huh!” Lame Dog snorted again. “Two men? And one of them is as old as the worthless white man you married. Maybe I’ll ride down to the creek and kill those two. Then you won’t have to worry about them following me.”
“No!” she retorted. “Listen to your mother! It is best to leave them alone and return to the Piegan village. They don’t know to look for the woman there.” She was unaware that Jake had told Coldiron that Lucy Gentry might be in the village on the Marias. “Give me your promise that you will not go near the white men’s camp.”
He shrugged as if casting the notion aside. “All right, if it pleases you. I must go now.” He climbed onto his horse and rode up the path to the river trail. She watched until he was swallowed up by the evening darkness.
• • •
Once he was out of her sight, Lame Dog turned to ride along the bank of the creek, back from the point where it flowed into the river. He intended to satisfy his curiosity about the people who were camping behind his father’s trading post. His father had been pretty anxious to see him leave, and now, thanks to his mother, he knew why. He frowned when he realized that Jake had not warned him about the two men hunting for the woman. He cursed the day when his mother had married a white man.
Making his way down from the bluffs, he walked his horse along the creek until reaching a point just before the clearing where they were camped. He pulled his ’66-model Winchester from the sling and dismounted to go the rest of the way on foot. It was dark enough to easily conceal him as he walked through the trees along the bank, but he was forced to stop at the edge of the clearing, some seventy-five yards short of the campfire.
Beyond the fire, he spotted a group of horses, evidently tied close to the water, but he could not see well enough to count them. The clearing before him was brightly lit by a three-quarter moon just rising over the mountaintops behind him, making it risky to try to sneak up closer. So he continued to sit where he was and watch to make sure that there were no more people in the camp than his mother thought there were. Lame Dog wondered who the man with Coldiron was, for there appeared to be more than a few horses tied by the creek. The thought of acquiring those horses was more than enough incentive to make a try for them.
Coldiron’s reputation was well known, so Lame Dog was not inclined to run across a moonlit clearing of seventy-five yards. He was not so foolish as to test the scout’s alertness, or his aim. But he reasoned that if he could manage to slip into the camp and steal the horses, not only would he increase his wealth, but the white men would be on foot. Finally, his mind made up, he decided to go back to his horse and ride out of the trees to circle around and come up from the opposite side. That would put the horses between him and the campfire, and he might possibly be able to steal them before their owners knew what was happening.
After riding a wide arc around the camp, he found that he could get a little closer to the horses than it had appeared from the other side of the clearing. He had only about twenty-five yards of open grass to cover before he would be in the midst of the trees where the horses were tied. He slid out of the saddle and crept silently to the edge of the clearing. He was close enough to count the horses now. There were six. With his rifle in one hand, and his knife in the other, he crept into the clearing, having taken only a dozen or so steps when he felt the snap of a rifle slug stinging the air by his head. It was followed almost immediately by the sharp crack of a Henry rifle.
Lame Dog rolled over and over for several yards as fast as he could manage, a maneuver made difficult by the weapons he was holding, but accomplished in his desperation. He hoped to make himself an elusive target until he could scramble to his feet and dive into the cover of the trees. Several bullets flew around him to hurry his flight, but luck was with him and he gained the protection of a large tree trunk.
Once he had avoided being hit, he fired at the creek bank from which he had glimpsed muzzle flashes—then cranked in another cartridge and fired again. His return fire set off an eruption of rifle fire that filled the air around him and forced him to hug the ground. Seeing at once that he was facing far too much firepower from his intended victims, he backed carefully away, trying to keep the large tree between himself and the rifles. It was obvious that he had no chance of stealing any horses on this night.
Cursing his luck, he jumped upon his horse’s back and kicked it into a gallop, ignoring the branches that whipped his face and body as he cr
ashed through the grove of trees.
• • •
“How’d you know?” Bret asked when there were no more return shots from the trees.
“I didn’t,” Coldiron confessed. “I just couldn’t sleep. Maybe I was expectin’ somethin’ like this, and that’s why I couldn’t sleep. I was just layin’ there, and I heard a couple of the horses nicker. It made me kinda curious, so I rolled over and took a look out at the clearin’, and there he was, tryin’ to get to the horses.”
“I heard his horse running like hell through those trees,” Bret said. “I only heard one, so I think he was alone.”
“Well, I know I’m not going to sleep anymore,” Myra announced. “I thought we were all right this close to the trading post.”
“I wouldn’t worry no more tonight,” Coldiron told her, “at least not from that child. I expect he found out it might not be too good for his health to go after our horses.”
“I wonder if he just happened to find us, or if somebody told him where we were,” Bret speculated. “How much do you trust your friend Jake?”
“Oh, about as far as I could throw him when he’s settin’ on a horse,” Coldiron replied. “Tell you the truth, though. I ain’t as worried about Jake as I am about that woman he’s livin’ with. She’s got all kinda kin in that village up the river, and I expect they’d all like to have some extra horses.”
“We might have made a mistake, staying here for a couple of days,” Myra suggested.
“We’re probably just as safe here, where we can hole up in that tradin’ post if we have to,” Coldiron said. “We need to get Bret outta that damn uniform for one thing. Ain’t no use in paradin’ that target around in front of a bunch of scalp-happy Blackfoot bucks. It’d be a pretty big coup for one of ’em to kill a soldier. Somebody in that Injun camp knows we’re here now, and that ain’t good, but like I said, we can hold ’em off in Jake’s place. I don’t think they’re gonna wanna burn him out, ’cause then where would they get their coffee and flour and calico, and all that other stuff he gets for ’em?”
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