Cheyenne Justice

by Charles G. West

  “You ain’t seen Abby.”

  “Is that why you were sneaking out of camp?”

  “Damn right. That woman’s crazy. By the time I found Sitting Bull’s camp, she was talking about what a wonderful thing it would be if we got married and lived out here Injun-style. Hell, I’d as soon settle down with a wolverine.”

  Jason laughed again. This sure wasn’t the picture he had framed in his mind of a frail little Eastern girl at the mercy of bloodthirsty savages. “Where is she now? Is she all right?”

  “She’s all right, I reckon. Right now she’s staying in Two Humps’s lodge while Sitting Bull decides what to do with her. Two Humps is Sitting Bull’s cousin.”

  Jason pondered that a moment. “Is she tied up or being guarded?”

  “Hell, no. They’re hoping she’ll escape. They’d love to be done with her.” Nathan waved his arms wildly when he talked about her. “She keeps pestering ’em fer a council with Sitting Bull and he told her he don’t council with women, ’specially white women.”

  “Damn,” Jason exclaimed softly as he thought over the account he had just heard. Then to Nathan he said, “My job is to bring the young lady back to Fort Lincoln. I reckon that’s what I’ll try to do.”

  Nathan studied the dark figure before him in the shadows of the stunted willows. Confident now that he was in no danger from the man who had so effectively ambushed and disarmed him, he had some questions of his own. Foremost was just who this white man was who came alone this deep in territory controlled completely by the Sioux and Cheyenne free bands. Back at Fort Lincoln, he had heard Andy Coulter talk about a friend of his, a white scout who had hunted down that murdering Cheyenne renegade, Stone Hand, down in Oklahoma territory. He remembered the name—Andy mentioned it enough. “You’re Jason Coles, ain’t you?”

  The question surprised Jason but he answered simply, “I am.”

  “Now what are you aiming to do with me? I answered your questions. Are you done with me?”

  “That depends on what you’ve got on your mind,” Jason answered.

  Nathan understood the meaning of Jason’s answer and he was quick to reassure. “I’m heading straight back to Lincoln. It ain’t my business to tell anybody you’re here. Like I said, I’m working for the army when I can. I ain’t gonna mess around in your business.”

  Jason was satisfied that Nathan was straight with him and he probably had no intention of alerting the camp that an army scout was no more than a mile from them. The more he thought about it, however, the more he began to believe his only chance to fetch Abigail Langsforth was to walk right into Sitting Bull’s camp and ask for her. And, if that was the case, it might be handy to have Nathan White Horse along.

  Nathan wasn’t too keen on the idea of going back to the village with Jason. In the first place, he didn’t know if it was healthy for him to be in the company of the white scout. Sitting Bull might decide to shoot both of them. What he had told Jason earlier—about the warriors being his brothers—wasn’t exactly accurate. When he was in their presence, he called them his brothers but they didn’t look on him in the same light—in his presence or out of it. He didn’t let on that he spent most of his time hanging around Fort Lincoln, hoping to be put on the army payroll. But he was afraid they suspected as much. In addition to these fears, he was not anxious to see Miss Abigail Langsforth again. However, when Jason mentioned that it might be worth another fifty dollars for him if he helped return the lady to safety he had a change of heart.

  Jason wasn’t sure how much of the half-breed’s story he could believe, but if he was telling the truth regarding the lady’s infatuation with him, she might be more willing to return to Lincoln with Nathan along. As far as the fifty dollars was concerned, if the colonel wouldn’t authorize it, Miss Langsforth’s daddy would probably agree to it to get his daughter back.

  So the deal was made. They shook on it at Nathan’s insistence and they made camp right there in the willows. Jason left Nathan to make a small fire for coffee while he rode back up in the bluffs to get his packhorse.

  Chapter V

  Sitting Bull set the bowl aside and wiped the grease from his fingers. “What is it that has made you so excited?”

  The solemn old woman standing in the entrance of the tipi motioned toward the river. “Nathan White Horse is coming.”

  The old medicine man could not understand why she chose to interrupt his breakfast for this unimportant bit of news. “Why bother me with this?”

  “There is someone with him. He looks like a white man.”

  This aroused his curiosity and he slowly got to his feet and went out into the early-morning sunlight. The two riders had already crossed the river and were making their way through the village toward his lodge. Sitting Bull strained to see the white scout sitting tall on the Appaloosa, the horse and rider towering over the lesser figure of Nathan White Horse. The stranger seemed oblivious to the murmuring throng of villagers that had closed in around him as he rode unhurriedly toward the old man standing in front of the tipi.

  Jason pulled White up to a stop in front of the old man. Sitting Bull motioned the people back to give the scout room to dismount. His eyes quickly measured the man now standing before him. He was tall and lean, hardened by the prairie and mountains. That much was obvious—any man could see that. But Sitting Bull looked deeper inside the man’s eyes and determined an inner strength there that others might miss. “How are you called?”

  “I am called Jason Coles. It is an honor for me to meet the great spiritual leader of the Lakotas.”

  Sitting Bull nodded and asked, “Why have you come here?” He glanced at his people gathered about, then over at Nathan White Horse for an instant before returning his gaze to fix on Jason. “You are a long way from home, Jason Coles. Are you bringing another message from the Great Father in Washington?”

  Jason shook his head. “No. I have come to get the white woman who is visiting your village. She is far from home too, and I have come to take her back to her father.”

  “Ah, the crazy woman.” Sitting Bull nodded his head slowly. “She is confused and needs to find her way.”

  Jason had to concentrate hard to keep from smiling. “This is true and the reason I have come for her—to take her back where she can find her way.”

  “It is good that you do this,” he said to Jason, then turned to an older man standing near Jason’s packhorse. “Two Humps, bring the crazy woman.” Two Humps nodded and did as he was instructed.

  In spite of everything Nathan White Horse had told him about Abby Langsforth, Jason was not prepared for the impact of his initial sight of the publisher’s daughter. Nathan had said she was big but Jason assumed that meant she was a little above average size. Abby was big—almost as tall as Jason—with no evidence of fat on her. She was big boned and packed solid. In her buckskins and boots she could have easily passed for a man.

  Jason tried not to show his surprise as she was led to Sitting Bull’s lodge by Two Humps. As he expected, she was not a prisoner and, consequently, not bound in any way. The Sioux held a special fascination for people they felt were touched in the head. This, Jason suspected, was the sole reason the woman was tolerated—if, indeed, she behaved as Nathan had related.

  Curious as to why she was being summoned by the great Lakota leader after her thwarted attempts to see him before, she strode confidently toward the gathering of people. She caught sight of the tall white scout right away and realized he was the center of attention. She glanced at Sitting Bull briefly, then her gaze locked on Jason.

  “And just who might you be?” she demanded.

  He knew he had flushed a little. He couldn’t help it. He hoped she didn’t notice. “My name’s Jason Coles, miss. I’ve been sent to escort you back to Fort Lincoln.”

  “Ha! I suspected as much.” She turned to fix Sitting Bull with an accusing glance. “He’s been trying to get rid of me ever since I got here,” she said, still glaring at the Lakota chief. Then, lookin
g back at Jason, she informed him in terms unmistakable. “Well, damned if I’m going. I came here as a friend to help these poor Indians, to tell their story to the rest of the world, and I’ll go when I damn well please.”

  After this brief introduction to the young lady, Jason was of a mind to tell her it suited him just fine. Stay with the Indians—it would damn sure be their ruination. He held his tongue, however, until he could calmly make one more try. “Miss Langsforth, you’re wasting your efforts here. These people think you’re touched in the head. They’re not going to listen to you.”

  “Is that so? Well, even if they won’t talk to me, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Your daddy wanted me to come after you.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “He’s going with me.” He nodded toward Nathan White Horse.

  She took a step sideways in order to see the man standing behind Jason’s packhorse. Nathan had discreetly positioned himself between his horse and Thunder in hopes he would not be noticed. “Nathan!” Her eyes lit up at the sight of the half-breed. “I knew you wouldn’t leave without me.” Nathan’s face drooped but he gamely flashed a weak smile in her direction. Abby’s disposition brightened considerably now that her missing guide was back. She looked at Jason and announced. “Nathan and I will remain here with the Lakota people.”

  Jason said nothing for a few moments while he decided whether or not he should just say to hell with it and leave her to her own choosing. He glanced at Sitting Bull and found the chief as baffled as he was. Their glances met and the Lakota shrugged. Jason made up his mind. He looked back at Abby. “Nathan’s going with me. If you stay here, they’ll probably sell you for a slave to the Arapahos or the Cheyennes.”

  Abby jerked her head back indignantly. “They will not!” She looked at Nathan for confirmation.

  “He’s right, Abby, they might. I have to go back to Lincoln. I can’t stay here.” He knew he was not overly popular in the Lakota camp anyway because of his past dealings with the army. The more he thought about it, the more he began to think it was not such a bad idea to go back with Jason.

  No one was happier than Sitting Bull when the lady finally agreed to return to Fort Lincoln with the white scout. It would be a great relief to be free of her, for he had truly been perplexed over what he should do with her. He was so pleased to be rid of her that he assured Jason that no one would raise a hand against him or interfere with the three of them. They were granted safe passage from his territory and they left within the hour. Jason led out at a brisk pace, followed by his packhorse, then Abby on a red gelding, and Nathan bringing up the rear. Although his intent was to return to Fort Lincoln without wasting any time, had he known that word of his visit to Sitting Bull’s village would be relayed to Two Moon’s camp on the Tongue, he might have pushed his horses even harder.

  * * *

  Man Who Killed Two arrived in the Cheyenne camp early in the morning. He had ridden all night and his horse was exhausted when he approached Two Moon’s camp on the riverbank. Without stopping to eat or drink, he went immediately in search of Hungry Wolf.

  “Who is it?” Hungry Wolf asked, wondering what was so important that he should be awakened at that hour. His wife replied that it was Man Who Killed Two and that he appeared to have urgent news. Hungry Wolf got up from his bed and went outside where he greeted his visitor. “Man Who Killed Two, I thought you were away visiting your wife’s relatives with the Lakotas. What brings you here so early?”

  “I left Sitting Bull’s camp yesterday and I came here as fast as I could. The white scout, Coles, was in the village when I left.”

  “Coles!” Hungry Wolf’s eyes flashed with the hatred the mere mention of that name invoked. Unconsciously, his hand reached up and rubbed the wound still healing in his shoulder. “Coles is in Sitting Bull’s camp? Are you sure?”

  “I am sure. He came to take a crazy woman back to the white people. I came to tell you as quickly as I could. He is most likely on his way back to Fort Lincoln by now.” Man Who Killed Two was not with Hungry Wolf when he ambushed Jason on the Powder, but his brother was one of the men killed in that ill-fated attack.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  “Sitting Bull gave him safe passage out of his territory. Since I was a visitor there, I could not go against his orders. But we can still catch him if we hurry.”

  Hungry Wolf spat on the ground. “Sitting Bull is getting as weak as Two Moon. Get the others. This dog must not be allowed to leave our territory alive.” He turned on his heel and went back inside to prepare to ride.

  He did not spare his pony as he led his small war party upriver. He would ride this one until it faltered, then he would change over to a fresh one and continue to push on. There was no talk among the war party of twelve warriors, all dedicated to the eradication of the white man from their lands. All, like Hungry Wolf, had family killed by the soldiers, though none matched Hungry Wolf in his hatred for the white man.

  Hatred, like an all-consuming fire, burned constantly in Hungry Wolf’s belly. And the focus of that fire had come to center on Jason Coles. It was Jason Coles who had slaughtered Stone Hand. It was Jason Coles who had slain Black Eagle. It sickened Hungry Wolf to hear others of his tribe defend Coles, saying that he had fought bravely and with honor on every occasion. Had he not acted with deceit when he tricked Hungry Wolf and his friends to expose themselves in the fight at the Powder, only weeks before…killing three of his companions and wounding Hungry Wolf himself? In Hungry Wolf’s eyes, Jason Coles had become the symbol of everything he hated about the white man. He had come to believe that when he killed Jason Coles, it would take the heart out of the soldiers and they would wish to fight no more.

  Hungry Wolf’s passion for revenge had been born before he had ever heard of the tall white scout. Like other young boys of his village, he had felt the resentment caused by the steady invasion of white people into his country. But his first exposure to the terror of a cavalry attack came on Sand Creek, where his father was cut down in the early-morning attack by the soldiers. They struck the peaceful village without warning. Hungry Wolf was only fifteen at that time and his father fell from a bullet in the back of his head as they ran for the cover of the riverbank.

  He and his mother were among the survivors of that massacre and, with a few others, they made their way north to join their brothers, the Northern Cheyennes. A year later, as a boy of sixteen, he rode in the raids along the Bozeman Trail and in December of that year he was a member of the party that attacked Fort Phil Kearny.

  Always one of the bravest and most daring, he was among the few who rode in close to the fort to lure the soldiers out to fight. It took several attempts and the killing of a sentry before the soldiers, led by the foolish Colonel Fetterman, gave chase and pursued the Indians into the ambush that rubbed them all out…every man.

  It was an exhilarating time for Hungry Wolf. He, along with the other decoys, led the soldiers into the waiting Sioux, Cheyenne, and Arapaho warriors. In the short hours that followed, he fought with the ferocity of his namesake, using only a bow and his war axe. His only wound during the combat occurred when a soldier opened an ugly gash across his face with a whip. Hungry Wolf killed the soldier with his axe.

  Now, as he pushed his companions hard to intercept the hated white scout, his mind was filled with thoughts of the many raids and battles over the years that had since passed. Without thinking, he reached up and felt the scar across his face and it somehow seemed to give him a sense of pleasure. He knew he would find this Jason Coles, and this time it would be different. He could not endure living with the humiliation he had suffered when forced to run for his life after the scout had wounded him in their first meeting. Coles must die!

  Chapter VI

  Jason knelt before the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee from the battered old pot resting in the embers. That pot had been through almost as many scrapes as Jason had, and it was burnished and black from the
many hours spent seated in the ashes of countless fires. He glanced up at Abby sitting on the opposite side of the fire and motioned with the pot. She shook her head no. He settled back against a small tree trunk and sipped his coffee while he studied his two traveling companions.

  Nathan White Horse lay on his side, his head propped up with his elbow, working on a piece of jerky. Jerky and coffee were all Jason offered on their first camp after leaving the Sioux village. If the girl could cook, she didn’t offer to. There wasn’t anything to cook anyway, save some salt pork. Seated comfortably, her legs crossed Indian fashion, she favored Nathan with frequent glances that he made a big show of ignoring. Jason couldn’t help but be amused. She sure as hell wasn’t subtle. To the contrary, she had obviously cut ole Nathan out of the herd and fully intended to put her brand on him. The thought of it brought a smile to Jason’s face, while it seemed to terrify Nathan White Horse. Maybe it was because Abby was bigger than he was and Nathan felt smothered by the girl. Jason tried to imagine the reaction of Mr. Arlington Langsforth when his darling daughter brought Mr. Nathan White Horse home with her and declared him her fiancée. Why, he thought, he’d make a real dandy. Scrub him up a little, braid his greasy shoulder-length hair, and put him in a box-back suit. Maybe he could work for her daddy’s newspaper. ’Course she’d have to teach him how to read and write first. He chuckled to himself. That girl has some strange tastes, he decided.

  Abby Langsforth was a breed apart. Jason had never run into the likes of her before. She was as coarse as any man on the trail, cursing the red gelding every time he stumbled or stalled. But all during that first day’s ride, she never once complained or lagged. The only difference between her and a man, that Jason could see, was an unusually small bladder capacity. Even with that inequity, she still did not delay their progress. Never announcing her need, she would abruptly break off the trail when a ridge or coulee was convenient, pop out of sight, do her business, and be back in line, sometimes before the two men realized she was missing. The first time it happened, they were passing between two low hills. Jason looked back to discover she was gone. Alarmed at first, he turned back and rode backtrail, looking for her. He rounded the turn in the ravine to discover the lady squatting beside the trail, her britches down around her boots.