Cheyenne Justice

by Charles G. West

  “This is why we must kill him,” Hungry Wolf argued. “We must avenge our fallen brothers.”

  “Yellow Hawk is right,” Lame Otter said. “This man will kill the rest of us. He does not miss with that rifle. I say we should forget this foolishness and let him go in peace.”

  Hungry Wolf snapped back in anger. “I don’t believe what my ears tell me! This is no spirit we are fighting. This is nothing but a white man. Are you afraid of one white man?”

  “He has two others with him.”

  Hungry Wolf looked sharply at Yellow Hawk. “There are four of us.” His angry glare came to rest on each one of them in turn. “The other two don’t seem to have stomach for the fight. I tell you, we are fighting only one man.” He paused, hoping to shame them. “You call yourselves Cheyenne warriors?”

  Lame Otter gave in first. “I will stay, but we must be very careful.” The other two agreed reluctantly.

  “Good. He killed the others because we charged straight at him, giving him easy targets. This time we will make our way around, up through the bluffs behind him where we will have the high ground. Yellow Hawk, you stay here and keep him pinned down. Walks With Limp, Lame Otter, and I will get behind him. When you hear our rifles, you must be ready to shoot him if he runs out toward the river.”

  * * *

  Nathan White Horse crawled up to the edge of the ravine and peered out at the tableland beyond. “We ought to get the hell out of here while we got a chance.”

  Abby looked up at him. “Hell, we can’t go anywhere. They’d be on our tails again.” She checked over her forty-five and made sure it was loaded and ready. “I can’t hit a damn thing with this pistol. I emptied the cylinder back there and didn’t hit one Indian.”

  Nathan continued to scan the bluffs around them nervously. “It’s Coles they’re after. They think he’s big medicine. I bet they wouldn’t pay us no mind if we cut out of here.”

  Abby looked up again, this time with a definite sign of annoyance in her eyes. “He is big medicine. He’s already cut their number down to four and with no help from us.” She paused and fixed him with an accusing stare. “Come to think of it, I didn’t notice how much shooting you were doing back there. I saw you hunkered down behind that log but I was too busy missing folks to see what you were doing.”

  Nathan, unmoved by her veiled accusations, crawled back to a deeper gully close to his horse. He checked the load in his rifle and then sat back against the side of the gully. “All’s I’m saying is, we could get a good head start while he was holding them off. The important thing is to get you back safe.” She didn’t comment, but the look of skepticism in her eyes was obvious, even to Nathan. “If we stay here, we’re gonna get ourselves killed,” he added.

  Disappointed but not surprised at his attitude, she crawled up toward the rim of the ravine for a better position to keep watch. Some man I picked to mate with, she thought. She looked back at the half-breed, securely tucked in a gully for protection. “Why don’t you let me use that rifle? I can’t hit anything with this pistol.”

  “Hell, no,” was his curt reply, and he cradled his rifle closer to his chest.

  “Little weasel,” she mumbled as she returned her gaze to the bluffs. It had been quiet for maybe a quarter of an hour. She could not see Jason down below them because of a bend in the ravine, but she knew he was there. He had positioned himself between them and the Cheyenne warriors but he had cautioned her to be alert in case one of them tried to sneak around behind them. So she carefully watched the rough terrain above and to the sides of their ravine. She smiled to herself when she recalled that when Jason told them what to do, he talked to her rather than to Nathan.

  She shifted her position and relaxed her hold on her forty-five, realizing that she had been unconsciously squeezing it so firmly that her hand was getting stiff. I’m not afraid, she told herself with some satisfaction, I’m just tense. She knew Jason Coles was not afraid and she felt a kinship with the tall white scout.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of movement off to her right. At first she wasn’t sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her and she stared hard at the scrubby bushes about fifty yards away. Her heart skipped an excited beat when, a few seconds later, she saw definite movement in the grass around the bushes and she knew that it was caused by more than one man. Although her heart was beating rapidly, she remained cool and cocked her pistol. Without looking behind her, she whispered back to Nathan, “Get ready, they’re coming around behind us.”

  She was answered by a sudden thunder of hooves and she turned just in time to avoid getting trampled by Nathan’s horse as he whipped the animal furiously, charging out of the ravine and out across the flat. Desperate and so intent on saving his own hide, he almost ran her over in his escape.

  “Come back here, you little weasel!” she screamed after him, so angry she stood up, not thinking about her own safety. The events that took place in the next few minutes occurred so fast that she didn’t know what happened until it was all over and she was trussed up like a hog for market. She didn’t even hear Nathan’s scream of horror barely seconds after he disappeared in the bluffs.

  Hungry Wolf and Lame Otter had crawled to within fifty yards of the head of the ravine when they stopped to observe the ground before them. A slight movement of a man’s head alerted them that Jason’s companions were guarding his rear. Lame Otter considered the fifty yards of open ground between them and the ravine. “They are watching. If we charge them, we will be easy targets.”

  “I know, I know,” Hungry Wolf replied impatiently. As deep as his lust for revenge was for the white scout, he could see the folly in charging across fifty yards of open ground. “We will wait for Walks With Limp to work around the far side. Maybe he will have a clear shot.”

  They did not have to wait long, for their plan of attack was laid out for them unexpectedly. When, suddenly, the man on the horse bolted up out of the ravine and fled and the other man stood up with his back to them, they acted instantly. The two warriors were on the remaining man in an instant. He turned and raised his pistol but it was too late. With one blow with his rifle butt, Hungry Wolf knocked him senseless.

  While Hungry Wolf attacked the man with the pistol, Lame Otter raised his rifle and fired at the man on the horse. Nathan White Horse lay low on his horse’s neck, his heart pounding wildly as he heard the angry snap of the bullets over his head. None found him and he drove at full speed down into the cover of a deep gully. Only then did he feel it safe to sit up in the saddle and then it was just in time to see the flash of the war axe a split second before it buried into his chest. As soon as he hit the ground, Walks With Limp was upon him to finish him off. There was still a flicker of life left in the half-breed when Walks With Limp took his scalp.

  At about the same instant Nathan White Horse met his fate, Hungry Wolf stood over the prone body before him and prepared to deliver the killing stroke with his axe. He paused. The blow that had felled his enemy had knocked the broad-brimmed hat off his head. Hungry Wolf was stunned by the long, chestnut hair that fell about the face of his victim. Many white men grew their hair long but this looked like a woman’s hair. His surprise saved Abby’s life at that moment. She was big for a woman and he was fascinated by his discovery, but still he wasn’t sure. He turned her over and looked carefully at her features. She was a woman but, to make sure, he reached down and crudely felt her crotch. He turned to Lame Otter, who was puzzled over Hungry Wolf’s hesitation. “It is a woman. Maybe she is Coles’s woman. She must have special value or Coles would not have tried to disguise her as a man.”

  Before Lame Otter could reply, rifle fire erupted down below them near the river and they knew that Yellow Hawk had engaged Coles. In the next instant, Walks With Limp appeared, leading Nathan’s horse. “The other one is dead,” he called out, holding up the bloody scalp. They waited until he had reached them. He looked at Abby lying on the ground before them and asked, “Is this one dead?”
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br />   “It’s a woman,” Hungry Wolf replied. “Give me that rope on the saddle and I’ll tie her up. I’m going to take her back with me.”

  Walks With Limp was surprised. “Why?”

  “This woman has some kind of special value. I intend to find out what it is. Then maybe I’ll kill her.” He worked quickly to bind her hands and feet. With Lame Otter’s help, he lifted her up on Nathan’s horse. “You had better go down the ravine and help Yellow Hawk. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I take this horse and tie him with the others in the brush.”

  Lame Otter and Walks With Limp looked at each other. Lame Otter spoke. “I think it best to wait for you. It will be better if we all go together.”

  Down below them, Jason had heard the sudden eruption of rifle fire on the ridge above. Since he could not see Abby and Nathan, he could not know whether it was Nathan’s rifle he had heard or one of the Cheyennes’. After three shots, it was quiet again and he decided to work his way back up the gully to a point where he could at least see Abby and Nathan. He had taken no more than two or three steps when Yellow Hawk opened up with his rifle, ploughing up dirt around the position Jason had left moments before. Crouching low behind the rim of the gully, Jason looked hard along the riverbank, searching for the source of the rifle fire. He hoped the gunfire he had heard earlier had in fact been that of Nathan White Horse. There had been no report from the Colt Peacemaker Abby carried, so he could only speculate on what had occurred above him. He had to count on the two of them—especially Abby—to cover his rear.

  Once again he eased his body backward, almost to the depression where he had tied White, keeping a watchful eye on the riverbank. There! Between the trunks of two small willows, a rifle barrel slowly protruded. Jason raised his Winchester and sighted a few inches above the rifle barrel. He waited for the head to appear to aim the rifle. A moment later, Jason’s rifle ball split Yellow Hawk’s forehead. Now it’s three to three, he thought, unaware of the developments that had taken place above him. The question to be answered now was how many were below him still and how many had worked around up on top? He was sure that only one rifle had fired on his position from the riverbank and he had heard but one rifle above. And he still did not know if the shots above were fired by Nathan or one of the Cheyennes. I’d best move up to them, he decided. The next moment was shattered by an explosion of gunfire that filled the narrow ravine with whistling death.

  Lightning-like reflexes were the only thing that saved Jason’s life. At almost the same instant, the scout and the three Cheyennes saw each other as the Indians crept around a bend in the ravine. Jason dived sideways, rolling to the bottom of the depression at the same time the three hostiles raised their rifles and fired as rapidly as they could pull the trigger and cock again. Jason’s horse caught the full impact of the rifle fire and screamed wildly as she reeled and fell. Before she hit the ground, Jason rolled to a stop, brought his rifle up, and dropped Walks With Limp in his tracks. The dead warrior crumpled in the dust of the ravine. There was no time for a second shot before the other two dived behind the bend in the ravine.

  Jason crawled up behind his fallen horse, using the dead animal for cover. He would lament the death of White later; now he was too busy saving his own neck. Behind their earthen rampart, Hungry Wolf and Lame Otter crouched low and considered the situation. From their position in the gully, they could see their dead companion’s moccasined feet and leggings, his rifle laying a few feet from them.

  Lame Otter was disenchanted with their mission. He had seen enough of the white scout’s ability with his rifle. “This is madness,” he whispered. “Now there are only two of us left. The white man’s medicine is too strong. We should not have come after him. I am sorry now that I listened to you.”

  Hungry Wolf was almost blind with rage. He spat out his words of contempt for his companion. “Your cowardly talk sickens me! Go! Crawl back and hide in your wife’s tipi. I will kill this white dog by myself.” His eyes gleamed like dark coals, burning with the hatred he harbored. “Go,” he mocked, “and when I return with the white man’s scalp, I will dance and sing of your bravery.”

  Hungry Wolf’s words of derision sparked a surge of anger in Lame Otter’s breast but they did not cause him to lose his common sense. And his common sense told him that the two of them were no match for Jason Coles. “Go ahead, if you are so anxious to die. I think it is best to leave this man alone. We have lost too many of our brothers already.” He slowly began to withdraw.

  Hungry Wolf’s fury was almost more than he could control. In anger, he turned and raised his rifle as if to shoot Lame Otter. Lame Otter paused. Meeting Hungry Wolf’s glare, he said softly, “You have lost all but two of us. Are you going to kill another by your own hand?”

  “Auhh!” He growled in frustration. “Leave my sight!” He turned away from him. Lame Otter withdrew.

  His anger and frustration had reached a boiling point deep down inside Hungry Wolf. His hatred for the white scout had been fueled by restitution he felt necessary for the execution of the Cheyenne warrior Stone Hand. Now it had been intensified by the defeat he had endured at the hands of the white man. He knew he would face humiliation if he now returned to his village without Jason Coles’s scalp. His reputation as a war chief was damaged beyond repair, for warriors were not anxious to follow a chief who did not bring his followers safely back from battle. And he had lost ten of the eleven who had followed him. He could not leave this place with Jason Coles still alive. He would kill the hated scout and drag his corpse back to Two Moon’s village behind his horse. Then he would kill the woman and feed her to the dogs.

  “Coles!” He screamed out. “Coles! I have the woman. I will cut her heart out! First I will kill you!” Jason did not answer. He calmly checked the load in his weapons and waited. Hungry Wolf called out again. “I have the woman. She is alive for now but I will kill her. I will give you a chance to save her, Coles. Fight me! No guns. Fight me man to man with knives. What do you say, Coles? Are you a man or a cowardly coyote?” He waited a moment but there was still no answer. He reached over and pulled Walks With Limp’s rifle up to him. “Come out and fight, Coles. I’m throwing my gun away. A knife is all I need.” He threw Walks With Limp’s rifle out. It clattered against the wall of the narrow ravine. Then he drew his own rifle up, ready to shoot.

  “All right,” Jason replied, his voice calm, without passion. “I’ll fight you.” He threw his rifle out in the middle of the ravine. “I’m coming out.”

  As Jason stood up from behind the carcass, Hungry Wolf suddenly stepped out from the bend in the ravine, his rifle raised, an evil grin on his twisted features. The grin froze for a split second, then turned to shock when the shots from Jason’s pistol ripped into his belly before he could pull the trigger on his rifle. Before the darkness claimed him, he managed to get off one shot but the barrel of his rifle was pointing straight up in the air when he fired.

  From high up on the ridge, where he sat on his horse and watched, Lame Otter shook his head, dismayed. He had known what the outcome would be. Hungry Wolf was too hotheaded. Coles was big medicine. It could have ended no other way. He kicked his pony and started off along the ridge, leading the horses behind him, the woman tied securely across the saddle of one.

  Jason could only watch the departing Cheyenne as he galloped out of sight. He was too far away for even a lucky shot, so Jason didn’t bother. With his toe, he rolled Hungry Wolf’s body over. The look of surprise was still frozen on the Cheyenne warrior’s face. Jason reached down and pulled the rifle from his hands. It was a Winchester 74, a newer model than the one he carried. And the soldiers are still carrying single-shot Springfields, he thought. “Well, Hungry Wolf, I reckon we made a trade. A new Winchester for my Appaloosa. I’d a heap rather had my horse. I doubt if your rifle shoots any better than mine. And where you’re going, it’s too damn hot to suit White.”

  He climbed to the top of the ravine and stood gazing out across the rolling hills in
the direction Lame Otter had gone. It was a big country to be on foot in. “Damn,” he uttered when he thought about it. White was the last survivor of the fourteen Appaloosas he had gotten from the Nez Perces. And now he was on foot and the girl was a captive and he didn’t know what had happened to Nathan White Horse. I guess he ran off, he thought. Maybe he’ll be back now that the shooting’s over. He didn’t put much faith in that possibility, so he decided he’d better get started if he was going to trail the Cheyenne who rode off with Abby. The first thing he had to do was to get a horse and he had a pretty good idea where one might be.

  The Indian who had shot at him from the riverbank must have tied his horse somewhere up the river, so he made his way back down the ravine to the water. There, between the willows on the riverbank, lay the body of the Cheyenne warrior, his rifle still aimed at the gully where Jason had been. Jason paused only a few seconds to gaze at the body, interested more in the man’s tracks leading up to the willows. They told him that the Indian had walked along the water’s edge. He followed the tracks back to a line of trees on a small bluff where he found sign that plainly showed where the horse had been tied. But the horse was gone. A broken willow branch told him that the pony, tied there, had broken loose, probably when the shooting started.

  “Well, son, you’re sure as hell on foot now.” He wasted little time lamenting his misfortune. If he was going to track the Cheyenne, he was damn sure going to need a horse. And the only one he knew about had wandered off downriver, judging by the tracks that led down out of the bluffs. He was accustomed to unforeseen obstacles popping up in his line of employment so he spent not a second in despair. The horse had wandered; he would find him. It was just a matter of how long it would take and that depended on how scared the horse had been when he ran off.

  The horse, a brown and white paint, had run for about a quarter of a mile before slowing to a walk. The tracks stayed near the river and Jason hoped they would continue along that path and not head out into the hills. The horse didn’t make it easy on him. He wandered for several miles before stopping to graze in a grassy flat by a bend in the river, where Jason finally saw him. Man and beast caught sight of each other at the same moment. The horse watched Jason as the man walked slowly toward him then he took a few steps backward, still munching on the soft grass.