Cheyenne Justice

by Charles G. West

  “Angel of darkness.” McManus spoke up. He had been standing at Ryman’s elbow, taking in the conversation. “There’s Fannin’s dark angel he was ranting about. I reckon he wasn’t just talking out of his head after all.”

  Jason was puzzled by the remark but went on. “The other buck came across looking for the first one, I reckon.”

  “So you were on this side of the river all night?”

  “Well, no. I was over here until I heard them find the bodies of the ones I killed. When I heard them pulling out, I crossed back over and followed them to make sure they were going to stay gone. I reckon that’s the whole story.”

  Lieutenant Jeffers was astonished. The man had singlehandedly routed a band of forty Arapaho warriors and without doubt had saved many of the lives of his troop—maybe all of their lives. As Coles had so succinctly pointed out, the Indians had them in a box, and fighting their way out would have been costly. Though Jeffers had heard stories of Bridger and Carson and a few others who had established reputations as frontier scouts, he was not familiar with the name of Jason Coles. But one thing was for certain—he would never forget it.

  “Well, Mr. Coles, my men and I certainly owe you our thanks.”

  “Why, not at all, Lieutenant, I’m sure you’da done the same for me.”

  * * *

  After the men had eaten breakfast, some of them were detailed to cut poles for travois to carry the wounded back to the post, while others were charged with the chore of burying the dead. Once the bodies were in the ground, the troopers rode their horses back and forth over the graves to keep the hostiles from finding them. It was past seven o’clock when the detail was ordered to mount and prepare to move out.

  Jeffers tried to persuade Jason to accompany the column back to Camp Carson—having seen the man in action, he was anxious to enlist him as a scout. But Jason explained that he was already engaged in a mission for Colonel Holder at Fort Lincoln that had turned into an urgent rescue attempt, because he was already a day behind Abby Langsforth’s abductors. He respectfully declined Jeffers’s offer of employment but asked a favor of the lieutenant.

  “When you get back to the fort, will you send a message to Colonel Holder for me? Tell him the Langsforth girl was snatched by two renegades and that I’ll do my best to find her.”

  Jeffers assured Jason that he would be happy to comply. The scout sat on his paint for a few moments while he watched the column of tired but alive troopers file out of the river bottom and ascend the bluffs, retracing their march of the previous day. When the last soldier disappeared beyond the ridge, he turned the paint back across the river to pick up the trail of the Arapaho war party. Right now, he thought, I need a little luck. The storm had washed out all sign on the two renegades’ trail, so he had to rely on hunches—and he had a hunch the war party had come from a village somewhere close. He had taken note of the fact that many of the war party were well armed with repeating rifles, and that meant somebody was actively supplying them. That somebody could be the two who rode off with Abby. At least that gave him someplace to start looking. He urged the paint with his heels, starting off at a fast walk after the Arapahos.

  Chapter IX

  “You try that again, you dirty little bastard, and you’ll get worse than that.” Abby glared at Selvey, who was now bent over, clutching his private parts and grimacing with pain. He had just experienced the girl’s swift and not too subtle retaliation for his attempt to fondle her breast. Before, he had restricted his actions to undisguised leering whenever Pike wasn’t around, but this time, with Pike down by the stream, Selvey’s lust for a woman emboldened him to make physical advances. He paid a dear price for his brief contact. For two days, Abby had managed to discourage Pike’s desire with her bluster and defiance, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to keep him at bay. She sensed that Pike’s delay was in no small part related to his fear of inadequacy—she did not doubt for a minute that it was primarily due to the strong front she presented. It was her feeling that he was afraid he would embarrass himself if he was not successful in assaulting her. If he failed, he would be mortified and would probably be forced to kill her and Selvey too. And he was reluctant to put himself in a position where he had no white woman to trade.

  Selvey didn’t worry her—she was confident she could defend herself against his fumbling attempts. But Pike would be different. She was certain the man was not only evil and without moral fiber, but also possibly insane. If he did decide he was ready to make a move toward her, she feared there was really nothing she could do to stop him. She only vowed to herself that she would make it as costly as she possibly could.

  In a few minutes, Selvey’s pain subsided enough to permit him to stand up straight again. He stared at Abby through eyes squinting in anger. “I got a good mind to carve you up,” he threatened, drawing a skinning knife from his belt.

  “You little turd. I just might tell Pike you tried to rape me. Then we’ll see who gets carved up.”

  He sneered at her and made a couple of feints in her direction with his knife, but she stared him down. “Huh,” he snorted. “I wouldn’t want none of you anyway, you homely bitch.” He put the knife away and moved away to sit by the fire. He knew full well that Pike would kill him if he dared to violate the woman before Pike was through with her.

  Pike returned to the camp and stood for a moment, silently staring at the girl. Then he turned his glance to Selvey, who was sitting slightly hunched over by the fire, still feeling the remnants of the agonizing pain administered by Abby’s well-placed kick. “What’s the matter with you?” Pike demanded.

  “Nuthin’,” Selvey replied, glancing at Abby out of the corner of his eye. “I just got me a bellyache. I don’t feel so good.”

  Pike continued to stare at his partner, the contempt in his eyes undisguised. “Well, you’re gonna have a butt ache if you don’t get them horses took care of.”

  Selvey grumbled softly to himself, but he got to his feet and shuffled off to saddle the horses. Pike pulled a piece of bacon from the frying pan and blew on it to cool it before stuffing the entire piece into his mouth. While he chewed, bothered not at all by the rivulets of grease that flowed from the sides of his mouth and down his chin, he stared coldly at Abby. She did not blink or drop her head, but returned his glare defiantly, even though she feared inside that this might be the moment he was making up his mind to have his way with her. After a long moment, he apparently made a decision and abruptly got to his feet and kicked dirt on the fire.

  “Git your ass up. I want to make Crooked Leg’s camp before noon.”

  They rode in silence for most of the morning with Pike leading Abby, riding Nathan White Horse’s pony, behind him. Selvey, leading the extra horses, brought up the rear. Pike permitted the girl to ride with her hands and feet unbound. He had even grown tolerant of her frequent stops to relieve her bladder. If she even entertained thoughts of escape she soon abandoned them. Pike knew there was no place for her to go. The country was open for miles around them so there wasn’t sufficient cover to hide in. Besides, if she decided to suddenly bolt for freedom, he would most likely simply shoot her, or the horse, depending on his mood at that moment. So she rode, docile and unprotesting as thoughts of Jason Coles occupied her mind. Where was he? Was he tracking them at this moment? Or had he given up after the storm washed out their trail? She knew he was her only hope as she considered the bleak future that awaited her.

  Along about midday, Abby spotted a ribbon of trees in the distance that traced the path of the Powder River. They rode on until reaching the banks of the river and then turned north to follow it. Pike knew approximately where Crooked Leg had camped so he continued up the river until he came to a low line of bluffs where the river bent around a high sand spit, thick with small willows and brush.

  “I reckon this here’s close enough.” He guided them in among the trees and dismounted. “Crooked Leg’s camp ain’t but about a mile further up.” He motioned for
Selvey to get off his horse. “I’m gonna ride in with them horses first and talk to old Crooked Leg. You stay here with our guest. I’m gonna trade the horses first before I tell him about the white woman.” He glanced at Abby and grinned. “I reckon I might make a better trade if he don’t get a look at you first.”

  Selvey laughed. “Reckon you’re right about that, Pike.”

  Pike’s grin disappeared. “I’m aiming to sell ’er untampered with so I’m telling you to keep your hands off of ’er.”

  “Ah, Pike. If you ain’t gonna tap ’er, why can’t I just git a little? Them damn Injuns won’t know whether she’s been bred or not till we’re long gone.”

  “Damn you, Selvey, they’ll know. You keep your hands off ’er. I find out different, I’ll cut your gizzard out.”

  “All right, all right. Whatever you say.”

  “I won’t be gone long,” he warned. Satisfied that his spineless companion understood, Pike turned his attention to Abby. Without asking her to dismount, he reached up and jerked her off her horse. Taken by surprise, she had no time to resist and consequently landed rather roughly on the ground. Selvey snickered. Pike grabbed her by the back of her shirt and dragged her over against a tree. “Fetch me that rope,” he instructed Selvey. When it was handed to him, he tied her hands and feet together.

  Still smarting from her rough dismount, Abby tried to resist but Pike was too strong. “What are you tying me up for? You’re leaving him to watch me anyway. What if I have to pee before you get back?” There was no anxiety in her tone, merely irritation.

  “Pee in your damn pants,” Pike shot back. “Watch her, Selvey.” Pike didn’t explain that he tied her up because he was afraid she was more than a match for Selvey. When he was satisfied that she was bound securely, he stood up and stared down at her for a few moments. “I might trade you fer a pretty little Arapaho girl.”

  He continued to stand over her, staring. Abby began to feel uncomfortable with his intense gaze. She could almost see his mind working, wondering if he should have taken her after all. The longer he stood there, the more worried she got. She was thinking that she would rather take her chances in the Indian camp than have this foul-smelling renegade touch her.

  “What the hell’s keeping you?” She made an effort to break his thoughts with her usual bluster.

  His hard face slowly broke into an evil grin. “Damn, you are a mouthy bitch. Maybe I’ll just give you a proper good-bye.” He knelt down beside her and, pulling her neck toward him, suddenly clamped his mouth over hers.

  She tried to pull away but he held her firmly by the back of her neck while he smothered her with his rancid kiss. She could not breathe for fear of inhaling his foul stench. He tried to insert his tongue between her tightly pressed lips but she fought to keep her mouth closed. Suddenly she relaxed her lips and he eagerly thrust his tongue in her mouth. She clamped down as hard as she could with her teeth.

  “Waugh!” he roared and tried to jerk away. It only increased his pain for she held on with the tenacity of a snapping turtle. Then she released him and he staggered backward, his injured tongue throbbing with each beat of his pulse. “Goddam you!” he screeched, spitting blood at her. She glared at him defiantly and spit several times to rid her mouth of his vile taste. He slapped her hard across the face then slapped her again. She took the blows silently, refusing to grant him even so much as a whimper. Humiliated, he turned on his heel and stalked to his horse. “Watch her, Selvey!” He jerked his horse’s head around and rode off in the direction of Crooked Leg’s camp.

  * * *

  In the first few minutes after Pike had ridden off, Selvey busied himself building a fire. After it was burning to his satisfaction, he decided to entertain himself by taunting Abby. “You ought not to of bit ol’ Pike like that. I reckon now he’ll probably trade you off to some redskin—maybe some buck wants a slave for his squaw. If you’da played your cards right, Pike mighta kept you with us.”

  Abby said nothing for a while as she studied the simpleminded little man. She made a decision. “Selvey, I favor you more than that crazy Pike.”

  “What?” he blurted, not sure he had understood her.

  “Hell, yes,” she said. “Pike’s too rough to suit me.”

  He looked at her, disbelieving. “Shit. I ain’t as dumb as I look. You don’t favor neither one of us.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not exactly true. I could give myself to you but for one thing.”

  “What’s that?” he asked eagerly, his interest immediately rising.

  “This morning when you tried to touch me, the only reason I kicked you was because you ain’t had a bath in months.”

  “A bath? What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Well, a girl likes to make love to a clean man. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Hell, no.” Selvey’s blood was definitely beginning to warm. “The only puddin’ I ever got was dirtier than I was.” He stared at her, scarcely able to believe her smiling countenance. He glanced over his shoulder as if making sure Pike wasn’t behind him. “You ain’t sayin’ you’da let me this morning?”

  “I’m saying I’d let you right now before Pike drags me off to that Indian camp.”

  Selvey’s brain was threatening to explode. “I don’t know. Pike would kill me.”

  “Pike won’t know.”

  “Damn!” His common sense was rapidly draining toward his belt buckle. Selvey could never remember a woman wanting to make love to him. Even those he had paid were still reluctant. He moved over closer to her. Being careful to stay out of range of her feet, even though they were tied together, he reached out and very slowly laid his grimy hand to rest on her bosom. She did not flinch but smiled warmly up at him. He remained in that posture for a long time, his face a perfect portrait of simple and pure stupidity.

  After a few moments, she spoke to break him from his apparent trance. “We could have ourselves a little party before Pike gets back.” His eyes widened with the thought. “But I want to enjoy it too, so you need to wash up first.”

  For an instant his blissful facade faded. “A bath?” His expression was the same as if she had specified that it had to be taken in fire.

  “You don’t have to take a whole bath. Just go down to the river and wash your face and hands.” She flashed a wide smile. “I’ll tell you what. Untie me and I’ll cook us up some salt pork and fry that hardtack in the grease. We’ll have us something to eat and then we can work it off. We’ll have us a real party.”

  Selvey, his hand still planted on her left breast, was starting to squirm like a puppy, no longer able to contain himself. “All right,” he blurted. “Just my hands and face, right?” She nodded yes. He immediately went to work on the knots and, within a few seconds, she was free. While she stretched her arms, he started toward the river. “Put some of that brown sugar on the hardtack. I like that.”

  “I will,” she said and went to his saddlepack where he kept the supplies. He had a brief second thought and paused halfway down the bank, his hand on his pistol as he looked back at her. She pulled a heavy iron skillet out of the pack and knelt before the fire. Relieved, he turned and fairly ran down to the water’s edge where he hurriedly began splashing water over his face and arms.

  Selvey was beside himself with anticipation of what was to come. The woman was not by any stretch of imagination pretty, but then he didn’t really care. He had never had any woman who was pretty. When you had a craving for bacon, you didn’t give a damn if the hog was pretty or not. A sobering thought invaded his joyful anticipation. Pike would kill him if he found out. “To hell with Pike,” he muttered, looking again at Abby kneeling by the fire, tending to their dinner.

  “Well, I reckon I’m as clean as I ever get,” he announced as he walked back up to the fire.

  She smiled up at him and said, “Have some bacon.” She stood up and swung the heavy iron skillet as hard as she could. It landed squarely against the side of his head. Selvey went down in
a heap. He lay there, struggling to gather his wits, his ear and the side of his face seared by the hot frying pan. Abby didn’t give him time to come to his senses. Wielding the skillet like a hammer, she came down hard on the stunned man’s head, driving him into the dirt. The hollow sound of the iron skillet on Selvey’s skull almost sickened her but she held on to it with both hands. He struggled helplessly, trying to get up on his hands and knees while she forced herself to come down with the skillet once more. He went facedown in the dirt again and lay still. She stood over his prone body for a few moments, praying that he did not move again. When he did not, she flung the skillet away from her and wiped her hands vigorously on her trousers.

  Constantly glancing at the stricken man to make sure he didn’t move, she moved quickly, gathering what things she could in her frantic haste to escape. As fast as she could, she saddled her horse and when she was ready to ride she returned to stand over Selvey again, looking hard at the unconscious man, wondering if he was dead. With great caution, she reached down and took his rifle and pistol, jumping back as soon as she had them in her hand, afraid he might suddenly grab her. He didn’t move. She started to mount her horse when she thought, I need some food. Not wanting to spend another minute in that place, she ran to the saddlepack Pike had loaded on one of the horses and, without taking time to be selective, took it and threw it behind her saddle.

  Snatching up Selvey’s canteen, she jumped on her horse and kicked him hard. Her first impulse was to ride as far and as fast as she could so she did not let up on the horse for a half mile or more. She didn’t know if she had killed Selvey or not but she intended to be long gone when Pike returned. With no notion where she was or where Fort Lincoln might be, she decided she would just ride east. It had to be somewhere in that direction.

  * * *

  Jason poked the ashes of the dead campfire with the toe of his boot. Judging by the coals still smoldering underneath the ashes, he knew he had closed the distance between him and the Arapaho war party. They had cooked their breakfast here that morning, no more than a couple of hours earlier. He had ridden the paint hard since before sunup, and he was finally close. He would have to be more careful from this point on and keep a sharp eye for any Arapaho scouts who may have lagged behind to make sure they weren’t being followed.