Black Eagle

by Charles G. West

  “I swear, Shorty, that might be the worse coffee I’ve ever tasted . . . pour me another cup.”

  Shorty grunted. “I shore as hell ain’t forcing you to drink it. Next time you can get your sorry ass in here to make it.” He took his knife and turned the salt pork over in the pan.

  Jason marveled at the wiry little man as he tended to their supper. “Have you always packed a whole kitchen with you in the field? A coffeepot, a skillet, a pot. What else have you got in that saddle pack?”

  Shorty snorted his disgust for the question. He couldn’t answer right away due to the necessity of juggling a hot piece of pork around in his mouth to keep from burning his tongue. When the offending piece of meat cooled enough to be chewed a few times and swallowed, he turned his head to the side and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the fire. Jason shook his head, amazed. “How,” he wondered, “could a man park his chaw in his cheek and eat hot pork at the same time?”

  Shorty laughed. “Just comes natural, I reckon. I allow as how I got mixed up one time and swallowed the wrong thing.” He laughed again as he thought back on it. “Funny thing, though, you’d think it’da made a man sick. It didn’t though. I felt kinda funny and my eyes got crossed for a while . . . but it never made me sick.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “Far as your other impudent question, I don’t reckon I got a whole kitchen in my pack but I believe in having all the comforts of home with me. This here pack and that there horse is the only home I can rightly remember so, wherever they is, that’s home. The only other thing a man needs is a little female comfort from time to time.” He laughed. “At my age, I don’t even need that very offen. But when I get the cravings, I can git them satisfied by slipping over to see Blackbird.”

  “I reckon she’d be the little Sioux woman you’ve been seeing in the Sioux camp at Fetterman,” Jason replied.

  Shorty grinned so wide he could barely make a tight stream of tobacco juice when he spit in the fire. He listened to it sizzle for a moment, deep in thought. “Yessir—little Blackbird—she can shore scratch an itch that you can’t reach.” The coffee and chuck had evidently set Shorty in a talkative mood and he was preparing to launch into his personal history on the plains. Before he got into it very far, however, he was interrupted by the call of one of the pickets.

  “Rider coming!”

  Everyone in the camp automatically put their hand on their weapons, alert to the warning. Since the picket announced only one rider, that was the only reaction for the most part. Lassiter got up from his supper and walked over to meet the picket rider. Jason, only mildly curious, got up also. Within moments after the picket rode in, another rider appeared in the edge of the firelight. It was Little Hawk.

  The Crow scout dismounted when he saw the lieutenant coming to meet him. “Jason Coles, Colonel Fleming say, Jason Coles come back with Little Hawk. Baby gone.”

  Jason was beside the lieutenant now and, while Lassiter did not quite understand what Little Hawk was trying to tell him in his mixture of broken English and Crow, Jason clearly made out the message. The baby had been taken! He did not have to be told who kidnapped the child. Only Black Eagle would be brazen enough, and driven enough, to snatch the baby from the midst of a regiment of soldiers.

  He explained the situation to Lassiter and the lieutenant immediately released him to return with the Crow scout. Jason felt the urgency to leave at once but his better judgment told him it was best to wait till morning. His horse needed to rest before starting out on a fast-paced ride. Little Hawk’s horse was already near exhaustion and would doubtless break down if called upon to start back with no rest.

  “Very well then,” Lassiter said. “You start back in the morning. Mr. Boyd can continue on as scout for this patrol and we’ll continue on after the hostiles.”

  Shorty groaned his disappointment and expressed a desire to accompany Jason and Little Hawk but Lassiter insisted. He still didn’t have complete trust in the two Sioux scouts assigned to the troop and he wanted to keep a civilian scout to oversee their activities. Everything decided, Jason led Little Hawk back to his campfire. The Crow eagerly shared some of the pork and hardtack and washed it down with Shorty’s bitter coffee. He bedded down for the night near Jason, purposely keeping a distance from the Sioux scouts in camp.

  * * *

  A day and a half of hard riding saw them back at Fort Fetterman. There was very little conversation between them as they pushed their mounts almost to the limit before stopping briefly for a few hours rest. Jason’s Appaloosa was stout, his broad chest housing a powerful heart and Jason could have pushed him farther. But Little Hawk’s smaller paint had been ridden hard for most of four days and Jason feared that if they didn’t stop for a few hours, Black would be carrying double.

  They rode in to Fetterman in the middle of the afternoon and Jason went straight to Sergeant Woodcock’s house. Ruth hurried out to meet him when she saw him coming. Wes saw him ride in as well and he came running across the parade ground.

  “Jason!” Ruth cried. “He took John!” The anguish in her voice bore plain evidence to the anxiety she felt. Her eyes were deep and darkened and Jason guessed she had slept very little for the past four days. “I’m so sorry . . . I should have been watching him. I shouldn’t have let him out of my sight.” The tears welled up in her eyes and soon pushed over onto her cheeks. “Jason, you’ve got to find him. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t bring my boy back.”

  He put his arm around her to comfort her. It pained him to see her so distraught. “I’ll leave as soon as I can get a fresh horse. Don’t worry. If he’s alive, I’ll bring him back.” He tried to comfort her as best he could. “Ruth, it ain’t your fault. It couldn’t be helped.” He turned to see Sergeant Woodcock running toward them. “Wes, what happened?”

  The sergeant-major pulled up and hesitated while he waited for his breath to catch up with him. When he could talk, he relayed what Ruth had told him about the abduction. “He was hiding in a bunch of them reservation Injuns, just standing around near the sutler’s. Nobody paid him no mind. You know how it is, there’s always a bunch of them Injuns loafing around. Before anybody knew what was happening, he rode his horse by the corner of the house and snatched John up by the arm. He was gone before anybody knew what was going on.”

  “I was hanging up the wash,” Ruth interjected. “I couldn’t see the boys for the sheets.”

  Sergeant Woodcock patted his wife on the shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Honey. It happened too fast.”

  Jason agreed. “He’s right, Ruth. I expect that devil would have snatched John even if you had been standing right there next to him.”

  “Why, Jason? Why would he want to take John?” Ruth started to cry again.

  “He thinks John is the son of Stone Hand and that’s what worries me. That child ain’t got no Injun in him and, sooner or later, Black Eagle is gonna get that through his thick skull. Then I don’t know what he’ll do—sell him or kill him—whatever his fancy. I want to find him before it gets to that.” He didn’t bother to tell them that Black Eagle had another purpose in coming to the fort, and that was to kill Jason Coles. He was probably disappointed to find that Jason was out with a patrol but decided to snatch the child when he had the chance.

  Ruth almost collapsed at the thought of what Jason feared. “Oh, dear Jesus,” she cried. “Jason, you’ve got to find him!”

  “I’ll do the best I can, Ruth.” To Wes, he said, “Tell me what’s been done so far.”

  “Lieutenant Burns lit out after him with fifteen men, no more’n thirty or forty minutes after Ruth came running to the orderly room. Lieutenant Anderson got back yesterday and he took his whole troop out to search for him this morning. We ain’t had no word back from either of them so far.”

  Jason thought about that for a moment. Burns might have had a slim chance of overtaking the renegade but he doubted it. Thad might as well have stayed in garrison. “I hope they haven’t trampled over all the sign.” He
said it to himself but Little Hawk, listening silently, nodded in agreement.

  “Listen, Jason, I want to ride with you,” Wes said.

  Jason looked at his friend, a good man who had made many a campaign on the frontier, under all manner of weather and conditions. But it had been several years now since Wes had taken to the field—his generous paunch testified to that. No, Wes would still be the man you’d want in a hot skirmish but this was a different situation. To him, he said, “I know, Wes, but I think I’m gonna take Little Hawk. You need to be here with the regiment.” He glanced up at Little Hawk. “We better get going. There’s still a few hours of daylight left. We might as well start tonight.”

  While Little Hawk went to fetch fresh horses for them, Jason walked back to the orderly room with Wes. While Jason went over his plans with the colonel, Wes sent his clerk to get rations for Jason and Little Hawk. Lieutenant Burns, who had led the detachment after Black Eagle, was there to offer any help he could, which was very little. He had been the Officer of the Day and he was in the saddle as soon as he could but he never really caught sight of the renegade. He and fifteen troopers galloped after Black Eagle as fast as they could push their mounts but it was a fruitless effort. The Cheyenne was long gone.

  The colonel offered to send a patrol with the two scouts but Jason declined the offer, explaining that they would be more a hamper than a help. His thinking was that he didn’t really need Little Hawk but he liked the Crow’s style and it wouldn’t hurt to have someone he trusted to help him read sign.

  Within half an hour’s time, Little Hawk and Jason had shifted their saddles and packs to fresh mounts. White had not been ridden for a while and had gotten a bit rank. She bucked a few times when she felt Jason’s weight on her back but settled down soon enough when she realized Jason was there to stay.

  “Good luck, Jason,” Wes called out as the two riders started out in the direction Black Eagle had fled. Ruth stood by the corner of her porch and watched them until they rode out of sight.

  * * *

  Once they got to the point where Black Eagle had last been seen, they separated to ride on both sides of the wide trail. It was not going to be an easy job to pick up the hostile’s trail. The many soldiers who chased after him had covered Black Eagle’s tracks better than if he had swept them clean with a broom. The only way Jason could hope to track him was to keep a sharp eye in hopes of finding the point where the renegade’s trail left that of the mob chasing him.

  It was a painfully slow process but it could not be helped. Doggedly they searched the broad cavalry trail, looking for some sign that Black Eagle had departed from his original direction. Jason cursed under his breath. He knew he couldn’t fault the soldiers for their natural reaction but he wished they had sent Cross Bear or one of the other scouts out ahead to find the trail instead of charging full speed across the prairie.

  They searched the trail for the better part of three hours and had reached a low line of rolling hills when the sun dropped below the western horizon. There was no choice but to make camp for the night. Up ahead, about a quarter of a mile, a line of cottonwoods indicated the presence of water of some kind so Jason decided to make camp there. They could backtrack at daylight to pick up the trail where they had left off.

  Upon reaching the trees, they found a trickle of water flowing through a wide sandy creekbed, enough to get a drink and water the horses. After the horses were watered and hobbled for the night, Jason allowed a small fire, knowing there was little risk of any hostiles seeing it this close to Fort Fetterman.

  They were in the saddle again as soon as it was light enough to pick up sign. Riding back to the point where darkness had overtaken them the day before, they resumed the meticulous and tiring search of the cavalry trail. After another hour, Jason began to wonder if Black Eagle had already changed directions and he had just missed it. It did not make sense that Thad’s troopers just happened to gallop blindly on the same trail Black Eagle had taken for this long. When they crossed the same stream they had camped on the night before, only a quarter of a mile north of where they had slept, Jason called a halt.

  “I think we missed it,” he said.

  Little Hawk shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe,” he said.

  “There ain’t enough water in this creek to hide a horse’s tracks but we’ll take a look anyway. You head downstream and I’ll look up this way. If he didn’t fork off here, I’m going back-trail.” He sat motionless on White, staring at the narrow ribbon of water and the churned-up banks where a whole troop of cavalry had crossed. “I don’t believe in blind luck. That renegade had to leave this trail back there somewhere.” He nudged White and started upstream. Little Hawk started in the opposite direction, both men searching the creek banks for some sign of a horse’s passage.

  It did not take long in either direction to determine there had been no horse ridden up or down the creek. The two men were back at the crossing within fifteen minutes. Jason walked his horse back up on a low bluff overlooking the stream and dismounted. He scanned the horizon in each direction, thinking about the man he was chasing. To the west were the mountains, to the north, the Big Horns and, supposedly, Sitting Bull. He had assumed Black Eagle would surely head toward the south fork of the Powder, make his way upriver, then cross over to the Tongue or possibly on to the Big Horn, wherever Sitting Bull’s camp was. Jason had figured the renegade would want to get the child to the heart of the Sioux nation where the last free Cheyennes had joined with the great Sioux chief.

  Now he had second thoughts. He had not given enough weight to the idea that there may be one desire burning the soul of Black Eagle that preceded rescuing Stone Hand’s son. And that was to avenge the death of Stone Hand. Black Eagle could not free his mind of his anguish until he had Jason Coles’ head on his lance. Why had he not thought of it before? Black Eagle was not going to join his renegade brothers until he had settled with him. He had been searching for a trail leading off toward the north when it was more likely the trail he looked for would break off to the south. He was more convinced than ever that he and Little Hawk had missed Black Eagle’s trail somewhere between this point and Fort Fetterman. His thoughts were interrupted when Little Hawk rode up the bluff beside him.

  “Soldiers coming,” he said.

  Jason turned and looked in the direction the Crow pointed. There on the horizon, no more than a thin line of black specks at that distance, a column of cavalry crossed over the top of a hill and disappeared for a few minutes in a ravine before emerging again on a flat expanse of grass.

  “B Troop,” Jason said and he watched them for a few moments longer before telling Little Hawk he was going to backtrack.

  They swapped sides of the trail going back toward the fort in case Jason picked up some sign Little Hawk had missed and vice versa. Jason was confident in his ability to read sign but he did not consider himself infallible. He was glad he had brought Little Hawk with him. It was an hour before Thad Anderson, with Cross Bear beside him, came up behind them, the troop of cavalry moving at a fast walk.

  “Jason!” Thad called out when he saw the two scouts on foot, leading their horses. He spurred his mount and galloped to catch up to them. “Any luck?”

  “No, no luck,” Jason answered. He didn’t bother to tell the young lieutenant that he might have had a whole lot better chance of having a little luck if Black Eagle’s trail hadn’t been so conveniently obliterated by the tracks of a troop of cavalry. “How ’bout you?” He asked the question already knowing that there wasn’t a chance in hell Thad had found anything.

  “No,” Thad answered solemnly. “We searched an area fifty miles wide, from here to the south fork. We had to call it off. We’re out of supplies.”

  “Reckon that’s all you could do,” Jason replied. He didn’t see any sense in telling Thad that he had been on a useless search. An entire village could have escaped detection in that area.

  “What are you doing back here?” Thad didn’t understand why Jason
and Little Hawk weren’t long gone from there.

  “Looking for sign,” was the answer given simply.

  Thad was confused. “But you’re heading back toward Fetterman.”

  “Reckon so.” Thad started to say something more but Jason interrupted him. “Reckon you’ll be wanting to get your men back to the fort. We’ll be along directly.”

  Thad misunderstood. “Yeah, it’s a damn shame. I guess there’s no use looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Jason glanced over at Little Hawk, who was talking quietly with Cross Bear, then he looked back at Thad and smiled. “Oh, we ain’t ready to give up yet. I’ll see you back at the fort.”

  “Right,” Thad answered and ordered the column under way once more.

  Jason and Little Hawk watched the column pass by before resuming their meticulous search of the trail. They would search it all the way back to its starting point at the fort with still no success. Even though Black Eagle had proven to be too clever to trail, Jason was more confident than ever of his hunch that the renegade was not far away. His gut told him that the Cheyenne would not head north until he had settled with him. He was confident that Black Eagle would seek him out. All he had to do was make himself highly visible. But Jason wasn’t satisfied to merely pose as bait for Black Eagle. He wanted to find the renegade before he found him. He had to if he wanted to see the baby again.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Sergeant Woodcock was surprised to see Jason and Little Hawk ride back into the garrison after only one night had passed. He feared it might mean bad news. He hurried out of the Orderly Room to meet them, the worried expression on his face told of his concern even before he spoke. “Jason . . . What? . . . What is it? . . . What did you find?”

  “Nothing, Wes. We didn’t find anything yet.”

  “But how come you came back?” Wes was almost beside himself. He expected Jason Coles would not return without the boy. “You ain’t give up? What’ll I tell Ruth?”