Black Eagle

by Charles G. West

  He took one last look at the coulee below and then turned back toward the top of the ridge. He’s got to be up here somewhere, he thought. Before he took one more step, he was suddenly staggered by a sharp blow between his shoulder blades that caused him to stumble and almost fall before catching himself. Thinking he had been clubbed, he turned to meet his attacker, rifle raised and ready to defend himself. There was no one there. Baffled, for he could still feel the impact of the blow to his back, he looked right and left, searching for a target. He could see nothing in the deep shadows of the pines. All at once he began to feel weak and he realized his legs were going to give out on him. His back began to throb with pain, now much more acute, and at first he did not understand what had hit him. It felt as if there was a large stone in his back and the pain was rapidly increasing in intensity. A moment later he was hit in the left thigh. Startled by the impact, he looked down to discover the slender shaft of the arrow that had imbedded in his leg.

  Panic-stricken, he stumbled over to a large boulder, seeking cover from his attacker and unable to determine the direction the attack came from. The pain in his back was now a fire as he attempted unsuccessfully to extract the arrow buried in his thigh, all the while trying to search frantically about him for some sign of the savage. He might as well have sought out a ghost. He could see nothing but the dark shadows, broken randomly by bright spots of moonlight. He could only speculate how deep the arrow in his back was. Although he felt weak and confused, he felt hopeful that the wound was not critical. There was blood running down his back, he could feel it, but he was not coughing any blood and that was a sign that it was a flesh wound and had not penetrated any vital organs. Encouraged to a small degree by that thought, he struggled to position his rifle on the rock before him to prepare for the assault that was sure to come. That was the last clear thought he had before the blow to his head knocked him senseless and everything went black.

  When he awoke, it was to a world of pain. His head throbbed with each beat of his heart, a congealed mat of dried blood covered one side of his face so that his eyelid on that side seemed stuck shut. But he was still very much alive—the burning pain in his back and thigh told him that—but alive for how long, he could only guess.

  As his senses gradually returned, he became aware that it was almost daylight. The trees and rocks were taking definite shape and outline and the sky had taken on a gray hue. His muddled brain began to function again and he tried to move. Only then did he realize he was tied hand and foot. He strained against his bonds but soon discovered he was helpless to move. Finally he lay back, exhausted.

  From a position on a flat boulder near the edge of the cliff, maybe thirty yards away from the wounded soldier, Black Eagle watched the struggles of his prisoner to free himself. He found the frustrated attempts amusing and he was content to sit and watch until the soldier gave up in exasperation. He could have simply killed the trooper the night before as he watched his bungling efforts to stalk him. The fool had almost brought down the whole mountainside in his clumsy efforts to climb the ridge. He could have shot him with his rifle right then but Black Eagle felt the desire to inflict pain on one who dared to attempt to track him. Consequently, the soldier would die slowly.

  It would have been satisfying to continue to hold the soldiers pinned down but Black Eagle was running low on ammunition for his rifle. After tying up his prisoner, he had gone back to watch the coulee for a while. Just after daylight, one blueshirt sneaked out of the coulee and Black Eagle spent one last bullet on him. That would probably keep them in their hole in the ground for a while longer. The thought caused Black Eagle to smile. He returned to his prisoner.

  Thad groaned with the pain caused when he tried to roll over to his other side, trying to find some position that would ease his suffering. Suddenly aware that he was no longer alone, he rolled his eyes upward to encounter the frightening image standing over him. He was terrified, but knowing that a show of fear was what the savage hoped for, he tried to maintain a display of defiance. After a long moment, when the hostile made no move and continued to stand over him, he blurted, “Why don’t you go ahead and get it over with, you son of a bitch.”

  His outburst seemed to amuse the Cheyenne renegade. Although he did not understand his words, he smirked at Thad and slowly pronounced two of the few English words he knew, “Die . . . slow.” He watched Thad’s expression closely, gratified to see that the soldier understood.

  Assured that his prisoner was fully alert now, Black Eagle decided it was time to retrieve his arrows. He had waited purposely to pull them out because he wanted Thad to be fully awake in order to experience the pain. He put one foot on Thad’s leg and grasped the arrow shaft with both hands. Thad stiffened with the pain as soon as Black Eagle touched the arrow, biting his lip to maintain his silence. None of this was missed by the savage and he smiled as he began to work the arrow back and forth to free the stone arrowhead. Thad stood it as long as he could but finally he had to cry out in pain before Black Eagle gave one last yank to free the arrow. Thad bit his lip so hard that it brought blood and his eyelids fluttered briefly as if he might lose consciousness.

  Black Eagle reached behind him for a skin water pouch. He splashed a little water on Thad’s face, studying his eyes intensely. When he was sure the soldier was still alert, he rolled him over on his belly and proceeded to extract the arrow still imbedded in his back. This time Thad completely lost consciousness when the Indian worked the arrow back and forth furiously before it was free. Another splash of cool water and he was forced back to reality once more, this time to encounter an obviously angry Black Eagle.

  The savage held up the arrow shaft, broken just below the head, and he scolded Thad in Cheyenne. Although Thad had no knowledge of the language, he understood the meaning of the renegade’s tirade. “The arrowhead broke off. I will have to cut it out of your back. I promise it will not be a pleasant thing for you but I will not kill you. I want you alive when I skin you.”

  Thad tried to struggle but he was powerless to prevent the cruel operation that Black Eagle was about to perform. The savage dragged him out to the center of the tiny meadow and straddled him. He drew his scalping knife from his belt and held it in front of Thad’s eyes for a few moments, turning it over from side to side so the soldier could see what was about to happen to him. Then he raised it slowly up above his head as if to suddenly thrust it into Thad’s back. Thad stiffened and waited for the blow.

  “You lower that knife real slow and get off of him.” The voice was soft with no emotion but it cut through the morning air like a lightning bolt.

  Black Eagle froze for a moment. “Coles,” he stated simply and the faint hint of a smile creased his face as he looked up to face the rifle leveled at him. He slowly lowered the knife but, in a quick move, he stuck the point against Thad’s throat, pulling back his head at the same time. “If you pull the trigger, I will slash his throat.”

  “Maybe,” Jason replied coolly, “but you’re still gonna be deader’n hell.”

  There was a moment’s standoff as the two mortal enemies finally faced each other, each coolly assessing the other. Black Eagle glanced from the muzzle of the Winchester pointed at him, to his own rifle, propped up against a tree out of his reach. Jason read his thoughts and slowly shook his head. He gave considerable thought to pulling the trigger but he knew the risk was very real that Black Eagle would still be able to end Thad’s life. Even if the shot was in the head and he was killed instantly, there was still the danger of his reflex action. Black Eagle sensed the scout’s reluctance to risk the soldier’s life.

  “I have been patient and the Great Spirit has heard my prayers and brought you to me, Coles. Now you must fight me or I will kill this worthless dog.” He pressed the knife hard enough against Thad’s throat to bring a trickle of blood. “Put your rifle aside and draw your knife. Fight me.” Jason did not respond right away. “Maybe you are afraid to fight me, Coles. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and kill t
his dog.”

  Jason had to admit that even though he held the rifle, Black Eagle held the cards. He had little choice but to accept the renegade’s challenge or Thad was a dead man. If circumstances were different, he would have simply put a bullet in Black Eagle’s brain, the same as with any rabid animal. But thoughts of little Lark, with the back of her skull crushed in, fueled Jason’s desire to take restitution out of the renegade’s hide. Keeping a watchful eye on the menacing Cheyenne, he carefully laid his rifle down and drew the long skinning knife from his belt. Black Eagle’s response was a wry smile as he roughly shoved Thad’s head down and rose to his feet.

  Jason motioned with his head and Black Eagle, understanding, moved into the small clearing, farther away from the rifles, his face a mask of evil pleasure. They slowly circled, each measuring the other, face-to-face for the first time. There was no sign of fear in either man’s eyes as they probed for any hint of weakness or vulnerability. Black Eagle was taller than Jason had imagined, with a solid muscular body that reminded him of another Cheyenne renegade who had died on Jason’s knife . . . Stone Hand, the murdering savage Black Eagle had vowed to avenge. The memory of that mortal fight caused the anger to rise in Jason’s blood and he could not help but visualize the terror Lark must have felt in the final moments of her young life. He cautioned himself to remain cool as he continued to circle the leering hostile.

  “You are a fool, Coles. You should have shot me when you had the chance.” He made playful little feints with his scalping knife as he taunted Jason. “Now I will cut you into little pieces and scatter them over the prairie so that your spirit will never put them together. Then I will skin your soldier friend while he is still alive.”

  His hands and feet still securely tied, Thad strained to work his body around to a position to see the two combatants circling each other like two wolves. Jason had saved his bacon before so he knew there was no lack of courage in the tall scout but he had never seen an Indian, Cheyenne or Sioux, as menacing as the sinister hostile facing him at that moment. Black Eagle’s very persona seemed to radiate an image of cruel power and a confidence of invincibility. Thad was gravely concerned over the outcome of this battle to the death. It could go either way as he saw it and his life was still in danger.

  When Black Eagle saw that his taunting had no visible effect on his adversary, he decided that it was time to get on with the slaughter. In a move so sudden it almost caught Jason flat-footed, he feinted a lunge to his left and then thrust to his right. Jason’s ribs barely escaped the long, razor-sharp knife as he leaped to the side, the only damage a torn sleeve. Black Eagle laughed and resumed circling, feinting and thrusting, searching for an opening. Jason continued to parry each thrust as Black Eagle swiped at his belly. After a few minutes, both tired of the sparring and they stopped circling. It seemed to Thad that they just stood there eyeing each other for what seemed like long minutes. Both men sensed a signal that the parrying was over. It was time for the kill.

  Black Eagle threw back his head and screamed an angry war whoop. In the next instant he was upon Jason before the scout could evade his attack. Down they went, rolling over and over, first Black Eagle on top and then Jason, grappling and straining to free their knife hands while struggling to defend themselves. Both men suffered cuts on their arms as they fought to avoid the slashing knives. Finally Black Eagle broke free and scrambled to his feet . . . a moment before Jason could recover. He charged the scout, who was still on one knee in the process of getting up. Jason managed to deflect the outstretched knife hand while coming up with his own. Black Eagle was quick enough to avoid the knife aimed at his belly but it sliced the skin on his side. He screamed out in surprised anger and immediately threw himself at Jason, who had managed to get to his feet in time to meet the infuriated savage head-on. They strained against each other, each locking the wrist of the other’s knife hand with his free hand. Their faces only inches apart, they grunted with the exertion. Black Eagle cursed and spit at Jason as they struggled. In furious frustration, he sank his teeth in Jason’s neck. Jason yelled and pulled back, releasing Black Eagle’s wrist. He took a full step back and, with his fist, smashed Black Eagle squarely on the nose. The move surprised the Indian and, before he could recover, Jason quickly switched his knife to his other hand and, with a hard right, caught Black Eagle flush on the point of his chin. The blow staggered the renegade and while he fought to clear his head, Jason stepped in close and buried his knife to the handle in Black Eagle’s belly.

  The savage knew he was dying but his anger continued to fuel his defiance. Jason stayed in close to him while they continued to struggle. He withdrew his knife and sank it in Black Eagle’s belly again. Black Eagle expelled a lungful of breath when he felt the knife thrust deep into his bowels. His efforts to fight became weaker and weaker until at last his body began to sag helplessly and Jason alone was holding him up. “You think about that little Osage girl you murdered, you son of a bitch,” Jason growled into the eyes that were almost glazing over. Then he stepped back and let him fall to the ground.

  Jason stood over Black Eagle and watched him die, waiting until he was certain there was no more life in the notorious renegade before he would risk turning his back on him. Finally Black Eagle began to convulse and vomit blood. In a moment more, his last breath whispered an end to a long and agonizing search and Jason felt at peace with himself.

  Only then did Jason seem to remember Thad. He went back and untied the bewildered young soldier. Without a word, he checked the lieutenant’s wounds, then cut off Thad’s shirt tail to use as bandages. “You’ll live,” he finally pronounced.

  “I thought we were both goners,” Thad said, still awestruck by the mortal combat he had just witnessed.

  Jason, still busy with his efforts to bandage Thad’s wounds, said simply, “He was a handful.”

  Thad was baffled by the scout’s blasé attitude. He had just been in a battle to the death and he reacted as if he had just removed a splinter from his hand. “Damn, Jason, I owe you my life. That’s the second time you’ve saved my life.”

  “Yeah and I’m getting damn tired of it. What the hell were you doing up here anyway?”

  Thad’s gaze dropped sheepishly. “Trying to find Black Eagle.”

  “Well, you found him.” Jason helped Thad to a standing position. “Your wounds don’t look too bad. Can you ride?”

  “I think so.”

  “Come on. I’m going to lift you up on his pony. I don’t reckon he’ll mind.”

  Black Eagle’s horse was skittish, having never been around white men before, and it took Jason a few minutes to calm the animal. After it settled down and accepted its burden, Jason helped Thad up and led him down the mountain to the spot where he had left Black. Thad, though suffering considerable pain, managed to stay on the horse as Jason guided it down the steep slope to the valley below.

  * * *

  The sun had climbed a considerable distance up the mountainside by the time they recovered Jason’s horse and started back to rejoin the detachment. They had traveled barely a mile when they sighted a long blue line of soldiers walking in their direction. Jason decided to wait where they were, in the shade of a low bluff, while they waited for Captain Blevins and his troop to come to them. It took about twenty minutes.

  When they were sighted, Blevins waved and urged his troop to pick up their step. Jason stepped up on his horse and met them when they were within fifty yards.

  “My God, Coles . . .” was all Blevins said when the scout approached. The captain’s shirt was already soaked with sweat.

  “Ain’t much sadder sight than a troop of cavalry on foot.”

  Blevins looked up at Jason, his gaze completely devoid of patience. He had led his troop into a trap, lost ten men in what wasn’t really a skirmish, lost all his horses, and now faced the humiliation of walking back to camp. “Coles, I’m not in the mood for any humorous remarks.”

  Jason smiled. “Sorry, Captain. Would it improve yo
ur disposition any if I told you where your horses are?”

  Blevins’ face brightened considerably. “You found them? I thought those two Crow scouts ran off with them. Where are they?”

  “I’ll take you to ’em. Maybe while we’re at it, we can bury those two Crow scouts. They lost their lives looking for your damn horses. Black Eagle done ’em in.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve done them a disservice. I guess that’s what we heard last night. We heard a war whoop off in the distance. There was no way we could be sure what had happened.”

  “They were two of the best I’ve ever worked with,” Jason said softly. “The least we can do is put ’em in the ground.” He turned his horse around and pointed. “I’ve got a wounded boy back yonder. He caught a couple of arrows and he got his head cracked but I believe he’ll make it all right.” He touched his finger to the brim of his hat in a casual salute and nudged Black. “I’ll go get your horses . . . wouldn’t do for all you boys to show up at Fetterman with blisters on your feet.”

  Blevins stopped him. “Coles, what about Black Eagle? You haven’t said a damn word about him. Did he escape?”

  Jason looked at the captain with the expression he reserved for a backward child. “Well, I figured when you saw Lieutenant Anderson sitting on that Indian pony, you’d pretty much know how we got it.” He reached in his saddlebag and pulled out an object rolled up in a piece of buckskin. Tossing it to Blevins, he said, “Here’s his scalp. The rest of him’s up on that ridge.”

  “My God, Coles,” Blevins gasped as Jason turned Black and galloped off.

  Riding back to the shade of the hillside where he left Thad, Jason called out, “The captain will take care of you now. I’m going to round up the horses.” He started off at an easy pace but then drew back on the reins, stopping Black in his tracks. “Damn, I plumb forgot. I’ve got a letter for you.” He fished around in his saddlebag until he came up with the letter. Pulling Black up beside the Cheyenne pony, he handed it to the puzzled young man. “I think it’s from that young lady you’re so sweet on.”