As they walked, Bodine said, “We can’t just go in shooting; might hit some innocent. So I guess we’re going in blind.”
Before Two Wolves could reply, the batwings were pushed open and men crowded the boardwalk. They began lining up, several feet between them. They stood with hands hovering over their guns, all of them smiling at the pair.
“An even ten,” Two Wolves said. “You think they all work for Tom Thomas?”
“If they don’t, they’re sure in the wrong crowd. I think we ought to thin it, don’t you?”
“You ready?”
“Now!”
Two Wolves and Bodine charged the line of gunmen, the move totally unexpected and catching the gunslicks off guard. As they ran the short distance to the boardwalk, Bodine and Two Wolves fired both barrels of the express guns, the heavy charges of nuts and nails and buckshot knocking four of the gunmen sprawling and sending the others diving for cover; two ran back into the saloon, two jumped off the boardwalk and ran into the alley, and the other two grabbed for iron.
Bodine’s right hand dipped down and up, his fist filled with Colt. The muzzle lanced fire and smoke and a gunman screamed as the slug tore into his chest. Two Wolves’ Colt was spitting lead and fire. His bullet slammed into the stomach of his target and doubled him over, dropping him to the rough boards.
“I’ll take the alley,” Two Wolves called, running for the alleyway.
The charge had not been bravado; Bodine and Two Wolves just didn’t know what else to do.
Bodine was already running for the saloon, reloading the express gun as he ran. His boots slipped in the blood on the boardwalk and he lost his balance, literally falling into the saloon . . . which probably saved his life.
As he fell into the saloon, guns roared and lead sang deadly songs over his head, the slugs knocking holes in the batwings where he would have been had he not slipped.
On his belly, he cut loose the double-barreled, sawed-off, twelve gauge hand cannon and tore Dave Agee apart, the terrible charges striking the man in the belly and chest. Dave Agee’s eyes were rolling back in his head and he was dead before he hit the sawdust floor.
Bodine rolled and came up with both hands filled with Colts.
“Goddamn you, Bodine!” Nate Johnson screamed at him.
Bodine started cocking and firing, on his knees on the floor, just as the sounds of shooting came to him from the alley. He poured round after round into Nate, but the gunman would not go down, clinging stubbornly to the bar, hanging there by one elbow. His guns had fallen from numbed fingers.
“Lucky,” Nate muttered. “Luckiest man I ever seen.” Then he closed his eyes and pitched forward, landing on his face in the sawdust.
Two Wolves had killed one gunny with his shotgun, and was now stalking the other one behind the row of buildings. A bullet blew splinters into his face as it tore off a piece of wood. Two Wolves dropped to one knee and leveled his Colt. He put three fast .44 slugs into the man, the last slug taking him in the throat and knocking him back against an outhouse. The outhouse collapsed and the man fell into the lime pit. He bubbled a couple of times and then was quiet as he sank into the mess.
When Two Wolves rounded the corner of the saloon, Bodine was standing on the boardwalk, reloading, talking to the sheriff, the dead and the dying and the badly wounded littered around their boots.
“I never seen nothin’ like it,” the sheriff said. “Not never in my born days. You boys charged them gunslicks. I never seen nothin’ like it.”
“Oh, mommy, mommy!” a gut-shot gunhawk called out, his voice filled with pain. “Help me!”
The sheriff looked at the man, contempt in his eyes. “Best thing your momma could have done was to take a pissel-mum branch to your butt about three times a day when you was younger.” The sheriff looked at the bloody holes in the man’s belly. “You ain’t gonna make it. You hard-hit, gunfighter.”
The man opened his mouth to speak. He struggled to push the words out before death took him. He lost the race as the grim reaper rode up, grinning.
“Any charges against us, Sheriff?” Bodine asked.
“Nope. They braced you. That’s the way I’m gonna write ’er up.”
“We’ll be getting our supplies now,” Two Wolves said.
“Good,” the sheriff told them.
“And leaving,” Bodine added.
“That’s even better,” the sheriff said, smiling. “And boys? . . .”
They looked at him.
“Don’t come back—please!”
It was an uneventful ride back to home country. But both young men knew the story of the gunfight would have reached home long before they did. Shoot-outs were not an uncommon thing on the frontier—with most of them going unreported—but when two men face ten men, and the two come away unscathed, that was news, and the story would grow and grow through the years. Reputations are made.
They stopped at the elder Bodine’s spread on the Crazy Woman.
Bodine’s father was standing on the front porch as they rode up, and after they stabled their horses, the elder Bodine was decidedly blunt.
“You boys played hell this time around,” he told them. “Stories of that gunfight is bein’ told all over the territories.”
“We didn’t feel like running.” His son was equally blunt.
The father’s gaze was bleak. “Do you realize, boy, that Nate Johnson is, was, one of the top gunslicks around?”
“He didn’t seem like much to me, Dad. But he was tough going down, I’ll give him that much. I must have put eight or ten holes in him before he gave it up.”
“Your mother’s been worried sick. Damn near had to put her to bed. You boys come on in the house. We got to talk.”
They followed the elder Bodine toward the house. In his fifties, the older Bodine was still wang-leather tough, with a massive barrel chest and heavily muscled arms and thick shoulders. And bow-legged from nearly half a century on a horse.
His brother was on the range, and his sister visiting a friend over at the settlement on the Belle Fourche; her beau was also visiting the friend’s sister. Most folks expected the engagement to be announced very soon.
Over coffee and pie in the kitchen, the elder Bodine said, “I keep gettin’ word that this comin’ summer is gonna be one to remember as far as the Indians is concerned. I hear that at the gatherin’ some months back, they decided to make war.”
“I hate to say I told you so,” Two Wolves said. “But I certainly tried to warn people. The treaties have been broken too many times. By both sides,” he added, the fairness within him surfacing. “My people . . .” He smiled sadly. “Sorry. I keep forgetting my father’s words. The Indians still remember General Sheridan’s words: The only good Indians I ever saw were dead. That is not a statement one is apt to forget easily.”
“I’m sure the general has regretted saying that many times over,” Sarah Bodine said.
“Begging to differ, Mrs. Bodine,” Two Wolves gently rebuffed her. “I am equally sure he has not. The man despises all Indians. My father summed up the Indian situation very well just before we began our trek to the reservation. He told me, ‘Our way has come and gone. The life that we have known for centuries will be no more. Not after the great battle. That will be the beginning of the end.’ ”
“What great battle?” the elder Bodine asked.
“I don’t know. But one is surely coming. Even my brother has experienced the visions.”
“Is that true, son?”
“Yes. In my vision it was the month of Moon Making Fat. June. I saw many soldiers falling upside down into an Indian camp. Custer was among them.” He did not tell them what Medicine Horse had said about staying out of the valley of the Rosebuds. Bodine was not really sure what Medicine Horse had meant.
“You believe in these visions, son?” his mother asked.
“Yes, I do, Mother. I don’t understand them, but I believe.”
“Doesn’t that fly in the face of Christiani
ty, son?”
“I don’t think so. Not if you accept that God made many different peoples with many different beliefs. I don’t think it makes any difference how you perceive God, as long as you believe there is a God.”
“I won’t argue that,” the elder Bodine said. “I just hope that He is looking after us all.”
Chapter 20
It was one of those Wyoming winters that for days on end brought everything and everybody to a standstill . . . except for the cowboys. No matter what the weather, there is something to be done around a ranch. On mornings that would freeze a tin cup of boiling coffee before you could get it to your mouth, with the snow so deep it brushed the belly of your horse, the cowboys still had to step out of lineshacks, drop a loop on a very reluctant-to-leave-the-corral horse, climb into the saddle and endure the few seconds bucking game of who-is-the-boss-around-here, and then ride out to do what a cowboy is paid thirty a month and found for doing: work.
Holes had to be chopped into streams and creeks and watering holes so the cattle could drink. Hay had to be manhandled to those where the ice was so thick the cows could not dig down to forage. Newborn calves had to be located and picked up and carried across the saddle horn while the mother plodded along behind, back to a warm place so the little critter might stand a better chance of living. Sometimes that place was right in the bunkhouse. And if the mother didn’t live through the birthing, it was find another cow who was fresh and would accept the calf, or else rig up a bottle, boys, and get ready for some long nights. And don’t forget to bring a shovel in with you.
If you didn’t just absolutely have to do it, nobody wandered from the fire on those days when the temperature dropped down to twenty or thirty below . . . at least not until cabin fever drove you out.
And anything to read was priceless. Cowboys had been known to have but one book in the bunkhouse, and before winter had blown its last icy breath, every one of them would have committed the book to memory; that and what was written on bean can labels, and anything else they could get their hands on.
And they were all hungry for news.
But the news that greeted Bodine during a break in the winter weather was anything but good: He found his cache of supplies was dangerously low. He had heard that the supplies at the general store at the settlement were so low the owner had closed its doors to all except those who lived there. There was that little settlement east of Bodine’s spread, but they probably were in just as bad a shape as the rest.
Bodine smiled, feeling that old wildness fill him. Well, he thought, that left only one place.
* * *
“You want us to go where?” Two Wolves asked, almost dropping the coffee pot.
“You’re out of supplies, aren’t you?”
“Very nearly.”
“So let’s go to Cutter and get some before the weather closes us in again.”
Two Wolves looked at his blood brother and then felt the same wildness overtake him that Bodine had experienced. He laughed and sat down at the table in his small cabin on the knoll. “Why not?”
They pulled out within the hour, knowing they would have to sleep at least one night on the trail. But that didn’t matter to them. They had made camp in blizzards before. Just give these two a few minutes’ warning, and they could live through just about anything . . . or so their youth told them.
They hadn’t seen much of each other during the hard and bitter months of deep winter, so they had a lot of catching up to do. Each had taken a pack horse to bring back the necessities. Providing they got out of Cutter alive, that is.
“Before you ask, Bodine,” Two Wolves said, as they made their way almost due north toward the town of Cutter, and whatever fate lay in waiting for them there, “no, I haven’t seen Terri.”
“I wasn’t going to bring it up. But since you did . . .”
“Hah! You’re worse than an old woman, Brother. You thrive on gossip. But, very well. She is teaching school and seeing Mister Tom Thomas. I am told they are to be married.”
“And that makes you feel . . . ?”
Two Wolves smiled. “I would be lying if I said it did not hurt my heart—at first. But now? . . . I feel good. She has been exposed, at least to us, for what she really is. So I consider myself fortunate. But I am told that Tom Thomas still hates us both. More so than he did.”
“So that makes this sort of a stupid move, doesn’t it?”
“Rather.” Two Wolves held up his hand. “Listen, Brother.”
Both of them heard the pound of hooves. Without exchanging a word, they swung their horses and rode behind a small hill, dismounted, and grabbed their rifles, running back to some brush. They relaxed when they spotted the blue uniforms. Bodine stepped out while Two Wolves went back for the horses.
“Bodine,” Lieutenant Gerry said, reining up and halting the patrol. “What in the world are you doing out here by yourself?”
“Two Wolves is with me. Why, what’s up?”
“With this break in the weather, Lone Dog and his bunch have begun wreaking havoc once more. He’s been burning and killing and raping all around Cutter. Hi, Sam!” he called his greetings as Two Wolves stepped out, leading the horses. “Where are you two going?”
“To Cutter, for supplies,” Two Wolves told him with a grin.
“Cutter! Man, have you taken leave of your senses? You’ll never get out of that place alive.”
“We will if the Army escorts us,” Bodine said with a laugh.
Gerry looked at Sergeant McGuire. McGuire said, “The colonel did say for us to check out the town, Lieutenant.”
“That he did, Sergeant, that he did. All right, why not?” He met Bodine’s eyes. I’ve heard much of the talk about Miss Kelly, Bodine. I shall not tolerate any such malicious besmirchment of the lady’s name while I am in command.”
That the young lieutenant was very much in love with Miss Kelly was easy to see. Sergeant McGuire rolled his eyes and shifted his chewing tobacco, then spat, and kept his mouth shut.
Bodine shrugged. “You won’t hear a bad word about her from me, Gerry.”
“Good! We’re all friends again. Let’s ride, boys! We’ll make camp at the springs.”
* * *
Gerry was commanding a full complement of sixty men. And that was unusual for such a rank. During a break to let the horses water, Bodine asked him about it.
“Captains Mallory and Bishop were sent over east to join Custer’s group. And before you ask, no, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“None of our business anyway,” Bodine said nonchalantly. But he was conscious of Two Wolves’ intense glance.
Mallory and Bishop were both seasoned Indian fighters, with long years on the frontier. Old Iron Butt—as some called Custer, because of his ability to spend hours in the saddle and still appear fresh—might be thinking of a spring offensive against the Indians. He needed something to get back into President Grant’s favor; recently Grant had been quite vocal about his displeasure with Custer.
Custer was an experienced and ruthless Indian fighter, albeit a tad on the arrogant side.
They mounted up and continued north toward Tom Thomas’s town of Cutter.
They reached the springs an hour before dark and made camp, with the guard mount doubled. Bodine had noticed that about half of Gerry’s command were green troops; a lot of fresh-faced kids from the East. And many of them apparently had falsified their age to join the cavalry, for the minimum age in 1875 was twenty-one. Over coffee, Bodine asked Gerry about that.
“I’m afraid you’re correct, Bodine,” the lieutenant admitted. He looked at Bodine in the gathering dusk. “Many of the seasoned troopers have been shifted over to Dakota Territory, Fort Abe Lincoln. Our garrison is due to close the last of June.”
Perhaps the Army thought the Indian wars would be over by that time, Bodine mused. If they think so, then they’re fools. But if that was their thinking, something very big was in the works. When we get back, I have to break my word
to Medicine Horse and tell Colonel Travers about the visions and of Medicine Horse’s warning to stay out of the Rosebuds come spring.
“You’re quite pensive this evening, Bodine,” Gerry said.
“I guess so,” Bodine admitted, as Two Wolves sat down by the fire and poured coffee into a battered tin cup.
“How many of these troopers have seen combat, Gerry?” Two Wolves asked.
Gerry sighed. “Not many, I’m afraid. Most just got out here from the East. I’ve been worried about how they’ll react when they do come under trial by fire.”
“They’ll be scared,” McGuire said, squatting down and pouring coffee. “Just like any normal man. But they’re good lads; I think they’ll stand.”
“Make certain they don’t smoke while on guard duty, Sergeant,” Gerry cautioned.
McGuire nodded. Gerry was learning fast and retaining it.
“You are aware that the town of Cutter is doomed?” Two Wolves asked.
“I keep hearing it,” Gerry said. “But so far, no Indian attacks have materialized.”
“But you say the attacks on settlers around the town have increased?” Bodine asked.
“Yes.”
“Show me where.” He handed the lieutenant a twig with which to draw in the dirt.
Gerry outlined a crude map, with the town of Cutter in the center. He began placing X’s far out from the town, and then working in closer, in a loose circle. “I see what you mean,” Gerry muttered. “Lone Dog is getting closer and closer to the town. And school is out for the remainder of the winter. She’s . . . visiting Tom Thomas in Cutter at this moment.”
Bodine started to tell the young lieutenant that Terri Kelly could damn well take care of herself. But knowing how the young man felt about the woman, Bodine kept his mouth shut.
“But I doubt the town is in danger,” Gerry said. “Too many gunfighters there.” He looked at Bodine and smiled. “Of course, that number has been drastically reduced, thanks to you and Sam.”
“I imagine Thomas has hired more,” Bodine told him. “What’s the latest figure about the bounty on my head?”
Blood Bond Page 14
