So Little Time

by Al Lacy

  Chet grinned sheepishly. “You’ve got me figured out, don’t you?”

  “I guess so. Since McClain is experienced with Indians, and we’re in the heart of Cheyenne country, you like having him up front with you.”

  “You hit the nail on the head, Dick. He … well, he seems to have a sixth sense about Indians. I just feel better having him at my side, and I sort of get the idea the people feel the same way. Several have commented about it.”

  “Chet, he’s welcome to ride my horse anytime. He’s tied to the rear of the wagon. Take him.”

  McClain was standing at the Larkin wagon in conversation with Vance and Rhonda when he caught sight of the wagon master coming his way, leading Dick Jensen’s black gelding.

  Vance chuckled. “Looks like you’ve got a steady job riding point with the boss, McClain.”

  “You’re pretty smart, Vance. How’d you figure that out?”

  Just as Chet drew up, the black set eyes on McClain, whinnied, and bobbed his head.

  Chet snickered. “McClain, it’s not hard to tell that this horse likes you. Funny … I was just walking past the Jensen wagon, and this big black fella snorted and said, ‘Hey, Chet, I’d sure like to carry McClain today so he can ride point with you.’ ”

  McClain stepped up and stroked the gelding’s long face. “Blackie, how come you talk to Chet but you don’t talk to me?”

  The horse blew and shook his head, rattling the metal rings on the bridle.

  Chet laughed. “I guess you got the message, didn’t you? Blackie will only talk to me. C’mon. Let’s get this train moving.”

  Moments later, the wagon train was in motion with Chet Place and McClain Reardon riding point. The sound of hooves clopping on the soft earth and the squeak of wagon wheels filled the air as the train rolled steadily westward. Every eye was peeled as the people kept a vigilant search around them for any sign of Indians.

  Up front, Chet and McClain kept themselves about a half mile in front of the lead wagon. Chet was asking questions about McClain’s life at Fort Steele when suddenly McClain stiffened in the saddle.

  “What is it?” Chet asked.

  McClain stood up in the stirrups and let his eyes flit across the rolling prairie. “I … I think trouble is in the air. I just had a feeling we’re being watched by hostile eyes.”

  Chet’s head moved from side to side as he searched the area. “I don’t see anyth—”

  Suddenly they both saw a party of Cheyenne topping a hill off to the left about five hundred yards away. They drew rein, stared toward the two riders, then looked at the wagon train.

  “They’re going to attack!” Chet said. “Let’s get the wagons in a circle!”

  McClain touched his arm. “They’re not going to attack yet. Best we keep moving.”

  “How do you know?”

  “By the way they’re sitting their horses. They play their psychological game first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you don’t see Indians unless they want you to see them. Sometimes it’s simply to make white men nervous, and they’re not planning an attack at all. Other times, they like to get your nerves on edge before they attack. Since we don’t know their plans, let’s ease our way back to the wagons so we can make sure everybody understands what I’ve just explained to you.”

  “Whatever you say, my friend,” said Chet. “This is exactly why I wanted you riding point with me.”

  Casually trotting their horses back to the wagon, Chet and McClain split up and rode alongside the train, making the explanation. Everyone in the wagons had already spotted the Indians on the distant hill.

  With everyone admonished to stay alert, Chet and McClain once again took up their positions at the head of the train, but this time, they stayed within thirty yards of the lead wagon.

  They watched as the Cheyenne warriors rode off the hill and disappeared. Within a half hour, they appeared again. This time, they were about a mile to the south, riding parallel to the wagon train single file, obviously making sure the white travelers could see them. Nerves were strung tight in the wagons as the occupants kept a close watch on the Indians.

  The Cheyenne party continued to parallel the wagon train as the morning wore on. As it was coming up on noon, the long line of warriors began to angle closer to the train.

  “What do you think of that?” Chet asked McClain.

  “Hard to tell. It may just be more of their little game, designed simply to frighten us.”

  “Or they’re getting closer so they can attack.”

  “Can’t rule that out. Let’s see just how close they come. If they come any closer than a half mile, we’ll put the wagons in a circle.”

  Shortly after McClain had spoken, the Cheyenne were moving parallel with them once again, at a point just about a half mile in distance.

  The afternoon dragged interminably while a sense of strain closed down on the people of the wagon train. The sun beat down, making the prairie bright. The creak of saddle leather, the clink of harness metal, the squeak of wagon wheels, and the muffled beat of hooves on the soft floor of the prairie was jarring in the uneasy silence.

  Once again, the line of warriors slowly began to angle closer to the wagon train.

  “See that, McClain?” Chet asked.

  “Yes. And see the war paint on their faces? Let’s put the wagons in a circle.”

  Chet and McClain wheeled their horses and trotted back to the train, with Chet signaling for the wagons to form a circle.

  Even as Ken Place began circling the lead wagon, everyone heard the far-off whoops and shouts of the Cheyenne reaching them on the wings of the warm afternoon breeze.

  The hostiles were galloping at top speed toward the wagons, waving their feathered rifles and barking like wild dogs.

  18

  KEN PLACE WAS ABLE TO LEAD THE WAGONS into a full circle before the charging Cheyenne were within firing range.

  The men quickly saw to it that the women and children were lying flat on the floors of the wagons, then chose the spots where they would do battle against the war party. Some were bellied down beneath the wagons, while others positioned themselves between them. The children were crying and their mothers were doing their best to quiet them.

  When McClain had made sure Rya was flat on the floor of the Keegan wagon next to Dorothy, he took a position at the rear, between it and the next wagon. Burt was bellied down underneath the wagon, rifle ready.

  The Cheyenne were drawing near and the heavy beat of the galloping horses vibrated the earth beneath the wagons. It was like a hundred drums beating out a savage rhythm. When the Indians were within firing range, they bent low over their horses’ backs and put rifles to their shoulders. At the same time, the men of the wagon train made ready for the coming attack.

  Chet Place had asked McClain Reardon to give the command to fire when it was best to begin. McClain was sure the warriors would spread out and go on both sides of the circle. Just as he shouted for the men to commence firing and unleashed his own rifle, they divided.

  The air came alive to the menacing crack of rifles and the whisper of hot lead. Bullets chewed into wagons, splintering wood and ripping canvas tops. Amid the roar of guns and the thunder of hooves, the shrill whoops of Cheyenne warriors echoed across the prairie.

  A blanket of terror settled over the women and children in the wagons. Gun smoke filled the air. Through the clouds of blue-white smoke and the haze of brown dust, the men blazed away as they saw the painted faces and the bronzed bodies of the warriors on their pintos.

  In the Keegan wagon, Rya and Dorothy lay flat, faces down, while they held hands and prayed. Cheyenne bullets ripped through the canvas above them.

  Ted Yoder was firing from between their wagon and the lead wagon. Colin was underneath, blasting away at the whooping warriors. Not far away in the circle, Brodie Hyland was hunkered between his wagon and the next one.

  Ted fired from his position and saw his bullet drop a warrior fr
om the back of his pinto. He caught sight of another one through the dust and smoke, raised his rifle, and squeezed the trigger. The hammer made a dead, clicking sound, and Ted stepped behind his wagon while he reloaded.

  Just as he reached into his pocket for more cartridges, he saw a Cheyenne warrior sneak inside the circle, behind Brodie Hyland, who was down on one knee. Ted dashed that direction, shouting, “Brodie! Look out!”

  Brodie heard Ted’s cry and whirled around to see the Indian practically on him, raising a long-bladed knife. Ted swung his empty rifle, striking the Indian solidly in the head. He went down and Ted hit him again, finishing him off.

  Brodie’s face was sheet white. Rising to his feet, he looked at Ted with tender eyes. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  Ted smiled and ran back to the Yoder wagon.

  While McClain Reardon was reloading his rifle, he called toward the bed of the wagon, which was covered with tattered canvas. “Rya! Dorothy! You all right?”

  “Yes, we are!” came Rya’s voice. “We’re praying for a miracle!”

  McClain thought, We’re going to need one if this lasts much longer. Aloud, he shouted back, “Keep praying!”

  With the magazine full again, McClain jacked a cartridge into the chamber, moved around the corner of the wagon, and put the rifle to his shoulder. A fresh wave of mounted warriors was swarming down on his side of the circle.

  McClain had noted the Cheyenne chief among the warriors two or three times, but this time, as he looked along the barrel, he brought the warrior who wore the chief’s headdress into his sights.

  What he saw stunned him. He was focusing on a familiar face.

  At the same instant, the chief saw McClain’s face.

  McClain had him in his sights, but could not bring himself to squeeze the trigger.

  Sky Eagle wheeled his horse about and signaled for his warriors to pull away. He shouted something in the Cheyenne language to a subchief on the other side of the wagon circle and quickly led all of his warriors across the prairie at a full gallop. Even the riderless pintos followed. Within seconds, Sky Eagle and his warriors topped a gentle rise and vanished from sight.

  Some of the men who had been fighting close to McClain had observed the incident. As Rya and Dorothy were shakily climbing down from the wagon bed, the men gathered to McClain. One of them was Dick Jensen, who said, “McClain, why did that chief look so surprised when he saw you? Why did he immediately call off the attack?”

  Rya moved up close to the man she loved, her features pale. McClain set tender eyes on her and pulled her close to him, then looked at Dick. “That chief’s name is Sky Eagle. I once saved his life. Apparently he couldn’t find it in himself to make war against this wagon train because I’m part of it.”

  Chet and Ken Place had drawn up with others and heard McClain’s words. Chet was about to comment when suddenly a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Every eye went to Dorothy, who was on her knees beneath the wagon, her fingers clutching Burt’s shirt. “He’s dead!” she wailed. “Burt’s dead!”

  The sun was lowering in the west as the people of the wagon train stood in a circle around Burt Keegan’s grave outside the wagons.

  Five dead Indians lay sprawled where they had fallen on the prairie during the attack. A sixth—the one killed by Ted Yoder—lay just outside the wagon circle where his body had been dragged. Three men of the wagon train had been wounded, but Burt was the only one who had been killed. The wounded ones were being cared for in their wagons by their wives.

  Chet Place had asked McClain Reardon to read Scripture over the grave and say a few words. McClain’s heart was heavy as he stood at the head of the grave and read from 1 Corinthians 15. He did what he could to make sure everyone within the sound of his voice knew how to be saved. He told the crowd what a kind man Burt was, and that he died bravely trying to do his part to protect everyone in the wagon train.

  McClain closed in prayer, asking God to be especially close to Dorothy in her grief and sorrow and to spare the lives of the three men who had been wounded in the battle. When he closed the prayer, he headed for Rya, who was standing beside Dorothy, holding her hand. Heads hanging low, the others started filing back inside the circle.

  As Ted and Colin Yoder moved inside the circle and headed for their wagon, Colin said, “If we’d tried traveling alone, that bunch of Indians would have killed us in a hurry, big brother.”

  “For sure,” agreed Ted.

  Colin was about to say something else when a familiar voice came from behind them. “Ted, could Jane and I see you for a moment?”

  The Yoder brothers turned around to see Brodie and Jane Hyland drawing up.

  “Sure,” said Ted.

  Tears misted Brodie’s eyes. “I want to thank you again for saving my life. There’s no question that Indian would have killed me.”

  Jane sniffed and thumbed a tear from her cheek. “Yes, thank you. It was a very brave and unselfish thing for you to do, Ted. Especially in view of the way we have treated you. We’re sorry.”

  “Very sorry,” added Brodie.

  Ted smiled. “Then the feud is over?”

  Brodie offered his hand. When Ted gripped it, Brodie said, “For this part of the Hyland and Yoder families, it is indeed over.”

  “Good!” said Colin. “I think we should tell Chet. This has been a real worry for him.”

  “All right,” said Brodie. “He’s over there by his wagon. Let’s go tell him.”

  When all others had gone back inside the circle, Dorothy Keegan stood over Burt’s grave, weeping. Rya was on one side of her and McClain on the other.

  Dorothy dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. “Oh, Rya, McClain, if only Burt had listened to us. He said he had plenty of time to get saved.” She sniffed, choked up for a moment, then added, “He didn’t know it, but there was so little time.”

  Rya squeezed her hand.

  Dorothy turned to McClain and looked at him through her tears. “I keep thinking of what you said about the hourglass. If only Burt would have heeded your plea to open his heart to Jesus.”

  McClain bit his lower lip and nodded, staring down at the fresh mound of dirt.

  Rya and McClain stayed with Dorothy until she was ready to leave the grave, then each held onto her as they walked her back inside the circle. Several people spoke words of condolence to her as the trio made their way toward the Keegan wagon. Each time, she tried to smile as she thanked them.

  Across the circle, they saw an elated Chet Place in conversation with the Yoder brothers and the Hylands. He was smiling and shaking their hands.

  “I wonder what that’s about,” Rya said.

  “Maybe the Yoders and the Hylands settled their differences,” McClain said. “Vance Larkin told me he saw Ted save Brodie from being stabbed by that Indian who got into the circle.”

  Rya’s eyes widened. “Oh, so that’s what happened. While we were making our way out to the grave, I heard a couple of the women talking about Ted having killed that Indian. I didn’t realize he had saved Brodie’s life.”

  As they drew up to the Keegan wagon, McClain said, “Dorothy, would you like for me to drive your wagon for the rest of the trip?”

  Dorothy lifted dull, reddened eyes to his. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Dorothy, you get in the wagon and lie down,” said Rya. “I’ll fix supper.”

  “I’m really not hungry,” Dorothy replied softly. “Why don’t you fix supper for the two of you?”

  “All right.”

  McClain helped Dorothy into the bed of the wagon, then helped Rya in so she could get her settled before starting supper.

  Suddenly the loud voice of Ken Place cut the air from where he stood by the lead wagon. “McClain! That Cheyenne chief is coming back all by himself!”

  “I’d better see about this,” said McClain to the women, and hurried outside the circle.

  Chet Place was on his way, followed by several of the men. They moved outsi
de the circle and stepped up behind McClain and Ken Place. Sky Eagle was trotting his pinto toward them, holding a white flag that flapped in the breeze. He had no weapon. Some of the women crowded between a couple of the wagons, looking on with curiosity. Rya was among them.

  Sky Eagle drew up, pulling rein. He wore only a loincloth and the bright-colored headdress, whose feathers had been taken from birds of a dozen plumages. The red-gold of the setting sun emphasized the copper of his skin. His black eyes stared out over high cheekbones.

  Fixing McClain with those dark eyes, Sky Eagle said, “Sergeant McClain Reardon, Sky Eagle asks for permission to dismount.”

  McClain looked at Chet, who nodded his assent.

  “You may dismount,” said McClain.

  Sky Eagle slid from the pinto’s back, holding the white flag in his left hand, and took a step toward McClain. “Sky Eagle has no weapon, Sergeant McClain Reardon. I come in peace.” As he spoke, he offered his right hand, and he and McClain shook hands Indian-style.

  “Sky Eagle wishes to make apology for attacking wagon train with Sergeant McClain Reardon aboard. If he had known the man who saved his life was in wagon train, Sky Eagle would not have led his warriors to attack. Black Hawk die since the day you kept your fellow soldier from killing Sky Eagle. Sky Eagle now chief of village.

  “Cheyenne and other tribes continue to suffer at hands of white men. They take our land, kill our buffalo and deer, attack our villages. Now, they determined to put Indian on reservations. Confine us. This why we attack wagon trains, farms, ranches.”

  McClain nodded. “I understand, Sky Eagle.”

  The young chief looked into McClain’s eyes. “Sky Eagle owe his life to Sergeant McClain Reardon. Wish to protect his wagon train from attacks of other Cheyenne and other tribes. If Sergeant McClain Reardon wish, Sky Eagle and warriors will escort wagon train until it cross into Idaho.”

  Chet Place spoke up quickly. “Sky Eagle, I am the wagon master. My name is Chet Place. I will gladly accept your offer.”