After two miles the gelding's breathing became labored. Collier turned in the saddle and scanned for the party. The braves seemed no closer but it was impossible to tell. One thing was obvious. They were still there and coming. Collier spurred his horse. There was little reaction. The animal was giving all it could muster. Collier felt the cold fear rise within him. He wanted to see the others. Where were they? His loneliness only increased his fear. Another mile went by and the gelding was struggling. His horse was stumbling. He wondered if he should stop and make a stand. He would need time to make a stand. He looked for a place with some cover but there wasn't any. He decided to press his mount on.
Still another mile passed under him. He could hear the horse struggling for air. He could feel the animal steadily weakening. Four maybe five miles and the beast would fold. Collier's eyes cut across the horizon. Where were they?
He saw them as he topped a small rise. The wagon was a thousand yards ahead and to his left. He fired a shot to alert them. He squinted to see any sign of reaction. The wagon had stopped and a man was jumping down from it. Collier again looked back at his pursuers. The Indians were gaining but they wouldn't beat him to the wagon. Not by a long shot. At least he wouldn't have to fight alone.
Washington took a position at the end of the wagon as Mapes unhitched the team and moved it behind the cover of the wagon. Collier thought surely Mapes would unharness the team. They may need the animals apart so they could make a run for it on the fresher animals.
Yes. He was unharnessing the team. Good ole, Mapes. At least he's keeping his head about him.
Collier's gelding was finished as he reined up at the wagon. He dismounted and pulled the other Remington from it's scabbard.
"How many are there?" Mapes yelled.
"Too damned many!" Collier answered as he tossed the rifle to Mapes.
Mapes watched the war party. "Should we run for it?"
Collier eased himself behind the wagon. "Not yet! Let's see how eager they are for a long range fight!"
Mapes lowered the Remington across the wagon and took aim. "Then we shoot?"
Collier did the same with his rifle. "We shoot!"
Both men fired at the same instant. Immediately the Indians halted their ponies. Moments turned to ages as they watched the reaction of the Indians.
"I surely do wish I had me a rifle gun other than this scattergun!" Washington cried.
"Don't worry. If they come as close as I think they will, you'll be glad to have that old shotgun," Collier answered.
Mapes drew his pistol and placed it on the wagon in front of him. Collier did the same.
"Tobe, there's another revolver in my saddle bags. Better get it for yourself," Collier ordered.
Tobe jumped to his feet and made for the horse. "Gladly, Mister Collier, gladly."
"Damn, there is a bunch of them," Mapes said. "Just how the hell are we supposed to hold off that many?"
"The only way we'll get out a this alive is to make the price high for them." Collier answered. "We've got to get as many as possible as quickly as possible."
Tobe shook his head. "I surely do wish Mister McKnight and the others were here."
"So do I. But that ain't likely to happen. We're on our own, boys," Collier said grimly.
The men watched as the war party split into two groups and initiated a broad circling tactic.
"Damn! I was hoping they would come at us straight on. This is going to make it tougher." Collier said.
"What now?" Mapes questioned.
"Give em a long lead and throw lead!"
The men started firing their weapons as quickly as they could. Indian bullets began strafing their position. Collier heard a squeal from one of the mules. He turned to see the animal go down. Collier turned his attention to a rider on a pale pony, sighted and squeezed off a shot. The pony folded and dumped the rider into the dirt.
Mapes let out a war whoop. "Good shooting, Collier! Do ya suppose if ya shoot all their horses, we can outrun em?"
Collier smiled, "Mapsey, I'll give er a try and see!"
There was the sound of a hollow thud. Collier glanced at Mapes. He was standing stiffly with a surprised expression, a gaping hole in his forehead. He fell backward, dead before he hit the ground.
"Is he hurt bad?" Washington questioned.
"He's dead, Tobe."
"Damn, it don't look good, does it?"
"Get over here and get this rifle," Collier ordered. "You can do more good with it."
Tobe made for the rifle. Before he was around the corner of the wagon, he flinched and carefully sat in the dirt next to the wagon wheel.
"Where are ya hit?"
Tobe looked grimly down. "In the back. They got me pretty good."
"Can ya still shoot?"
"Yes, sir. If you'll get the rifle for me. I'm afraid I can't make it."
Collier picked up the rifle. "Here, my friend, do the best you can."
Tobe took hold of Collier's shoulder. "I sure am glad the boy isn't here to see this."
Collier put his hand on the old man's shoulder. "So am I, Tobe. So am I."
Tobe’s head slung forward and his grip loosened. His body slumped into a sitting position against the wheel.
"Tobe? Tobe?" Collier swallowed hard as he realized Tobe was gone. He turned his attention toward the Cheyenne as they closed in at a dead run.
"Well, this is it," he told himself. "This is how you die!" He stood. "Come on, you sonsabitches! Let's finish it!"
He emptied his rifle then grabbed the revolvers from the wagon. He emptied both of them as the braves charged. He saw two fall from their ponies and a third go down with his pony. He heard snapping hammers falling on spent rounds and realized his revolvers were empty. He threw them down and grabbed his Remington. He rolled back the block and reached for a round in his belt. He felt a presence near him and turned. A war club caught him across the forehead. In an instant all was pain and darkness.
A Cheyenne brave jumped from his horse and pounced on him. The brave drew his knife and grabbed the front lock of Collier's scalp. Another Cheyenne reined up his pony and yelled out an order. The brave stopped and looked confused. The second Cheyenne spoke in his ancient language. "No, my brother, not this one. If he is still living, I will buy him from you. There is much for this one to do. I have a sign. This one must be spared."
The brave relaxed. "You know best, brother. I give him as a gift."
A stocky handsome Cheyenne with graying hair swung down from his pony. He gazed at Collier’s face. "Yes. This is the one. Our trails have crossed before. It is not yet the time for this one to die."
CHAPTER XVIII
Collier's first awareness upon awakening was of the intense pain wracking his head. It took a few moments to orient enough to touch the wound. It was bound tightly, but he couldn't tell with what. He opened his eyes and examined his hand. There was no sign of blood although it was apparent his hand had not been washed. He tried to recognize his surroundings. The odor of hides, smoke and rancid meat filled his nostrils. There was something else, a strange odor of some sort of herb or poultice. It seemed strangely familiar and yet different from anything he had ever smelled before.
A beam of light broke through a triangle to his left. He waited for his vision to clear further. He realized he was in a tipi and lying on an Indian bed. He tried to sit up but the pain held him fast. His wound was not going to allow him to go anywhere. He closed his eyes and tried not to move until he felt better. He felt a hand slide under his head and gently elevate it. An object touched his lips. It was cool and moist. He opened his eyes to see a gourd dipper of water being placed directly in front of his nose. He looked into the face of an Indian woman. Collier studied her features. She was a handsome woman of forty. Her hair was braided and hung down in front of her shoulders. She had narrow eyes, a broad handsome nose, and a large mouth. She was dressed in buckskins ornamented with bead work and colored twisted horse hair.
She did not smil
e nor look directly into his eyes. She maintained a silent and respectful composure. He drank the liquid from the gourd. When he was finished the woman lowered his head. He thanked her for her kindness in the Cheyenne language. She gave no reply other than a stoic smile and left the tipi.
Collier lay still for a few moments then turned his head slowly to examine the area. He made out the form of a man sitting crosslegged in the shadows directly to his left. Collier waited for the form to move or say something.
A soft deep voice spoke in the Cheyenne language. "It is good you speak my tongue. I am not good with the words of the whites."
"I speak your language poorly. You will need to speak slowly for me to understand," Collier said.
"Now that I am old, I speak only slow. Fast is for the young and unwise."
Collier smiled. "It is true. You speak with wisdom."
The Indian moved closer. The light from the doorway revealed a handsome Cheyenne in his early forties. His hair was worn long and loose with streaks of gray running through it. There was something familiar about the looks of the man but Collier couldn't quite place a connection.
"I think I know you," Collier said as he studied the warrior.
"I know you, Blue Shirt."
Blue Shirt was the name he had been called by the Indians when he was stationed at Fort Larned as a scout in the 60's.
"Yes, I was once known by that name. It was many seasons ago."
"The old men still sing songs of you, Blue Shirt. They tell of the time ten of our warriors were killed by you in the rolling hills south of the slow waters."
"You speak of Sand Point. The fight at Sand Point when they caught me south of the Dead Line."
"You took the woman and walked away. You were joined by pony soldiers at the house in the ground. We tried to destroy you as we had the wagons. But your medicine was great. Many brave warriors died trying to destroy you."
Collier remembered. "You were there? You were at the fight at the willows?"
"Yes, Blue Shirt. We took many scalps but never when you were present to use your medicine."
Collier narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"I am Elk Heart. I am a chief of the people."
"Did you lead the raid at Sand Point?"
"Yes, Blue Shirt, I led the fight at the wagons and again when we tried to destroy the buffalo soldiers."
“You were the one on the white horse. The war chief who honored us with a song at the end of the fight."
"It was a song of tribute. You fought well that day."
Collier weighed his words heavily. "And so did you. We were honored by the courage of your people."
Elk Heart placed a bowl of meat and fat near Collier's hand.
"Eat. You have slept for two suns. You must have great hunger."
Collier ate the pemmican without hesitation. To not eat would be the ultimate offense.
"Why did you spare me? Why did I not go under with the others?"
The Indian was silent. Collier wondered if he had offended the warrior.
Finally, "I had a vision. I was old. My hair was silver. I wore the white man's clothing. I stood on the edge of a great mountain in a land of ice and snow. Below me were the buffalo. They moved below me in a long line. I shuddered in the cold but I was happy for I had not seen the buffalo for many seasons. I was not alone. With me was another. He was white. His beard was silver. He took me to the place of the buffalo because his medicine was great. That warrior was you, Blue Shirt."
Collier hung on every word. Some Indian had a nightmare and he was alive because of that?
"I can see you are troubled," Elk Heart said. "If I destroy you, I destroy the vision. In these sad suns sometimes a vision is all a man has."
"I believe your vision, Elk Heart. I can see that your vision is good and true."
The woman entered the tipi with a few sticks of wood for the smoldering fire. The small finger on her left hand had been amputated. She had bound the stub but favored it.
After she again left, he asked, "I see your woman is in mourning. Did we take a life from her?"
"She was the wife of my brother. I took her when my brother died at the willows. She had a manchild by him. A strong youth called Raven. He became a follower of Isatai of the Quahada Comanche. He died bravely at the place where Bent once traded."
"The Walls? There was a fight at Adobe Walls?"
"Yes, four suns ago. Isatai made strong medicine. He told our people the white man's bullets would not harm us. Of course, it was nonsense. No medicine is so strong. I told Raven this but he did not want to believe. He said I was unwilling to believe Isatai because he was Quahanda and not of the people. He and many others chose to follow Isatai. I chose to remain with the women and the children and those who would not follow."
"Did they destroy the men at the walls?"
"No. Isatai's medicine was false. Many brave young men died because of Isatai and his false medicine."
"I am sorry there was a fight, Elk Heart."
"Do not be sorry, Blue Shirt. Raven died a warrior's death. He honored us greatly. I had given him my pistols. The death song of Raven tells how he rode right up to the lodge of the white hunters. He shoved the pistols through the window and emptied them at the whites. As he went away with much honor, he was struck down by one of their bullets. Rather than be dishonored, he blew out his brains. He gave us much honor with his act."
"It was a brave act. You are much honored."
"It is odd, this act of emptying pistols when all hope is gone. Raven did it. So did you, Blue Shirt."
"Raven's courage was greater. I felt I was about to go under. I did what I did without hope. Raven acted under different circumstances."
"Did he? It was easy to see that Isatai's medicine was false. I wonder, Blue Shirt, I wonder."
There was a long moment of silence. Collier thought of the sadness in Elk Heart’s voice. He thought it odd that he did not take his life in revenge in spite of the vision. Truly this was a man of unusual reasoning.
Elk Heart reached behind himself and pulled Collier's buffalo rifle. It was the older of the two Remingtons. The Indian held it before him as though the weapon was sacred.
"We saw you make the shot at the black cow. We were astonished at the distance. There is much medicine in this gun. To deal out death from so great a distance requires much medicine."
"Take the gun. It is yours."
Elk Heart studied the rifle. "No, Blue Shirt. I cannot accept your gift. The medicine is yours. There will be other needs for it before you return to your woman and after."
Collier's mind reeled. How did this Indian know he had a woman? What did he mean by 'other needs'?
"Your destiny and mine are linked. If I take your medicine, I may not keep the destiny alive. I will send you back to your world with all your medicine."
"You honor me greatly," Collier replied in wonderment.
"There is a price for your life, Blue Shirt. I demand a price for your life,” Elk Heart said.
"Name it and it is yours."
"You must leave. You must leave this land and never return. You must never use this medicine gun against my people or the buffalo again. This is the price that I demand."
Collier considered the statement. Was that all? Was it that simple? "I will leave this land and never return. I will not use the gun against your people or the buffalo again."
Elk Heart studied his face. "To take the word of a white is foolish. I take the word of your mother, the Pawnee. In that word will I trust you. To dishonor your word would be to dishonor your mother's gift of life."
Collier shuddered. How does he know these things? Very few people know my mother was a Pawnee. How can he?
"The word of your mother, Blue Shirt."
Collier sickened. He felt the Indian could read his mind. It frightened him.
"It is not such a great price I ask, Blue Shirt. There are other roads you can travel. You know that as well as I."
"You have th
e word of my mother."
Elk Heart smiled. "Then destiny will be fulfilled. Our future is certain. It is good."
* * * *
Two days passed peacefully before Collier was strong enough to leave. He talked often with Elk Heart but never again did the Indian surprise him with his uncanny gifts. It was as though the Indian did not need to use the information he had. Collier grew to like him. There was more than just a friendship between them. Collier respected and admired Elk Heart in a way he had never before experienced. He felt small in his presence and yet did not fear him. Other than McKnight, this was the only man whose word he never need fear or suspect. He was both an honored enemy and a friend.
Early on the third day, Collier's mount was brought to the lodge. His new rifle was mounted in the scabbard. He gave Collier his revolver and the old Remington.
Elk Heart frowned as he handed Collier control of the gelding. "I do not like this horse, Blue Shirt. You would do well to find another. This horse plays out too quick."
Collier nodded. "I will do that." He swung into the saddle and arranged his rifle across the pommel. There was an odd expression to the Indian's face. "I will keep my word. I will not return to this land."
Elk Heart stared into Collier's eyes. "There will come a time when you will see three tall men in red. Ride toward the rising sun for two suns. There, you will come to face another part of your destiny. Face it, Blue Shirt. It will only bring you good."
Collier felt a chill go up his spine. "I will see three tall men in red."
Dodge City Page 9
