“Amen,” Lorena said.
Backing the team on either side of the wagon tongue, Wolf glanced up to find all three women staring at him, smiles on their faces. “Here,” Billie Jean offered, “let me hitch ’em up. You can go saddle your horse.”
“Much obliged,” he said, and let her take the traces. She was better at it than he was, anyway. She did more of the driving than Lorena, and Wolf had no trouble picturing her working in her father’s blacksmith shop. While he went to fetch his horse, he wondered what had led her to her present occupation. She hardly looked the type. She wasn’t as tall a woman as Lorena, but she was solidly built, with no slimming of her waistline, even though she appeared to have a flat stomach. Built more like a man, he thought. Good thing she’s got that long yellow hair. She was a sharp contrast to Rose, the youngest of the three. There was a hardness about Rose, probably as a result of the brothels and saloons she had in her past. And yet she was quick with a smile and usually found something to be cheerful about. A slender woman with shiny black hair, she looked to be of Creole descent.
His horse saddled, he led the bay up to the fire, where Lorena handed him a cup of coffee. He drank the strong black liquid in quick gulps, impatient to get started. Then he pulled the fire apart and kicked dirt over it, stepped up in the saddle, and sat waiting for the women to climb in the wagon.
They were waiting, twelve Lakota warriors, fresh from a successful raid on a homestead no more than forty miles southeast of Fort Laramie where they had killed a farmer, his wife, and three children. The brazen attack, right under the army’s nose, was led by Iron Hand, feared warrior of the Oglala Lakota. Intent as they were upon returning to their village on the Tongue River before army troops were sent after them, they were nevertheless excited to spot a single wagon heading toward Fort Laramie. Iron Hand knew his medicine was strong, for they might not have been given this opportunity to attack the wagon if the deer had not been sent to delay his return. His warriors did not doubt his medicine when their journey had been interrupted by the small group of deer that had gathered conveniently by a little pond at the bottom of a narrow stream flowing from the hill above. Two of the deer were killed before the others escaped, but that was plenty of meat to supply the raiding party. They decided to remain in the valley to butcher and prepare the unexpected bounty.
As a precaution, scouts were sent out to make sure there was no sign of an army patrol. Iron Hand didn’t expect the soldiers to receive word of their raid on the farm this soon, but he felt it wise to know that they were in no danger of surprise. One of the scouts, Red Blanket, had returned early in the afternoon to announce the sighting of a lone wagon heading north. “One man on a horse leads the wagon,” Red Blanket reported excitedly. “It looked like a woman driving the wagon and maybe another or maybe a child beside her.”
Iron Hand and the others were immediately eager to attack. “How far?” Iron Hand asked. He was told that if the wagon continued along in the same direction, the war party could head directly west and wait in ambush where a line of low hills stretched across the prairie. The plan was enthusiastically accepted by all in the war party, and they had started without delay to arrive at the point of ambush, where they now waited.
Wolf reined the bay to a stop while he looked at the hills some two miles in the distance. Good place for an ambush, he thought, although he really didn’t anticipate the possibility of hostile activity so close to Fort Laramie. He was more concerned with the best route that would place the least strain on the horses to pull the wagon through the hills. He turned in the saddle to look back on the women, a quarter of a mile behind him. Billie Jean was driving the horses and Rose, being the more spritely of the three, was walking beside it. Lorena never walked. He returned his attention to the hills before him, letting his gaze skim along the tops until he settled upon a low draw that seemed to be the best bet for an easy passage. Urging the bay to resume a comfortable walk, he veered slightly to the west and headed straight for the draw. He looked back once again to make sure Billie Jean was following.
Making his way across the treeless flat, he rode through large patches of sagebrush that covered most of the hills he was now entering. The draw he had chosen was plenty wide enough for the wagon to pass, with steep sides rising up to the tops of the hills on each side. After riding a couple of dozen yards into the defile, he pulled up and looked around to see if there was anything that might do damage to wagon wheels that were already in need of repair. He saw nothing that would cause any trouble, so he decided to wait there for Billie Jean to catch up.
The afternoon was clear and warm on the open prairie as the sun began to sink closer to the distant mountains, and there was a stillness that could almost be heard, interrupted only by an occasional cry of a hawk wheeling high overhead. His first sense of something wrong was triggered when the bay’s ears pricked up, usually a sign that the horse was aware of something. When the bay snorted softly, he became totally alert and he felt the muscles in his arms tense. There was no answering whinny from the hills on either side of him. Still, he suddenly sensed the presence of something that shouldn’t be there. Maybe he was being overly cautious, but he preferred to err in that direction if he was wrong. Acting on the possibility that he was leading the wagon into an ambush, he wheeled his horse around casually and slow-walked the bay back out of the draw, hoping to look as if he was not suspicious.
While he rode toward the wagon, he glanced around on either side to pick a spot that might be best to defend against a war party. If he was right, and the party set up to ambush them was the same bunch of Indians that had crossed Horse Creek a day or two ago, he didn’t like his odds of repelling them. One rifle against ten or fifteen Sioux warriors didn’t stand much chance. But that was the only choice he had, so he would make it as costly for them as he could. One spot looked about as good as another, so he chose the closest one, a deep gully at the base of the hill to the west of the draw.
Reining his horse up to a stop beside the wagon seat, he wheeled the bay around and told Rose in a calm but forceful voice, “Get in the wagon.” Surprised by his tone, she promptly did as she was told. Addressing Billie Jean then, he said, “You see that gully yonder?” She nodded and he continued. “I want you to drive like hell to that gully when I give you the signal, and I don’t mean maybe.”
“What is it?” Lorena demanded as she crawled up to join Billie Jean in the seat.
“I think we got some trouble,” Wolf replied. “I might be wrong, but I got a feelin’ I ain’t. I got a powerful itch that says there’s a bunch of Injuns waitin’ for us to ride through that notch in those hills up ahead. So we’ll keep on kinda peaceable till we get to that big clump of sagebrush on the right, and then we’ll make a run for it and hope we get to that gully before they can cut us off.”
“Why don’t we just turn around and run the other way?” Rose asked fearfully.
Billie Jean answered for Wolf. “’Cause they’d run us down on the open prairie before we got a mile.”
“I’m afraid that’s a fact,” Wolf said. He shook his head and grimaced apologetically. “If there’s as many of ’em as I think, I ain’t sure how long I can hold ’em off, but I’ll sure as hell make ’em pay a price for it. When we get to the gully, get the horses unhitched as fast as you can and lead ’em back of the wagon.” Again he tried to apologize. “I’ll do what I can, at least as long as my cartridges hold out.” He looked at Lorena then. “Maybe you can break out that little pistol you tote in your pocket.”
“Hell, I can do better’n that,” Lorena replied. “Rose, get back there and pull those carbines outta the box under the floorboards, and pull all that ammunition out. Those Injuns will play hell takin’ this wagon.”
Astonished, Wolf was speechless for a moment before asking, “How many do you have?”
“Three,” Lorena replied, “one for each of us, three Sharps carbines, converted to fire metal cartridges. And we know how to use ’em, don’t we, girls?” Sh
e was answered with two nods of determination. “We didn’t come out here to be guests of honor at no damn Injun scalpin’ party.”
“Well, I’ll be damned…,” Wolf responded, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. In those brief moments the outlook had gone from hopeless to promising. “Let ’em come, then,” he said. Billie Jean slapped the horses on their rumps with the reins, and they drove on toward the clump of sagebrush Wolf had specified.
Moving at a leisurely pace, they continued on toward the hills until almost even with the large clump of sagebrush. “Go!” Wolf commanded, and Billie Jean was quick to respond. She drew the horses sharply to the left and laid into them with the reins across their backsides. The horses responded as best they could under Billie Jean’s flailing and Lorena and Rose held on as the wagon bounced over the rough terrain, all three praying that the warped wheel held together. Wolf drew his rifle from the saddle sling and reined his horse back, watching for any reaction from the hills on either side of the draw. No more than a few moments elapsed before his suspicions were proven to be accurate and the ridges on both sides of the passage erupted.
Their ambush obviously discovered, the Lakota warriors rose from their cover below the crest of the hills and immediately started firing at the departing wagon. The range was too great to afford any real chance of hitting the target, a fact that was soon apparent to them, so they scrambled to get to their ponies to give chase. Wolf continued to hold the bay back until the first of the Indian riders streamed down the sides of the hills. He hesitated a moment longer, just enough to throw a few shots at the leading riders in the hope of slowing them down and buying as much time as he could for the women to reach the gully. When their return fire began to kick up dirt around the bay’s hooves, he wheeled the horse and fled after the women.
Knowing he had no more than a minute or two before the war party would be upon them, he reached the gully only seconds behind the wagon. As he had directed, Billie Jean had stopped the wagon in the mouth of the narrow gully and was in the process of unhitching the horses when he came sliding to a stop beside her. With a quick look at Lorena and Rose, he saw that they needed no instruction on what to do. They were loading the magazines of their carbines and picking positions to fire from. When they were set, they rolled the canvas wagon sheets up enough to give them room to fire. “I didn’t have time to count, but it looks like twelve or fourteen of ’em,” he called to Lorena. She nodded as he jumped down from his horse and led it into the gully. Then he ran back to help Billie Jean secure the team. That done, they hurried to take defensive positions with the other two women. Rose handed a Sharps carbine to Billie Jean, telling her it was already fully loaded.
Billie Jean had barely gotten in place behind the large sack of oats when the line of charging warriors opened fire again at a distance of about one hundred and fifty yards. “Let ’em get a little closer,” Wolf called out. “Then we’ll let ’em know how much it’s gonna cost ’em.” It was difficult to do, once the bullets started knocking holes in the wagon sheet and chipping chunks of wood from the sides. “Now!” he yelled when the range had closed to less than one hundred yards. He had no idea whether or not the women really knew how to shoot, but he figured the odds were a lot better at a shorter range. Their initial volley resulted in the reduction of the attacking force by three; one by Wolf, one by Lorena, and one by the other two women. It might have been four had not Rose and Billie Jean both aimed at the same Indian. More importantly, the volley stopped the headlong charge, causing the warriors to scatter, having been surprised by the responding firepower. Two more warriors were knocked from their horses by Wolf’s Henry rifle before riding out of range.
“By God!” Lorena exclaimed as the Indians drew back. “That’ll teach you to attack respectable ladies, you red-skinned sons of bitches!” She turned to exchange victorious grins with Rose and Billie Jean.
“We showed ’em,” Billie Jean crowed.
“Yeah, I reckon we did,” Wolf allowed, considerably less excited. “Now they know it ain’t one rifle they’re workin’ against, and that sure as hell didn’t tickle ’em none. It just comes down to how bad they wanna come after us now that we’ve killed five of their war party.”
“Won’t that be enough to keep them from wanting to charge us again?” Rose asked. “They’d be fools to keep doing that.”
“I expect so,” Wolf said. “We most likely did break ’em from tryin’ to overrun us again, but I doubt they’ve had enough yet. Like I said, it depends on how bad they want our scalps now. We can make it cost too much to charge us again, but they’ve got us pretty much bottled up here in this gully. They can lie back and plunk away at us from a distance. Probably figure they can wait us out, since there ain’t no water in this hole we’re in.” He glanced up at the sky. “Couple of hours it’ll be dark. Then they might try to slip up on us.”
His reasoning was sufficient to deflate the air of exhilaration the three women had been enjoying after their apparent victory against the savage warriors. “I don’t like the sound of that,” Lorena said, speaking for all three, and an atmosphere of concern returned. The thought of Lakota warriors sneaking into their stronghold under cover of darkness brought images of a more sinister nature than the broad daylight charge.
“Whaddaya think we oughta do?” Lorena asked. “You got any ideas?”
“Well, for one thing,” he answered while never turning his gaze away from the prairie, “I don’t reckon we’d better plan on sleepin’ tonight. We’re gonna all have to keep a sharp lookout in case they try to slip in on us.” He turned then to look behind them, beyond the three horses, to the top of the gully. “That looks like the way I’d try to sneak in here, if it was me. So I think I’ll be climbin’ up there to see if I can cut anybody off that’s trying to come in from above us.” Returning his gaze to the prairie again, he pointed to a small rise about a hundred yards off to one side, and then another a little closer on the other side. “I expect they’ll leave their ponies back safe somewhere and crawl up to those two humps. That’ll give ’em some cover to shoot from. Then we’ll just have to wait till dark to see what they’ll do.”
After some thirty minutes had passed with all quiet on the prairie before them, Lorena moved over beside Wolf from her position behind the front wheels of the wagon. “Reckon why they ain’t been shootin’ at us? You think they figured it ain’t worth it?”
“I expect they’re hopin’ we think they’ve gone and hitch up the wagon,” he said. “We oughta hear somethin’ from ’em before long.”
There was still no indication that the Indians were there until the sun finally sank into the far hills, leaving the prairie bathed in a soft half-light. It wasn’t long before the first of many random shots came from the very spots Wolf had pointed out. Billie Jean prepared to return fire, but Wolf told her she’d just be wasting cartridges. “As long as they’re lyin’ low behind that rise, you ain’t likely to do anythin’ but kick up some dirt. They’re gonna have to make a move to get at us, so save your cartridges till then. Just keep your head down and your eyes peeled. It frustrates Injuns when you don’t pay no attention to ’em.”
Though mere speculation, Wolf’s assessment of the Lakota’s frame of mind was right on the mark. Frustrated by the loss of five of his party, Iron Hand was seething, impatiently waiting for darkness to fall. A war chief was judged by the welfare of his warriors, and it appeared that his medicine was not strong. Five dead from a party of twelve did not inspire others to follow him into battle. Growing angrier by the moment, he felt compelled to prove the strength of his medicine, until finally he could hold it in no longer. “I will sit back here like a frightened woman no more!” he exclaimed. “Their bullets cannot hurt me!” He jumped to his feet and charged straight at the wagon, firing his Spencer carbine as he ran. Two of the other warriors, inspired by his bravery, leaped up to follow.
Iron Hand made it to within thirty yards of the wagon before he fell as a result of four almost simul
taneous shots that stopped his upper body cold while his feet ran out from under him. The other two warriors quickly retreated to the safety of the rise amid a hailstorm of lead around their feet. The remaining warriors looked then to Red Blanket for council. “I think we have seen enough of this white man’s medicine to know this is not a good day for us to fight,” Lone Buffalo said. “I think we should go and leave this white man alone.”
Red Blanket could not disagree. Half of the twelve warriors that had left the village were dead. Still, it did not seem honorable to leave without some retaliation for their losses. “I say we should go back to our ponies,” he said. “Then I, and anyone who wants to go with me, will climb up the hill behind them and catch them watching for us in front of them.”
Back in the gully, Wolf and the three women waited, watching for any movement in the rapidly growing darkness. After a few scattered shots over fifteen minutes before, there was no more shooting from the prairie. “I expect I’d best climb up the back of this gully in case they’re thinkin’ about sneakin’ up behind us now,” he said. “Might not be a bad idea if one of you kinda keep an eye on the horses while the other two keep watchin’ the prairie.” He started to leave then, but paused to say, “Only thing is, I don’t wanna get shot by one of you when I come back.” He looked at Billie Jean, who had moved from her position to watch the horses. “Maybe I’d better give you a little birdcall, so you’ll know it’s me—like this.” He whistled a couple of low notes.
“What kinda bird is that?” Billie Jean questioned. “I ain’t ever heard a bird that sounds like that.”
“It don’t matter,” Wolf said impatiently. “That’s the signal I’ll make.”
“All right, then,” Billie Jean said. As he disappeared into the darkness of the gully, she turned to Lorena and commented, “Ain’t no bird makes a sound like that.”
Day of the Wolf Page 5
