Valley of Thunder

by Sam Clancy

  Cook fought to hold Caesar back as he pulled hard against a long leash which could be easily unclipped as required.

  The dog stopped suddenly and looked at a prone form in front of it. Confused, Cook moved forward to stand beside the dog. With some trouble, he could make out the body through the darkness.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Cook cursed loudly.

  ‘What is it?’ Jordan asked.

  ‘It’s Blake,’ Cook told them. ‘The bastards have killed him.’

  A low moan came from the guard as he stirred slightly.

  ‘Wait, he’s still alive,’ Venters said.

  ‘Leave him be,’ Cook ordered. ‘We’ll get him on the way back.’

  Cook leaned down and unclipped the wolfhound’s leash. ‘Go on, boy, hunt.’

  They watched the dog power off ahead, a large drab, grey streak against a silvery background.

  The two exhausted men lumbered from the tree-line on tired legs. Before them lay the vast expanse of grassland that ran both sides of the wagon trail. On the far side was a low tree-clad ridge, not much bigger than a hill.

  ‘We need to get across that before they come out behind us,’ Ford said. ‘Do you think you can make it?’

  ‘Do you?’ Brady shot back. ‘You know, we could make a stand. We do have guns and some ammunition.’

  ‘That’s what I plan on doin’,’ Ford told him. ‘Once we get across to the trees we’ll be able to catch them out in the open. It’ll still be dark but hopefully light enough to see them comin’.’

  ‘What’re we waitin’ around here for then?’ Brady asked as he broke into a lumbering run.

  Ford followed close behind and they’d gone about halfway when a patch of uneven ground brought Brady down with a yelp of pain.

  ‘Come on,’ Ford urged him and grabbed a handful of clothing to help him to his feet. ‘We ain’t got no time to be rollin’ around in the tall grass.’

  ‘I’m done,’ Brady gasped. ‘I hurt my ankle. It’s bad, I felt somethin’ give and now it’s burnin’ like a bitch.’

  ‘Get up,’ Ford said as he dragged him upright with strength fuelled by adrenaline. ‘I ain’t leavin’ you.’

  Brady tried to put weight on his injured ankle but his whole leg buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground. He gritted his teeth against the pain and hissed an inaudible curse.

  ‘Leave me,’ he said, giving voice to the only sensible solution to their predicament. ‘I got me a rifle. I can hold ’em off long enough for you to get away. Get help for the others.’

  Ford surprised Brady when he sat down beside him.

  ‘What the hell are you doin’?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘When I was a boy,’ Ford began, ignoring the question, ‘we had us a mountain lion that came down outta the hills and killed one of our two milk cows. I was thirteen at the time. Pa was gone so it was just me, Ma and my older sister left there. Now, I got it into my head that the damn thing was goin’ to come back and kill the other cow. Bein’ poor folks as we were, we just couldn’t afford to be buyin’ another. So I took down my pa’s old shotgun and sat outside every night, all night, for the next five nights.’

  Ford paused a moment before he continued. ‘Come that fifth night, my ma said to me, “Joshua, you know that cat ain’t comin’ back”. Anyway, I just ignored her and went outside to wait again. As I was closin’ the door behind me I heard her say, “Stubborn is what you are, Joshua Ford”. Come mornin’ I had that big cat. But my ma was right about one thing. I am damn stubborn and like I said before, I ain’t leavin’ you.’

  Brady just shook his head.

  Out of the darkness came the same blood-curdling howl they’d heard earlier.

  ‘Better get ready,’ Ford said. ‘We’re about to have company.’

  Chapter 12

  Ford and Brady crouched low in the grass, guns at the ready. Though faint, they could hear noises getting closer. A soft thrum on the earth was probably the stride of the giant wolfhound headed towards them. It was quieter than a horse but loud enough to be heard. From the rear, the shouts of the hunters grew steadily louder.

  They rose up just enough to get a better view of the situation. The first thing they saw was the dog as it bounded towards them. Behind it, they could just make out the faint silhouettes of the men.

  Ford returned his focus to the dog. It was their main threat and needed to be killed first.

  The drumming of its paws grew louder as it got closer.

  Both men raised their firearms and drew a bead on the approaching beast. Hammers went back with a dry triple-click that sounded unbelievably loud in the crisp night air.

  The dog seemed to be so close, a beast sent from hell to hunt and kill its prey. Prey in this instance was Ford and Brady.

  In a cruel twist of fate, as the wolfhound closed the distance between them to forty feet, the moon went behind a cloud and everything went black.

  Orange stabs of flames sparked brightly in the darkness, followed quickly by the slap of multiple gunshots as Ford and Brady fired wildly. The four outlaws dived for cover as bullets passed close, loud crackles signalled their paths.

  Venters, a little slower than the others, gave out a strangled cry as one of the wildly fired rounds found a mark.

  ‘Who’s hit?’ Cook called out.

  ‘Venters,’ Jordan shouted back.

  The other three opened fire at the muzzle flashes opposite them. Their guns thundered loudly as they unleashed a flurry of their own at those opposite.

  ‘They were waitin’ for us, with guns,’ Bell yelled out. ‘How the hell did they get guns?’

  Cook recalled Blake, the unconscious guard they’d found back at the pass. He was about to voice his opinion when over the din of the shots, he heard a faint cry of pain when one of the guns opposite ceased fire, then the other.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Cook ordered.

  There was a loud yelp of pain followed by two gunshots then an all encompassing silence, save the heavy breaths of the three outlaws who remained belly down in the grass.

  ‘Was that what I think it was?’ Jordan asked in a harsh whisper.

  ‘Yeah,’ Cook growled. ‘They got the dog. They got Caesar.’

  ‘How’s the arm?’ Ford asked as he thumbed fresh loads into the six-gun.

  ‘It hurts,’ Brady complained. ‘Good thing I managed to get it up, though, otherwise that damned beast would have taken my throat out.’

  When the moon had disappeared behind the clouds and darkness had shrouded them, the pair had fired blindly in the general direction of the approaching dog in hope of stopping it dead.

  All those shots had missed. The dog, that is. They had no idea that a stray bullet had taken down one of their pursuers.

  When the snarling beast had come out of the darkness virtually on top of Brady, he’d had just enough time to throw up his forearm in a protective gesture.

  The force of the impact had knocked Brady onto his back with the wolfhound still attached to his arm. The beast had then stood over him; a rumbling growl emanated from deep in its chest.

  At first, Brady had cried out with pain but soon forgot the agony as he engaged in a life or death battle with the massive animal.

  Ford had ceased fire and leapt to help the man in a struggle for his life. He used his six-gun as a club and it rose and fell twice. With the second blow, the dog yelped loudly and released Brady’s arm. He then whirled on Ford to confront the new threat.

  As Caesar leapt at Ford, the deputy marshal fired twice. The dog shuddered under the impact of the bullets then crashed to the ground at Ford’s feet.

  In the silence that ensued, the pair waited and listened to the night sounds for any indication of the approaching men.

  ‘What do you think?’ Brady asked Ford.

  Ford shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they’re waitin’ to see what we’re goin’ to do.’

  They waited a few minutes more but nothing happened.

  ‘Let’s move, B
rady,’ Ford said as he helped him to his feet. ‘We’ll put some distance between us and them before daylight or they figure we ain’t here.’

  Whether by some quirk of fate or pure dumb luck, the night split apart once more with gunfire and the three outlaws appeared from the darkness. Somehow they’d managed to approach without a sound.

  Ford palmed his six-gun and fired at the nearest silhouettes. He felt it buck in his palm as it sent slug after slug at the attackers. With satisfaction, he saw one of them disappear.

  Beside him, Brady worked the lever of the Winchester and managed to get three shots off before the rifle’s hammer fell on an empty chamber. As he struggled to reload, a bullet ploughed into his chest and another into his middle.

  The governor’s man grunted with the impact of each bullet. The empty rifle fell from his grip and he buckled at the knees before he sank slowly to the ground.

  Ford felt the burn of a bullet as it fanned his face and another tugged at his pant leg. There was one shooter left and he had, by his calculations, two slugs remaining.

  He was aware that Brady was down and knew that if he couldn’t put the last attacker down with one of his final two shots, he’d be in dire trouble.

  Calmly, he steadied the gun, took careful aim and fired his final two shots. The man in front of him fell back as both slugs hit him full in the chest.

  Ford went down on one knee and reloaded. Once the loading gate was snapped shut, he paused and listened for any indication of more attackers out there in the darkness.

  His ears were greeted by nothing more than night sounds.

  He moved quickly to check on Brady. He knelt beside him to see if he was breathing. He was too late. There was nothing, the man was dead.

  Ford muttered a curse under his breath. This was just one more reason to bring Lord Bruce Ferguson and his band of ruthless killers to justice.

  He felt around the ground for the Winchester. He cracked it open and found it empty.

  ‘Guess the six-shooter will have to do,’ Ford said to nobody in particular. ‘Shame them fellers didn’t have horses.’

  He looked across at Brady’s still form. ‘I’m sorry, Brady, but I ain’t got time to bury you proper. I’ll see to it when I get back. That’s a promise.’

  Without another word, Ford turned away, headed for the ridge line and hoped like hell he could find the help he required to liberate the slaves of the Valley of Thunder.

  Mid-morning the following day saw Ford enter a broad valley with large tracts of larch and spruce. A shallow, swift-flowing stream allowed him to slake his thirst.

  It also gave him cause for concern. Beside the stream, in a bare patch of earth, he found fresh signs of a large grizzly.

  Instantly on edge, Ford scanned his surroundings a full 360 degrees. He had no desire to come across a bear with only a six-gun and no horse.

  Relieved to find no further indication of the bear, Ford crossed the stream and kept on track for Rapid River and the Nez Perce camp.

  An hour later, however, they found him. Ford looked up to see six of them. They sat atop their fine horses on a bald knoll and watched his very slow progress.

  With loud cries, they urged their horses forward and thundered down the slope towards the virtually helpless man.

  Ford lifted his hands out to the side in a show that he meant them no harm. They came on at a gallop, the manes of their horses horizontal. Their yips and screeches filled the clear air in a terrifying show of power.

  Ford swallowed hard and felt sweat start to break out on his brow. An awful thought occurred to him. What if he was wrong? What if the Indians rode him down or killed him with their weapons? It appeared that they were about to do just that and he poised to fight. The Nez Perce warriors hauled back on their reins and brought their mounts to a sliding stop.

  They stared at him with unfriendly faces while their mounts stomped and snorted loudly. Ford stared back but waited for them to make the first move.

  One of the warriors rode forward and circled him. Ford tensed. The rider stopped in front of Ford and spoke to the deputy marshal in a language Ford could not understand.

  ‘Chuslum Moxmox,’ Ford said clearly. He pointed at himself and spoke again, ‘Take me to Chuslum Moxmox.’

  For a moment, the warrior’s face remained passive and Ford thought that his primitive attempt at communication had failed. The man eased his horse forward, pointed at Ford’s holstered gun and held out his hand.

  Ford nodded his understanding and unbuckled the belt and handed it over. The warrior took it and rode around behind a now unarmed and nervous Ford.

  He turned to face the Nez Perce, who pointed off into the distance. Ford nodded his understanding and proceeded in that direction; the long grass stalks whipped around his legs. The warrior watched him go, then followed along behind with his companions.

  Chapter 13

  Hayes looked down at the cold, stiff body of Venters. His eyes were glazed and a bloody hand was at the ugly wound in his throat where he’d tried to plug the hole that allowed his life to bleed out.

  The fact that Ford and Brady had managed to get this far was bad in itself. That they’d got their hands on weapons was even worse.

  ‘Over here!’ Gibson’s shout interrupted the big man’s thoughts.

  Hayes looked up and saw Gibson waving at him. He walked nearer to the man until he noticed what Gibson had called him over for.

  ‘There, there, there, there, and there.’ Gibson pointed them out and Hayes was shocked by the sight before him.

  The last one was Lord Bruce’s dog, Caesar.

  ‘He don’t look so big now, does he?’ Hayes said.

  ‘They got Brady but Ford is missin’,’ Gibson stated.

  Hayes nodded. ‘Yeah. Spread out. We’ll see if we can pick up his trail to find which way he went.’

  Ten minutes later, Hayes called Gibson to him.

  ‘He’s gone that way.’ Hayes pointed to the far ridge. ‘Up there.’

  Gibson frowned. ‘Why that way? Why not follow the trail?’

  Hayes shook his head. ‘Who knows? Get the horses and we’ll track him.’

  They followed Ford’s vague trail until the afternoon sun began its slow descent and they found the spot where the Nez Perce had come across him.

  ‘That’s not good,’ Gibson noted.

  ‘Good for us, not for him,’ Hayes said.

  Gibson smiled coldly. ‘They’ll peel the hide off him and give him to the squaws to play with. Pity. I was hopin’ it would be me who did it for him.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  Gibson shrugged. ‘Nope. I guess not.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get back,’ Hayes said as he pulled his horse around. ‘We’ll collect the dog and other bodies on our way through.’

  Ford guessed there to be approximately an hour’s worth of daylight left when they reached the camp on the banks of the Rapid River. He glanced around and estimated somewhere in the vicinity of thirty to forty teepees along it.

  The teepees were constructed solidly with a four pole, main framework. Another dozen or so were placed around these to complete the skeleton of the structure. All were lashed firmly into place before the hides were stretched over it and affixed.

  Beyond the main camp, a wide meadow contained a large herd of the famed Nez Perce horses. They were certainly a grand sight for a footsore traveller, but a magnificent sight for any horseman.

  As they entered the camp, a large crowd gathered to gaze over the stranger in their midst.

  They came to a halt near the centre of the encampment in front of a hand-decorated teepee. The elaborate decorations indicated that this was the lodge of Chief Yellow Bull.

  A bronzed arm swept back the entrance flap and the opening was filled with the man he’d come to see.

  Yellow Bull stood erect and stepped forward, but could not hide the look of surprise on his face when he recognized who stood in front of him.

  Ford smiled broadly at him and
said, ‘I need your help.’

  Yellow Bull’s face remained passive as he said, ‘It would seem spirits look upon you favourably, Josh Ford.’

  ‘Once you hear what I have to say, you might not think so,’ Ford replied grimly.

  ‘You are alive,’ Yellow Bull pointed out. ‘I say that is favourable.’

  Ford caught sight of an elk haunch being cooked over a small fire and the smell of roasting meat reached his nostrils. His stomach let out a low growl.

  ‘That sure smells mighty good,’ he declared.

  Yellow Bull nodded. ‘Come inside, Josh Ford. You are welcome in my lodge. While you eat, you tell what help is needed.’

  Ford wolfed down the meat handed to him by Yellow Bull’s wife, Sweet Water. It tasted so good that he asked for more.

  ‘What help you need, Josh Ford?’ Yellow Bull asked him.

  ‘I need the help of you and your braves to go back into the valley—’

  ‘No!’ Yellow Bull snapped.

  ‘If you’ll just let—’

  ‘I say no,’ Yellow Bull cut him off again. ‘Spirits angry with anyone who enters. And a great beast guards valley, too.’

  ‘The beast is dead,’ Ford explained to him. ‘I killed it.’

  ‘I doubt very much—’

  It was Ford’s turn to cut him off. ‘The beast was no more than a dog. A very big, ugly dog.’ The chief remained silent.

  ‘Just listen to me, to what I have to say,’ Ford begged. ‘I’ll explain it all and you can make up your own mind about whether you want to help or not.’

  Yellow Bull nodded. ‘Fine. I will listen.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And I say no.’

  For the next twenty minutes, Ford related his story in detail to the Nez Perce chief. His explanations were met with no more than a few grunts until he’d finished.

  ‘So you see,’ Ford said in conclusion, ‘there are no bad spirits in the valley. The rumblings are just the blasts and the beast was a large dog which is now dead. But I still need your help to rescue those who are being held against their will. It needs to be stopped.’