by Sam Clancy
Yellow Bull contemplated what Ford had told him and said, ‘I discuss with others before I answer.’
Ford nodded. ‘I understand, but please don’t take too long.’
Two hours later, after the disappearance of the sun and much vocal deliberation, Ford was called over to a large fire where five men were seated.
Yellow Bull wore a grave expression on his face. The flickering orange glow from the fire gave it a surreal presence. ‘They urge me give no help, send you away, Josh Ford,’ the chief explained. Ford looked at the other Indians around the fire. All stared unpleasantly at him. ‘But,’ Yellow Bull continued, ‘I decide, against better judgement and wishes of others, I help free those at mercy of bad man.’
‘Thank you,’ Ford said, relief visible on his face.
‘If this is trap, I kill you myself, Josh Ford.’
Ferguson was incredibly worried. It had never taken this long to recapture an escapee before. Especially when the search party had Caesar with them.
It was long after dark on the following day and there was still no sign of the hunting party or of Hayes and Gibson.
The self-proclaimed Lord sat in his high-backed chair beside the fire. He toyed with a glass of fine brandy, concern etched deeply on his face.
Damn it, where were they? In hindsight, he should have had Ford killed instead of having him flogged. If they managed to bring him back alive, that’s what he’d do. Him and the one who’d escaped with him.
The door opened and Hayes entered. Ferguson stood but the look on the big man’s face immediately told him that something was wrong. Something bad. ‘Well?’ Ferguson demanded.
Hayes hesitated briefly and said, ‘They’re all dead, Lord Bruce.’
Ferguson looked at the big man, a confused look on his face. ‘What do you mean, all dead?’
‘Every man who went after them is dead,’ Hayes elaborated.
Ferguson digested the news. All of the men, Hayes had said.
‘Where’s Caesar?’ he asked.
Again, another hesitation. ‘They shot him, too. He’s outside. I’m sorry, Lord Bruce, but he’s dead.’
Ferguson doubled over as though he’d been punched in the guts. Caesar had been his family, his best friend. And now he was gone.
As he straightened up again, there was a faint tremble in his voice when he spoke and Hayes couldn’t tell whether the cause was sadness or anger.
‘Get back out there and find them.’
‘One of ’em is dead,’ Hayes informed him. ‘The only one to escape was Ford. If you can call it escape. I doubt we’ll be hearin’ from him again.’
‘Why?’
‘The Nez Perce picked him up,’ the big man explained. ‘Right about now, I expect he’s dyin’ real slow.’
Ferguson wished that it was he who inflicted the pain on Ford but held a small amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that the lawman would suffer for killing his dog.
‘I’m going to bury Caesar,’ Ferguson said solemnly. ‘Where is he?’
‘We got him on one of the horses,’ Hayes replied.
Ferguson nodded and walked slowly past Hayes. Then he stopped and turned to face him.
‘The men responsible for their escape. The ones who were on guard and not vigilant enough?’
‘Yes, Lord Bruce?’
‘Have them locked up tonight ready for the consequences of their actions tomorrow. I want the men to know that I won’t tolerate any more mistakes. Lack of diligence isn’t acceptable.’ Ferguson paused, then, ‘I will carry out the punishment myself.’
Hayes’s face gave nothing away as he said, ‘I’ll see to it.’
Without another word, Ferguson walked from the room and left Hayes there alone.
Outside, Ferguson found a horse tethered to the hitch-rail. The carcase of the big wolfhound was draped over it. Ferguson moved closer and stroked the dead animal’s fur on his side then lowered his hand to its head.
The lamp inside the building cast its orange glow through the window and illuminated Ferguson’s tear-streaked face.
Chapter 14
Morning broke the next day and shrouded the valley of Rapid River in a pale mist. Ford watched as twenty warriors prepared their horses for the day’s ride.
Somewhere nearby, a baby wailed loudly, woken rudely by the early morning stirrings of the camp. Entranced by the sight of the warriors’ preparation, Ford was totally oblivious to the approach of Yellow Bull.
‘This is for you, Josh Ford,’ the chief announced.
Ford turned to the chief who held out the hackamore reins of a solid looking, grey-dappled horse. Thrown across its back was a blanket and nothing else.
As much as Ford liked the look of the blue roan, this horse was something else entirely.
He took the reins and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Next, Yellow Bull gave him back the six-gun and holster taken from him the previous day. He buckled it on and adjusted it, then checked the loads to ensure all cylinder chambers were full. He would have given just about anything at this point to have his Peacemaker back.
Lastly, Yellow Bull gave Ford an old .44 calibre Henry rifle. It had an octagonal barrel and tarnished brass side plates. There was also a dent towards the end of its tubular magazine so it wouldn’t be able to be fully loaded.
Ford checked the action and it was smooth. Apart from the dent, he figured it had been reasonably well looked after.
‘Now we go,’ Yellow Bull informed him.
Ford mounted the unfamiliar horse and watched as the Nez Perce chief jumped on his own.
With a chorus of war cries, the war party, complete with one Deputy United States Marshal, rode out.
As the rescuers set out from the Indian encampment on the banks of the Rapid River, the punishment of three guards was about to take place.
Two more A-frame scaffolds had been hastily constructed and the three were affixed and naked from the waist up.
All were silent for the moment, their jaws set firm in expectation of the pain that was about to be inflicted. All had seen punishment meted out so they knew what was to come. None knew how bad it was actually going to be.
Ferguson stepped forward to address the whole assembly of guards. All indentured civilians were still locked away.
‘As you all know, these three men are responsible for the escape of two prisoners through their inattention to duty,’ Ferguson stated in a voice loud enough for them to hear. His tone allowed no misconceptions about what he wanted. ‘In doing so, their actions have resulted in the deaths of four men and. . . .’
Ferguson paused to gather himself then continued.
‘Four men and my dog Caesar. These three will be made examples of as a reminder of what I expect of you all and what will happen should any of you transgress.’
The gathered crowd remained silent and watched intently as Ferguson removed his own clothes from the waist up.
An audible murmur rippled through the watchers when he turned his back to them, exposing the myriad of scars that crisscrossed his back.
‘Yes. As you all can see for yourselves, I too have tasted the lash and from it, I learned one thing. What does not kill you only makes you stronger.’
Ferguson stepped across to the first of the frames and cast sentence upon the three men.
‘I have contemplated the seriousness of your crimes and set punishment accordingly,’ he told them. ‘I have decided that the severity is such that should deter any chance of a reoccurrence. Therefore, each of you shall be subjected to one hundred lashes. . . .’
A sudden uproar rose from the gathered group of assembled guards. The three men begged frantically for mercy. No one had survived fifty, let alone double that figure.
Hayes stepped forward and lifted his Colt into the air.
He fired two shots then shouted at the outraged men.
‘Enough! You all heard what the punishment is to be. Just remember this; they are responsible for the deaths of four of our men. Eith
er one of them could have been you. Be thankful it wasn’t.’
When he was finished, Hayes turned to face Ferguson and gave him a look that told the Englishman in no uncertain terms that his segundo approved his decision less than the others did. When it was over, two of the three were dead. By some miracle the other was still alive, though wished he wasn’t. When Ferguson stepped back, he was bathed in a sheen of sweat that ran red with blood. He turned to face his men who’d remained stoic throughout. His chest heaved from the massive exertion.
‘That is what happens to those who put others in peril by not paying attention to what they are doing!’ he shouted between gasps for breath. A weak moan escaped the lips of the limp and bloodied man and the Englishman gave him a withering look. With a determined nod, he stalked across to the nearest guard. He relieved the astonished man of his six-gun, a double-action Colt, and returned to the scaffold where the dying man hung. Without hesitation, he raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. The Colt roared and the man’s head lurched sideways. Ferguson tossed the Colt back to its owner nonchalantly and said, ‘Punishment over.’
Once Ferguson had disappeared, Gibson moved to stand beside Hayes.
‘What the hell was all that?’ he asked Hayes. ‘He didn’t have to do that to them.’
‘Gettin’ soft, Matt?’ Hayes said.
Gibson shook his head. ‘Nope. I could have shot them myself if I was asked. But they were one of us.’
‘And they messed up, Matt,’ Hayes hissed. ‘They got what they deserved. And now it might keep other minds on their jobs. Now get them settlers back to work.’
Gibson was about to fire back a retort but thought better of it. Instead, he turned on his heel and stomped off. Hayes watched him go but knew Gibson was right. They were some of their own men. If Ferguson wanted to make an example of them, he could have issued the same punishment he’d given Ford. He had a feeling that the loss of his dog had changed something inside the Englishman and thought he’d best keep an eye on him.
The afternoon brought clouds. Great grey, leaden ones that darkened the day and changed afternoon into something akin to night. Thunder began to roll across the peaks of the Bitterroot range in loud percussive waves. Lightning branched out across the sky and drove towards the ground in stabbing forks. It lit the darkened sky in a dazzling display of might and beauty. When the rain finally arrived, it fell in great sheets that soaked the ground and created rivulets that ran off the ridges. It was only a matter of moments before Ford was soaked through. So too were the Nez Perce warriors but they seemed nonplussed by it. Yellow Bull eased his horse in beside Ford and spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard. ‘We reach there before night,’ he said. Ford nodded. ‘I send scouts ahead when we get closer,’ he told the deputy marshal. ‘We hide in trees while they check pass. When return, we move.’
Ford shivered as a cold trickle of water ran down his back. ‘Because we are outnumbered, we need to utilize the darkness to our benefit. The rain will help us but the lightning could be a hindrance.’
‘Do not worry,’ Yellow Bull assured him. ‘Warriors very good. They get in and out, no one know.’ They rode on silently as the rain tumbled down and thunder crashed over their heads. With the constant rain came a bone-chilling cold and Ford tried not to think about warm dry clothes and a large fire to warm himself by. Tearing him from his reverie, Yellow Bull suddenly barked out orders that Ford couldn’t understand. Three Nez Perce warriors heeled their mounts forward and disappeared through the trees into the gloom.
‘We wait here,’ Yellow Bull informed him. ‘There is cave to shelter from rain while wait.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Ford said as a shiver caused his whole body to tremble. The horses were tethered near a large rock outcrop and he followed the Nez Perce chief amongst them until they found the cave. The cave wasn’t very big but was enough to hold them all, though it had a distinct animal scent about it. There seemed to be a vague light, nothing bright but sufficient to see by. It was dry and that was what mattered most to Ford. Although he was wet, he had a chance to start to dry out and warm up a little. One of the braves managed to get a small fire going and the warmth soon radiated around the cave. They’d been there two hours when Yellow Bull sat down beside him and asked, ‘Do you have knife?’
‘No,’ Ford answered.
‘I get one before we enter valley.’
Ford noticed an expression of concern on the chief’s face.
‘What’s up? You look worried.’
‘After we here I send three warriors to scout.’
‘Yes. I saw that. But you told me you were going to.’
‘One I send to look where you said fight with other men took place,’ Yellow Bull explained. ‘When he return he tell me what he found. Not that I not trust you, but want be certain.’
Ford understood and said as much. ‘I thought you might, just to be sure. They were there? The bodies?’
‘Yes,’ Yellow Bull said.
‘And no.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The bodies of men gone,’ Yellow Bull told him. ‘All but one.’
Ford guessed whose body had been left behind. It had to be Brady. ‘And the dog?’
‘No, it gone, too.’
‘If whoever took the bodies followed my trail, then they’ll know that your braves picked me up,’ Ford hypothesized.
Yellow Bull grunted his agreement. ‘Maybe they think you captive instead of us help you.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Ford said. ‘Because if they don’t, then it is goin’ to be one hell of a job freein’ those prisoners.’
Chapter 15
The storm had abated marginally by the time the two Nez Perce warriors returned. They spoke briefly with Yellow Bull then the chief barked a few orders and the others exited the cave.
He turned towards Ford and said, ‘We go. Two guards in pass scouts take care of. When get to valley we use knives.’
He passed Ford a knife he’d borrowed from one of his warriors. Ford nodded his thanks and followed the Nez Perce chief out of the cave.
A razor-sharp blade across the throat dispatched the first two guards. A firmly clamped hand over the mouth prevented the escape of any noise which might raise the alarm and alert others of the situation. The noise of the rain and thunder would be sufficient to cover any sounds made.
When they finally exited the pass, the storm had mostly subsided and the rain had almost stopped. The rumble of thunder still echoed in the distance, an indicator of the storm’s direction of travel. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the valley less now that it had moved further away.
Yellow Bull came up beside Ford and said, ‘We are ready.’
‘I’ll start to free the captives while you and your warriors go to work thinnin’ ’em out,’ Ford told the Nez Perce chief.
‘Take one my men with you,’ Yellow Bull said. ‘He help you.’
Ford wasn’t quite certain about the suggestion, but after a moment of consideration, he could see the sense in it. ‘OK.’
The warrior that Yellow Bull picked out was tall and solid. Nothing more specific could be detected in the darkness, but he imagined the man’s face wore a scowl.
His name . . . Yellow Bull paused for a moment as he thought of a translation for the name so Ford could understand it . . . Lame Elk,’ he finished.
‘Let’s go then,’ Ford said as he moved out into the darkness.
A blast of cold damp air shot through the narrow opening and permeated the dark room as the door was slammed back on its hinges. A large figure with a lantern filled the space that the heavy wooden door had just vacated.
The man moved into the room with purpose, his focus specific and determined. He bent over the cowering form of Allison Ellis, grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and hauled her to her feet. ‘You’re comin’ with me,’ Gibson rasped, his voice thick with lust. A violent struggle ensued and Allison let out an ear-piercing scream that brought everyone in the immediate
vicinity awake with a start. She continued to kick and slap with all her might and struck out at him with clawed fingers and raked Gibsons’s face. He responded with vicious intent, an open palm caught her heavily across the cheek with a resounding crack. Instantly, she went weak at the knees and her struggles ceased. ‘Give me any more trouble and I’ll cut your throat,’ Gibson warned Allison as he dragged her out of the door and into the rain. The slam of the door rattled the building to its foundations.
From the shadows, Ford watched Lame Elk loom up silently behind a guard and draw the blade across his throat. The man had been oblivious to the impending danger and paid for his complacency. His body twitched spasmodically as he was dragged and lowered into the shadows of the brush.
Ford joined the brave and knelt to strip the corpse of armaments he would no longer require. He relieved him of a rifle and his six-gun. They moved forward stealthily, prepared to take down any opposition they might run into. The small log prison that was Ford’s target came into view and they moved quietly alongside the rough-hewn building. He looked about quickly then stepped up to the door to slip the latch when a guard appeared from the other side of the structure.‘What the hell?’ he gasped.
The man raised the rifle he held and drew in a deep breath to raise the alarm. The only sound Ford heard was a dull thunk and a knife handle sprouted from the guard’s chest. The man collapsed without further sound.
Lame Elk quietly moved forward and bent down to retrieve his knife from the dead man’s chest. He wiped the blood from the blade on the clothes of his latest victim.
‘Thanks,’ Ford whispered, grateful now that the Nez Perce warrior was along. Lame Elk responded with a grunt. Ford opened the latch and swung the door open. ‘Finn,’ he called softly. ‘Finn, are you here?’
‘Is that you, Ford?’ he asked, a hint of exasperation in his rough voice. ‘What in hell are you doin’ back here?’
