Predators and Prey

by F. M. Parker

  Grueling’s laughter deepened as he rode across the parade ground. He looked back once, to be sure the three followed. Perhaps they needed another insult or two, to draw them from the protection of the army. But they walked close behind them, their hands already balled into fists.

  The Mormon men had dismounted and moved into the shade of the fort’s log wall. When Grueling came through the gate, the men pushed away from the logs and stood waiting.

  Ezra and his comrades came into sight behind Grueling. They slowed their steps, then abruptly stopped as they saw the band of silent, armed men.

  The Mormon leader swung quickly down from the saddle. He spoke to his men. “Fellows, these bastards called our wives whores. I think we should have a little talk with them. Block the way back into the fort.”

  The Mormons swiftly formed a hard-eyed circle, surrounding the three men.

  “Now you!” Grueling cried. He lunged forward and landed a ferocious blow on Ezra’s face. Then, almost too fast to see, Grueling’s fists swung again and again, hammering the staggering man.

  Grueling ceased his attack as Ezra collapsed. “That’s enough for him. I think we should give those other two a few licks to teach them respect and to hold their insulting tongues.”

  As if waiting for the word, the Mormon men fell upon Ezra’s comrades. Hard fists struck the two from every direction, smashing faces, stomachs, backs. The two fought back savagely, but they were hammered down to the ground.

  “Hold! Stop!” Grueling ordered. He plunged into the melee to protect the fallen men. The Wyoming Territory was under martial law, and he did not want murder committed so close to the fort. The soldiers would arrest the entire band of Mormons and lock them away.

  “Stand back!” Grueling ordered sharply and caught the arm of one of his men to stop a blow.

  The men grudgingly stepped away from the bodies lying limply on the ground.

  “Bolsom, Travers, carry those three unholy Gentiles over there and set them against the wall. Hurry it. Make it look like they are just sleeping, if you can. The rest of you, mount up.”

  The band of Mormons rode out from Fort Laramie and crossed the nearby Laramie River at a gravelly ford. They lifted their horses into a trot along the North Platte River, then toward the gray, hazy horizon in the southeast.

  ***

  The handcart company was a string of slow, clumsy bugs toiling over the sandy plain. The blazing yellow sun scorched the prairie and the people. Weary children cried in thin voices, venting their complaints of the heat, and the hunger, gnawing in their bellies.

  A woman stopped shoving at the rear of one of the handcarts. She let her arms fall to her sides. She turned from the line of vehicles and stared vacantly around over the land. Then, unsteady and tottering on her feet, she walked away.

  The three women remaining at the handcart felt the increased difficulty in making it move. They lifted their eyes up from the dusty ground. “Alice has stopped helping,” the woman said at the rear.

  From the handcart behind, Caroline saw Alice moving off stiff-legged like a sleepwalker across the sand. Alice stopped and stood for a moment, her hands rising to hold her head. She crumpled to the ground, boneless as a rag doll.

  “Oh, God! Something’s wrong with Alice,” Caroline cried. “Pauliina, come, let’s go help her.”

  They dropped the front of their cart, jumped over the pulling bars, and ran out to Alice. Caroline knelt beside the still form.

  “Has she fainted from the heat?” asked Pauliina in a frightened voice.

  Caroline could not feel a pulse in Alice’s throat. She dropped her head and pressed her ear to the quiet chest.

  “She’s not breathing and there’s no heartbeat,” Caroline said in a stricken voice. “I think she’s dead.”

  Sophia and Ruth and the women from Alice’s cart came running up. From farther back in the line Ellen walked up slowly, almost fearfully. All gathered around the gaunt form lying so quietly in the sand.

  Caroline gazed down at the dead girl’s face, raw from the wind and sun. The cheeks were hollow from hunger and toil. Caroline felt her sorrow as she straightened the raggedy tail of Alice’s dress, pulling it down to the tops of her worn, dusty shoes.

  “She is the seventeenth person to die since we left Florence,” Sophia said sadly.

  “I want no more funerals, no more deaths,” Caroline said. Yet she knew there would be many more.

  Mathias and Anton came hurrying down the string of handcarts. The remaining heat-tortured humans simply slumped down and sat by their carts. Too weary to go and see for themselves, they waited for Mathias to announce the cause of the delay. Both missionaries knelt beside Caroline.

  “What happened?” Mathias asked.

  Caroline looked at Mathias sadly. “Alice simply quit pushing and walked out here and fell down. She’s dead.”

  “It’s an exceptionally hard pull today through the sand, and awfully hot,” Anton said.

  “We’re all going to die,” exclaimed Ellen, her voice high and tinged with hysteria. “We’re not yet halfway to Salt Lake City and the steep mountains are still ahead of us. Every one of us will perish in this godforsaken land.”

  “No, we shall not,” Mathias said. “The Lord will strengthen us. We will soon be across the sand country. The steep mountains will be but gentle grades to our feet. We shall reach Zion.”

  “Amen,” Ruth said, her face bright with true belief.

  “You are both fools,” cried Ellen. “We’re dying and will continue to die. We must turn back.”

  “We can’t turn back, Ellen,” Caroline said. “There’s nothing to turn back to.”

  Ellen looked back in the direction from which they had journeyed so laboriously. A crafty smile stretched her lips, and an expression of incipient madness came into her eyes. Without another word she went toward her handcart.

  “I’ll put Alice in the supply wagon,” Anton said.

  “All right. We’ll hold the funeral this evening,” Mathias said.

  Anton gently lifted Alice’s slight body. Cradling her in his arms, he walked away.

  Mathias looked at Caroline, his eyes full of misery. “The Church must have a larger relief fund so that there will be more wagons to haul the possession of the converts. They should not have to drag those handcarts and burst their hearts.”

  “If we had only to walk, few of us would die,” Caroline agreed.

  Mathias sighed and came to his feet. “We’ll rest a quarter of an hour before we start again.”

  25

  When Wolf Voice saw the caravan of strange two-wheeled vehicles moving over the prairie, he knew the gods were looking favorably upon him. He called out to Man of Stone and the ten other Pawnee braves with him. “Let us go and see what the white men and women possess. They may have many things of value for us to take.”

  “They will probably shoot at us,” said Man of Stone.

  “Come, do not be a coward,” Wolf Voice replied.

  “I’m not a coward.” Man of Stone snorted.

  “Then come with me,” Wolf Voice said. “Let us see if they will take up their guns and fight.”

  Wolf Voice warily watched the people pushing and pulling the handcarts as he led his band on a course that gradually drew closer. The white people turned their heads to look at him, but they did not stop or reach for their rifles. They appeared to have no fear of the approaching Pawnees.

  “Don’t touch your weapons,” Wolf Voice told his followers. “I don’t think these white people want to fight us.”

  He raised his short leather whip and struck his mustang. The entire band raced at a gallop up one side of the train of handcarts, turned around the front vehicle, and tore back along the other side. Wolf Voice saw the wide, frightened eyes of the women. Oh! So many pretty women. He raised his voice in a loud shout. His braves began to howl and hoot. The women became more afraid. Wolf Voice laughed at that and ran his mustang faster.

  The yelling riders wheeled th
eir wild mounts around the tail end of the string of vehicles. The herd of ten steer being driven by a man and two boys almost stampeded. The older boy yelled angrily at the Pawnee and ran to head off the steer. The man shouted for the boy to shut up.

  Caroline watched the arms of the Pawnee rise and fall as they flogged their mustangs down on the handcart company. With their stringy muscles and long, tangled hair, they appeared as wild as the mustangs they rode.

  She felt alarm as the Pawnee came ever closer. Other groups of Indians had been seen along the trail, but always they had sat their horses at a distance on the prairie and merely watched them pass.

  All of the Indians were dressed in buckskin breeches, moccasins, and leggings tied high as their knees. They rode on saddles made of blankets or on pieces of buffalo hide with the hair still on them and tied to the backs of their mounts. Strong war bows were across their mahogany shoulders, and quivers of arrows and war shields were fastened to the sides of the horses. The Indian in the lead had a fourteen foot lance with a slender iron bladed point. The butt of the lance was inserted in a leather scabbard and the point extended up behind the rider.

  The Pawnee braves spread apart and began a second, slower circle of the moving column of handcarts. The Indians rode silently by staring down from their mustangs at the four or five people working to roll each cart. Wolf Voice felt his excitement rising as he gazed into the faces of the white females.

  He came up even with a cart and the women turned hastily toward him. The nearest female pulling in front cast her round, green eyes upon him.

  Wolf Voice was astounded at the green color of the woman’s large eyes. And the expression on her face, not one of fear as he had expected but one of challenge, as if she dared him to bother her. Well, I just might do that, thought Wolf Voice.

  He examined the big woman with the long silver-gold hair working beside green eyes. Man of Stone would like her. The two women pushing were also very pretty. In fact, a man could come in the dark and take either one of the four women and not be disappointed in what he found when daylight came.

  Caroline gave a short, quick gasp as the Indian jumped down from his horse almost against her. With an abrupt motion of his hand the man ordered Pauliina from inside the cart’s crossbars and took her place. He turned his brown face and stared at Caroline for a moment.

  “Push,” Wolf Voice said in his own language, and leaned into the bar.

  Caroline did not understand the word, but she did comprehend the Indian’s action. To keep the handcart from bumping into her, she began to push on the bar.

  The Indian said nothing more as the caravan rolled over the prairie. One mile passed, then a second. Frequently he glanced to the side at Caroline. At first she always looked back into the glittering black eyes in their deep sockets. Then she realized that was what he wanted, so she gazed steadily ahead.

  She saw that several other Indians had dismounted and were helping the women to propel their carts. Still mounted, two other Pawnee had tied braided leather ropes to the bars of the carts and around the necks of their mustangs, and the animals pulled the vehicles along. One of the mounted braves, hardly more than a boy, was smiling broadly as he gazed down at a girl about his own age walking beside the cart he towed.

  Wolf Voice felt cheated when the woman would no longer look at him with her wondrous eyes. He slid his hand along the pulling bar toward Caroline’s fingers.

  Seeing the brown hand creep upon her like a large brown spider, Caroline released her hold and ducked under the side bar and away from the cart.

  Wolf Voice gave a guttural chuckle at Caroline’s action. He halted and motioned for the yellow-haired woman to take his place. Then he leapt astride his mustang. He sent the mount in a run to the front of the caravan.

  Pauliina motioned to Caroline. “Come help me.”

  Caroline again took her place beside Pauliina.

  “He scared me,” Pauliina said with a worried expression.

  “Me too,” Caroline said. “But now he’s gone.” She called behind her to Sophia and Ruth. “Are you two ready to go again?”

  “Yes” came their answers.

  The cart began to move. Then, abruptly, the cart in front stopped. To keep from colliding with it, Caroline and Pauliina jerked their vehicle to a halt.

  “What’s wrong now?” Sophia called.

  “We don’t know. Everything up ahead is stopping,” Caroline said.

  Mathias and Wolf Voice came into sight, walking down the line of handcarts. The Pawnee motioned for Mathias to stop in front of Caroline’s cart. He began to speak and gesture.

  Mathias shook his head, perplexed. Wolf Voice saw that neither his words nor the sign language of the plains was being understood. The man was stupid. Everyone knew the signs. He thought for a moment. He raised ten fingers and pointed at his horse, then at Mathias, and last at Caroline. Then he slowly repeated the series of motions.

  A worried expression crossed Mathias’s face. He spoke to Caroline. “The Indian seems to think I’m a chief here. He’s offering me ten horses for you.”

  Caroline also had understood the simple signs. She shook her head. “Tell him no.”

  Wolf Voice had understood Caroline’s reply. Before Mathias could communicate with the Pawnee, the man responded, raising both hands twice and again pointing at his horse, at Mathias, and at Caroline.

  “No!” exclaimed Caroline. “I’m not for sale for twenty horses, or at any price.” She swung her hand angrily in a flat cutting motion. She turned her back to the Pawnee warrior. Every man knew what that meant.

  Wolf Voice’s blood boiled with rage at being denied what he desired. He spoke in a wrath-filled tone. “Green-eyed woman, you will be mine. And I shall keep all my mustangs.”

  He vaulted upon the back of his mount and gave a shrill, keening call. He struck the mustang savagely with the whip. The hurt animal sprang away, throwing dirt and grass behind it.

  At Wolf Voice’s cry the other Pawnee warriors ceased their efforts to help the women. They sprang astride their mustangs and darted away, falling in behind their leader like iron filings to a magnet. They raced over the prairie in the direction from which they had come.

  “I think we will have much trouble coming from that bunch of Indians because you turned down his offer,” Mathias said.

  “Should I have agreed to being sold like a brood mare?” Caroline asked in a cold voice.

  “No. Certainly not,” Mathias said quickly.

  “Well, then!” Caroline said.

  ***

  Anton’s trumpet woke the sun. And the converts. Caroline lay listening to the familiar notes until they ended. She wondered if there was some special tale to be told about Anton and his trumpet. She must remember to ask him.

  She stretched and stood up to put on her dusty men’s clothing. After combing her hair a few times she donned her battered hat with a rueful grimace. Perhaps today they would reach a stream where she could bathe.

  Caroline left the tent as the other girls began to dress. Only three people had risen before her. Anton and Mathias were striking their tent. Ellen was rummaging through the bed of the handcart she shared with three other girls. Caroline was not surprised to see Ellen. The woman was often up at odd hours, wandering about the camp.

  Caroline walked a few paces away from the circle of handcarts and stared out over the prairie in the direction in which they would travel. The land lay nearly flat, with only slight undulations in its surface near the shallow, dry watercourses. The wild grass was growing rapidly and was now above the tops of her shoes. The dark green carpet stretched away to infinity. Within the range of her vision there was not one sign of life.

  She squared her shoulders and looked the empty, lonely land full in the face. For a brief moment she saw beauty in the simple landscape. Then the remembrance of all the deaths and the thoughts of the heartbreaking labor that lay ahead today and for many days beyond that obliterated her budding emotion toward the great prairie.
/>
  “The cattle are gone!” a man shouted from the far side of the camp.

  Others took up the shout. The voices swiftly rose to a hubbub of questions and cries of consternation. The people hurried from all parts of the camp and gathered near the man who had made the discovery.

  “Where’s John?” asked a man. “He relieved me on guard at midnight.”

  “Out there! What is that in the grass?” a woman asked excitedly. Her arm shook as she pointed.

  The crowd surged onto the prairie. They halted and stared down at the man lying on the ground.

  “It’s John,” said Anton. He knelt beside the still form and opened the shirt. “He’s been killed with a knife.”

  “The Indians must’ve done it,” a man said. “They’ve come back during the night and killed John and stole the cattle.”

  “What a calamity,” a woman said. “John’s son is now a complete orphan. The poor little lad had already lost his mother. Who’s going to take care of him?”

  “He can travel with Anton and me,” Mathias said. “We’ll find a home for him in Salt Lake City.”

  Anton spoke in a low voice to Mathias. “We were lucky to have kept the mules hobbled and inside the ring of handcarts. Losing the steers is bad, but without the mules we would’ve been in a very bad fix.”

  “We are in a bad fix,” Mathias said, looking around at the approximately two hundred and forty men, women, and children. Their gaunt faces were creased with dismay. He felt the heavy burden upon him to feed and keep them safe. He certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The handcart company was ill equipped to make the journey to Salt Lake City. Where in God’s name were the men Brigham Young should have sent?

  “Should we go after the cattle?” Anton asked Mathias.

  “No, we might be able to track them and catch up, but we would be no match for the Indians in a fight. And besides, we can’t leave the women by themselves.”

  “Today would’ve been the day for slaughtering a steer for meat,” Sophia said to Caroline.

  Mathias heard Sophia. He knew others were thinking the same thought. He raised his voice so all the people could hear him. “We’ll have to ration our food even more strictly. But we shall reach Zion, for the Lord will help us. There is no hunger in Zion.”