How the West Was Weird, Vol. 2

by Barry Reese

  “Shit. I thought things were peaceful at the mission. What the hell set them off?”

  “Beef rations were late again this month. The government agent showed up with a half-empty wagon day before yesterday. Most of the folks started grumbling but it was Butternut Charlie who started the ruckus.”

  “Butternut! I thought he was in jail up in Redstone?”

  “Up until last week he was. Did his time and they let him go. Couple of marshals escorted him back to the mission and told him he was a free Indian again.”

  Matt grimaced. “Right. Free to go raising Cain again. Damn it, Captain, you know that Indian’s loco.”

  “Well, he certainly proved that last night. Anyhow, by the time somebody run down to the fort to tell us what happened, Charlie and his four braves were long gone.”

  “They steal anything from the store?”

  “Yup. Several carbines and couple of boxes of ammunition.”

  “Shee-it. That’s bad news for sure.”

  “Right, but the good news is they lit out of the mission on foot. By the time we got the patrol ready, they only had a few hours on us. John, there, figured they’d be looking for horses right quick.”

  Matt scratched his chin. “Closest homestead for them would have been the Jawerski place.”

  John Two-Ponies nodded. “They got there just before daybreak but old man Jawerski and his boys caught them trying to rob the stable horses and went at ‘em with scatter guns.”

  “What happened?” Matt could visualize the stern old Polish Jawerski and his strapping sons defending what was theirs.

  “They killed one of the bucks,” Kipler answered. “And all Butternut and the others managed to get was a mare and wild pony for their troubles.”

  “That ain’t gonna do four men any good in this country.”

  “They’ll take turns riding,” Two-Ponies explained. “That way the others can run and they will cover much ground quickly.”

  The scout nudged his sorrel in the ribs and rode to the trough. By now the soldiers and their horses had finished.

  “Where do you think they’re headed?” Matt had an idea but he wanted to hear the captain’s thoughts.

  “As I figure, there are only two choices open to them. They can either go northwest and hide out in the foothills or go south through the badlands and try for Texas. Maybe hook up with some Comancheros.”

  “Makes sense. So what can I do for you?”

  “Well, Matt, surely you can see my problem here. I need to split up my patrol and go after them. Thing is I only got the one scout.”

  Matt looked at Two-Ponies, now drinking from the bucket. “What’s the matter with Cloud Runner?”

  The Indian’s familiar smile split his face. “You know that stupid mountain mule he owns. Up and back-kicked him when he wasn’t looking. Done broke his arm. Doc Higgins at the fort put his arm in a sling and said he can’t do no ridin’ for a month.”

  “You’re joshing,” Nathan Germaine asked. “The mule kicked him!”

  “Yup. Funniest thing you ever saw. Though Cloud Runner didn’t think so at the time. He grabbed an axe off the woodpile and was gonna clobber the poor dumb beast with his good arm. Took three of us to hold him down.”

  “So you see my dilemma, Matt?” Kipler continued, getting serious again.

  “Which part of this hunt do you want me on?”

  “Well, I figure Two-Ponies and me will ride south. With all that desert scrub, won’t be any problem for him to find a trail if there is one to be found. I’d like you to accompany Sergeant Gunnerson into the hill country.”

  Two-Ponies took off his neck bandanna and dipped it in the water bucket. “I told the Captain the hardest trail will be the one up over those rocks. Figured only your yellow dog could do any real tracking up there.” He wrung out the wet cloth and then draped it around his neck.

  “He’s right,” Kipler agreed. “Without that dog, it would be useless to even bother going in there. What do you say, Matt? Will you help us out here?”

  For an answer, Matt went over to the dog, leaned down and scratched it behind the ears. “What do you say, dog? Want to go chase down some wild yahoos?”

  As if understanding his every word, the dog wagged its ugly head and barked. Its left ear, missing a huge chunk, flopped over his eyes back and forth.

  “God, but I love that dog,” Two-Ponies laughed.

  “You got anything for him to get a scent on?” Matt asked, shading his eyes with his hand, the sun now directly overhead.

  “Got us a dirty horse blanket the Jawerskis used to wipe the stolen mare.”

  “Good. That will do fine.” Matt continued to scratch the animal and thought about how he was going tell Sarah. She wasn’t going to be happy about this. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her and the children. Still it was a matter of duty and there was no way to say no.

  While the men were hungrily enjoying Sarah’s fresh cookies and coffee, he confronted her with his decision. At first she balked, but then relented.

  In the end she gave him a strong hug, a tender kiss and then went back to her kitchen to prepare a kit for him to take along in his saddlebags. Nathan saddled the big gray stallion and walked him out of the corral as the troopers prepared to get under way again.

  Matt had changed into a new shirt and folded his sleeping roll under his arm. He wore his cavalry hat from his days in the Union army and in his right hand he carried his Winchester rifle. He handed Nathan the weapon and roll and the boy carefully affixed them to his saddle.

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Sarah spoke softly, mustering all her courage to let him go.

  “I told the Captain I’d give him three days. No more. Then I’m coming home.”

  “Good. Please be careful and let the soldiers do the fighting.”

  “Promise. Same for you, Mrs. Germaine. I want you to lock up as soon as sunset comes on. And don’t unlock the door until sunrise. Understand?”

  This final instruction he directed to his son.

  “Right, Pa. Don’t fret. I’ll do what you say.”

  “Keep the scatter gun loaded and by the door. When you go out, take it with you. And remember what I told you about what to do if trouble comes.”

  Nathan, a younger version of his father, made a sour face. “Lock the door and let ’em have the horses. They ain’t worth getting killed fer.”

  Matt grinned. “Now that’s a smart man talking. Look after your Ma and sister.”

  “I will, Pa.”

  Matt took the reins from his son and hugged him quickly. He always felt awkward about his emotions. The same was true for the boy.

  “I packed you the rest of the deer jerky and some of those bean tortillas I made last night,” Sarah said as they walked side by side towards the corral where the army patrol was waiting.

  By the gatepost, little Molly was kneeling in the dirt, her arms around the yellow dog. Matt still couldn’t believe how much she loved that dog and it, contrary to its spiteful nature, seemed to actually return the affection. As she was saying her goodbyes, it was licking her cheek wetly.

  “Now you take good care of Papa, yellow dog, and be careful of them injun arrows.”

  “Woof,” answered the animal.

  Matt took Sarah in his arms and kissed her roughly, clearly embarrassed in front of so many witnesses.

  “Five days, then look for me.” He touched her cheek with his callused hand.

  “I will, Matt.”

  With that, he climbed onto his horse and took one last look at all that mattered to him in the entire world. Nathan had come to stand beside his mother protectively. Matt smiled.

  “Alright, Molly, let him go.”

  Molly stood up and waved a hand up to him. “Bye Papa. I love you.”

  “Me too, princess. Come on, dog. Let’s go!”

  He kicked the gray, and Kipler and Two-Ponies turned their mounts to follow. The dog barked at the family one last time and then bolted away to t
ake the lead. It wasn’t going to eat trail dust for nobody.

  They rode at a steady ground-eating pace for the remainder of the afternoon. The patrol reached the flat mesa that was to be their parting juncture as the fiery sun began dropping out of the sky. Kipler brought them to a halt. Beyond the flat land was the desert route to Mexico. To their immediate right were the foothills sloping away towards the western wilderness.

  “Well, this is where we split up,” the captain directed, giving his horse a gentle pat on the neck. Sgt. Gunnerson, a beefy man with curly hair the color of gold rode up along Matt to listen to the Captain’s orders. “As best I can reckon, one of us should make contact with the renegades within the next two days. If not, then that party is to double back to this spot and go after the other group. Clear enough?”

  “Yes, sir!” The sergeant snapped off a salute. He had a wide gap between his two front teeth and when he spoke, the air seemed to whistle over his words.

  “Good, then we’re all set.” Kipler returned the salute and tipped his head to Matt. “Good, hunting gentlemen.”

  “You too, Captain.”

  Kipler gave another wave of his hand, then dropped it in the direction of the flat sands. He rode off with four troopers following his lead.

  “Keep your nose to the ground,” Two-Ponies called to the dog, who was sitting on his butt, catching his wind. It looked at him and growled and the scout laughed. He jerked his mount around and trotted after the others. His laughter echoed in their ears for seconds afterward as the squad dwindled in size rapidly.

  The big non-com looked at the distant hills and the red orb slowly sliding behind them. “We’d best get into them before dark, heh, Germaine?”

  “That would be the smart thing to do, Sergeant. We can camp out for the night in the big rocks and then start up the pass at first light.”

  Gunnerson, a professional soldier, nodded his approval. He looked at the remaining three troopers and said, “Well, you heard the man. Let’s move out!”

  The five men rode over the scrubland leaving the mesa behind. The dog kept pace, darting to the front and flanks as the mood took him. It was a desolate land and they only saw a few groundhogs and coyotes, all of which bolted as they galloped by. The dog barked a few times but stayed with the men. He was a loyal creature.

  The first dark shades of night had fallen over the giant boulders that hemmed the rocky mounds by the time they reached their goal. Tired and sore, the party quietly went about setting up a cold camp. Gunnerson didn’t think it would be wise to have a fire and advertise themselves if Butternut and his braves were indeed in the hills above them.

  The horses were tended to, wiped down and fed and then the men themselves stretched out on the hard ground to eat. A big fat, bone white moon was rising up over the blue black landscape as they munched away on jerky and bread slices.

  Matt was throwing pieces of deer jerky to the yellow dog, when the Sergeant lay down on his bedroll a few yards away. He had just posted the guard schedule for the night.

  “That’s quite a dog you got there,” he commented, cutting a slice of bread from a hard loaf in his kit. “How’d his ear get chewed up like that?”

  The dog swallowed his last bite and then showed his fangs. There was no mistaking the meaning. He knew they were talking about him. Matt ignored the sneer and threw him another piece of jerky.

  “That happened last spring. Molly and Sarah were out back in the woods, picking berries. Nate and I were putting up the new smokehouse. Anyhow they ran into a mother coyote with a couple of pups. She went after Molly thinking she was a danger to her young’uns. By the time Sarah heard Molly scream, Yellow Dog had already tackled the bitch and the two of them went at it hot and heavy. When Sarah pulled Molly to safety and called off the mutt, the ear was ripped. But you know what, he didn’t whimper or nothing. Even when she washed it with lye soap.”

  “Sounds like a tough hombre, Germaine. Think he can find our Indians for us?”

  “If they’re in these hills, he’ll find them.”

  Gunnerson finished his meal and went off to check on how his trio of troopers were faring. Matt tucked his food kit under his saddle and unrolled his blanket. The wind was stronger now and he pulled the brown covering over his shoulder and laid his head back on the ground. The yellow dog leisurely strolled over to his side and looked down at him. In the dark he could see its big, black eyes.

  “Lay down, dog. We got us a full day tomorrow.”

  The dog dropped beside him, pushing its body against Matt’s back and rested its head on its paws. They were both asleep within minutes.

  Dawn broke over the foothills with pink feelers stabbing across a purple sky. Gunnerson roused his men and with a few bites of jerky, they were ready to continue their hunt. Matt saddled the gray and checked his carbine. He left a round in the chamber. The massive rocks ahead of them were formidable and would provide ample opportunity for ambushes, should their prey be up there. As he was sliding the weapon back into its saddle scabbard, the sergeant stepped up holding a worn, cotton horse blanket.

  “This is the blanket the rancher gave us.” He handed it to Matt who in turn dropped in a crouch and called out.

  “Here, dog. To me.” The canine had gone off to pee and popped up behind a few thorn bushes. He ran over to Matt and eyed the blanket with obvious anticipation. Matt rubbed his head and held the article to his nose.

  “Sniff it, dog.” The animal complied. “Good. Now go find her. Find the mare.”

  Everyone watched as the yellow dog turned away from its master and began circling the ground where they had camped. It looked up a few times as if catching the wind in its nostrils. Slowly it edged toward the gap that was the avenue up into the hills. Suddenly its head jerked up and it barked sharply. Just once.

  Without another pause, the dog shot up the trail chasing after the elusive smell that only it could discern.

  “He’s got it!” Matt told Gunnerson, giving him back the blanket. He grabbed his saddle horn and vaulted onto his horse. “They’re up there somewhere!”

  “You heard the man,” the sergeant snapped, now all business. “Let’s move out! And everybody look sharp!” He climbed onto his own horse and took the lead. The five men rode single file up the rough terrain. Each was lost in his own private thoughts about what lay ahead. Overhead several crows appeared and danced in front of the orange sun as it made its way higher into the cloudless sky.

  The narrow trail continued to twist and wind as it rose up and then dropped repeatedly, taking the men deeper into the stony country. The yellow dog kept ahead of them, stopping every so often to taste the air again and confirm the scent he was following. The ground they traveled was so hard, it vindicated the dog’s presence as no human could have ever deciphered any tracks on its unforgiving surface. Rock shadows fell over them as the day waned on and by early afternoon, Matt’s stomach started to grumble and his ass hurt. He wasn’t used to riding this long and over such a twisting land.

  He was about to suggest to the sergeant that they take a breather when Gunnerson’s voice bellowed up from the front of the line.

  “Hold up!”

  They had come around a rock wall and before them was a flat, open area. In the middle of which stood a tired old mare and a small, furry pony. The yellow dog was jumping around them, clearly pleased with himself for having found them. Gunnerson’s instincts warned him something was wrong. He was fumbling with his revolver when the Indian, a short man wearing pants and a leather vest, jumped out from rocks on the other side of the patrol and fired his rifle. The bullet ripped past Gunnerson’s face, missing it by inches. So surprised was he, the big soldier threw up his hands and fell backwards off his horse. The brave, thinking he’d actually hit the sergeant, stepped around the mare to fire off a second shot. This one hit the sergeant’s horse in the neck and the animal reared up screaming in pain. Then it collapsed, trapping the soldier against the rocks.

  The renegade, his toothless f
ace wide in a menacing leer, started to bring his rifle to bear on the helpless Gunnerson when the yellow dog raced in and jumped up at him. The would be killer yelled and stumbling back away from the fangs, swung his rifle down hard. The wooden stock hit the dog in the center of the head and he dropped senseless. Cursing, the Apache then turned the rifle about and fired a bullet into the animal to finish it.

  It was the last thing he ever did as two other troopers rounded the rock wall and seeing the conflict, opened fire. Three bullets slammed into the Indian and his eyes widened in surprise as he toppled over dead.

  “Damn it all!” Gunnerson cursed, trying to move his left leg from under his dead horse. “Help me out of here!”

  As the troopers hurriedly dismounted to come to his assistance, Matt kicked his horse around them and rode into the clearing. The tableau before him was stark and easily interpreted. He got off his horse, stepped around the dead Apache and went to the yellow dog. Kneeling beside it, he reached out and touched its head. Blood seeped from the hole in its side, the bullet no doubt having punctured its heart. Its mouth was agape, tongue hanging out, its lifeless, glassy eyes staring into nothing.

  “You dumb, stupid dog,” he muttered softly. “Why’d you have to go get yourself killed?” He dreaded having to tell Molly, the news would break her tender sweet heart.

  Standing, Matt took off his hat and wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his shirt sleeve. The mare and pony were obviously the Jawerskis’ stock. So why had Butternut abandoned them here with only one buck to guard them? He must have known someone would be chasing him. It didn’t make any sense. Unless...

  The answer he devised soured his stomach.

  “Where the hell are the rest of’ em?” Sergeant Gunnerson asked, walking around the horses, his eyes searching the rock pinnacles overhead. “This some kind of delayed ambush or something?”