Coyote

by Lee Clinton

  CHAPTER 6

  SHOT

  Pondering

  Gus left the ruins of the homestead and rode west to catch up with the search party. He prayed that they would find the missing Mayfield girl soon, while the weather was good, and before thirst or injury could take its toll. And he prayed even harder that it would be Grace who would be found.

  He knew this was a selfish thought. What if it was young Chrissy out there lost, frightened and desperate to be found? But he was also desperate in his heart for his son, who had taken this hard. In fact, it had unsettled him. Gus knew where this could lead. He’d seen similar during the war, at Halltown, after a fighting withdrawal that resulted in nearly three hundred casualties on a single night within the 2nd Division. For some of the young reinforcements in his company this was their first taste of action, and they had become so rattled by the indiscriminate hand of death that they had withdrawn into themselves for sanctuary. As a senior sergeant, Gus had found himself having to console and persuade these desolate youths of the need to hold both their line and their spirit, which most finally did, but not all. Some became so lost within themselves that they couldn’t even remember that they now belonged to the 6th Vermont Infantry. They just wanted to go home, wherever home in Vermont was, and some couldn’t even remember that. It was an unravelling of the mind. For Henry, finding the destruction of the homestead and the Mayfield family had resulted in a similar impact. Fortunately, he had pulled himself together when addressing the men of the search party that morning and Gus knew why. It was hope. While there was hope, Henry could focus and keep despair at bay. But for how long? Optimism under these circumstances was at best fragile.

  Gus also thought of Martha, who had taken to Grace on that first meeting, just over a year ago, as if she was one of her own children. His wife had told him, with almost a sense of relief, ‘That Grace Mayfield is going to be Henry’s saviour and a match made in heaven.’ Now her world, too, had been dealt a savage blow – she had lost the daughter she had always yearned for.

  These thoughts now spun and rattled around Gus’s head as he rode, while also wondering, even if Grace was found alive, would things ever be the same again?

  Of course not, was the answer, he knew that – nothing ever was, but you just had to get on with life. Gus shook his head, a gesture instinctively made, as if to clear such wandering thoughts. He just needed to take one step at a time – and that first step was to find the missing girl before she died of exposure to the elements or from injury. Because then, and only then, would he know for sure what exactly had happened and who the perpetrators were. And that had to be his sole focus if justice was to be done.

  He met up with the search party just after noon. They had stopped and regrouped to take a little water. Ben Edmonds from the Laramie General Store was handing out some dried apple strips and Bent crackers, ‘A new line,’ he said, that had come in from Massachusetts. Noah Fillmore, who worked as a clerk for the district court, suggested they should be called soft tack, as a reference to the hardtack they all knew from the war. Gus took a bite, savoured the salt and listen to the banter. It saved him from having to ask the question, ‘Found anything yet, boys?’ because the answer was clearly, no.

  Gus stayed on and helped in the search for the rest of the afternoon but was careful to hang back. He needed to show to one and all that Henry was in charge, and it needed to remain that way. He would soon have to return to Laramie so that he could speak to Doc Larkin regarding the formal identification and the issuing of death certificates. Once done, the Mayfield remains could then be released to the undertaker for burial. Gus would also have to speak to the mayor about funeral arrangements, as no member of the family was now available either to arrange or pay for the formalities. He also needed to bring the mayor up to date with the devastation he had found at the homestead. And then there was the Indian agent; he needed to speak to him.

  An hour before last light, Gus rode up alongside Henry to let him know that he was heading back. His son had that fixed determined look that men get when worried and concentrating hard, or what some say, are thinking too much. Three of the search party were also leaving to return to town but would be back later the following day with camp supplies. Gus’s departing farewell before he left for Laramie was to assure Henry that he would chase up additional men to join in the search. What he really wanted to say was ‘I love you, son’, but those words were not spoken between men, so he gripped his boy’s upper arm briefly and shook his head slightly. It was a parting gesture, a silent signal of affection.

  Gus arrived back in town around eight. By the time he was eventually to get home to his cottage on Clark Street, it was close to midnight. This was due to several important tasks that required immediate attention before he could see and console his wife.

  The first of these was the mustering of more men for the search party. He rode over to the east side of the Laramie River and walked around tent-town calling in on those he believed were available to spend a couple of days or more away from their employment. After two hours, he had arranged for seven extra men to join the search over the next three days. Of course, they all hoped that they might not be needed and that the missing Mayfield girl would be found tomorrow or the next day at the latest.

  Gus then went to find the mayor to provide his report. They discussed various matters, which included a description of the Mayfield property as it now was, and how the first day’s search had gone. One of the last matters discussed included the need to raise funds from the community for the cost of the burials.

  ‘It can’t be anything fancy,’ said the mayor.

  ‘It didn’t need to be,’ said Gus, ‘But,’ he added, ‘it does need to be done with dignity.’

  The mayor gave a soft ‘humph’, which Gus took to be light disapproval, so he decided to nip it in the bud straight away, just to put paid to any unnecessary penny-pinching. ‘The bodies are so badly burnt that we don’t know which Mayfield girl is missing,’ he said softly. ‘We were only able to identify young Ben because of his size and that he was cradled in his grandmother’s arms.’

  The mayor got the message; Gus saw it in his eyes. He was horrified at the thought. As a man who had remained in the service of the railroads during the war, he’d had no experience of violent death.

  ‘The livestock on the property will also need attending to,’ said Gus. ‘I’ve watered them but they need to be checked on.’

  ‘Livestock still there?’ questioned the mayor. ‘None taken?’

  ‘As best as I can tell. The top yard is just about full.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the livestock agent first thing tomorrow. Abe did all his buying and selling through Larry. He’ll know what needs to be done.’

  Next stop was to see Doc Larkin, who had already examined the bodies. There had been no change to the identification of the corpses of Abe, Fanny, Agnes or Ben that Gus and Hyrum had already been able to determine. It was the fifth body that would have to be buried in an unmarked grave for the moment, until it could be determined which Mayfield girl had survived.

  ‘And if we don’t find her?’ asked Gus.

  ‘It will have to remain unmarked as I’m unable to issue a conclusive death certificate.’

  Gus could feel the invisible weight of responsibility on his shoulders as he said, ‘Then we need to find whoever is missing, so her sister can rest in peace.’

  The doctor showed his agreement with a single nod before saying, ‘I have one other thing I need to discuss with you, but it can wait till tomorrow. It’s late and you’ve yet to have supper. You also need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Gus.

  ‘It can wait,’ reiterated Doc Larkin.

  ‘Important?’

  ‘It can wait.’

  ‘I need to see the Indian agent first up then get back to the search. I’ll be pressed for time.’

  The doctor was reluctant but finally relented. ‘All right. But you better sit a while.�
�

  Gus pulled up a chair. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Every one of the remains has suffered a gunshot wound.’

  Gus felt his stomach roll and lift as if to rise into his throat before saying, ‘Good God, everyone? Including young Ben?’

  ‘Including young Ben. I’ll make out a full report for the court. Best you go home and rest.’

  When Gus stepped onto his cottage porch, Martha heard him and came to the door. He went to talk, but couldn’t get the words out.

  Martha asked, ‘Have they found her, Gus?’

  He shook his head and put his arms around his wife and held her tight, pressing her to him, his head over her shoulder so that she couldn’t see his tears of despair. But Martha could feel the tremor of sorrow in his body and clutched him tight, her hand gently rubbing his back as if to comfort an infant.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE INDIAN AGENT

  Fate

  Gus couldn’t sleep. He’d eaten next to nothing, yet he felt as if indigestion was coming on, high up in his chest. When he got into bed he couldn’t settle. It was as if every inch of his body was on edge. Muscles seemed to twitch, tighten and cramp, forcing him out of bed on one occasion to rub the back of his calves. And between the blankets again, no matter how he lay, he just couldn’t get comfortable. He knew that Martha wasn’t sleeping either, even if she was lying still and locked in her own thoughts. When tiredness did eventually overwhelm body and limb, it was close to dawn and he descended into a deep, yet unsettling sleep. By the time he woke he felt spent. He was also late for the schedule he had planned.

  Martha was long up and out the back in the wash house heating water for the weekly laundry. She offered a cooked breakfast, but coffee was all that he could face. They sat in silence at the small table, each connected by thoughts of how easily the serenity they had finally managed to achieve, after all these years of struggle, had been snuffed out like a lone candle flame.

  Gus left to visit Albert Leonard the Indian agent just before ten. Al had been sent out by the Department of the Interior to assist in the consent of the Lakota Treaty, and as one of the few to speak Sioux fluently, Chief Red Cloud of the Lakota had asked him to remain after the signing of the truce. The Department in Washington had agreed to the request and it was a smart move. Al had served as a Union officer during the war and had credibility with the Army, which generally had little time for the civilian Indian agents. Many in the military only knew one way to prevent conflict between settlers and Indians, and that was to kill Indians. There was also some residual ill-feeling inside the uniformed ranks, from back when the Bureau of Indian Affairs was taken from the control of the Department of War and given to the Department of the Interior. Al now helped to bridge that gap.

  He was a well-travelled and educated man who had worked as a surveyor in Panama before the war. He was quiet by nature, thoughtful, and one of those straight talkers that just dealt with the facts at hand. He didn’t speculate and his conclusions were always reasoned. In fact, in many ways he was much like Gus in attitude, yet the two didn’t know each other well as there was mostly no need to mix or meet, especially since the Lakota Treaty had come into force. One thing Gus did appreciate, however, was the difficulty of Albert Leonard’s line of work.

  The accommodation of Indians, regardless of tribe, was half-hearted at best by the majority of settlers. The reality was that both sides eyed each other off with suspicion. The Mayfield killings and the search for the missing girl would quickly add to further mistrust and resentment. The mayor had said as much, and how could it be otherwise in such a tight-knit community, where the rumour of a Cheyenne raid to capture girls for slaves was a consistent topic? This common view was based on past raids against settlers across the Territory, so another raid was more than plausible. Yet Gus had the unexplained feeling that something just didn’t add up. He didn’t know why but he felt it in his gut. Was it intuition? Or was it just a dyspeptic stomach?

  Al had heard of the Mayfield deaths and the burning of the homestead from the mayor, not that long after Gus had departed with Henry to commence his investigation. In response, he had sent off two Lakota scouts, who worked directly for the office of the Indian Agency, with a message to Red Cloud seeking assistance regarding any information on Cheyenne movements. In particular, any renegades from up north who were out to steal livestock.

  ‘And have you had a response?’ asked Gus.

  ‘Yes, the scouts got back just before first light this morning with the word that there are no Cheyenne warring in the Territory.’

  Gus was sceptical. ‘Is that reliable?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ It was an unequivocal answer.

  The look on Gus’s face showed his doubt.

  The Indian agent responded. ‘I trust Red Cloud and I trust Little Wolf. If any Cheyenne did come down here to raid, they would be renegades acting on their own.’

  ‘Then how would Red Cloud know that Cheyenne renegades were raiding across Lakota country?’

  ‘Chief Little Wolf still has eyes and ears within the renegades and he would tell Chief Red Cloud.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Gus.

  ‘Lakota and Cheyenne have much to fear from the consequences of an attack on settlers. The current treaties would be jeopardized and Army reprisals would follow. Little Wolf and Red Cloud both want peace; it provides them with a place to live and hunt. And that’s pretty much all they want, at least for the moment. Most townsfolk and settlers can live with that arrangement. Not all, but most. It’s a balance with at least a modicum of goodwill from both sides, but that could evaporate if the white folk thought that Indians, any Indians, were back on the warpath.’

  ‘But just say,’ said Gus, ‘if Cheyenne renegades did come down here to raid, what would they be after?’

  ‘Livestock. Horses, cattle, but only in numbers they could handle and drive quickly, and driving cattle all the way up north would slow them down, so in reality it would just be horses.’

  That made sense to Gus. ‘And women, would they be after women as well?’

  Albert Leonard paused before he confirmed, ‘Renegades will take white women.’

  ‘Will they kill and burn as well?’ asked Gus.

  ‘You know they will. Why are you asking?’ replied Al.

  ‘It looks like the work of renegades, but all the fences are in place and the livestock are untouched as best as I can make out. They started wandering up to the top yard looking for water while I was there. Of course I’ll have to check, but to my eye it seemed to be about the same number of head that I saw when I was last out there talking to Abe and that was only two, three weeks ago.’

  ‘If you get a headcount to the livestock agent he should be able to confirm one way or the other. Abe Mayfield would have purchased and sold via the agency. All the settlers out west do.’

  ‘The mayor is going to speak to Larry regarding the livestock,’ said Gus as he rubbed his chin in thought. ‘Could this just be Cheyenne renegades trying to stir up trouble between Lakota and the settlers?’

  ‘If that was so then the Lakota would know.’

  Gus still wasn’t convinced that Red Cloud would know. ‘Rumour has it that it was Cheyenne,’ said Gus. ‘And that sort of talk will disturb the settlers and townsfolk alike.’

  The Indian agent shifted uncomfortably in his chair then put both elbows on his desk. ‘I know. So the question is,’ said Al, ‘if it’s not Cheyenne then who is it?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Gus. ‘Abe didn’t have an enemy in this world. At least to the best of my knowledge he didn’t.’

  ‘For both our sakes, we need to find out and soon,’ said the agent.

  As Gus got up to leave, he stopped, reluctant to speak, but it had to be asked. ‘If renegades do have the Mayfield girl, how much time do we have before they—’ He couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

  Al knew of Grace and Henry’s planned wedding, everyone in town did. His mouth tightened before he finally said quietl
y, ‘Too late. It would have happened as soon as they were clear of the property and knew they weren’t being chased.’

  ‘Her fate after that?’ asked Gus. ‘Would they kill her?’ He did his best to disguise any possible hint of relief in his question.

  ‘No,’ said Al, ‘they would make her a slave to fetch water, cut and carry wood.’

  ‘And would they continue to use her?’ asked Gus.

  The Indian agent didn’t say a word, he just looked at Gus, his elbows still upon the desk with his hands clasped as if in prayer.

  CHAPTER 8

  SEARCHING

  Hope

  Gus was back out at the Mayfield property by early afternoon and about an hour later he caught up with the search party eight miles to the west. Their tracks were clear to follow where the horses had beaten a path back and forth to where the homestead had once stood. They had also set visual markers that pointed to both the direction and extent of the search. These were small strips of rag, like limp ribbons, tied with a simple thumb knot to bushes every eighth of a mile to mark the trail. If found by the missing Mayfield girl, it would lead her towards the search party or those travelling back and forth within the search area.

  The first group Gus caught up with was led by Noah Fillmore, the district court clerk. With him was Ben Edmonds from the general store. A bunch of cotton strips protruded from his top pocket. The conversation was brief and gloomy. They had found no recent sign of anyone or anything at all.