“How many?” he asked.
“I count twelve after Teddy killed two,” she said as she stood dripping water from her hair and dress, still remarkably calm after the horror she had just witnessed.
“How long ago?” he asked.
“Not long,” she replied. “I not stay in water long before you come.”
“I’ve gotta go after ’em,” he said, “while I’ve still got a chance to catch ’em before dark. Will you be all right here till I get back?” She nodded. “Here,” he said, and handed her his pistol. “I don’t think they’ll be back here, but I’ll leave this with you. I reckon you’ll wanna do what you can for Teddy and your father. I’ll help you with the others when I get back.”
She nodded again, equally in need of vengeance against the Crow’s bitter enemies. “I go with you,” she said, now that she had a weapon.
He did not doubt her intent. “All the same, I’d rather go alone. I need you to take care of the packhorse with all our supplies. You keep that .44 just in case you need it.” Moving quickly then, he loaded his cartridge belt with ammunition and climbed aboard the paint gelding. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I don’t come back by tomorrow evenin’, go to the tradin’ post. Martin Greeley’s a good man. I think he’ll help you.”
“I stay here,” she said. “You be careful.”
“Suit yourself,” he said as he gave his horse a nudge of his heels. He knew she was a strong woman and could most likely take care of herself whether he returned or not.
* * *
It was not difficult to follow a trail left by more than two dozen horses, so he wasted no time going after them. He could tell the general direction the Sioux were intent upon driving the horses they had captured. And if he was correct in his assumption, they were heading down to the valley to strike the Boulder River.
Since the afternoon was already well along toward sundown, they probably were aiming to camp by the river where there was water and grass for their horses. Obviously not as familiar with the mountains as he was, the warriors tried to drive the horses along trails that seemed to follow the ridges down toward the valley. Slater knew that they were heading for a box canyon and would be forced to turn back to find another route to the river. He, on the other hand, rode down through obscure gulches and gullies that led him on a more direct line, enabling him to reach the valley in far less time than his prey had taken.
By design, he struck the river about half a mile upstream from where he estimated they would come down from the hills. He tied his horse in a small grassy pocket near the water with a length of rope sufficiently long to permit the animal to get to the water to drink. Then he sat down to wait for darkness to close in on the narrow river valley, no longer in a hurry since he now had a pretty good idea where the Sioux camp would be.
* * *
When he felt that the warriors had had time to fill their bellies with the stores of meat he had personally provided for his Crow village, he started out along the bank of the river on foot. He carried both rifle and bow, planning to use both weapons in his attack. With only the soft light of a three-quarter moon to guide his moccasins over the rocky shore, he made his way downstream until he saw the glow of a campfire lighting the pine trees that bordered the river. It was time to be more cautious. He slowed his pace, walking more carefully, to make sure he didn’t announce his presence.
When he had approached close enough to see the cook fire flickering through the trees and the warriors as they sat around it, he paused to study the camp. As he had expected, the horses were downstream from the camp and he could not see them clearly from where he now stood. If things went according to his plan, it would be best to approach from the horse herd, so he went deeper into the trees and circled around the camp until he could see the horses. They were neither tied nor hobbled, but left to graze on the grass and small shoots near the riverbank. It was obvious that the Sioux warriors were not concerned about their safety. There were no guards watching the horses. Slater could imagine that the war party’s objective was to raid any white prospectors they happened upon along the river. They could not have expected to find the tiny village of Crows back up in the mountains. That had been an unexpected gift of a dozen ponies, and the satisfaction of acquiring a few scalps.
When he was certain there was no one watching the horses, Slater walked in among them, gently herding them with a tap of his bow on a croup, or a pat of his hand on a neck, until he got them moving quietly away from the camp. Making a soft clicking sound with his tongue, he kept behind the hindmost until most of the herd shuffled quietly downstream. When they were some distance from the circle of warriors still taking their leisure around the fires, he gave one of the horses a sharp rap with the butt of his rifle. The horse reacted with a squeal and bumped another horse that promptly answered with one of its own. Hoping that would have the desired effect, Slater positioned himself behind a fallen tree. He propped his rifle beside him, drew an arrow from the quiver on his back, and notched it. Then he waited.
* * *
“Something’s bothering the horses,” Wounded Hawk said, and got to his feet to listen. “Maybe a coyote or a wolf.” He peered out into the darkness. “I can’t see them now. I think I had better go look.”
“It could be a wolf,” Two Bears said. “I’ll go with you.” The other warriors were not concerned enough to accompany them, and elected to remain seated around the fire, their bellies filled with the meat they had found in the Crow camp.
Walking into the darkness of the trees, the two warriors found that the herd of horses had wandered farther downstream. Ahead of his companion by several steps, Wounded Hawk said, “Something has caused them to move.” Then he heard the solid thump of an arrow when it impacted Two Bears’ back, and the grunt of pain emitted by the stricken warrior.
Startled, he turned to discover Two Bears on his knees. Then he looked up to see a dark shadow no more than twenty feet from him, his bowstring fully drawn. There was no time to react before the arrow struck him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him staggering drunkenly to fall against a tree. He had time to call out once before his throat was sliced.
With the same absence of emotion shown when putting a deer out of its misery, Slater moved up behind Two Bears and finished him with his knife as well, but not before the wounded warrior yelled out in pain. Unhurried, Slater wiped his knife blade clean on Two Bears’ shirt and positioned himself to await the response of the rest of the war party.
The reaction in the Sioux camp was what Slater had hoped for, because he fully intended to kill all twelve of the Lakota warriors. And it would be impossible for him to do so if they all came at him at once. The leader of the war party, Plenty Scalps, got up from his seat by the fire and looked out toward the pony herd.
“What were they shouting about?” He looked around him at the others, but no one had understood the two calls. “They must need some help,” Plenty Scalps said. “The ponies must have wandered too far.” Sighing impatiently, he said, “Someone come with me, and we’ll help them.”
Slater watched as the war chief and three others walked out of the circle of firelight and entered the shadows. When they had moved into the trees, he remained where he waited until they had passed him. Then he circled around behind them, until he was between them and the camp. Again, he laid his rifle down and notched an arrow on his bowstring, knowing that as soon as he fired his rifle the element of surprise would be gone. And he did not think his odds would be very good if the remaining six warriors in the camp were able to escape into the cover of the trees. If that happened, they would all be stalking him. So he waited, knowing that the four warriors going to help their friends would not go far before finding the bodies.
“Wah!” Plenty Scalps suddenly blurted when he almost stumbled over Wounded Hawk’s body. A second later, he cried out in pain when Slater’s arrow penetrated his back. Startled
, the warrior to his right turned to help him, but was stopped by an arrow in his side. He screamed out in pain, and Slater knew his element of surprise was gone. He dropped his bow and grabbed his rifle. Two rapid shots found their marks and the other two warriors went down. With no time to lose, Slater turned at once toward the camp where the remaining six warriors were scrambling up from their places by the fire. Making every shot count, he laid down a continuous series of fire as fast as he could pull the trigger and crank a new cartridge into the chamber. Selecting his targets carefully, he picked the first warriors to get to their feet, then targeted those who were slower.
The chaotic confusion caused by the sudden attack on their camp enabled the determined avenger to reduce the remaining warriors by half, while three were able to scramble out of the firelight to plunge into the berry bushes on the riverbank. Slater had fired so rapidly that the remaining three Sioux were convinced there was more than one shooter, so there was no thought of trying to fight.
Pushing frantically through the bushes, they fled into the rapidly flowing water of the river. Slater, grim and unyielding, made his way along the bank until he spotted two dark forms bobbing up and down as the swift current swept them downstream. He dropped to one knee and tried to take steady aim at the unsteady targets before they were out of sight. He could only be sure of one more kill, but not certain of the second shot. It had been his sincere intent to kill every member of the war party. He felt that the merciless massacre of the peaceful Crow village called for nothing less than the same punishment for their murderers. But at least he had accounted for one execution for each one of the old folks slaughtered.
He got to his feet and walked down along the bank, searching for any sign of the survivors. As he walked, he reloaded the magazine of his rifle, using his bandanna to protect his hand from the heated barrel of the Henry. Convinced that he was in no danger of an immediate counterattack, he returned to search for the wounded. There was still danger from that source, more so from those shot with his bow than the victims of his Henry rifle. As he expected, there was still killing to be done before his vengeful mission was completed. One of the warriors, with an arrow in his back, had crawled almost all the way back to the camp for his weapon.
Finally he felt that he had done all he could to avenge Teddy Lightfoot and his Crow friends. It did not occur to him how unlikely it was that a single man with a rifle could destroy a Sioux war party of this size. He had never known deep emotions of any kind, no matter what the source, so he felt no feelings of triumph or passion in the taking of lives. He saw only a balancing of the scales. The Sioux warriors had been wrong in slaughtering a village; therefore it was necessary that they pay for what they did.
* * *
Half a mile down the river, Striped Otter crawled out of the water and paused to listen for sounds of pursuit. When he was certain there were none, he pulled himself up on a rock while he thought about what he had seen. This was his first war party at fourteen, and he had to admit that he had been afraid when they were attacked. Fights With Lance and Black Arrow yelled for him to run for the river. They were sure they had been attacked by the soldiers because the bullets were so many and so close around them. They made it to the river, but Fights With Lance and Black Arrow were both hit as they swam. If Striped Otter had not hidden behind a rock at the water’s edge, he might have been hit as well.
Watching from behind the rock, he saw the man with the rifle walking along the bank, looking for them. The man did not look like a soldier. He was dressed in animal skins. Where were the soldiers? Striped Otter had wondered, but no one else ever came to join the one man. He must have special powers to turn his rifle into many rifles. Convinced he had been witness to some form of magic, Striped Otter decided he should get back to his village as quickly as possible to warn his people about this strange man.
Chapter 4
Slater decided to wait until morning before returning to the Crow village to help Red Basket with the dead. As a precaution, he thought it best to lie in ambush for the Sioux warriors he could not account for, in case they came back looking for him. He felt confident in Red Basket’s ability to take care of herself, so he went back upstream to the small grassy pocket where he had tied his horse and settled in for the night.
With the first rays of the sun, he was up. He climbed aboard the paint gelding and slow-walked the horse down toward the Sioux camp, scanning the riverbanks carefully for any sign of activity. He pulled up for a few moments at the edge of the clearing to look the camp over before proceeding to ride in. Everything was the same as it had been the night before, with three bodies lying close-by the remains of the campfire.
Off to one side, he saw a saddle that he recognized as Teddy’s, his rifle still in the sling. There were various blankets and animal hides arranged around the ashes of the fire, some with bows close-by, the surprised owners never having had the chance to use them. He was suddenly startled by a movement in the chokecherry bushes, and instantly whipped his rifle up to fire, only to find it was one of the horses that had wandered back to the clearing. Looking out beyond the bushes then, he saw several other horses. He felt sure he would find the rest of them not far away, but since he was not inclined to take care of a sizable herd of horses, he intended to take only the few that he could handle easily. Many of the ponies taken from the Crow village were not in prime condition anyway.
Before going in search of the other horses, he checked the camp for anything that might be useful to him or Red Basket. He found very little of any value except a few firearms and a quantity of arrows. He tested the bows he found, but decided he preferred his own, although he did replace the arrows he had broken or lost with some from a Lakota’s quiver. Of the firearms he found, a Springfield single-shot rifle and a cavalry Spencer carbine were the only ones worth keeping. He set them aside while he went after the horses.
They were not hard to find, as they had not wandered far from the camp. He found them peacefully grazing next to the river’s edge and spotted Teddy’s dun gelding nibbling on some tender shoots among the rocks along the shore. The bridle was still on, so it was no trouble to lead the horse back to be saddled. Slater felt sure that Red Basket would want to have Teddy’s horse for her own. He also spotted Crooked Foot’s sorrel, but he decided there were several other horses in the bunch that were in better condition.
Thinking ahead, he worked through the herd and culled out the older, worn-out ponies, which resulted in leaving almost all of the horses that had been taken from the Crow camp, and a few from the Sioux war party.
Ready to return to the village, he left the site of the one-man massacre, leading a string of eight ponies and leaving nine bodies to feed the buzzards. It was his hope that he could sell the extra horses at Martin Greeley’s trading post.
* * *
Because of the narrow trails, he had to cut the horses loose again when he started back up into the steep mountains to return to the Crow village. But they followed along after him and Teddy’s dun, which was the only one he kept on a lead rope. He speculated that the only reason the others followed was that the narrow trail left them less inclined to wander.
When finally he approached the lower end of the lake, he saw no sign of Red Basket until he rode up to the still-smoking ruins of the camp. She stepped out from behind a tree, with his .44 in her hand.
“I not sure it was you when I hear the horses,” she explained.
He did not comment when he noticed that she had cut her hair short, and saw the fresh gashes on her arms, both a sign of her mourning for Teddy and Crooked Foot. The gashes were purposely cut deep enough to ensure that they would leave permanent scars. Slater figured that she had exhausted her tears of grief while he was dealing with the Sioux war party.
The rest of that day and most of the one following was spent caring for the dead. Red Basket insisted on constructing the burial scaffolds for Teddy and her father herself, using poles f
rom the tipis that were not burned too badly. Slater erected the frames for most of the other bodies.
When all the dead were taken care of, Red Basket and Slater sat down by the campfire to eat and talk about what to do now that there were only the two of them. Slater was not sure what he should do. The only thing that he was certain of was that he would not abandon her.
On the other hand, Red Basket could not expect him to stay with her. Slater had known that the day would come when the village would die. He and Teddy had talked about it before, and he knew that Teddy had been concerned about it. He had planned to return to the family farm in Arkansas where he and Red Basket would spend their final years. What worried him the most was the fact that Red Basket, although not a young woman, was much younger than he, and would likely outlive him by quite a few years. His younger brother had taken over the farm when Teddy’s father died, while Teddy chose to follow his natural call to see the far side of the mountains. He figured his family would have no choice but to accept his Crow wife as long as he was alive, but it might be a different matter when he died. Now, with Teddy gone, Red Basket could not expect to be welcomed by the brother and his family.
“Where are the rest of your people?” Slater asked. “Have you got any kin somewhere else?”
“Do not worry about me,” Red Basket said. “I am strong. I will take Teddy’s pony and his rifle, and I can take care of myself. You are still very young. You must go where your heart calls you. I will go to find my father’s people, the Apsáalooke. That is where Teddy found me, in Chief Lame Elk’s village in the Musselshell country. My brother, Broken Ax, is with Lame Elk, and Teddy said they were still on the Musselshell River. I will go there.”
Slater considered that for a moment. Teddy had told him that the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851 had specified that the northern boundary of Crow territory was the Musselshell River. But he had no earthly idea where on the Musselshell her people might be. There was a later treaty in 1868 that further reduced the land area designated as Crow territory. Teddy had said that the Crows had agreed to live on the reservation and learn to farm and live as the white man did.
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