Slater's Way

by Charles G. West

  But there were still many small villages that had not moved onto it. It was not a normal way of life for the Crow. They were hunters. They knew nothing about farming, and as long as there were buffalo on the plains, there was no need to move close to the agency on Mission Creek. Lame Elk’s band was one of those that vowed to live as they had always lived.

  “We’ll stay together and go find the rest of your people,” Slater said. “Then I’ll decide what I’m gonna do.” She nodded, pleased that he was concerned for her safety. Slater continued. “First thing, we’ll go to Greeley’s tradin’ post and see if we can sell some horses and a couple of these rifles.”

  He decided to keep one of the eight horses he had brought back as a packhorse for Red Basket. She would ride Teddy’s dun, and that would leave him with six horses to sell. He wasn’t sure whether Martin Greeley bought and sold horses. If not, maybe he would extend him a line of credit for the horses.

  * * *

  After pushing his small herd of horses down out of the mountains, he and Red Basket drove them along the river toward Greeley’s trading post. Watching the Indian woman as she helped drive the horses, Slater was impressed with her control of Teddy’s powerful dun gelding. Sitting comfortably in her late husband’s saddle, his .44 strapped around her waist, she obviously intended to take Teddy’s place as a working partner. Slater was not surprised.

  He reined the paint back for a moment when they started down through the bluffs above the trading post and discovered the horses of a cavalry patrol tied out front. It was a natural reaction for him, even after all the years that had passed since Virginia City.

  Red Basket guessed at once why he hesitated. She pulled up beside him and said, “Too much time. They not looking for that boy anymore.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Slater said, and gave the paint a gentle kick.

  They followed the extra horses, which had already loped down toward the water’s edge. When they rode up to the store, there was no room left at the hitching rail, so they looped their reins in some bushes on the side of the building. Behind the store, close to the water, a group of a dozen soldiers were taking their leisure, eating hardtack and drinking coffee. Slater, with Red Basket close behind him, walked in the front door.

  “Here’s somebody who might be able to tell you a little more,” Martin Greeley said when he saw Slater walk in, surprised to see him back so soon. The lieutenant he had been talking to turned to look at the rangy young man dressed in animal skins, with the Indian woman following. “Slater here knows these mountains better’n anybody,” Greeley explained. “If there’s any Injuns holed up back in those hills, besides that little village of Crows he lives with, he’d most likely know it.” Turning to Slater then, he said, “This here is Lieutenant Russell. He’s leadin’ a patrol of cavalry outta Fort Ellis, lookin’ for some Sioux warriors that have been raidin’ some of the settlers’ farms.” He paused to look beyond Slater at Red Basket. “That’s Teddy Lightfoot’s woman, ain’t it?” he asked, still addressing Slater as he stared at the obvious slashes on Red Basket’s arms, and the absence of much of her hair.

  “Mr. Slater,” Lieutenant Russell said before Slater had time to reply. He stepped forward and offered his hand. Slater accepted, and nodded in reply to the lieutenant’s greeting. Russell continued. “Like Mr. Greeley said, we’ve had reports that a Sioux raiding party has struck a couple of families east of here on the Yellowstone. Anything you might have seen that could help us?”

  Slater was distracted for a moment when Clyde Rainey walked over to join them, after selling three soldiers some tobacco. “Howdy, Slater, Red Basket,” he said, also staring at the Indian woman. “Where’s Teddy?”

  “Teddy dead,” Red Basket replied.

  “What?” Greeley exclaimed. “When? What happened?”

  Slater glanced at Red Basket, but the somber woman did not flinch, leaving him to explain. “Mighta been that Sioux party you’re lookin’ for,” he said to the lieutenant. “They struck Crooked Foot’s camp the same day I was last here. That’s when they got Teddy.”

  “My Lord,” Greeley exclaimed. “That’s terrible news.” He looked at Red Basket. “I’m mighty sorry to hear that, ma’am.” He turned back to Slater. “Anybody else killed?”

  “Everybody but her,” Slater answered, nodding toward Red Basket.

  “My Lord in heaven,” Greeley started again, but was interrupted by the lieutenant.

  “Do you have any idea where they might be now?” Russell asked.

  “Pretty much,” Slater replied stoically. “They’re over on the Boulder River. I ain’t sure where they all are, but there’s nine or ten of ’em over by the Boulder.”

  Impatient with Slater’s lack of urgency, Lieutenant Russell pressed. “Where on the Boulder River? Can you take us there? That is, if they’re still there. They’re likely moving pretty fast.”

  “I doubt they’re still there now,” Greeley speculated as well. “They’ll be long gone.”

  “They’re still there,” Slater said, “least what the buzzards left of ’em.”

  Russell was not quite sure what Slater was telling him. “Are you saying they’re dead?” Slater nodded. “Who killed them?” Russell asked.

  “I did,” Slater answered.

  Russell was not yet ready to believe what he was hearing. “And you say there are nine or ten dead Sioux warriors over on the Boulder. Are you telling me you killed all of them? Who helped you?”

  When Slater didn’t answer, Russell looked at Greeley as if asking for confirmation. Greeley nodded solemnly, never doubting that Slater did what he claimed.

  Figuring the topic of conversation was done with, Slater turned to Greeley again. “I’m wonderin’ if you’re interested in buyin’ some horses. I’ve got six good, stout horses I just brought in, and I’m lookin to sell ’em.”

  “Well,” Greeley responded, “I ain’t usually in the business of buyin’ and sellin’ horses. I reckon it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at ’em.”

  Lieutenant Russell spoke up right away. “The army is always in need of good horses,” he said. “If Mr. Greeley isn’t interested, I might be.”

  Slater looked to Greeley for his reaction. Greeley hesitated for a moment. He had no interest in horse trading as a rule, but he was clearly disgruntled by Russell’s remark. Being a natural-born trader, he had immediately seen the possibility of gaining Slater’s horses at a pittance, then selling them to the army at a profit. But Russell had destroyed that possibility by effectively eliminating the middle man.

  “I reckon you might as well sell ’em to the army,” Greeley said. He glanced at Red Basket in time to see the knowing smile on the silent Crow woman’s face. She seemed to have read his mind.

  “Fine,” Russell said. He called to one of the three men who had just purchased tobacco from Clyde. “Sergeant Bell, go with Mr. Slater and take a look at those horses.” He looked back at Slater. “Sergeant Bell is a pretty good judge of horseflesh. If they are in good shape, the army will pay you the current price we’re buying stock for in this territory. This year, the quartermaster has been paying an average price of around a hundred and forty dollars for top-quality Virginia- or Kentucky-raised horses. But you can expect a good bit less than that for the typical Indian pony.” He paused, waiting for Slater’s reaction.

  “Whatever the army thinks they’re worth,” Slater said. He had no idea what the horses were worth to the military, and he was willing to take just about any price offered.

  “Very well, then,” Russell said. “Sergeant Bell will go with you to look them over.”

  * * *

  “He warn’t lyin’ when he said they was in good shape,” Sergeant Bell reported back to the lieutenant. “But they’s Injun ponies, unshod, and most likely ain’t up to that Morgan you’re ridin’, sir. Most likely, the quartermaster would give about seventy dollars apiece for
’em.”

  Russell turned to Slater. “Whaddaya say, Mr. Slater? Will you sell them for that?”

  “I will,” Slater replied immediately.

  “All right,” Russell said, “but you’ll have to deliver them to the stables at Fort Ellis, and that’s where you’ll get your money.” Slater nodded and the lieutenant continued. “But before you do that, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me where this Sioux war party is. I need to investigate the site for my report to my superiors.” He still found it hard to believe that the young man had killed a war party of Lakota warriors of that size with no help from anyone else.

  “Like I said,” Slater replied, “over on the Boulder River.”

  “But where on the Boulder, man?” Russell asked, losing a bit of his patience with the stoic young man. “That’s a helluva long river.”

  “I reckon,” Slater said, “it’s pretty nigh straight east from where we’re standin’.” He nodded toward the mountains. “About twenty miles or so as the crow flies, on the other side of those mountains. It’s a good bit farther if you have to follow the Yellowstone around the mountains till you strike the Boulder and then head south.”

  “It would save us a great deal of time if you could lead us through those mountains so we wouldn’t have to take the long way around,” Russell said.

  “I don’t know. . . .” Slater hesitated. “I’ve got those horses to take care of, and I’ve got Red Basket to think about.”

  “I’ll see that you get a day’s pay for every day it takes to lead us there and get back to Fort Ellis,” Russell said. He considered taking Slater’s word that he had killed the entire war party with no help from anyone, and returning to Fort Ellis at once. But he found it hard to accept it as fact. He wanted to see the site himself.

  “You can leave your horses here in my corral if you want to,” Greeley offered.

  Slater glanced at Red Basket to see her reaction to the lieutenant’s request. He wasn’t quite sure how she would feel about riding with a cavalry patrol. She met his gaze with a solemn nod. Turning back to Russell, he said, “All right, I’ll take you through the mountains.”

  “Good,” Russell said. “About twenty miles, you say?”

  “Yes, sir,” Slater replied. “As the crow flies, but you’d best figure it closer to twenty-five or more of slow goin’, ’cause we’ll be doin’ some hard ridin’ for those army mounts. But it’ll still be quicker than goin’ the long way around.”

  * * *

  Since there was a good bit of daylight left, the cavalry patrol set out as soon as the lieutenant got his troopers in the saddle. Slater decided to take only one of the packhorses with what he and Red Basket would make camp with, as he didn’t expect to be gone but a couple of days.

  The patrol rode up out of the bluffs, following their somber scout up into the formidable mountains, the solemn Indian woman riding close behind him. By the time sunlight began to hurry from the deep gulches and tree-covered ravines, the horses were ready for rest. Slater led the patrol to a small glen with a lusty stream rushing down from the peak above, a place where he had once killed an elk. This was where the soldiers made their camp.

  Red Basket collected enough wood for her cook fire, which she made at the upper end of the meadow, about twenty yards from the soldiers’ campfires. In a few minutes, she had coffee boiling and strips of jerky roasting over the fire for Slater and herself. After taking care of their horses, Slater came to sit by the fire to eat.

  Lieutenant Russell poured a cup of coffee for himself and walked up to the edge of the meadow to talk to Slater. When he was out of earshot, Trooper Trask sat down next to Sergeant Bell.

  “Hey, Sarge, what’s the story on the Injun woman? Is she that scout’s squaw? She looks damn near old enough to be his mama.”

  “What the hell do you care, Trask?” Bell answered him. “She ain’t none of your business.”

  “Hell, I was just askin’,” Trask said. “She ain’t no young girl, but she don’t look bad atall. I was just thinkin’ if she ain’t that feller’s squaw, maybe she might wanna make a dollar or two.”

  Sergeant Bell got to his feet, disgusted with Trask’s attitude. “That poor woman just lost her husband,” he said, “and her father, too. I don’t expect she’d have anything to do with you, even if she was in the market.” He walked away to find better supper companions.

  “Well, ain’t he on his high horse?” Trask snarled to Corporal Jarvis, seated on the other side of the fire. “When did he get so uppity? I was just makin’ conversation.”

  “I swear, Trask,” Jarvis said. “You ain’t got a lick of sense. You say anything to that woman and she’ll like as not slit your throat, and if she don’t, that feller with her will.”

  * * *

  The next morning Slater led the cavalry patrol down from the steep mountainside, following an old game trail into the narrow valley of the Boulder River. After taking a moment to be sure he recognized this point on the rugged river, he told Lieutenant Russell that the site of his battle with the Lakota was about a mile downstream.

  “If we’re that close,” Russell said, “we might as well keep going and rest the horses when we get there.”

  It was not an easy ride along the rocky riverbank. There was no trail through the thick stand of spruce and fir trees and the thick mountain juniper that grew right down to the water’s edge. They continued along the river for a hundred yards until they came to an easy place to cross over to the eastern side. Cautioning the weary troopers to follow carefully, lest their mounts stumble on the gourd-sized boulders that covered the river bottom, Slater led them across. After riding a couple of hundred yards farther, they passed the spot where he had left his horse before launching his attack on the unsuspecting Sioux camp.

  “About half a mile farther,” he told the lieutenant when Russell asked. After weaving their way through a thick growth of pines along the boulder-strewn banks of the river, Slater pointed to a clearing ahead. “That’s where they were camped,” he said.

  Expecting to find the bodies of at least nine Lakota warriors, they rode into the camp finding none. The ashes of two fires were evident, proof that someone had camped there, but that was all at first glance. Russell already harbored a suspicion that Slater’s claims of single-handedly killing a Sioux war party might be nothing more than a tall tale that a typical mountain man was noted for. His first thought, upon finding no bodies, was that his suspicion was confirmed. He pulled up beside the puzzled scout to hear his explanation.

  “Where are the bodies of those you say you killed?” he asked. “You didn’t bury them, did you?”

  As surprised as he was to find the bodies missing, Slater was still stoic in his answer. “I reckon somebody musta moved ’em.”

  “Somebody moved them?” Russell echoed. “Who the hell could have moved them?”

  Emotionless in his response, Slater answered, “How the hell would I know? Some more Lakota, most likely. Most Indians will pick up their dead if they can.”

  With no particular regard for the lieutenant’s opinion of him, but a need to see for himself, Slater stepped down to satisfy his curiosity.

  “I’d be interested to hear more details about your attack on the war party you say was here,” Russell said, not entirely successful in masking his skepticism. Slater gave him a brief account of the assault, starting with his drawing half of the party out to tend to their horses, then his rapid fire on those still by the fire.

  “Interesting,” Russell commented, remaining in the saddle for a few moments, watching Slater as he proceeded to scout the camp. Stepping down then, he ordered Sergeant Bell to take care of the horses. Every bit as interested in Slater’s account of the fight, but with no thought of disbelief, Red Basket slid off her horse and went with him to scout the campsite.

  When Russell and Sergeant Bell walked over to join the white scout and the Cr
ow woman, the lieutenant informed them that they would rest the horses and let his men eat. Then he intended to start back to Fort Ellis, since the war party had obviously moved on.

  “Like I told you before,” Slater said, “you ain’t gotta worry about the war party that camped here. What you’ve gotta worry about now is the war party that picked up the dead.” When Russell appeared to be skeptical still, Slater continued. “If you look down at your feet, that dark spot you’re almost standin’ on is a bloodstain. He was one of the first ones that jumped up when they heard the gunshots.” Slater pointed to another stain several feet away. “There’s another one, and there’s the third one,” he said, pointing to a third stain.

  While the lieutenant and his sergeant stared at the ground dumbfounded, Red Basket walked across the small meadow where Slater had said the Lakota’s ponies had been grazing, leaving him to continue his report.

  “The thing that oughta concern you the most,” he said to Russell, “is all these pony tracks around this camp.” He indicated a wide area around the burned-out remains of the fires. “Hard to say how many, but that was a good-sized party that came in here and picked up their dead. And these tracks are fresh, not more’n a few hours old, I’d say.” He was about to say more, but was interrupted by a shout from Red Basket from the trees beyond the meadow.

  “Here is where you killed the other four,” she called out, and started walking back to join them. “They are all gone.” She held a broken arrow shaft in her hand, which she handed to Slater. “Here is one of your arrows,” she said, and pointed to the Crow as well as Slater’s personal markings on the shaft.

  “Damn. . . ,” Russell muttered softly. “I’ve got to admit, I had my doubts, but there’s no question about it now. That means there’s at least one other war party raiding up and down the Yellowstone, and you think it might be bigger than this one.” He turned to gaze up at the steep mountains on either side of the river. “But what are they doing back here on the Boulder?” he wondered aloud. “There sure as hell aren’t any settlers along this river—maybe a prospector or two, but nobody else.”