Slater's Way

by Charles G. West

  “I expect they’re holin’ up in these mountains between raids,” Slater said, “knowin’ they’d be mighty hard to find.” He looked at Red Basket then. “I reckon they wouldn’ta stumbled across our village if they hadn’t been lookin’ for a place to hole up where the army wasn’t likely to find ’em.” She nodded solemnly in agreement.

  Russell was thinking hard now. He had a decision to make. Without knowing the true strength of the second war party, should he pursue them, or return to the fort to reinforce his fifteen-man patrol? If he did, that might give the Indians time to strike another farm and be gone before he could take to the field again. He decided that he should at least try to find out where they were heading. Turning to Slater again, he asked, “Can you tell where they headed from here?”

  “I reckon,” Slater replied. “I expect they’re gonna take their dead somewhere where they can make up some kinda platforms for ’em in the trees. They ain’t likely to do much raidin’ if they’re carryin’ bodies behind ’em on their ponies. And I doubt they brought extra horses with ’em to tote the bodies.”

  “So maybe they aren’t that far ahead of us. Is that what you’re saying?” Russell asked. Slater nodded. Russell continued. “Maybe you could track them and get close enough to see how many we have to deal with. I don’t want them to discover this patrol if we’re too greatly outnumbered. I want to know what I’m getting into before I commit my men to attack.”

  “I reckon I can do that,” Slater replied. “This is as good a place as any to hold your men till I get back. After I rest my horse a little, I’ll go on up ahead and see if I can find ’em. All right?”

  “Good man,” Russell replied. “I know you’re taking a helluva chance and I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll find ’em for you, as long as I know you’ll see that Red Basket gets to Fort Ellis safely if I do wind up with a Lakota arrow in my behind.”

  “You have my word,” the lieutenant said.

  “And she’ll get my pay for scoutin’ for you,” Slater said, “and she’ll get the money from the army for those horses.”

  Russell could not help smiling. “That’s right. She’ll get all the money owed to you.”

  “I go with you,” Red Basket interrupted then, “help you scout.”

  “I druther you didn’t,” Slater said to her. “I’ve done lost Teddy. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Teddy’ll come back and haunt me if I don’t get you back to your people. You stay with the soldiers.” He went to check on the condition of his horse then while the soldiers took advantage of the rest period. In a few moments, Red Basket followed him.

  He turned when he heard her come up behind him. Stroking the paint gelding on its neck, he said, “He’s ready to go now, but I’m gonna make him wait a little while.” The Indian pony stood in sharp contrast to the weary cavalry mounts. A strong mountain horse, the paint was at home on the difficult steep trails that wound through the Absarokas.

  Looking at the army horses, Slater couldn’t help thinking, I hope to hell they don’t have to make a run for it.

  “You must be careful,” Red Basket said. “The Lakota are skillful fighters.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “They ain’t even gonna see me.”

  Chapter 5

  “Maybe you could not see the others,” Iron Pony said. “Maybe the soldiers were hiding in the bushes around the camp.”

  “No. There were no others. There were no soldiers,” Striped Otter said. “It was just one man, but his gun spoke like many guns. It was a medicine gun that did not miss. Black Arrow and Fights With Lance told me to run to the river, so I ran. But when I saw them sink under the water, I hid behind a rock and stayed there until he was gone.”

  Iron Pony was not sure that Striped Otter had not panicked. He was a young boy and this had been his first time, so it would not have been unusual for him to be confused. But he insisted that one man had killed all of the war party but him. It was difficult for the Lakota war chief to keep from venting his sorrow and anger upon the boy, for Black Arrow, Iron Pony’s brother, was one of the warriors killed by this white Crow warrior.

  “I will kill this white devil with the medicine gun,” Iron Pony swore. “My brother will be avenged. I will not rest until he is dead and his entrails are hanging in the trees for the buzzards to feed upon.”

  Iron Pony’s heart was heavy with the grief he felt for his younger brother’s death. It was going to be a difficult thing to take this sorrowful news back to his mother and father when the war party returned to their village on the Tongue River. He was determined to avenge Black Arrow before he returned to tell his father that his son was dead.

  The burial beds made from limbs crisscrossed and tied together were nearly completed. The bodies were wrapped in blankets with hides protecting them from the weather and supported by the limbs of a grove of aspens where they would be safe from predators. To add to Iron Pony’s grief, there were two empty beds. Black Arrow and Fights With Lance had been swept down the river, and Striped Otter said that he had not been able to find their bodies. Iron Pony told his warriors to construct the supports for the two missing men.

  “When we have finished here,” Iron Pony said, “we will search the river where it comes out of the mountains. I will not leave their bodies to rot and feed the buzzards.”

  Iron Pony returned his attention to Striped Otter then, remembering how guilty the young warrior had felt for not staying to face the white Crow. “You did the right thing,” Iron Pony said. “If this white devil has the medicine gun that kills without reloading, it was best to come to look for us.”

  He was familiar with the repeating rifles that some of the soldiers carried, weapons that he and several of the war party carried as well. But Striped Otter was convinced that the demon that attacked their camp used a medicine gun that fired by itself, never ran out of bullets, and never missed. Iron Pony started to give Striped Otter additional encouragement but was interrupted with the arrival of Two Wounds.

  “It is finished,” Two Wounds said. “We are ready to ride on your signal.”

  He spoke for the twenty-seven warriors left of the forty who had followed Iron Pony on this war party. The burial was complete and the grove of quaking aspens was now hallowed ground. There had been some in the war party who spoke in favor of taking the bodies of their brothers back to their village on the Tongue River. But Iron Pony persuaded them to leave them in this narrow ravine, halfway up the side of this rugged mountain, where they would not be disturbed.

  “We will ride back down to the valley and search the river for our missing brothers,” Iron Pony told the warriors gathered around him and Two Wounds. “We must not waste any more time, and try to find their bodies before they are found by wolves or buzzards. Then we will find this white Crow that killed them.”

  “Maybe we should split up,” Medicine Hat suggested. “Half of us could look for Fights With Lance and Black Arrow. The rest of us could go back to that place where we found our dead and search for the white Crow.”

  His suggestion was met with grunts and utterances of agreement. The raiding party had been away from their village for several weeks, and many of the warriors were ready to return home. This was especially so since the army had begun patrolling the Yellowstone Valley with more troops. Medicine Hat, like the others, was gratified with the success of their raids. Four white homesteads had been massacred, cattle slaughtered, a small Crow village destroyed, and ranches burned with just two losses until this disastrous defeat of Black Arrow and the others. That was a very bad sign, and surely a warning that they should now return home, and maybe a sign that Iron Pony’s medicine was no longer strong. Some of the others felt the same as he but, like him, were reluctant to challenge the war chief’s leadership.

  Iron Pony considered Medicine Hat’s suggestion for a few moments before responding, “What you say is wise. It would be quicker.
But if what Striped Otter says about White Crow is true, it might be better not to split up. If Black Arrow and the others had not left to look for a better place for us to make our camp while we raided in the valley, they would not have been rubbed out after they killed the Crows. Striped Otter has told us what happened. They were taken by surprise by this white Crow. He will not take us by surprise. I think maybe his medicine gun will not be strong enough to protect him if he is surrounded by twenty-seven Lakota warriors.”

  No one spoke in opposition to Iron Pony. He had been a powerful war chief for a long time, so there was no one strong enough to challenge his leadership. There were some, however, like Medicine Hat, who were not confident in the possibility of finding this phantom rifleman. So when all were ready to go, they followed him down the winding game trail that traced the narrow stream through the aspens and into the band of firs that skirted the base of the mountain.

  When they reached the valley floor, they followed the river north, riding carefully along the rocky bank, searching for the two bodies.

  * * *

  It was difficult to hide the tracks of a large party of mounted warriors, so Slater had no trouble following the trail left by Iron Pony’s warriors. For long stretches along the wild river it was impossible to ride close to the water because of the rocky walls that formed much of its banks. For this reason, a man on horse was forced to follow an old game trail that paralleled the river’s course, weaving in and out of heavy stands of fir and spruce trees on the slopes above it.

  At first, he thought that maybe the war party was intent upon leaving the mountains, possibly following the river toward its confluence with the Yellowstone, some thirty-five miles away.

  He wondered if he should continue tracking the Indians. It appeared that they were heading back to the Yellowstone Valley, but Lieutenant Russell wanted to know how many they were, so he continued on.

  It was well past noon when he came to a section of the river that he remembered quite vividly, for he had found it to be a fascinating place when he first found it. The river had been low then, as it was at that moment, and he was fascinated to discover that the whole river disappeared through a mass of rocks to go underground, only to reappear one hundred feet later to gush through the porous limestone rock under a natural bridge.

  Slater had also seen this special place when the river was high, and the section of dry bed, where the river was now underground, was raging with surging current. At that time of year, the river formed twin falls, the upper one flowing over a ledge some one hundred feet over a pool below.

  It was a place that left man in awe of the untamed marvels of nature, the Sioux not excluded, for he could plainly see where the braves had ridden down on the dry riverbed to examine it. It was Slater’s guess that they had been so struck by the mystical falls that they decided their burial ground should be close-by. They had left the river and followed a narrow stream up a ravine into the mountains. Maybe, he thought, they had made a camp higher up on this mountain. If that was the case, then he might conclude that the war party planned to remain in these mountains to continue to harass the settlers along the Yellowstone. Lieutenant Russell would like to know that, so he supposed it would be wise to confirm it.

  There was a very narrow path leading up the ravine, and one that might be hard to approach without being seen. He paused to think about it before proceeding. There was still a possibility that they were just looking for a place to leave the dead they carried. There were tracks coming down the trail beside the stream as well as those going up, which tended to agree with his thinking. He couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to him that none of the tracks either way were very old. After a moment’s speculation, he decided that the whole war party had ridden up the trail, then came back down together. He felt sure he had guessed right, and if he followed the tracks up the ravine, he would probably find a burial site and no camp. He told himself there was no use following this trail up the mountain.

  But his curiosity got the better of him, however, so he decided to confirm his thinking. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure they didn’t have a camp up there, so he turned the paint’s head toward the ravine.

  He didn’t think it a very good idea to ride on the one narrow trail leading up the steep ravine. If the warriors were still up there, he’d be in a mighty tight spot if he happened to meet some of them coming down. He decided it much safer to leave his horse and go up the other side of the ravine on foot, where there was no trail.

  He led the paint deep into the trees above the waterfall and tied him. Then he drew his rifle and started making his way up through the rocks and trees on the back side of the ravine. It was a slow climb because of the massive boulders that lay on the mountainside. But after approximately half an hour, he reached a point where he could see the upper end of the ravine and made his way carefully over to the top of the ridge to a point where he was close enough to look down into it.

  It was what he had expected. The top of the ravine was empty of living souls. He knelt on one knee and looked at the bundles lying in the limbs of the trees, like large cocoons awaiting rebirth. He could not resist moving down the side of the ravine to get a closer look. There were eagle feathers tied to the branches at the four corners of the trees that held the bodies, in effect marking the boundaries of the burial ground. This was meant to warn people that this burial site was sacred and not to be violated.

  As the sun dropped closer to the mountains on the far side of the river, a brisk breeze swept across the top of the ravine. In ghostly response, the aspens began to quake and gently stir the cocoons, as if the souls of the dead warriors were at that moment leaving their bodies. He could not deny the eerie feeling that crept over him, even though he felt sure these souls had long since departed to seek the Sioux god, Wakan Tanka. He abruptly decided that he had best get back on the trail of the living warriors while there was still a little daylight left.

  * * *

  He had never ridden scout for the army before, so he had no idea how far, or how long, Lieutenant Russell expected him to continue tracking the Sioux war party. But he was beginning to think they had left the valley and he might never catch up with them, considering the fact that they had a good head start on him already. He had not ridden far from the natural bridge falls when the sun dropped down behind the highest peak to the west, and it was as if God had blown out the lantern, casting the narrow river valley into darkness. It helped him make a decision.

  “Well, boy,” he confided to the paint, “looks like we’d best find a place to make camp. We’ll go back in the mornin’ and give the lieutenant the word that the war party has left the valley.”

  Walking carefully, lest he misstep on the slippery boulders in the shallow water next to the bank, Slater led his horse to a small clearing on a tiny island near the eastern side. He pulled the saddle off the paint and let him go free, knowing he wouldn’t stray off the island. The paint had spent many a night in the mountain wilderness, so he was content to nibble on the grass and shoots near the edge of the river.

  Once his horse was cared for, Slater went about the business of making a fire. He gathered a pile of small branches to use for kindling, then got his flint and steel from his saddlebag and bent low over his kindling to strike a spark in a double handful of dead grass he had stuffed under his kindling. Working patiently, he finally got a spark to take hold in the grass, and a tiny flame was born. With his hands cupped around the flame to protect it from the breeze, he started to lay it carefully under his kindling when suddenly the wind changed.

  Caught off guard, he hastened to protect his fragile flame as the wind reversed and now came from downriver. Moments later, he was startled by the faint sound of voices carried on the breeze. He immediately smothered his tiny fire and stood rigidly still, listening. He had been certain that the party of Lakota warriors was far ahead of him, but it could be no one but them.

  Without being aware of
it, he had caught up with the war party and was making his camp within hearing distance of them. He had not anticipated that the warriors would stop to camp, having assumed they were on their way to the Yellowstone. He did not know that they had established a camp on the river while they searched the rocky rapids before the river reached the flatter plain and the Yellowstone, in hopes of finding the two bodies of their missing dead.

  “Well, if that ain’t something,” he remarked to the paint. “Reckon I’d better not start this fire just yet.” He was more than a little perplexed to think that he had almost blundered into the war party. Helluva scout, he thought in silent criticism. “Maybe I coulda just rode on into their camp and took a head count,” he said sarcastically. With no further delay, he set about finishing the job the lieutenant sent him to do.

  Satisfied that his horse was fine right where he was, Slater pulled his rifle from the saddle and started downriver on foot. The Sioux camp could not be far, as he had heard voices over the sound of the water flowing around the rocks. So he was not surprised to see the glow of campfires in the trees ahead after only a short walk. From that point, he moved cautiously toward what appeared to be an open meadow surrounded by tall trees. It was obvious that he was going to have to cross the river to be able to see into the meadow without risk of being discovered.

  After reaching the other side, by carefully moving from boulder to boulder, he climbed a high bluff that afforded him an unobstructed view of the Sioux camp. The meadow, he discovered then, was quite large, and the Indians had made their camp there to take advantage of the grass for their horses.