Slater's Way

by Charles G. West

  Slater was certain the first one fired had the distinct sound of Teddy Lightfoot’s Winchester ’66. It did not surprise him when one of the vulnerable warriors cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Another shot from the river felled a warrior running to try to catch his horse, and the Lakota realized they were caught in a deadly cross fire. Their natural instinct was to seek the safety of the trees, but Slater made it costly for them when he hustled to a new position above them and cranked out five more rounds, two of which found their marks.

  The meadow had become a killing field now with the constant barrage of fire from the troopers firing as fast as they could. The Lakota war party had no choice except to run from the ambush that had been turned upside down and was taking a deadly toll. Those who could caught their ponies and fled the meadow, leaving behind a field strewn with the bodies of warriors and horses.

  Seeing the Indians running, the troopers came up out of their defensive positions, firing at the retreating warriors for as long as they could see them. Slater remained in the cover of the trees until the last shot was fired and all the soldiers were up from the river to walk among the dead. He was not willing to risk being shot by a soldier in the excitement of the battle.

  “Lieutenant!” he finally yelled. “I’m comin’ outta the woods! Tell your men to hold their fire.” When Russell yelled back to acknowledge, Slater walked down into the meadow to meet him.

  “By God!” Russell exclaimed. “That was one helluva brilliant tactic! It negated their advantage of numbers.” He looked around him to survey the Sioux bodies as an occasional rifle fired to finish off a mortally wounded warrior here and there. “They lost a good portion of their war party as well as several wounded that got away.” He was filled with the excitement of victory for his patrol, already thinking about the boost this fight might give him in his career.

  “I expect it’d be a good idea to get your men mounted up and get away from here while you’ve got a head start,” Slater said, his tone absent the excitement evidenced by the lieutenant and his men. “We were lucky to get away with this. It’ll take a while for those warriors to get together and decide what they’re gonna do. There’s still more of them than there are of us, so it just depends on what they decide to do about it. If you’re smart, you won’t wait around to see. We might not be so lucky next time.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Russell said. “We’ll recover our dead and get under way.” He was about to call for Corporal Jarvis when he heard a disgusted grunt from Private Trask, standing behind him. They turned to see Red Basket in the process of taking the scalp from one of the dead Lakota. In workmanlike manner, she placed her foot on the dead warrior’s neck, twisted his hair around her hand, pulling it up while she sliced a circle around the crown of his head until the scalp came away, bloody and ragged.

  “Damn,” Trask swore in open revulsion. “What does she wanna go and do that for?”

  Slater answered, “’Cause that was what they did to her husband, I reckon.”

  “Barbaric,” Russell declared quietly, making no further comment on the matter.

  “Damn,” Trask muttered again weakly, all lecherous thoughts he had entertained regarding the somber Indian woman having left his imagination for good.

  “Corporal Jarvis,” Russell called out, “detail some men to pick up our dead, and help Sergeant Bell to get mounted. On the double, Jarvis, while we still have enough light to put some distance behind us.”

  In a short time, the patrol was mounted, with the bodies of the three men who had been shot in the meadow secured across their saddles. With Slater leading, they splashed across the Boulder River, heading northwest toward the Yellowstone, some twenty miles away.

  As she had done from the beginning, Red Basket rode behind him. When she reached the middle of the river, she dropped her bloody trophy into the water and watched the current sweep it downstream. If they had not hurried away from the killing field, she would have lifted every scalp from the dead Lakota, so that none of them would find their way to hunt with the spirits.

  Slater estimated that they had ridden close to seven miles by the time darkness threatened to stop them for the night. They pushed on a little farther until coming to a shallow stream that offered water for the horses.

  Setting up their camp, they established a sentry detail to spell each other throughout the night. Russell was still aware of the possibility of a retaliatory attack by the Sioux.

  The night, however, passed without incident and the patrol was in the saddle again in the morning.

  They struck the Yellowstone River before noon, and Lieutenant Russell ordered a halt to rest the horses and cook what food they had left for themselves. “Well, I reckon this is where Red Basket and I will leave you,” Slater said to Russell. “We’ll go back to Greeley’s and pick up our horses and the rest of our supplies we left there. You ain’t forgot what you said about helpin’ me sell my horses to the quartermaster, have you?”

  “No, indeed, I have not,” Russell replied enthusiastically. “After what you did back there on the Boulder, I’ll be happy to help you any way I can. And that includes seeing that you get paid for every day’s service since you joined us.” Russell was very aware of the potential for the loss of many more lives had Slater not gone alone to create the confusion that brought the Sioux out in the open.

  “I’m obliged,” Slater said. “I expect I’ll see you in a day or two.”

  He stepped up into the saddle, nodded to Red Basket, who was already on her horse. The ever-somber Crow woman nodded once in return and turned her horse to follow him.

  * * *

  “It was White Crow,” Medicine Hat said.

  “It is hard to say who it was,” Iron Pony replied. “I think it was more than one man. Not one of us saw this White Crow, so how can you be sure it was him? I heard no medicine gun like Striped Otter said he had before when the others were killed. Somehow some of the soldiers slipped up the hill behind us. We should have had someone watching the ponies.”

  “I think it would have been very hard for some of the soldiers to get behind us without being seen,” Medicine Hat insisted. “This White Crow has big medicine, I think, and maybe it is best to leave him alone.”

  Iron Pony was still not convinced that White Crow had special powers, and he was becoming more and more impatient with those warriors who agreed with Medicine Hat.

  “The shots fired from the ridge above us came from many different places,” Iron Pony said. “Do you think White Crow can fly from bush to bush like a bird?”

  “I think there was the same number of soldiers that charged up from the river as were there before,” Medicine Hat countered.

  Iron Pony exhaled loudly, expressing his frustration. “I was too busy to stop and count the soldiers that came up from the river. I say the best way to be sure is to track these soldiers and find out if White Crow is still with them.” He looked around him then at the warriors who sat listening to the discussion. “I am not afraid of this White Crow, and I will test his big medicine.” To his disappointment, there was no enthusiastic response to his boast. “The soldiers are running to get back to their fort. If we hurry, we can catch up with them.” He looked around the circle of warriors who had fled to this ledge above the river, where they waited for their brothers to find their way there also. “We must not let them escape us again.” No one rose to accept the challenge.

  Angry Bear got to his feet to speak. “I know that Iron Pony is a mighty war chief,” he started. “But I think that Medicine Hat is right. We have already lost many of our warriors since we crossed paths with White Crow. I think it is time to return to our village to fast and cleanse ourselves in the sweat lodge so that our medicine can be strong again. I think our spirits are telling us that it is time to go home. I think if we don’t listen to them we are going to have to make the burial ground bigger.”

  Grunts
and nods of agreement from the other warriors told Iron Pony that they agreed with Angry Bear and Medicine Hat, so he finally conceded. “If that is what you want to do,” he said in defeat, “then I’ll not argue further. But I will find this White Crow and I will tie his scalp to my lance so that everyone will know that my brother, Black Arrow, has been avenged.”

  Chapter 7

  Martin Greeley and Clyde Rainey were more than a little interested to hear about the results of the cavalry patrol’s search for the Sioux war party. So they greeted Slater and Red Basket anxiously upon their return to the trading post.

  “Well, I reckon you came to get your horses,” Greeley said. “They’re down at the river with my horses right now.”

  “Much obliged,” Slater said. “Do I owe you anything for keepin’ ’em?”

  “Nope. I didn’t feed ’em no grain or nothin’, just like you said, so there ain’t nothin’ I can charge you for,” Greeley said.

  Slater nodded. He had been specific about not feeding his horses grain. They were Indian ponies, raised on nothing but grass, and he didn’t want them to develop a taste for oats or some other grain.

  “I reckon I’ll take ’em off your hands and drive ’em on up to Fort Ellis. Red Basket might need a couple of things from your store.”

  He looked at the stoic woman, who had waited for his nod before going inside. While she went with Clyde to make her purchases, Slater remained outside to answer Greeley’s questions.

  “What did you find over there on the Boulder?” Greeley asked. “Any sign of any more Sioux war parties?” Although there were no farms close to his store to tempt a Sioux raiding party on this stretch of the river, he was still concerned about being hit. If the Indians happened upon an isolated village like the Crow camp deep in the mountains, they could more easily stumble on his store right on the river.

  Slater told him what they had found when he took the soldiers back to the site of his fight with the Lakota war party on the Boulder River. Greeley was concerned when told of the larger raiding party and the fight that followed.

  “I doubt you got much to worry about from that bunch,” Slater said. “They lost quite a few of their warriors, and I expect they headed for home after that fight. Course, I got no way of knowin’ that for sure. I’m just guessin’.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right,” Greeley said. “You and Red Basket ought not to hurry off. You could camp here and rest up a little after all the fightin’ you been in.” His motivation for the invitation was not entirely selfless. He was also thinking it would be good to have Slater and his Henry rifle around for a while, and give the Sioux raiders a little more time to clear out of the area. It also came to mind that the formidable Crow woman would provide one more gun.

  “I expect we’ll be movin’ right along as soon as Red Basket buys what she needs. I’m anxious to get rid of our extra horses, and I told Lieutenant Russell we’d be at Fort Ellis tomorrow. I’m thinkin’ it’s too late to start out today, so we’ll camp here tonight and leave early in the mornin’.”

  * * *

  Slater and Red Basket rode out early the next morning, each leading a packhorse. Before them, they drove the six extra Indian ponies north, back toward the point where they had left the cavalry patrol the day before. Upon Greeley’s advice, they took a roundabout path to Fort Ellis, skirting the high mountains to the west, avoiding the difficulty they would have encountered had they attempted to drive their horses through them.

  They reached the army fort early in the afternoon. With no idea where to go, they herded the horses to an empty field in the center of the fort and halted them there.

  Dismounting, they both looked around them at the various buildings, and Slater realized that he had no idea how to find Lieutenant Russell. It was his first time on any army post, but he figured they were probably on what was most likely a parade ground. And he reasoned that, if that was the case, someone would probably soon come to tell him to move. There were many soldiers moving among the buildings, and so far, none seemed interested in Red Basket and him.

  “Maybe we got spirit ponies,” Red Basket deadpanned. “Soldiers can’t see.”

  “Maybe so,” Slater said. “We’ll wait awhile longer. Somebody’s bound to tell us to get the hell outta here.” His assumption was confirmed a few minutes later.

  Colonel A. G. Brackett, commanding officer, was distracted as he walked by a window in the headquarters building. He stopped and took a step backward to take another look. “What the hell?” he muttered, and stood gazing at the visitors for a few seconds before issuing an order to the sergeant major. “Sergeant Millward, go out there and see what those two Indians are doing in the middle of our parade ground.”

  Millward had not noticed the visitors up to that point. He got up from his desk and looked out the door. “Ha!” he exclaimed after a moment, then, “Yes, sir.” He reached for his hat, stepped outside, and marched toward the man and woman waiting by their horses. “You need to move those horses off this parade ground,” he called out as he neared them. “You speak English?”

  “I reckon,” Slater replied.

  Millward jerked his head back in surprise when he realized Slater was a white man. “Damn,” he said. “I thought you were an Injun till I got close enough to see your face.” He squinted as he took a harder look at Red Basket. “She’s an Injun, though.” Getting back to his purpose for questioning them, he said, “Colonel Brackett sent me out here to find out what you’re doin’.” He shrugged and motioned toward the horses standing quietly behind them. “What are you doin’?”

  “I’m lookin’ to find Lieutenant Russell,” Slater said.

  It triggered a spark in the sergeant’s mind. His face broke out in a grin as it occurred to him. “You’re Statler, ain’t you?”

  “Slater,” he corrected him, surprised that the sergeant knew who he was.

  “Slater, that’s right,” Millward went on. “Lieutenant Russell’s scout.” He grinned at Red Basket. “And you’re the Crow woman.” He affected a polite nod in her direction before turning back to Slater. “Lieutenant Russell said you’d be showin’ up with some horses you wanted to sell.” He paused to look toward the buildings on the far side of the parade ground, as if trying to decide. “Tell you what. Why don’t you move your horses over to the Second Cavalry stable and put ’em in the corral there?” He pointed out the stable. “Then you can come back to headquarters”—he turned and pointed—“right there, and I’ll send somebody to fetch Lieutenant Russell. All right?”

  “All right,” Slater replied, puzzled by the gruff-looking sergeant’s manner, as if he were trying to communicate with a backward savage. He would have understood had he known the fierce, untamed warrior’s image that had been described by Lieutenant Russell.

  “Just let ’em out in the corral,” Millward repeated, “and come back to the office there.” He pointed to the headquarters building again.

  “Right,” Slater responded, and turned to step up into the saddle. “They need waterin’ first. I’ll take ’em to that creek yonder. Then I’ll be back.” He and Red Basket herded the six extra ponies toward the creek.

  Millward stood watching them for a few moments before turning about and heading back to the office. Colonel Brackett looked up from the Morning Report he had been reading when the sergeant stepped inside his office door.

  “That was Lieutenant Russell’s scout,” he reported, “and damned if he don’t look as wild as the lieutenant said he was.” Before Brackett could ask, Millward answered his question. “He’s gonna put his horses in the Second’s stable, and then he’ll be back here.” He snuffled a little chuckle and added, “But first, he’s gonna water ’em.”

  Brackett nodded. “Send somebody to find Lieutenant Russell.”

  “Yes, sir,” Millward responded.

  * * *

  Upon hearing Sergeant Millward greet Slater
when the scout walked in the outer office, Colonel Brackett got up from his desk and came out to meet him. His first look at the tall, broad-shouldered warrior did not disappoint him. He looked younger than he had expected, but every bit the figure that Russell had described, clad head to toe in animal skins, his shoulder-length hair framing a rugged, clean-shaven face, and his rifle held casually in one hand. Brackett had had doubts about his young lieutenant’s accounting of his scout’s accomplishments against overwhelming odds, especially his supposed annihilation of almost an entire Sioux war party. Upon seeing the white savage, however, he wavered a bit in his reservations. “Slater, is it?” Brackett asked and extended his hand.

  Slater shifted his rifle over to his left hand and shook the colonel’s hand. “Right,” he answered.

  “Is it Mr. Slater, or Slater something else?” Brackett asked, merely out of curiosity.

  “It’s just Slater,” he said, impatient to get his business there completed. “Are you the man that buys the horses?”

  “No, that’ll be the quartermaster,” Brackett replied. “He’ll look them over and see if they’re sound and up to cavalry standards.”

  Wary of being cheated, Slater said, “Lieutenant Russell and Sergeant Bell already looked ’em over.”

  Russell walked in at that moment. “Yes, sir, we did,” he confirmed. “And I’m sure the quartermaster will agree that they are sound horses.” He turned to Slater then. “I see you got your horses here all right. Where’s Red Basket?” Slater’s somber expression did not change to match that of the smiling lieutenant, nor did Russell expect otherwise.

  “She took the packhorses up that creek a ways to make camp,” Slater answered.

  “We could probably have found some accommodations for you here at the fort,” Russell said, “if you’d rather.”

  “Thanks just the same,” Slater said. He suspected that they might find him a bed somewhere, but he wasn’t sure what they would do for an Indian woman. He didn’t want to take the chance that Red Basket would be treated poorly. “I’d like to get my horses sold so me and Red Basket can get on our way. I’ve got to find her people up in the Musselshell country.”