Slater's Way

by Charles G. West

  The discovery immediately brought to mind the unconcern over the runaway mule, and the woman’s inability to remember where anything in the camp was. They had murdered the poor bastard. He wondered how many more bodies of unfortunate miners had been dumped in ravines and gullies in these mountains.

  He returned his thoughts to the woman sitting on a rough stool by the fire in front of the tent and tried to make up his mind what to do about her. It would be a quick and easy solution to the problem to simply shoot her with his rifle. He hesitated to choose that option, however, because she was a woman, and consequently should not be treated as harshly as a man, even considering what she had been a part of.

  And yet he had never encountered a more evil being than Lola Leach.

  I’m wasting time, he told himself, and climbed up out of the gully.

  * * *

  Feeling very pleased with herself for having thought to check the straps of the packsaddle rig on the sorrel, Lola sat counting the money she had found under one of them. Wrapped in an oilskin sack to protect it, it had been carefully folded and tied to the main cross strap where it would not be easily seen. It had held the money Slater had received for the sale of the extra horses to the army quartermaster. It had been a pleasant surprise, for it was a tidy sum, one she would not have expected to be in the possession of a simple drifter who seemed half Indian and was as naïve as a young boy.

  She smiled to herself as she thought, Ain’t no sense in telling Tom and Slim about this money. I’ll just keep it to myself.

  In the next instant, she jumped, startled by a voice behind her.

  “I reckon I’ll just have my money back now.”

  She knocked the stool over in her effort to get to her feet quickly, only to trip over it in her panic and land on her backside, just barely missing the fire. Staring wide-eyed at the .44 leveled at her, she scrambled to her feet, still clutching the oilskin sack of money.

  “Wait! Wait!” she begged. “I didn’t have no part in this! It was Tom and Slim. I wanted to let you go, but they told me to keep outta the way. I swear that’s the truth. They’re the ones you gotta worry about.”

  “Not anymore,” Slater stated dryly.

  “You got ’em?” she asked excitedly. “Oh, that’s good. That’s a good thing! Now I’m free of that evil pair. I’m so glad you came along. I’ve been prayin’ for someone like you to come along and set me free of that man. There ain’t no reason me and you can’t be together now. I knew I was the woman to take care of you the first time I saw you, and I know how to give a man what he wants.” Reading the obvious contempt in his eyes, she hastened to say, “There’s gold, too! I know where it’s hid. The old man they killed had found some in this stream. You and me, we can have that, too.”

  He let her rattle on for a few moments, still trying to decide what to do with her, amazed by her attempt to sway him after her earlier efforts to kill him. In spite of everything, though, he was still reluctant to simply execute her, only because she was a woman.

  “You might as well save your breath,” he finally said. “I’d sooner pair up with the devil himself.”

  “Damn you,” she spat when it was apparent that he was not gullible to the extent she had hoped. “Tom shoulda shot you as soon as you rode up.” She glared at him with all the hatred a pair of eyes could hold. “Whaddaya gonna do, just shoot me down?”

  “I ain’t decided yet,” he replied.

  “You don’t look so good yourself,” she said, nodding toward his bloody sleeve. “You’re gonna have to do somethin’ about that pretty soon. I bet you’re already feelin’ the loss of that blood, ain’t you? Won’t be long now before you’ll wish you’d partnered up with me.” She was beginning to realize his reluctance to shoot her, and it encouraged her to try to tempt him again. “Hell, I’m willin’ to say to hell with what happened up to now and make a clean break of it. The way I see it, you got Tom outta the way, and you deserve to win the woman. Whaddaya say?”

  “Just hand me my money,” he said. “I’m tired of hearin’ your lies.” She glanced at the gun belt and pistol, lying several feet away near the tent flap, and took a casual step in that direction. He had noticed it as well, so he said, “Ain’t no use to even think about it. You’d never make it. So just hand me the money.”

  “You want your money?” she taunted. “Here it is. Go get it!” She tossed it past him into the rapidly moving stream. Counting on his reaction to lunge after it before it was swept downstream, she sprang toward the pistol.

  Without hesitation, he took one step in her direction and landed a right-hand punch that caught her flush on the side of her jaw, rattling her brain and knocking her senseless to land flat on her back.

  Confident that she would be helpless for a few seconds, he quickly hopped into the water and retrieved the sack of money from the rock it had conveniently gotten hung on. She had still not recovered her senses when he stepped back to confront her again.

  Spotting a coil of rope hanging on one of the tent poles, he took advantage of her helpless state and tied her hands behind her back, her feet together, and then tied her hands and feet together.

  “That oughta keep you outta mischief till I get finished here,” he said.

  * * *

  It had been a long sleepless night, but when the first rays of the morning sun shone in the trees high above the narrow gulch, he was prepared to leave. From the constant pain in his shoulder, throbbing with every beat of his heart, he was not certain he could last much longer before he was forced to lie down to rest. His head seemed a little unsteady, and he figured it was because of the blood loss he could not seem to stop completely. He was afraid that if he gave in to the urge to sleep, he might not be able to do what needed to be done before he could leave. So he managed to put his packsaddle on the sorrel and load the horse with his packs and all the weapons he could find in the mining camp—all this to the near-constant whining of the woman in an effort to play upon his sympathy.

  Whether or not her moaning had anything to do with it, he couldn’t say, but when he was ready to ride, he found that he could not kill her, in spite of her wickedness. He stood over her to state his decision. “I’m leavin’ here now and I suspect I oughta kill you, but I ain’t gonna.”

  “You can’t leave me here like this,” she cried. “That’s the same as killin’ me.”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna give you a chance, which is more than you were gonna do for me.” He took a long skinning knife that had been in one of the gun belts of her companions. Then he reached down and cut the rope that held her hands tied to her ankles. “That oughta free you up a little.”

  “Is that all you’re gonna do?” she protested. “You gonna leave me tied up like this?”

  “If you set your mind to it, you can cut yourself loose,” he said. “I’m gonna leave this knife stuck in the ground over by the tent, and I left the mule tied to a tree back there on the grass. I reckon that’s all you’ll need if you’re really wantin’ to get outta here. I wouldn’t take too long if I was you. I’ve seen some bear tracks down the stream a ways,” he couldn’t resist saying.

  “You low-down bastard,” she spat.

  “I reckon so,” he allowed. As he stepped up into the saddle, making an effort not to show the strain it caused on his shoulder, he said, “I cut the other horses loose and they wandered off downstream. I’ll let them decide if they wanna go with me. If you’ve really got some gold dust hid somewhere like you said, you can buy yourself another horse when you get to wherever you’re goin.” He paused again to say one last thing. “Wherever you end up, I’d advise you to get into another line of business.” He rode off down the stream to the sound of her cursing.

  Following the trail he had ridden up the day before, he made his way back down through the foothills to the spot where the stream became the creek that had fanned his desire to explor
e the mountains. He found the three missing horses grazing nearby. Had it not been for the weakened condition caused by his wound, he might have taken the trouble to drive the horses, but at the moment, he didn’t feel well enough to care.

  He needed help. There was no way he could tend the wound behind his shoulder. It was impossible for him to even see it clearly, much less to remove the rifle slug.

  There was only one place for him to go, so he started back the way he had come, back to Red Basket and the Crow village.

  Chapter 10

  Little Wren rose to her feet when she heard some of the young boys yelling that someone was coming. She was curious, because people came and went most of the day, so the boys would not shout to alert the village unless it was a stranger or there was something unusual about the approaching party.

  She took a few steps up the riverbank to a place where she could see the prairie more clearly. The pony herd had been moved south of the village where the grass was not grazed down, and she could see what had caught the children’s eyes. A rider leading a packhorse was approaching the herd of ponies, and there were four riderless horses that looked to be following him—three of them with saddles.

  Little Wren squinted in an effort to see if it was someone who had been to the village before, but she could not see clearly because the rider was slumped forward on the horse’s neck. He was apparently injured, and the empty saddles on the horses behind him led her to believe that the rider had just escaped an ambush. And then she realized that it was a paint pony he was riding, and her heart began to race.

  It was Slater—she knew it was!

  And he was not sitting tall in the saddle as Slater usually rode. Forgetting the pot of beans she had just filled with water, she ran back to the tipi, yelling for Red Basket.

  Kneeling by the fire, preparing to roast some of the antelope Broken Ax had killed that morning, Red Basket looked to see why Little Wren was shouting. When she saw the young girl running toward her, she got to her feet and looked around to find the cause of her excitement. It was then she saw the wounded man on the paint pony pushing through the herd of horses.

  Like Little Wren, she knew immediately that it was Slater. She left the meat by the fire and ran to meet him. The two women arrived at the edge of the herd at almost the same time. Red Basket took the reins from Slater’s hands and led the horse toward the lodges.

  Having ridden the last five miles on determination alone, Slater was content to surrender his weakened body to Red Basket’s care. He slumped heavily on the paint’s neck, saying nothing as she led him to Summer Rain’s tipi. Little Wren walked beside the horse, her face a mask of anxious concern.

  By the time they reached the tipi, a dozen more curious people had crowded around them, with many willing hands ready to help get the wounded man off his horse. He uttered a soft grunt of pain as he was lowered to stand on the ground on unsteady legs.

  “Gotta take care of my horses,” he insisted weakly, although he was standing only because Red Basket and Summer Rain were supporting him.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Red Basket said. “Broken Ax will do that.”

  Broken Ax was already pulling the packs from the sorrel. He nodded in reply to Red Basket’s remark and said, “I will turn them out with the other horses, but first, we must take you inside the tipi.”

  “I’ll be all right back where I was by the river,” Slater said, thinking that he would be crowding the tipi, since they had already taken Red Basket in.

  “Not until I fix your wound,” Red Basket said emphatically. She had not had the chance to look at the wound closely, but it was obvious that it was pretty bad, judging by his weakness. “Who did this thing? Lakota?”

  “No, white men,” Slater said. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Little Wren was already inside the tipi, making a bed for him, so the two women were able to get him settled right away. Red Basket immediately got him out of his shirt and turned him to lie on his side while she examined the ugly wound behind his shoulder. Summer Rain took the blood-soaked shirt from Red Basket and held it up to look at it. It was obvious that he had lost a great deal of blood.

  “He needs to build his blood back up,” she said. “I must go get Looks Ahead.”

  “No, I fix,” Red Basket said. She was sure the medicine man was a true maxpé man, but she felt more confidence in her ability to treat gunshot wounds. And she wanted to be sure that Slater was taken care of properly. She started to work immediately. “First, I need to clean the wound,” she said, and sent Little Wren to get some water to heat.

  While the girl ran back to the river’s edge, Red Basket went to the saddle packs on the ground to fetch the small jug of whiskey that Slater had bought for Teddy at Greeley’s trading post. It was still full, since Slater had no interest in drinking it, and it could be used to sterilize the wound. Little Wren was back with the fresh water to boil, as well as the pot of beans she had forgotten all about in her excitement.

  When the wound was cleaned enough to see better, Red Basket puzzled over it for a few moments. “What kind of gun were you shot with?” she asked.

  “A rifle,” Slater muttered painfully, “like the soldiers use. It’s with the others I had on my packhorse. The bullet’s still in there. I can feel it—like a big rock in my shoulder.”

  Surprised that a rifle slug had not gone straight through, as it was too low to have come into contact with the bone, she took another look at the front of his shoulder. Noticing then a distinct blue bulge in the skin close to his armpit, she saw that the bullet had almost gone all the way through, but had not gotten far enough to exit. “Does that hurt?” she asked, and touched it lightly with her fingertip.

  He recoiled and responded, “Hell yes.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s gonna hurt a lot more,” she said. “I’m gonna have to cut it. The bullet almost went all the way through, but it’ll be easier to get it out from this side.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that, but he understood her logic. “Do whatever you gotta do, just dig it outta me.”

  “Maybe you better drink some out of that jug,” Red Basket said as she sharpened her skinning knife. “This gonna hurt like hell.”

  “I don’t need to hurt and be sick in my belly, too,” he said. “Let’s just get on with it.”

  She poured some of the whiskey over the knife blade while he got himself set for the operation. Without warning, she made the first incision, quick and firm, a deep slash north and south. He uttered a deep grunt, but made no other sound as his back stiffened with the pain. Before he had time to think about the next slash, she cut him again, east and west, making a cross that filled with a bloody mass.

  It was enough to force him to exclaim, “Damn!” Watching from behind Red Basket, Little Wren couldn’t help making a face while Broken Ax and Summer Rain watched with interest.

  With the incisions made, Red Basket cleaned the wound again before going in after the slug embedded in the muscle surrounding his chest. As she had predicted, she did not have to probe very far before reaching it, although it took some additional probing before freeing it.

  “I got it,” she finally proclaimed, just as Looks Ahead arrived, having learned of the wounded man only minutes before.

  He gave his approval of her treatment, and left a healing potion for Slater to drink, supposedly to hasten his healing. Then he watched as Red Basket bandaged Slater’s shoulder with a large piece of cloth wrapped under his arm and over his shoulder to hold them in place.

  As a sign of respect, she thanked Looks Ahead for coming to help. Then she shooed the spectators out of the tipi so her patient could get some rest.

  “When you feel like it, I’ll give you some meat to make your blood strong,” she said to him.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, more than ready to sleep, and it wasn’t more than a few minutes time after they left him
until he was out.

  He slept through the evening, unaware of the quiet comings and goings of the family. When at last he woke up, inspired by a need to answer nature’s call, he found himself surrounded by sleeping bodies. It was in the wee hours of the morning. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to get up and go out of the tipi to find his relief, but he was determined not to surrender to the alternative.

  So with a great deal of effort, and a fair amount of stabbing pain, he got to his knees, and from there to his feet, where he stood reeling slightly until he felt steady enough to take the first step. Very carefully, he managed to make his way to the entrance flap, dragging his blanket behind him.

  Outside in the cool night air, he stood for a moment, filling his lungs. There was not another soul stirring in the sleeping village as he made his way past the tipis, heading toward the spot on the riverbank where he had made his camp before. After relieving his impatient bladder, he decided it too much effort to return to his bed in the tipi. So he wrapped his blanket around himself and lay down next to the trunk of a large cottonwood. In a matter of minutes, he was asleep, and that was where they found him when the sun came up.

  One of the old men of the village discovered the sleeping patient shortly after sunrise when he was on his way for his morning visit to the trees beyond the camp. Thinking the body lying beside the tree was dead, the old man went on to finish his business before returning to his tipi to tell his wife what he had seen. Suspecting who the dead man might be, his wife went at once to tell Red Basket.

  “Did that white man’s bullet put crazy things in your head?” Red Basket scolded when she came to stand over him. “What are you doing out here?”

  She was as mad as he had ever seen her, so he attempted to derail her anger. “Good mornin’,” he said, affecting as cheerful a tone as he could manage, considering the way he felt, and his usual stoic manner. “It’s nice down here by the water, don’t you think?”