“If you don’t mind me sayin’,” Slater said, “you won’t need as many men to guard the entrance on this end. They’d have to come outta there one at a time. Two or three men with plenty of ammunition oughta be able to take care of it. It’s the other end where you’ll need most of your men, ’cause you’ll have to place ’em on both sides of that ravine to stop those Injuns if they make a run for it.”
“What if they don’t make a run for it?” Russell asked.
“Then I reckon that’s up to you,” Slater replied. “You’ll go in to get ’em, or set up outside and starve ’em out.”
“Either way,” Russell said, “the important thing is to get into position before morning so they don’t have a chance to escape that box they’re in.” He turned to Sergeant Bell. “Pick five men to stay here with you to hold that entrance. Then give them all the word that we’ll be moving out of here as soon as the horses are rested.” He paused to consider. “And after the men have had supper,” he added.
* * *
Campfires were smothered, and the troop prepared to mount amid the low grumbling of complaining voices. Lieutenant Russell held a last-minute briefing with Sergeant Bell and the scouts to coordinate the ambush.
The plan was very simple. If the Indians came out of the narrow stone entrance, Bell and his men were to turn them back with rifle fire. If the Indians came out by way of the ravine, Bell would hear the rifle fire and simply maintain his defense of the stone face.
Addressing the sergeant, Russell said, “Sawyer will go with you and show you where the hidden entrance is, so you can best position your men to stop anyone who tries to come out of it.”
With nothing more to be said, the foray got under way.
Walking the horses as quietly as possible, Slater led the column of troopers north along the river trail for a distance of approximately three miles. A wide creek flowed into the river from the lower hills to the east at that point. There was no trail beside the creek, but the terrain was not so rugged here as that they had just left behind them. So it was possible to follow the creek through the trees and brush that bordered it.
After half a mile, the creek turned back toward the high mountains and their progress became a little more difficult. Slater could hear the occasional cursing of a trooper as his horse placed its foot wrong and almost stumbled. As they approached the first of the higher mountains, the going became difficult to the point where they had to take to the water and ride up the middle of the creek.
“Does it get any rougher than this?” Russell called to Slater in a loud whisper.
“Not much,” Slater called back, “but we ain’t gotta go much farther.” True to his word, they had proceeded less than a hundred yards farther when he held up his hand to halt the column. Lieutenant Russell pulled up beside him.
“This is it,” Slater said. “This is where that ravine spreads out from that ridge up there.” He pointed to the top of the ravine. “That canyon closes on the point of the ravine, and I expect your Sioux war party is most likely camped thirty or forty yards shy of it.”
The column of troopers climbed out of the water, guiding their horses carefully over the rocky creek bank and gathered in a small clearing in a belt of fir trees.
“If you don’t want those warriors to know you’re settin’ up an ambush for ’em, you might wanna keep all your men right here till it gets closer to daylight. The wind ain’t blowin’ in our favor, and if you get too close, they might hear somebody say something, or a horse snort.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Russell said. “I don’t want to wait till they can see us moving up, though.”
“You’ll have plenty of time just before sunup,” Slater assured him. “They ain’t likely to head out anywhere before then. I know it’s too dark to see much from back here. But if you want to, you and me can slip up the ravine a ways so you can get a better look at where you wanna place your men.”
“Good idea,” Russell said. He told a corporal what he was going to do, and instructed him to keep the men quiet and the horses calm. “If they want to, the men can catch a little sleep, as long as every other man stays awake. They can take turns, a couple of hours at a time.”
Then Russell and Slater disappeared into the darkness to scout the ravine for firing positions.
They scouted the pine- and fir-lined ravine as thoroughly as possible for Russell to get a picture in his mind of the way he would position his men to sweep the floor of the ravine from both sides.
Satisfied, he signaled Slater and they returned to the clearing beyond the trees. Although the lieutenant had given his permission to do so, they found not a man asleep. Slater could almost feel the tension building among them. He walked over beside his horse, pulled a strip of smoked venison out of the saddlebag, and sat down to chew on it.
* * *
After a long and tense night, the faint light before dawn finally found the dark creek valley, and the men began to recheck their weapons and cartridges, moving about in an effort to ease the stiffness from the long wait.
On a signal from the corporal, they gathered closely around the lieutenant while he gave them their orders, stressing the point that this was not a police action. This was war, and in war the objective is to kill the enemy, but if the Sioux tried to surrender, they were to take captives.
That said, he detailed five men to stay with the horses. The remaining thirty were divided into two groups, fifteen on each side of the ravine. When everyone understood his responsibility, the company moved as quietly as possible up into the ravine with Russell indicating with hand signals where he wanted them positioned.
“Find yourself some cover to shoot from,” he told them, leaving them pretty much on their own to select a place that suited them.
When Russell went with the men on the left side of the ravine, Slater decided to join those on the right, for no other reason than to make it even. With the ambush set, there was nothing to do then but wait.
The waiting was not over with the awakening of the hostile camp. More time crept by while the sounds of the Indians’ preparations to move out of the canyon drifted over the ridge to those waiting in ambush below. And then, gradually, the sounds faded away and were gone.
“Hold your positions.” The word was passed along both sides of the ravine.
Slater strained to look across to where Russell was. It was obvious that the hostiles had gone down the trail toward the Boulder River where Sergeant Bell’s men were set to stop them. Slater wondered why Russell didn’t order his men up the ravine to take new positions in the canyon, squeezing the Indians in even tighter. He tried to signal him with a wave of his hand, but it was too late, for he heard the first faraway rifle shot from Bell’s group at the stone entrance. In a few minutes, there were more shots fired, as another hostile evidently tried to escape the trap. Then the firing stopped.
Here they come, Slater thought, picturing the Indians hurrying back up the narrow trail toward this end of the canyon.
“Hold your fire till they come down in the ravine!” Russell yelled.
His plan was to kill as many in the initial barrage as possible, because if the survivors retreated to hole up in the canyon, it was going to be tough to force them out. He knew there would be casualties if he had to charge up that ravine to smoke them out, for they would hold the high ground. There was no time to speculate further, for he saw the first of the hostiles appear at the top of the ravine. Leading their horses, they hurried over the lip and made their way down into the center of the ravine.
Concealed from sight, behind boulders and trees, the soldiers held their fire, as ordered. High up, near the top of the ravine, Slater counted the warriors as they came into sight. In a few minutes, all but a few of the hostiles were down in the ravine, each one leading his horse.
When they were almost to the bottom of the narrow gulch, Russell could not afford to wait l
onger. The leading warriors were getting close to the cavalry horses near the creek.
* * *
Up above, Iron Pony was startled by the sudden eruption of gunfire from the ravine below the camp.
It was a trap! The soldiers had closed off the escape route!
He had been one of the first behind Man Looking Back to lead the war party down through the trees to the secret stone entrance. Man Looking Back went out of the opening in the stone cliff and was shot down as soon as he stepped out into the open. Right behind him, Medicine Hat tried to get back inside the rocks but was also killed.
“Go back!” Iron Pony had shouted. “The soldiers are waiting for us! We must go out the other way!”
Even as he had said it, he hoped the soldiers didn’t know about the back door to their camp. Lagging behind, he kept watch on the narrow trail, ready to fire on any soldiers that followed them. No one followed, and by the time he reached their campsite, all but a few of the warriors had led their ponies over the edge into the ravine.
Now, with the constant rattle of rifle fire coming to his ears from the ravine, he knew there was no way out of the trap, save one. He looked up the steep slope of the mountain that formed one side of the pocket they were trapped in.
Desperate to escape death or capture, he quickly considered the near-vertical climb it would take to go up the side of the mountain. There was no other choice, so he slung his rifle on his back and looped his extra cartridge belt over his shoulder. Then he selected what looked to him to be the best possible way up out of the pocket and started climbing up the rocky-faced slope.
His objective was to reach a tree-covered ledge, two hundred feet above. Using hands and feet, he pulled himself up the face of the cliff, trusting each hand- and foothold to support him. He climbed until he was about halfway up and paused to catch his breath between two rocks jutting out from the face of the cliff.
Looking back down at the canyon floor, he saw the last three warriors at the edge of the ravine, standing with their hands in the air. The sight of it made him more desperate to escape. He pushed himself to climb faster, the strain on his arms and legs causing his muscles to cramp. Still he forced himself to pull up, until finally he reached the ledge.
Near exhaustion, he managed to get his hand on a small pine near the lip and pull himself up on the ledge. He lay there on his belly for a few moments before pulling himself to the rim of the ledge, to look back down.
Anger flared in his brain when he saw the soldiers moving up from the ravine to take the three prisoners in hand. He couldn’t help thinking that this defeat would not have happened if the others had listened to his pleas to ride north to attack the Crows.
Maybe Medicine Hat would sing a different song now, had he not been shot down, he thought, recalling that Medicine Hat had spoken against his plan. He put that aside. It was time to think about what he must do now.
He had started to push away from the edge when something he saw suddenly stopped him cold. It was as if he had stopped breathing for a few seconds.
It was him!
Standing near the soldier who looked like an officer, he stood, tall, holding the medicine rifle casually at his side.
White Crow! It could be no one else. Even at that distance, Iron Pony was sure. He almost cried out in frustration upon realizing the demon that had brought him such agony and humiliation was once again the cause of a devastating defeat.
Unable to release his anguish, he bit his lip until blood ran out of his mouth and down upon his chin, and he recited his vow to kill this demon that Wakan Tanka had permitted to torment him.
I must hunt him down and kill him, he vowed, then put his head on a pole so my people will know my medicine is strong and I have taken his.
The temptation to take a shot at White Crow from the ledge was almost overpowering; he wanted him dead so badly, but it was not a sure shot at this distance and this angle. But even if he didn’t miss, he would be deprived of the trophy he was determined to have—White Crow’s head. The demon’s death at long range would not answer Iron Pony’s passion to kill with his own hands. It had grown now from a passion almost to a sickness that knew only one cure.
He lay there for a long time, his eyes following every movement of the man responsible for his anguish, building the legend of the white Crow in his mind. Seeing how often the officer appeared to be consulting White Crow, Iron Pony assumed that, in itself, was evidence enough to prove he was no ordinary man. To kill such a medicine man would certainly allow him to take his medicine for himself.
I know where you are now, he thought. You ride with the soldiers. I will track you until I have my chance to kill you. It makes no difference how long it takes. One day you will face me.
He recalled thinking earlier that it had been bad luck when the others would not ride north to find the Crow village. But he now realized that it had been good luck disguised as bad luck, for it brought White Crow to him.
His despair lifted somewhat, for he saw the spirits favoring him, in spite of the deaths of his fellow tribesmen. After some time, he drew back from the cliff. He needed to find a horse right away if he was to follow the soldiers. Then he would wait for an opportunity to find White Crow alone.
* * *
The soldiers seemed in no hurry to leave. They lingered at the Sioux campsite for quite a while, their mission accomplished. Leaving the Sioux dead where they lay, the horse guard was called up from the ravine. Russell sent a soldier down the narrow trail to tell Sergeant Bell and his men to stay where they were, as he intended to exit the hostile camp that way. It was a shorter distance than the way back down the creek behind.
When the horses were brought up, the order was given to mount, the three Lakota prisoners were put on their ponies, and the column moved down the trail to the stone passage. When they reached the opening, they found the bodies of Man Looking Back and Medicine Hat, one on top of the other. They had been pulled out of the way by the soldiers left to guard that entrance.
When Striped Otter passed the bodies, he looked behind him to catch Angry Bear’s eye. Angry Bear nodded solemnly. Like Striped Otter, he was saddened to see the war chief sprawled grotesquely in death. More than that, he felt dishonored for having surrendered, even though there had been no chance for escape.
As the company filed out of the entrance to the hidden trail, one at a time, each man leading his horse, they found Sergeant Bell, Jeb Sawyer, and the five privates of his detail seated around a fire on the rocky apron. They were drinking coffee and eating hardtack.
“Howdy, boys,” Bell greeted them. “What have you fellers been up to? Sounded like you was havin’ a little shindig back up the hill.”
“We were at that,” one of the older privates replied. “I sure as hell hope we didn’t disturb your little tea party.”
The japing stopped momentarily when the three Sioux prisoners filed out of the opening and stood beside their ponies. They were directed to the side of the trail by the two soldiers detailed to guard them. Seeing Bell and his men leisurely enjoying a cup of coffee, the two guards were moved to join the japing as well.
Seeing the guards relax their attention, Angry Bear decided it was his chance. He leaped on his horse’s back and made a break for freedom. Whipping the pony relentlessly, he fled up the river trail at a reckless gallop toward the rugged mountains to the south. Several rifles were fired, almost at the same time, but none of the shots struck the fleeing hostile.
Jeb Sawyer unhurriedly laid the front sight of his Winchester ’66 on the departing warrior’s back and calmly squeezed the trigger. The Indian pony ran a dozen more yards before Angry Bear slid off to land beside the trail.
Relieved of its rider, the pony continued up the trail toward the high mountains. Sawyer extracted the empty shell, sat back down on his rock, and picked up the cup he had set down to avoid spilling any of the coffee it held.
&n
bsp; The two troopers assigned to guard the prisoners reacted by immediately holding their carbines on the two remaining prisoners amid a chorus of gleeful shouts and exclamations of praise for Sawyer’s marksmanship. Sergeant Bell told one of the soldiers to run up the trail to see if the Indian was dead.
“If he ain’t, shoot him,” he said.
Lieutenant Russell came through the opening then, immediately concerned about the shots he had just heard. When told of the circumstances that caused the Indian to be killed, he nodded, concerned no longer.
“One less to worry with,” he said. He turned to Bell then. “Sergeant, I hate to break up your little party, but I would like to return to the post before dark. So get the men ready to ride, and we’ll all stop for some coffee and something to eat when we strike the Yellowstone.”
One of the last to come out of the passage, Slater led his horse over to the river to drink while the column was preparing to move out. While he stood there watching the paint drink, he was joined by Sawyer, who moved up to stand beside him.
“Russell’s feelin’ pretty smug right now,” he said. “He’s really feelin’ good about not losin’ a single man. I reckon that’s a real feather in his cap. It was just like we expected on this end. First couple of Injuns out the door got shot full of holes—didn’t no more try it after that.”
“I expect not,” Slater answered calmly. He sensed that Sawyer wanted to tell him something else. He didn’t understand why he didn’t come out with it, whatever it was.
“Yes, sir,” Sawyer went on, “wasn’t much to do on this end.” He said nothing more for a long moment until Slater took the paint’s reins, thinking the horse had had enough to drink. “Listen, Slater,” Sawyer said. “I reckon I owe you an apology.”
Surprised, Slater asked, “For what?”
Finding it difficult, but knowing he owed the young man, Sawyer pressed on. “For actin’ like a damn jackass before I knew if you was green or not. Sometimes I let my mouth run loose when my brain’s shut down.” He stood looking at Slater for a few seconds more, waiting for his response, but Slater was too astonished to reply. “Anyway, I apologize, and I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
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