Still surprised, Slater looked him square in the eye for a moment. Then he finally replied, “Was it the new shirt?”
Sawyer burst out with a loud guffaw. “Yeah, reckon it was. Where’d you get that fancy shirt, anyway?”
“A Crow woman made it for me,” Slater said. “My old one had a bullet hole in it.”
* * *
A short while after C Company departed the banks of the Boulder River, Iron Pony made his way down through the trees that grew thick near the base of the mountain. He stopped suddenly when he caught a movement beyond the fir trees that bordered the river.
Moving cautiously then, his rifle ready to fire, he descended a few more yards to a better position to see the trail that ran beside the river. He saw it then, an Indian pony, but without a rider. It was walking aimlessly along the trail, grazing on the small patches of grass it found among the rocks. Iron Pony immediately worked his way down to the river path and approached the horse, speaking calmly in an effort to prevent the pony from retreating. The pony merely stood still, watching the approaching warrior with curiosity, and made no move to draw away as Iron Pony took hold of the reins.
No longer on foot, Iron Pony turned back toward the north. He estimated that he was approximately a mile south of the stone entrance to the camp between the mountains. More determined than ever to follow the soldiers, in hopes of an opportunity to get to White Crow, he guided the pony carefully along the rocky riverbank.
He had not gone far when he came to a body in the middle of the path. He dismounted and turned it over to discover that it was Angry Bear, shot in the back. The sight of it caused the anger to rise in his blood once again, and he fought to contain the urge to cry out in frustration. It was one more reminder of the pain that White Crow had brought to his people.
With no thought of taking care of Angry Bear’s body, or any of the other dead left in that fatal ravine, he jumped on Angry Bear’s pony and hurried to pick up the trail of the departing soldiers.
Chapter 13
Slater discovered that he had a new friend, from a source he’d least expected. When Lieutenant Russell halted his company upon reaching the Yellowstone River again, it was to rest the horses. Since the company had not taken time for breakfast before leaving the Boulder River, he told his men they could build fires to make coffee and cook food. That meant hardtack and bacon for the troopers, but Slater passed it up, choosing his own smoked deer meat instead.
When he sat down beside one of the fires, Jeb Sawyer sat down beside him. Slater couldn’t help noticing that, except when the column was on the march, and the scouts were out ahead, left and right, any time there was a rest called, Sawyer was always at his elbow. Slater wondered if the wiry scout was still trying to atone for his cynical attitude toward him at first.
What he wasn’t aware of was that Sawyer had questioned Sergeant Bell about him while they were waiting in ambush by the stone entrance to the Sioux camp. After Bell had raved about Slater’s actions during the original encounter on the Boulder, Sawyer realized how much he had misjudged him. He was now intent upon making the young man his friend. As far as Slater was concerned, he held no hard feelings for his original treatment by Sawyer, since it was evident that he had changed his attitude. And that was on top of an apology.
The gain of one friend, however, was offset by a mortal enemy, intent upon ending his life. Slater remained unaware of his standing with the near-crazed, bloodthirsty savage—and also of the fact that, even now, he was being hunted. His thoughts had returned to dwell on the promise he had made to Red Basket and Little Wren. He didn’t like the idea of giving his word to someone, then not living up to it. He would make up for his tardiness with a packhorse loaded down with meat before the winter was over. This he vowed, unaware of the man lurking roughly a mile behind the column. His thoughts were interrupted then by a question from Sawyer.
“Where are you hangin’ your hat when the company ain’t in the field?” Sawyer asked.
Slater couldn’t answer right away. He had not had occasion to think about where he would bed down when the soldiers were in garrison. It occurred to him then that he could not live in the stable with his horses. And one experience in the cavalry barracks had been enough to convince him that he didn’t want to stay there, even if that was a permanent option.
“I don’t know,” he answered after a long pause. “I’ll fix me up a camp somewhere close, I reckon, like I always do.”
“Man, you can’t do that,” Sawyer responded. “I mean, there ain’t no need to. You can bunk in with me. I’ve got a little cabin right outside the fort. It’s just a one-room log house, but it’s a good-sized room, plenty big enough for both of us. Got a warm fireplace—I built it myself—and it’s nice and snug, tighter than a schoolteacher’s fanny. Whaddaya say? I’d be right glad to have some company for a change. Matter of fact, I’ve got half a shed built for my horse. I bet the two of us could get some lumber from the fort sawmill and build us a regular barn.”
Slater had to admit that the proposition deserved some consideration. It would be better than living in a tent or a makeshift camp down by the creek. He was almost ready to accept the invitation when he considered that Red Basket—and Little Wren, too—expected him to return to the Crow village soon. It threw him into an instant dilemma. He regretted the fact that there was no way he could get word to them that he would not likely be back any time soon. He was going to scout for the army. He had told Red Basket that was what he would most likely do, told her before he even took her to find her brother. And he realized that he had been simply swaying in the wind of indecision up to that point.
“I’ve gotta go back to Lame Elk’s village on the Musselshell sometime before a hard winter sets in,” Slater finally thought aloud.
“Whaddaya gotta go up there for?” Sawyer asked, never having heard Slater mention Lame Elk before.
Slater shrugged, realizing then that he had spoken out loud, and not really caring to share his reasons and what he felt were his obligations. “I made a promise that I’d help supply them with some meat for the winter,” he said. “And I don’t wanna break my promise.”
Sawyer removed his hat so he could scratch his head while he thought about what Slater had just said. “You know, when the army put you on the payroll to scout, I’m thinkin’ they would expect you to be where they can use you any time they need a scout for one detail or another. Have you thought about that?”
He had really not. “Not till just now,” he said. Colonel Brackett and Lieutenant Russell had been understanding the last time, when he left to take Red Basket home. But a second time they might not be so accommodating—and he had decided that he wanted to scout for the army. It was a job, a steady job that he would be paid for every month, and that sounded good to him.
If Little Wren had any sense, she’d know she’d be better off married to a man with a steady job.
He surprised himself when the thought popped into his head and wondered why he had even thought it. He immediately countered it with a thought of the lithesome Indian girl staying alone while he was off somewhere with a cavalry patrol.
No, she would be better off with her people, he told himself. “I reckon I’ll know what I’m gonna do by the time we get back to Fort Ellis,” he said to Sawyer. He was spared further explanation by the lieutenant’s order to mount.
Slater and Sawyer rode out ahead of the column, and C Company moved out behind them. The solitary figure on the other side of the river rose to his feet and got on his pony, watching the departing column for a long while before urging the pony into the river to cross over. He continued to follow the column of soldiers, almost choking on the bitter frustration of his situation, knowing the poor odds of ever finding White Crow alone.
In spite of this, he was driven by his desire for revenge and the need to regain the respect of his brother warriors for his medicine and his ability to lead the
m in battle. He continued to follow the soldiers, because he could not go back to his village until he returned with the head of the demon who had caused the death of so many of his people.
As the column drew closer to Fort Ellis, Iron Pony was forced to become more cautious, as they were now passing close to several farms. As determined as he was to try to stay as close as possible, he could not afford to be seen. A lone Lakota warrior, he would likely be shot on sight, by soldier or farmer, but he continued to follow until the buildings of the fort came into view.
After a short distance, he was forced to stop when the column rode onto the parade ground. Finding a brace of cottonwoods next to the creek bank, he guided his pony over to stand between them. From there, he watched the lieutenant dismiss his troops to take their horses to the stables. He felt the intense anger rising once more when he saw the two scouts leisurely ride over to a building on one corner of the parade ground and dismount to stand beside their horses. It appeared to be the headquarters building, for the officer came to join them after he had dismissed his men. Then all three men went inside the building.
None of the soldiers walking back and forth across the parade ground, or moving between the buildings, noticed the lone individual standing beside his pony between the cottonwoods.
After a while, the two scouts came out of the building and got on their horses again. Instead of riding them to the stables, however, they loped across the parade ground and turned onto a road that led away from the fort.
Iron Pony hurriedly jumped on his pony. Leaving the brace of cottonwoods, he rode a wide circle around the buildings facing the parade ground to strike the road taken by the scouts. When he came to it, he could see the two scouts about half a mile ahead of him. He turned onto the road and followed, being careful to maintain the distance between them and himself. He could feel the excitement building up inside him for the opportunity presented to him: White Crow and his companion were riding away from the protection of the soldiers.
A wagon, pulled by a team of two horses, appeared on the road far ahead, coming toward him. He could see the driver and some people in the wagon wave to the two scouts as they passed.
Lost in his desperate passion to kill, Iron Pony did not veer off the road, to avoid the wagon, but maintained his pony’s steady pace. When the wagon approached him, the driver started to wave but stopped short when he got a good look at the fierce warrior, painted for war, as was the horse he rode.
Stunned, the man gaped, astonished. Another man and two young boys in the back of the wagon were equally dumbfounded, staring in disbelief, as the wagon rolled slowly by the lone savage, his head and eyes looking straight ahead of him, as if not seeing them at all.
When some distance past, their heads still turned, and all eyes still fixed on the Sioux warrior, the wagon driver found his voice again. “Well, I’ll be. . . ,” he stammered. “What in the world. . . ? Am I seein’ things?”
“I’m seein’ ’em, too,” his friend said. “Just as big as life . . . and he was comin’ from the fort.”
“I ain’t sure but what I need a drink of whiskey,” the driver exclaimed. “I ain’t sure I saw what I just saw.”
“I’m damn sure I need a drink,” his friend replied. “I coulda almost reached out and touched him.”
“We saw him, too,” one of the boys said. “Can we have a drink, too?”
“In about ten years,” the driver said.
* * *
When they came to a creek running across the road, Sawyer said, “We turn off here.” He left the road and followed a narrow path beside the creek. After a short ride of about a hundred yards, they came to a log cabin with a shelter enclosed on three sides beside it. “This is it,” Sawyer said, “home, sweet home, everything you need but a woman to do the cookin’.”
Slater pulled the paint to a stop beside Sawyer’s horse and remained seated in the saddle for a few minutes while he took in the scene. It was a rustic enough cabin, but it was better than he had expected, with a shingled roof and a short stone chimney. There were a few spots on the side wall where the chinking needed replacing, but overall, the cabin looked fairly tight, just as Sawyer had claimed.
“Whaddaya think?” Sawyer asked. “Just like I told you, right?”
“I reckon,” Slater said, and dismounted. “I ain’t seen the inside, though.”
Sawyer remained in the saddle, watching Slater inspect his handiwork, proud of his efforts. Slater walked over beside the makeshift stable, then looked up and down the creek. There was a thick stand of trees, mostly cottonwoods, that bordered both sides of the creek, and plenty of grass for the horses beyond them. It was a good spot for a cabin. He walked back to the front of the cabin and stood for a moment looking at a sign made of several narrow boards with a message scrawled in big letters.
“What does the sign say?” he asked. He had never spent a day in school, and his mother had never deemed it important that he should learn to read. And up to this point in his life, he had never known a need for it.
Amused, but not overly surprised, Sawyer recited, “Anybody found in this cabin when I get back will be shot on sight.”
“That’s a lot of words,” Slater said thoughtfully. He stood aside while Sawyer got down off his horse and pulled a key from his pocket to unlock the large padlock on the door. After opening the door, Sawyer stood aside and invited his guest in.
“Mind your head on them roof beams,” Sawyer cautioned, since he had not planned for anyone of Slater’s height when he built his walls. There were not but two beams bracing the front and back walls, but they were of massive timbers and could likely cause a man a headache if he carelessly snagged his head on one of them.
Slater nodded in reply while he looked over the inside. As Sawyer had boasted, there was plenty of room for two men to share and a deep stone fireplace on a side wall. Slater was happy to see that Sawyer had not gotten too grandiose and installed a wooden floor. He would be much more comfortable unrolling his blankets on the dirt floor. In fact, the cabin, other than being much sturdier, was not unlike a tipi—except for the stone fireplace on one wall. He decided it would be a great deal better than the temporary camp he would otherwise build for himself—depending on what kind of cabin mate Sawyer turned out to be. He decided that he was glad that Sawyer had offered his hospitality, thinking he would be content here.
“Whaddaya think?” Sawyer asked again.
“Oughta do just fine,” Slater said, unaware of the sinister welcome lurking in the cottonwoods a short distance down the creek.
“Fine and dandy,” Sawyer said, happy to have some company for a change, even if it was with a near mute. “Let’s turn the horses out to graze and I’ll build us a fire in the fireplace. Then we’ll get some coffee goin’ and cook something to eat. I don’t know ’bout you, but I’m hungry enough to eat the blind side of a bear.”
“Have you got bear meat?” Slater asked naïvely.
“No, wish I did,” Sawyer answered, shaking his head, amazed by his new friend’s candor. “You really have been livin’ with the Injuns for a long time, ain’t you?”
“I reckon,” Slater answered, curious as to why the question was asked. He pulled his saddle off the paint and led it past the line of cottonwoods by the creek to release the horse to graze in the grass beyond. Sawyer followed along behind.
“Makes a nice pasture, don’t it?” Sawyer asked as they watched the horses’ reaction to the open grass prairie. “And they’ll stay pretty close to the creek,” he added, “at least mine always does.”
“Mine will stay close,” Slater said, knowing the paint never strayed very far from him. He turned to go back to the cabin, just as the rifle slug passed by him, striking Sawyer in the back. Slater heard the crack of the rifle at almost the same time Sawyer dropped to the ground.
He spun around quickly and dropped to one knee to discover a horse charg
ing him at a full gallop, with an Indian riding low on the horse’s neck trying to reload his single-shot rifle as fast as he could. There was no time to wonder how this could be happening so close to the fort, or if there were others about to attack. He could only react to the danger of the moment. His natural reflex, to quickly bring his rifle up to fire, was useless, for his rifle was on his saddle left by the door of the cabin. Still wearing the .44 Colt, however, he drew the weapon and braced himself for the attack that was almost upon him.
In the fading evening light, it was difficult to see the crazed face, twisted with angry determination, as the galloping pony bore down on him. In an effort to thwart the attacking savage’s efforts to take dead aim at him, Slater jumped up from his knee and sprang from side to side, back and forth, in a deadly game of hide-and-seek, trying to keep the horse’s head between him and the savage. It was enough to spoil Iron Pony’s efforts to get a clear shot at him before the horse was inches away from knocking him to the ground.
Grasping for any hold he could get on the rider’s body as he passed by, Slater was able to get a hand on Iron Pony’s ankle, causing him to squeeze the trigger and send a wasted shot into the ground. Slater clamped down hard, pulling the hostile off as his speeding pony ran out from under him. The force of it sent both combatants tumbling to the ground, which caused Slater to lose his pistol when he collided with the hard creek bank.
On their feet at once, they faced each other, ready to do mortal combat. With no time to speculate on where the savage had come from, or how he had happened upon Sawyer and him, Slater crouched slightly in a defensive stance, wondering why Iron Pony hesitated. The fury that had twisted the Lakota warrior’s face into a mask of hatred transformed into a smirk of open contempt. Seeing his hated adversary’s hands empty of weapons, he raised his rifle to aim at Slater’s chest but paused again to torment him.
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