“I expect I’d better,” she said, and picked up her sunbonnet from behind the log.
“You can hop up behind me and I’ll give you a ride back,” he offered.
She cast a wary glance his way and replied, “No, thanks. I can walk. You’ve done your masculine duty now, so you can be on your way. No wild Indians carried me off.”
He ignored her hint of sarcasm. “It’s still a good little piece back to the camp. I’ll go along with you.”
“It’s not that far,” she insisted. “I can see the wagons from here. I’ll be fine now.”
He looked toward the wagons, then turned to look behind them along the banks of the creek. She was right, but for his own peace of mind, he thought he might as well see her safely to her wagon. “I’ll just ride along behind you,” he said, equally insistent, “see you back to your husband and family.”
Her impatience unraveling and rapidly being replaced with open irritation, she stated emphatically, “I don’t have a husband, and I don’t need one, so why don’t you just go on about your business and I’ll tend to mine?”
Her message could not have been clearer, so he apologized. “Sorry to have bothered you, miss.” He reined the buckskin to a halt as she continued walking, her stride purposeful and strong.
After walking for a few minutes, she allowed herself a quick glance behind her and discovered that he was keeping pace with her from a distance of perhaps fifty yards. “Oh, good grief,” she muttered to herself, and increased her pace. By the time she reached her brother-in-law’s wagon, she felt that she needed another bath, due to the briskness of her walk. Glancing behind her then, she saw him wheel the buckskin around and head back upstream at a lope.
Without consciously thinking about it, he made a mental note of the wagon she went to. It certainly appeared that he had managed to thoroughly irritate the woman, although it had been his intention to see that she was not in any danger. As he rode back upstream to finish what he had started to do before encountering the lady in the bush, he didn’t know what to think about the woman—but he did think about her, and for some time after this evening’s encounter.
The wagon train set out the following morning, hoping to camp that night where the Bozeman Trail crossed Clear Creek. The wheels started rolling precisely at four o’clock, as Jack Grainger had mandated, with no slackers tolerated. The emigrant wagons had been warned from the first day that to fall behind would result in that wagon being left on its own. Grainger was smart enough to take advantage of Johnny Hawk’s knowledge of the Powder River country. Jim Bridger had assured him that no man knew it any better, so he put Johnny and Rider out front during the early hours of darkness. After the sun came up, he was able to lead the train, himself, relying on his memory of the one time he had made the trip before, and guided by the occasional signals of Johnny as he and Jim scouted the country up ahead of the wagons.
At ten o’clock, the train stopped by a stream to eat breakfast and rest the stock. Jim and his partner rode in to take their breakfast as well, building their fire close to the wagons. Jack Grainger walked over to their fire to discuss the afternoon’s plan of travel.
“Who is that man over there?” Lucy Taylor asked her brother-in-law when he walked up to the fire after tending the mules. When he turned to see where she pointed, she continued. “That one, the tall one talking to Mr. Grainger.”
“I don’t know,” Harvey replied. “Scout, I guess. Him and the little short one joined the train back at Fort Reno, same as us. I think Sam Barfield said his name is Rider.”
“Rider?” Lucy responded. “What kind of name is that?” Harvey shrugged. Lucy continued to question. “Rider what? Or what Rider? Is it his first name or last name?”
“I don’t know,” Harvey said, more interested in the coffeepot just then reaching a boil. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Tessie paused to give her sister a puzzled glance before turning the bacon over in the pan. After turning the sizzling strips of fried pork, she stood erect and stared toward the scouts’ campfire, taking a good look at the man in question. “Why are you so interested in the man, Lucy?” She favored her sister with a knowing smile.
Lucy blushed. “I’m not interested in him,” she said. “I was just wondering, that’s all.” When Tessie continued to fix on her with that wide smile, she tried to explain. “He just chased me in the bushes yesterday when I was taking a bath.”
“What?” Harvey and Tessie replied, almost in unison. “Why didn’t you say something about it yesterday?” Harvey asked, obviously concerned that the man had accosted Lucy.
“Whoa,” Lucy exclaimed. “It’s nothing like you’re thinking. What I should have said is that I hid in the bushes when he happened to come down to the creek right where I was taking my bath. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t even know I was there.” She went on to relate the encounter by the creek.
“So now you want to know his name?” Tessie said, seeing an opportunity to tease her sister. “He is tall, isn’t he? I can’t tell much about him from this distance. He looks like an Indian.”
“He’s not an Indian,” Lucy said, “and I’m not the slightest bit interested in him, so let’s drop it.”
Harvey had already put the matter aside, relieved that he was not going to be called upon to defend his sister-in-law’s honor. He could tell from that distance that he was tall, and broad-shouldered as well, and he would not have enjoyed taking him to task. Tessie had to turn her attention back to the breakfast she was cooking, so Lucy was spared further taunting about the tall scout. Always the imp, however, Tessie would be sure to broach the subject again, if only to see her younger sister blush. She delighted in teasing Lucy about her proclaimed attitude toward men in general and the competitive nature she tried to exhibit to others. Lucy insisted that she could get along just fine without some lazy husband to contend with—an attitude that would have offended Harvey had he not so readily fit the profile. In fact, he enjoyed the benefit of Lucy’s help with the team of mules.
The breakfast break over, the wagon train set out again, following the Crazy Woman for five or six miles before leaving it to take a more northwesterly direction. With the route established, Jim and Johnny Hawk rode out away from the train to scout the country ahead.
The prairie gradually transcended into rolling grassland as they approached the foothills, dotted with stands of pines. And off to the west of their route, Jim could now see the taller, stark, and foreboding peaks of the Big Horn Mountains. The sight of them seemed to fill his veins with their call to his primitive soul, regenerating a feeling that he had always felt that he was somehow born to the mountains. He had a strong urge to turn the buckskin’s head directly west and ride into the midst of the majestic peaks. Such notions of fantasy were restrained, however, by his responsibility to scout the foothills while Johnny ranged east of the wagon train.
Loping along comfortably, he let his gaze sweep the hills before him, from one ridge to another, some with wide meadows while others were ringed with thick bands of pines. Suddenly his eye caught a movement of some kind near the base of a hill. It was just for a moment, but he was certain his eyes had not played tricks on him. It could have been a deer or some other animal passing through the pines, or it could have been something more dangerous, like a Sioux war party. He knew he had to find out what, if anything, was on the other side of that stand of pines. Of concern to him then was, had that something or someone spotted him as he rode along nonchalantly daydreaming and admiring the scenery?
Without thinking about it, his initial reaction was to pull his rifle and crank a cartridge into the chamber. Then he replaced it in the sling and guided his horse down across a grassy draw and up the ridge on the other side, hurrying to gain the cover of a ravine leading up the slope toward the stand of pines. Before reaching the top of the ravine, he pulled the Henry again and dismounted. Dropping the buckskin’s reins to the ground, he crawled up close to the edge of the ravine. What he saw convinced him t
hat he would have ridden into a real hornet’s nest had he not caught sight of that slight movement in the trees. On the uphill side of the trees, a Sioux war party rode, using the pines to hide them as they paralleled the train of wagons in the valley below. The movement Jim had spotted was no doubt one of their scouts who had been following the progress of the wagons. From his position on the topside of the ravine, Jim could see the prairie ahead of the wagons, speculating on the spot the war party might be thinking about attacking. It was a sizable party, he estimated maybe sixty or seventy strong, but he could not tell how well they were armed. Whatever their strength, Jim had to believe that the well-armed men of Grainger’s freight train would be more than a match for the Indians—but only if the wagons were not surprised before they could go into a defensive position. His job was obvious. He had to warn Grainger before they reached a point parallel with the edge of the pine belt.
Even then as he was withdrawing from the top of the ravine, the Sioux warriors were crowding up to the edge of the trees, awaiting the signal to attack. In the saddle on the fly, he urged the buckskin impatiently down the ravine and crossed over the ridge between him and the valley at a gallop. With hooves pounding the short grass prairie, he emerged in the open and raced after the wagons.
There seemed to be no relief from the heat of the previous two days as the wagons trudged forward at their monotonous pace. Lucy could have enjoyed the view of the mountains as she drove the mules, in relief of Harvey, had it not been for a long barren stretch where the grass had evidently been burned in a prairie fire. Whether set by lightning or Indian, it had left a large section of the prairie scorched. Aided by a stout summer breeze, the wagon train stirred up a dingy gray cloud of smut-filled dust that billowed out behind them, an unfortunate occurrence for those bringing up the rear. Consequently, the emigrant wagons got the worst of it.
Never one to follow the rules when they inconvenienced her, Lucy soon rebelled against the cloud of soot in her eyes, and pulled the wagon out of line, driving them a good fifty yards out to the side before the constant wave of dust. “We’re gonna get in trouble with Mr. Grainger,” Tessie warned when Lucy drove the team out of line.
“I don’t see him back here choking to death on this dust,” Lucy replied. “Besides, what’s he gonna do, tell us to get back in place?”
Tessie shrugged, equally glad to escape the soot and grime. There was no argument from Harvey, who had taken the opportunity to get a nap in the back of the wagon.
Since the trail was wide and gentle enough, she continued on away from the train even after the scorched patch of prairie was passed. Suddenly Tessie turned in the wagon seat when she saw a lone rider clear the top of a low ridge, racing toward them. “Somebody is sure in a hurry to . . .” She paused then. “Isn’t that your Indian scout?” Before Lucy could turn and see for herself, the rider fired his revolver in the air three times, the signal to circle the wagons.
“Oh, Lord,” Lucy muttered, and hauled away on the traces. “Gee, mules, gee!” she yelled, and applied the whip.
The wagon lurched to the right, bringing a confused Harvey clawing his way up to the seat behind her. “What is it?” he yelled, confused when he saw how far they were out of position.
“Circle up!” Lucy answered, still urging the mules on, still fifty yards from the other wagons already forming up. A few seconds later, the pine forest on her left seemed to explode into a screaming horde of savages that poured out upon the prairie, heading for the wagons.
“Holy Mother of God,” Harvey uttered when he saw the hostiles. “We’re not gonna make it,” he said, and reached for the shotgun behind the seat.
With the buckskin stretching its stride to cover ground as quickly as it could, Jim bent low in the saddle. “What the hell are they doin’ way out there?” he exclaimed when he topped the ridge and saw the lone wagon apart from the rest. Looking back at the host of warriors descending the slope, he saw that it was going to be a close race even if he headed straight for the circle already forming. The wagon was going to be swarmed over before it could reach the circle. With no choice, he holstered his pistol and drew his rifle. Then he made for the lone wagon, still at a full gallop. The errant wagon did not go unnoticed by the Sioux warriors, and a dozen or more split off from the others to go after it, unleashing a barrage of gunfire and arrows. Jim looped his reins loosely around his saddle horn so he could use both hands to fire his rifle. Stretching flat out in the gallop, the buckskin provided a steady platform for his Henry and he fired it as fast as he could pull the trigger and cock it again. The twelve warriors chasing the wagon were bunched closely, so he simply aimed in the middle of them. One by one they slid from the saddle as his deadly fire found them while their bullets zipped harmlessly on either side of him.
When four of their number had gone down, the rest wisely scattered to escape the deadly killing machine bearing down on them, shooting wildly at him as they fled to join their brothers. In the meantime, Grainger, at Johnny Hawk’s suggestion, left a fifty-foot opening at one end of the circle of wagons and waited to see if the hostiles would charge through it, thinking to slaughter what they might believe to be a train of white families. Back on the prairie, Jim pulled up even with Lucy’s wagon and pointed toward the opening in the circle. She nodded that she understood and urged the mules on. Seeing the lurching wagon as it raced toward the circle, the Sioux immediately tried to cut it off. But Lucy beat them to the opening and raced through it, Jim right beside her, with bullets and arrows flying after them. Unaware of the trap set for them, or the firepower of the teamsters, the raiders rode inside the circle after Lucy. Caught in a cross fire from both sides, and finding repeating rifles in the hands of men who knew how to use them, the war party soon fled back out of the trap as fast as they could get their ponies turned around, leaving their dead behind in their panic to escape.
“By God, I don’t think they’ll be back,” Johnny Hawk crowed as he walked out from behind a wagon, reloading his rifle.
Over by the McGowan wagon, Jim stepped down from his weary horse and looked up at Lucy. “Are you all right, miss?”
Thoroughly shaken, now that it was over, yet game enough to hold herself together, she smiled and replied. “Yes, thanks to you mostly, I guess.”
Harvey McGowan climbed down, then helped Tessie and Lucy down, his shotgun propped behind the seat again, having never been fired. “I was bouncing around so much, I couldn’t get steady enough to take a shot,” he explained. He extended his hand then. “Mister, I wanna shake your hand. You sure came along at the right time.”
Jim didn’t have time to respond before Johnny walked up. “I swear, partner, I didn’t think you was gonna leave any Injuns for the rest of us to shoot.”
Motioning toward the bodies lying within the circle of wagons, Jim replied, “Oh, I don’t know. It looks to me like you fellers did all right. Besides, mine were ridin’ pretty much in a bunch. A man would have to be a pretty poor shot not to hit somethin’.” Feeling someone’s eyes upon him, he turned to face Lucy just as she averted her gaze in order to miss his.
There wasn’t much time for further talk. Already Grainger was summoning his men to get their teams ready to roll and leave this place behind, not knowing if there were more war parties in the vicinity. The next one might be bigger, but he was still confident in his superior firepower to see them through attacks by raiding parties of any size. He came over to talk to Harvey. Of interest at the moment was the condition of Harvey’s mules. They had been pushed to a long, hard run in Lucy’s sprint for the rest of the train, and Grainger was concerned that they were in no shape to keep up. Harvey and Lucy, in particular, were subjected to a lecture by the captain of the wagon train for their departure from the line. “If those mules are too tired to keep the pace,” he complained, “they’re gonna slow up the whole train, and it’s best that we leave this place as soon as possible.”
Jim listened to the lecture without comment. The expansive area of burned-out
prairie would indicate that the valley had been the site of an earlier attack upon an emigrant train. It might be a favorite spot for Sioux warriors to sit in ambush, since the valley narrowed slightly, making it further suitable for ambush. It was not a good spot for McGowan’s wagon to lag behind. When Grainger had finished his admonishing, Jim spoke up. “If they can’t keep up, I’ll hang back and ride with ’em.”
Although not yet recovered from the terrifying dash for life, Tessie glanced quickly at her sister to see her reaction to the scout’s offer. But Lucy was still smarting somewhat from Grainger’s remarks, too much so at that moment to read anything personal into Jim’s words. Though she was prone to recover quickly from stressful situations, her disposition at the moment was one of defiance. One spectator, who found the incident amusing, was Johnny Hawk as he read the faces of Jim and Lucy, and wondered if his somber young partner had more than a casual interest in the rambunctious young lady. Harvey was quick to apologize for impeding the progress of the train—not so with Lucy, however. “We’ll keep up,” she declared emphatically. “Don’t worry about us.” Her statement raised Grainger′s eyebrows, brought a faint smile to Johnny’s face, and an expression of alarm to Harvey’s.
“All right, then,” Grainger said. “Let’s get ready to roll.” He returned to his own wagon, leaving them to stand looking at each other in silence.
It was Tessie who spoke first. “Let’s get away from here and all these dead Indians,” she said.
“These mules need water,” Jim said, stating the obvious. “That looks like some kinda stream up ahead there.” He said pointing toward a line of trees and bushes that usually defined water. “My horse needs it, too.”
Ride the High Range Page 9
