Where the Bullets Fly

by Terrence McCauley

  “You may come in peace, Young One, but your people have not.”

  “You call me Young One. Then you must remember me and my father.”

  Wolf Child grunted. “Loud One is difficult to forget. Have you followed in his ways?”

  Mackey knew the Blackfoot tribe called Pappy “The Loud One,” but Pappy didn’t speak their language and had been told the term meant “Great Friend.” Mackey had never seen any reason to tell his father otherwise. “I am like him in all honorable ways, great chief, but quieter.”

  Wolf Child himself grew quiet for a time. Mackey kept his eyes on Sim, who looked as calm as he always did. If they were in danger, Sim would have signaled him somehow.

  When the chief did speak, he said, “You call me Great Chief, yet you see my people are dead. Our people were murdered by the same white men who attacked your village.” He motioned toward Sim. “The Quiet One has told us this. Our women and children and old men were butchered like buffalo while I led my men in a great hunt to feed them. You call me Great Chief. A great chief protects his people. An old man allows his people to be slaughtered. I am an old man.”

  All of the remaining men of the village told him he was wrong, muttering praises and accolades in his name. He silenced them with the slightest turn of his great head.

  Mackey said, “I grieve, too. My village has also lost men and women and children. This is why I have hunted these men until now. These men are not of my village and not of my people. From now on, I will also hunt them for you and for the people they have taken from you.”

  Wolf Child grew very still. Mackey felt a coldness pass through his body as the chief glared at him. He could have blamed it on the remnants of his pneumonia, but knew better. “You believe that I am so weak that I need a white man to kill for me? The same white men who hack holes into our mountains and cut down our trees while the cattle you have brought eat of our grass and defile it with their dung.”

  “The buffalo does the same as a cow,” Mackey said.

  “The buffalo have always been here,” Wolf Child answered. “This has always been their land and ours.”

  Mackey found a way to keep his voice from quivering as he answered. “Wolf Child needs no man—white or otherwise—to do anything for him. I meant no offense, only brotherhood as our two peoples have lived together in peace for many seasons. We have shown thanks for your kindness by sharing our bounty with you. Any deeds committed against your people have been punished. Just as the shadow of a weak man cannot dim the fire of a great one, this man Darabont cannot harm your name.”

  The men of the village voiced their agreement with Mackey and, this time, the chief did not silence them.

  Mackey nodded at Sim. “You have allowed my friend to share the comfort of your fire. I know he has told you what has happened in my village.”

  For the first time, Wolf Child looked at him. Mackey damned near flinched. “You would not still be alive if he had not. My young men thirst for vengeance. Old men should not know such thirst, but yet I do. Your lives would have been taken for those we lost had the Quiet One not told us of what had happened. Our friend tells us you seek justice for what has happened to you. Our people suffered first. Their justice should be first.”

  “These men will suffer for what they did to my people and yours, great chief. This I swear to you.”

  The old man grunted and looked into the fire. When he spoke, it seemed to be to everyone within earshot and not just to Mackey. “Long ago, when the white man first came to our lands, our people rode out to meet them. The Loud One spoke of peace and life. We had heard the lies of the white man before, but we allowed him to bring his people to our land. We were happy to see his words of peace and life were real. When the Young One wore a Blue Coat, we knew he hunted the Apache and the Comanche. These men are animals meant to be hunted. When the Young One returned, we feared he would hunt us as well, but he has kept the peace The Loud One had promised. I saw truth in the words of the father then. There is truth in the words of his son now. This is why I will send two of my warriors with you to help hunt the man who hurt my people. They will help you find the justice we both seek. This is my word.”

  Mackey was in no position to argue. He only had seven men against at least forty of Darabont’s crew.

  Besides, Wolf Child didn’t seem to be in a negotiating mood. “I will be proud to have them with me. They can share our fire and . . .”

  “They will need nothing from you or any white man.” He looked at the scorched remains of his village, then back at the fire. “The white man has given them vengeance. That will be enough.”

  The chief signed to Sim, who signed back. Then the scout stood up and motioned Mackey to follow him.

  Sim led him back toward camp through the darkness, without a moon or a torch. Mackey didn’t know how he did it, especially since he’d never been there before, but he did.

  Sim was like that.

  The Blackfoot did not follow.

  Chapter 34

  There were times when Mackey believed that Sim’s silence posed a problem. This was one of those times.

  As they trailed Sim’s horse behind them on the walk back to his posse’s camp, Mackey had been full of questions for Sim about what he had found on the trail. How far ahead was Darabont? How many were with him? Does he have provisions? Did Katherine leave any clues farther up the trail?

  But since Sim didn’t speak, every question had to wait until they men reached the light of Brahm’s campfire. Sim had his coffee and handed Mackey the notebook that had a full accounting of all he’d seen and done that day.

  Mackey tilted the notebook to get a better angle on the light. Billy looked over his shoulder as he read it.

  Sim’s elegant handwriting read: “We killed far more men than we thought. Darabont’s men are about twenty-five in number. I found one man buried just off the trail. Whoever buried him made a half-hearted attempt to hide the grave. Tracks show they have a wagon with them. The ruts left by the wheels tell me the wagon is still loaded heavy. Could be provisions. Could be captives. I don’t know which. Judging by the scat of their horses, I’d say the bulk of the force is about a day ahead of us. If we push hard through tomorrow, we can catch up to at least his rear guard by dawn the next day.”

  Mackey closed the notebook and handed it back to the scout. “How was the dead man you found killed?”

  Sim pointed to a rifle, then to the right side of his chest.

  “Probably got winged chucking dynamite sticks,” Billy said.

  Mackey thought so, too. “You wrote that he has twenty-five men. You used to think it was forty. Did we kill that many or did they separate from him?”

  Sim shrugged and drank his coffee.

  “Does it look like he’s got anyone watching their back trail?”

  Sim nodded and held up two fingers. Two men.

  Billy looked encouraged. “Guess he can’t spare the men for a proper rear guard.”

  But Mackey wasn’t so sure. “The half-breed Darabont called Concho looked like a tracker to me. He’s probably out front scouting for them now. If Darabont’s men think we’re getting close, he’ll put Concho on their back trail to make it tougher for us to follow.” To Sim, he said, “You keep an eye out for him. He’s dangerous.”

  Sim drank his coffee. He didn’t look worried. He never did.

  Mackey realized the rest of his men of the posse were looking at him, their faces blank. He couldn’t blame them. They’d just watched him having a one-way conversation with a mute.

  He decided to give them a quick rundown of Sim’s notes. “Looks like we’re up against twenty-five men or so, which is fewer than we thought, but still outnumber us more than three to one. They’re pulling a heavy wagon and about a day ahead of us. The Indian who pulled me out of here is with a Blackfoot tribe that Darabont hit while he was coming to Dover Station. They’re giving us two of their warriors to help us track down Darabont’s men. They’ll come in handy if lead starts to fly,
too. If we’re lucky, they’ll help keep the lead from flying at all.”

  Brahm grumbled as he began to gather the used dishes for washing. “I ain’t cooking for no heathen savages.”

  “You won’t have to,” Mackey said. “They’re on their own and won’t be bedding with us either. They’ve got their own score to settle. Now I want everyone to get plenty of rest. You’ll need it. Billy and I will take watch tonight. You boys’ll pick up the slack starting tomorrow.” He felt compelled to add, “I know we didn’t see any action today, but we made up a lot of ground and found young Sandborne here in the process. You handled yourselves well when the Blackfoot surrounded us. We’re off to a good start.” He even smiled, which made the others smile, too. Yes, they were beginning to become a group. “Now get some sleep you sons of bitches.”

  Chapter 35

  Mackey had taken first watch. Billy, a light sleeper whether on the trail or in town, took the second. Sim headed out to scout the trail well before dawn and was long gone before any of the men woke up. After a quick breakfast they doused the fire, packed up camp and hit the trail themselves.

  To prevent monotony from setting in, Mackey had the Boudreauxs serve as outriders and the vaqueros guarded the flank. Sandborne and Brahm stayed with the pack mules. He figured the easier pace would be a good way for the kid to get his bearings while his head wound healed.

  Billy was about to ride ahead to take point when Sim came riding back toward them at a good gallop. There was no sign of the two Blackfoot scouts anywhere in sight.

  “Halt!” Mackey called out to his men. “Get your rifles out and ready and wait for my command.”

  Sim brought his mount up short in front of Mackey and Billy. He whipped out his notebook and handed it to Mackey.

  “Wolf Child’s scouts spotted Darabont’s rear guard by the stream about a mile ahead. Four men hanging back in an ambush. Two on the ground. Two up in trees on the far side of the river. Looks like they plan to hit us as we cross.”

  Mackey handed the notebook back to Sim. “Any sign that they spotted you?”

  Sim shook his head.

  Billy asked, “Is there good enough cover before the crossing where we could get within rifle range?”

  Sim pointed at Billy, then the Boudreauxs, and nodded. Mackey understood. Enough cover for them to take out targets.

  Mackey asked, “They close enough for us to go in on foot or ride?”

  Sim walked two fingers along the back of his hand. On foot.

  Mackey beckoned the Boudreauxs to ride back in toward the group. “Brahm, Javier, and Solomon: you stay here with Sandborne and the horses.” When the Boudreauxs got there, he said, “I’m going to need you boys to come with us on foot. Bring your rifles.”

  Henry Boudreaux climbed down from the saddle. “Where we going, sheriff?”

  Mackey pulled his rifle free from his saddle’s scabbard. “Whittle some bastards down to size.”

  * * *

  Mackey knew moving on foot was a hell of a lot slower than riding in, but necessary. They would be harder to hear if they crept in on foot. They left the mounts farther back with Brahm, Sandborne, and the vaqueros.

  Sim led the way through the forest as Mackey, Billy, and the Boudreauxs followed. When they got closer, Sim signaled them to walk single file, literally walking in Sim’s footsteps. A snapped branch or a broken twig could be enough to give away their position. Darabont’s men could open fire on them before they were ready. Or worse, they might escape and lie in wait for them somewhere farther down the trail. One of them might ride back and tell Darabont they’d been spotted. Mackey could not allow that to happen.

  Sim crouched just short of the edge of a small wooded clearing near a creek. Sunlight filtered down through the leaves and shimmered on the surface of the rolling water. He pointed to a large felled tree on the other side of the creek. It was long and gnarled, with peeling bark and a thick carpet of moss growing along the side. The bare heads of two men were barely visible over the log, their rifles at rest, pointing toward the sky. They were careless about maintaining cover because they were bored. Bad news for them. Good fortune for Mackey.

  Sim pointed up at the tree line above the fallen log. It took Mackey a moment to see what he was pointing at: two men perched in the notches of trees about ten feet off the ground. They weren’t up very high, but high enough to rain fire down into Mackey’s men as they would have been crossing the creek. The shots would’ve most likely spooked the horses and sent animals and riders in all directions. Mackey’s men would have been on foot in the creek bed, easy pickings for gunmen lying in wait.

  To Sim, Mackey whispered, “Where are Wolf Child’s men?”

  Sim used the old Apache hand signals he’d learned in the cavalry to tell him: They rode around and are still tracking our prey.

  Mackey had always been better with a pistol than a rifle, so he started assigning his men their targets. He pointed at Henry Boudreaux and motioned for him to get the man on the left side of the log. He gestured for his brother Jack to take the one on the right. He had Billy aim at the man in the tree on the left. And Sim would take the one in the tree on the right.

  To all of them, he whispered, “Wait for my signal.”

  Back at West Point, Mackey had heard some of his instructors talk about their experiences in battle. Some of them said everything seemed to speed up when lead started to fly and cannon roared.

  But the time before a battle had always been just the opposite for Mackey. Things always slowed down to a point where he saw everything clearly and knew exactly what to do. This was one of those times.

  He waited until all four of his men had crept into position within the overgrowth. He waited until they’d had time to sight on their targets. He waited for each man to grow absolutely still. When they were, he sensed they were ready. He said, “Fire!”

  The Boudreauxs fired a split second before Sim and Billy. Mackey watched the brothers’ bullets strike both men behind the mossy log, red mist appearing behind their heads as they fell backward.

  Mackey looked up in time to see Sim and Billy’s targets drop from their perches like squirrels hit with a slingshot. One landed on top of the mossy log with a wet smack. If the bullet hadn’t killed him, the landing had.

  The last man fell from the tree and landed in the creek bed feet first. He crumpled into the water, and the screams that followed proved he was still alive.

  Mackey was already running toward the screaming man as Billy and the others got to their feet.

  The crippled, bleeding gunman was struggling to keep his face above the water. The creek was only calf-high, but deep enough to drown a man if he couldn’t keep his balance.

  Mackey grabbed the gunman by the collar and dragged him onto dry land. The man screamed himself hoarse from the pain and, once they got to dry land, he understood why.

  The bullet had gone clean through the right shoulder, but the shinbone of his left leg poked through his pants leg. The right leg was at an unnatural angle as well. He must’ve broken both legs as he hit the creek bed.

  The man looked up at Mackey and rasped, “If you’re a Christian man at all, you’ll kill me quick.”

  Mackey nudged the man’s broken leg with his boot. The man screamed out.

  “You one of Darabont’s men?”

  “We all are,” the man groaned. “Before he left us on that hillside, he told us to camp here and wait for you to come across. Said you’d probably have only three men with you, so the pickings would be easy.”

  Mackey looked at the three dead men. “Looks like he was wrong. How many of you are there?”

  “Me and three other guys. We . . .”

  Mackey moved his boot closer to the man’s broken leg. “Not here. How many with Darabont. And don’t lie because I already have a good idea of the number.”

  He looked at Mackey’s Winchester. “You gonna do the Christian thing and kill me if I tell you?”

  “I’ll do the Irish thing and s
tomp on your legs if you don’t.”

  The gunman swallowed hard. “Probably had thirty or so when he pulled out of that hillside a couple of days ago. Lost a lot of men taking that ranch. Miners and loggers cost us a few more, but we got the dynamite, for all the good it did us.”

  “How many captives does he have with him?”

  “Ten. A couple of girls we picked up along the way and a full grown woman from that town you’re from.”

  “She alive?” Mackey said quicker than he’d intended.

  “He’s treating her real special. Keeps her away from the other women on account of him fearing he doesn’t want her putting ideas into their heads. Some of the boys want to shoot her, but Darabont said he’s saving her.”

  Mackey thought that had to be Katherine, but he wouldn’t ask him. Not in front of the others.

  “Darabont taking them to Mexico?”

  “You said you was going to kill me, damn it. Now I answered all your questions and . . .”

  Mackey brought up his boot to stomp the man’s leg, but the man quickly cried out, “ He’s heading west, that’s all I know.”

  Mackey lowered his boot. “West? Where west?”

  “He didn’t tell us. He was thinking California or maybe Utah or Canada. Maybe hopping a boat somewhere, but you never know with him. He ain’t much for telling us what he’s thinking. He just does it. All I know is he plans to avoid Fort Custer at all costs. Says he doesn’t want to run into any of them soldier boys on patrol.”

  “Darabont’s smarter than he looks,” Billy said. “You sure he didn’t tell you any more than that?”

  “All I know is he told us he was heading south for a while and we could catch up to him after we finished you off. He could be anywhere by now. All he told us was to follow his trail. That’s it, mister, I swear!”

  Mackey had heard enough lies to know the truth when he heard it. To Billy, he said, “Find out where these bastards picketed their horses and ride back to the others. Sim, I want you to take one of their horses and keep heading out on the trail; see if you can’t meet up with Wolf Child’s men. We’ll be along as soon as we can with your mount. We’ll camp along the trail just after sunset. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding us.”