He paused and laughed softly. "And with so few of us left, who knows when the Pawnee might need friends among the Cheyenne? OK, Private First Class Rick Putnam of the…BMW people, I think that's what you said, right?"
"Yes." Rick had never thought anyone would take his little joke seriously.
"OK, the Arrows are men's business, and no woman can see them or speak of them. When you get back to the reservation, send word to Charlie Walksalone—he's the Outside Man of the Council of 44—and he'll gather the Arrow Men and perform the appropriate ceremony. Will you do this?"
"Yes, I will," Rick answered. Talltrees seemed to slump in relief.
Rick looked back at the headlights behind them. He could hear more and bigger engines now. "Who is following us?"
"I honestly have no idea. I left Oklahoma with two others, but we lost one almost before we started, killed after he left a bar. It's sadly not all that uncommon these days for an Indian to die in a bar fight, but my father later told me on the phone that when they found his body, it looked like he'd been tortured. Cigarette burns all over."
"Shit." Rick shook his head. "That's two of you.
Where's the third?"
"Disappeared several days ago from right inside Wounded Knee." Talltrees unslung his rifle, checked the action, and then patted his pockets to confirm his spare ammunition. "That's why I felt that being out on patrol with the marshals shooting at me was a safer way to spend my nights. After I brought you two in, I heard that Flick had recruited his own 'Security Squad' and was out looking for trouble. When I heard his voice outside the general store, I took off out the back. Sorry, I didn’t have time to wake you."
He grinned. "I was about to come back in after you when Eve found me. Damn, but she's a tough woman. Made it quite clear that she was going to kick my worthless ass if I didn't. If you have any sense at all, you'll keep her around."
"I may not have much sense, but even I can tell how much that girl is worth."
"Good. Then I listened to those guys on top of the ravine. That guy with the creepy voice you mentioned?"
Rick nodded.
"Well, there is no way I’m going to be able to just vanish if that bastard already knows enough to be hunting for the pouch.” He looked back at the headlights, "I’m going to lay a false trail but they’re going to catch up. Damn dirt bikes are just too fast. Now, you take Eve and get the hell out of here. Hump to the south and then back west. There's an area of large rocks where you can kill your trail. I'll go straight and see how long I can outrun these bastards.”
Talltrees patted his rifle. "And when I can't outrun 'em, we'll see how well they can shoot. If I’m real lucky, I’ll get away but at the least, I’ll thin the herd a bit and give you two a running start. When you get to Elvis Iron Crow's house—you know, where you started out—tell him that I said to give you anything you need. He was my crew chief back in 'Nam. Could make those old A-1s move like bats out of hell."
Rick said, "What should I tell him about you?"
"If he doesn't see me in a couple of days, say I wished him well, thanked him for his work in the war, and to call my father so he can come and collect the Roadmaster." He laughed—a soft sad sound. "Nice car but no top end. You might suggest he tune it up."
Rick gripped Talltrees’ hand. "I sure as hell don't understand all this, but I owe you my life already so this is just payback. I hope I'll see you at the ranch, and I can give everything back. I would think that a man with an eagle feather on his ass and the protection of an owl should make it if anyone can."
"Maybe." Talltrees turned and began to jog to the west. "Di di mao, ground pounder, and let a flyboy do his job."
Rick walked over to where Eve was sitting. She stood up and very pointedly did not look at what was strung around his neck.
"Time to go," she said.
About a half-mile south, Rick spotted the boulder field on his right, potato-shaped rocks that had been tumbled smooth by long-gone glaciers. They turned west and started moving from rock to rock without touching the ground. They took their time in the darkness because a slip would mean a twisted ankle at the very least. Occasionally, Rick would have to jump a larger space, turn back, and pull Eve across.
The pace was maddeningly slow, and they hadn't gone far when the crack of a rifle shot stopped them. As they stood and looked north where the sound had come from, four more shots, spaced evenly. Rick could almost imagine Talltrees methodically pacing himself through the process: loading, setting his weight, aiming, calculating all the factors, firing, and starting all over again.
A sporadic crackle of shots responded, quite a few weapons and, from what Rick could tell, of different calibers. Pete's pursuers must have gone to ground and started counter fire. The steady pace of the rifle began again. Talltrees must have been able to find more targets by their muzzle flashes.
Rick turned back to see Eve regarding him gravely. She said, "Pete's a brave man. We need to make his sacrifice mean something."
Rick nodded, and they continued their steady, rock-by-rock progress. After a few minutes, the gunfire stopped. They looked to the north, waited a moment and then Eve took the lead, jumping to the next boulder.
In another half hour, the boulders ran out at a dry wash that drained to the west. They took a swallow from their water supply and, using the firm footing of the sandy soil, picked up their pace to the point where Eve was just short of having to jog to keep up. They hadn't gone more than a couple of hundred yards before they heard the whine of dirt-bikes; but, from the way the sound carried in the desert night, it was clear that they were far on the other side of the boulders.
Hours later, the rising sun behind them lit the small butte with a notched top that was their locator for the Iron Crow ranch. The sparse grass that had covered the ground for most of their walk was giving way to taller, almost waist-high stalks.
Keeping the sharp-sided mountain on their left, they headed on as the rising sun threw their shadows for miles ahead on the flat land. Rick found himself hunching his shoulders just slightly, feeling pressed down and exposed by the immense sky.
They crossed a dirt road, two paths cut into the grass, and he could see trash layered in the ditches—years of plastic, metal, and other modern debris that would outlast the road itself. Future archaeologists would probably wonder why the inhabitants had decorated their paths with such bizarre items.
Suddenly, Rick’s mental wandering stopped as he heard a shrieking mechanical howl—close, far too close. He threw himself backward into Eve, and they both fell into the ditch with the trash. Enough filthy slush was at the bottom to make the garbage moist and even more disgusting.
He didn't wait to signal, but took off on a belly-crawl into the grass, moving at a slant from the road so the path he crushed in the knee-high plants would be harder to detect. He could hear the scrapes and panting that meant Eve was right behind him. When the cycle exhaust rose to a crescendo, they froze, Rick rolling on his back with his face only inches below the waving tops of the grass.
Two cycles raced by. Rick was glad to see they were moving too fast to pick out their trail. The riders were young men without helmets. Again, Rick noticed that their identical pearl button snap shirts and boot cut jeans were new and unwrinkled. One man's jeans still had paper tags from the store stapled to the waistband.
He rose as the bikes' dust settled, only to be pulled back down by Eve’s firm grip on his collar. A second later, he realized why. Another engine, a car this time, was coming. It was a sedan, bouncing and shaking in the rough ruts. It looked like a big four-door rental car. He figured those inside couldn't have spotted anything. It was taking all their attention to brace themselves against the shuddering and wallowing of the car's soft suspension on the rocks and washouts.
This time, he didn't move after the dust settled. He looked at Eve and saw the weariness and sadness in her eyes. "We're too exposed to continue," he said. "Let's find a good hide and get some rest."
She nodde
d with relief. Crawling slowly and cautiously, he led her to a small solid clump of brush and stunted pines. Burrowing inside, they rolled together and immediately fell asleep.
It felt like only seconds had passed when the bushes around them were shaken violently. Rick's eyes snapped open, Eve's wide stare only inches away. They heard panting, and the brush shook again.
They rolled on their backs and looked up. A buffalo's head was right above them, nostrils wide, and eyes furious. Well, at least Rick assumed they were angry—admittedly, he hadn't much experience with buffalos.
The buffalo jerked violently against the branches, but they were apparently too strong for him to get any closer. The head lowered until the broad muzzle was only inches from Rick's forehead. He could hear inhalations as the nostrils opened and closed. The head was twisted to one side. Rick realized it was because, up this close, the animal could see only out of one eye at a time. The large brown eye seemed to regard him without any particular approval.
Without thought, Rick reached up and laid his hand on the short curls of hair under the eye. The massive head didn't move. The curls were soft and tight. He dug his fingers in and scratched hard to get under the heavy coat. The buffalo moved his head slightly to bring other areas into reach, and they kept it up until Rick had given him a thorough scratching on both sides.
Snorting abruptly, the head pulled back, and they could hear the animal's heavy hooves crunch away through the grass. They could hear other buffalo moving around them as they followed the lead bull.
In the silence, Eve looked closely at Rick. "Pretty damn brave for a white boy."
"You think?"
"I know."
"Hell, every dog I've ever known has loved to get a nice deep scratching. How different could a buffalo be?"
"About two thousand pounds and a fair amount of mean different. I think he was trying to tell us to get our butts out of this comfortable little bed and back to work." Eve started to wriggle backward out of the brush. "Anyway, he may be my sacred animal totem—I'm quite sure that this wasn't accidental—but he still had fleas."
CHAPTER 10
April 27, 1973, Oglala, South Dakota
Larissa burst through the back door and dodged the fresh wash hanging on the line in Iron Crow’s back yard. She was holding a shotgun as if it were a second child and scanning in all directions. Without looking at them, she said, "Hurry up and get inside!" As soon as they were in the kitchen, she slammed the heavy wooden door and shot the bolt.
"Trouble?" asked Eve.
"The Goon Squad has been here three times already." The young woman set the safety and laid the shotgun on the kitchen table. "That's to be expected. You heard about Wounded Knee?"
Rick and Eve shook their heads.
"Oh, shit." She turned to pull down the heavy cups and checked to see that the percolator was hot.
"I hate to be the one to tell you. AIM decided to surrender. One of the nicest kids in the entire Pine Ridge reservation died in that big firefight and it just took the heart out of them."
She started pouring coffee so strong it looked like diesel fuel. "Of course, only those who aren’t guilty of anything are going to stay behind to surrender. Everyone else will walk out like you did. We should be seeing them over the next few days."
"Come on, have some coffee." She gave Eve a critical look. "Damn, girl, you look like you slept under a bush. Did this white boy try to take advantage of you?"
Eve sat in one of the arrow back chairs and took a grateful sip. "No, he was a complete gentleman."
"What the hell's the matter with you, boy?" Larissa asked as she handed Rick a cup. "Out in the prairie night with the prettiest girl in two states not enough for you?"
Rick sagged into a chair across from Eve and smiled weakly. "There was a chaperone."
Larissa raised an eyebrow at Eve who said, "Nothing will put a chill on desire more than the appearance of a one-ton spirit guide with bad breath. Father Buffalo was very clear that we should be up and moving."
"Well, that I can understand." Larissa headed out of the kitchen. "So we should get you two on your way. Your bus is in the barn under a pile of hay bales. I'll get Robbie started on clearing it out."
Larissa stopped as she became aware of the silence that filled the kitchen. She turned slowly, her face already hardened, braced for unpleasant news as if she were facing into a winter storm.
Rick said, "We came out with Pete Talltrees. He gave me a message for your father."
"He's not coming?"
"Pretty sure he's dead."
Larissa slumped against the kitchen counter, all the energy gone from her body. "Dammit. Dammit. Dammit."
Eve nodded agreement. "A brave man and a good one."
Larissa looked at Rick. "Who did it? Goon Squad?"
"I don't think so." Rick shook his head slowly. "I think they were outsiders, not from the reservation. In fact, I doubt they came from the West at all. I think they flew in from the East. Except for Flick."
Larissa burst out, "Flick Crane? That asshole has the nerve to show his goddamn face around here? After what he did to little Ann Marie, the whole Swift Bird family is ready to rip him apart, and I think they'd be going easy on him. Personally, I'd like to bring back 'burning at the stake' just for him. But Flick wouldn't be man enough to take on Pete Talltrees."
"No, he sure wasn't," said Rick. "Flick was working with that bunch of strangers I was talking about. The other night these outsiders were firing at both sides, Indians and marshals. That's what really caused the firefight. Then they came after us, and Pete split us up and led the hunting party off in another direction. If Flick was there at all, he had plenty of help."
He took a deep breath. "There were a lot of them out last night on bikes and trucks. When they caught up to Pete, we could hear his rifle fire for a while. But there were a lot more of them, and eventually Pete’s rifle stopped. I don't think Pete had a chance."
Larissa bowed her head and was silent for a time. Then she looked up and said slowly, "Well, that might explain the guys who came by twice yesterday. I thought they were agents or marshals except they didn't flash their badges or show off their guns. These fellows just came up to the door and asked if we'd seen anyone pass by on foot. Strange folks, now that I think of it."
"Clothes all brand new?” asked Rick.
Larissa's head came up. "Yes! How did you know?"
"Sounds like the same people who've been following us. I think they flew in and just bought jeans and shirts to blend in." Rick took another sip of coffee. It was so strong that he swore he could feel it in his fingers and toes.
Larissa snapped her fingers as she remembered something. She said to Eve, "You got a message yesterday. It was bounced around from your parents and then people down here just spread the word on the party lines. Hell, everyone always listens anyway."
She pulled a slip of paper out of her jeans and handed it to Eve. "It's from someone named Kristee. Said she's in DC and in trouble. The number is right there."
Rick unzipped his jacket and began to bring out his pack of Winstons. He stopped cold when his fingers brushed the small leather bag. The warmth from the coffee seemed to drain out of his body.
"One more thing." Rick brought out the bag and handed it to Larissa. "Do you know who this belongs to? A little girl who may have been reported missing in the past days or weeks?"
Larissa stared at the medicine bag, turning to see all sides. "Yeah, this is Beth Pine's. Her parents put the word out to look for her three days ago. Where did you find it?"
Rick looked at the girl, already showing her fear, and said, "Eve, can you do this?”
She nodded solemnly.
Rick stood and said to Larissa, "I need to speak to your father. In private."
Larissa waved a hand. "He's out in the garage. It's just past the barn." There was a pause, and then she said softly, "Damn."
She looked at Eve and shook her head, begging for a denial. Eve nodded slowly, stood
up, and took Larissa in her arms.
Rick shut the door on the silence.
The weathered and split boards of the two-car garage matched the old barn and looked like they both would blow away with the first winter blizzard. Rick knocked, and a deep voice said, "Come in."
Rick swung open the right-hand door and found himself inches from the muzzle of a shotgun. Behind the trigger was an old man with intense brown eyes in a deeply lined face so tanned it looked like burnished leather. He was wearing denim coveralls that showed a lot more grease and oil than denim.
Rick slowly raised his hands. "Hello. We didn't meet when we stopped on our way into Wounded Knee, but my name is Rick Putnam. I've got a message from Pete Talltrees."
"OK."
"Do you mind if I come in?” Rick gestured to his shirt pocket; "I'd really like a smoke, especially if you're going to keep that thing pointed at me." Rick lowered his hands and dug for a cigarette. "So, if you're going to shoot me, just hang on for a minute." The Zippo flared on his thigh, and he lit the Winston.
The brown eyes behind the shotgun glanced at the lighter, and then returned to Rick's face. "Seventh Cavalry? Tell me, who were you up against at Ia Drang?"
"I was told later that it was the 1st and 66th Regiments of the Army of North Vietnam, but at the time, I only saw a shitload of gooks with real uniforms and way too much ammunition." Rick took another drag, "I do remember a fast mover with an eagle feather who passed by. I believe that was your plane, Sarge."
The gun muzzle dropped. "It's good to meet you…”
"Rick Putnam."
"Rick. Right. Elvis Iron Crow." They shook—Rick felt a strong hand weathered and callused from years of hard work—and the older man placed the shotgun in a rack custom-mounted on the left-hand door.
Warrior (Freelancer Book 2) Page 6
