The Dragoons 4

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “You’re willing to risk your life on it,” Tim said.

  “And you,” Hays said.

  “And me,” Tim agreed, remembering the lovely face in the photograph.

  They settled into silence and listened to the celebration only a few yards away. A sudden eruption of loud howls followed by angry shouts broke the monotony of the noise. Some relative silence followed in which angry voices speaking in loud tones could be heard.

  “There’s been a fight,” Hays said. “Probably involves a knifing.”

  “Eagle Talons was right when he said whiskey makes Indians stupid and crazy,” Tim said.

  “It doesn’t do a hell of a lot better for white folks,” Hays said. “We’ve had it longer and have more tolerance, but we still can’t control it very well.”

  “We can control it if we want to,” Tim said in a haughty tone.

  “Yeah?” Hays remarked. “What about that time you vomited all over Major Drury’s shoes?”

  “I was drunk,” Tim replied in an innocent tone. “You’ve just made my point,” Hays said.

  They lapsed into silence, staring into the darkness. The sounds in the whiskey camp soon went back to the way they were. Hays scratched himself and Tim stretched and yawned.

  Eagle Talons suddenly appeared in front of them. “Damn!” Hays exclaimed started. “You scared the hell out of me!”

  “Yeah!” Tim complained.

  The Sioux didn’t pay any attention to their nervousness. “All Crow in the camp. Cheyenne come in. Two warriors look at each other. Enemies, I think. They fight. One put his knife in the other.”

  Hays nudged Tim. “I told you.”

  Eagle Talons continued. “I see where is whiskey barrels. We wait. When everybody is asleep, we go get. I come for you.” Then, without another word, he disappeared back into the darkness.

  “He’ll keep nosing around,” Hays said.

  “We need to use the Indians more as scouts,” Tim said. “Eagle Talons is invaluable at a time like this.”

  “I’m glad you admire his skills,” Hays said. “He sure as hell has used them against us on numerous occasions.”

  “I wonder if I’ve ever shot at him,” Tim mused.

  Hays poked his companion. “I wonder if he’s ever shot at you!”

  “I doubt it,” Tim said. “If he had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Another loud ruckus broke out in the camp and a white man’s hoarse, shouting voice could be heard above the racket. A couple of shots blasted and a woman screamed. Once again things died down a bit as the celebrants sorted out the problem. Within ten minutes the festivities were back in full swing.

  Both dragoons began to doze now and then in spite of the disturbance. Finally, Hays drifted off into a deep slumber. He had a disjointed dream about his wife and the old home plantation back in North Carolina.

  “Captain Hays!”

  Hays opened his eyes and could feel himself being shaken.

  “Captain Hays!” Tim’s anxious whisper brought him to full wakefulness.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. Then he noticed the camp behind them was quiet. A bright moon could be seen through the tree limbs above.

  “Eagle Talons is back,” Tim said. “And it seems the party is over.”

  “We go into camp and steal whiskey,” Eagle Talons said.

  “Let’s go now then,” Hays said. He stood up, glad they couldn’t see him wincing at the pain in the dark. “Did you sing your death song, Eagle Talons?”

  “No joke about death songs,” Eagle Talons said. “Come. We go now. Do good or die.”

  The two officers followed after him. Tim, at the rear, whispered to himself under his breath saying:

  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...”

  Nine

  Darcy Hays and Tim Stephans had no choice but to follow after Eagle Talons through the dark woods.

  The warrior had no inclination to fully explain where he was taking them, but he was well acquainted with the area from previous visits, and had just spent several hours scouting out the locale. Hays, used to being in command, did not like being led around without much knowledge as to the location of his exact destination. However, circumstances forced him to put his trust in the Sioux warrior. The thought of Loralie Campbell held captive by Buffalo Horn gnawed at his heart.

  Actually, the dragoon officer wasn’t too worried about Eagle Talons taking the initiative. He knew full well that the Indian would not have survived the dangerous life he led unless he was extremely skilled in clandestine activities. When Eagle Talons’ tribe weren’t fighting the whites, they battled against their traditional tribal enemies in struggles dominated by sneak attacks and lightning-quick raids.

  Stealth was more than a skill in the fighting Indians’ culture—it was a virtue.

  By glancing through the trees bordering the whiskey camp, the three interlopers could see the dying remnants of many fires. Sleeping forms of Indians, some curled up comfortably and others sprawled in drunken unconsciousness, filled the area between various tepees and other shelters thrown up helter-skelter in the encampment.

  Eagle Talons stopped and pointed to a far-distant corner of the camp. Hays moved up beside him and looked. Two wagons and a wall-tent stood out starkly in the moonlight. The dragoon peered carefully to see if there was any sign of activity in the vicinity. At first there was no movement, then a shadowy figure appeared. The man walked slowly up to a point, then leisurely turned and retraced his steps.

  “A guard,” Hays whispered. He nudged Eagle Talons. “How many?”

  The Sioux held up one finger, then said. “Whiskey barrel next to wagon.”

  “Let’s go,” Hays said.

  They renewed their circuitous route, staying just inside the tree line. Now and then Eagle Talons veered to one side or the other to avoid any part of the ground where there was extra risk of creating noise. The warrior had done an excellent job in scouting out the mission’s terrain.

  The trio halted again when they reached some brush opposite the wagons and tent. Eagle Talons handed his long gun to Hays, then drew his knife. The expression on his face in the moonlight was one of savage ferocity. ,

  Eagle Talons was about to kill.

  The guard, sleepy and bored, was armed with a holstered pistol and knife. With his thumbs stuck in his belt, he walked slowly with his head down, kicking at the ground in impatience as he continued the boring duty. He spat a couple of times and belched, then scratched himself under the armpit. The only sounds coming from the camp were occasional grunts and snores from sleeping people.

  Eagle Talons seemed to have turned into a silent shadow as he glided from the trees up to a position behind the guard. He struck three times, holding his hand across the mouth and nose of his victim. Then, still without a sound, he pulled the dead man back to where Hays and Tim waited.

  The Sioux took his gun back from Hays, saying, “Now we get whiskey.”

  “You get one barrel,” Hays said. “I get one.” He looked at Tim. “You take two, you’re young and strong.”

  “And dumb,” Tim added under his breath. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.”

  “Come on,” Hays urged him. “We’ll discuss your intelligence, or lack of it, after we’re out of here.”

  They moved behind the tent where numerous untapped wooden kegs of liquor were carefully stacked for sale and consumption the next day. It took only moments before they took what they needed, then headed back to the woods to begin the return trip to where the patrol of dragoons was camped.

  The barrels were heavy and caused the evaders to move slowly and ponderously. Before long, all three were breathing hard with the effort. None of them were used to handling heavy loads. In Eagle Talons’ world, such drudgery was women’s work. For the two officers, hard manual labor was the lot of the enlisted men. Officers did not lift or pull weighty burdens.

  “Wait—just—a minute,” Tim begged.

&nbs
p; They all stopped as the young officer sank to his knees and lowered the barrels to the ground.

  The pain in Hays’s knees from lugging the liquor seemed like fire. His shoulder muscles ached as he set the load down. Hays’s fingers were rubbed raw by the rough staves of the barrel. “We should’ve worn gloves.”

  Tim shook his head. “I think it would have served us better to have brought along some help.”

  Eagle Talons felt the same discomfort as the white men. But because of his training as a boy and young man, he could bear the pain much better.

  “How long we wait here?” the Sioux asked.

  “I’d like to wait until hell freezes over,” Hays said. “But we’d better move on. Dawn can pop up mighty quick in these hills, and I don’t want to be caught between the whiskey camp and the patrol.”

  Tim forced himself to pick up his load. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Once more the overburdened trio staggered onward through the trees, grunting and moaning in their effort. Even Eagle Talons let out a gasp now and then as he struggled along with the weighty barrel.

  A muscle-burning, back-aching hour of forced labor passed before the whispered challenge of a dragoon sentry reached their ears.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” came the welcome words.

  Hays took a breath before saying, “Captain—Hays and—” He swallowed. “Captain Hays—damn—your eyes!”

  “Pass, Cap’n, sir,” the soldier said.

  “Get Sergeant O’Murphy and a couple of men,” Hays said. He motioned to his companions. “Set the whiskey down,” he said. “We’ve lugged these far enough.”

  Moments later O’Murphy appeared with three men. Hays quickly gave him instructions to take the liquor back to the dragoon camp and see that it was properly lashed to the backs of four saddles.

  “Then mount up and let’s get the hell out of here,” Hays said, in conclusion of his instructions.

  It took but a few minutes before the barrels were stowed and everyone—Indian, officers, and dragoons— had mounted up and ridden slowly and as silently as possible out of the area.

  “We go to Buffalo Horn now?” Eagle Talons asked.

  “As fast as we can, once we’re out of earshot of this place,” Hays said.

  “What?” Eagle Talons asked. He did not quite understand the way Hays had answered his question.

  “When whiskey peddler not hear us, we ride damn fast,” Hays said.

  “That what I do, Dar-Say,” Eagle Talons said.

  Hays smiled to himself. This was the first time that the Sioux warrior had addressed him in the same manner as Owl-That-Cries. Perhaps they were becoming friends through struggle in a common cause. It wouldn’t be the first time that a shared enemy was the basis for a friendship between two antagonists.

  Tim, rubbing his sore shoulders, said, “I imagine this is going to be one of the happiest moments of that young lady’s life.”

  “That, my fine lieutenant, is biggest understatement I have ever heard,” Hays said.

  It took a full hour for the column of horsemen to travel through the gloom of the predawn forest before they were far enough from the whiskey camp to stop worrying about noise. At that point, with the pinkish light of the mountain morning beginning to glow, Eagle Talons picked up the pace.

  Downhill, the going was steep, causing the riders to plant their boots hard into the stirrups while leaning back against the cantles of their saddles during the ride down the incline. They pulled vigorously against the reins to keep their mounts from breaking into uncontrolled gallops. The army horses, used to drill and other demands, responded quickly. Yet most tossed their heads about in impatience, not understanding why something as much fun as running fast down a mountain was denied them.

  After hitting level ground, the patrol crossed a flat meadow, then began an ascent on the other side. This was the Wolf Society’s territory. Normally, they would fear another ambush like they’d experienced before. However, because of the arrangements made to ransom the young woman Loralie Campbell with whiskey, Hays knew he and his men would receive an exuberant welcome from the Sioux warriors.

  A quarter of an hour passed when suddenly a whoop sounded off the trail. Eagle Talons hollered back in answer. In moments, a half dozen of the Wolf Society warriors appeared in view. They carried on a rapid, animated conversation with Eagle Talons. Then, with eyes opened wide, they turned and galloped away. Eagle Talons waited for Hays and Tim Stephans to join him.

  “Buffalo Horn come here,” Eagle Talons said. “Will have the woman for trade.”

  “Good,” Hays said. He yelled out, “Sergeant O’Murphy!”

  The sergeant rode out of the column and reined in beside his commanding officer. “Yes, sir?”

  “We’re going to make the exchange for the young woman here,” Hays said. “Have the barrels of whiskey brought up and set over there in that clearing. Then arrange the troops for a good defense, but don’t make it look like we’re looking for trouble. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize these proceedings.”

  “I understand, sir,” O’Murphy said. “We’ll have our asses covered no matter what happens.” He saluted and wheeled about. He rode off shouting for Corporals Grady and Dickson.

  After the whiskey was placed in a conspicuous spot, the two officers and Eagle Talons prepared for the arrival of Buffalo Horn and his entourage. To add an appearance of pomp and ceremony, Hays had the company guidon planted beside the liquor. A couple of blue army blankets were then spread out, and he and his two companions settled down to wait.

  The dragoons, during the period of inactivity, ate a quick breakfast. Some salt pork was roasted and coffee was brewed for Hays and Tim. Eagle Talons had some dried buffalo meat in his pouch. That was enough for him, along with a couple of swallows of water from Hays’s canteen.

  The morning drifted on with nothing happening. Birds sang and insects began to buzz around in the foliage. A deer blundered into the area and normally would have been quickly dispatched for fresh meat. But because of the importance of the meeting, Hays would not allow any of the dragoons to kill the animal. He wanted no sound of gunshots to delay or prevent Loralie Campbell’s release.

  Tim’s patience was strained. “You don’t figure they’ve reneged on the deal, do you, sir?” he asked Hays.

  The captain shrugged. “I doubt it. They want that whiskey bad.”

  “What if the girl died?” Tim asked. He’d known of captives suddenly expiring after even short periods of time in Indian camps.

  “We’ve nothing but hope now,” Hays said.

  Finally, at mid-morning, Buffalo Horn and his close friends Wild Bull and Flying Hawk rode into the clearing. They dismounted and walked up to where Hays, Tim, and Eagle Talons sat on the blanket by the guidon. He saw the barrels.

  “You got whiskey,” he said.

  Hays held up his fingers. “Four barrels. Only three, if you bothered the woman since I last talked to you.”

  “Woman not bother. Stay alone in lodge,” Buffalo Horn said. “Nobody go into lodge.”

  Hays knew the warrior spoke truthfully. “Did you give her food?”

  “She got water,” Buffalo Horn said.

  “I asked if you gave her food,” Hays said.

  “She got water,” Buffalo Horn repeated.

  Hays realized the unfortunate woman hadn’t had a bite to eat since he’d seen her last. But at least she hadn’t endured rape or beatings. “Bring her here.”

  A violent rushing in the surrounding brush followed the request. Then, looking worse than ever, Loralie Campbell was thrown into the clearing with such force that she fell to her hands and knees. Frightened but angry, she got to her feet. She stood swaying for a moment, then sank to her knees in weakness and exhaustion.

  Hays had to reach out and restrain Tim. “Easy, young fellow,” he whispered. He looked at Eagle Talons. “I don’t want the woman to understand my words. I will whisper to you, and you change them into the language of the Sioux.”


  “What is it you wish to say?” Eagle Talons asked. When told, he looked at Buffalo Horn and said, “The white soldier chief Dar-Say is angry because the woman is weak. What good is that?”

  Buffalo Horn also spoke in the tribal tongue when he replied. “We did not promise him a strong wife.” Translating more of Hays’s words, Eagle Talons said, “The soldier chief Dar-Say wants a horse along with the woman.”

  Hays, knowing that Buffalo Horn might try to up the price on Loralie Campbell, had beaten him to the draw by complaining about the woman’s appearance and then demanding more in return for the whiskey.

  Buffalo Horn eyed the liquor barrels and licked his lips. “We do not have horses to trade.”

  “I am angry,” Hays said through Eagle Talons. “What will I do with that woman? She might die.”

  Buffalo Horn replied, “You did not say she had to be strong. Here is the woman. Take her. I will take the whiskey.”

  Hays, feigning anger, got to his feet and walked over to the woman. He took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. Tim Stephans came up and took charge, leading Loralie Campbell back into the trees toward the direction where the dragoon patrol was formed up for any trouble.

  With the woman gone, Hays reverted to English. “I am mad at you, Buffalo Horn. But take your whiskey. Next time I will not be so easy.”

  The dragoon officer and Eagle Talons walked away. Buffalo Horn and Wild Bull called for help as they gathered up the whiskey to take back to their camp.

  When Tim took Loralie among the dragoons, the soldiers were moved by her appearance. Corporal John Grady came forward with his canteen. “I got coffee in here, Miss. I think it’d be good for you.”

  Loralie gratefully swallowed the brew. A piece of salt pork was offered and she grabbed it away, immediately taking a bite and chewing rapidly. She swallowed and again bit into the preserved meat.

  “Easy, please, Miss,” Sergeant O’Murphy kindly cautioned her. “You’ll make yourself sick if’n you eat too fast.”