by J. R. WRIGHT
“Show me again,” Bordeaux insisted, coming to his feet.
“Sit!” Luke ordered. “Get behind her. Now, as she comes up, toss…”
“Up!” Bordeaux ordered. The mule popped up, and this time he sat proudly in the saddle.
“Great!” Luke laughed. “Now, go get Twiss! Daylight’s burning.”
Bordeaux rode away proudly, as if he were a kid with a new toy. Luke’s eyes followed him all the way to the gates of the fort, and he entered. His eyes then slid to the sandbar-riddled Platte River below, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
Breanne came to mind again. Would he ever find her? And then there was Sarah, a kind and tolerant woman, who no doubt deserved better than the likes of him. She should have latched onto a man who could love her back. But, unfortunately, it was him she loved; she had made that perfectly clear a good number of times. So since things were what they were, and he didn’t know what he would ever do without her, perhaps he should ask her to marry him. That would be the honest thing to do, on his part. And perhaps he would someday, when the time was right. But for right now, there was too much that needed doing to get all hung up on that thought. Those horses still waited in Wild Horse Canyon, and there was a cabin to build.
Hearing hoofbeats to his back, Luke turned to see the white mule returning. But it wasn’t Bordeaux in the saddle. He was running along-side, while Twiss rode the mule at a fast trot. Reaching him, Bordeaux ordered the mule down and Twiss slid off.
“That’s a fine mule, Bordeaux,” Twiss, today dressed in buckskins and a broad brimmed felt hat, said. He then turned to Luke with an outstretched hand. “Hill. Good to see you again.”
“Twiss,” Luke took the hand. “What’s on your mind?”
“One of Harney’s scouts, a man named Houser, rode in this morning in advance of the troops,” Twiss said excitedly. “After leaving Fort Hall, where he left that wagon train, Harney took a swing east through the Powder River country and around the Black Hills on the way back. He came across a Lakhota village along the Belle Fourche River that was completely vacant except for a blonde-haired kid and an old chief. It seems the old chief refused to leave when the rest of the village escaped into the hills. The white kid was, it seemed to Houser, there to serve as protector to the old chief. Brave Fox, I think his name was. I was just wondering if you knew what that is all about?”
“Are they safe?” Luke was quick to ask. “The old chief and the white boy?”
“Oh, yeah. Houser said no harm came to them. It was just the two of them there, like I said. All the tepees appeared unoccupied. The old chief came out to meet the scouting party, and as I understand it, the kid kept an old Kentucky caplock rifle trained on them all the while. He spoke English and did the interpreting for the old chief.”
“What is it you want to know? Apparently they saw Harney’s bluecoats coming and took cover in the hills. Wouldn’t you run if you were an Indian and saw a thousand troops with rifles and artillery enough to blow away the entire village in one big bang coming your way?
“I certainly would, Tom. But it was the boy I was wondering about. Who is he? What’s he doing there?”
“The boy is my son, Twiss.”
“Your son? My God, Hill, how did that ever come to be?”
“That’s a long story,” Luke said. “Maybe Bordeaux, here, will tell you about it someday. Right now, I’d like to know more about Harney’s plans. Is he going after Little Thunder or not?”
“If they can find him,” Twiss said. “Be damned if I’ll tell them where he is!”
“How far out is Harney now?”
“Half a day. That Houser fella said they should be in here today sometime. He headed out right away for Ash Hollow. Somebody at the fort pointed him in that direction. Is that where Little Thunder is?”
“Not exactly,” Luke said, “but close. Bluewater Creek. If that Houser is half a scout, he should find them, being that close.”
“I hate to ask, Hill, but do you think you could see fit to pay one more visit to Little Thunder? See if you can get him to surrender. I’ll see to it you get paid, even if I have to take it from next year’s annuities.”
Luke thought about it for a short while. “I wouldn’t want some poor Indians going hungry on my account. I’ll go just as soon as I gather some supplies and tell Sarah. Will she be alright here till I get back, James?”
“She’ll be fine. Cola and Bright Moon will be happy to have the company. Come on, Tom, whatever you need is on me. Little Thunder is a friend of mine, too, you know. If it wouldn’t have been for him after that Grattan affair, those looters would have burned my store down. He came along just in time to put a stop to it.”
“Here Harney comes now,” Twiss said, pointing to a huge brown cloud rising into the sky far to the north. “Looks like he’s in one hell of a hurry, by all the dust.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Luke followed what he assumed were Houser’s tracks along the Platte for the remainder of the day before striking out across country for a hilltop. Perhaps from there he could spot any campfires, be it Harney’s approaching army, or Houser ahead somewhere. Seeing nothing, he proceeded on into the night, guided by the light of a partial moon.
Reaching the Little Blue River before daybreak, he halted for a few hours to rest the mule before traveling on. Assuming General Harney’s scout was still ahead of him, Luke had no time to waste. Knowing nothing about this Houser, Luke now wondered how he had acquired his knowledge of these parts. Maps and a compass could get a person only so far, if not familiar with the terrain. Night travel would be impossible unless one stuck to the banks of rivers and streams. Otherwise, a sudden sheer drop off into a canyon may get you killed.
Once light, Luke searched the banks of the Little Blue for tracks and found what he was looking for: one set of shod horse prints moving along at a walk. The prints told him many things. Among them, the depth of the impression compared to the ones left by his mule told him the man was big, at least his weight, perhaps more. They also told him the horse the man rode was tired. Occasional drag marks away from the hoof prints were typical of a horse suffering from reduced energy due to exhaustion. In addition, the tracks were only a few hours old. Adding it all up, Luke was certain he’d come across Houser’s camp any time now.
To reduce the chance of surprise, Luke took to the high ground once again. It was only a few miles further when he spotted smoke rising from an arroyo a short distance away from the river. Dismounting, he walked the last quarter mile, rifle in hand, for a look below. What he saw was a smoldering fire, a bedroll spread near it, and a staked out horse grazing nearby. No one was about. The camp was empty, and this sent a chill up Luke’s spine. He froze where he stood and turned about slowly.
“Hello!” a gravelly voice came for the side. “Tom Hill, I presume?”
Luke turned to see a tall, fully bearded, buckskinned man come from behind a rock clutching a rifle, fully trained on him. “That depends on who’s asking!”
“The name’s Bridger, Mister Hill.”
“Jim Bridger?”
“Yep!”
“Where’s Houser?”
“There is no Houser. I don’t use Bridger this far from home.”
“Why?” Luke couldn’t help but ask.
“Sioux. Kilt my share of them over the years, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“That must have happened a long time ago?” Luke sized Bridger up to be about fifty years of age.
“I’m sure they’re plenty in these parts yet that would like a hank of my scalp hanging from a lodge pole. Indians don’t forget, Hill.”
“And just how did you know my name?”
“Why, hell man.” Bridger lowered his rifle. “Everybody’s heard of the great Tom Hill. When Harney came to my trading post on his way with that gawd awful large wagon train, he mentioned your name. I just figured it was you that dogged my trail the better part of the past forty miles.”
“You’ve been keeping a
n eye on me all the while?”
“Yep!”
“You’re good!”
“Yep! That’s why I still got my hair,” Bridger laughed and came forward with an outstretched hand.
Luke removed his hat, took the hand, and laughed a little as well. He saw no reason not to be friendly toward this iconic man he’d heard so much about over the years.
“What’s Harney’s plan once you locate Little Thunder’s camp for him?” Luke asked, locking eyes on Bridger’s to assure he was getting a straight answer.
“He ain’t dragging that artillery along fer his health,” Bridger said. “He aims to use it, Hill. You can rest assured of that.”
“Do you know where Little Thunder is?” Luke asked.
“Nope! But I got a notion you do,” Bridger said with a smile, while pulling a tobacco pouch from his pocket, taking a four fingered chew. “When you leave out of here, I’ll follow.”
“You won’t get far with that horse,” Luke said, glancing back at the large gray brindle gelding in the arroyo below where he stood.
“You’ll leave tracks! They’ll still be plenty visible once that horse is rested,” Jim Bridger countered, then sent a brown string of tobacco juice flying, splattering on a nearby rock.
“In that case, I may as well tell you where Little Thunder is,” Luke said. “Save you the trouble of locating him. All I’m asking for is two days before General Harney finds out. Will you give me your word on that?”
“I will,” Bridger quickly responded to the generous offer. “In that case, after resting my horse here for a day, I’ll mosey over to Ash Hollow and wait to rendezvous with Harney, as planned. There’s your two days, Hill. Now where is he?”
“Bluewater Creek!”
“Where’s that?” Bridger pulled a rumpled parchment map from his pocket and unfolded it.
“There,” Luke put his finger on it. “Just over from where it crosses through Ash Hollow. There’s a canyon that hides them from view.”
“What’s your interest in Little Thunder, Hill?”
“I intend to get him to surrender!” Luke said sternly. “Otherwise I’m sure there’ll be bloodshed. Perhaps on both sides.”
“Makes no never mind to me,” Bridger said. “Once I point Harney in the right direction, I intend to head for home. The deal was five hundred in gold for a month. The month was up yesterday. I couldn’t see leaving the man hanging, seeing as how he’s a general and all.”
“I bet Harney never thought he’d be getting the great Jim Bridger himself when he went looking for a scout at your trading fort?”
“I think he knew who he was looking for. Joe Meeks and I go back a long way. He’s the wagon master of the biggest part of that train Harney was escorting.”
“I see,” Luke said, suddenly anxious to leave. “Well, it was good meeting you, Bridger.” He’d best get moving since he only had two days to reach Little Thunder and convince him to ride out under a white flag.
“Likewise, Hill,” Bridger returned, taking the hand Luke offered for a good shake. “Take care now, hear!”
“You too.” Luke mounted the calico mule and headed her back for the river at a gallop.
Jim Bridger watched him go, then slid down the steep bank to his camp below, where he began gathering his things. His plan was to backtrack, intercept Harney somewhere on the trail with the information he needed, then get on for home. He missed his young Shoshone wife and kids. Whatever happened to that Sioux chief Little Thunder was of little concern to him now, when stood up against the family he missed so fiercely. Tom Hill was just flat out wrong in doing what he was, considering what these people had done to Lieutenant Grattan and his men. But then, the only side of that story he’d heard came from General Harney. He had called it a massacre. But then, maybe Hill had another viewpoint?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Luke arrived at Little Thunder’s camp at mid-morning the following day. There was no time to be wasted on circling the village this trip. Luke did, however, pause just out of arrow range to give them time to study him briefly before riding on in. The camp seemed near empty, noticeably absent of women and children. And even though it was a cool, blustery day, very few fires burned. Those Indians that were roaming about busied themselves with gathering the horses. Many of them were already staked out in camp, and others were being herded in.
Were they preparing to leave, Luke wondered? That is until, upon closer examination, he noticed the faces of the hundred in camp were painted, as were some of the horses. That’s when he knew they weren’t leaving at all; they were preparing for battle – for war. Obviously, they already knew Harney was near.
Luke turned the calico mule broadside to the village and waited a while longer before riding on in. He was taking one hell of a chance doing this, he knew. These people already had blood in their eyes, and his coming now could hardly be a welcome sight.
Halfway through the camp, Luke noticed Little Thunder and Red Cloud leave a tepee and begin walking toward him as he approached, now on foot. Red Cloud began jabbering angrily nearly immediately upon seeing him. He shouted something crazy. It concerned putting all white people in the ground – riding over their heads. Little Thunder hushed him after a time and began signing to Luke while speaking in the Brule dialect of the Sioux language.
“We have put the women and children in caves,” he motioned to the rocky red cliffs on both sides of the deep valley. “They will be safe there until we have finished with the evil one. He brings big army, many bluecoats, both riding and walking. But we have a plan for him. Many of my warriors are already in the hills. They will surprise them from the rear when the time is right,” he confessed and smiled confidently.
As of yet, Luke hadn’t uttered a word or given a sign. Now it appeared Little Thunder left an opening for him to do so.
“If you have seen the size of Harney’s army, why would you think you can win this fight? No doubt they will break you like a twig and toss you into the dirt to die shamefully,” Luke said bluntly. “You have only one chance to survive now – that is to surrender.”
“Never!” Red Cloud shouted and spat to the ground. “My warriors will not surrender. They wish to die proudly.” He shook a rifle over his head.
“What will become of us, if that should happen?” Little Thunder sobered and sensibly asked.
“Most likely you will be taken to Fort Laramie, where Indian Agent Twiss will argue for your release. He knows your actions against Grattan were in self-defense. Only after your chief was killed did you react.”
“They will kill us if we surrender!” Red Cloud argued. “What glory is there in that?”
“We must think of the women and children – those that are innocent. What will their fate be if we are killed here today, in battle?” Little Thunder returned. “Maybe we should gather the families and run while there is still time?”
“No! We stand and fight, as we planned all along!” Red Cloud said, then screamed out a war cry to those that gathered around. “Waaaaaheeeeeyaaah Yaaah Yaah!”
It was immediately returned, multiplied a hundred times. “Waaaaaaaaa Heeeeeeee Yaaaaah!”
“They have spoken!”
“They are not chief!” Little Thunder shouted into the face of Red Cloud. “You are not chief! Only one chief – Little Thunder. Little Thunder will decide. Go now and do what you were doing. Go away – all of you! My friend Hill and I will talk.” With that, he took Luke by the arm and led him away to the edge of the village. From there they could see if anyone or anything approached the village.
“Red Cloud is young. He does not yet understand the role of chief is for all people. Wise decisions are not made with angry heart. They must come from a humble mind after much thought,” Little Thunder wisely said. “If my friend Hill was chief of the Brule people, what would his decision be at this difficult time?”
The question caught Luke totally by surprise. Put in that light, he too felt the need for some thought. Before, surrender s
eemed to be the only option, but now he wondered if something else could be done to better insure the safety of these people, short of all out surrender. But that thought never materialized when a painted rider charged through the village yelling repeatedly; “Shunkaha she chah hi hee shahkay oh dah!” (Evil wolf comes with many claws).
With that news, Little Thunder ran across the village and swiftly boarded his horse. Luke did likewise with the mule nearby, and the two of them rode full out to a high plateau a mile away where they could better see what was coming.
One glance at General Harney’s advancing army, five miles out, told Luke two things were amiss. First off, it was evident that Jim Bridger was not a man of his word. He had agreed to wait two days before telling Harney the location of Little Thunder’s camp. In that case, they should not have been here until tomorrow. Secondly, this was in no way all of the army he had seen at Fort Laramie months ago. In fact what he saw now was less than half the previous number. This group consisted only of Harney’s Dragoons, the infantry, and the company of artillery. It was clear two companies of cavalry were missing, and maybe three, if Colonel Snively’s mounted detachment from Fort Kearny had accompanied them.
Pulling his collapsed brass telescope from a saddle bag, Luke extended it full length and began panning the surrounding area for the missing cavalry troops. At first he saw nothing. But there were so many hills to the north, they could be behind any of them. And were, he suspected. Turning to Little Thunder, he then said in English and signed along with it, “I think they will send their horsemen to block your exit.” He pointed to the north end of the canyon opposite of where Harney advanced from the south. “They plan to box you in.”
Little Thunder looked to the north, saw nothing, then looked down on his camp where Red Cloud and his one hundred remaining warriors waited on horseback for his signal. “I do not know what to do!” he said, shaking his head. “If they box us in, we have no choice but to go against their guns. Many will die! And what then of the women and children in the caves?”
