The Hostile Trail

by Charles G. West

  “You should listen to your horse.”

  Matt snatched up his rifle and dived for the cover of a cottonwood log. The voice had come from directly behind him, and in a fraction of an instant his rifle was cocked and leveled at a clump of berry bushes, ready to fire.

  “Wait!” the voice cried out. “Don’t shoot. I am Crow.”

  Angry at himself for being so careless, Matt spat out, “Yeah? Well, come on out here where I can see you.”

  With hands held high over his head, Red Hawk stepped out of the bushes that had concealed him. “I have no weapon,” he said, pleading for mercy. “I am Red Hawk. I rode scout for the soldiers at Fort Laramie. My brother, Spotted Horse, rides with the soldiers. I was a captive of the Sioux.” He paused to judge the effect of his words. When Matt relaxed his hold on the rifle, allowing it to drop slightly, Red Hawk continued, “I smelled your fire.” He gazed at the meat on the spit. “I’m hungry. The Sioux did not give me very much to eat.”

  Matt, still angry over having been surprised, looked the Indian over carefully. In spite of the chilly spring evening, the man wore no shirt. There were visible welts tattooed across his back and what appeared to be a bullet wound in his shoulder. It was quite possible that he was telling the truth. Still, it would be wise to remain skeptical. Finally, he motioned toward the fire with his rifle. “Go ahead and eat,” he said.

  Red Hawk didn’t wait for a second invitation. He took the spit from the fire, tore off a hunk of the sizzling meat, and began chewing furiously. After his initial hunger had been satisfied, he paused for a moment and looked Matt up and down. “You’re the scout called Slaughter, aren’t you?”

  Matt seemed surprised. “I’m Slaughter,” he answered. “How did you know that?”

  “My brother, Spotted Horse, is one of the Crow scouts. He told me about you and the big man who was your friend.”

  “Ike’s dead,” Matt replied.

  Red Hawk nodded. “I know. They talked about it in the Sioux village. The war chief, Iron Claw, boasted about it.”

  Matt decided that Red Hawk was probably a friend. He laid his rifle down beside him and joined in the feast. “Iron Claw,” he repeated, sounding the name slowly. He figured this was the same man he was trailing, but he wanted to be sure. “This war chief, he rides a paint pony?” Red Hawk nodded. “Has a face like a hawk?” Again Red Hawk nodded. Matt continued, “I’m lookin’ for a white girl, and I’m thinkin’ she might be in the village you just came from.”

  Red Hawk’s eyes widened with interest at once. “There is a white girl in Iron Claw’s camp. She is Iron Claw’s captive.”

  Matt’s heartbeat quickened with excitement. “She’s alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far is this Sioux village?”

  Red Hawk paused to think. He had hidden under the bank of the river until dark while the Sioux war parties searched for him. Then, when he felt it safe to leave, he had crossed over the line of hills and walked another day before finding Matt. Considering his weakened condition, and the circuitous route he followed, he guessed that Matt was no more than half a day’s ride on a horse.

  Matt went to his saddle pack and pulled out a doeskin shirt. “Here,” he said, tossing the garment to Red Hawk. “Put this on. You’re makin’ me cold just lookin’ at you.” He watched as Red Hawk pulled the garment over his head. “That wound in your shoulder looks kinda tender.”

  “It’s starting to heal now,” Red Hawk replied. “It will be all right.”

  “If you say so,” Matt said. “I reckon you don’t have to hoof it on foot no more. That little mousy dun don’t belong to me. She just decided to tag along. You might as well take her.” He remembered one other thing then. “Hell, I’ve even got a Springfield rifle you can carry.”

  Since Red Hawk was a Crow, Matt knew for sure that he was an enemy of the Sioux. And since he claimed to be Spotted Horse’s brother, Matt supposed that he could trust him. Still, he wasn’t ready to put complete faith in the word of a stranger. He decided he’d better keep an eye on his guest.

  Matt’s cautious attitude was not lost on Red Hawk. The Crow warrior took notice of the care with which Matt placed the Henry beside him when they turned in for the night, Matt on one side of the fire and Red Hawk on the other. Red Hawk rolled up in Matt’s extra blanket and went immediately to sleep, his back to the fire and Matt. As for Matt, he remained awake long into the night, keeping a secretive watch upon the Indian.

  He awoke with a start when the first rays from the morning sun played across his face. Realizing that he had drifted off, he immediately reached for his rifle. It was not there. “You lookin’ for your gun?” He looked up to find Red Hawk sitting next to him, the Henry lying across his lap. “This is a fine gun,” the Indian commented. “I heard them talk about you and this gun.” He raised it to his shoulder and sighted on a tree several yards away. Then he handed the rifle to Matt. “I could have killed you while you slept, taken the gun and the horses,” he said, his sad dark eyes fixed on Matt’s. “I am Spotted Horse’s brother. He is your friend. I am your friend.”

  Matt could only stare speechless at the obviously insulted Crow warrior. “I reckon,” he finally uttered. “I’m sorry if I offended you.” He threw his blanket back and sat up. “I guess I could use a friend, ’specially one that knows where Iron Claw’s village is.”

  Red Hawk studied his new friend’s face for a moment before commenting. “It’s a big village, many lodges, many warriors.”

  “I ain’t aimin’ to fight the whole village,” Matt replied. “I just want to get the white girl out, then maybe get a shot at the one called Iron Claw. How ’bout it? You gonna show me where that village is?”

  Red Hawk nodded thoughtfully. He had a score to settle with the Sioux war chief as well. Spotted Horse had said that the young white man was a brave warrior. Red Hawk decided he would ride with him. “You give me a horse and a gun, and give me food. I have much to repay.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Matt replied. “You’d probably have done the same for me.”

  A partnership was formed, silently, without even as much as a handshake, although Matt would not say how strong it would be until after he had a chance to get to know Red Hawk better.

  Matt felt a strong sense of urgency to find Molly. He did not permit himself to dwell upon mental images of what the innocent young girl might be suffering, unable to explain to her captors that she could not speak. Her handicap might serve to infuriate the Sioux even more, leaving them to think her intentionally impudent and simply refusing to speak. In spite of the need for quick action, there was little he could do before nightfall, beyond possibly catching sight of the girl.

  As Red Hawk had said, the Sioux village was not far away. They approached it after only half a day’s ride. “Better leave the horses here,” Red Hawk advised, as he led Matt through a series of deep gullies along the bluffs of the river. “We can get across to the other side and hide in the long grass, but the horses would be seen.”

  Matt nodded. Looking down across the river, he could see that Red Hawk’s account of the camp’s size was not an exaggeration. There were at least a hundred lodges arranged in circles among the trees on the far side. A faint smoky haze lay woven through the tops of the cottonwoods, formed by the many cook fires. Matt and Red Hawk had approached the village from the upstream end, since that was the escape route Red Hawk had taken and was closest to Iron Claw’s tipi. It was still early in the afternoon, and the camp was busy with the many daily chores of the women while the men visited or worked on their weapons, preparing for the hunt or the warpath.

  Moving cautiously, holding his rifle and cartridge belt above the water, Matt followed Red Hawk across the gently flowing river. The Crow had said that he had hidden under the banks of the river, and Matt could see now how that was possible. The bluffs upstream were cut with many deep gullies that ran down to the water’s edge, creating a maze of hiding places.

  “There,” Red
Hawk spoke softly and pointed toward a tipi near the center of a circle of lodges. “Iron Claw.”

  Matt stared at the lodge pointed out. There was nothing to distinguish it from those around it, other than the paint pony tied close beside it. There was no sign of the captive white girl. He studied the terrain between them and the tipi—a distance of at least one hundred yards, about half of that open grass before reaching the cottonwoods. He would have to pass two tipis before reaching Iron Claw’s.

  “How many people in the lodge?” Matt asked.

  “Iron Claw, his wife, his mother,” Red Hawk replied. “Maybe not his mother,” he added, not certain if the old woman was dead or alive since he had clubbed her with the stick of firewood.

  Matt nodded, evaluating his chances of getting into the village without being seen. He quickly realized that his odds were zero during the daylight hours. There were too many people going and coming between the lodges. Still, there was no sign of Molly or the hawk-faced war chief. Matt figured that Iron Claw must be inside the tipi. He could be pretty sure the fierce hostile was in camp, since his favorite pony was tethered beside the tipi. But he was concerned for Molly. What if they had killed her? Probably not, he told himself. Iron Claw would not have bothered to bring her back to the village if he intended to kill her.

  They continued to watch. The afternoon hours passed with no sign of activity around the tipi. Matt looked over at Red Hawk. The Crow warrior seemed content to lie in the grass, patiently watching the Sioux camp. Matt wondered if his new partner felt the inner turmoil of anxiety that he was experiencing. No more than one hundred yards away were both the man who had killed Ike and the young girl who had saved Matt’s life. He told himself to be patient—like Red Hawk appeared to be. “I expect we’d better check on the horses,” Matt said.

  “I’ll go,” Red Hawk volunteered, and immediately began to back down the gully that concealed them.

  Matt didn’t say anything, but moments after the Crow warrior disappeared, he started having worrisome thoughts. What was there to stop Red Hawk from taking both horses and leaving him on foot to deal with the whole Sioux village? Red Hawk had a score to settle, but he was not motivated to rescue the white girl. During those quiet hours watching the Sioux camp, Red Hawk may have been thinking that this was a foolish endeavor he and the white man were contemplating. He had already made good his escape from the Sioux. Why take the risk of being killed or taken captive again? He was mighty damn quick to volunteer to go back to see to the horses. I should have gone myself. A few minutes later, he had to chastise himself a second time for having doubted his new partner, for Red Hawk suddenly appeared at the end of the gully. “The horses are okay,” he stated simply, and crawled up beside Matt.

  Matt nodded and started to reply, but before he could speak, Red Hawk suddenly pointed toward the camp. Matt immediately looked back at the tipi. Having just emerged from inside, Iron Claw stood beside the flap. He stretched his arms and arched his back, much like a cat stretches after a nap. Then he walked over and spent a moment stroking the face and ears of his pony before untying the horse and leading it away.

  Just for a moment, Matt was tempted to settle the score for Ike’s murder right then while he had an easy target. His hand rested lightly on the trigger guard of his rifle as he fought the urge to raise the weapon and snuff out the life of the savage war chief. He glanced over at Red Hawk, and from the intense frown on the Crow warrior’s face, he guessed that they both had the same thought. It served to restore his rational mind. “Wait,” he whispered, in case Red Hawk was close to giving in to the temptation.

  As they watched, the Sioux warrior led his horse to the edge of the river and stood waiting while the paint drank its fill. Another warrior rode up to Iron Claw and stopped to talk for a few moments before moving on toward the center of the camp. His attention caught by someone else farther downstream, Iron Claw turned to watch the progress of two women as they climbed up from the riverbank.

  Matt glanced briefly at the two women, and was about to dismiss them as unimportant when he suddenly realized that one of the women was actually a girl—a white girl. He immediately returned his gaze for a long, hard look. It was Molly, all right. He had not been certain he would recognize her. It had been some time since he had last seen the young girl who had worked in the hotel kitchen run by her mother. His heart went out to her right away. Carrying two heavy water skins, she staggered along under the constant badgering of the Sioux woman, who controlled her with a noose around her neck. Matt’s face instantly flushed with anger, but he held himself in check. There was nothing he could do at this point. He couldn’t fight the entire Sioux village, although he was angry enough to be tempted to try it. So he watched the stern Indian woman and her slender white captive until they disappeared into the tipi. “We’ll have to wait till dark,” he whispered to Red Hawk. “Then I’ll go in and get her.”

  Red Hawk nodded thoughtfully. “That may be a very dangerous thing to do. If anyone sees you, you will be killed on the spot. Maybe we should watch for a few days, and wait for a chance to catch the woman and the girl away from the camp.”

  Matt could appreciate the Crow warrior’s concern, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving Molly in the hands of the Sioux for a day longer. Still, he realized that it would not be right to endanger Red Hawk’s life with a rash decision, made in a time of anger. He thought about it for a moment before replying. “When it gets dark, I’ll go in and get her. You stay with the horses. If I don’t make it, you’ll probably hear the noise. If you do, then get outta there before they come lookin’ for my horse.”

  Red Hawk shrugged, somewhat chastised by Matt’s remark. After a moment, he said, “I came as a warrior, not to hold the horses and run away.”

  Matt realized then that he had unintentionally insulted the Crow warrior. He quickly explained. “My friend, I didn’t mean to insult you. I just meant that, since I decided to walk right into the middle of a Sioux camp and stick my neck out, it wouldn’t be right to expect you to do the same. I’m thinkin’ that it would be less risky for one man to slip into the camp after dark. And when I come outta there, I’m gonna need to have my horse right handy. That’s why I want you to stay with the horses.” He could see from Red Hawk’s expression that the warrior was not entirely satisfied with the way the plan was laid out.

  Red Hawk spoke. “This Iron Claw is a powerful warrior. I have seen this for myself. It will not be an easy thing for one man to fight him and his wife. I think it best if I go with you. I came to kill him, not to hold the horses.”

  Matt could see that his new partner had made up his mind, and it didn’t seem likely that he could persuade him differently. Besides, he thought, Red Hawk was probably right. Matt might have his hands full with two to surprise and overpower—especially if he had hopes of doing it quietly—although he would prefer to have someone keep the horses ready for a quick departure. “Suit yourself, then,” he conceded. “We’ll just wait till dark.”

  * * *

  Several times during the fading afternoon, when someone in the village ventured too close, the two scouts thought they might have to withdraw from the gully. On one occasion, a Lakota girl came within fifty feet of their hiding place, searching the water’s edge for greens to add to her mother’s cook pot. Matt and Red Hawk froze. A few feet farther and the girl could sound the alarm that would force them either to run for it, or to silence her. Luck was with them, for she found a lush patch of spring greens and filled her basket without even looking their way. Matt was immediately relieved. He had no desire to trade an innocent Lakota girl’s life for Molly’s.

  As the light began to fade, there seemed to be an increase in activity in the camp. It puzzled Matt, for he had expected the village to settle down for the night. “They prepare for a dance,” Red Hawk explained. The occasion could be for any number of reasons, he went on. “Maybe they go on war party tomorrow,” he speculated.

  Whatever the reason, Matt could only feel c
oncern that it might spoil his chances of slipping into the village. There was nothing to do but wait and watch. A little after sundown, a huge fire was built in the center of the camp. Soon people began to gather around the flames, and a short time later, the monotonous beat of drums filled the river valley. At first, only a few young men danced around the fire as darkness settled upon the riverbanks. It was not long before others, young and old, answered the call of the drums. Holding weapons over their heads, shuffling in a nonrhythmic syncopation, they circled the fire, chanting a singsong appeal to the spirits. Had the occasion not been so sinister, Matt would have been fascinated by the spectacle.

  “War dance,” Red Hawk decided. He was about to comment further when he suddenly grasped Matt’s elbow and pointed toward Iron Claw’s tipi.

  Iron Claw had emerged from the lodge. The powerful warrior stood for a few moments, looking toward the fire and the dancers. Then he strode purposefully toward the circle to join the celebration. Matt looked at Red Hawk. “Well, that changes things, don’t it?” The prospect of catching Iron Claw alone was lost to them at that moment. However, it greatly improved the chances of rescuing Molly and making good their escape.

  Red Hawk shrugged. “Maybe the spirits tell us that it is not a good time to kill him.” He thought about it for a moment more. “There is still the coyote bitch he is married to.” He remembered the vile temper of Iron Claw’s wife. She would put up a fight. He was certain of that. As if on cue, the woman appeared at the entrance of the tipi. She paused for a long moment, gazing at the dance now in full progress, seeming to be struggling with a decision. Apparently having made it, she took one quick look back inside the tipi. Then she hurried away to watch the dancing.