The Hostile Trail

by Charles G. West

  Matt stood looking at the broken wagon wheel for a few minutes longer, picturing in his mind what had taken place there, and how terrifying it must have been for Molly. He had known her mother, Libby, but the buzzards had not left enough of the poor woman to recognize. Jack Black Dog, he thought, and tucked the name away in the back of his mind. In the event he ever crossed paths with the breed, there would be a reckoning.

  After the grave was covered, LeVan decided to follow the trail farther north to scout the low ridges for signs of any increased Indian activity. There was no way to tell for sure, but Spotted Horse felt strongly that this was the work of Iron Claw, as Cooter Martin had speculated. On the morning the patrol left Fort Laramie, Major Evans had reminded the lieutenant that the Sioux were coming in to talk to a delegation from Washington within a couple of weeks. It was Washington’s hope that the Sioux chiefs would agree to allow peaceful traffic along the Bozeman Trail. In view of this, Evans suggested that LeVan should not be too diligent in searching for the parties guilty of the attack on the wagon. Having already been advised of the major’s position on the issue by Captain Boyd, LeVan was clear on what was expected of him. Still, it stuck in his craw. As far as he could tell, this business with Libby and Franklin Lyons had nothing to do with the impending treaty talks. Iron Claw was nothing more than a bloodthirsty criminal, and as such, he should not be tolerated by either red man or white. In all likelihood, Iron Claw would not attend the talks, anyway. And while LeVan was not reluctant to ignore the letter of the law, he would not completely disobey. Consequently, he decided to have a look around the head of the Powder in case Iron Claw was lingering in the area.

  “What are we gonna do if we find Iron Claw and he’s got as many warriors as we got jumped with before?” Sergeant Barnes whispered to Matt.

  “Run like hell, I reckon,” Matt replied. He didn’t really believe the lieutenant expected to find any Sioux in the area. It was his feeling that LeVan just enjoyed being in the field and away from the post.

  Chapter 10

  “Damn,” Parker Boyd uttered softly when he read the paper just handed to him by Lieutenant James O’Connor. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure this is the same man?” he asked, handing the paper back.

  “It’s him, all right,” O’Connor replied smugly, reading the article.

  Matthew Scott Slaughter, approximately twenty-five years of age; height, over six feet; weight, approximately one hundred ninety pounds; hair, light brown or blond; eyes, blue. Last seen in Oklahoma Territory—believed to be traveling with an older companion named Ike Brister.

  “Hell,” Boyd snorted, “that could describe any number of outlaws passing this way.” As chief of scouts, Boyd was reluctant to lose a man as capable as Slaughter had proven to be.

  “That’s true,” O’Connor conceded, “but he’s the only one who calls himself Matt Slaughter and was traveling with Ike Brister.” He laughed. “I’d have more respect for him if he had at least had enough sense to change his name.”

  “I still can’t believe it. He just doesn’t fit the mold of a murderer.”

  “The army doesn’t take kindly to a Johnny Reb murdering one of its officers.” O’Connor was thoroughly enjoying the turn of events. He was still smarting from the rebuke he had received after Ike Brister had been killed. This notice just received from Omaha, alerting all posts to be on the lookout for more than a dozen fugitives, might have been carelessly discarded, like similar notices before. As luck would have it, however, O’Connor was killing time in the adjutant’s office, and just happened to casually scan the names. The name Matthew Scott Slaughter jumped out at him at once. Slaughter was wanted by the army for killing a Captain Harvey Mathis in Virginia, in June 1865. It was almost too good to be true! O’Connor had immediately volunteered to take charge of a detail to arrest the fugitive.

  “This isn’t going to make Fred LeVan any too happy,” Boyd said. “He puts a lot of stock in Slaughter. It still doesn’t seem possible.”

  “I don’t doubt it a bit,” O’Connor insisted. “If you’d seen the way that man handles that Henry rifle he carries, you wouldn’t either.”

  “Are you going to arrest him as soon as he gets back with LeVan’s patrol?”

  “I could,” O’Connor answered. “But I don’t think I’ll wait for him to get back. I think I’ll take a detail out to meet the patrol. I wanna make sure nobody has a chance to warn him.”

  * * *

  Lieutenant O’Connor was justified in his decision not to wait for LeVan’s patrol to return to the post, for word of the wanted poster soon spread throughout the fort. “Oh, my goodness,” Martha Riddler sighed, hardly able to believe what her husband told her. “That nice young man . . .” she began. Then, “Molly will be devastated.” She frowned as she pictured the impact the news would have upon their houseguest. “Are they sure, John? Maybe they have the wrong man.”

  “They’re pretty sure it’s him,” the doctor replied. “I was as surprised as you. It just shows you that it’s hard to judge a person, but there are a lot of men out here who are running from a past back east. Lieutenant O’Connor is taking a patrol out in the morning to intercept LeVan.”

  “I still think there must be some mistake,” Martha murmured, unwilling to believe she could have been so wrong in her assessment of Matt’s character. She gave it a few more moments’ thought before shaking her head and saying, “We’d best not let Molly know about this. She’ll find out soon enough as it is.”

  Just inside the door, about to join Martha on the porch, a shocked young girl stood paralyzed, her hand on the doorknob. As Martha had expected, Molly was devastated. She felt her knees weaken beneath her, and she thought at first that she might faint right there in the living room. Almost in a trance, she withdrew her hand from the doorknob and backed away from the door. This could not be true, she told herself. She was having a nightmare. Not until she bumped against the kitchen door did she gain control of her senses again. What must I do? she wondered, knowing that she must do something to help him, but feeling totally helpless. There was only one possible way, she decided, and with no second thoughts, she hurried out the back door.

  * * *

  “Yes, ma’am,” the soldier on stable duty replied, finally understanding Molly’s gestures. “It’s the mousy dun yonder against the rail, ain’t it?” She nodded her head. “I’ll get her for you. It’s kinda late to be goin’ for a ride. You want me to throw a saddle on her?” Molly shook her head no. When the private put a bridle on the mare and brought her to the gate, Molly smiled her thanks, stepped up on the fence rail, and jumped over onto the pony’s back. Perched there, she waited while the soldier opened the gate.

  It was a little more than a mile down the river to the Crow village, and the sun was sinking low by the time she arrived. The Indian women were tending their cook fires, preparing the evening meal. Each one stopped to stare at the young white woman as she rode her pony through the camp, searching right and left as she passed by them.

  She could feel the tension tightening her throat as she came to the end of the camp without sighting him. Fighting an attack of panic, she turned her horse around and began to ride back through the scattering of tipis. Then she saw him. Red Hawk had come out of his mother’s lodge when he heard the old woman comment that there was a strange white girl riding through the camp.

  “Molly,” Red Hawk called to her, and walked to meet her. “Why are you here? Are you looking for me?” She nodded anxiously and slid from her pony’s back. “What’s wrong?” he asked. She made the sign for mountain lion, which he had taught her to make when she referred to Matt. “Slaughter?” Red Hawk responded. Before he could ask another question, she signed danger. “Danger,” he said. “Slaughter, danger—is Slaughter in trouble?” She nodded. Yes.

  There followed a lengthy guessing game, during which several of Red Hawk’s friends wandered over to satisfy their curiosity. Soon the spectators joined in the game, watching Molly’s frantic attempts to
sign out her message, then trying to guess her meaning. Finally, when she was about to give in to her despair, Red Hawk put it all together. “Slaughter in trouble—soldiers come to kill him. You want me to find him, warn him?” She breathed a long, weary sigh and nodded her head slowly with exaggerated motions.

  “I go,” he said, and prepared to leave at once. In a matter of minutes, he was ready to ride. Before setting out toward the Powder River, he rode with Molly back to the fort, partly to see that she got back safely but also to see if he could find out more about what trouble his friend was in. After escorting her to the surgeon’s house, he went to see Seth Ward. Seth usually knew everything that went on around the post, and he did not disappoint on this occasion.

  “Seems like your friend killed an army officer back in Virginia, and Lieutenant O’Connor is headin’ out in the mornin’ to arrest him.”

  Red Hawk considered that for a few moments before commenting. “If he killed an officer, the officer musta needed killin’. Too bad.” Seeing no need to tell the post trader what he proposed to do, Red Hawk promptly took his leave. His brother, Spotted Horse, had told him where the patrol was heading, so Red Hawk knew where to look for Matt.

  Back at the surgeon’s dwelling, Martha Riddler looked in the spare room where Molly slept. Molly was not there. “Well, where on earth has she disappeared to?” Martha asked aloud. She was not on the front porch, and not in the kitchen. Martha was about to become concerned when she heard a light footfall on the back-porch steps. She went immediately to see if Molly was all right. “Goodness gracious, child,” she said cheerfully, “I didn’t know what happened to you.” She was about to go on making idle chatter, but the look on Molly’s face caused her to pause. “Is something wrong?” Molly shook her head no, but Martha could read the distress in the young girl’s eyes. “You heard, didn’t you?”

  Molly slowly nodded her head, dropping her gaze to her feet. Martha stepped up and put her arm around her young charge’s shoulders. “Oh, darlin’, you don’t seem to get anything but bad news, do you?” Molly raised her head to meet Martha’s gaze, her eyes glistening with tears. Martha studied her face before commenting. “Merciful heavens,” she sighed. “You really are in love with him, aren’t you?” It wasn’t necessary for Molly to answer. Martha pulled her close and hugged her tightly. Molly submitted willingly, seeking the comforting shoulder she needed. “You poor girl, you’ve really got it bad,” Martha said. After a few moments, she whispered, “I like him, too. There must be some mistake.”

  * * *

  Spotted Horse sat motionless, watching the lone figure as it crossed over a low rise. Still some distance away, the rider had a familiar look about him, and Spotted Horse thought he recognized the paint pony as the one that had once belonged to the hated Sioux war chief Iron Claw. Wondering what would bring his brother riding out this far alone, he remained hidden in the shadow of the cottonwoods. When at last the rider approached close enough to confirm that it was, indeed, Red Hawk, Spotted Horse prodded his pony and moved out into the open grass. Red Hawk, startled by the sudden appearance of a horse and rider, jerked hard on the paint’s reins before realizing a second later that it was his brother.

  “If I was a Sioux,” Spotted Horse shouted, “you would be dead.” He rode down the slope to meet Red Hawk. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to warn Slaughter. He’s in trouble.”

  “What do you mean? What trouble?”

  “They say he killed a soldier before he came to Fort Laramie. Lieutenant O’Connor is on his way to arrest him before the patrol returns.”

  Spotted Horse thought about it for a moment. It didn’t seem likely that Slaughter would kill one of his own people unless the man deserved it. “Maybe it happened in the great war between the whites.”

  “Maybe,” Red Hawk said. “Where is the patrol?”

  Spotted Horse turned to point behind him. “There, on the other side of that ridge. They stopped by War Woman Creek to eat and rest the horses.” Turning back and pointing toward the north, he said, “Slaughter is somewhere beyond those hills.” With no further discussion, the two Crow brothers set out toward the hills to find him. Like Red Hawk, Spotted Horse never considered Matt’s actions, whatever had occurred, to be anything but justified. He had read the courage in Slaughter’s eyes. A man like that did not kill without justification.

  * * *

  Matt recognized Red Hawk’s paint pony as he watched the two Indians approaching, and he was surprised to see him. When last he had talked to the young warrior, Red Hawk had said he was going to lie around his mother’s tipi for a few days and get fat. He gave his horse a gentle nudge with his heels, and the buckskin responded immediately. “I see you found somebody,” Matt joked when he pulled up before the two brothers. “He musta got lost to wind up out here.”

  Ignoring the tease, Red Hawk blurted out, “O’Connor is coming to arrest you! You must run!”

  “Whoa!” Matt replied, taken by surprise. “What are you talkin’ about? Arrest me for what?”

  Red Hawk went on to relate the events as he had discovered them. “The girl, Molly, came to find me,” he said. “It was she who heard them talking about you. She heard them say you killed a soldier. A paper came with your name on it, and they’re sending Lieutenant O’Connor to get you.”

  So the day has finally arrived, he thought. Enough time had passed since he’d left Oklahoma Indian Territory to give him a sense that he had been forgotten as far as the army was concerned. Captain Harvey Mathis—that was the officer’s name he was supposed to have killed. There had never been a day since that he had regretted taking the blame for his brother’s fit of rage that resulted in the Union officer’s accidental death. There had been minor thoughts of regret that he was saddled with the unearned label of murderer, but he would never have reversed his decision, even if given the choice. Owen had a wife and children, a farm to work in order to provide for them. It would have been a total tragedy for them to lose him. At the time of the incident, Matt had been young and free, with no family to worry about and no desire to work a farm. He honestly thought he could disappear on the western frontier. He had been unconcerned to the extent that he didn’t bother to use an assumed name. Well, I was wrong, he thought.

  “How far behind you?” Matt asked.

  “Don’t know,” Red Hawk answered. “Maybe day, maybe half day—don’t know for sure.”

  Matt didn’t say anything more for a few moments while he considered his options. He turned and looked toward the northwest, toward the hills and the Bighorns beyond. He thought of the mountains where he and Ike had spent most of the winter trying to avoid Iron Claw’s war parties. Maybe, he thought, it was time for him to move on through the Powder River country, up to the Yellowstone, and over to Virginia City. His promise to Ike returned to his mind. Could he ever be at peace with himself if he allowed Iron Claw to go unpunished for the brutal murder of his friend? There were other reasons to remain within a few days’ ride of Fort Laramie—other promises he had made.

  “So Molly went to find you and sent you to warn me?” he said, after his lengthy silence.

  “Yes,” Red Hawk answered. A wide grin formed on his face, and he added, “She still wanna go with you. I don’t think she give a damn how many officers you killed.”

  Matt’s expression remained impassive, although inside he could not deny a definite stirring of his blood. “I don’t reckon that’ll ever happen,” he stated firmly. “I guess I’d best not hang around here much longer. I better be gone when O’Connor gets here.”

  “Where will you go?” Spotted Horse asked.

  “Ain’t made up my mind for certain—maybe Montana Territory. Right now, I’m just thinkin’ about findin’ me a place close by to hole up for a few days till I decide.” He looked at Spotted Horse and shook his head in apology. “Tell Lieutenant LeVan that I’m sorry I had to run out on him again.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Red Hawk, my frie
nd, I’m obliged for the warning. Tell Molly I’m obliged to her, too.”

  “I will,” Red Hawk replied. “You want me to bring her to you? She’ll come.”

  “No! Hell, no!” Matt quickly responded. “I don’t want you to bring her out here. Just tell her I said thanks.”

  Red Hawk shrugged indifferently. It was his friend’s decision to make, but the Crow warrior saw no reason for Matt to be alone when he could have a woman to do for him.

  * * *

  “He what?” Lieutenant LeVan demanded when he overheard Spotted Horse talking to Sergeant Barnes.

  Barnes shook his head thoughtfully, then turned to face the lieutenant. “Spotted Horse says Slaughter’s took off—says he told him to tell you.”

  “Jesus Christ!” LeVan fumed. “Again? He’s deserted my patrol for the second time?” He was instantly irritated, mainly at himself for misjudging the man. He had just vouched for Matt’s character when he lobbied for rehiring him as a scout.

  “Looks that way, sir,” Barnes replied. He nodded his head toward the Crow scout. “Spotted Horse says you’ll know why pretty soon.”

  “What does he mean by that?”

  Barnes was about to ask Spotted Horse when he was suddenly interrupted by a warning call from the picket on the south bank of the creek. “Rider approaching!” It was followed a few minutes later by, “It’s Zeb Benson!”

  Perplexed as he was upon hearing that Slaughter had quit him again, LeVan put his irritation aside for the moment, replacing it with curiosity about the veteran scout’s sudden appearance. He and Barnes turned toward the sentry on the south bank and waited. In a few minutes, the familiar form of Zeb Benson topped the rise beyond the creek and waved an arm once before riding down to cross over.

  “Howdy, Lieutenant,” Zeb offered in casual greeting, pulling up before LeVan and Barnes.

  “What are you doing out this way, Benson?” LeVan asked.

  “Lookin’ fer you,” Zeb replied as he swung a leg over and dismounted. He looked around him, taking in the soldiers at rest. “Looks like you boys ain’t workin’ too hard. Maybe I could find me a cup of coffee.”