The War Wagon

by Clair Huffaker

  Three of the eight who had been with the stage were unaccounted for. Taw rode on again, studying the terrain with quick, keen eyes, checking off every detail. Near a high rock he had a clear view of the pass where he had placed the paper log. Two men were waiting there with the third, who was stretched out on the ground. There could be no men up on the ridge. Riding forward at a faster pace, Taw came to the position from which he could see the whole panorama surrounding Stony Flat once more. The mounted stagecoach guards, this time on the near side of the gulley, were pushing their exhausted horses toward the road at a spiritless, but fast, lope.

  The Sioux war party was nowhere in sight. Taw watched while the troop of guards swung onto the road and advanced toward the pass below him. Then, picking the best trail, Taw rode down the far, eastern side of Rabbit Ear Pass until he was out on a level.

  Keeping a close watch for guards or Indians, he circled wide, passed the broken bridge, and entered the gully where it shallowed at the southern end.

  After a quick, jogging trot up the rocky gully, Taw found Wes Catlin. The powder man was beyond help. He was huddled at the edge of the gully wall where he'd crawled, judging from the trail of blood, to find protection from the arrows coming down at him. His body was curled up in a ball, his head down, his knees under him. There were at least seven arrows in him.

  Taw took off his hat and made a slow pretense of dropping the rainwater from its curled brim. He put it back on and said, "Sorry, Wes...."

  Three hours later, after swinging far west, he came into Pawnee and turned the pinto out to pasture. Jess's black, warm but not sweated, was there, and Christine's buckskin mare nickered to Taw and trotted over to be sociable.

  He rubbed her ear idly and said without feeling, "Horse, I guess you're talking to a rich man."

  Chapter Nine

  CHRISTINE was in her bedroom when Taw got to the house. He could hear her above, moving softly about as he entered, and when he shut the door her footsteps paused. After a short interval she came down the stairs, her lips set tight and straight, her shadowed eyes tired. "Aren't you going to go out with the rest of the men?"

  "What men?"

  "The men who are going to try to rescue the Cuttler boy." She saw that Taw didn't know what she meant. "You haven't heard about him?"

  "No."

  "A stageline rider rode through town an hour ago on his way to Fort Meade for the cavalry. He warned everyone to be on the lookout for renegade Sioux warriors. He said a large party of them attacked the gold coach at Stony Flat this morning. They blew up the bridge trying to stop the coach, but it got across all right."

  Taw unbuttoned his leather jacket. "What else did he have to say?"

  "There was a running fight. Two guards were wounded. Then the Indians trapped the stageline men. One of them who could speak English called out that they'd let the others go if the guards would turn over the man riding a chestnut with three white socks. That was Jason Cuttler. He's only about twenty, they tell me. Lives with his family in Deadwood."

  "And the men turned him over?" Taw demanded.

  "No. They wouldn't do that. But the boy jumped on his horse and rode out toward the Indians before anyone could stop him. The Indians went away with him. The other guards went to catch up with the stage, except for the one that came through here. He was sent right back for the cavalry."

  Taw said, "The boy had a lot of backbone to turn himself over like that."

  "That's why everyone's so upset. Even Jess is in town helping get as many armed men together as possible to go out after the Indians. I never saw him so anxious to help out on anything."

  "You look beat, Christine. Why don't you sit down and rest a little?"

  The girl sank wearily into a chair. "I was up most of the night, wondering and worrying. I couldn't get over the feeling that you and Jess were going out to get into some kind of trouble." She sighed and looked up at Taw. "I suppose you were in the all-night poker game at the Silver Dollar that Jess told me he was in last night."

  Taw nodded.

  Christine said slowly, "Jess told me that both of you spent the night above Alvin Snyder's store, drinking and talking."

  Frowning, Taw said, "One of us is a liar."

  "Or both of you." Christine stood up and faced him, her eyes large and brooding. "You and Jess were part of whatever happened at Stony Flat. I know it, but I can't prove it. Even if I could prove it I wouldn't say anything."

  Taw dropped his eyes from hers. "Jess should do his damnedest to hold onto a girl like you. He's a real fool."

  "You're the fool! It's not for Jess's sake that I wouldn't say anything. It's for yours. Not that it matters any more." She turned away and went toward the stairs, her hand brushing her face. "I'm leaving Pawnee Fork." From the stairs she spoke to him once more. "Did you get the gold shipment?"

  Taw fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cheroot. "You seem to know more about what's going on than I do."

  She said tightly, "You got it. That means you'll be a dead man within twenty-four hours."

  "Stop that talk!" Taw said. "You rattle on like you know everything about everything! I was playing poker last night and I'm going to live to be a hundred and ten!"

  Christine leaned over the stair railing, her eyes sparkling, her lips parted slightly. "You know how I'd do it, thinking the way Jess does? I'd get somebody else to do it for me. Like those gunmen friends of his. And to the general public I'd be sure to build up a story that would lead them away from the truth about the gold.

  " 'I sure hate to think of my brother as a thief,' I'd say, acting sad as a soaked rabbit. 'But he never was much good, you know. Outlaw rep as long as your arm. Mean gunfighter. Shot that Boicourt fellow first night in town, remember? Smashed a saloon right after that. And he was bragging to me that he had some sort of connection with the Sioux. Told me he had a plan to rob that gold coach out of Deadwood. I thought he was just joking, of course.' " Christine sobbed mockingly. " 'And then there was that terrible time he got shot. Never got a chance to see who did it. Probably some of the men who were in with him, or maybe a couple of desperadoes trying to find out where he'd hidden the gold.'

  "And pretty quick you'd be a campfire tale in the territory, Taw. The great Jack Tawlin, only man who robbed the gold coach. But he was killed after he got away with it, and to this day it's hidden out there somewhere on the plains or in the mountains, where no one will ever find it!"

  Taw walked to the foot of the steps. "You have a deceiving mind, Christine! You're down on Jess just because he's no good as a married man."

  "And he's worse as a brother!" Christine cried, her voice rising hysterically, "because you believe in him! That gold is a fortune! Do you think he'll share it? He's treacherous and greedy and he'd as soon kill you as—"

  Taw's open palm slapped across her face, then dropped quickly, gently to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  She sat down on the steps and began to cry quietly. Taw started toward the door. Before he went out, she controlled her weeping enough to say, "If you're half the man I think you are—you'll do whatever you can to get that Cuttler boy away from the Sioux. Unless he's dead already."

  Taw walked through the rain that was building up in force again until he came to the first saloon on Pawnee Street. He ordered whisky. The bartender poured it and turned to another customer who came in shaking the rain out of his hat. "Hear the most recent about Stony Flat?"

  "What?"

  "Them crazy Indians got off with every pinch of dust on Old Ironsides. They cut the logs out from under that place past Rabbit Ear Pass and when the coach hit it she broke right through and rolled clean down the mountain!"

  "Fellows in 'er killed?" a third man asked

  "Nope. They got off four, five miles beforehand."

  "Got off? What the hell for?"

  "Beats me. Some whites was in on it too. Leastwise, one was. Wes Catlin was the man who blew the bridge. They found him filled with arrows."

  "Poor ol' Wes
. Always was a quiet one. Guess they was sore at 'im cause he set her off too late to drop the coach in the gully."

  The barkeep wrinkled his forehead. "What puzzles me—why have things set up to smash the stage at both the gully and the pass?"

  "Prob'ly figured if they didn't get her in one place, they'd get her in the other."

  "I'll bet that gold's a thousand miles from here by now."

  "Or sittin' in some Sioux village."

  "Never heard of Injuns goin' for the yallow that way. Beads, knives, guns, food, clothes—almost anythin'—but not the yallow."

  "They're after anything they can get their thieving hands on these days. Even chased old Charley Hill up Arrow Rock Road, he told me, chasin' after his load of flour. He come in a little while ago with his mules dragging their tails and dead-tired."

  Taw paid for his drink and went out onto the street. He got to Snyder's warehouse at the outskirts of town, and tried the door. It was locked. He rubbed some of the dirt from a dusty window turned muddy from the splay of rain, and peered into the large building. Charley's wagon was not there.

  Cupping his hands to the glass, he called, "Anyone there?" He was about to leave when something thumped against the door from the inside. It was opened a crack and he shoved through it. Charley Hill was on his knees in the shadowed interior, one hand stretched up to release the door's automatic catch. "Come on in," he said, choking over the words. "Party's just began."

  Inside, Taw kicked the door shut behind him. "You drunk already?" He reached down to help Charley up and the old man grunted with pain as Taw's fingers touched open flesh. There was a long, deep, open wound slanting down from Charley's shoulder toward the middle of his chest. The old man was dying.

  Taw picked him up, making him curse feebly with pain, and placed him gently on a long workbench standing a few yards away in the large warehouse.

  "Jesus God!" Charley grumbled, his eyes glazed and his low voice breaking. "I'm so mad I could spit iron spikes! All that whisky! Barrels of good Scotch whisky. Gone! All them good times! Them fancy towns in Europe! All them pretty women and them penniless fellows I was goin' to throw money away on. All gone!"

  Taw tore a piece from a roll of cloth nearby and tried to stop the vast, slow surge of blood from the wound. "You said the party was just starting. Buck up, Charley."

  The old man twisted his head toward Taw. "It's all gone. Slipped through my fingers afore I even bought one lone, God-damned drink!" His voice broke into a throaty gurgle. He breathed rapidly, heavily, then said, "Meant the party was just startin' for you. It's over for me. If I wasn't such a tough old bastard I'd be dead under that hunk of canvas in the corner there, like I'm supposed to be."

  Taw glanced toward a dark corner of the warehouse, where a dirty gray tarp had been thrown. A long-handled scythe was leaning against the wall near it. The floor beneath the tarp was a pool of black liquid in the shadows, and Taw realized the liquid was Charley's blood. "What happened?"

  "I—I brung the load in like we figured. Nobody seen me till I got to town like normal. I told a tale 'bout the Sioux chasin' me, so's I could bring that beautiful gold here in a hurry and get a look at it. Saw Jess on Pawnee Street and he just waved like he would normally. Got the load here just as Snyder come along. Said he decided to take the barrels up to the basement of his store. That they'd be safer there."

  Charley coughed, and blood curled down slowly from the corner of his lip. "Iron Eyes come in then. Snyder and him nodded and didn't say nothin'. The breed an' me talked a minute while Snyder went off to his place in the wagon. Then Iron Eyes picked up that scythe over there and swung it at me and put me under that canvas. Snyder did lots more plannin' than he told us."

  Taw's voice was strained and flat. "You think Jess is in with Snyder against us?"

  "Got no reason to think that. Far—far as I know the only thing Jess done against you, Taw, was lyin' about killin' Spotted Wolf's kid. Him an' Iron Eyes done that together. He said you oughtu't to know cause it'd make you mad. Say it—was an accident." The old man's eyes closed and his breathing became labored and uneven.

  Leaning down, Taw said, "Charley?"

  Hill's lips quivered and he mumbled, "All—all that Scotch whisky an'—"

  He shuddered with the effort to keep talking, and then he lay still.

  Taw didn't know how long he stood there above Charley.

  A tiny sound at the other end of the shadowed warehouse brought him around, his back to the workbench. There was the slight squeak of a lock turning, and Iron Eyes opened the door. He shut it quickly behind him and walked straight toward the canvas in the corner. He bent over and Taw heard a low grunt of surprise.

  "Looking for something?" Taw asked.

  The breed sprang erect, whirling toward the sound of the voice.

  Taw leaned his weight out from the bench, hand tensed at his side, but Iron Eyes made no motion toward his gun. He moved forward a few, ponderous steps and mumbled, "You got what I'm lookin' for over there?"

  "Yeah. Understand you hit him with a scythe." Taw spoke in a casual, conversational tone.

  The half-breed stepped closer still. "Old man gold crazy. Want it all for himself."

  "I'm curious, Iron Eyes. In the attack this morning did you tell any of your hot-blooded friends to take a look in the gully? That maybe there was an off chance that a white man was there?"

  The big man considered this soberly. Then he showed his teeth in a broad, flat smile. "You think it out, huh?" He shrugged. "Four of us left now."

  "How many when you're finished?" Taw listened to the rain, trying to decide if a shot could be heard in the buildings closest to the warehouse.

  There was a long, rolling rumble of thunder in the sky above, and in that moment Iron Eyes dropped instantly to a crouch, his hand darting for the gun at his side. Taw's revolver sped out of its holster and his shot whipped the half-breed around, knocking his gun spinning across the floor. Iron Eyes stood up, clutching at his arm. He took two steps back and waited. "Why not shoot?" he demanded. "Why not kill me?"

  "I want you alive. Lie down and put your hands behind your back."

  The big man said, "You are afraid to make a noise that people will hear. You will take me away and kill me. You—" He staggered as though he could not stand, wobbling forward for balance. Then he charged swiftly, throwing his arms out toward Taw's gun.

  Taw did not shoot. He moved one step back and was against the bench. Lunging out from the bench toward the big man, he slashed out with his gun barrel, catching Iron Eyes across the face with the powerful blow.

  The giant breed's head snapped back, but his huge body crashed into Taw, pounding him back. Taw brought the gun down in a second looping swing, jarring the half-breed's head once more and giving Taw a chance to break away from the bench.

  Pivoting, Iron Eyes swung a long, thick arm out that caught Taw on the side of the neck and knocked him sliding across the floor. The big man ran forward and jumped feet first, his boots coming down through the shadows at Taw's head. Taw rolled away and one great boot caught him in a follow-up kick, the spur of the boot tearing across his shoulder. With his free hand Taw grabbed the foot and pushed up and away. Iron Eyes crashed to the floor.

  Taw was the first man up. As the breed raised himself to all fours, Taw lashed out twice more with the gun barrel, pounding the great head with slamming blows that would have fractured a normal skull. Roaring with pain, Iron Eyes reared to his feet, striking out with a huge fist in a tremendous arc. The blow struck Taw high on the chest, knocking him a horse's length away before he hit the floor. His body numb, Taw closed his right fist on empty air and realized his Colt had dropped from his fingers. He pitched to his feet and ducked to one side as Iron Eyes charged with his arms wide open to catch him.

  The big man paused, breathing deeply. "No gun," he said. "No hurry now."

  Arms apart, he lumbered slowly forward, ready to catch Taw if he made a break. Taw backed, edging to the right, one hand groping be
hind him to find the scythe. He touched the handle and his hand encircled it as the half-breed darted forward through the shadows.

  Swinging the long, curved blade up, Taw sliced into the great, tensed muscles on the other man's right arm. He dodged as Iron Eyes growled in sudden pain, and ducked out and away to the center of the warehouse. The enraged half-breed shifted and dashed out in snarling attack, like a wounded animal.

  Instead of retreating, Taw lunged forward at an angle to meet him, shoving the scythe blade up at the contorted face above him. The tip of the blade ripped the breed's arm and the sharp edge swept on up, slashing deep across the middle of his nose.

  Iron Eyes' gasp was an agonized, almost whistling intake of air as he dropped to his knees and grabbed at his cut face. Switching the heavy handle of the scythe to use it as a club, Taw swung it in a mighty blow that caught the other man behind the ear, crunching savagely against the bone.

  Iron Eyes sank slowly to the floor, heaved his great shoulders once in a last effort to rise, then lay still.

  Gathering air into his lungs in short, panting breaths, Taw stared down at the fallen giant. Then he took a stout length of rope from a peg in the wall and tied the man's arms securely before him.

  Through the window Taw could see Iron Eyes' sorrel standing with drooping head in the rain outside. The sweep of soaked earth to the near buildings and the town beyond was empty. Taw searched around the floor for his gun, automatically ejected the spent shell and replaced it, then went out and mounted the sorrel. He made a wide swing around town to the pasture where his pinto was. Christine's buckskin was still there, but Jess's black was gone. Saddling his paint, he mounted him and led the sorrel mare back the way he'd come.

  Fifteen minutes had elapsed when he opened the door to the warehouse again. Inside, he unlocked the wagon door and led the two horses in through it.

  Iron Eyes had not moved. Taw took the saddle off the sorrel and dropped it to the floor. He stooped down and got an arm under the big half-breed, dragging him across the floor until his huge head was resting on the sorrel's flank. Slipping his shoulder into the man's abdomen, and pushing the bound hands up, Taw heaved with all his strength, inching Iron Eyes up and across the pony's back. Using the remaining rope, he tied the hands and legs together, the Indian pony stepping nervously and snorting as the unaccustomed cords stretched tight under her belly.