To the southwest, Jenny should be underway too. Will twisted in his saddle and watched a large dust cloud trailing behind four columns of wagons. He felt a flush spread across his cheeks at the thought of Jenny’s kiss last night.
“Will,” Homer said.
Will jumped. Oh no. Homer had read his thoughts.
“Will, I’se going to drop back and chat with Moses and Ezekiel. I been knowing them two skinners for as long as I been out here.”
Will smiled when he realized how foolish it was to think Homer knew his thoughts. “Sure thing. Let me take Ruby. I’ll keep her moving along.”
Several minutes later, Will screwed up his courage and rode up beside the Pawnee leader. “Sergeant Coyote?”
The Pawnee looked at Will with dark eyes, his piercing gaze made more frightening by a roach haircut that spiked upward down the center of his otherwise shaved head. A blue Army tunic emblazoned with sergeant’s stripes provided a semblance of a uniform, but beneath the tunic he wore an Indian breech-clout instead of Army trousers. His thighs and knees were bare, his calves encased in fur-skin leggings extending to his leather moccasins. Wrapped around his tunic, a beaded belt held a revolver, a large hunting knife, and a tomahawk. He balanced a Spencer carbine over the saddle in front of him.
The sergeant smiled. “How can I help the nephew of Sean Corcoran?”
“You know my uncle?”
“All Pawnee know Sean Corcoran. Fine man. Fair and brave.”
His uncle certainly was well respected out here. He’d have to work hard if he ever hoped to match such a high standard.
The two rode in silence for a while, then Will pulled the broken arrow shaft from his saddlebags and handed it to Coyote. “I was shot with this. We think it’s Cheyenne.”
The sergeant scrutinized the arrow, turning it in his weathered hand to examine the feathers and the markings on the shaft. He spat on the ground. “Cheyenne, for sure.”
He handed the arrow back to Will and pointed at the sling. “Shot?”
“It was painful to have that rip through my arm.”
“Hurt for sure, you bet.” Coyote laughed. “You lucky it hit arm.”
Will nodded. He was glad he hadn’t been shot in the butt like Bullfrog Charlie. He felt the eagle talon’s scratch beneath the front of his shirt. “I also had a run-in with a young Cheyenne mixed-blood not long ago.”
Coyote looked at Will and raised an eyebrow. “You attract Indians?”
“Maybe.”
“You lucky for sure.” Coyote’s broad grin revealed crooked teeth. “Most Indians stay away from white man.”
“That Cheyenne told me I should learn sign language.”
Coyote nodded.
“I was wondering. We’ll be riding together for a few days . . . could you teach me?”
“Good idea learn sign language. All Indians understand. Sure, I teach you.”
CHAPTER 28
* * *
The resupply wagons had started up Lodgepole Creek on the ninth of July. Late on the afternoon of the sixteenth the mule teams topped the rise above the beautiful valley of the new town of Cheyenne. From this elevated position, Will could see survey stakes extending up and down the creek banks and outward from there in perpendicular lines. General Dodge and his uncle had been busy laying out the city plat while he’d been gone.
A cry arose from the camp and a band of mounted Pawnee Scouts raced up the slope to greet Sergeant Coyote and his detachment. Dodge, Rawlins, and his uncle stood along the creek bank to await the arrival of the resupply wagons.
Will reined in beside Dodge and handed him the saddlebags of mail.
“Welcome back,” General Dodge said. “Word reached us a few days ago about your run-in with the Cheyenne.” Dodge pointed to Will’s sling. “How’s the arm?”
Will raised his left arm shoulder high. He fought to hide the discomfort. “Soon be normal, General.”
“Hm. We’ll have Doc Parry look at it . . . he’ll decide if you’ll be able to work.” Dodge turned his attention to the lead wagon and gave instructions to the mule skinner on where he wanted the wagons parked.
Will’s spirits fell. Maybe Dan Casement was right. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to work for the railroad. Then what?
Will’s uncle approached Homer, who had dismounted, and pulled him to one side. Will stepped down from his saddle, but his uncle held up a hand, indicating Will was to stay put. His uncle and Homer talked for several minutes. They were too far away for Will to hear.
Homer walked back to where Will stood beside his horse. “I’ll take Ruby and unpack her. You go talk to your uncle.”
Will followed his uncle into the team’s wall tent, where they sat on opposite bunks. Beside his uncle lay Judge Sampson’s package of documents. Will told his uncle about the encounter with the Indians and the ambush attempt by Paddy O’Hannigan.
“You’re one lucky boy . . . ah, fellow. The same day you and Homer were attacked, a band of Cheyenne jumped the Mormon wagon train and killed two of their track graders.”
The thought of Jenny’s wagon train making its way into Cheyenne territory flashed through Will’s mind.
“The West is a dangerous place,” his uncle said. “Not only are the Indians out to stop the railroad, but as you’ve experienced, Paddy O’Hannigan is out to get us personally. Are you sure you want to stay out here?”
Of course he did—he didn’t want to do anything else. “Yes, Uncle Sean. I want to work for the railroad. I want to stay out here with you. You’re the only family I have left.”
His uncle held up the judge’s papers. “Your wound may preclude you from working on the railroad, but you could still hammer away on a blacksmith’s anvil with your good arm. I can sign Judge Sampson’s order and you can return to Burlington where life is safer.”
“Uncle Sean, please don’t sign those papers. I don’t want to go back, even if I can’t work on the railroad. I’ll stay out here and take care of myself. Maybe find a job in Hell on Wheels.”
“Hell on Wheels is certainly no place for a decent person to work, even though Homer says you proved yourself capable of taking care of yourself. He told me you didn’t panic, even with an arrow sticking through your arm.” A smile crept across his uncle’s face. “He tells me you’re a heck of a shot with a carbine.”
Will shrugged and grinned.
“General Dodge wants Doc Parry to confirm there’s no permanent damage to your arm before he’ll agree to giving you a job as a construction worker on the railroad. Doc’s out checking on the wounded at the Mormon wagon train right now. He may be back tomorrow.” His uncle dropped the papers back onto the bunk. “Then we’ll decide.”
After the supper meal, Dodge’s party gathered around the campfire, puffed on pipes and chewed on cigars, and watched the sun set beyond the mountains. Dodge motioned for Will’s uncle to join him. Will sat beside them on the log.
Dodge spoke softly to his uncle, but Will heard what he said. “You’re aware that we’re leaving the easy part of the tracklaying behind. We’re fortunate that Blickensderfer has agreed the Rocky Mountains start just to the west of where we’re sitting. The government will pay more for each mile of track laid from here on. And that’s as it should be . . . construction costs will escalate through the mountains.”
Dodge pulled an unburned twig from the fire and pointed to the west with it.
“Sherman Summit in the Laramie Range yonder is the highest point to be crossed by the Union Pacific. And Dale Creek, just beyond the summit, is the deepest gorge we’ll have to bridge. I want you to see if you can find any better route before the graders start up that slope. I want your team to head out in the morning.”
Will’s head bobbed up, his eyes widened. In the morning? What if Doc Parry didn’t return from the Mormon wagon train by morning? What if his arm was too seriously injured to work on the railroad? Was he going to be left behind when his uncle’s team departed? Would his uncle send him back to Burlington?
* * *
“Rise and shine, Will.” Out of the corner of one eye Will watched his uncle step out of the tent and survey the brightening sky. “Get a good night’s sleep?”
“Yes, sir.” Actually, he hadn’t slept a wink. All night his mind had churned over the direction his life had taken since he’d run away from home less than two months ago, with the dream of becoming part of the team building the first transcontinental railroad.
He’d chosen to sleep under a tree last night, rather than in the tent with the four survey inspection team members. Tossing his blanket aside, he stood and ran fingers through his tangled hair. He settled the old slouch hat on his head, strapped on his pistol belt, and slipped his left arm into the sling.
“Let’s get packed up, boys,” his uncle said. “Time we hit the trail.”
Homer, Otto, and Joe emerged from the tent, exchanged morning greetings with Will, and set to work dismantling their sleeping quarters.
“Ah,” his uncle said, “here comes General Dodge with Doc Parry.”
Will’s heart beat faster. He took slow, deep breaths.
“Morning, Sean,” Dodge said. “Morning, Will. Doc’s going to take a look at that wound.”
The doctor stepped in front of Will. “Arrow shot, was it?” he asked. “Get your shirts off and let me see.”
“Yes, sir.” Will slipped his arm out of the sling and dropped his shirt and undershirt to the ground. The sling hung empty around his neck.
The doctor pointed at the eagle talon strung on the leather thong. “Interesting-looking adornment. What is it?”
“Just an eagle talon.”
The surgeon shrugged. He grabbed Will’s arm and studied the wound. He pressed his thumb near the scab that’d formed where the arrow had penetrated the bicep. The tissue there was tender. Will gritted his teeth. The doctor turned Will’s arm over and poked around the exit wound. That was the most painful spot. He fought not to show his discomfort. He didn’t want to make a sound.
Doctor Parry raised Will’s arm above his head and pulled upward. Wow! That hurt. The doctor jerked the arm down and yanked it toward the ground.
“Mm!” Will couldn’t help himself. So much for not making a sound. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to suppress the forming tear.
The doctor asked Will to grasp two of his fingers and squeeze hard. Will exerted every ounce of energy in his hand. He managed to make the doctor wince.
“You can let go now.” The doctor massaged his fingers.
“Well, Doc?” Dodge asked.
“The wound’s going to leave nasty scars. The muscle’s not badly damaged, but it’ll be months before he can comfortably do heavy lifting. He’ll recover the use of his arm . . . given time. Still, I can’t in good conscience recommend him for a job as a tracklayer at this time.”
Will felt his shoulders slump.
The doctor lifted the sling off Will’s neck. “I’ll take that. You don’t need it anymore. The more you use the arm, the faster it’ll recover strength.”
Will put his shirts back on and turned to his uncle.
His uncle stared at him. “Doc’s assessment doesn’t sound good. Guess I’d better sign the guardianship transfer papers. By the time you make it back to Burlington you should be healed enough to work in Klaus Nagel’s blacksmith shop.”
“Uncle Sean, wait.” Will took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to be a blacksmith. I have an idea. Let me work as a hunter. I can bring fresh meat to the fire for you and the crew. I can help Homer with the camp chores. I’ll wash the dishes. And you don’t have to pay me anything. I just have to stay out west, Uncle Sean. Don’t send me back. Please.”
His uncle looked at Homer.
Homer shrugged. “Sounds like a plan to me. I can use some help.”
“If you don’t have a paying job,” his uncle said, “how’re you going to repay the railroad for a dead horse and two busted carbines? Klaus Nagel will have to pay you apprentice wages and you’ll be able to send some of it to pay off your debt to the UP.”
“I’ll shoot antelope for General Dodge. Maybe he’ll give me credit.”
His uncle turned to Dodge.
“Your decision, Sean,” Dodge said. “If he’s as good a shot as reported, you might appreciate another rifle in your camp. These bloody savages aren’t going to stop their attacks.”
Will’s uncle stared at Will for several seconds, then sighed. “All right. I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a temporary position as Homer’s assistant. But you’ll have to prove that you’re a good hunter to stay on. If you do, I’ll think about wages later. Agreed?”
“Agreed! Yes, sir! Agreed! I won’t let you down, Uncle Sean. I promise.”
“I’ll count on that, William Braddock.” His uncle held up the package containing Judge Sampson’s papers. “I’ll hold onto these. If this job doesn’t work out, I may have no choice but to sign these. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, boys.” His uncle motioned to his team members. “Time to get moving.”
“Will,” Homer said, “how ’bout you go fetch Ruby. Pack the tent on her. You knows how. Since you’re part of the team, you’se got to start pulling a share of the load.” A smile lit up the black man’s face.
“Sure thing.” Will grinned. He had his first official task. He raced down the slope to the picket line.
Buck and Ruby stood tied side by side in the shade of the trees. Will slipped in between them, patted the Morgan’s neck, and caressed one of the mule’s ears. The horse snorted and tossed his head, shaking his black mane.
Will stroked the white star on Buck’s forehead. The Laramie Range loomed to the west. Somewhere north of here, Lone Eagle rode with the Cheyenne. Off to the south Jenny McNabb trudged beside her family’s covered wagon. Behind him to the east lurked Paddy O’Hannigan.
Will ran a hand across his chest and felt the scratch of the eagle talon. “I’m heading west, Buck. Wish me luck.”
CHAPTER 30
* * *
Will dropped to his belly behind a stunted juniper. The Indians rode single file over the ridge. He drew the carbine up beside him, laid his thumb on the hammer and waited. If he cocked it now they might hear. They passed fifty yards away—too close to be careless.
He glanced over his shoulder to where he’d tied his horse in a stand of ponderosa pine, farther down the slope. He wished the animal would stand still and stop swishing his tail. A sharp-eyed brave might spot that. Fortunately, a strong wind blew over the ridge from out of the west and carried his horse’s scent and shuffling sounds away from the sensitive Indian ponies. He hoped he was far enough away that the ponies couldn’t smell him.
Will counted ten braves. He saw only two rifles. The others carried bows. The lead rider looked toward his hiding place. Black paint obscured the lower half of his face. Will puckered his lips and exhaled. The same warrior who’d led the Cheyenne band he’d battled just a few days ago, resulting in his arm wound.
The blackened-faced leader raised his rifle over his head and motioned those following to keep moving. He turned his pony aside, reined in, and stared down the slope. He looked right at the spot where Will was trying to bury himself in the ground. Two eagle feathers dangled from a black band encircling the warrior’s head. He wore a breechclout and leggings. His moccasins rested in rope stirrups suspended from a blanket saddle. His white pony’s flanks bore the black imprints of a wolf’s paws.
Clouds scudded overhead. Will shivered from the chill mountain air, even though he wore a wool shirt. Surely this brave felt the cold, but he showed no sign of it. None of the spartanly dressed warriors did. They rode by stoically.
Will wished he could crawl into the earth behind his skimpy shelter. He kept his head low, peering beneath his hat brim to watch the brave. His thumb twitched on the hammer.
He wouldn’t be able to hold off all of them if they charged him. He had seven shots in the Spencer carbine,
and six more in his Colt revolver. He’d take out several before they overran him. If they did try, at least his firing might alert his uncle and his companions.
His uncle’s five-man survey inspection team had ridden up into the windswept Laramie Range six days ago, out of the newly founded town of Cheyenne, which lay thirty miles to the east. General Dodge had sent them to determine if a better route could be found over the steep mountain range. The team was due to report their findings to Dodge at Fort Sanders, fifteen miles farther west, in three days.
The sun stood directly overhead. Will’s flattened body wouldn’t cast any revealing shadow. Only sparse vegetation grew along the ridge. Any tree or bush could conceal an enemy and that undoubtedly was what drew the attention of the Cheyenne leader. Danger might lurk there and he wouldn’t want to be surprised.
Half the riders passed behind the leader before he jerked on the pony’s reins and kicked it in the ribs. He trotted back to the front of the band. Now if the others would just ride by.
Will jerked his head up and quickly dropped it. The last rider surprised him so much he forgot to keep his head down. Lone Eagle rode with this band.
The eagle talon Lone Eagle had given him scratched his chest where he pressed down against the ground. He was convinced the talon had saved his life before, but the wound wasn’t completely healed and the muscle ached when something reminded him of it. If he didn’t need to keep his hand poised on the carbine, he’d reach across and rub his throbbing arm right now.
He thought about the other talon he’d given to Jenny. He hoped her talon was bringing her good luck. Jenny’s wagon train would be plodding along the Overland Trail south of where he now lay and should reach Fort Sanders about the same time he and his uncle’s team arrived there. He looked forward to seeing her again.
Pay attention! Will chastised himself for letting his mind wander.
Lone Eagle brought up the rear of the file. Even at this distance, Will could make out the broad stripes of yellow and vermillion painted on Lone Eagle’s chest. The young brave’s cheeks bore similar distinctive stripes. Lone Eagle rode past without looking to either side.
Eagle Talons (The Iron Horse Chronicles: Book One) Page 13
