* * *
On a ridge overlooking the stream where Slocum had stopped to rest the horses, eight painted Indian ponies stood patiently while their masters watched the two white men below. Puzzled by the attack of one of the white men upon the other, the Crow warriors watched silently, their feathers fluttering in the steady breeze that swept the top of the ridge. Wolf Paw, son of Iron Bow, nudged his horse and moved farther down the ridge for a closer look. Something about the man whose hands were tied intensified his curiosity.
Seeing his friend’s interest, Leads His Horse moved down beside Wolf Paw. “Do you think that is the man we have been following?” he asked. The war party had been trailing a solitary set of tracks for over a week. They were searching for the man who killed Red Wing, their medicine man. When Newt didn’t return to camp overnight, a search party had ridden out to look for him the next morning. Near the south end of the valley the stiffened body of the old man was found where it had fallen in a berry patch. His pony had been found grazing near the bank of the river. Tracks of a shod horse led away from the valley. The old man was revered in the Crow camp, and while the people grieved his death, Wolf Paw and seven others mounted up immediately and rode out to find the person who had killed him.
Wounded Leg had suggested that the war party should withdraw to the top of the ridge to watch the white men to make sure they were not advance scouts for a larger party. When the riders were close enough so that the Crows could see one of the men was the prisoner of the other, the warriors continued to watch in simple curiosity.
Wolf Paw did not answer his friend at once, but continued to stare at the white men. After a few moments he turned to Leads His Horse. “Look closely at the man who was struck down,” he said. “It is Dead Man.”
Leads His Horse was taken aback. As Wolf Paw suggested, he strained to get a better look at the man lying on the ground. “You’re right!” he exclaimed. “It is Dead Man.”
“He’s not riding the pony Iron Bow gave him, or I would have recognized him sooner.” Wolf Paw immediately turned and signaled for the others to join them. As soon as they were around him, he told them what he had discovered. “Dead Man is a captive of the big white man down there. I think the big one may be the man we have been following. Maybe Dead Man tried to kill him, but was unable to overpower him. We must rescue Dead Man,” he added, his voice sharp with a sudden sense of urgency. There was immediate response to his urgent tone, for they all held Jim in the highest regard. A quick conference was held to decide the best plan of attack. Haste seemed to be imperative, since they weren’t sure whether the big white man was going to kill Jim right away or not. At Wolf Paw’s suggestion, it was decided to spread out and charge down the slope of the ridge, hoping to overpower Slocum before he had a chance to use his rifle.
* * *
Gradually Jim’s head began to clear, and he struggled to turn over onto his side. The force of Slocum’s blow had rattled his brain for a few moments, but he was now thinking clearly again. The pain in his shoulder told him that he had landed hard, and the rawhide binding his wrists was cutting into the skin. He turned his head, trying to find Slocum, and spotted him over by the stream, filling a canteen, his back to him. Maybe this was his chance! The brute evidently thought Jim would be unconscious for a few minutes.
It wasn’t much of a chance, but he figured he might not get another one. So he struggled up onto his knees as quietly as he could, watching the back of the surly giant carefully. So far, so good, he thought, and got his feet under him to push up. Unsteady from lack of food and water, he almost went down again. He looked at his horse, some ten yards away. Toby looked back at him as if wondering what his master had in mind. Jim’s gaze concentrated now on the stirrup, hanging impassively against Toby’s belly. How could he step up in the stirrup without the use of his hands? His common sense told him he couldn’t. But his defiant determination told him that he was going to try. One more quick glance back at Slocum, and he made the commitment. Doing his best to run on wobbly legs drained of energy, he headed straight for Toby. He saw right away that it was a foolish quest. He could not jump up in the saddle. His attempt was woefully short, and he slammed into the horse’s side at the same time an explosion of rifle fire erupted behind him.
Thinking it somehow came from Slocum, he hit the ground and rolled under Toby’s belly. As he did, he glimpsed Slocum sprinting for his horse, cocking his rifle as he ran. They were under attack, but Jim wasn’t sure from whence it came. Rifle slugs were whining everywhere overhead, but he realized that none were close to him. Maybe they hadn’t seen him roll under Toby’s belly. At this point, he was in more danger of getting stomped under the horse’s hooves as the nervous animal reacted to the gunshots. Looking up he saw Slocum, now in the saddle and returning fire, his grizzled face a mask of anger as he tried to get a steady shot off. Rolling over on his side, Jim looked in the direction Slocum was shooting and saw the Indians, half a dozen or more, storming down from the ridge.
There wasn’t much he could do to protect himself, with his hands tied behind him. He resigned himself to accept his fate. Hell, he thought, it’s no worse getting killed by Indians than it is by this son of a bitch. With that thought, he looked up again at Slocum, the huge man’s horse pawing and sidestepping, straining against the reins as the bullets from the Indian war party kicked up dirt around its hooves. Forced to hold the horse from running with one hand on the reins, Slocum was trying to fire his rifle with the other. As Jim watched, Slocum angrily realized that he was overpowered and would have to make a run for it.
Amid the confusion of the attack, Jim would remember the mask of pure fury that was Slocum’s face at that moment. Unwilling to abandon his prisoner, but with no time to get Jim on his horse, Slocum determined to kill Jim before he fled. Jim realized this only when Slocum suddenly turned his rifle to point directly at him and pulled the trigger. Jim’s brain went numb for a second before he realized that the hammer had fallen on an empty chamber. In the time it took for Slocum to slide the rifle in the sling and pull his pistol, Jim rolled back under Toby. Still fighting his frightened horse, Slocum tried to wheel the animal around to get a clear shot at Jim. Each time he did, Jim rolled back to the other side, using Toby as a shield.
When the war party was within one hundred yards, Slocum found it too dangerous to linger. The bullets were ripping up dirt too close for his comfort. He was forced to abandon thoughts of executing Jim. “Damn you! It ain’t over yet,” he spat with one final glare of hatred before he turned the impatient horse and bolted toward the other end of the narrow valley at a gallop. Having dodged death from one quarter, Jim prepared to deal with the new threat.
The Indian warriors veered from their charge down the slope to pursue the man galloping away. I guess they figure I ain’t going anywhere, Jim thought as he unconsciously strained at his bonds while he tried to think of some means of escape. The only chance he had was to somehow climb in the saddle and make a run for it while the war party occupied itself with Slocum. But the effort it had taken to avoid execution at the hands of Slocum had used up most of the little strength he had left.
He managed to get to his feet, only to find that the first seemingly simple step, to untie Toby’s reins from a willow limb, was going to be a challenge. Slocum had pulled the knot tight. Jim went to work on it with his teeth, even then wondering what he would do if he succeeded in untying it and Toby decided to run. “Easy, boy,” he murmured, trying to calm the big Morgan stallion while he worked feverishly at the stubborn knot. Little by little, he managed to loosen the reins until he suddenly realized that the shooting had stopped. Taking a quick look back, he discovered that the war party had given up the chase and was now riding back toward him. “Well, shit,” he mumbled in frustration. Looking over into the eyes of his horse, he confided, “I doubt I could have gotten in the saddle, anyway.” He took a step away from Toby and stood defiantly to meet the war party.
As the riders approached, Jim suddenly
realized they looked familiar. A few yards closer and he recognized faces. “Wolf Paw,” he said softly. This ain’t my day to ride to the spirit world after all, he told himself.
Wolf Paw’s look of concern turned to one of joy when he saw Jim’s smiling face. “Dead Man,” he called out, his greeting echoed by the seven warriors with him. Soon Jim was surrounded by smiling, chattering faces, as his Crow friends expressed their joy in seeing him. Then seeing the dried blood matting Jim’s hair and the back of his shirt, Leads His Horse was quick to pull his knife and cut the rawhide binding Jim’s wrists. Jim winced with the pain that the movement of his arms caused after having been immobile for so long. Seeing that his friend was weak from hunger, Wolf Paw persuaded him to sit while he got some dried antelope meat from his parfleche. Jim greedily chewed the tough jerky while telling his Crow friends how he happened to be in the situation in which they had found him.
“I think that was the man we have been looking for,” Wolf Paw said. “We have bad news to tell you.” Then he told Jim of Newt Plummer’s death, and how the war party happened to be this close to Shoshoni territory. “I think that if we look at the tracks of the horse we just chased, they will be the same as those we followed from the Bighorn valley.”
It was hard for Jim to believe Newt Plummer was dead. How could that be? Jim had expected to be able to make many trips to the Crow camp to visit Newt in the old man’s waning years. Knowing the old medicine man as well as he did, Jim supposed Newt would probably have said it was better to die the way he had, instead of dying gradually of old age by the campfire. Even so, it didn’t keep the world from being worse off without the old trapper. Then thoughts of the ruthless villain who had just succeeded in escaping Wolf Paw’s war party crowded into his mind. How could one man cause so much grief in the world? It wasn’t right to let a man like that live.
Talk among the warriors returned to taking up the trail again to go after Slocum. If he continued on the course he had ridden out on, he was more than likely heading for Fort Laramie. Jim was quick to stress that it would be a mistake to permit Slocum to gain a head start, and he insisted that he was strong enough to ride with the war party.
A couple of the warriors began to talk about the wisdom of continuing after Slocum in view of the direction he was now heading. The small war party had already ventured far from their village. And even though they approached Shoshoni country, they were willing to continue for a few more days. But now that the chase seemed to lead on a more southeasterly course, there were other things to consider. There were reports of many Sioux camps in that territory. And while the Shoshoni were not especially friendly with the Crows, they were not at war with anyone at present. The Sioux, on the other hand, were on the verge of war with just about everybody, and were sending out many raiding parties. This had to be given serious consideration by a Crow party numbering only eight. Further discussion was interrupted when one of the Crow warriors warned, “A rider comes!”
All eyes turned at once, searching in the direction indicated by the outstretched arm of the warrior. Descending a steep slope near the end of the same ridge the Crow war party had ridden down, the lone rider sat easily in the saddle, his body leaning back slightly to balance himself as the Indian paint pony carefully picked its way down the incline. Curious, the Crow warriors silently watched the unexpected rider. Had their attention not been captured by the broad-shouldered scout, dressed in buckskins, they might have noticed the wide smile on Jim’s face. Wolf Paw was about to warn his warriors to be on their guard when Jim spoke. “It’s my brother Clay,” he said, and got to his feet to welcome him.
“Ah, Ghost Wind,” Wolf Paw replied, a definite tone of respect in his voice. “I have heard my father talk about him.”
* * *
Following Slocum’s trail, Clay had heard the shots while still several miles away. There had been a pause after the first and second shots, causing him to fear they signaled the possible execution of his brother. But when those shots were followed by an almost continuous volley, he knew it more likely to be an ambush. Afraid of what he might find, he pushed his pony mercilessly until arriving on the ridge above the tiny valley. He saw Jim, his hands tied behind his back, stagger out to face the eight warriors, galloping hard toward him. Knowing he could not reach his brother in time, he had drawn his rifle from the saddle sling and quickly dismounted. Kneeling behind a small boulder, he had rested the rifle on it and lined his sights up on the leader of the war party. Waiting to let the warrior get a little closer, he had kept the sight on the Indian’s chest. At the moment he was ready to squeeze the trigger, he had been astonished to see the warrior raise his arm in a friendly greeting. Glancing again at his brother, he had been surprised to see Jim taking a few steps to meet the riders. He had removed his finger from the trigger and looked at the warriors riding behind the leader. They were also greeting Jim. Clay watched the reunion below him by the stream for a few minutes more before he had put the rifle away and stepped up onto the paint.
Reaching the floor of the valley, Clay continued to slow-walk his horse toward Jim and the Crow warriors, who had all turned to watch him approach. Though his demeanor seemed casual, he was nevertheless keeping a cautious eye on the warriors, his rifle cradled across his arms, just in case the scene wasn’t as it appeared. He relaxed in earnest, however, when Jim called out to him.
“Well, it’s about time you showed up. I thought that ugly son of a bitch was gonna drag me all the way to Fort Lincoln.” His grin filled his face. “Lucky for me Wolf Paw and his friends showed up when they did.”
“Looks to me like you’da been a heap luckier if they’d showed up a little sooner,” Clay replied, seeing the bloody evidence of his brother’s wounds. It was not in his nature to express it, but he had been worried about Jim and was genuinely relieved to see him. “Looks like there was a catfight on your head.”
“Feels like there was a catfight on my head,” Jim returned.
Wolf Paw and the others stood back while the brothers clasped hands and greeted each other. He, especially, was in awe of the Ghost Wind, for he had heard stories of the mighty warrior from his father, Iron Bow. Seeing Clay in person, he was even more impressed and pleased to find the legendary scout as imposing a figure as Iron Bow had said.
After Clay had greeted each of the Crow warriors, Jim told him what had happened there by the stream, and the direction in which Slocum had fled. Then he asked the questions that had bothered him the most.
“Clay, what about Lettie? And Katie?” he quickly added. “Are they all right? I saw Luke go down. There wasn’t anything I could do about it.”
Clay’s casual mood changed instantly as he was reminded of the grim mission that had led him here. “Katie’s all right. Lettie got hurt pretty bad. There ain’t much I can tell you about her except she’s still in a bad way, but Katie’s taking care of her.”
Jim made no reply, obviously having hoped to hear better news. Searching his brother’s face for indications of better news to follow, he finally asked, “But she’s gonna be all right, isn’t she?”
Clay frowned uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Jim. She was hurt pretty bad. I’m not even sure she knows what happened to her. She ain’t exactly in her right mind right now.” He studied his brother’s face, now stunned and devoid of expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then, to change the subject as well as remind Jim that time was being wasted, he said, “The thing I’ve got to do right now is catch the animal that did it to her.”
Jim nodded soberly, his mind still thinking about Lettie, silently blaming himself for his carelessness in not taking his rifle with him when he had walked down to the river with her. “We’d best get started,” he said.
Clay gazed at him for a long moment, studying the determination in his younger brother’s face. He decided that determination was the only real strength Jim had at the moment. He was obviously weak from his wounds, or starvation, or both. He looked in no shape to ride, at least as hard as Cla
y planned to. Slocum already had a good hour’s start on him, and Clay had to move fast. “I think it best if you stay with your friends here and get your strength back.”
“The hell you say,” Jim was quick to respond. “That bastard has been hunting me all over the territory—knocked me in the head and damn near starved me to death. I reckon I’ll be the one to settle up with him.”
A quiet fury had been ignited within Clay Culver’s soul when he had arrived in Canyon Creek too late to prevent the wanton murder of Luke and the vicious attack upon Lettie. Now that Jim was safe, the fury still smoldered, but was controlled by the calm and rational thinking that was typical of the tall mountain man. He understood Jim’s passion for vengeance, but his brother was obviously still too weak to ride with him. Clay fully appreciated the danger involved in a confrontation with the ruthless Slocum. A well and physically fit Jim Culver was a match for any man, but Clay was afraid Jim’s wrath would push him beyond reasonable caution. And with a man like Slocum, that might prove fatal. There was no doubt in Clay’s mind that Slocum was a killer without conscience, like the wolf and the coyote, and like those killers, born with a cunning that testified to his survival. In short, Clay preferred to go after Slocum alone. He didn’t want to worry about Jim’s safety. His decision final, he said, “All right, get on your horse.”
“I need a weapon,” Jim said.
“Just get on your horse first,” Clay replied stoically.
Wolf Paw and Leads His Horse stepped back to give Jim room, watching the brothers with great interest. Jim released the willow branch he had been using for support and took a few wobbly steps toward Toby. He started to reel, but stopped until he regained his balance. Wolf Paw looked at Clay and shook his head. With great determination, Jim steadied himself and started toward his horse again. With stumbling steps he reached Toby’s side and grabbed the saddle horn for support. While Clay and the Crow warriors watched his efforts in silent fascination, Jim managed to get a foot in the stirrup, but could not summon the strength to step up into the saddle. After a couple of feeble attempts, he looked at his brother and said, “I might need a little help here.”
Evil Breed Page 19
