A Man Called Sunday

by Charles G. West

  Potter seriously considered Bogart’s condemnation of the man. Having just been given command of the troop, after Colonel Reynolds’s reprimand and relief of command, Potter was not interested in having any source of friction under him. Reynolds had been censured and threatened with court-martial for his failures in his attack on that village on the Powder, and the damning fact that he had left wounded men behind when he withdrew. He formed a picture of Luke, dressed head to toe in animal skins, his sandy hair the only thing that prevented his passing for an Indian. He had come into the job as a scout with a group of Crows, but could it be possible his sympathies, as well as his allegiance, lay with the Sioux? Maybe he might be a threat to warn his Sioux friends of an impending attack. That wouldn’t be good, Reynolds thought. So why risk it? He decided then to reject Luke as a scout, for it was obvious that Bogart and Wylie didn’t trust the man.

  * * *

  Ben Clarke glanced up from his camp, about thirty yards from General Crook’s tent, to see the rangy scout approaching his fire. He waited for Luke to dismount before greeting him. “I saw you come ridin’ in—took you a little bit longer than I figured. Have any trouble?”

  “None worth speakin’ of,” Luke answered. “There was a lot of snow in the mountains. That slowed us down, else we’da most likely been here two days ago.” He moved up close to the fire and squatted on his heels. “A major back there—I done forgot his name—said you wanted to see me.”

  “Major Potter,” Clarke said. “He took over for Colonel Reynolds. Yeah, I wanna send you back to Red Smoke’s village to bring those Crow scouts back here. This parade is gonna be ready to move in about four days, so they need to be here now.”

  Luke nodded his understanding. “Oughta be back here in two days,” he said. Red Smoke’s camp was on the North Platte, about halfway between Fort Fetterman and Fort Laramie. It would take him but one day to reach it.

  “Good,” Clarke said. “Get yourself somethin’ to eat tonight, and start out at first light in the mornin’. The general wants to get all those back that went home after the battle on the Powder.”

  “I’ll tell ’em,” Luke said. “It’ll be up to them whether they wanna come back or not.”

  “You even think like an Injun,” Clarke commented with a chuckle. “Tell ’em they’ll be paid and supplied with ammunition.”

  Luke shrugged. “I’ll tell ’em,” he said, well aware of an Indian’s tendency to change his mind if the day didn’t suit him.

  “Tell ’em there’ll be many horses to capture,” Clarke said. “That oughta bring ’em.”

  “I’ll tell ’em.” He got up to leave.

  As he led his horse back toward the ordnance warehouse, he saw the settler, David Freeman, on his way to the general’s tent. He couldn’t help wondering what the man and his wife planned to do, now that they had reached Fort Fetterman. The thought didn’t occupy his mind very long. He was hungry and ready to make his camp and roast some of the venison he had left.

  Freeman noticed the tall, lean man leading the paint pony toward the edge of the compound and offered a brief wave of his hand, but Luke was too far past to notice the greeting. The thought occurred to David that the solemn cavalry scout seemed always to be alone, even when in the midst of hundreds of soldiers. His thoughts returned to the purpose of his visit to the general’s command post as he approached the gathering of officers assembled to confer with General Crook.

  Freeman was received politely by the general and his staff, but the meeting was brief. Crook offered his sympathy for Freeman’s plight. However, Freeman’s request for a small escort for him and his wife was swiftly denied. As part of the three-pronged campaign to settle the hostile Indian problem, Crook told him that he could not spare a single man to see the couple safely to the Yellowstone. It was a bitter pill for David to swallow, but one he had been warned to expect. There was no one to blame but himself for being stranded in this desolate outpost on the North Platte River. He could have turned back with the others at Medicine Bow. Walking back to his wagon to give Mary Beth the bad news, he anguished over what he should do. One thing he was sure of, they could not stay there at Fort Fetterman, but the thought of returning to the bone-dry piece of land near Cheyenne was out of the question as well. He was prone to pushing on to find the new town of Coulson, but he could not in good conscience subject Mary Beth to a journey that might be filled with danger.

  His despair was evident to the point where Mary Beth guessed the outcome of his audience with the general by the look on his face. “He turned us down,” she stated when he squatted next to the fire and warmed his hands. He nodded in reply. “Well, what are we gonna do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. All these soldiers are fixin’ to march outta here soon, and he said he couldn’t spare a man to help us.”

  A determined woman, Mary Beth considered their plight for a few moments before asking, “Do you think you could find Coulson?” She was of a mind to continue their quest, equally reluctant as her husband to return to their failed efforts in Cheyenne.

  “I don’t know,” David replied after some hesitation. “I reckon anybody could find the Yellowstone River from here. Just by heading north, you’d have to run into it somewhere. I don’t have any idea where the Gallatin Valley is, or that little town they’re talking about. What I’m more worried about is whether or not there are hostile Indians between here and there, and which way to go to avoid running into them.”

  Mary Beth studied her husband’s face carefully. Clearly he was uncertain about what they should do. She could not be critical of him because he was not stalwart in his conviction. He had no knowledge of this country or the Native Americans who dwelt there. But what would they do? “We’ll think about it for a day or two before we decide what is best,” she said. “You said the horses should be rested for a couple of days, anyway. Maybe when they’re rested enough to move on, we’ll have decided.” She looked at him and smiled encouragingly.

  * * *

  As he had promised, Luke was back from Red Smoke’s village after two days, accompanied by only a few warriors, far short of the number that had originally volunteered. Ben Clarke was certain the Crow scouts would eagerly embrace the opportunity to fight their old enemies, lured by the prospect of capturing many of the Sioux and Cheyenne horses. Spotting Luke Sunday ride in with only four Crow warriors, Clarke went directly to meet him.

  “Looks to me like all them Crow scouts decided they didn’t have the same fire they showed before,” Clarke remarked, his disappointment obvious. “What the hell happened to the rest of ’em?”

  “They’re still comin’,” Luke said. “When I got to Red Smoke’s camp, most of the men were gone huntin’. Some of the younger boys spotted a small herd of buffalo north of their village, so they couldn’t pass up the chance to pack away that much meat. I found ’em about five miles west of the Lightning River. They’ll finish the hunt and meet you where Fort Reno used to be on the Powder River.”

  Clarke smiled, relieved. Then he changed the subject abruptly. “You still think that was a Cheyenne camp Colonel Reynolds attacked on the Powder?”

  “I don’t think it, I know it was,” Luke replied, surprised that Clarke asked the question. He was still amazed by the colonel’s insistence that he had struck Sitting Bull’s village.

  “Reynolds is sure it was a Sioux camp,” Clarke said. “So are his officers, and Bill Bogart said it was. He’s got an arrow with Lakota markings on it to boot.”

  Luke slowly shook his head. “I ain’t sayin’ there weren’t a few lodges of Lakotas in the camp, but it was Two Moons’s village. I talked to Old Bear, so I’m tellin’ it to you straight. There was no sense in attackin’ that village. All it did was to send them to join up with Sittin’ Bull and Crazy Horse.”

  “All right,” Clarke said with a
weary sigh, knowing that Luke was telling him the truth. “It don’t make no matter who’s right, ’cause we’ll be fightin’ all of ’em, anyway, Sioux, Cheyenne, and some Arapaho.” He decided to quit stalling before giving Luke the bad news. “Ain’t no sense in beatin’ around the bush,” Clarke continued. “You won’t be ridin’ with Major Potter’s troops when we pull out. He’s decided he don’t need nobody but Bogart and Wylie and some of the Crow scouts.”

  A knowing smile crept slowly across Luke’s face. “Bogart and Wylie, huh? I expect those two mighta had somethin’ to do with it.” He turned to loosen the girth on the paint, wondering what Clarke was getting at.

  “Captain Egan wanted you to ride with his company,” Clarke went on, “but Potter told him you were a troublemaker and he didn’t want trouble between his scouts.”

  “Don’t make much difference to me,” Luke said, “long as they’re payin’ me, I’ll ride with somebody else.”

  Clarke grimaced and shook his head, reluctant to say what he had come to say. “Well, that’s just it. They said there wasn’t no use to keep you on, ’cause they had enough Crow scouts ridin’ out front, lookin’ for them Sioux camps.”

  Although Luke was normally unemotional to the point of indifference, the impact of Clarke’s words were evident on the face of the imperturbable scout. “Can’t I ride with the Crow scouts?” he asked. He was not that eager to accompany the expedition, but he earnestly wanted the money.

  “I’m sorry, Sunday, I’m gonna have to let you go. We’ve got more’n enough scouts for this campaign, and even Crook is convinced that you’re a troublemaker—ever since you had that trouble with Pickens—and you told Bogart you was gonna scalp him.”

  “Pickens shot at me first,” Luke protested. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “You’re right,” Clarke agreed. “I don’t figure you for a troublemaker. I just think you’re damned unlucky. And if it was up to me, hell, I’d keep you on for sure, but, dammit, the major, and the general, too, see it the other way. And on top of that, they think you’re too damn friendly with the Cheyenne. I’ve got no choice but to fire you.”

  Disappointed, but never one to fret over the way things happen, Luke retightened the girth strap he had just loosened, and prepared to step up in the saddle. He was thinking that Clarke could have come right out and fired him instead of pussyfooting around it. He would have told him so, but it occurred to him that the chief scout was sincere in his profession of regret. So instead of telling him to go to hell, he said, “’Preciate it, Ben.”

  Clarke backed a step away to give him room to turn his horse while he deliberated on whether or not to make a suggestion. “Wait a minute, Luke,” he decided. “There’s a greenhorn settler that’s tryin’ to get himself and his wife up to the Yellowstone. He was hopin’ General Crook would send some soldiers to escort him, but Crook turned him down.”

  “I know the people,” Luke said.

  “That’s right, the ones come in with you from Medicine Bow. Why don’t you go talk to him? He ain’t got no idea how to get where he wants to go, and I expect he might be glad to have you take him—maybe pay you for your trouble.”

  “I don’t know—maybe,” Luke replied. At first thought, he was not keen on the idea. Playing nursemaid to a greenhorn and his wife was not something he thought he’d be good at. They never should have left the wagon train they started out with before dropping out at Medicine Bow. He thought the matter over while he rode up to the fort, and by the time he reached the sutler’s store he had decided against approaching David Freeman. He turned his thoughts to other things. There were supplies he needed before he said good-bye to Fort Fetterman, and he had just enough money left to buy some of them.

  The largest portion of any amount of money he had always went toward the purchase of cartridges for his Henry rifle. With the balance, he bought coffee beans, flour, and salt. “How much do I owe?” he asked the sutler’s clerk. When the clerk gave him the figure, Luke carefully counted out his money, making the cost of his purchases with only a few cents to spare. “There you go,” he said. “I was thinkin’ on havin’ a glass of beer, but I didn’t leave enough to pay for one.”

  “I’ll buy you a glass of beer.” The voice came from behind him, and he turned to discover David Freeman striding toward the counter.

  Surprised, Luke didn’t know what to say at first, so he stood staring at Freeman for a few seconds before finally coming out with a thank-you. This was the first time he had seen the man up close. Every time before, David had been up on his wagon seat. “Much obliged,” Luke said, “but I’m afraid I can’t stand good for the second round.”

  “Don’t matter,” Freeman quickly commented. “Let’s take ’em over to the table and sit down. There’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

  Luke had a pretty good notion as to what Freeman wanted to talk about, but he hated to tell him no before he had a chance to say it. He at least owed him an ear since he bought him a glass of beer, so he picked up the glass before him and followed Freeman to the table.

  “I saw you ride up from the river just now,” David started, “so I thought I’d catch you before you rode off somewhere. Let me be honest with you, Mr. Sunday. When I was talking to Ben Clarke yesterday, he told me that he didn’t think you’d be scouting for the army anymore.” He paused to gauge any reaction from Luke, but there was none, so he continued. “Ben said you know the country between here and the Yellowstone as well as anyone riding scout for the army—maybe better.” He went on to tell Luke what Luke already knew, that he was looking for a guide who might lead him away from potential danger while taking him to a little town named Coulson. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I’ve got a little saved back for our new start up there, and I’ll pay you for your time. Ben Clarke said the going rate for scouts was a hundred dollars a month. I’d be willing to pay you a month’s pay to take us to Coulson.”

  Not the slightest bit interested moments before, Luke was forced to give David’s offer serious consideration. One hundred dollars could take him a long way, and he had to admit that he was sorely tempted. He took a long look at the slender young man, trying to judge the steel in his spine, wondering how much help he would be in the event of an encounter with a Sioux war party. He found it a tough decision to make. Finally he responded, “I don’t know where it is you’re lookin’ to go on the Yellowstone,” he said. “I ain’t ever heard of a town called Coulson.”

  “I’m not surprised,” David said. “I guess it’s not really even a town yet, but there are some people who have already planned it, and it’s gonna be one in a short time.”

  “Like I said,” Luke repeated, “even if I was to take you up through the Powder River country, I don’t have any idea where you’re tryin’ to go on the Yellowstone.”

  “I can tell you that it’s not very far east of the Gallatin Valley. Will that help?”

  “Well, yeah, some,” Luke conceded. “I know where that is.”

  “Whaddaya say, then?”

  Luke still hesitated, reluctant to be pushed too rapidly into an agreement. He had no concerns about traveling through that country alone, for he was totally confident of his ability to remain invisible to the eye of a Sioux hunting party. But a wagon traveling alone through the volatile Powder Valley was damn hard to hide, therefore calling for increased caution and a good portion of luck. He told David as much. “You sure you wouldn’t be better off just turnin’ around and headin’ back where you came from? It ain’t really the best time for white folks to be riding up through the Powder River country, especially just one wagon by itself.”

  David shook his head, a fatalistic gleam in his eye. “My wife and I have made up our minds to go on, even if we can’t get someone to guide us. We’ve talked it over, and decided that the best chance we have for a future is to find good land in Montana with my brother’s family. There�
��s nothing for us back in Cheyenne, and we think it’s worth the risk to finish what we started.”

  That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Luke thought, but his emotionless expression never changed as he studied the impassioned young man’s eyes. He decided that David was sincere in his determination. The question in his mind now was whether he wanted to be a part of the couple’s risky endeavor, and he pictured their bodies lying dead and mutilated beside their burning wagon in the middle of the frozen prairie. It was not easy to count them as fools and say it was of no concern to him. In addition, there was the prospect of earning a hundred dollars, which he could surely use. In the end, he decided that it wouldn’t be right to send them off across that expanse of prairie on their own. In his decision-making process, he never considered danger to himself. “All right,” he finally said, “one hundred dollars when we find this place on the Yellowstone.”

  “Agreed,” David replied eagerly, and extended his hand.

  “All right,” Luke repeated. “If you and your missus are hell-bound to go to Montana, I reckon I can take you, but you’ve got to understand you’re riskin’ your hair endin’ up on a Lakota lance—if you don’t get buried by a spring snowstorm.”

  “Understood,” David said, and they shook hands on it. “We can be ready to roll first thing in the morning if that’s all right with you.”

  “That suits me,” Luke said. “I’ll bring my stuff over after a while, and bed down near your wagon. You bring any extra grain for your horses? It’ll be a spell before the grass starts to green up good, and your horses probably ain’t used to scratchin’ around in the snow to find somethin’ to eat.”