A Man Called Sunday

by Charles G. West

  Luke’s intention was to swing wide around the Sioux camp. Since the Indians had been traveling east to west, however, it would be necessary to make their circle to the east of the forks of the Powder and Little Powder. Otherwise, the Sioux would cross their wagon tracks as they headed north. So when they left the ravine, he led them south along the river for a mile before crossing back to the other side and circling back north once more.

  The moon was riding lower in the sky by the time they made it back to strike the Powder again, some six or seven miles north of its fork with the Little Powder. There had been no sign of pursuit by the Sioux, for which they were all thankful, because David’s horses were exhausted after such a short rest. Luke figured that there had not been many fighting men in the village after all, and his rifle had taken a greater toll than he had at first thought. “We couldn’t have run any farther, anyway,” David declared. “My horses were plumb played out.” They made their camp on the Powder and remained there for the balance of the night. Early the following morning, Luke hurried them along. The horses needed more rest than the few hours allowed, but he thought it more important to push them farther. If the warriors decided to follow, they could be easily overtaken.

  * * *

  Angry Bull stood over the body of his brother, his fists clenched tightly, as he looked up at the sky to release his anguish in a low moan. He could not contain his grief and he dropped to his knees beside the body to cry out his vow for vengeance against the people who had killed his young brother. Close around him, others were wailing over the loss of the other three men killed in the ill-fated attack on the white man’s wagon. Angry Bull remained on his knees even as the women of his small band took over the preparation of the bodies, as was the custom. Gray Bird, the old chief, came to try to console Angry Bull as the women carried his brother away, but there was nothing he could offer the grieving warrior that could replace his thirst for the white man’s blood. “It is but one man,” Angry Bull cried out, certain that what he said was true. “It is the man with the rifle that Wind Walker saw in their camp. Wind Walker saw that the man had strong medicine. It must have been him who was shooting from the top of the ridge.”

  “We must bury our dead,” Gray Bird said, “and mourn their loss.”

  “No one will mourn more than I,” Angry Bull declared, “but I must not wait too long and let his killer escape.”

  “The wagon cannot travel as fast as a man on a horse,” Gray Bird said. “And it leaves tracks easy to follow. I cannot tell you what is best for you to do, but I think you would have no trouble overtaking the wagon after the dead are prepared for their journey.”

  It was not his preference, but Angry Bull deferred to the old chief’s wisdom. The women dressed the bodies in their finest clothes, wrapped them in blankets, then sewed them up completely in buffalo hides. Since there were numerous suitable trees near the river, there were many limbs to choose from to build platforms to hold the bodies high enough to be out of the reach of coyotes and wolves. Angry Bull and some of the others slashed their arms and legs with their knives in mourning, and then finally the vengeful warrior could wait no longer. With his Spencer carbine in hand, he climbed on his war pony and asked which of his fellow warriors would ride with him. His friend Broken Glass stepped forward immediately, but there were no others. Insulted, Angry Bird was about to protest and shame them, but Gray Bird interrupted.

  “Others wanted to ride with you,” he said, “but there are only a few warriors left to protect the women and children. I know this vengeance that eats away inside you must be satisfied, so go and listen to the voice that speaks only to you. The others must stay to protect the village.”

  “There is wisdom in your words,” Angry Bull conceded. “Broken Glass and I are enough to kill one white man.” He looked at his friend for confirmation and received a solid nod in reply. Turning back to Gray Bird, he said, “We will be back before another sleep.” After taking one last look at the bodies lying in the tree limbs, the two warriors were off, to return to the site of the previous night’s battle. As Gray Bird had predicted, the tracks of the wagon were easy to find and follow to the south. You will be avenged this day, my brother. The thought turned over and over in Angry Bull’s mind as they loped along the west bank of the Little Powder.

  * * *

  By the time the sun was directly overhead, David’s horses were weary to the point of exhaustion. Even Luke’s paint was tired and Luke had dismounted and walked beside the horse. “If we keep going, they’re gonna fall in their traces,” David called out to Luke. “I don’t think those Indians are coming after us. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of ’em all morning.”

  “Maybe not,” Luke answered, but he could not be sure. He knew an Indian was like any other man. Some would seek revenge, no matter what. Others might yield to the superior firepower that he had demonstrated with his Henry rifle, and figure it wiser to restrict their losses to four. He hoped the latter was the prevailing disposition. There was no choice to be made, however. David was right. If they pushed the horses farther, they might kill them. “Over there,” he called out to David, “where the river bends around that stand of trees.” David nodded gratefully. “There’s a little cover there,” Luke said, “and maybe we can see anybody tryin’ to sneak up on us if we keep our eyes on our back trail.”

  After the horses were watered and hobbled to graze, David and Luke sat down to eat the meat that Mary Beth had roasted over the fire. There had been little opportunity for sleep during the last two days, so Luke suggested that the two of them should take advantage of the time while the horses were rested. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep.” They were too tired to protest after their harrowing experience of the previous night. Their gentle nerves were not toughened to life in the wild of the Powder River country. Like obedient children, the couple made their bed in the wagon and climbed in. Luke took his rifle and walked back up the bank to take a position under a cottonwood where he could see the way they had come.

  The afternoon passed slowly by with still no sight of anyone trailing them. Still his exhausted traveling companions slept on. Since there was nothing moving on the expanse of prairie behind them, he decided to let them sleep past dusk. The horses would benefit and it would soon be dark enough so that their camp would be difficult to see.

  He was in the process of rekindling the fire when Mary Beth climbed down from the wagon. “Here,” she said, “let me do that. Then I’ll fix us something to eat.” She looked back in the wagon to chastise her husband. “Get up, sleepyhead. You’re gonna sleep the night away.” Reluctantly, he roused himself out of his warm bed and came to join them. She handed him the coffeepot and said, “Here, fill this with water.”

  “I’ve got to go to the bushes first,” David replied.

  “I’ll do it,” Luke volunteered, and took the pot from him. He was feeling the need for some sleep himself and wanted the coffee to overcome it.

  The thought occurred to Mary Beth then and she voiced it. “You’ve been standing guard all afternoon while we slept. You must need some sleep, too.”

  “I’ll be all right,” he replied, “and we need to keep movin’, travel at night until we get outta this part of the valley.”

  She looked up at the sky and commented, “It looks like it’s going to be another clear night. I don’t see any clouds. I don’t see why we couldn’t wait for a couple of hours after supper before we start. You could get a couple of hours’ sleep.”

  He had to admit he was tempted. He was tired, and a short sleep would surely help his sense of vigilance. “Maybe,” he said, and left to fill the coffeepot.

  The two men arrived back at the campfire at the same time and Mary Beth pointed out to her husband that Luke had had very little sleep in the last two nights. “I told him we could wait a couple of hours before starting out tonight, so he could rest a little.”

  Her comment se
rved to embarrass the stoic guide. “I don’t need no sleep,” he protested, “and we need to keep movin’ while the horses are rested.”

  “Yes, but you’re not,” David said. “Mary Beth is right. We can wait a couple of hours.” Seeing Luke’s obvious reluctance, he insisted in a joking manner. “We’re paying you to guide us to Coulson, and we need to have you alert enough to do the job.” Luke was about to protest again, but David said, “I’ll stand guard while you sleep. You don’t have to worry about being surprised by Indians.”

  “There,” Mary Beth said, “nothing to worry about. David will stand guard.” She turned to give her husband a warm smile.

  It was not easy for him to do, but after he had eaten, he gave in to their concern for his health and agreed to a brief rest, insisting that should he fall asleep, he be awakened in one hour, no more than that. He walked with David to position him at a good spot to watch their back trail. With that done, and settled in his blanket several yards beyond the wagon, he realized how much he needed sleep.

  * * *

  Some fifty yards above the camp, David sat propped up against a cottonwood and looked back where the river turned back on itself to form a U-shaped bend, the banks already fading in the approaching darkness. Rising low on the distant horizon, a full moon began its journey across the prairie sky. Mary Beth had been right; it was going to be another clear night to travel. David felt useful at last, knowing that he was standing guard while their invincible guide slept. He didn’t even realize that he was still sleepy himself, and he was unaware that he had fallen asleep until he awoke for the fraction of an instant when a hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and he felt the cold steel blade on his throat.

  Roused abruptly from his slumber by the sudden sound of gunshots, Luke was instantly alert. Rolling out of his blanket while cocking his rifle, he discovered Mary Beth standing by the fire, her father’s revolver in her hand, aimed at two Sioux warriors bearing down on her. She had missed with both shots, and the heavy pistol was wavering in her hand as she tried to steady herself to fire again. With very little time to react, Luke took dead aim at the foremost warrior. Mary Beth was between him and the savage, so he had to be sure of his aim. He squeezed the trigger when Angry Bull was no more than ten yards away from her. His shot, in the center of the Indian’s chest, dropped him at once, his momentum causing him to roll dead at her feet. Broken Glass, running several yards behind Angry Bull, veered from his path, trying to react to the muzzle blast of Luke’s rifle in time to return fire. He was too late, for Luke’s second shot knocked him over backward, shattering his breastbone.

  Mary Beth stood screaming for a long moment before unconsciously firing the pistol one last time, then dropping it on the ground and running to David’s side, where she sank to her knees beside his still body. Luke, his rifle cocked, peered into the shadows of the trees, prepared to shoot again. When all was quiet, with no sign of any more than the two Indians, he went to Mary Beth. He didn’t have to be told that her husband was dead, for she was sobbing uncontrollably. With no thought as to how he should try to console her, he sat beside her while she cried. After a few minutes with no end to her tears, he spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage. “I’m gonna take you back to the wagon while I take care of your husband.” She started to protest, but offered no resistance when he lifted her to her feet. Once on her feet, she started to collapse, so he picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the wagon. “I won’t be long,” he told her as he placed her gently on her bedding.

  He was not concerned about there being more warriors lying in ambush for him. He was pretty sure that, had there been others, he would have known it by now. He was pretty sure why David had been surprised as he stood guard. He must have fallen asleep. Looking at him now, lying beside the tree, his throat gaping open and several deep wounds in his torso, Luke re-created the killing in his mind. It was unfortunate that Mary Beth had to see her husband like that. At least he had not been scalped. The Indians had no doubt planned to collect all three scalps after they had killed everyone. At the moment, Luke gave no thought toward the complications to follow with David’s death. His only concern was to do what he could to soften the shock of Mary Beth having seen her husband this way, so he went back to the wagon to get a blanket to wrap him in.

  Mary Beth had stopped crying, but she was still curled up on her blankets, rocking gently as if calming a baby. Luke paused to look at the bodies of the two Lakota braves. With evidence still fresh of the many knife slashes on their arms and legs, he knew that the four he had killed before were heavily mourned. There was still some reason to concern himself with future attacks by other members of the village, but he figured the odds were against it. These two must have been close to the deceased. He turned when he heard Mary Beth climb down from the wagon.

  “David,” she cried, and started to go to her husband.

  Luke caught her elbow to restrain her. “Better you don’t go back to him just yet,” he urged. “Best wait till I can clean him up a little.”

  “David never did anything to harm those people,” she exclaimed. “Why would God let this happen?”

  “It’ll be better if I wrap him in a blanket before we bury him. I can tell by his wounds that he most likely didn’t feel no pain.” That was a lie, but he saw no sense in making it worse for her. “Give me a blanket to bury him in.” He helped her up in the wagon again and she selected a proper blanket for her husband’s burial shroud. “You wait right here, and I’ll bring him so you can see him,” he said. Too drained to protest, she did as he said. “Have you got somethin’ I can use—?”

  Knowing what he wanted, she got him a towel before he finished his request. Then she sat down on the tailgate to contemplate the end of her life, staring vacantly at the two Lakota corpses.

  He did the best he could to clean most of the blood away from David’s face, then wrapped him tightly in the blanket Mary Beth had given him. When he carried the body back, Mary Beth got off the tailgate so he could lay David across it. She could not suppress a gasp of pain when seeing the gaping slit across his throat again. Luke had tried to wrap the blanket up close under David’s chin, but it had loosened as he carried the body. “My poor darling,” she sobbed, repeating it over and over as she stroked his cold face. Luke left her to say her final farewell in private.

  While Mary Beth spent her last moments with her husband, Luke took a rope from the wagon and tied it around the ankles of both Sioux warriors. Then he climbed on his horse and dragged the bodies out of the camp and up through the bluffs, where he left them for the buzzards to find. Returning to the wagon, he took a pick and shovel from the side and turned again to the grieving woman. “Ma,am,” he said, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it’s best to get your husband in the ground. I’m thinkin’ about that spot up there under the trees.” He pointed to the spot. “Is that to your likin’?” She nodded vacantly. He went to work then, digging David’s grave.

  The ceremony was brief after Luke lowered the body into the grave. Mary Beth removed a heart on a chain that David had given her on their first anniversary and placed it inside the blanket. “I bury my heart with you forever,” she whispered, then turned away while Luke filled in the grave.

  When he was finished, he scattered brush and limbs over the grave in an effort to disguise it against predators. He took a moment to lean on the shovel while he speculated on the tragic turn of events, and what he might expect to happen. Looking toward the wagon, he could see Mary Beth trying to busy herself around the fire, trying, he guessed, to keep from collapsing into a paralyzing fit of grief. He supposed it was his fault that David had been killed. He should never have let them talk him into taking a nap. But, hell, he thought, it was obvious that David had fallen asleep. “Damn greenhorn settlers,” he mumbled under his breath, irritated that he should even share the blame. But he could not help feeling sympathy for the woman. He wished that
he could do something to ease her pain, but he was at a loss as to what that might be. She’ll get over it as soon as she cries herself out, he thought. The next question to be answered was, what would she decide to do now that her husband was gone?

  Chapter 7

  By the time Luke had finished with the burial and taken care of the horses, there were barely a couple of hours left before daylight. He decided to start out as soon as they could break camp, thinking it best to get Mary Beth away from the scene of her husband’s death as soon as possible. As they had already planned to travel at night before the attack occurred, most of the camp had been packed away on the wagon. With very little left to do, Mary Beth attempted to occupy her mind with cleaning the coffeepot and washing cups that had already been washed. Try as she might, however, she was unsuccessful in blocking dreadful images of David’s face in death. In the beginning, when David first began to woo her, she had not been sure that she loved him enough to marry him, but she was certain now. She had loved him with all her heart. The thought caused her to break down in tears once again, even as she was aware of the half-savage guide standing helpless as to what he should do.

  Finally he spoke. “I expect we’d best move away from here. There’s a couple of Sioux ponies back yonder in the brush. I’ll fetch ’em, and then I’ll hook up your horses for you. Can you drive your wagon?” She answered with a nod. He hesitated, reluctant to ask the question, but he figured he needed to know now. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but what are you figurin’ on doin’?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, for she had been unable to think beyond the fact that David was gone.

  “You want me to take you back to Fort Fetterman, or Medicine Bow maybe? Or are you still figurin’ on goin’ on to the Yellowstone?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated, then shook her head several times, as if to clear her mind of sorrow. “Can you give me a minute to think?”