A Man Called Sunday

by Charles G. West

  “All right,” she replied hesitantly, “if you think that’s best, but I’m not too tired to go on right now.”

  He continued to gaze intensely at her for a few moments longer, then said, “It’s best we stay here and rest. Then we’ll head for the Yellowstone.”

  He seemed forceful in his tone. She wasn’t sure she liked it, for it might be a sign that he had things on his mind now other than their escape from the Sioux. Suddenly she felt exhausted. If what she feared was true, there was very little she could do to stop him. Sooner or later she was going to find out what was on his mind. It might as well be sooner. Weary from carrying such thoughts of fear of the man, she poured them out on the ground between them. “I’m afraid of you,” she blurted. “Do I need to be?”

  Her blunt statement caught him completely by surprise and his eyes opened wide. “Why, no, ma’am,” he replied, baffled by the question. “Why’d you think you did?”

  She stared at him, half expecting him to fly into a rage, but the genuine astonishment she read in his eyes was enough to finally convince her that she had made a gross misjudgment of the man. “I swear . . . ,” she started to apologize, realizing she had let her fears and imagination create a ridiculous picture. Suddenly she found the situation hilarious and started to laugh uncontrollably, unable to finish her remark. His bewildered reaction to her laughing fit almost convinced her that, contrary to the fears she had harbored, he might be more afraid of her. Her nerves, strained to the point of exhaustion by the harrowing events of the last several days, seemed to release their tension with her laughter. He stood, perplexed, watching and wondering if the woman really had gone mad, accustomed as he was to the resolute reaction of Crow or Cheyenne women when faced with danger. Although he was born a white man, he had always lived with one Indian tribe or another. This was his first exposure to a white woman and he had wondered if they were different. Maybe she was not really mad. Maybe she was just white.

  When finally she was able to recover from the massive release of the fear she had built up, she dropped to the ground, feeling very much like a rag, but with a great sense of relief, for she felt safe with her wild man for the first time. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves, and released a long sigh that signaled the end of her attack. “Mr. Sunday,” she stated in straightforward words, “I apologize for not trusting you completely, for thinking you might rob me or harm me. I promise I won’t misjudge you again.”

  “Luke,” he reminded her again. “There ain’t no Mr. Sunday.”

  His reply brought yet another smile to her face. “Luke,” she repeated. “Thank you for all you have done for David and me.”

  “I ain’t got you there yet,” he reminded her.

  Her smile broadened. “Even so,” she said, “I thank you.” She realized that he didn’t really know how to accept thanks for doing something he was being paid to do. “Now, let’s see if I can cook up some more of that meat we’re packing, and if the flour stayed dry, maybe I can come up with something to go with it.”

  Things went better for both of them after that. Mary Beth no longer tried to keep one eye on Luke, secure in the belief that her welfare was his main concern. As for Luke, he couldn’t help noticing the change in her manner, and that made it more comfortable for him. After spending an extra day at the camp on the Tongue River, they started out on a course that led them to the northwest, leaving the river. One day’s ride brought them close to the Yellowstone at the point where Rosebud Creek emptied into it. There had been no sign of Indian travel between the Tongue and the Yellowstone except for one trail heading west where unshod ponies, some pulling travois, had passed. Luke determined that the trail was several days old. They continued through a line of low hills until he figured they could be no farther than a mile or two from the river, so he turned the gray toward the slope of the highest ridge and climbed to the top. From there, they could see the wide, peaceful river as it flowed snakelike through the high plains of Montana Territory.

  While Luke was intent upon searching the river for as far as he could see, east and west, for any sign of Indian camps, Mary Beth was struck by the beauty of it. “I didn’t know it was so big,” she said. “It’s so wide and peaceful.”

  “I reckon it is peaceful on this part of it,” Luke allowed, “but it ain’t that peaceful back up in the mountains where it starts out.”

  She turned to look at him then. “You’ve seen where it originates?”

  “Yes, ma’am, up in the Absarokas. It’s pretty country up that way.”

  She smiled and slowly nodded with a slight feeling of envy. “You really are a child of the wilderness, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged, not knowing how to answer the question. It seemed that since she had decided she had nothing to fear from him, she tended to talk to him more. And much of what she said confused him. “Well,” he said, “I can’t see any sign of trouble, so I reckon we best get movin’.”

  * * *

  Having reached the Yellowstone, Luke was now as much in the dark as she, for he had never heard of a town called Coulson until he met David and Mary Beth. The Crow people had frequented the area for many years, but Luke had not been back for quite some time. Based on what David had told him, Coulson was on the river, some distance east of the Gallatin Valley. That could be anywhere within a large area, so the only thing they could do was to travel west along the river until they eventually found it.

  Late in the afternoon of their first day following the winding river, they came upon a trading post. Little more than a shack perched on the edge of a high bank, the store looked in danger of tumbling down the bluffs to land in the water at the first gust from a north wind. The owner apparently lived in an old army squad tent beside the store. Luke pulled the gray to a halt to study the shack. “’Pears to be a tradin’ post,” he said to Mary Beth.

  His remark caused her to pull the paint up closer to the trail leading down to the store to get a look for herself. “It doesn’t look like much,” she said.

  “I expect he mostly trades with the Indians,” Luke replied.

  “Do you suppose there’s any chance he might have coffee beans?” Mary Beth asked. “We’re almost out, and we don’t know how far it is to Coulson.”

  “Don’t know,” Luke answered. “He might.”

  Mary Beth looked doubtful. “Where on earth would he get them?”

  “Riverboat,” Luke replied. “I expect that’s where he gets most anything he sells.”

  She was still skeptical. “Why would a riverboat stop at that little shack?”

  Luke pointed to several stacks of logs, cut into even lengths, down near the water’s edge. “Wood,” he answered. “Those riverboat captains will pay for wood for their engines.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed softly, then gave him a smile. “Let’s go see if he has any coffee beans, because in about two more days we’re going to be out.”

  Luke glanced at the packhorse, then back at her. “I ain’t got no pelts or nothin’ to trade,” he said apologetically.

  She laughed. “I’ve got a little bit of money,” she said. “Remember?”

  “I forgot,” he replied, truthfully. Nudging the gray gently, he guided the horse down the path to the trading post.

  Lem Sloat frowned and squinted in an effort to identify the two riders descending the path to his store. As they came closer, he reached up and thoughtfully stroked his beard, curious as to what they might be carrying in the packs on the extra horse. “Pearl,” he called. His Crow wife, Walks-With-A-Stick, whom he called Pearl, came from the tent to stand beside him. “You ever see them folks before?” Lem asked. She shook her head. “One of ’em’s a woman. T’other’s an Injun or a trapper. I ain’t sure which, but it don’t look like a load of pelts on that horse.” He got up from the stool he had been seated on by the fire, and then set his plate on it. “Seems like somebody always
has to come when I’m eatin’ my supper.” He rubbed his ample belly with one hand, wiping the grease from his fingers, and started toward the front of his store to greet the strangers.

  “How do?” Lem called out when Luke and Mary Beth pulled their horses to a stop before the door. “Ain’t seen you folks around here before. Where you headed?”

  “Coulson,” Mary Beth volunteered cheerfully as she stepped down from the saddle, her spirits lifted by the mere sight of another white man. “Maybe you know where that is.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely do, and a right lively little town is what I hear. It’s about three days west of here, dependin’ on how fast you’re traveling.” Sloat smiled pleasantly for the lady while his eyes never left the sandy-haired scout holding a rifle in one hand with a bow strapped on his back. “My name’s Lem Sloat,” he said. “This here’s my place of business. What can I do for you folks?” He stepped back cautiously when Luke threw a leg over and slid off the spotted gray pony. The couple was not a common sight on the trail along the Yellowstone, and Lem’s mind was already turning over the different explanations for the seemingly odd pairing.

  “We were wondering if you might have some coffee beans we could buy,” Mary Beth spoke up as they followed him inside. If anything else came to mind, she decided it would have to wait, for Lem Sloat’s shelves were sparsely stocked.

  “I do,” Lem replied. “You’re in luck. I’ve got some come fresh up the river last month, and we got two forty-pound sacks of ’em already roasted. My wife is the one who roasts ’em, and there ain’t nobody does ’em better.”

  “I reckon she’d be the woman standin’ at the back of the cabin with that rifle stickin’ through the knothole,” Luke commented dryly.

  Lem Sloat had close to a full face of dingy gray whiskers, but even so, the sudden flush was clearly evident in the small parts of his face not covered by hair. “No offense, mister, but with what just happened southwest of here on the Little Big Horn, ever’body’s kinda jumpy.” He hesitated before adding, “And you did look a helluva lot like an Injun when you came ridin’ up, even if you was with him, ma’am.” He favored Mary Beth with another smile, then called to his wife, “It’s all right, Pearl. Come on in.” Turning to Luke again, he said, “You got pretty sharp eyes, mister. Most folks don’t spot that rifle barrel stickin’ through them pelts hangin’ on the back wall.”

  Astonished by the words just exchanged between Luke and Sloat, Mary Beth was at a loss for words, but soon recovered. “I guess we’ll take one of those forty-pound bags if the price is not too high.” She looked at Luke then for approval. “Is that all right? Can I put forty more pounds on the horse?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Luke replied. “It ain’t too much.” Without pause, he then turned back to Sloat and asked, “What trouble on the Little Big Horn?”

  “You ain’t heard?” Sloat responded with surprise. “Some army troops under General Custer attacked a big camp of Sioux and Cheyenne on the Little Big Horn. Only problem, I reckon, is them soldiers didn’t know there was so many Injuns in that camp. What I heard was ol’ Sittin’ Bull and Crazy Horse’s people were there, Cheyenne, Arapaho, thousands of Injuns, and Custer jumped ’em. They wiped out ever’ last one of them soldiers, includin’ Custer himself. Don’t know how many was killed, maybe five hundred or more, maybe a thousand. The word I got was that that big Injun camp broke up after they whipped the soldiers and scattered, so folks along the Yellowstone has been seein’ Injuns behind ever’ outhouse, expectin’ to get scalped ever’ time they go to do their business.”

  “Have you seen any Sioux war parties up this far?” Luke asked.

  “Nah, I ain’t seen none, but there’s a lot of settlers movin’ into this part of the valley, and they’re scared them Injuns might take a notion to start raidin’ up through here.”

  Sloat’s story had a chilling effect on Mary Beth, just when she was beginning to believe she was soon going to find her brother-in-law. She had visions of a giant red horde overrunning the countryside, plundering and killing innocent white settlers. Luke noticed her trembling and sought to set her mind at ease. “But you ain’t seen no Indians hereabouts yourself?” he repeated.

  “No, I ain’t,” Sloat replied.

  “Well, I reckon you’d best pay him for the coffee,” Luke said to Mary Beth, “and we’ll be goin’ along. Not much daylight left before we’ll have to make us a camp for the night.” He paused to nod a greeting to Pearl when she walked in to join them, then said to Sloat, “We’ll be right back.”

  Outside the store, he led the packhorse to the side where it could not be seen through the open door. “You want me to untie that knot on your sack of corn, or can you reach it all right?”

  His question caught her quite by surprise, for she realized that he had obviously known all along that she had hidden all her money, eight hundred dollars in gold and silver coins, in the sack of corn. She should have guessed that he knew a sack of corn didn’t weigh that much, but he had made no further comment on it after his initial statement. Embarrassed now that she had assumed he was too dumb to question it, she made no comment on the matter. Instead she proceeded to untie the sack and dig around in the kernels until coming up with the required amount. “I’ll tie it back,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she replied politely, her face still slightly flushed with embarrassment, and turned at once to return to the store.

  Inside, Lem Sloat, moved quickly back from the wall, where he had witnessed her search through a crack between the boards on the side of the building. “Yes, ma’am,” he offered jovially when she placed the coins on his small counter. “Hard cash, I was hopin’ you weren’t gonna try to pay with paper. I’da rather had pelts than paper money.” He watched while Luke took the sack of coffee beans and rearranged his packs to make a place for it. “You folks oughta stick around for a while,” Lem suggested. “You could camp right here and Pearl can cook you up some supper—plenty of wood, plenty of grass for your horses, easy to get to the water.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Luke replied at once, “but we’ve got a piece to go before we call it a day, so I expect we’d best move along.” He walked over to stand by Mary Beth’s stirrup, waiting to help her up in the saddle.

  “Stop by and see us if you’re back this way again,” Sloat called after them as they ascended the path to the main trail. He stood there watching until they disappeared near the bend of the river, then beckoned to Pearl. When the stoic Crow woman came to him, he said, “Go find Ben Kirby. Tell him I need to see him.” She nodded and turned to do his bidding.

  * * *

  It was rapidly approaching dark by the time Luke found a campsite to his liking. Mary Beth was beginning to wonder if he planned to continue on into the night before he finally came to a lively creek that emptied into the river where the bluffs were some six feet high. “This’ll do,” he stated simply, and turned the gray to head up the tree-lined creek. After a ride of about a hundred yards, he pulled up and looked around a small clearing in the cottonwoods where the creek made a U-shaped bend. “Here,” he said, and slid off his horse. “We’ll build a fire in the crook of that creek.”

  She looked at the spot he pointed out. “I’ll make the fire while you take care of the horses.” She smiled as she walked past him. “We’ve got plenty of coffee now. I’ll grind some of the new beans.”

  He tried to answer her smile with one of his own, but his mind was occupied with the layout of his camp. He had a gut feeling about Lem Sloat that told him the man was not to be trusted. That was his reason for keeping Mary Beth in the saddle for a longer day than usual and also the reason for selecting a campsite far enough removed from the main trail along the river. He decided not to tell Mary Beth of his concerns until after they had eaten. She had already been troubled earlier that day with reports of Sioux and Cheyenne war parties, so he wanted her to be comfortable for a while u
ntil bedtime. Then he would tell her of his concerns.

  With supper finished, Luke got more wood and built up the fire as he usually did, but when she started to lay out her bedding, he stopped her and led her to another spot farther up in the trees. “I want you to sleep back from the fire a ways tonight,” he told her. “I’ve got a feelin’ that we ain’t seen the last of Lem Sloat. Take that big ol’ pistol of your daddy’s to bed with you, just in case.” He pointed to a willow thicket on the other side of the creek. “I’ll be right yonder in those willows, and I’ll be keepin’ an eye on things. Maybe my hunch is wrong, might not be nothin’ at all, but it won’t hurt to be sure. If we do get any visitors tonight, you just lie low right here, and I’ll take care of it. That pistol is just in case I’m not as smart as I think I am. All right?”

  “All right,” she answered after a hesitation that reflected her uncertainty.

  “I’m just gettin’ spooked a little,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Probably nothin’ at all.”

  * * *

  “All silver,” Lem said, “she paid me in silver coins, had ’em hid in a sack of somethin’. It looked like a sack of grain, or corn, or somethin’ like that. She went diggin’ around in that sack and pulled out a handful of money.”

  “I swear,” Ben Kirby exclaimed. “And there wasn’t but the two of ’em, a man and a woman?” A lean, lanky man of average height, clean-shaven except for a drooping mustache that formed almost a full circle around his chin, he pursed his lips to shoot a stream of tobacco juice toward the porch post.

  “That’s right,” Lem replied, “just the two of ’em.”

  Kirby grinned and worked his chew around to the other side of his mouth. “Sounds to me like me and ol’ Gopher here oughta go see what the lady has in that sack. Whaddaya think, Gopher?” He shot a stream of tobacco juice in the direction of his partner’s foot, but the simpleminded brute’s reactions were quick enough to jerk it out of the way, causing Kirby to chuckle. Gopher simply grinned in response to his partner’s question, his swift reactions being confined to physical, rather than mental, agility. Kirby turned back to Sloat then. “Hell, if there wasn’t but two of ’em, and one of them a woman, how come you didn’t just do the job yourself?”