Kiowa Vengeance

by Ford Fargo

  “Hmm.”

  When they got back to camp Miss Cora Sloane had put in an appearance, again. Probably figured it was safe now that the bodies were buried, Benteen thought.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on watch?” Sampson Quick—alias De Courcey—asked Hix.

  “I am,” Hix said. “Just found Mister Benteen out there, and he had an idea.”

  “Is that right?” De Courcey looked at Benteen. “And what would that be, sir?”

  “Watch?” Weatherby spoke up. “Who’s on watch? Do I have to stand watch? I can’t do that. I’d never be able to—”

  “Nobody expects you to stand watch, Weatherby,” Benteen said, “so shut up for now and let the grown-ups talk.” Then he looked at De Courcey, realizing that thanks to Hix, they were going to talk about this tonight. “I think somebody needs to use your horse to make a run for Wolf Creek.”

  “For help?” Cora Sloane asked, anxiously.

  “No, Ma’am,” Benteen said. He resented her interruption just as much as Weatherby’s, though he brooked it with more grace. “To warn them. They need to know what’s coming at them.”

  “You don’t think they already know?” De Courcey asked.

  “I don’t know,” Benteen said. “I can’t say. I haven’t spent any time there, yet. I don’t know about the people.”

  “Why are you moving there, then?” De Courcey asked.

  “An acquaintance of mine sold me his business,” Benteen said. “And I need a placed to live. It sounded as good as any.”

  “All right, then,” De Courcey said, “proceed, please. Who do you suppose should make this run on my horse? You?”

  Benteen looked at Hix, who glanced away quickly. “Why’s everybody asking me that? No, not me. You, Mister De Courcey. It’s your horse. You know the animal. You can probably make the best time on it.”

  De Courcey studied Benteen for a few moments.

  “If he can ride to warn then,” Weatherby said, “he could also ride to get help.”

  Everybody ignored him.

  De Courcey looked at Cora Sloane.

  “I believe you should go, Mister De Courcey,” she said. “Mister Benteen is right. Those people need to be warned. If you can help them, you should.”

  “That would leave you here with these gentlemen,” De Courcey pointed out.

  “After what happened on the stagecoach, I believe I can trust Mister Benteen and Mister Hix.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You should go.”

  De Courcey hesitated, then said, “Very well. I will leave at first light.”

  ***

  In the morning they all gathered as Sampson Quick walked his horse out of the barn.

  “As soon as I reach Wolf Creek, I’ll send help back for you,” he promised them.

  “God go with you, Mister De Courcey, and keep you safe,” Cora Sloane said.

  “You need a gun?” Benteen asked

  “I have my own, thanks,” De Courcey said.

  “Uh,” Weatherby said, timidly, “couldn’t two people go on the horse? Ride double, I mean?”

  They all looked at him.

  “I mean—I was, uh, talkin’ about the lady, of course.”

  “De Courcey may end up having to outrun some Kiowa braves,” Benteen said. “He’d be hard pressed to do that with another person on the horse. So no, riding double isn’t an option.” He looked at De Courcey. “You better get going.”

  De Courcey nodded and said, “I’ll see you all soon.”

  He put his spurs to his horse and rode off in the direction of Wolf Creek.

  Benteen looked at the others and said, “I guess we better start walking.”

  ***

  Sampson Quick had not ridden very far when he became aware of the fact that he was being watched. He reined his horse in and stood in the stirrups. Sure enough, off in the distance to the East he saw about half a dozen renegades. At first he thought they were riding in tandem with him, but then he realized that while he had seen them, they had not, in fact, seen him—yet.

  He considered spurring his horse into motion and riding hell bent for leather for Wolf Creek, but he thought that would actually draw their attention. He would do better to withdraw slowly, until he was out of their sight, and then ride back to the others and warn them that they might be walking right into the path of hostiles.

  Or he could simply go his own way, forget about the folks who were on foot and the people in Wolf Creek. Let them fend for themselves. But he had already set a precedent when he stopped for those people once. He might not have, had there not been a woman with them. And it was probably the presence of the woman that was taking him back there now.

  He backed his horse up slowly, then when out of sight of the raiding party—perhaps the same one that had torn his former colleague apart—he turned and put his heels to his horse.

  ***

  It was Benteen who spotted the rider coming toward them and warned the others.

  “Find some cover,” he said. “We don’t know who it is.”

  They scattered, took cover behind some rocks, or brush, Hix lying down in a dry wash. As Benteen saw that it was De Courcey, he stepped out, surprising the man, who reined his horse in hard.

  “What the hell are you doing?” De Courcey asked.

  “I might could ask you the same thing,” Benteen said. “You’re supposed to be riding for Wolf Creek.”

  “I was,” De Courcey said, “but I almost ran into a raiding party. I figured to come back and tell you what you were walking into. Where are the others?”

  As if on cue they all came out from their hiding places and approached the mounted man.

  “You folks hid pretty good,” he said, “but now you better change your course so you don’t run into those savages.”

  “I guess we better—” Hix started, but Benteen cut him off.

  “Wait,” the gunsmith said. “How many did you see?”

  “About half a dozen.”

  Benteen fell silent.

  “What are you thinking?” De Courcey asked.

  “I’m thinking you didn’t see any of us when you rode up here,” Benteen said.

  “An ambush?” De Courcey said, catching on.

  “Are you crazy?” Hix said. “You wanna ambush a bunch of Kiowa renegades?”

  “We could use their horses,” Benteen said.

  “Is that even possible?” Cora Sloane asked. “I mean, can you do that?”

  “We can do it,” Benteen said.

  “But there are six of them,” Weatherby said.

  “And five of us,” Benteen said. “And we’d have the drop on them.” He looked at each of them in turn. “But we’d all have to shoot. All of us.”

  “I can’t—” Weatherby started.

  “I will,” Cora said. “I will shoot. But how do we know they’re not peaceful? And how do we get them to come this way?”

  Benteen looked at De Courcey.

  “Leave that to me,” De Courcey said, with a sigh.

  ***

  This time, Sampson Quick didn’t stop when he saw the renegades. He made sure he and his horse were animated enough to attract their attention. When the six Kiowa braves started to whoop and holler and ride toward him, he knew Cora Sloane didn’t have to worry about them being peaceful.

  He waited as long as he could, until he was sure they were committed to chasing him, then turned and urged his horse on. In a few strides the animal was moving at top speed, but as he looked over his shoulder Quick was starting to wonder if he’d waited too long. With their Indian ponies—unencumbered by saddles--they seemed to be gaining on him.

  He decided to stop peering behind, and just leaned over his horse’s neck, shouting at the animal to go faster. Finally he saw ahead the clearing with the other four were waiting, guns ready.

  He hoped.

  ***

  Benteen not only saw De Courcey coming, but heard the horses that were chasing him.

  “Get ready!” he yelled.<
br />
  He had given both Cora and Weatherby pistols, and instruction on how to fire them. He felt sure the woman would do her part, but was worried about Weatherby.

  “If you don’t fire this weapon,” he said, as he handed it to him, “and we live through this, I’ll kill you myself.”

  The drummer nodded and nervously took the gun.

  Now, as De Courcey bore down on their position with the six renegades close behind, Benteen was hoping he’d made the right decision.

  De Courcey thundered past them. Benteen fired at the Indians who followed, and heard the others doing the same. They had the braves in a cross fire, and De Courcey reined his horse in hard and began to fire, as well.

  The Kiowa braves were caught and, before any of them knew what was happening, half of them were on the ground. The other three turned to flee, but Benteen stood up and shot another from his pony’s back. The other two got away as his hammer fell on empty chambers.

  Rather than worrying about the ones that got away he holstered his gun and quickly ran toward the skittish ponies. They had blankets on their backs and, for some reason, wore bridles. This was helpful, because Benteen was able to grab the reins of two of the animals. Without the reins, he would have had to try to grab their mane to stop them.

  Hix came out from hiding and grabbed a third pony. The fourth galloped away after the two fleeing braves.

  “I’ll get it!” De Courcey shouted, but before he could start after it Benteen shouted, “No!”

  De Courcey stopped, turned and looked at Benteen.

  “Don’t take the chance. There may be more out there. We’ve got three ponies, let’s use them to get out of here.”

  Cora Sloane and Weatherby came out from their hiding places. Benteen decided not to check the drummer’s gun, because if the man hadn’t fired he really would have killed him.

  “I don’t think I hit anything,” Cora said, handing him back the pistol.

  “That’s okay, ma’am,” Benteen said. “You added to the chaos, which helped. Okay, come on. Hix, you get on one pony—Weatherby, you get on the other.”

  “And me?” Cora asked.

  “You can ride double with me or Mister De Courcey.”

  “I suggest me,” De Courcey said. “My horse is bigger, and she’ll be more secure with the saddle.”

  “Fine,” Benteen said. “Take ‘er.”

  Cora walked to De Courcey’s horse, took his proffered hand so that he could pull her up behind him. “Hold on tight,” he said. She slid her arms around his waist.

  Weatherby whined, “I-I can’t ride without a saddle.”

  “You’ll ride,” Benteen said, “or die. Your choice.”

  Grumbling, Weatherby struggled to mount the Indian pony.

  Benteen looked at De Courcey.

  “Hix should take the lead,” he said. “He knows the way to Wolf Creek.”

  “Agreed,” De Courcey said. “Mister Hix?”

  “This way,” Hix said.

  ***

  They could no longer head in a straight line for Wolf Creek. They were liable to run into more renegades. They needed to take a longer route, circling to the West since Quick had seen the Kiowa coming from the east.

  They rode hard, hoping against hope they would not run into another raiding party, or—even worse—the main body of the Kiowa renegades. They would not be as lucky as they were with the last bunch.

  Abruptly, after nearly half an hour, De Courcey rode up on Hix and shouted at him to stop. Behind them they all reined in, Weatherby nearly falling off his horse.

  “What is it?” Benteen asked, riding up on De Courcey and Hix.

  “Up ahead,” De Courcey said, pointing to a cloud of red dust that rose in the distance.

  “Riders,” Benteen said.

  “A good number of them,” De Courcey said.

  They all looked around them at the flat ground.

  “Where do we go?” Cora asked.

  “We can turn and run,” Hix said.

  “Or stand our ground,” De Courcey said.

  “And die?” Weatherby asked.

  For once, he had said something that made sense. If they remained where they were and did nothing, they might die.

  “I think I should scout ahead,” De Courcey said.

  “They’re not that far away,” Benteen warned.

  “I know,” De Courcey said. He moved his horse closer to Benteen’s. “Take her.”

  Instead, Benteen said, “I’ll do it. Be ready to run,” and kicked his pony into action.

  ***

  “Rider, comin’ fast, Captain,” Charley Blackfeather said.

  Captain Thomas Dent nodded and said, “We’ll stand and wait, see what he does when he sees us.”

  “Want the company to dismount, Cap’n?” Sergeant Nagy asked.

  “No,” Dent said. “Just stand ready. This rider may be an advance scout for somebody.”

  “You think Stone Knife sends out scouts?” Nagy asked.

  “Could be,” Charley Blackfeather said.

  “We’ll see,” Dent said.

  They all stood ready.

  ***

  When Benteen saw that the riders were soldiers he heaved a sigh of relief and waved at them. They stayed where they were and waited for him.

  “Am I glad to see you,” he said, as he reached them.

  “Captain Thomas Dent, C troop, United States Calvary. Identify yourself, please,” the man with the Captain’s bars said.

  “Dave Benteen,” the gunsmith said. “I was on a stage with some people on our way to Wolf Creek when we got hit by a raiding party.”

  “Other survivors?”

  “Four,” Benteen said. “Well, three other passengers and another rider we came across.”

  “Where are they?” Dent asked.

  “A little further back. We spotted your dust and I rode ahead to scout. We’ve already had a second go-round with a raiding party.”

  “That where you got the pony?” Dent asked.

  “That’s right. We need horses, and when we ran across them we were able to bushwhack them. We killed four, but two got away.”

  “I’m Charley Blackfeather,” the Seminole scout said with a curt nod of greeting. “Those two have probably already reported back to Stone Knife.”

  “We were riding for Wolf Creek to warn them,” Benteen said.

  “No need for that,” Dent said. “They know what’s coming and they’re as ready as they can be.”

  “Then we need to get there,” Benteen. “I’m with John Hix, the barber.”

  “I know John,” Charley said. “Who else?”

  “The new schoolteacher, Cora Sloane, a drummer named Weatherby. We also ran into a fella named De Courcey.”

  “And you?” Dent asked. “You live in Wolf Creek?”

  “I’m on my way there to be the new gunsmith.”

  “Well, let’s get to your people,” Dent said. “Then we can decide what to do.”

  “We have to get to Wolf Creek.”

  “That might not be so easy,” Dent said. “With your information, we now know about several raiding parties. But sooner or later they’ll join with Stone Knife and hit the town.”

  “All the more reason we should get there to help,” Benteen said.

  “Mister Benteen,” Dent said, “like I said, let’s join your people, and then I’ll decide what to do.”

  Benteen didn’t like the sound of that. He wasn’t in the Army, and he’d be damned if he let this man decide his fate. But he said, “I’ll take you to them.”

  ***

  When Benteen appeared with the soldiers behind him Cora Sloane almost cried. Weatherby did, as he finally allowed himself to fall off the pony.

  Benteen made the introductions—though several members of the cavalry troop already knew Hix from Wolf Creek. Dent had some of the soldiers give the civilians water, and some food. He then huddled with Charley Blackfeather, Benteen, Hix and Quick.

  “I wouldn’t like
to allow you to continue on to Wolf Creek,” Dent said. “You might run into another raiding party, or a larger force of renegades. Possibly Stone Knife himself.”

  “What’s our other option?” Benteen asked. “Ride with you? You’ve got maybe twenty men. We’ve seen two raiding parties of maybe a dozen braves.”

  “More,” Quick said. “I encountered one before we met up.”

  “There you go,” Benteen said. “Three raiding parties matches your number. That means Stone Knife’s force outnumbers your troop. You’re tracking a force that could probably wipe you out.”

  “That’s not the way I see it,” Dent said.

  “Captain,” Charley Blackfeather said, “he may be right.”

  “What do you suggest, Charley?” Dent asked. Benteen could see that the soldier put a lot of stock in what Blackfeather had to say.

  “I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” the Seminole said. “I think maybe you and me should ride to Fort Braxton while the troop takes these people to Wolf Creek.”

  “Old Mountain?” Dent said.

  Charley Blackfeather nodded.

  “What’s this?” Benteen asked.

  “Old Mountain is supposed to be going in to Fort Braxton to discuss terms,” Dent said. “Charley’s thinking we may be able to get him to talk Stone Knife down before he attacks Wolf Creek.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Benteen said.

  “Better than running around out here,” Quick said.

  “Sergeant,” Dent said, “you and the troop will escort these people safely to Wolf Creek, and then remain there to aid them in defending the town.”

  “You sure about that, Cap’n?” Nagy asked.

  “I’m, sure, Sergeant,” Dent said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Charley?”

  “I’m with you, Captain.”

  Dent nodded and sighed. “All right then, Charley. Let’s ride.”

  ***

  Emory Charleston stared straight into the horizon. He thought he saw something even before he heard the whoops and shots.

  “Sheriff!”

  Sheriff Satterlee turned from the blockade and looked at the blacksmith.

  “Y’all better come and look at this,” Charleston said.

  “Shore it up on that side,” Satterlee told someone. “This barricade has to save our lives.” He turned and walked over to stand with Charleston. ”What the hell—”