Frontier America

by William W. Johnstone

  “All you men listen!” Tyler continued. “I have officially relieved Lieutenant Davidson of command! He is no longer in charge of this detail. Due to his willful and continued defiance of the orders given to us by Captain Croxton back at the fort, he is no longer fit for command, and I have taken his place. We came to make peace with the Crow, not to wage war on them!”

  More than fifty rifles were pointing in the general direction of the small group of men just outside the trees. If the soldiers decided not to cooperate and accept Tyler taking command, there wasn’t much Preacher, Jamie, and Hawk could do about it. A volley from that many rifles, at this range, would blow them to pieces.

  Of course, Davidson would die in the storm of lead, too, which made the troopers hesitate.

  Tyler walked forward and said in a quieter but more intense voice, “Listen, men. I know each and every one of you, and you know me. You know I believe in the mission that brought us here. Lieutenant Davidson and Sergeant O’Connor never gave that mission a chance to succeed. I don’t know if we can salvage our goals or not . . . a great deal has happened, most of it bad . . . but if we continue in the same course, so will the bloodshed, until one—or both—sides are wiped out. I believe enough blood has been spilled already. That’s why I’m willing to risk a court-martial and whatever fate the army wants to give me, in order to stop the killing. But that risk is mine. No one will hold you at fault for following my orders.”

  The long moment of silence that followed Tyler’s speech stretched everyone’s nerves to the breaking point. Finally, after what seemed like much longer than it really was, Corporal Mackey cleared his throat and said, “You always were a good officer, Lieutenant Tyler, and you were in charge of B Troop before Lieutenant Davidson was. I, uh . . .” Mackey looked around at the other dragoons, then squared his shoulders and went on, “I don’t have a problem with following your orders, sir.”

  “Neither do I,” said another man. Mutters of agreement came from several more.

  “This ain’t right!” one of the soldiers yelled. “An officer can’t just take over for a superior officer!”

  “Actually, one can, according to regulations,” said Tyler. “An officer who is giving unlawful or improper orders can be relieved of command, and that’s all I’m doing here. None of this is permanent. It’ll all be sorted out once we’re back at Fort Kearny, and like I said, I’ll accept whatever decision is made there. But for now, and until we get back, I’m in charge of this troop.” His voice was firm now, brooking no argument. “Understood?”

  Again, Mackey was the first to speak up, saying, “Yes, sir!” Others followed suit. A number of the troopers wore surly expressions and didn’t respond verbally, but they lowered their rifles and Preacher took that as a sign they were willing to go along with the others, at least for now.

  Tyler nodded and said, “All right. Where’s Sergeant O’Connor?”

  “Here he comes now,” a trooper called.

  Everyone turned to look and saw Big Thunder walking toward the river. O’Connor was draped over his broad shoulders like a bag of grain. Preacher could tell by how limp O’Connor hung that the sergeant was out cold. Preacher hoped that was all it was and that O’Connor wasn’t dead.

  The ranks of dragoons parted to let Big Thunder through. He walked up to Preacher and the others, bent forward, and dumped O’Connor on the ground at his feet. O’Connor sprawled there, his chest rising and falling enough to tell Preacher that the sergeant was still alive.

  “The fight is over,” Big Thunder announced. “Big Thunder won!”

  “You sure did,” Preacher told him. The mountain man still had hold of Davidson. He asked him, “How about you, Lieutenant? Is the fight over for you? You still gonna give us trouble?”

  As Preacher eased off his grip, Davidson looked like he wanted to start spewing anger and obscenities again. But then a look of despair came over the young officer’s face, unlike anything Preacher had seen there before. This unexpected turn of events had knocked the arrogance out of Davidson at last.

  “There won’t be any more trouble,” he said quietly.

  Preacher looked over at Jamie. “You believe him?”

  “Not for one damn minute.” Jamie jerked open the flap of Davidson’s holster and removed the pistol from it, then pulled the saber from Davidson’s scabbard. “But I feel better about it now.” He turned to Tyler. “I suggest you have both of these prisoners secured and guarded at all times, Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t know if that’s necessary,” said Tyler. “Lieutenant Davidson has given us his word. I accept his parole for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Hayden,” Davidson said. “I appreciate that you still believe I’m a man of honor, despite our disagreements.”

  “The lieutenant may believe it,” Preacher said, “but I ain’t so sure. You try to cause any more trouble, Davidson, and I’ll stop you myself . . . permanent-like.” He let go of Davidson and stepped back, then nodded toward the still-unconscious O’Connor. “But you’d better have that one tied up while you’ve got the chance, Lieutenant.”

  “That probably would be wise,” agreed Tyler. “Corporal Mackey, would you see to it?”

  Mackey dismounted and said, “Of course, sir.”

  Tyler looked along the line of mounted men and went on, “All of you get down from your horses. We’ll make a temporary camp here—”

  One of the dragoons interrupted by calling in alarmed tones, “Here come the Indians!”

  CHAPTER 31

  It was true that the Crow were leaving the canyon, or at least most of the warriors were. They advanced toward the river, led by Broken Pine. The soldiers started to turn toward them, bristling as if getting ready to fight again, but Tyler strode forward and called, “Hold your fire, men! Lower your rifles!”

  “Are you sure about that, Lieutenant?” one of the dragoons asked.

  “I’m certain,” Tyler said. “Broken Pine means us no harm. Everything the Crow have done has been in defense of themselves and their families. I’ll go talk to Broken Pine now.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Preacher said. “Jamie, you mind keepin’ an eye on things here?”

  “Nope,” Jamie replied as he rested his hands on his gun butts.

  Preacher and Hawk walked across the open ground with Tyler. Broken Pine moved out in front of the other warriors and met them.

  “Your plan has worked?” asked the Crow chief.

  “It has,” Tyler replied. “I’ve relieved Lieutenant Davidson of command and I’m in charge now.”

  Broken Pine nodded toward the soldiers and said, “Your warriors, they agree to follow you?”

  “Some of them aren’t quite as enthusiastic as others,” Tyler replied with a faint smile, “but they’re all following my orders. The trouble is over, Broken Pine. I give you my word on that.” He paused, then said, “I was hoping that perhaps we could speak again about that treaty . . .”

  Broken Pine lifted a hand to stop him. “It is too soon to speak of such things. But after we return to the village . . . I will consider it.”

  “Thank you. That’s very generous and gracious of you. And more than I could expect, considering the circumstances and everything that’s happened.”

  “Many things happen in life, good and bad. A stream that never flows dries up and disappears.” Broken Pine looked at Preacher. “Big Thunder?”

  “He’s fine,” the mountain man assured him. “Banged up some from that fight with O’Connor, but he won and that’s all he cares about.”

  Broken Pine smiled and said, “Do you think that will satisfy his appetite for battle?”

  “For a little while,” Preacher said with a grin. “Maybe.”

  * * *

  Broken Pine and his warriors gathered up their families and started back to the village. In order to allow them to do that without having to worry about any kind of double cross, Tyler ordered the dragoons to remain where they were for the time being. Later in the day, they
would withdraw to their previous camp closer to the Crow village.

  Preacher and Hawk went with the Indians, while Jamie remained with the soldiers. Jamie kept an eye on Davidson and O’Connor. The lieutenant sat on the rock where he had been earlier, but he didn’t write any more in his journal. Instead he just sat with his hands clasped together between his knees, staring straight ahead as if at something no one else could see. The future of his military career, perhaps, which was very uncertain at the moment.

  Sergeant O’Conner hadn’t been quiet when he regained consciousness. He had ranted and cursed until Lieutenant Tyler ordered him gagged as well as tied. O’Connor sat with his back propped against a tree, with ropes encircling his torso and binding him to the trunk. His wrists were lashed together in front of him. With the gag in his mouth, all he could do was stare daggers at Jamie and Tyler every time they moved so that he could see them. That old saying about how if looks could kill had never been more true, Jamie thought.

  He still hoped that Broken Pine would reconsider and come to Fort Kearny with them to negotiate the treaty that Washington wanted, but one way or the other, Jamie was eager to get back to the fort so he could wash his hands of this whole ill-fated expedition and go home like he’d intended to start with. That was what a man got sometimes when he tried to help out: trouble right up to his neck . . .

  He was musing about that when he heard a sudden sharp burst of gunfire in the distance, coming from somewhere downstream.

  * * *

  Preacher felt good, walking along with his family. Hawk was beside him, carrying the little girl Bright Moon. Butterfly strode along on Hawk’s other side. The boy, Eagle Feather, ran ahead with Dog. The trouble with the soldiers was over, the hunting had improved, there wouldn’t be many more wagon trains coming this direction, if any, and as far as Preacher could see, peace ought to reign over these scenic foothills, at least for a while.

  He should have known better, he thought a moment later when a shot blasted somewhere to his right and one of the warriors ahead of him grunted and staggered, blood welling from the bullet hole in his side.

  He’d gone and jinxed the whole damn thing.

  “Down!” he shouted as more gunfire erupted. “Everybody down!”

  Powdersmoke spurted from a grove of trees about fifty yards to the right. Bullets tore through the group of Crow who had been walking peacefully along the river. There was no good cover here—except for the riverbank itself. It was deep enough to provide shelter from the ambush.

  Preacher’s Colts filled his hands. He blazed away at the trees, knowing it would be pure luck if he hit any of the hidden riflemen. But maybe he could distract them while some of the others made it to safety.

  “Head for the river!” he bellowed. “Get down the bank to the water!”

  The women and children broke into a run in that direction. Most of the warriors were still trying to put up a fight, sending arrows arching toward the trees.

  Then men on horseback burst out from cover, charging the Crow and firing revolvers and single-shot flintlock pistols. More warriors fell under the onslaught, and so did some of the women and young ones.

  Butterfly was one of the women who stumbled and went down. Blood ran down her leg from a bullet hole in her calf. Hawk had handed Bright Moon to her when the shooting started so that he could fight back. The girl fell when Butterfly did, but she seemed to be all right as she landed and rolled across the ground. Dog, who had gotten attached to the children, dashed up and stood over Bright Moon to protect her, snarling and growling at the attackers.

  Eagle Feather started after his little sister to help her, but before he could reach her, one of the riders swooped down on him, leaning from the saddle to snatch him from the ground as he cried out in alarm. Preacher swung his guns in that direction but couldn’t fire because of the danger to the boy. The rider wheeled the horse and Preacher got a good look at the person who had grabbed Eagle Feather.

  Shock went through him, turning his blood as cold as if he had been plunged into a freezing mountain stream.

  The rider’s hat hung from its chin strap, letting long, white-streaked raven hair flow down her back. Preacher instantly recognized the woman’s hawk-like face, even though he hadn’t seen her in ten years. He hadn’t known she was still alive; actually, he had assumed she was long since dead, as much of a troublemaker as she was.

  But even though she was dressed like a white man now, there was no doubt about the identity of the woman who glared at him across twenty yards of bloody chaos.

  Winter Wind.

  “Follow me, Preacher!” she cried. “Or the boy dies!”

  With that she yanked her horse around and kicked it into a run toward the trees where the killers had lurked.

  The other men on horseback followed her, abandoning the assault. They were a mix of whites and Indians, and he realized suddenly that this might be the same gang of outlaws that had been preying on wagon trains, the ones he and Hawk had clashed with previously. And if Winter Wind was their leader—a ludicrous idea, unless one knew what the crazed Blackfoot woman was actually capable of—she might have spotted him and Hawk during the battle and realized she had a chance to settle her old score with them.

  Hawk sent another arrow winging after the riders, then turned and shouted, “Butterfly!” at the sight of his wife lying on the ground bleeding. He ran to her and dropped to his knees beside her. Bright Moon had clung to Dog’s thick fur to help her climb to her feet. She stumbled over to Butterfly from the other direction.

  Preacher jammed his Colts back in their holsters and hurried over as Hawk examined Butterfly’s wounded leg. The lines of strain on her face revealed the pain she was in, but she didn’t say anything about that. Instead she clutched Hawk’s arm and said, “Eagle Feather! Where is he?”

  Hawk looked around. He must not have seen Winter Wind grab the boy, thought Preacher. Seeing that Butterfly’s wound was bloody but not serious, he knelt beside his son and said, “Hawk, listen to me. One of those ambushers was Winter Wind.”

  Hawk seemed baffled as he looked at Preacher and repeated, “Winter Wind . . . I do not—” Then his eyes widened as the memories came back to him. “The Blackfoot! The wild woman!”

  “Yeah. Looks like she’s thrown in with a bunch of owlhoots. But she’s after you and me. She took Eagle Feather, Hawk. She dared me to come after them. This is her vengeance on us.”

  “Eagle Feather!” gasped Butterfly. “Gone?”

  “He was fine when she grabbed him,” Preacher assured her. “She won’t hurt him. He’s the bait for the trap she’s gonna set for me and Hawk.”

  “I will kill her!” Hawk raged. “We should have killed her long ago!”

  “Maybe so,” Preacher agreed, “but that don’t change things now.” He straightened to his feet and looked around. “And she sure has raised hell.”

  The shooting from the trees had stopped. Preacher figured the men who’d been hidden there had taken off and followed Winter Wind and the rest of the gang. But the damage had already been done, and it was extensive. Most of the Crow women and children had made it to the safety of the riverbank, but several lay bloody and motionless on the ground. A dozen warriors had fallen in the attack and now sprawled in the stillness of death.

  All because of one woman’s loco need for vengeance, Preacher thought as he grimly surveyed the carnage.

  He knelt again, pulled a bandanna from his pocket, and bound it around Butterfly’s wounded leg. While he was doing that, she said, “Preacher, you must save Eagle Feather. You must go after him.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he told her. “He’s gonna be fine. I’ll be gettin’ on their trail mighty quick-like.”

  “And I will go, too,” Hawk said as he bent down. He kissed Butterfly’s forehead. “No harm will come to our son. This is my promise to you.” He put an arm around Bright Moon’s shoulders and drew the sobbing little girl to him. “Do not be frightened. Your mother is all right, and yo
ur brother will be, too.”

  They were helping Butterfly to her feet when Broken Pine hurried over. Preacher was glad to see that the chief appeared to be unhurt.

  “The soldiers come,” Broken Pine said as he gestured upstream.

  Preacher turned his head to look. Some of the dragoons rode toward them with Lieutenant Tyler and Jamie MacCallister at their head. They had heard the shooting, Preacher thought, and had come to see what was wrong.

  Several of the warriors took the soldiers’ sudden appearance as a threat and started to nock arrows. Broken Pine called out to them, telling them to hold their fire. He and Preacher and Hawk moved to meet the newcomers as a couple of the Crow women came to help Butterfly and take charge of Bright Moon.

  Jamie and Lieutenant Tyler rode out in front of the others and reined in as they came up to Preacher, Hawk, and Broken Pine. Jamie looked at the bodies littering the ground along the river and said, “My God! What happened here?”

  “We were ambushed,” Preacher said. His face and voice were as bleak as a frozen winter day. “An old enemy of mine—”

  “And mine as well,” Hawk added.

  “They laid a trap for us,” continued Preacher. “Didn’t have a blasted thing to do with all this other commotion that’s been goin’ on. Just pure bad luck, is all. Bad luck, and loco hate.”

  “But you drove them off?” asked Lieutenant Tyler.

  Preacher shook his head. “They left . . . but they took Hawk’s son . . . my grandson . . . with them.”

  “Good Lord,” Jamie muttered. “We’ll go after them—”

  “No!” The sharp word came from Hawk. “If Winter Wind sees a large force pursuing them, she might kill Eagle Feather and flee to finish taking her revenge another day.”

  “I was thinkin’ the same thing,” Preacher said. “If we want to keep the boy safe, we have to give her what she wants . . . and that’s me and Hawk comin’ after her by ourselves, so she can capture us and take her time killin’ us.”

  “Wait . . . wait a minute,” Tyler said. “This person you’re talking about . . . is a woman?”