by J. T. Edson
‘Are the lance carriers of the Pahuraix all so easily frightened by what others may think of their actions?’ inquired a young Kweharehnuh, seeking to prove himself worthy of being considered a tehnap.
‘Come and find out how easily I’m frightened,’ the Kid suggested truculently, bringing up the barrel of the Winchester with his right hand. ‘But ask a blessing from your medicine man first, tuivitsi.’
‘Bad Temper is a honored guest,’ Prophet announced, bringing the attention of the youngster his way. ‘And there is no reason for his courage to be questioned.’
‘As you wish,’ the tuivitsi assented, aware of how those who thwarted the wishes of the medicine man frequently met with sudden and inexplicable death.
‘May I ask what you’re going to do, Bad Temper?’ Prophet requested.
‘From what I found on the way here, this one brought everything with her from your village,’ the Texan explained, allowing the rifle to turn downwards again. ‘So I’ll take it all and bury her and it where they will never be found.’
‘Do as you will, Bad Temper,’ Prophet authorized, deciding he might acquire a useful ally—or, at least, in view of the concern over possible reprisals by the influential associates of Is-A-Man, one over whom he had something of a hold—by showing such compliance.
‘I always do,’ the Kid claimed, in keeping with the character he had adopted. ‘But remember this well, medicine man of the Kweharehnuh. If anybody tries to follow me, whoever it is had better be ready to go to the Land Of Good Hunting. Because that is where I will send him and those who did not stop him coming after me.’
‘Go in peace,’ Prophet answered, knowing the latter part of the threat was directed at him. ‘I will see that nobody follows you, now or later, and all will welcome you on your return.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that, you son-of-a-bitch!’ the Kid said in English, satisfied his requirements would be respected, but he said it to himself.
Fifteen – It Will Mean All-Out Bloody War
‘There’s nobody coming after us, Cuchilo,’ Annie Singing Bear declared, looking from where she was being carried over the shoulders of the Ysabel Kid back to where they had come from. ‘So, happen you’re so minded, you can set me down and I’ll walk the rest of the way.’
‘You’ll not get any argument from me on doing that,’ the Texan replied, also in English, albeit in a somewhat breathless fashion. ‘God damn it, Is-A-Man, why didn’t you tell me’s how you’ve grow so much heavier since I last saw you?’
‘Not all that much, damn it!’ the girl protested as she was being set down on her feet. ‘The trouble is, you Pehnane never did have no get up ’n’ go.’
‘I did have,’ the Kid contradicted, straightening his back and flexing his shoulders. Gesturing with the lance in his right hand, he elaborated, ‘Only it got up and went when I started toting you away from Hell.’
Requested to assist with the negotiations for a peace treaty with the Kweharehnuh, Dusty Fog and the other members of Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit had gone to Fort Sorrel. Although the prophesy of ‘Buffalo are coming’ had yet to be made by the new medicine man, they had been gravely concerned by what they heard about his earlier activities from Chief Ten Bears. Learning of Morton Lewis being indisposed, it had been decided the Kid should go and investigate the latest developments. Calling at the home of the disabled rancher, he had been given valuable assistance by the foreman. This had not ended merely with the replacement mounts for the three he had used to supplement his magnificent white stallion so that he could speed the journey from the Fort. He had also been loaned a suitable black wig and the appropriate attire, used by Lewis when paying an extended visit to Chief Wolf Runner, as a disguise, and he had added a war lance to give further credence to his pose as a Comanche warrior.
Having traversed the terrain of the Kweharehnuh twice while helping Dusty and Waco close down the outlaw town, the Kid had no difficulty in returning there. He had intended using it as a starting point from which to locate the village, but seeing that the wagon had been halted at an angle in the street, and that the wall of the building had tightly stretched white sheets fastened to it, he had began to wonder why this was being done. Leaving his horses in concealment, he had been making his way towards the town on foot when he heard somebody heading in the same direction. Concluding from the relay in use being left at a distance, that the rider had not been invited to join those already assembled at the town, he had gone to look over the animals. Recognizing the Pahuraix medicine boot for the Winchester Model of 1866 carbine, which Annie had removed and left across one of the saddles, he had known who owned them and had set off to join her.
When the presence of Is-A-Man and the Texan had been detected by the Apache, he had thought quickly and concocted an excuse to get them away. Having ensured he could not be seen from the street, he had leaned his rifle and lance against the wall of the building. Waiting until the girl rose and holstered her revolver, he had hoisted her across his shoulders in what would come to be known as the ‘fireman’s lift’. Leaving her to carry his Winchester and the brass tack decorated carbine, he had gathered up the lance and set off in the direction from which they had come. In spite of his superb physical condition, he had been under considerable strain while walking with such a load on his back. Nevertheless, he had continued to bear it until satisfied there was no further need. He was satisfied that, hoping to win him over as a willing ally, Prophet would not have allowed anybody to follow him and, should a search be made when he failed to return, it would be too late to interfere with their departure.
‘What do you reckon’s going on, Cuchilo?’ Annie inquired, as they set off carrying their own weapons. ‘I know Prophet and those other white-educated young bastards want to get a war going between all the tribes and the white folks, but I can’t see how they figure on doing it the way they are. Hell, the way he was talking, and with that fancy picture he showed, he reckons to make his medicine by some buffalo showing up and, seeing’s how there ain’t none anywheres around, there’s no way he can make good on it.’
‘Hot damn!’ the Kid ejaculated, remembering certain events during the last visit he and his amigos had paid to Mulrooney, Kansas. ‘Unlikely’s it seems, there’s just a chance he might!’
‘Could the Wedge do it, though?’ Is-A-Man asked, after having been told of the interest shown by Walter Johnson in the possibility of buffalo being moved like a trail herd of longhorn cattle.
‘If anybody can, it’s them,’ the Texan declared. ‘Only, knowing Injuns, they wouldn’t bring buffalo anywheres near the Palo Duro country.’
‘Was that Johnson jasper even part Indian?’ Annie inquired.
‘Neither him, nor the two knob-heads he had with him,’ the Kid replied. ‘But they looked and talked like the kind of liber-radical soft-shells’s are allus ready to lick the butts of anybod—Well I’ll be damned!’
‘I never thought you wouldn’t’ Annie asserted, despite realizing the last words had been provoked by something her companion considered important. ‘But what’s brought you around to figuring on it?’
‘Four jaspers tried to gun down Dusty ’n’ me last time we was in Mulrooney,’ the Texan explained. ‘We never found out much about them, but what we did made us think they was what folks in Europe call “Bohemians” and, as they get took on regular as hired guns over there, ’d been sent by some folk’s we’d got all riled up at us. Now I’m starting to wonder happen they was Indians, not “Bohemians”, and in cahoots with Johnson?’
‘They could’ve been,’ Is-A-Man estimated. ‘But, even if they was, like you said, the Wedge have too much Injun-savvy to bring buffalo down this way.’
‘I’ve got a sneaking notion’s Wedge wasn’t hired to bring ’em all the way,’ the Kid answered, other memories arising, now he had started thinking about the visit. ‘They never let on’s how it’d be buffalo instead of cattle they’d be handling. But after they’d sided Wedge again’ some gandy dancers i
n a saloon brawl, Silent Churchman said some dudes was real nice fellers and the boys didn’t mind having them along to learn about trail herding.’
‘That don’t sound like soft-shells to me,’ Annie objected. ‘Ones’s I’ve met’ve all been bumptious bastards’s made you know they figured’s how they was doing you a favor even knowing you was alive.’
‘Those two with Johnson were that kind,’ the Texan admitted. ‘But the others I met with the Wedge boys around town weren’t. Fact being, going by what they said, they wasn’t soft-shells at all ’n’ didn’t cotton to ’em.’
‘Then they wouldn’t be mixed up with anything like we’re thinking on?’ Is-A-Man stated rather than asked.
‘Not happen they knowed what they was doing,’ the Kid assessed. ‘Only that Johnson hombre was a real smooth talking son-of-a-bitch. He allus put me in mind of the kind of medicine showman’s sells gold bricks made from painted lead on the side. Which being, he could’ve slickered Stone Hart and them into doing what’s needed.’
‘Then we can’t take a chance that it’s not his game!’ Annie stated grimly. ‘Happen it is and them buffalo’re brought to where Prophet can show ’em off to the braves’s he’s got together, it’ll mean his medicine’s been made and proved ’n’ there’ll be all out bloody war ’twixt Indians ’n’ white folks from Texas to California.’
‘That’s how I read the sign too,’ the Texan said somberly. ‘Dusty, Mark, Waco ‘n’ Doc Leroy’re waiting for me out a ways. The sooner we get there and tell ’em what we figure, the happier I’ll be.’
‘Here are the night herders,’ Francis Morrel announced with malicious satisfaction, indicating the limp figures hanging face down across the saddles of the four horses he and Kevin Roddy were leading. ‘The half-bree—we thought it better that all the bodies were together if they should be found before the uprising starts.’
‘Why have you covered them up?’ the other young Easterner inquired, glancing at the motionless shapes covered in blankets, all lying around the campfire apparently using saddles for pillows.
‘For the same reason I told the half-breed to have you bring in those four,’ Walter Johnson replied. ‘I hope those half-breeds coming to join Javelina can handle the herd well enough to get it to where it’s needed.’
‘He assures me they’re all experienced at handling cattle,’ Roddy claimed, his tone resentful as it always became when there was a suggestion of criticism to arrangements in which he was involved. ‘And, after all, we’ve got them this far without difficulty.’
‘First the Wedge and then these young men you’ve had me poison got them this far,’ the New Englander corrected. ‘And, if I’d had my way, they’d have been taken even closer. Now I can only hope your crowd is able to do the rest.’
Although the task of transferring the buffalo had been without precedent, according to what Stone Hart had told Johnson before they parted, the task had presented far less difficulty than he had envisaged. In fact, he had asserted the journey was less eventful than more than one conventional trail drive in which he had participated.
Once the technique for persuading the herd to travel in the required direction had proved successful, the experience of the Wedge trail crew had continued to do so. Employing similar tactics to those of the first day, each morning the mass of wild animals would be encouraged to set off from their overnight bed ground. By having the ‘point’ riders move closer on one side and edge away at the other, the leaders were guided where it was necessary for them to go. Any individual buffalo, or group, which attempted to break away would be confronted by the nearest members of the crew. In every case, without needing to be approached too closely, caution and natural instincts had produced a return to the main body.
As time had passed, the animals had grown accustomed to their human escort. While this did not extend to allowing the men to actually ride amongst them, the Texans and Easterners had eventually been able to approach almost as near as would have been possible if dealing with even ladinos. In its turn, this had permitted a greater amount of control to be exercised; a most important factor on those occasions when a river had to be crossed. Before long, the Texans were admitting their present charges were easier to handle than the usual herds put in their care. Not only were the buffalo able to cover as many miles in a day, but they proved less likely to take fright and stampede as was all too frequently the case with longhorns.
Not only had Stone Hart guided the buffalo as requested by Johnson, contriving to avoid all contact with other human beings along the way, but he and his crew had been just as successful in teaching the willing young Easterners the necessary tricks of their trade. By the time that the herd had reached the border of New Mexico and Texas, Geoffrey Crayne and his companions had been judged competent to handle it unaided. Furthermore, acting upon what had amounted to an order from Johnson, Roddy and Morrell had each learned enough for them to be just passable as ‘night hawk’—relieving the Easterner trained as wrangler to watch over the remuda while he slept through the hours of darkness—as an alternative to their respective duties as cook’s louse. In preparation for what lay ahead, claiming he was tired of the idle life of ‘businessman-turned rancher’, the New Englander had ‘volunteered’ to spell his associates in the latter menial task. His real reason was that doing so would prevent suspicions being aroused when he would need to perform one part of the duties for the furtherance of the scheme.
Parting company with the Wedge at the junction of the Canadian River and Rita Blanca Creek, the Easterners trained as trail hands had justified the faith in their ability expressed by Stone Hart. Not only had they carried out their respective tasks as taught by the Texans in a competent fashion, they had continued to follow such traditions as heckling the cook and ensuring that every man folded, secured and placed his bed roll in the bed roll wagon before the commencement of each day’s journey. Although they did not know exactly where they were heading, they had continued to keep the herd moving towards its destination.
Although Joseph Henry Abrahams had shown less than a warm welcome, Crayne and the other trail hands had not attached any significance to the apparently accidental arrival of a half-breed introducing himself as ‘Tom Javelina’ just before they had broken camp that morning. When the crew had departed and the cook was occupied with his duties, he had told the conspirators that he had come from the Comanche now known to the Kweharehnuh as ‘Prophet’. Being informed that a sufficiently large party of men of mixed blood to handle the buffalo were not far behind, the hatred developed by Roddy and Morrell for the other young Easterners—aroused by having to accept menial positions instead of, as they expected, being considered leaders—had come to a head. In spite of Johnson saying he would prefer to leave the transfer of control until nearer the rendezvous which was still at least twenty miles away where Prophet was waiting with the delegates from the tribes to ‘prove’ he had ‘made his medicine’, they had insisted it took place that night. Giving a reluctant concurrence, taking advantage of his self-appointed duties as cook’s louse, the New Englander had been able to administer a potion brought from the East in the coffee he served to everybody in the camp except for himself and his fellow conspirators. Sending them to take care of the men riding night herd on the buffalo after the collapse of the others, having made a habit of delivering the beverage to those on duty, he had completed the task which he had assigned to himself by giving all the victims the appearance of being asleep.
‘Let’s put these four to bed like the others,’ Johnson suggested, waving a hand towards the horses.
‘Would you two do it?’ Roddy inquired, darting a glance redolent of nervousness at the figures draped across the saddles and turning away his eyes almost immediately. ‘I think I’ve eat something which didn’t agree with me and my bowels are so upset I’ve got to relieve them.’
‘Mine are upset too!’ Morrell claimed and the New Englander noticed he was studiously avoiding looking at their victims. ‘I—I’ll have to
go right away!’
‘That’s all right, boys,’ Johnson said, his manner understanding. He concluded that the night herders had been hung over the saddles by the three men who had accompanied Javelina, but who had remained out of sight until they were needed to replace the victims. ‘When you’ve got that kind of problem, you can’t hold it back without the danger of filling your pants and none of us would want that.’ While the younger men disappeared into the woodland on the fringe of which camp had been made for the night, the New Englander, showing a tenderness which they might have considered surprising under the circumstances, lowered each unmoving night herder to the ground. By the time Roddy and Morrell returned, he had laid and covered them in the same manner as their companions and the cook by the fire.
‘You’d best put the horses with the remuda,’ Johnson remarked, knowing this was being watched over by another of Javelina’s companions.
‘Of course,’ Roddy assented. ‘But first, I think this calls for a drink.’
‘So do I!’ Morrell supported. ‘And I’ve a bottle of good brandy in my property that I brought ready for this.’
‘Well, Mr. Johnson,’ Roddy said, as his companion walked away. ‘Your part is over now. What do you intend to do next?’
‘Go back East the shortest and quickest way I can,’ the New Englander replied. ‘Like you say, I’ve done my part and I’m not intending being anywhere west of the Mississippi River when the redskins rise.’
‘It wouldn’t be advisable,’ Roddy admitted. ‘Not that Francis and I have anything to fear, of course.’
‘No,’ Johnson replied, his tone dry. ‘You wouldn't be he—have.’
‘Everything has gone off splendidly!’ Roddy declared, trying to sound cheerfully enthusiastic despite a queasiness in his stomach which was not caused by something he had eaten disagreeing with him. It was created by the realization that he was now a party to wholesale and cold blooded murder. Giving no sign to suggest that he had guessed the changed comment had been intended to be, ‘You wouldn’t be here if you thought it had,’, he went on speaking so as to keep the conversation flowing, ‘Of course, I never doubted that it would. By the way, though. What really did happen at that hotel on the night you went to see “Ivan Boski” and there was a fire?’
