Nathan Stark, Army Scout

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “If you’re waiting for me to tell you how sorry I am, you’re gonna have a long wait. You savages kill each other all the time.” Nathan warmed to the subject. “Those stuffed-shirt idiots back east like to talk about the poor Indians and how they all get along with each other. You and I both know that’s a lie. All you different bunches have been killing each other ever since you got here. You’re all bloodthirsty heathens.”

  Red Buffalo surprised him by saying, “You’re absolutely right.” The Crow paused. “And the white men have been killing each other for centuries because one group worships a god, or group of gods, different from another group. You cannot deny that, Stark. Hatred and killing are human conditions. They do not belong to anyone based on the color of one’s skin.”

  “The hell with this,” Nathan said. “I’m not gonna waste my breath arguing with a savage.” He reined in. They had reached the base of the slope leading up to the mesa. The tracks of Hanging Dog’s ponies were still visible.

  “Well, hell. They went up there, all right. No doubt about it. You can tell by the depth of those prints that the ponies had riders. Hanging Dog’s not trying to fool us.”

  “You should go back and let the lieutenant know,” Red Buffalo suggested.

  Nathan squinted at him. “And let you ride up and parley with the Sioux? Strike some deal with Hanging Dog to double-cross us?”

  “You know better,” Red Buffalo said sharply. “If I rode up there, the Sioux would take great delight in torturing me. I would be staked out, my eyelids cut off, my genitals mutilated, and my guts pulled out and piled on my chest.”

  “Quit painting pretty pictures and go report to the lieutenant.”

  Red Buffalo made a sound of pure disgust, yanked his pony around, and galloped away, back toward the patrol.

  * * *

  Several clumps of boulders on the slope led up to the mesa, and Nathan kept a close eye on them while he waited for Red Buffalo to return with the soldiers. He wouldn’t put it past the Sioux for a few to crawl down and take some potshots at him. The range was fairly long, but a lucky shot could kill a man just as dead as a well-aimed one.

  Nothing happened, though. After a while, he heard hoofbeats in the distance and saw dust rising. A few more minutes passed, and then the patrol came into view. The men were running the horses hard, revealing the lieutenant’s eagerness to close with the enemy. Nathan wondered if Pryor had sent a rider back to the fort to carry the news to Colonel Ledbetter, like he was supposed to.

  With Red Buffalo trailing a short distance behind him, the lieutenant galloped up and reined in. “Are they really up there, Captain?”

  “Unless their horses sprouted wings and flew off, they are,” Nathan replied. He gestured toward the gorges several hundred yards away that cut off the approach to the mesa. “With that surrounding them, there’s nowhere for them to go.”

  “Excellent!” Pryor clenched a gauntleted hand into a fist. “We’ll keep them penned up there until the colonel arrives. Then Hanging Dog will have no choice but to surrender and return to the reservation—or be wiped out!”

  Red Buffalo said, “We don’t know for sure that Hanging Dog is with this bunch. It could be some other war chief leading them.”

  “Either way, they’re hostiles, and what we do here today will send a message to all the other savages that the United States Army is not to be trifled with.”

  Yeah, that’s what the Sioux are thinking about, Nathan reflected wryly. Trifling with the United States Army.

  “How quickly do you think the colonel will arrive?” Pryor went on.

  Nathan said, “Well, if the messenger you sent kills his horse getting back and Ledbetter is ready to move out right away, he might get here by nightfall . . . but it’s a lot more likely it’ll be the middle of the day tomorrow before they show up.”

  “We can keep the Indians pinned down for that long, can’t we? They can’t possibly get out past us—”

  The sharp crack of a rifle shot interrupted the lieutenant.

  Nathan heard a bullet whine overhead, and a split second later one of the soldiers cried out. Nathan jerked his head around and saw a man toppling off his horse as blood spurted from a neck wound. Several soldiers near him shouted in surprise and anger.

  More shots rang out. Bullets whipped around the patrol. Nathan glanced toward the rocks on the slope and saw gray powder smoke hanging over some of them. Just as he had thought might happen, the Sioux had crawled down there to ambush the soldiers.

  What it was going to gain them was beyond him, though. For a second it had appeared that the soldiers’ discipline would break and they would scatter across the prairie in an attempt to get away from the attack. But then Lieutenant Pryor and Sergeant McCall began bawling orders. Months of training stiffened the soldiers’ spines. Horse holders fell back with the animals while other men formed ranks and began returning the fire on Pryor’s command.

  Nathan and Red Buffalo dashed on horseback to one side. While Buck was still moving, Nathan swung down from the saddle and dragged his rifle from the scabbard. He threw himself to the ground behind a little hummock of dirt that would give him some cover.

  To his disgust, Red Buffalo landed right beside him.

  “Damn it,” Nathan rasped as he levered the Winchester, “you keep showing up when I don’t want company!”

  “I’m not pleased with this development, either,” Red Buffalo replied. He ducked his head as a bullet struck just in front of the hummock and kicked dirt over both of them. “But this was the closest cover!”

  Nathan raised himself on his elbows, thrust the rifle over the hummock, and squeezed off a shot at one of the clusters of boulders. He couldn’t see any of the hidden Sioux, but he aimed so the bullet would bounce around in the rocks and maybe give the red bastards something to think about, anyway.

  Beside him, Red Buffalo’s rifle spat flame and lead. “See?” the Crow scout said as he worked the weapon’s lever. “The Sioux are not my friends! ”

  “I reckon not,” Nathan admitted. He fired again. “What the hell are they doing? This ambush doesn’t gain them a damned thing!”

  “They killed at least one soldier.”

  “That’s not worth throwing all their lives away.”

  The members of the patrol had settled down and were concentrating a heavy fire on the slope. The single-shot Springfields couldn’t fire as fast as Winchesters, but with different groups of soldiers taking turns while others reloaded, they were able to keep up an almost constant bombardment.

  Nathan and Red Buffalo fired several more rounds toward the rocks, then Red Buffalo pushed himself a little higher as he exclaimed, “They’re running!”

  It was true. The Sioux ambushers had abandoned their positions and were dashing back up the slope toward the top of the mesa. Since they were already at the outer edges of accurate rifle range, most of the bullets fired by the soldiers fell short, but one of the Indians suddenly arched his back as a .45-70 round from a government-issue trapdoor Springfield smashed into it. The warrior staggered on several more steps before collapsing. Cheers went up from the soldiers at the sight.

  “We’ve got them on the run!” Lieutenant Pryor shouted. “Advance! Advance! Close with the enemy!”

  “No!” Nathan and Red Buffalo shouted at the same time. Both scouts knew the lieutenant was making a bad mistake by committing his forces to a charge.

  In the tumult of battle, though, Pryor either didn’t hear them or ignored the warning. He led the advance himself as the soldiers swarmed up the slope on foot, still firing sporadically after the fleeing Sioux. A handful of men were left behind to hold the horses.

  Those were the first ones slaughtered as more Sioux warriors came at them from both flanks. Nathan was already swinging the barrel of his Winchester to the left as he realized what Hanging Dog’s plan had been all along. The Sioux war chief had lured the soldiers, just as Nathan thought he was doing, then left a handful of men in the rocks to keep the patrol b
usy and goad them into charging, while the rest of the war party left their horses on top of the mesa, climbed down into the gorge on both sides, and circled around to attack from the flanks and the rear.

  At the same time, the warriors who had been hidden in the rocks stopped their retreat, turned around, and went on the attack again, firing into the suddenly confused mass of soldiers as they realized they were under fire from all sides. Judging by the rate the Sioux were spraying bullets down the slope, they were all armed with repeating Winchesters, just as Nathan had worried about.

  With slugs whining around their heads, the members of the patrol were the ones who were neatly trapped—not the Sioux.

  CHAPTER 19

  Nathan and Red Buffalo surged to their feet and fired at the closest group of Sioux warriors charging toward them.

  As he levered the Winchester, Nathan shouted, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant Pryor!” He had to get the officer’s attention. The surviving members of the patrol were out in the open, partway up the slope, and if they stayed there they would be massacred.

  The rocks where the Sioux sharpshooters had been hidden a short time earlier were the closest cover. The soldiers had to reach them or die.

  Firing on the run, the two scouts headed up the slope. Nathan felt a bullet pluck at his shirt but ignored it. He had been in many such fights, so he knew to zigzag and make himself a more difficult target. He also knew that a lot of what happened was just the luck of the draw. If there was a bullet with his name on it today, there probably wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.

  He called out, “Lieutenant!”

  The shout caught Pryor’s attention, and he looked around, wide-eyed with fear, as he tried to reload the revolver he had emptied at the Sioux. He was on his feet, but the soldiers around him knelt as they fought.

  Nathan waved at Pryor and yelled, “Go! Go! Head for the rocks!”

  Pryor’s eyes got even bigger, but he turned his head and shouted at McCall, “Sergeant! Advance to the rocks! Everyone! Advance!”

  The soldiers leaped to their feet and got moving again. Nathan and Red Buffalo carried on a rearguard action, spraying lead into the Sioux and slowing down their assault. If the two scouts had been a few seconds slower in their realization of what was going on, the patrol would have been surrounded and wiped out. At least they had a fighting chance—even if it wasn’t much of one.

  Red Buffalo took Nathan by surprise, grabbing his arm and jerking him off his feet. Nathan’s first thought was that Red Buffalo was sacrificing him to give himself a better chance of reaching safety, but then from the corner of his eye he spotted a Sioux warrior lunging toward them from the side. Red Buffalo jerked the pistol from the sash tied around his waist and fired. The .44 slug knocked the screaming Sioux off his feet and sent him rolling down the slope.

  “Come on!” Red Buffalo snapped. “Can’t sit here all day, white man.” He jammed the gun back behind the sash and extended that hand to Nathan.

  Normally, Nathan would have spat on a redskin’s outstretched hand rather than take it, but with half a dozen kill-crazy Sioux no more than twenty yards away, he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Red Buffalo’s hand and let the Crow scout help him to his feet. As he came upright, Nathan saw one of the warriors drawing a bead on Red Buffalo’s back and fired the Winchester one-handed at the man.

  The recoil almost ripped the rifle out of Nathan’s grasp. The hastily fired shot missed, but it came close enough to throw off the Sioux’s aim. Red Buffalo ducked a little as the bullet passed close by his head then they started running for the rocks again.

  The first of the soldiers had reached the boulders and thrown themselves down behind the protection. Shots began to blast from them, aimed upslope and down.

  As Nathan felt the wind-rip of a bullet passing close to his ear, he exclaimed, “Damn bluebellies better watch where they’re shooting!”

  “You don’t get along with anybody, do you?” Red Buffalo asked, puffing a little from the exertion of running uphill.

  Nathan ignored the question and concentrated on lunging toward the rocks. Close enough, he leaped, rolled over the top of a boulder that stood about four feet high, and fell to the ground behind it. Red Buffalo sprawled behind another rock a few feet away.

  Slugs spanged wildly off the boulders. Nathan kept his head down for a moment while he caught his breath, then raised it to look around. A dozen soldiers had sought shelter in that particular cluster of rocks, including Lieutenant Pryor and Sergeant McCall. The other survivors from the patrol had hunkered down behind boulders scattered across the slope.

  They wouldn’t make it, Nathan thought bleakly. Their cover wasn’t good enough. They would be picked off one by one. He and the others nearby had a better chance, since there were enough boulders to provide at least some cover from all directions.

  But more than likely, ricochets would kill all of them, too. It just might take a little longer. Or the Sioux would get tired of waiting and would overrun the position with their superior numbers.

  Red Buffalo lay on his side as he thumbed fresh cartridges through the loading gate of his rifle. “We should have figured out sooner what Hanging Dog was up to. I knew there had to be a reason he was leading us on like that.”

  “You think it would have done any good if we had?” Nathan asked. “Once we were on their trail, the lieutenant wasn’t going to turn back or even wait.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Do you know if he actually sent a rider back to the fort with the news?”

  “He did,” Red Buffalo said. “I saw the man ride off. The lieutenant ordered him to get to the fort as quickly as he could.” A grim smile curved the scout’s lips. “Of course, he might have run into more of the Sioux along the way.”

  “We’d better hope not. Him getting through is the only chance we’ve got.”

  Red Buffalo frowned. “Do you actually believe Colonel Ledbetter can get here with reinforcements in time to help us?”

  “I don’t know. But if he doesn’t, we’re dead men, no doubt about that.” Nathan had reloaded, too. He came up sharply on his knees, thrust the Winchester over the top of the rock, and sent three swift shots at the Sioux, all of whom had gone to ground.

  Return fire made him duck. His eyes stung and his nose and throat burned from the clouds of powder smoke hanging over the rocks.

  And it was going to get worse before it got better. A hell of a lot worse.

  * * *

  Heat and the lack of water added to their problems. The canteens were still on the patrol’s horses, all of which were either scattered or had been captured by the Sioux. The sun beat down fiercely on the slope during the afternoon, causing the temperature to climb. Skin blistered and sweat dried as soon as it sprang out. For relief, men panted like dogs.

  Since the siege began, Nathan had killed one of the Sioux that he knew of, with another couple wounded although he hadn’t been able to tell how badly. To pass the time, he called to Moses Red Buffalo, “What’s your score over there, redskin?”

  “Score?” Red Buffalo repeated. “This is not a game of dice, white man.”

  “Sure it is. The stakes are life and death, that’s all.”

  Red Buffalo snorted. “I have heard that you whites keep count of such things. Have you carved a notch in the butt of your pistol or the stock of your rifle for every Indian you have killed?”

  “Hell, if I did that, I’d have whittled them down to nothing by now.”

  “I’m curious. Has the Indian Killer murdered any white men as well? What about Mexicans? Or Negroes?”

  “I never killed anybody who didn’t need killing,” Nathan snapped, wishing he hadn’t started the conversation. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  “What about men you have shot from ambush? They were doing you no harm at that moment.”

  “They had harmed plenty of others. And they would have again, if I’d let ’em live.”

  “You know this for a fact? With
out any doubt? There is no possible chance you have gunned down men who did absolutely nothing to deserve it?”

  “You know who got what they didn’t deserve? My wife. My unborn child. My father and mother and everybody else who was killed that day!” Nathan raised up and pegged another shot in the direction of the Sioux so they wouldn’t think he had forgotten about them. He muttered, “Go to hell, Red Buffalo.”

  “I believe you may be there already,” the Crow said.

  The faint tone of pity in the other scout’s voice made fury well up inside Nathan. He felt like rolling over and shooting the redskinned son of a bitch. But like it or not, at that moment fate had made them allies. Anyway, Nathan heard a noise behind him. He turned to look and saw Lieutenant Pryor crawling toward him, keeping his head down because of the occasional slug that flew over the rocks or bounced among them.

  Pryor’s face was so pale under the powder smoke grime, his features so haggard and drawn, he already looked almost like the dead man he likely soon would be. He swallowed, wiped a hand across his face, and asked, “Do you have any idea how we can get out of here, Captain?”

  “I’m not a captain anymore,” Nathan said. “Haven’t been for a long time. You’re in command of this patrol, Lieutenant. What’d they tell you to do at West Point if you ever found yourself in a fix like this?”

  That wasn’t fair and Nathan knew it, but he was still angry at Red Buffalo, frustrated with himself, and unwilling to die before he got the chance to settle more of his score with the Indians... a score that would never really be settled, of course, because he couldn’t bring his loved ones back to life no matter how many redskins he put under.

  “If... if we advance on the hostiles below us—”

  Red Buffalo said, “We get up from these rocks and they’ll cut us to pieces in a crossfire, Lieutenant. Our only chance is to hold on here.”

  “But the men who took other positions... only a few of them seem to be firing anymore. I don’t know if they’re running low on ammunition—”