Nathan Stark, Army Scout

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Nathan turned in his saddle and pointed. “Anyway, that’s the direction we’re headed. All we have to do is push on. Red Buffalo will ride back and find us if there’s anything we need to know.”

  “Very well.” Ledbetter lifted his stocky form in the stirrups and waved the column forward. Lieutenants and then sergeants bawled orders and got the soldiers moving again.

  Nathan turned his horse to ride alongside the leaders in the column, but he gradually dropped back and let the first company pass him. Neither Bucher nor Ledbetter and the captains seemed to notice what he was doing.

  Nathan kept up his slow pace until Doc Lightner and the ambulance wagon caught up with him.

  The surgeon nodded to him and said, “Hello, Stark. Any new developments?”

  “No, we’re still on the trail of those hostiles. I’d like to ask you a question, though, Doc.”

  Lightner frowned. “We’ve already discussed how it wouldn’t be professional of me to offer any opinions on Colonel Ledbetter’s competence or tactical decisions.”

  “Not asking you to, Doc.” Nathan chuckled, but there wasn’t much genuine humor in the sound. “Reckon I’ve already come to my own conclusions on those matters. No, what I want to ask you about is Dietrich Bucher.”

  Lightner looked surprised. “I don’t know what I can tell you. I haven’t really had any dealings with him. He hasn’t required medical attention.”

  “Here’s what I’m curious about. Did you happen to notice when he rejoined the company yesterday evening? It should have been sometime around dusk, maybe a little later.”

  Lightner thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s the case, Captain. I had supper last night with the colonel and Captains Jameson and Lucas. I’m sure Mr. Bucher would have reported to them immediately when he rode in. In fact, when I noticed that he was in camp this morning, I recall thinking that he must have come in very late, because there’d been no sign of him by the time I turned in.”

  “So you’re saying he didn’t turn up until the middle of the night or later?”

  “It appears that way,” Lightner replied. “Why? Is there something important about what time Mr. Bucher arrived?”

  “I don’t know how important it is, but it’s curious.” Nathan waved a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself over it, Doc. And it would probably be better if you didn’t mention to Bucher that I’d been asking questions about him ... if that’s all right with you.”

  “Whatever this is about, unless it has some bearing on medical issues, it’s no business of mine. I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

  “That’s good, Doc. Thanks.”

  Nathan heeled Buck to a faster pace and rode back toward the head of the column. He kept thinking about what he had just learned. If Dietrich Bucher hadn’t rejoined the column until late in the night, that meant his whereabouts for several hours were unaccounted for.

  He would have had time to follow Nathan and Red Buffalo to their camp in the aspens and open fire on them. Nathan thought back to the day when he had been ambushed while scouting for Lieutenant Pryor’s patrol. Supposedly, Dietrich had been back at Fort Randall on that day ... but did anyone really pay enough attention to the German to guarantee that he hadn’t slipped off and trailed the patrol without anybody noticing? It was possible that had happened, Nathan decided, which left an even more important question.

  Why would Dietrich Bucher want him dead badly enough to keep trying to bushwhack him?

  CHAPTER 29

  The tracks left by the Sioux were easy enough to follow, and since the column had Nathan and Bucher to read sign, it was simple to stay on the trail of their quarry. As the day went on, Nathan expected to see Red Buffalo riding toward them to deliver the news that he had found Hanging Dog’s village, but the Crow scout didn’t appear.

  Nathan was also keeping a close eye on Bucher. Even if his suspicions about the German were correct, it was pretty damned unlikely that Bucher would try to kill him right out in the open, in plain sight of two companies of mounted infantry and more than half a dozen officers. Nathan watched him closely anyway.

  With those two concerns occupying his mind, he didn’t really have much time to think about Delia Blaine and what was going on back at the fort, but she kept sneaking into his thoughts anyway. He wouldn’t stop worrying until he and the rest of the men were back at Fort Randall and he could see with his own eyes that she was safe.

  By late afternoon, there was still no sign of Red Buffalo, and the trail had gotten more difficult to follow, indicating that the Sioux hadn’t been fleeing headlong anymore but rather had slowed down to cover their tracks.

  “I don’t like this,” Colonel Ledbetter complained. “Shouldn’t we have found the savages by now?”

  “We’ve only been looking for them for two days, Colonel,” Nathan said. “I’ve been out on campaigns that lasted for weeks or even months.”

  “Ja,” Bucher said. “Sometimes these things cannot be hurried, Colonel. We are still on the hostiles’ trail, so there is every chance we will locate them eventually.”

  Ledbetter scowled. “We didn’t bring enough supplies to stay out for a month, even if we’re able to find game to supplement our rations. If we don’t find the Sioux in a week, we’ll have to turn back.” His face darkened and puffed up like a toad again. “I will not return to Fort Randall empty-handed and in disgrace. I simply will not have it.”

  Ledbetter seemed to be having trouble with the idea that sometimes, things were out of a man’s control. That no matter what he did, now and then fate was going to rear up and kick him in the teeth. Pain and failure were inevitable. How a man handled life when that happened was what really told the story about him.

  When it happened to Nathan, he had set off on a killing spree that had lasted fifteen years. So far. What would make him call a halt to it at last, he wondered? If he found Rena, if he was able to return her to a normal life—assuming that was even possible—would that be enough to satisfy him?

  All the blood he had spilled hadn’t been, that was for sure. Was there enough Indian blood in the world to do that?

  Bucher spurred his horse ahead of the column. Nathan went with him, unwilling to let Bucher stray too far because he wanted the German where he could keep an eye on him.

  When they were out of earshot of the column, Bucher slowed his mount. With a frown, he said, “The trail is becoming more difficult to follow, Stark. Are these verdammt savages going to give us the slip?”

  Nathan had pulled Buck back to a walk, as well. He studied the rolling prairie ahead of them, broken up here and there by ridges, hills, buttes, and ranges of small mountains. Farther north and west lay the Black Hills, from that distance just a low, dark line on the horizon. There were plenty of hiding places in the vast, untamed land. The frontier could swallow up hundreds of Indians as if they had never been there. He had seen it happen.

  But ... if a man knew what he was looking for, there were always things to point him in the right direction.

  He said, “We’ll find them. I’m not worried about that. I’m a mite concerned that Red Buffalo may have found them already, though. Or they found him. ”

  A harsh laugh came from Bucher. “If I did not know better, Stark, I would say that you are worried about the Indian. Have you decided that you no longer hate all redskins?”

  “I never said that,” Nathan snapped. “Red Buffalo’s our partner. We’ve got to work with him. Besides, he knows the column is coming along behind him. If the Sioux grabbed him and went to work on him, he might tell them where to find us.” He had a hunch Red Buffalo wouldn’t give up much information, even if he was being tortured but figured he’d rather not find out for sure.

  “Only about an hour of daylight remaining,” Bucher commented. “We should start looking for a place the column can make camp. They will catch up to us as the sun is going down, I think.”

  Nathan agreed. They rode on, stopping a short time later a
top a broad, shallow ridge. Trees had become scarce, but at least the ridge would give the soldiers some high ground to hold if they came under attack.

  The two scouts waited there for the column to arrive. To pass the time, Nathan gathered up buffalo chips to use as fuel for the cook fires, since they weren’t likely to find any firewood. Bucher watched him with a faintly mocking smile on his face.

  “You too good to gather buffalo droppings?” Nathan asked as he dumped another load of the chips on the ground.

  “I prefer not to eat food cooked over scheiss,” Bucher said.

  “Nobody’s gonna force you to, I reckon. You can dig out some jerky and gnaw on it.”

  “Perhaps I will do that.”

  The whole time, Nathan had been watching Bucher from the corner of his eye, thinking it would be easy enough for the German to yank out his gun, put a bullet through him, and then claim that he’d been shot from a distance by one of the Sioux. It would have been easy for Bucher to try that, anyway.

  Nathan was more than willing to match his gun-handling skill against that of the other man.

  Bucher didn’t make a play, though. Maybe he was concerned that the column was too close and someone would be able to tell what really happened. Maybe Bucher just preferred to attempt his killing from ambush. Nathan wouldn’t doubt that for a second.

  The soldiers came into view a few minutes after sundown. Dusk had begun to gather by the time they reached the ridge.

  “Still no word from Red Buffalo?” Colonel Ledbetter asked in an obviously impatient tone.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Nathan replied.

  “This is an empty land,” Bucher said. “For hours nothing has moved except for Stark and me. And a few birds in the sky and animals, of course.”

  “We didn’t see any dust, either,” Nathan added, “so it’s safe to say Hanging Dog’s whole bunch isn’t on the move. My hunch is that they’ve gone to ground ever since tangling with the patrol. We gave ’em plenty of wounds to lick.”

  “Not enough,” Ledbetter snapped. “Not if there are still Indians alive to cause trouble.”

  That sounds familiar, Nathan thought.

  A moment later he realized why. It reminded him of something he might say. The idea that he and Colonel Wesley Stuart Ledbetter were thinking along the same lines put a frown on his face. Of course, just because some horse’s ass shared an opinion didn’t make it wrong.

  Some of the soldiers built fires while others broke out provisions. Most of them had been on previous campaigns in Dakota Territory and knew how to use the buffalo chips for fuel. That was better than having a cold camp.

  Captain Jameson established a guard perimeter. The men who weren’t on duty lined up to fill their tin plates and cups. Nathan got a cup of coffee for himself, along with a plate of beans, salt pork, and hardtack, and carried the food over to sit on the lowered tailgate of the ambulance wagon with Doc Lightner.

  “I’m not sure how much longer the colonel’s gonna be able to put up with this,” Nathan said. “He thought chasing Indians was going to be easy. Ride out, win a great victory, ride back. Get his name and maybe even in a woodcut in the illustrated weeklies.”

  “Does it ever work that way?” Lightner asked.

  Nathan laughed. “Not that I’ve seen. And when the journalists back east write about how it is here, somehow they never get around to mentioning the mud, the rain and snow, the blue northers that cut a man to the bone, the sun that bakes him dry ... or all the blood and the dying.”

  “Why would anyone ever volunteer for such a life, eh?”

  “It’s a good question, Doc,” Nathan answered.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Nathan said quietly, “Might be a good idea to keep an eye on Bucher.”

  “You’re suspicious of him. I could tell that this morning. Why? What do you think he’s done?”

  Nathan hesitated for a second, then said, “Two of the times I’ve been shot at in the past week or so, Bucher’s been around and could have done it.”

  “What about when someone tried to kill you with a shotgun?”

  Nathan shook his head. “He wouldn’t have had time to get in position to do that.”

  “So you have more than one enemy.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Lightner frowned and gestured with his fork at the camp around them. “Do you believe it has something to do with this campaign or is it personal? Someone carrying an old grudge against you, perhaps?”

  “Can’t rule it out, but it doesn’t seem very likely.”

  “No one has sworn to kill you in recent months?”

  Nathan took a deep breath. “When Cullen and I were on our way up to Randall, we had a run-in with some Creek warriors down in Indian Territory.” Calling it a run-in was maybe too generous, he thought fleetingly. “Four out of the five of ’em wound up dead. I could’ve killed the fifth one. Cullen full expected me to. But I didn’t. We rode off and let him live. Young fella name of Black Sun. Two of the others who died were his father and brother. He claimed he would find me and settle the score for them, one of these days.”

  “Then this Black Sun could have been one of the people who tried to ambush you,” Lightner said.

  Nathan shook his head. “I just don’t see that happening, Doc. That boy hates me worse than anybody or anything he’s ever hated in his life. It wouldn’t satisfy that hate to shoot me from a distance. He’ll want to kill me close up, so he can watch me suffer. He’ll want to look into my eyes while I’m dying so he can be sure I know why.”

  The surgeon said, “You sound like ... you’ve had some experience with that sort of thing yourself, Nathan.”

  Suddenly the coffee and the food didn’t taste as good. Stark finished off the meal anyway. “Just consider it a friendly warning, Doc. Watch Bucher and be on the lookout for trouble.”

  “I will,” Lightner promised.

  Nathan left the ambulance wagon, dumped his cup and plate in a pan with others to be washed, or at least scoured with sand, and then walked to the area on the ridge where the command’s horses were picketed and guarded. One of the sentries challenged him, then let him pass when he identified himself.

  Nathan found his horse, patted the buckskin’s shoulder, and murmured soft words as Buck nudged his shoulder in return.

  “You worked hard all day, old son,” Nathan said. “I hate to ask more of you, but I don’t know these army mounts and aren’t sure which ones are fresh, anyway. You think you got any sand left in you?”

  As if he understood the words, Buck bumped Nathan’s shoulder again.

  “Yeah, I thought so.” Nathan found his saddle, got it on Buck without making much noise, and pulled the picket pin. He knew where the guards were posted, and the horses were snorting and moving around enough to cover the sound of Buck’s hoofbeats as Nathan slowly led him clear of the herd. They went down the far side of the ridge between two of the sentries who never knew what was happening.

  Nathan didn’t mount right away. He continued leading Buck away from the camp as their legs swished through the knee-high grass. He still didn’t swing up into the saddle, even after he judged that they were far enough away from the column not to be heard if he rode. He could walk for a while, and that would make it easier on Buck.

  A vast darkness was all around, broken by the campfires behind them and the sweep of millions of stars in the heavens above. After a while, Nathan looked back and could no longer see the fires—they had dropped below the horizon—but he could still see a faint orange glow from the flames. He looked at it for a moment, then turned and studied the sky ahead of him.

  There. Was that the dimmest smudge of light to the northwest? He couldn’t be sure, but he believed it was.

  One way to find out, he told himself. He put his foot in the stirrup, swung up into the saddle, and nudged Buck forward. He let the horse set his own pace.

  Nathan knew where he was going. It didn’t matter if they took most of the night to ge
t there.

  CHAPTER 30

  Nathan judged that the hour was well after midnight by the time he approached his destination. As he had ridden through the night, the orange glow in the sky continued to shrink as the fires causing it died down, but he had marked out a course and could guide himself by the stars as well as any sailor out on the vast oceans.

  Buck was holding up well. Nathan hadn’t pushed him, but he knew the horse really needed more rest ... especially if all possible speed was called for sometime in the near future.

  Nathan reined in as he heard something. When he listened closer, he knew his first impression was right. That was a dog barking. Not a wolf or a coyote, but a dog. And out there, that could only mean one thing.

  An Indian village.

  Had the dog caught his scent and started barking to announce that a stranger was nearby? Nathan checked what little breeze was blowing and decided that wasn’t likely. He and Buck were still too far away. But dogs didn’t need much of an excuse to bark. Maybe the cur was just bored. After a few minutes, it fell silent.

  Nathan nudged the buckskin into motion and rode half a mile closer to the village before he halted Buck in a grove of saplings. He tied the reins to one of the little trees and patted Buck on the nose.

  “I’m gonna leave you right here for now, old son,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back, though. If I’m not, I didn’t tie those reins so tight you can’t get loose after a while . . . but I’m not planning on getting caught.”

  He left the Winchester where it was in the saddle boot and started toward the village on foot. If any shooting was to be done, likely it would be at close range, and he didn’t need the rifle weighing him down. Close quarters work was meant for a revolver.

  He paused, slipped the Colt out of leather, and thumbed a cartridge from one of the loops on his shell belt into the gun’s empty chamber. A man sneaking up on a whole village full of hostile Sioux stood a good chance of needing a full wheel before the night was over.

  Of course, if he did need to use the gun, he’d probably be dead pretty soon after that. In the dark in an Indian village, stealth was more important than anything else.