Nathanial
Page 26
Jesse nearly sprang to his feet, sloshing his coffee onto his pants. “The same Harpers that Nathanial had been dumped with after Jim Younger was sent away to prison.”
“The very one,” Huckabee said dryly.
“Well, then Nate wouldn’t head there. He hated those people. None of them ever treated him right but the girl, Jenny, who Nathanial watched get gunned down.”
Huckabee dropped his hat on his bedroll, then ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. “Nate and Deputy had taken their horses and were gone by the time Nolan and I tracked them to Graybill’s livery. Mrs. Graybill recognized Nolan, said she’d apologized to Nathanial for all the wrong she’d done him. He was welcome to come visit anytime.”
What the marshal said did make sense to Jesse. The Graybills’ home would be a good place to safely rest, get fed, and from there, if they didn’t ask Nate to stay with them, the kid could probably use that cute face of his to swindle the price of a train ticket out of them. If that happened, then he and his horse could speed away on the steamer and end up just about anywhere. How would they track him then?
Jesse looked across the fire at Marshal Huckabee. “Are we gonna keep trackin’ him, catch him before he gets too deep into Injun country? Or will we ride straight for Buttonwood and intercept him once he’s there?”
The many miles between there and Buttonwood were dangerous. It was Cheyenne country, and those red bucks weren’t known to be friendly with the whites.
“We need to catch him. I haven’t had any word of recent attacks on settlers who were simply passing through the area. But Nolan made mention that there’d been a few sightings of a war party stirrin’ about. The kid might slip past, but I’d hate to be wrong.” Huckabee pushed his hat onto his head, stood, then rolled up his ground blanket. “The horses are probably rested. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 29
They moved along slowly through the dark to the south with the hope of finding Nate sometime soon. Ma had to be worried out of her mind since neither Nate nor Jesse had come home. Jesse hadn’t taken time to get an update on the sheriff before he’d left, so he was worried about that too. And he was about ready to eat one of his boots. The coffee he’d drunk hours ago wasn’t holding him over.
As dawn began to streak the day with hues of pink, something else in the sky caught Jesse’s eye. A thin line of smoke. They turned their horses into a shallow gully following the hillside down toward the smoke signal. Under Jesse’s arms, the pits of his shirt were getting sweaty. Please don’t let it be a Cheyenne war party. He just wanted to find the boy. Perchance Nathanial had gotten reckless and built too big of a fire, but Jesse didn’t believe that was true. Maybe it was just some hunter.
Their horses scrambled over a rocky hump, out of the gully, and onto a flat patch of ground thickly lined with trees. Between the branches, Jesse spotted, one, two, three … six, nine … a dozen ponies grazing. His eyes were good, and there was no missing the paint markings on those horses. About ten yards from the animals, just as many Indians sat around the fire Jesse had spotted from the hill. He and the marshal both jerked up on the reins. Neither of them dared to breathe. This would be a fight to the death if they were seen.
Huckabee backed his horse up a step or two, then turned the gelding and disappeared into the gully they’d just come out of, behind the hillside.
Jesse started to turn his mount. Freckles’ nostrils flared. Jesse’s gut tightened. “No, boy.” He chanced a whisper out of desperation. Freckles bloated his belly. In that split second, Jesse’s entire body tightened into a knot. His horse whinnied. Those dozen ponies all lifted their heads, and they weren’t the only ones.
“Ah shit!” Jesse hissed between gritted teeth. He jabbed his spurs into Freckles’ underbelly, spun the animal, and shot off into the gully. Behind Jesse, screeching words that he didn’t understand flew in what sounded like every direction.
Jesse crested the hilltop not far behind the marshal. They were running their horses as fast as they could. Two against twelve weren’t good odds, especially when it came to fighting Indians. They had no rules of engagement, which made it harder to figure out what they might do next. Jesse threw a glance over his shoulder. The whole mad pack of them were thundering across the ground on their horses only fifty yards off his heels. Their war cries filled the air.
“Over here.” Huckabee gave a sharp wave.
Jesse jerked on the reins. Up a steep hillside, their horses weaved between crags of brush and boulders, following what might have been a deer path. It certainly wasn’t more than that. The horses were both breathing heavily. The climb had slowed their pace. Behind them, the Cheyenne had closed in by twenty yards at least.
Jesse followed Huckabee into the dark space between two tall boulders. It was a narrow alleyway just wide enough for a horse to fit, but Jesse had to lift his feet out of the stirrups the same as the marshal. Once inside the long crack, the Indians had been cut off from sight. They went about fifteen feet when, without warning, a small valley opened up before them. There was a camelback of steep tree-covered ridges on each side. Here and there along the skyline stood boulders as big as the ones that guarded the entrance to this hidden treasure. It was a natural fortress. Too steep and rocky in lots of places for a horse and rider to cross over the top to come at them. That meant there was only one way in and out.
“Git up there!” Huckabee pointed as he wheeled his horse toward the opposite ridge side. He didn’t have to say more. Jesse figured out what Huckabee was thinking and knew the plan.
He’d just gotten to the spot and jumped off his horse with his Winchester in hand when the first of the Indians came charging through the gap into the valley. Jesse took aim and squeezed the trigger. His bullet drilled right into the chest of the red buck and sent him flipping backward off his horse. Those red boys had no time to react. The horses at the end of the line must have been pushing the ones in the front, making clear targets of their riders.
Jesse fired a second time. Another warrior was torn off his horse and ate dust when his face planted in the dirt. Huckabee’s rifle boomed once, then twice. Jesse squeezed the trigger. A hail of gunfire was making that pack of scalp hunters spin every which way. Two more Cheyenne lay dead before they got their horses turned and tucked tail back into the gap between the boulders.
The dead Indians’ horses quickly trotted away from the smell of death. Farther down the floor of the valley, there was tall grass, and the riderless mounts headed there. Jesse stayed hunkered amid rocks and shaded by the trees. His canteen was full and there was a cool breeze flowing through the hills, so he was in no hurry to move. It was hard to tell if what was left of those red bucks would try again or just wait until dark, slip in, and collect their dead. By then, Jesse hoped he and the marshal would be long gone. And going back through that gap wasn’t an option unless they wanted to lose their hair. It seemed they were stuck trying to ride up and over. Yet Huckabee might know another way out. It didn’t seem like chance, him finding the place.
After a few hours of holding himself ready to fire upon anyone that stuck so much as their nose out from between that gap, Jesse’s legs were starting to cramp. He was tall, too long to be squatted in a tight spot for what felt like forever. He slowly stood, stretching his muscles. He raised a hand at Huckabee, who in return gave a nod.
The marshal’s rifle was propped on a fallen log and aimed at the black space between the big rocks. While Huckabee was keeping watch, Jesse glanced at the horses feeding below. There was a pretty black in that bunch. His coat shimmered in the sunlight. Beyond the small herd of horses, the valley appeared to narrow again. There stood a single grazing horse. A buckskin. Jesse’s heart leaped. From that distance, he couldn’t tell if it was Buck. Jesse jerked in Huckabee’s direction, then gave a sharp whistle. Huckabee got to his feet. Jesse pointed to the buckskin. When Huckabee looked back at Jesse, they were both grinning.
Glorious day if it was the boy. It didn’t matter how he’d gott
en in there without them seeing him. Perhaps he’d been there the whole time. Could have been he found his way in before they had. But that didn’t seem likely. He would have heard the shots and known someone was close by, someone that might be hunting him. Buck was an easily recognizable horse. The kid wouldn’t have left him grazing on open ground where he’d be seen if he thought anyone might be watching. Nate was a savvy little cuss. He probably had come there to hole up for a few days, thinking if he made no tracks, no one would find him. Had those Cheyenne not chased them in there, Jesse and the Marshal would have ridden right past this place. Smart kid.
Jesse wasn’t dumb. He motioned for Huckabee to ride along the hem of the ridge. The marshal knew to stay back among the trees, out of sight. If Nate saw them, he’d run for it. If it was even him. It might just be a wild mustang. The hills were full of unclaimed stock.
Jesse snaked along the foot of the other ridge. As he got closer, he grew more positive that was Buck. His heart pounded. Where was his partner? Had the boy gotten hurt? Maybe the Cheyenne had chased Nathanial in there, but then where were they? Jesse pulled up reins next to a small seep of water. In the mud around the hole were child-size boot tracks. The kid was somewhere around. Those prints were made in the past fifteen minutes.
On a jetting of rock about ten feet away sat the kid’s small saddle. Jesse had to be close. His heart now raced. Twenty paces or so above that and off to the right a good ten yards was the rocky mouth of what looked like a cave or small dugout that had been naturally formed by the earth. The roof was a sheer rise of rocks. That was a good place to search first. If the kid had just gotten there not long ago, as Jesse figured he had because of the freshness of those tracks at the seep, the boy probably left his saddle sitting until he had a good look-see and decided where best to make his camp. Why drag heavy tack around?
Jesse dismounted, tied his reins to a limb, then quietly crept up the hillside toward the cave. There weren’t any boot prints, but he found a wet spot and reckoned the boy had taken a piss. Jesse was careful not to scrape his heels on any rocks. Nor did he get close to any brush that might snag his clothing. His partner had keen senses. He’d hear any noise that wasn’t natural to his surroundings. Any sound possibly made by a man would put him on alert.
He was now within eight feet of the opening, but he was hidden in part by the aspens. His legs were still a little stiff, so he was not inclined to do any running if the boy were to see him first and take off. Jesse silently stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to less light. No one was home. Jesse had expected to find Nathanial there. The cave body was deeper than he had first thought. It was more than just a dugout. An ominous-looking black hole the size of a horse stood in front of him. There was something mean-looking about it that made it appear hungry as if it would swallow man or beast. Had the kid seen him coming and decided to plunge deeper?
Jesse didn’t have to think hard for an answer. A rock buzzed past his head. Instinct kicked in, and he ducked.
“Git out of here, Jesse! I ain’t goin’ back if I have to go with the Fletchers.” The boy stepped into the light. His arm was poised, rock in hand. “That first one was a warnin’.” He was waiting to hear otherwise, that the judge had ruled in his favor.
Jesse didn’t know that answer, and the silence between them sat too long. That definitely wasn’t the answer the kid wanted. The boy’s eyes shimmered in what light filtered in.
“You find him?” Huckabee’s voice carried up the hill.
The kid’s eyes widened, panicked. He wildly searched for enough space to run past without Jesse catching hold of him. The space might have been six feet wide, not enough room for Jesse to miss.
“Yup!” Jesse called over his shoulder. “I’m sure the marshal has fetched Buck and hobbled him. There ain’t no runnin’ away.” Inwardly, Jesse was happy. His muscles had relaxed a bit. The kid wasn’t harmed, and they had him cornered.
“Damn you, Jesse. Why couldn’t you just let me go?” Nate threw down his rock. In the faint light, the tears on the boy’s cheeks glistened.
Jesse went to him. He did feel sorry for the kid. As of yet, they were unaware of the outcome of his custody trial. Nathanial threw his little arms around Jesse’s waist, buried his face in his shirt, and cried. He patted the boy’s back, but Jesse didn’t know if things were really going to get better once they returned.
“When I left, the trial wasn’t over yet.” Jesse could only be honest.
A rustling noise behind them drew Jesse’s attention. Marshal Huckabee stood just outside the entrance. “While we have a little light in the sky, I say we get movin’.”
They turned and walked out of the cave. The kid’s shoulders were slumped. Jesse kept a grip on Nathanial’s arm just in case he got any funny ideas. He wouldn’t put anything past that boy. He was a clever little devil. And he wanted to get him straight home to Ma, who had to be worried sick by now.
Jesse saddled the mustang, then lifted Nathanial onto his horse’s back, keeping a tight grip on Buck’s reins. He then stepped up and threw a leg over Freckles.
Two hours later, with the kid at Jesse’s side pointing the way, the three of them exited the valley by another route, one much rougher than the path Jesse and the marshal had come in on. The trail had also led them farther south. Without a doubt, this was Cheyenne territory, a place they didn’t want to get caught on tired horses, and their mounts were breathing awful heavy.
Since the path they’d followed had been so rocky, it also had slowed them down. The evening sky was now orange. They’d gone another mile when Jesse jerked on the reins, wheeling his horse away from the skyline above them some seventy-five, eighty yards.
“What’s wrong?” Huckabee kept his voice low.
Jesse twisted around, pointing at the silhouettes of seven or eight warriors. He was afraid his horse might whinny again and give them away. At the moment, Freckles was nuzzling Buck’s shoulder, who tolerantly swished his tail.
“Them ain’t the same ones I seen earlier,” the boy whispered. “I counted six, and one was injured. Seen the blood.”
Jesse and the marshal both raised a brow, studying one another for the answer. And neither of them liked the fact that two war parties were stirring around the territory on the hunt.
Jesse looked over at Nathanial. “Where’d you see them other Cheyenne?”
“Cheyenne?” The boy wrinkled up his nose. “They were Sioux.”
Jesse cursed under his breath. This was stacking up to be big trouble. The Sioux and Cheyenne tribes were not on friendly terms. Never had been. It seemed that they were riding through a clan war. The ranchers that Jesse was used to dealing with pushed at one another for water and land rights, and the Indian tribes did the same to claim better hunting grounds. And just because they were fighting each other didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill anyone who inadvertently got in the middle, as he and the marshal had found out earlier when those Cheyenne bucks had the mind to lift their hair.
“Why don’t we find a good spot to hole up for the night? If those Indians are on the prowl at this hour instead of in their lodges eating supper, they might hunt well into the night. And it might not be just two war parties out there. I’d hate to run into one of them in the dark,” Huckabee said.
Jesse nodded.
The sun was touching the top of the mountain when they finally found a suitable place to conceal them and hide the horses close by. They were all tired and likely testy, which came with being exhausted, though none of them had spoken. Even the horses seemed grouchy, ears pinned, matched with an occasional tail flick. Jesse wore a frown that complemented Huckabee’s deep, worrisome scowl, and Nate looked as if he was going to burst out crying any second.
“Get a fire going,” Jesse snapped at the kid. “A small one,” he said as if Nate needed telling.
Jesse was just concerned about the three of them getting out of there with their hides intact. He doubted he’d sleep tonight. How could he? Those raiding partie
s could be anywhere and sneak up at any time.
Huckabee picketed the horses on a find of grass. It took but a few minutes until flames danced and the coffeepot was on.
The kid spread out his saddle blanket and sat near the fire. “Suppose Ma’s worried sick.”
“Reckon so,” Jesse said.
Huckabee handed Jesse a cup of steaming brew.
“How’s Pa?” Nathanial’s soft little voice was sad and quivery as he wiped at his eyes.
“Wish I knew.” It was the only thing Jesse could say. He didn’t like thinking about it.
With him gone, Ma was shouldering everything alone. The responsibilities of the ranch, tending to a sick husband—though Doc was probably still there helping—plus the outcome of the trial. It was too much for one person, especially when that person was with child.
Jesse took a swallow of coffee, then picked up the Winchester and headed out into the dark. “I’ll take the first watch.”
A few hours later when Huckabee came to take over, Jesse’s eyes had to be red. He was god-awful tried. All he could think about was his family. Would Nate be taken away from them? They would soon find out. He should have been focused on listening for Indians, but he wasn’t. It was a good thing Huckabee was there. Worrying would do nothing but rob Jesse of needed shuteye. He would try to sleep.
When Jesse’s eyes fluttered open, the boy had, sometime during the night, curled up tight against him. He had done that many times at home when he’d heard a bump in the night and gotten scared. There was plenty there to be frightened of. The boy’s future was unknown, uncertain in more ways than one. It could be that they’d all get scalped before making it back to town to find out.
Jesse rolled over. The fire was out. Not surprising. They’d kept it small in hopes of not attracting attention. The mountain air was chilly at this early morning hour. The sky barely held a hint of gray. At home, the rooster would be crowing.