Jesse sat up as Huckabee walked into camp with dark circles under his eyes.
“I spotted another war party, bigger than the other two. More Sioux.” Huckabee pointed. “About a mile thataway down on the flat. We gotta move. Now.”
Jesse shook Nate awake while the marshal quickly saddled the horses. There wasn’t time for coffee. They needed to get the hell out of there. They lit out, not worrying about covering their trail. Their plan was simple: put as many miles behind them as fast as they could while running for home.
“Jesse, look.” The boy pointed to a dark puff of smoke, then another, then two more spaced out by a few seconds.
Huckabee reined in next to them. All the horses were prancing nervously.
“There’s another one.” Huckabee jerked his head to the right where smoke spindled up off the ridge.
Jesse twisted around in the saddle, eyeing their backtrail. “We got company behind us.”
More smoke signals took shape in the air. Whether those black rings came from the Sioux or the Cheyenne, the fact was they were surrounded on three sides.
“Holy shit!” Huckabee’s jaw clenched.
The kid was shaking from head to toe, and his eyes were filled with water. Those two both stared at yet a fourth ball of smoke rising. It was on their left about a mile away from the first puff Nathanial had spotted. That made two war parties on that side. How many more were out there? And were they signaling each other, working together? Was this the same tribe, all Sioux or Cheyenne? Or were these warnings from one tribe to another?
Jesse could only come up with more questions, not answers. And he didn’t like any of it. If they didn’t soon get out of the middle, they’d be boxed in, and this was a fight none of them would survive. Sioux warriors liked white men less than the Cheyenne, and being a kid wouldn’t save Nathanial. His hair, too, would fill a spot on a warrior’s lance if they were caught. They weren’t the target, but that wouldn’t stop either side from killing them. Jesse believed this was just stupid bad timing, them running into a battle between nations.
“Come on.” Huckabee spurred his horse.
Jesse’s and Nate’s animals fell into pace. It wasn’t unreasonable to think they might be riding into a trap. Why were there no smoke rings floating up from ahead, the very way they needed to go to get home? It didn’t make sense that no one would be positioned on that section of ground.
The highest peak loomed above them. Why not put a signal fire up there? The hillside below was thickly painted in different colors of green from the varying species of trees. All those leaves were some protection. The tree line was a barrier of sorts. A good defensive place. Jesse started to think about it more, but not as a battleground. That mountain was probably full of game. And they had stopped and watered their horses not far from there when they’d ridden in after the kid. So there was good water too.
Jesse yanked up on Freckles’ reins. His horse halted. “Marshal, stop.”
Huckabee did, as did Nate. They were both staring at him, probably waiting for more bad news.
Jesse swallowed the lump in his throat. “We can’t go this way.”
“There ain’t no other way to go.” Huckabee’s tone was sharp.
“The first man to step foot on that land will start a war. I bet the Sioux and Cheyenne have come to claim that ground. Both sides are waitin’ for the other to make the first move, and in the meantime, they’re all callin’ more tribes. Doubt they’ll care that we’re white and have nothin’ to do with it. They’re all itchin’ for a fight.”
“Jesse, I’m scared.” Nathanial whimpered. He was shaking in his saddle.
“I am too, partner, but this ain’t the time to panic. Right now, they’re watchin’ each other. I doubt they’ve spotted us, or some young bucks would’ve already had a try at us.” Jesse didn’t know how to console the kid other than to keep him from doing something dumb. He scooped Buck’s reins out of Nathanial’s hands. “I wanna keep ya close is all.”
The boy didn’t argue. He gripped the horn with both hands.
Huckabee’s saddle creaked as he shifted uneasily, looking in every direction. “You’re right,” he said.
“What are we gonna do?” Partner barely choked out the words due to what Jesse suspected to be a bone-dry throat because he wasn’t holding any spit either.
Huckabee studied the ridge side down toward the flat. “Gotta be a hundred of them between those two camps, if not more. We couldn’t possibly slip past across that open ground without being seen.”
“Might not be as many fighters up top. Only one fire up there.” Jesse turned, glancing up the hillside to their right. Then he noticed something he hadn’t before and pointed to a notch in the mountain where two hills came together, forming what appeared to be a ripple in the green that blanketed the hills. “Bet that’s a wash. Depending on how rocky, maybe we could ride the horses up that. We might make it close to the top before they see us.”
Huckabee nodded. “Could work. It’s a chance anyway.”
The kid didn’t say a word, just chewed on his lip.
Jesse had been right, thank the Lord. That dip in the mountain where the treetops appeared to sit lower than the rest was indeed a wash. The ravine wasn’t so deep that a horse couldn’t get in or out of it. That long notch in the earth was, however, a good depth to keep them mostly hidden. The trees that hemmed the sides of the gully would help fort them. Their chance of escaping this trouble was slim, but if Jesse could somehow get Nathanial over the top to the other side, at least then the kid might be able to slip away. The Indians up there would be focused on this side where their enemies were stationed, so the other side of the mountain could be fairly clear as far as Nate running into any warriors. Jesse doubted he and the marshal would be so lucky. The area, at the moment, was too thickly populated with red bucks for them to go unnoticed. It was a matter of luck, and time was ticking until some warrior saw them. Then it would be a real fight.
Their horses were snorting, working hard to climb.
Out of nowhere, a god-awful cry cut through the air, stinging their ears. Jesse threw a look over his shoulder just as a Cheyenne appeared among the trees atop the edge of the ravine and took a running, flying dive with a hatchet gripped in his fist, no time for Jesse to throw his arms up. The warrior flatly tackled him, ripping him out of the saddle. That red bastard screeched bloody murder as they fell and whacked the rocky ground.
Shit, Jesse couldn’t breathe.
Behind him, the kid screamed.
Jesse’s fist jabbed up into that painted buck’s throat, smashing his Adam’s apple back into his spine. He choked, grabbing at his neck with one hand, which threw off the aim of the hatchet in the other. The glistening blade hacked into the dirt near Jesse’s ear. Before Jesse sucked in a full breath, a bone-hard knee slammed his chest, dead center. Every bulky ounce of that red fella held Jesse down.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Buck rearing, kicking his front hooves out at a brave who was stabbing at Nate with a lance. Jesse arched with a jerk of his midsection to throw off his attacker, and as he did, he swung an arm, clubbing that devil upside the jaw. Jesse needed to get to the kid. The warrior’s lower teeth shifted queerly to the side with a gut-sickening crack. With the blunt force of the blow, the Indian spun off him.
Where the hell was Huckabee? He wouldn’t have left them.
As the buck rolled, he threw a wild chop with the hatchet, which nicked the brim of Jesse’s hat, knocking it off his head.
Jesse sprang to his feet and turned, snatching his hat as he went. Huckabee was down. Blood gushed from his arm, and his horse lay dead. Over him stood a fierce-looking redskin with one long black braid down the back of his otherwise shaved head. Another redskin was charging, lance raised. That hard, leather-faced fighter who had Jesse winded was on his feet too and madly charged, wielding his ax like a crazy person. Jesse jumped back once, then twice, barely escaping getting butchered.
“Jesse!”
Partner’s panicked voice nearly made Jesse’s ears bleed. The boy’s pain was Jesse’s pain, and he wasn’t about to let anyone hurt him, not while Jesse had breath in his lungs.
He palmed his pistol. Flame blasted into the hostile’s gut. He dropped to his knees, and the knife fell from his grasp. Jesse wheeled on his heel. He worked the hammer. Lead balls drilled the son of a bitch who jabbed at the boy. That bastard jerked one way, then the other as Jesse unloaded into him.
Huckabee’s rifle boomed. Jesse twisted in that direction. Pools of blood surrounded the two Indian bodies. One had been killed with his own feathered lance sticking out of his chest, the other a shotgun blast to the face. Not a pretty way to go.
Three more warriors came running at them.
Jesse threw a glance at the kid. Nathanial’s eyes were wide, and tears streamed down his face. Blood matted the fur on Buck’s shoulder, and the kid’s eyes were focused there. Dammit. If that horse went lame, Nathanial was as good as dead.
“Git out of here!” Jesse had just spit out the words when an arrow snagged his pant leg.
Nate smacked his heels madly into Buck’s sides. The horse leaped forward, knocking one of the enemy rolling. While he was down, Jesse aimed and fired. That prick was going to kill a little boy. Something sharp struck Jesse’s shoulder from behind, cutting into his flesh. An arrow stuck out from his skin. With one yank, he tore it out with a great agonizing yell.
Huckabee’s rifle boomed for the second time, then a third.
Jesse twisted around. The one with the bow was dead, flat on his face in the dirt. Huckabee swung his rifle, batting one heathen alongside his ear. That son of a bitch got dropped like a hot potato. Around them, echoing through the trees, were a lot more shrill war cries, too many for two injured men to handle. Jesse grabbed up the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle. He grabbed Huckabee’s outstretched arm and yanked him up to ride double.
Jesse spurred the appaloosa.
Huckabee fired upon two more who had pounced side by side out of the brush at them. Freckles was struggling to make the climb with full-grown men on his back. His neck stretched and he blew hard, but his feet were solid, digging in and propelling them onward. Amen. They were putting a little distance between themselves and the enemy. Ahead, Nathanial was out of sight. Jesse prayed the kid had made it through any trouble that might have been waiting.
Freckles stumbled, nearly pitching Jesse over his horse’s ears. The gelding was tiring quickly. The climb was too steep, the footing rough and rocky, and the double weight would have been a lot for any horse.
A crunching noise rose out of the brush, and before their eyes, a painted pony and a buck wearing a soldier’s hat slammed his horse into the side of Jesse’s mount. Freckles’ feet came off the ground as they flipped. Two horses and three men rolled back down the wash.
CHAPTER 30
Nate ran Buck. Blood spurted out with each torque of the mustang’s shoulder as his gait stretched. Worse than Buck being hurt, Jesse and the marshal were still back there. Nate needed to get them help.
Gunfire repeated through the air. There’d been so many Indians. Nate couldn’t calm his breathing or how badly he shook. It was too far to Gray Rock. He’d never get there and return in time to do Jesse and the marshal any good. They’d be dead before then.
Shots echoed. There had to be another way. What he needed was someone close. But this was lonely country, no homesteads. Maybe a hunter. But Nate had no idea where to begin looking, and that would take time. Too much time. Minutes counted. Seconds counted. The rifle booms were spaced out now by at least a hurried breath or two. Was that a sign of Jesse and Huckabee winning or losing?
Smoke—no longer formed in puffs, but a thick billowing line—mushroomed into the sky. That was it. Nate had found his help. It wasn’t ideal and it might cost him his hair, but Jesse was worth the risk. Nate spun Buck and charged the mustang straight down the mountainside.
Despite being injured, his horse covered ground with the speed of the wind. Buck was flying, and Nate was holding on tight. There was little cover in some spots, and that was exactly where Nate steered his horse. He wanted to be seen, recalling what Jesse had said earlier. That the first man to set foot on the ground that both the Sioux and Cheyenne wanted to claim would start a war. That was precisely what Nate was about to do.
He wasn’t a man but he was white, and that might be enough to agitate the Sioux into coming after him. He would lead them straight up the hillside toward where Nate had last seen Jesse and the marshal. If he wasn’t enough of a lure, Buck might be. Though he was hurt, the mustang was a fine, stout figure of an animal, pleasing to any eye. And Indians liked good horses.
Buck thundered out onto the flat not fifty yards from where those Sioux had the two signal fires burning. But now they were just brightly stoked bond fires.
“Hey!” he screamed a couple times and wildly waved his arms.
Dozens upon dozens of dark eyes drew upon him. Nate wasn’t breathing, but his heart sure as hell pounded. He screeched his best imitation of the Cheyenne war cry. Every Sioux warrior seemed to stiffen. Nate let out hollering again. Then he jerked Buck by the reins, and they shot off up the mountainside. Nate hoped his effort wasn’t too late. His eyes glassed over. Jesse had been hurt before he’d yelled at Nate to run. Marshal Huckabee had been bleeding too. Neither was in good shape, at least not for the fight they were in.
A rumble of thunder shook the ground. Nate dared to sneak a glance over his shoulder. Twenty-five or more Sioux were mounted and racing after him. Their horses were fresh, not winded like Buck who was snorting with every breath. And the poor mustang was still trickling blood, but Buck was like Nate. He had no quit. Death would be the only thing that would stop them, and those braves were gaining ground too fast.
Nate made a beeline for the patch of level ground ahead. It was the spot where he, Jesse, and the marshal had entered the wash less than thirty minutes ago. That was a lot of time to be fighting for your life. Nate hoped with all his strength that Jesse and Huckabee, Nate’s best friend’s father, were still breathing.
Buck’s hooves pounded onto the even spot. Jesse was there, Huckabee too. Nate’s heart leaped with relief. Jesse was limping at a slow run toward his horse. Above his one knee, his pant leg had been filleted, along with the skin underneath. He was leaking red onto his boot. His Winchester lay on the ground, broken in two. Not far away, Huckabee was on all fours over a dead warrior, a bloody knife in his hand. His side had been sliced open, and he was bleeding from a cut under his left eye.
They both had lost the look of strength and must have been about done in. Nate’s timing couldn’t have been better. More Cheyenne, a damn passel of them, flooded in from above. Nate wheeled Buck to give another battle cry to hurry and lure the Sioux. Before he opened his mouth, the first ten braves of the bunch who were heeling him came flying on their mounts onto the flat spot of ground. In a brief pause, one side glared at the other. Then red bodies from both nations went at each other with arms raised and weapons bared.
Angry shouts carried everywhere. Screams of death followed. More Sioux came up the hillside, which would lead to but one thing—more Cheyenne racing down from the mountaintop. It was war.
As Nate spun his horse toward Jesse, who was now on the appaloosa and reaching to pull up the marshal, a shot rang out, then another. Nate was yanked off Buck and thumped on the ground. A lean-faced Sioux kicked him, rolling Nate out of the way. Then that devil started to throw a leg over Buck. Buck kicked and turned around, biting at the warrior.
A rifle boomed, and that rotten heathen jerked forward. His spine had blown out through his bellybutton, splattering Buck’s side with blood. The shock of sudden death, so brutal, held Nate’s stare, though he didn’t want to see the mess. He wasn’t on his feet, but just stupidly sitting there, not believing the slaughter all around him. The sound of battle was ferocious, the likes of which Nate had never heard. It was a terribly bitter song that would
leave a scar on him perhaps forever.
“Nathanial!” Jesse screamed over the roar of fighting.
Panic streaked through Nate, and as he pushed up, he was scooped off the ground from behind. He kicked and hollered and punched. He didn’t want to die, to get scalped or hacked apart like some of the grisly bodies around him. Nate tried not to look, but there were dead scattered all over the place. He expected to feel a hard blow from a hatchet any second. And too many more warriors rushed to replace the dead.
“Nathanial, stop it. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Nate quit struggling and looked up. His eyes damn near bugged out of his cotton-picking head. Fletcher had him. They were on a sturdy brown horse, one from Mr. Pike’s livery, and they were running from the battle. Nate then saw Pike, an old Indian fighter from way back. He was mounted and blasting away, keeping several braves off Jesse and Huckabee as Jesse madly kicked the appaloosa to run. Judge Prescott was there too. He had a rifle aimed at the savages and pulled the trigger
Fletcher ducked around a bend with Nate, and they flew through a patch of trees. He wasn’t slowing the horse. Nate had to make sure the others got out of there. It seemed they were going to light out right behind Fletcher, but Nate needed to be sure. He hadn’t risked that run-in with the Sioux and gotten between them and the Cheyenne to just turn and abandon Jesse and Huckabee back there, especially with both of them injured. Both were badly scraped up and bleeding.
“You gotta go back,” Nate demanded.
Fletcher kept the horse running. Nate wasn’t big enough to fight him for control of the reins, so he did the only thing he could. Something Fletcher, no doubt, would not expect. Nate shifted his weight off his ass and onto his heels and jumped before Fletcher could hold him back. Nate hit the ground rolling. It wasn’t just the others he felt the need to go back for. He couldn’t forget his horse.
Fletcher yanked up on the reins, swinging his mount and coming fast back toward Nate.
Nate stood his ground, not giving his hand to Fletcher to be pulled up into the saddle. “No. Go back. Help them. You got a gun.”
Nathanial Page 27
