To hell and gone, p.13
To Hell and Gone, page 13
He’s got nothing on his mind but putting some miles between us as fast as he can, Cody thought. He followed an obvious route back to the road, pausing briefly when he reached the road to make sure the tracks he followed went to the west. The hoofprints on the road showed Walker’s horses were still galloping in an effort to put as much distance between them as quickly as possible. Cody knew the horses couldn’t keep that pace very long, so he resisted the urge to gallop after him. Instead, he alternated Storm’s pace between a walk and a trot, thinking he might overtake Walker in the long run.
As he’d expected, Walker’s horses maintained the gallop for a little over two miles before their tracks indicated they had cut back to a slow walk in an effort to recover. Cody expected to gain ground by continuing his alternating pace.
Up ahead of the white Crow warrior, Ben Walker knew he was being pursued, even though he had seen no sign of a horse and rider behind him. Finally forced to let up on the big Morgan gelding when the willing horse had begun to show signs of failing, he slowed his pace. His packhorse looked close to the point of collapse. He’d thought by galloping as far as the horses could, he might gain enough lead on Crazy Wolf then he could let his horses recover just enough to increase their pace again.
He had not gone ten miles when he reached the confluence of Clark’s Fork with the Yellowstone River. Since he was riding in country he had no prior knowledge of, he assumed it was just another nameless river, and he had as good a chance of striking a settlement on that river as he did on the Yellowstone. He believed his chance of beating Crazy Wolf was better in a town of any size than he had out in the wild country. If he could find himself a good defensive spot in town, he could see him coming.
He cursed himself for running away from Coulson. He should have sat right there in the back of the saloon and shot him down when he walked in the door. But instead, Walker was standing at the fork of the rivers, trying to decide which one to take. Crazy Wolf will think I stayed with the Yellowstone, he decided, and turned his horses onto the one that forked off to the south.
Had he chosen to continue along the Yellowstone, he would have come to the little town he wished for in less than ten miles. Settlers had begun making homes in the area and a fledgling town was already developing. The railroad had not come yet, but now that the threat of the Sioux Indians had been broken, white men felt safe in the Yellowstone Valley. Many of those who’d come to the valley were prospectors who thought there might be gold in the headwaters of the Clark’s Fork. Government surveyors were already mapping the future route of the railroad from the east. In anticipation of its coming, a station house and post office was built, and the settlement was named Carlton.
Unaware of all this, Walker prodded his weary horses along the Clark Fork of the Yellowstone, seeing no sign of civilization ahead. He was walking beside the Morgan, and he knew he was going to have to rest his horses soon, but he kept them moving as long as he thought he could. Finally, when the river took a sharp little turn, he decided it a good place to lie in wait for his pursuer. He placed the reins over the Morgan’s head and laid them on his neck, then pulled his rifle from its scabbard. The two horses went down to the water’s edge immediately. He knew he would have to camp there. The sun had already dropped below the line of mountains to the west, and it would be only a short time before the last dying rays of light would go out, leaving the river canyon in heavy darkness. He was hungry but was afraid to build a fire that would lead the wild Indian right to him.
“We’ll see if the big Crow scout can track as good as he thinks he can,” Walker mumbled to himself. “I’m gonna lay right here on this bank and wait for him. And if he shows up, I’ll shoot him down like I would any crazy wolf.” He checked his rifle to make sure it was ready.
Deciding he was going to be there until morning, regardless, Walker hurried to unload his horses while he still had a few minutes of daylight left. He used his packs and saddle to build a protective bunker to shoot behind as the last few minutes of light faded away. Content with the ambush he had waiting, he found himself hoping Crazy Wolf would continue to come after him. The former soldier was certain he would be able to see a man on a horse before that man could see him lying on the bank of the river.
* * *
Back at the confluence of Clark’s Fork with the Yellowstone, Cody was hurrying to make use of the fading light of day as anxiously as Walker was. To be sure which way Walker had gone when he had reached that point, Cody searched both trails for a short distance, and realized Walker had chosen to follow Clark’s Fork, instead of continuing along the main body of the Yellowstone River.
Where could the cavalry deserter be headed in that direction? Cody wondered. It didn’t make sense, unless Walker did it in a desperate move to throw him off his trail. The thought Cody had remembered earlier about the evil spirits came to his mind since the Clark’s Fork route was the way to Spotted Pony’s village at Red Lodge. He immediately put that out of his mind.
But if I track him as far as Rock Creek, I’ll go straight to Spotted Pony’s village, he thought.
He started out again, following Walker’s trail along Clark’s Fork. It was a trail he had ridden many times, going back and forth on hunting parties as well as war parties against the Sioux and the Cheyenne. He knew every curve the river took, so much so, that he could almost feel his way along in the darkness.
Knowing Walker had to be thinking about ambushing him, Cody took extra caution when he approached places in the river that lent themselves to prime ambush spots. Just as he did whenever approaching a sharp curve in the river, he dismounted and led his horses. As he neared the curve in the river, a horse down by the water issued a call for identification and Bloody Axe’s gray answered the call.
Both men stopped to listen.
Ben Walker felt a sharp stab of panic. The Crow devil had found him! Then he reminded himself that he still had the advantage. He was secure behind the rampart he had fashioned. Crazy Wolf had to come to him, and Walker was loaded, cocked, and ready to fire. One squeeze of the trigger and it was the happy hunting ground for the Crow scout. Walker took his hand off the trigger guard for a quick moment to wipe the sweat from his palm, quickly returning it, ready to pull the trigger. It seemed like an eternity since the horses had nickered.
Come on, he urged, knowing that any second Crazy Wolf would ride right up to him. What if he’d heard the horses and stopped? “Damn you. Where are you?” Walker whispered impatiently.
“I’m here, Walker,” were the ghostly words he heard as his head was jerked back and the knife slashed his throat.
In reflex, his finger locked down on the trigger and he fired his final shot off into the darkness of the night.
While he still had a handful of hair, Cody used his knife once more, taking the rapidly dying man’s scalp. He would give it to his father as proof that Bloody Axe’s death had been avenged. Then he quickly got off the body and dragged it a few feet away before Walker bled out over his packs and saddle, which took only minutes.
Cody decided to leave him where he was as the buzzards would find him quickly in the morning. He stripped Walker of his guns and ammunition as well as a modest sum of money he carried in his pocket. No doubt that had come from the same source that had provided him with a packhorse. Cody would keep the money and some of the ammunition. Everything else, he would give to Spotted Pony.
Finished, he went back to get his horses and brought them to water with the Morgan and the sorrel. He gathered enough wood to build a fire and cooked something to eat.
In the morning, he would visit his father in the Crow village.
CHAPTER 12
The first evidence that the heavy darkness was surrendering to the new day were the slender fingers of light finding their way through the leaves of the cottonwoods beside Clark’s Fork of the Yellowstone. Moments later, a ray of sunshine darted across the face of the lone individual sitting beneath the tree, watching the group of four deer as they came from the grove of trees on the opposite bank and walked down to the water to drink. Cody let the deer drink.
When they started to leave, he slowly raised the Henry rifle, laid the front sight on a young doe, and squeezed the trigger. She dropped and the buck and the other two does bolted up into the trees. Fortunate he’d seen the crossing the deer had been using, now, he could take food to Spotted Pony’s little village of old people and women.
After he prepared the carcass for travel, he loaded it on the sorrel packhorse Walker had stolen, and set out for the two-hour journey up Rock Creek.
* * *
Spotted Pony sat by the fire in front of his tipi, a blanket wrapped over his bony shoulders.
“A rider comes!” one of the women tending the fire called out. “He is leading three horses. It looks like a deer on one of the horses!”
“Who is it?” Spotted Pony asked. “Can you tell?” The old chief was almost totally blind when looking at distant objects and was not a great deal better up close.
Another woman cried out, “It is Crazy Wolf! And he is bringing a deer!” That was enough to summon the rest of the two-dozen residents to gather to welcome Crazy Wolf.
One of the two older boys in the village, Lost Turtle, came out to join them. “It is Crazy Wolf, but he looks different.” As he stared at the approaching rider, he realized what made him look strange. “He has cut his hair!”
“Is Bloody Axe with him?” Spotted Pony asked.
“No,” Lost Turtle answered. “He is alone.”
As he’d expected, Cody was welcomed with shouts of “Crazy Wolf!” and “Welcome!” It had been quite some time since he had returned to the village on Rock Creek. He dismounted and walked through the small crowd of friends there to greet him to stand before his father.
“It is good you have come to visit us, my son,” Spotted Pony said. “The light in my eyes has gone out, so I cannot see you clearly. I hear them saying you have cut off your hair and you look like a white man.”
“That is true, Father,” Crazy Wolf answered. “I did it because I had to look for something in the white man’s world, but it will grow back. It is not important. I am still a Crow warrior.”
“Then it is a happy occasion today to have you come to visit,” Spotted Pony said.
“I am afraid it is not really a happy occasion, for I have come to bring you sorrowful news.”
“Bloody Axe?” Spotted Pony guessed at once. “I was afraid when they said you were alone. He is dead?”
“Yes, Father, he is dead. He was shot in the back by one of the soldiers who was trying to shoot me. I have killed the soldier who killed him, and I have brought you his scalp so that he will wander lost in the next world.”
Spotted Pony didn’t speak for several seconds while he absorbed the tragic news. “Death waits for all of us,” he finally said. “I think maybe I will be with Bloody Axe soon.” He shook his head sadly while he thought of Bloody Axe. Then he raised his head again and asked, “And now the soldiers are looking for you?”
They were interrupted by one of the women then who asked what Crazy Wolf wanted to do with the deer.
“I want you to butcher it, Sunflower, and cook it, so everyone can eat,” Crazy Wolf said, which generated a cheer from the crowd as they took charge of the feast.
Turning back to Spotted Pony, he said, “No, I am not in any trouble with the soldiers. The man I killed was a bad soldier. He deserted the army and stole the two horses I brought to you. I especially want you to have the black horse. Many white chiefs ride horses like that one. They call it a Morgan horse, and it is fitting that you should own one. So I give it to you, along with a fine saddle.”
“I will ride it when they come to move us to the main reservation in the Powder River country,” Spotted Pony said. “They say we can no longer stay here.”
“Why do they say you have to leave here?” Crazy Wolf asked, genuinely surprised.
“I think because they want us all to live in one place and hope we all learn to be farmers,” Spotted Pony said.
Sunflower came back to them again to apologize to Crazy Wolf. “I am sorry we have no coffee to make for you to have with your deer meat, but the creek has good water.”
“I have coffee. I brought it just for this feast.” Crazy Wolf went to his packhorse and got the sack of ground coffee he had bought for himself as well as a sack Walker had in his packs. “I think I have enough for everybody.” Giving her the two sacks, he grinned at how happy that made her.
She took them and ran to round up several coffeepots.
It wasn’t very long before cuts of fresh venison were roasting over the fire and everyone had a cup of hot coffee. It was a sad celebration, however, due to the news of Bloody Axe’s death, and the despair in knowing the village was going to be forced away from their long-time home. After he had eaten his fill, Spotted Pony asked Crazy Wolf to sit with him again to talk.
They moved away from the fire where there was less noise of the feast. “Are you going to go to the reservation to live?” Spotted Pony asked.
“No,” Crazy Wolf answered. “I don’t plan to live on the reservation.”
“Where will you go then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I will go farther west, maybe to the Washington country. Maybe there is still room for a Crow warrior there.”
“I have been thinking about the move to the big reservation and I have decided I will not go. My body and my brain are telling me the circle of my life has been completed. It is time for me to go and I am ready. It has been a good life.
“When they said you look like a white man, it made me realize you have completed your circle of life as a Crow warrior. You are too young to end your life on a reservation. It is a wise thing you are thinking to do. Ride to the far country where I first found you but go as a white man. No one can tell you that you must go to the reservation. You are the same as the soldiers, the settlers in their wagon trains, and the people who build the towns. You are young and strong. I am proud of the man you have become, Crazy Wolf. Go now and complete your circle of life as I and Bloody Axe have done.”
Crazy Wolf had not expected to hear that kind of talk from the old chief who had always preached his pride in being born a Crow. And he sincerely believed Spotted Pony still felt the Crow to be superior to all other men. It was obvious the old man was being realistic. He could see the Native Americans were unable to stop the advance of the white man upon his homeland. In effect, Spotted Pony was telling Crazy Wolf he could forgive him for taking advantage of having been born of a white mother and father.
“I have always respected your wisdom, Father. So I will do as you say.”
“Good, my son,” Spotted Pony responded. “Now, I must rest. All this talk has made me weary. Tell Sunflower to come here for me.”
Crazy Wolf got up and went back to the fire where the others were still eating. He told Sunflower that Spotted Pony asked for her. “I think he is tired and needs to rest.”
“I thought he might be before much longer. I will take care of him.” She turned and called Lost Turtle to help her. They went at once and took the old man back inside the tipi.
Sunflower and Lost Turtle came back out of the tipi shortly.
“Spotted Pony is resting. Lost Turtle helps me move the old man around,” she said. “I can’t always do it by myself. But he is getting so skinny, I can almost manage him by myself. It was good to see him eat something for a change. Usually, he doesn’t want anything, but I think he just says that because he is afraid there is not enough food for everyone. Lost Turtle hunts for game, but he has no shells for Spotted Pony’s old single-shot rifle. He says he cannot get close enough to a deer or an elk to shoot it with his bow.”
Crazy Wolf watched the boy while Sunflower was talking. He guessed he was thirteen or fourteen and was evidently a responsible young man, judging by her comments regarding his help. “Lost Turtle, is there still meat to hunt between here and Clark’s Fork?”
“Yes, there are deer, white tail and mule. Sometimes some antelope pass through the valley. I wish I could get close enough to try a shot with my bow.”
“Do you think you could hit one with an 1873 Springfield carbine?” Crazy Wolf asked. “That’s the same weapon the army uses. It’s a single-shot rifle, but it’s breech-loading and it fires a powerful bullet.”
“I would like to try,” Lost Turtle responded.
“Come with me and I’ll show you one.” Crazy Wolf led the very interested young boy to the edge of the camp where he had left the saddles. “This is the saddle and blanket that was on the black horse I brought to Spotted Pony.” He pulled the carbine out of the saddle scabbard and held it up for Lost Turtle to see. Seeing the wide-eyed look of excitement on the boy’s face, he handed it to him.
Lost Turtle took it as if taking a precious instrument.
“You load it here,” Crazy Wolf said and showed him how the hinged breechblock worked like a trapdoor for loading. “That’s all you do. Once that’s done, you’re ready to shoot.”
Lost Turtle brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at a tree about thirty yards away.
“Here is a cartridge. See if you can hit the tree.” Crazy Wolf handed Lost Turtle the cartridge and the boy loaded the rifle, just as he’d been shown.
“Good,” Crazy Wolf said. “Now squeeze the trigger slow and steady.”
The weapon suddenly fired, causing a whoop of surprise from the people still around the fire. They all ran over to see what the shooting was about.
“I hit the tree!” Lost Turtle exclaimed. “I saw the bark fly.”
“So did I,” Crazy Wolf said. “It was a good shot.” He held up a cartridge belt full of cartridges for the weapon. “I brought the horses as a present for Spotted Pony. The rifle is for you to hunt with. Don’t be wasteful with your cartridges. And take good care of your rifle. I will show you how to take it apart to clean it.”
Lost Turtle was too happy to speak. To him, and this small camp of people, the rifle was a wonderful gift to help feed them. Crazy Wolf could not completely enjoy their enthusiasm for the weapon, since it was a bullet from that very weapon that had taken Bloody Axe’s life.
