by W. R. Benton
“How many do ya figure we kilt?” Sam asked, still scanning the night.
“Two or three maybe.”
“Just that many? I'd thought we killed nigh on eight or so.”
“No, just because an Injun screams and then falls means little.”
“Ya okay?”
“I think so. I don't feel no hurts, but I'll know more in a few minutes, after the excitement wears off. How about you?”
“I'm fine. You gonna scalp that dead buck?”
“No, taking hair is a nasty thing to do.”
Pulling his knife, Samuel said, “By God, I'll take 'er then.”
“Have at the nasty chore then.”
Minutes later, Dutch heard the scalp give a slight sucking sound as it was removed from the dead boy's skull, and Sam said, “Look to the west and you'll see the Injuns leavin'. We must have scared 'em off.”
“Keep down low, because it's an old trick. A few ride off, leaving some others behind and the first white man to stand gets filled with arrows or takes a spear. I only saw about five ride off, so I think others are still here. Now that the moon is out, I reckon they'll wait until sunrise.”
“Check on Bill and see iffen he's okay.”
Dutch moved to the injured man, checked him over closely and then said, “He's still passed out, so he'll be of no help anytime soon.”
“Well, relax and try to get some sleep. I'll wake ya if I spot any movement or if things turn ugly on me. Ya sleep for about three hours, then my turn. By then it'll be close to dawn.”
Pulling his bedroll, Dutch was asleep within minutes of stretching out on the still warm sand of the stream bed.
He felt like he'd only been asleep for a few minutes when he felt a hand on his ankle.
When he looked up, Sam said, “Your turn.”
“See anything?”
“Nope, but the night sounds are still missing, so someone's still movin' around out there.”
“Oh, yeah and you can bet on it, too. Use my bedroll and try to get some sleep. I'll wake you an hour before dawn.”
Over the next two hours, Dutch thought a whole lot about nothing. His mind jumped from his childhood, to the war, then to his first kiss, and so on. He then gave thought to the prison escape and his lack of control once the men were free. He'd been the mastermind behind digging the tunnel, so he'd unofficially became the leader. They'd killed and raped a bloody path from Jefferson City, Missouri, across the whole state, moving west. Granted, most of the killers and rapists were already serving life, which meant they had little to lose, but those serving short sentences were now guilty by association with the hardened criminals. He was glad he'd gotten shed of the main group, but suspected coppers from all over the mid-west were searching for them.
He'd attempted to prevent any hard crimes while escaping, because of the long prison sentences that would be attached due to the crimes, or maybe even a hanging. If lawmen caught him he'd have to serve his original sentence, more time would be added just for the escape, and then time for any crimes committed since they'd busted out. Well, that was only if they found him not guilty on murder or rape charges. If found guilty, then he'd stretch some hemp.
Quickly his time passed and while the night sounds had returned near three in the morning, he knew if a person sat still long enough they always did. There was a good chance the warriors had moved in close, got ready to attack, and then remained still. He'd know within an hour if they'd left last night or not.
He moved to Sam, woke him and then checked on Bill. The injured man opened his eyes and asked, “Injuns still . . . out there?”
“We fought 'em once, but not sure if they left or not. You feeling any better?”
“Prop me . . . up with a pistol. I don't want to . . . die defenseless. And hand me . . . the whiskey jug. I have a lot of . . . pain to get shed of this morning.”
Unbuttoning his canvas trousers, Sam peed against the side of the stream bed and gave a light moan of relief as his bladder emptied.
Time passed slowly, but eventually the darkness slowly turned to gray and then full light. All three men were braced for a hard fight of it, except nothing happened.
Finally, about an hour after sunup, Dutch said, “They're gone. I need you to cover me, Sam, as I try to read their sign. I'm curious how many were out there last night. But, before I go, hand another bottle of whiskey to Bill. I know those young bucks are gone, so no need for him to suffer with pain.”
Once out of the stream bed, the leader counted five large dried pools of blood, and traces of other injuries were seen. Back a ways, over the crest of a slight hill, he counted an even dozen horses and by the droppings, they'd been gone for hours.
Returning to camp, he said, “If I had to guess, and I am, looks like we either killed six or at least seriously wounded five. The dead warrior here is the only one killed I can be sure of.”
“Yep, and if you'll grab his left leg we'll drag him off a ways before we finish our supper. The beans are still good, but the pork is black. No need to fry more either, 'cause those youngsters may have gone back to the village to fetch their daddies.”
“Shit,” said Bill, “I never gave that any thought.”
“On second thought, no breakfast, and unless the dead Injun has something you want, leave him be. I want to be mounted, with us moving, within ten minutes.” Dutch said, smiling that he'd cheated death once again.
The morning was uneventful as they rode, but finally near noon Sam had to give Bill some laudanum for his pain and then tie him to his horse. He'd been moaning and crying for well over an hour. He'd just mounted and was scanning the countryside behind them when he spotted movement.
“Don't look behind us, but I see a big bunch on our asses.”
Dutch stopped his mount, placed a hand on his saddle horn, and the other on the cantle. Looking back he said, “We wait, because those are army boys behind us. If we make a dash for it and they catch us, we'll go to jail.”
“Hell,” Sam said, “we mighten go to jail anyway.”
Chapter 11
LEW , along with Susan and little Billy, kept moving north. The weather was fair, but a number of times he had to tell her to quit talking. The way this woman rambles, she must think we're at a church social, instead of attempting to cross the plains without being heard. All I need is for a large war party to discover us and we'll go no further , he thought, as he asked her to be quiet once again.
The boy, Little Billy, was no real problem and made a lot less noise than his mother did. He did tend to stray a little when evening camps were made, so Lew had to ask her to keep a better eye on him. She'd complained that it was hard to cook supper and watch the boy at the same time. Lew asked her if she wanted to pull guard all night and she'd hushed up quickly. She'd pulled no guard duty since he'd found her, mainly because he didn't trust her to stay awake. He'd warned her there were poisonous snakes a plenty, Injuns, and big critters that would hurt a little button like Billy in seconds. While she cooked, he always took care of the horse, gathered up buffalo pies to burn because there was no wood, and collected water. He also scouted each evening, just before they relaxed a little.
She always complained when an hour or so after supper they mounted and moved on an additional two miles or so. She just didn't understand that wolves, the scouts of most tribes, would often spot people, see smoke, or smell foods cooking. They'd move in close, see who was in camp and then return later with more braves. He knew any warriors would kill him, rape Susan, and adopt Billy into the tribe. Often as not, they'd kill the woman after they tired of using her, or she'd return with them to the village to be a slave. Death was preferred over being a village slave.
It was mid-afternoon when he spotted a large herd of buffalo in the valley below. Knowing fresh meat would be tastier than more bacon and beans, he stopped the horse.
“Miss Susan, if you don't mind, I think some tender young buff meat would go good with our beans this evening. If you'll unfork my horse, I'
ll head down to the herd and try to kill us one. I want you and Billy to remain here.”
“Oh, goodness, fresh meat sounds wonderful, but why do you need the horse?'
“A man walking close to his mount is harder for a buffalo to see, and I'll need it to return with any meat I down.”
“Don't they see well?” she asked as she handed her son to Lew.
“No ma'am, but they smell and hear well.”
“I see.” She dismounted and then added, “Best of luck with the hunt, Mister Stoner.”
He grinned, enjoying the freshness of her smile and replied, “I'll down something, but we need a small critter. Hell, uh, I mean, dang, the three of us could never eat a whole buff, ma'am.”
He took the reins from her and slowly moved toward the herd. She's sure got a pretty face on her when she smiles , he thought. I get the feeling there was no great grief when her husband died either, but that had to be rough on her anyways. I mean most folks, unless they were in the war, are not used to folks dying violently. She's young also, and Billy seems like a good boy most of the time, too.
He moved toward the herd, got within fifty feet and then stopped. He slowly raised his rifle, sighted in a yearling calf and squeezed the trigger. To him the shot was loud, but the rest of the buffalo didn't seem concerned. It took a couple of minutes, but finally the young buffalo dropped and Lew moved forward. He's just pulled his knife, when he spotted movement on the opposite side of the hill Susan was on.
“Damn me, injuns.” He spoke aloud, not believing his bad luck.
He waited, mainly to see what the warriors would do. He counted four of the red men, and fine fighting men they looked to be. Finally, all four moved toward him. The closer they got to him, the more something living in his gut gnawed on his belly. Finally, they stopped within twenty feet of him. One brave had so many feathers his headdress dragged on the ground. He noticed six empty ponies with the group, so they were probably like him, out hunting.
A young brave on the end asked, “Why you on the lands of my people, the Omaha?”
“I am traveling with my woman and son, to the big town of the white eyes north of here. I only have one horse, because I am a poor man, so I walk as they ride.”
“We have seen them, and your son is small.”
“Only four seasons. I have much meat, more than my family can eat; do the brave warriors of the Omaha wish to take some?”
“It is our meat, white man. We can kill you and take all the meat for ourselves, if we decide to do so.”
“You can kill me, yes, but I will not die alone on this day. I am a man of peace, but I am always prepared for war, which is the way of a real warrior. All braves know to die in battle is a great honor, is it not?”
The younger brave spoke to the older one and long minutes passed before the old warrior said something Lew did not understand. The young man nodded and then said, “My war chief, Charging Bear, said your words are those of a true warrior. All men know they can be killed, but it takes a proven warrior to speak so bravely to his enemies.”
“Do you wish to share my meat? I will not make a lodge on your lands and only wish to travel over what the Omaha call their own. Three people will not kill needlessly or take much as we travel.”
Again Lew waited as the words were translated.
“You may take what you wish of the baby buffalo and we will take the remainder. Charging Bear asks the Great Creator to bless you and your family as you travel. He also says a brave warrior like you should have many horses and it is a dishonor for you to walk. He is giving you one of his ponies.”
“Tell him I have nothing to give in return, except a little coffee or sugar.”
“He wants nothing in return.” The young warrior then turned, and said something in the Omaha tongue. As Lew watched, the largest of the horses was brought to him.
“Thank you, father.” Lew said and for a second spotted a smile on the old man's face. He nodded, but spoke not a word.
“You may cross our lands freely. May the Creator bless you on your trip.”
“Thank you.” Lew said as he moved to the calf and removed one hind quarter, leaving the rest for the Omaha braves.
He placed his meat on the back of his saddle, mounted and then nodding to the older man, he turned and slowly made his way back to Susan and the boy.
When he neared, she rushed to him and said, “I was frightened you'd be killed.”
“They were friendly today, but who's to say about tomorrow? Now, I want you and Billy to mount, so we can get the hell out of here, before those warriors change their minds.”
“Did they threaten you?”
“Not exactly, but I did them, kind of. They even gave me a horse. Let's move anyway, because a warrior can change his mind in no time.”
“Since the attack on the wagon train, I've been deathly afraid of seeing more savages. I just knew they'd kill you, but you returned with a horse? I'm confused now.”
“The big bug, or chief, thought I was a brave man and said I needed a pony to ride, so he gave me one.”
“But why?”
“They place great honor on being brave.”
“I thought they'd kill you for sure, like they did us with the wagons.”
“These aren't the Sioux, who attacked you, so we're safe enough.”
“Indians are Indians in my mind.”
Nodding, Lew said, “That's a problem with most folks and for the red man, too. They all look alike to us and we look alike to them. Most whites can't tell a Pawnee from an Oto and one day, comin' soon too, it will lead to trouble. I think an Injun war will make the Civil War look like child's play and blood will flow over these plains like a raging river.”
Susan, still dazed by the killing of her friends and husband on the wagon train, shook her head, smiled weakly, and then said, “Good, and I hope they all die. The murdering savages deserve no quarter, just like they give none to others. They're not happy just killing folks, hell no, then they have to cut 'em up like meat at a butcher shop. They're a bunch of Godless heathens.”
Lowering his head, Lew replied, “Let's mount up and move on a few more miles. We'll stop a little earlier to get a good hot meal down. But, Susan, you're wrong about the red man.”
“Oh, and how's that?”
“They attacked your wagon train because you were coming to steal their lands and I can think of no man who'd not do the same—no matter his color. I have heard they cut folks up after they kill them to prevent those they've killed from being a threat in the after-world, but I really don't understand it well enough to explain it properly. They are savages, if judged by our standards, but they're not Godless, and I suspect they're more religious than most of those they kill.
They pray each morning and night. They pray before war and even give prayer for the animals they kill. How many white men do you know that do that? They make sure single women with kids, old folks, and those who can no longer hunt, are fed before they feed their own families. There are no orphans in a village, because they are adopted immediately if their parents pass on. They grieve hard when a loved one dies, and guess who they pray to? They pray to The Creator of All Things. No, they don't call their god by the same name we use, but they believe very strongly in a supreme being. I see them as a simple people trying to keep what God gave them, and we can't understand why they kill us? If you tried to take my home, I'd fight, too.”
“This . . . this is not a home.” Sue waved her arms in a great circle. She then continued, “Show me a house? You can think what you want about them, but to me they will always be murdering animals in my eyes. They may help their own people, but they're not Christians. Besides the Bible says we can't enter the Kingdom of God, without being baptized and knowing His word. They probably never bathe, much less get baptized, and they likely never heard of Jesus Christ. You will never get me to think otherwise.”
On they rode, with Lew slowly shaking his head, as he thought, Thinking like hers will one day lead to the
death of the tribes as we know them. Just because the red man has no Bible, isn't a Christian, and since most them are darker skinned than us, they'll perish. I don't think it'll happen this year, but I think in twenty years they'll be stuck on some land a white man can't or won't plow. I know it's always the stronger that takes from the weak, even in the plant world, but in this situation it's all so wrong.
Mile after mile they rode, no longer talking, because he'd finally convinced her it was dangerous to talk all the time.
Close to half way to Omaha, they spotted a small trading post off the side east of the main trail and decided to report the Injun attack on Susan's people, as well as to purchase some supplies. Lew had given her the money he'd found under the wagon seat, mainly because the papers and Bible he'd found had no addresses inside. He felt without a name or address, someone on the train deserved the money, but not him. She'd taken it willingly, and said the wagon had been theirs. He had no way to prove or disprove it, so he handed it over. He thought earlier she'd said the wagon belonged to another couple, but there was a lot of confusion when he'd found her.
They were tying their horses to the hitching post when a man walked out holding a large bore shotgun. He was of average size, dirty, and ugly as sin. His black hair was long and unwashed, and he looked to be a breed of some sort.
“Howdy-do.” the man said, and Lew could see his stained and broken teeth.
“Howdy.” Lew said.
“Where'd ya get the Omaha pony? I think you're the first white man I've ever seen with one.” The breed blinked his brown eyes.
“Out on the plains I threatened to kick a big Omaha chief's ass and he gave it to me.”