by Alan S Evans
“He’s a hell of a horse,” Shane remarked, still looking through his binoculars.
“He’s mellowed some in his old age,” replied Hawk. “In his younger days, he would have chased down that palomino after the fight and worked him over again. But the coolest thing about old Naatea is, if he needed to, he’d sacrifice his own life to save that same palomino, even after this fight. He learned this from his own father who he defeated years ago for the position. Hopefully, the younger stallion, who will someday take over, will have learned this kind of character from Naatea.
“There’s a story my father told me about Naatea’s sire. It happened when the old stallion was nearing the end of his reign. During the heat of a battle to retain his position as leader of the herd, a pair of mountain lions attacked a mare and foal nearby. The two stallions both stopped in the middle of their fight to go after the cougars. The younger stallion broke his neck and was killed while they were defending the other horses. I was told Naatea’s father stayed next to the dead challenger’s body for days without food or water, mourning his death.”
Shane watched the stallion a minute longer, then Hawk patted him on the back. “Come on, let’s head back around the point.”
“All right, let’s go,” Shane said as he stood and put his binoculars back in the case hanging around his neck. He carefully followed Hawk back around the narrow ledge, breathing a sigh of relief as he made it to the other side. Shane tried his best not to show the intense anxiety he was working through even though he’d made it around to solid ground again. Hawk gestured quietly for Shane’s attention and pointed down to some activity that was moving at a fast pace underneath the cover below them. The two watched through their binoculars until they caught a quick glimpse of what it was. JB had gotten his bighorn sheep and was heading toward camp with it slung over his shoulders. Even with the extra hundred plus pounds to burden him, he kept at a fast, smooth stride as he moved skillfully and quietly through the woods.
“Look over there,” Hawk said as he raised his glasses to his eyes. Shane lifted his binoculars and pointed them in the same direction as Hawk’s. It took him a minute to spot the medium-sized creature that was moving across an open field toward a small creek.
“Is that a wolverine?” Shane asked.
“Yep, we call them badgers around here. Pound for pound that’s the toughest and meanest animal in this valley. I’d almost rather tangle with a bear than one of those things. That’s the animal that ole Johnny Badger, or JB, got his name from, and believe me, if you ever see him in a fight, you’ll find out he definitely lives up to it.”
The time the two spent watching the badger and other wildlife at Devil’s Point had allowed JB to make it to camp ahead of them.
From their position at the top of the rock wall, which was half way back, they could see JB below them. Hawk motioned for Shane to stop, sit, and watch JB. The Indian slowly dropped to his knees next to the animal he’d recently killed. He raised his hands to the sky and looked upward as he chanted. The two men watched him slide a knife out of his deerskin sheath. He held the knife in his open hands and lifted it above the sheep while he finished his prayer. Then he cut the animal open and did something very disturbing to Shane. JB, still on his knees, skillfully cut out the heart, held it up to the sky, and cried out with a short, yelping sound. Then he brought the raw heart to his mouth and took a small bite.
“What the hell is he doing that for?” Shane asked.
Hawk smiled and said, “To our people, that is the highest form of respect we can show for the animal’s life he has just taken for our meal. I told you JB is hardcore Shoshone. He prefers the old ways, and, just like that badger we saw, he is also a great warrior. One that should be feared.” Shane shook his head as he watched JB dressing out the animal with the blood from the heart still on his mouth.
“Well, I have to tell you, he’s scaring the hell out of me, just watching him eat that.”
Hawk laughed. “Come on, let’s head down to camp.”
Chapter 22
When they made it back to camp, Hawk and Shane helped prepare the fresh meat. The two dogs caught wind of the sheep and showed their faces for the first time since they’d bailed out of the truck bed.
Butch and Jessie were very cautious around JB and Hawk. Both men had bold personalities, which made the dogs hesitant to come near. But the scent of a fresh kill had overridden their cautious attitudes and brought them out of the shadows.
Shane was surprised when JB offered the dogs some meat. Butch hesitated for a second and then slowly took the food from JB’s hand. Jessie only came within a few feet of him, then patiently waited until JB threw a piece in his direction.
As dusk fell over the valley, a cool breeze began to blow at their campsite on the high cliff. The break from the afternoon heat was a welcome change.
While the meat cooked, Hawk pulled out a bottle of good blended whiskey from his saddlebag. He poured them each a stout drink in their tin coffee cups. “You ever eat sheep before?” Hawk asked Shane.
“Nope,” he answered.
“Well, you’re in for a real treat. As far as the wild game out here goes, a nice young ram is about as good as it gets.” After dinner, they sat around the fire, and Hawk generously poured them each a couple more drinks of his whiskey. The liquor helped loosen the mood between Shane and the two Indians.
Shane learned that JB had been a Marine and did a tour of duty in Desert Storm. Hawk boasted about his friend and told Shane that JB had received a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart from his actions in combat. “He was a forward scout when he sneaked up on and took out a whole squad of Iraqi’s, lying in wait to ambush his company. He saved a lot of Americans that day.” JB looked a little put out, and quickly changed the subject. “How about you, what’s your story?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve heard you’re some kind of famous horse trainer, but, we were wondering why you would come all the way out here to set free one little mustang?”
Shane became quiet. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t want their pity, but he also felt at this point they were entitled to know the truth. They could tell he was trying to find the words to answer, and they waited patiently for his reply.
“It was my eleven-year-old son, Jacob, who wanted to see the mustang come back here someday. He was real close to the horse, and he knew she would be happier with her own herd.” He hesitated for a moment, looked over at the Indians, and continued, “I lost the boy, along with my wife and daughter, in a car accident a couple years ago.”
Hawk and JB were taken by surprise. During this awkward moment, they sat quietly looking at the fire, waiting for Shane to finish.
“It took me quite a while to finally get myself back together, but when I did, I remembered the promise I had made to Jacob, that we would set her free out here where she came from.”
It was JB who finally broke the silence while watching Shane stir the fire with a long stick.
“He sounds like a boy to be proud of. You were lucky to have a son like that.” Shane nodded his head and forced a smile as he continued to poke the campfire with his stick.
Hawk then lightened up the mood with perfect timing. “You know, they told JB he wasn’t allowed to have any kids.” Shane and JB waited for him to elaborate. Hawk smiled before he continued, “They told ole JB, nope, you can’t have kids. We’ll cut off your nuts before we let you pass on that horse face in our tribe.” Shane laughed.
JB wasted no time with a comeback. “You asshole, you never had any balls to start with. That’s why you don’t have any kids.”
Shane appreciated the way they jokingly changed the subject and didn’t dwell on his story. At least now they understood why the safety of their ancestral herd had become so important to a white man from Tennessee. With the whiskey making them groggy, the three crawled into their bedrolls and were soon asleep.
Shane felt as though he had only shut his eyes for a few minutes
when he was awakened by low-sounding growls and whines from both dogs. It was still dark. He pulled his arm out of his bedroll and held his watch up close to his face. He knew it was early morning by the position of the quarter moon, still sitting high in the eastern sky. As he focused on the five a.m. reading on his watch, he wondered what was upsetting the dogs. Shane felt a slight hangover hit him from Hawk’s whiskey as he sat up to look around. Just then he heard what sounded like a truck door slamming shut somewhere in the distance. “Hush up,” he told the dogs, as he listened intensely. Soon, he heard the sounds of several vehicles pulling up and shutting off their engines. The noise was coming from the other side of the hill just north of their camp.
By now Hawk and JB were awake and listening as well. They both scrambled out of their bedrolls. “Looks like we have company,” Hawk said, as he grabbed his rifle and disappeared into the dark toward the top of the hill.
Shane started to follow when JB grabbed his arm. “We’ll stay here. There’s less chance of being spotted if only one of us goes.”
About fifteen minutes later, Hawk came back. Still a little out of breath, he whispered, “There are seven trucks and trailers and at least twenty-five men and horses along with about a dozen dogs. All of them are dressed in camouflage and armed with rifles and scopes. They’re after the horses, all right; I could hear them talking. They’re sending half the men east over to Jasper Canyon to wait, while the rest of the men take the dogs to move the herd over to them.”
Shane asked, “Should we radio for help?”
“We’ll call in and let Tigee know what’s happening, but he knows if he sends a lot of our men out here now, someone will end up getting hurt. We’re supposed to try to stop this without these bastards knowing we’re here.”
Hawk grabbed the radio and made the call.
“Stay out of sight,” Tigee demanded. “You men get to the herd before they do and send the horses west over to the thick forest at Timber Creek. My grandsons and I will be out with the reservation police as soon as we can.”
Hawk and JB knew the herd had been grazing most mornings in a clearing a couple miles east of their camp. Unless these bad guys had been watching the herd and also knew this, the three of them should have an advantage in reaching the mustangs first.
What they didn’t know, was that Thomas and Jack, the two Arapahos Vince Nethers hired, had already entered the valley from a different entrance. They had come in the night before with Bo Nethers and two other men and were already slowly moving the herd west toward the soon-to-be waiting guns at Jasper Canyon. The two Arapahos and Bo were directing more of the gang, via radio, to meet up with them behind the herd. The hunt had been well set up, and so far everything was working as planned. As soon as the other twelve men hooked up with Bo and the Arapahos behind the mustangs, they would have enough people to contain the herd and force the mustangs into the canyon’s deadly trap.
The sun was just rising over the mountains to the east when Hawk, JB, and Shane arrived at the clearing where they expected to find Naatea and the herd. Shane could see the concern on the Indians’ faces as they saw the herd’s tracks heading toward Jasper Canyon.
It wasn’t long before Hawk and JB found the tracks of the five shod horses that were obviously easing the mustangs toward the east. JB said, “They’re moving slow and easy so they won’t scatter them. I don’t know who these guys are, but they know what they’re doing.”
Hawk noted, “Since they’re moving slow it should give us time to work our way around and get in front of the mustangs. There are only four or five guys pushing them right now. If we get Naatea concerned, he’ll break away, and they won’t have enough men to contain the herd. We’ll work our way up to a high point over there and see if we can spot them.”
The three rode hard and fast up to cliff with a good view.
“Look, there they are!” yelled Shane.
“Oh, shit!” said Hawk as he pointed behind the mustangs. The three had reached their high vantage point, just in time to see the other twelve men and dogs joining up with Bo and his four. Now there were seventeen men on horses, and they were in perfect position to keep the mustangs bunched up and moving toward the ambush.
“Damn it!” JB hollered. “Come on, we have to get to the mouth of that canyon! That’s our only chance to head them off and stop this. I can tell you now, we’re going to have to make ourselves known when we get there.” They took off again at a full gallop. “You guys be ready for anything when we make it to that canyon,” he added as they sent their horses down the steep grade at a dangerously fast pace.
Tory and the other two horses were lathered up and sucking wind hard when they arrived at the canyon’s only opening. They were still on the outside of the canyon, so there was little concern about being spotted by the shooters positioned on the ledges inside the canyon walls.
“Here they come!” yelled Hawk. By now Bo and his men had the herd stampeding straight for the opening, and straight at Shane, JB, and Hawk. With the herd only a couple hundred yards in front of them, JB began to scream out with one of his bloodcurdling war cries. All three of them began firing their guns in the air and hollering at the top of their lungs, trying to turn the mustangs away from the doom that awaited them inside the small canyon.
In an instant, panic and confusion filled the air. The herd was moving down the wooded trail toward the three men at an alarming pace. Shane could see the terrified look in the mustang’s eyes as Naatea cut to the left and broke through the containment with the main part of the herd. In spite of their efforts, about ten of the mustangs made it by the three men and into the canyon.
With the seventeen bad guys who had been chasing the herd now coming right at them, Shane, Hawk, and JB had no choice but to follow Naatea and the rest of the herd to safety. If they allowed themselves to be pushed back into the canyon, they could easily be cut down by the waiting guns, along with the ten doomed mustangs that had just run by them and through the pass.
The snipers in the canyon opened fire. As the shots rang out, Shane and the two Shoshones stopped their horses and turned to look at the canyon opening. This was just in time to hear the horses screaming in pain from the array of bullets piercing their flesh. In the silence that followed, the three men just sat there staring at the pass with agonizing, hopeless looks. Then suddenly, the expression on JB’s face changed. He raised his rifle over his head with his right arm and readied himself to charge toward the pass. Shane, sitting on Tory next to him, reached down just in time to grab the reins on JB’s horse. “No man, there’s too many of them.”
JB’s common sense quickly overcame his rage. Shane looked him in the eyes and waited until he was certain that JB had regained his self-control before he let go of the reins. A moment of calm soon ended with the distant sound of growling dogs, followed by a single gunshot. Shane was almost knocked out of the saddle as the bullet creased his left bicep. The unexpected shot startled the three men and their horses. Shane grabbed his arm in pain and then noticed both Butch and Jessie behind the two shooters’ horses, snapping at their heels. In the process, Butch took a solid kick from the horse on the right and ran off yelping to the woods with Jessie by his side.
The dogs had arrived just in time to foil the men’s first attempt to shoot Shane square in the chest. JB, with his rifle already out of his scabbard, reacted instantly by returning fire and hitting one. The two gunmen on horseback were only about a hundred yards away. As Shane looked in their direction, he immediately recognized them as his two Arapaho rivals, Jack and Thomas. Jack still had his rifle held up to his cheek and it was pointed directly at Shane. Suddenly, realizing that JB’s bullet had hit his friend and partner, he dropped his gun, jumped down off his horse, and pulled the wounded Thomas behind a rock for cover.
Shane could clearly see the fresh stitches in Jack’s cheek where he had cut him with his spur during their fight over Tara last week at the cave.
“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Hawk yelle
d. The three turned their horses and rode fast toward the west where the two Shoshone knew there were plenty of thick woods and a stream to water their tired horses.
Shane was worried about Tory and hoped he hadn’t pushed his aging friend beyond his limits. As soon as they reached the water, he dismounted and was relieved to see the tough, old gelding would be fine after he caught his air, cooled down, and then had a drink.
“Why in hell were they shooting at you?” Hawk asked.
“I had a run-in with them last week,” Shane replied. He wasn’t sure how to answer beyond that without going against Tigee’s wishes, revealing what was really going on in the valley. Although they’d done all they could to avoid violence, blood had now been shed. The three men knew that Thomas was shot, but they had no way of knowing how badly the Arapaho was hurt. Even though Shane realized the bullet that JB fired in return had probably saved his life, his appreciation was overshadowed by his fear of the consequences that would certainly result from it.
Shane knelt next to JB at the creek, then took some cool water to wash the blood off his arm, revealing it was nothing more than a deep scratch. He realized there were two things that saved him today. The first was Butch and Jessie causing Jack’s horse to move just before he pulled the trigger. The second was JB’s quick reaction that took out Thomas, who also held Shane in the sights of his rifle. He looked at JB and said, “I owe you one, man.”