He turned to his three tough henchmen. “We’ll have someone else riding with us tonight; someone I don’t trust, so watch what you say around him. He’s going, but he’s not coming back, if you get what I mean.”
The three laughed and nodded. They had been with him a long time and could be trusted–as much as one crook can ever trust another. But greed made them partners. There was money to be made.
He sent them to load out, using Starrett Freight Line wagons. The arms were hidden in one of Manning’s warehouses on the outskirts of town.
Then he went back to meet Osgoode.
The lieutenant grinned. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
You stupid sonovabitch, Billy thought, women are to be enjoyed, not killed. But what he said was, “Something came up and delayed me. Let’s go.”
They rode in silence, joined the shadowy three with the wagons and drove east out of town. There was a prearranged meeting place a couple of hours out of Denver and they would meet Tall Bull and his Dog Soldiers there.
Billy felt for the brass tokens in his pocket. He shouldn’t have panicked. There was no real evidence.
He and Osgoode followed the wagons through the darkness to the rendezvous.
Tall Bull sat his Appaloosa pony on the little rise, watching for the wagons. In the last hours before darkness chased away the dawn, his war party waited silently around him. Finally the three wagons came into view, creeping along the ribbon of road in the moonlight toward the straggly cottonwoods on the creek bank below.
Snake grunted and motioned. “Ta Ton Ka Haska, why do we do business with these whites? Why don’t we just kill them and take the guns?”
The chief of the outlaw Dog Soldiers shook his head. “Much as I would like to,” he answered in the soft, musical words of the Cheyenne, “we need these coyotes! If we hang their scalps on our belts, who would bring us the next load of guns?”
“True,” the ugly warrior said, “but someday when we think they can no longer be of any use to us, can we kill them?”
“Of course! Men who would sell out their own kind for profit have forfeited the right to live.” He shifted his weight on the Appaloosa and watched the men pull the wagons into the shadows of the trees. “There is one more man than usual. I see the gleam of brass buttons in the moonlight.”
“Maybe it is a trap,” Snake said, straining to see. “Oh, Great Chief, let me be the one to accept the danger of riding in to see.”
“We will all go.” He nodded approvingly at Snake.
“Bear Cub? What is it you do?” He looked over at the crippled boy who rode with them, the sketch book in his hands.
Snake made a noise of derision. “What do you think? What he always does! He sits his horse and draws pictures.”
“I–I didn’t think you would mind,” the boy apologized. “The moonlight was bright enough and I thought the scenery beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” Snake laughed. “Spoken like a squaw admiring a string of beads!”
“It is no matter,” Tall Bull said. Bear Cub was not a warrior, because of his crippled leg, but he was good with horses. The leader had brought the boy along only in case they stole some ponies and the herd boy could help with them.
They watched the men below them. When Tall Bull was sure there were no other soldiers with them but the one, he led his war party cautiously down the rise and surrounded the group of whites.
“Ah, Tall Bull, good to see you!” The white with the missing teeth came forward and held out his hand. Tall Bull brushed it aside, ignoring him while he confronted the one in horse soldier blue.
“Who is this veho?”
“He’s all right,” the one called Billy Reno said. “We will drink some whiskey and then talk business.”
“We will talk business and then we will drink whiskey.” Tall Bull glared at him. “When the whiskey comes first, the white men always get the best of the trade.” He looked the whites over. All five scalps would look good hanging on his lodge pole, but he needed the men too much to enjoy that pleasure.
The soldier looked so frightened, Tall Bull wondered if he would dirty his clothes like a papoose.
“Do not be afraid, veho.” He smiled. “We will have some food and smoke.” He turned to look. Already his men were building a council fire. The man called Billy Reno and his crew were getting out food and tobacco.
“Come see what we bring to trade,” Reno called. Tall Bull went over, watched them break open a crate, and nodded with satisfaction. The brass on the breeches of the new rifles gleamed dully in the moonlight.
The gap-toothed one said, “These are Winchester sixty-sixes. The whites call them Old Yellows because of the brass on them.”
Tall Bull took the one the white held out, inspected it. “These are good,” Tall Bull grunted. “Yes, these are very good.”
The other man grinned. “I have fifty of these fine guns, one for each of your men. Now let us see what you bring to trade.”
Tall Bull motioned to Snake who brought the bundles from the pack horses. “The settlers don’t have much, but some of the covered wagons passing through had more.”
They unrolled the bundles. There were many trinkets that Reno shook his head at, but he took the gleaming coins and the packets of yellow dust the Dog Soldiers had taken from dead miners. There was a little jewelry, a few of the big ticking things that told white men the time of day. Tall Bull thought that if a man was too stupid to look up at the sun and know the time, he might be too stupid to understand the magic markings on the face of the thing, but that was not his concern.
The young soldier made an exclamation of dismay as he looked at the things. His face look pale as a fish belly in the moonlight.
He was a coward, Tall Bull decided, and he had no use for cowards. “What’s the matter, soldier? Have not you seen white men lay out the plunder taken from slain Indians? Is this so different then?”
The man acted as if he didn’t know what to say, and Tall Bull looked around at his war-painted braves and shook his head contemptuously. The Dog Soldiers were the bravest of all the Cheyenne warrior societies. But now most of the Dog Soldiers were renegades, unable or unwilling to accept being forced onto reservations because a few chiefs like Black Kettle had trusted the white man’s word. That had cost Black Kettle his life.
In that month of the Freezing Moon the Cheyenne called Hikomini, and the whites called November, little more than half a year ago, the bluecoat officer called Yellow Hair had struck Black Kettle’s camp on the Washita River in the Indian Territory. That chief and many Cheyenne were dead.
They finished the trading. Reno gathered up the things he seemed to think valuable although Tall Bull had never decided what men saw of worth in the yellow dust that had sent thousands of them invading the Shining Mountains they called the Rockies.
He set a guard because he did not trust the whites not to try to take advantage of them if the braves got too drunk. The whites had brought coffee with lots of sugar, beef, and whiskey. The beef was not as tasty to the Indian tongue as buffalo, but already the buffalo were beginning to thin out and sometimes the Cheyenne went hungry. The hunters who came with the great steel horse that rode two iron tracks had seen to that.
Much dancing and singing began. Tall Bull and Snake did not drink much. Later Tall Bull would enjoy the whiskey the whites had brought, but he had not lived this long without being crafty as an old bear.
The young soldier, now that he had a belly full of firewater, took off his pistol, danced, and sang with wild abandon. Tall Bull looked over at Snake and registered his disgust. If this was the best the army offered, no wonder the Dog Soldiers had been able to hit them hard. Often the only thing that had kept them from defeating the soldiers were the wily Pawnee scouts who rode with the bluecoats.
Reno sat down next to Tall Bull in the fire light, drinking coffee. He offered Tall Bull and Snake cigars, then lit theirs and one for himself. “It has been a good trade,” he said, “but soon we must
go. It will be daylight.”
Tall Bull enjoyed the taste of the smoke and looked toward the eastern horizon. Already the bright Morning Star hung there. “It is true, Reno. And we have soldiers to kill. We think the cavalry will come looking for us any time. We have seen wagons of supplies arriving at that fort on the river.”
“McPherson?” Reno said thoughtfully. “The Fifth’s there with all their Pawnee. You’ll do well to avoid them.”
“We have run out of room to roam,” Tall Bull said, sipping the whiskey from a tin cup. “They try to send us back to the Indian Territory. Those of us who love the cool plains of the north do not want to go.”
“They say you break the treaty signed in ’67.”
“Treaty?” he snorted with contempt. “I signed no treaty! Tall Bull feels no need to go where I do not want because some white man’s bootlicker made a mark on paper he could not even read!”
“In the end, they will send you back anyway,” Reno said.
Tall Bull shrugged and stared into the fire. “Not the Dog Soldiers. They will not pen up Dog Soldiers like cattle. They can only overrun us with many, many soldiers and kill us. But before they do, we will take a life for every one they take, we will rape a woman for every one of ours they rape. The Dog Soldiers are the bravest of the brave!”
Reno nodded and leaned closer. “I want to make you a gift you will like.”
Tall Bull grunted noncommittally. “I do not trust white men who offer gifts for no reason.”
“Your men will like this.” Reno fingered his glittering stickpin. “I make you a gift of the soldier, to do with as you please.”
Tall Bull stared at him in surprise, the cup of whiskey halfway to his lips. “You betray one of your own men?”
“It–it has to do with a woman.”
Tall Bull laughed. “White women have loose morals, everyone knows this. They do not even wear the nihpihist, the chastity belt that protects them. How does a white man know when his woman is virgin?” The Cheyenne were very protective of the chastity of their women.
“Besides that,” Reno said, “you see how he is when he drinks? I worry that he might betray us to the army.”
“We will not let him leave with you then,” Tall Bull said, already thinking what punishment should be meted out to a man because of a woman.
“One more thing,” Reno said. “My path crossed that of some Pawnees only a few suns ago.”
“Pawnee?” Tall Bull leaned closer. No Cheyenne could pass up a chance to kill Pawnee. They had been enemies for many generations because years ago, the Pawnee had stolen the Cheyenne’s Sacred Medicine arrows. As a result, the Cheyenne had had bad luck ever since, and only lately, the other sacred object, Tssiwun, the buffalo hat, had been defiled by a Cheyenne woman.
“They are heading back east to their village,” Reno said, blowing smoke, “but first, they are headed south to that place we call Castle Rock to hunt and camp awhile.”
Tall Bull frowned and shook his head. “The place of the Great Balanced Rock is a holy place–home to the thunder and lightning. We may not spill blood there.”
“Not even Pawnee blood?” Snake asked.
“It is a temptation,” Tall Bull admitted. Would some great bad luck come their way if they killed enemies in the magic place?
He smoked and considered Snake. Though not well-favored so that maidens smiled at him, he was a brave man. If Tall Bull had a daughter the right age, he would give her as wife to Snake. He wondered suddenly what had happened to his sister, Sunrise Woman. She had a daughter about the right age. The girl was only a half-breed, true enough, but she was blood kin.
Bear Cub limped past on his twisted leg. The boy had been one of those children wounded at Sand Creek. Yes, the Cheyenne had many wrongs to avenge. Tall Bull thought he must remember to tell Bear Cub of some of the other battles the Dog Soldiers had fought in. It was good to have scenes of bravery put on paper to remember.
Reno stood slowly and signaled his three men. They got up and began moving toward the empty wagons. Reno gathered the bundle of coins and jewelry then turned toward his horse. Tall Bull watched the soldier. He was so drunk, he hadn’t even noticed the other white men moving away from the fire as he drank and danced and sang.
Tall Bull motioned Snake to pick up the soldier’s abandoned pistol, and some of the others to move between the bluecoat and his horse. The others were ready to pull out and still the soldier hadn’t noticed.
The Dog Soldiers had noticed. One by one, they stopped dancing and moved where Snake signaled them to go. Now only the soldier still danced around the fire, so drunk he could hardly stand.
In the sudden silence, the soldier stopped uncertainly, looked around. His befuddled gaze went to Reno sitting on his horse. “Billy? Is it time to leave?”
“Time for us to leave.” Reno leaned on his saddlehorn and the other white men exchanged knowing smiles.
The soldier stumbled toward them. “Then I’ll get my horse and. . . .”
He seemed to realize for the first time that a line of war-painted warriors blocked his path. He looked appealingly over at Reno. “Billy, tell them. They don’t understand.”
Reno rubbed his chin and looked over at Tall Bull. “He’s all yours!”
“No, Billy! Wait!” The soldier shouted even as braves grabbed him and Snake moved in with his knife. “Wait, Billy! Ye Gods! There’s some mistake! They don’t understand! What is he going to do–?”
His words ended with a scream as Snake cut open the blue pants as the warriors held the soldier. It wouldn’t be hard to do, Tall Bull grunted with satisfaction. Snake had gelded stallions before.
Snake laughed. “He is built small for a man–more like a yearling!”
“Please!” The soldier wept and begged, “Oh, God, please!”
“You will mount no more women ever, so you have no use for your small manhood!” Snake’s knife blade flashed in the firelight.
The soldier shrieked as the warrior cut him. Then the braves dragged him over to a level place, stripped his clothes away, and staked him out flat on his back.
With a sneer, the brave flung the bloody flesh in the soldier’s face.
“Don’t kill me!” the soldier wept. “Oh, please don’t kill me!”
Tall Bull turned to Reno and the other whites now ready to leave with their wagons. “He will beg for death before the ants and the hot sun finally finish!”
The one called Reno looked a little sick. “Why don’t you just kill the poor devil?”
Tall Bull shook his head. “It is not our way. Good-bye, Reno. We will see you here again at the appointed time next autumn.”
The four white men looked toward the naked man tied down by the fire, then at each other. Reno started to say something again, then he shrugged and touched the brim of his hat with two fingers. The whites turned and went back up the trail.
Tall Bull crossed his arms over his chest and watched the empty wagons pull away, the man called Reno riding in front of the line. Over by the fire, the soldier wept and screamed like a woman giving birth, not anything like a warrior.
Tall Bull had not much stomach for this anymore. He went back to the fire as the dawn turned the color of pale wild flowers in the east. He poured himself another cup of coffee and reached for more roasted beef as Snake and his men packed up the shiny new weapons so they could ride out. There was only one last trophy they wanted. With his knife, Snake took the curly brown scalp while the soldier whimpered and wept in babbling terror.
Soon the soldier would beg to die, but there would be no one to hear him. The ugly brave came back to the fire, the hair hanging from his belt. He wiped his bloody hands on the dry grass and reached for some whiskey. “I put one of those shiny coins on his belly so the bluecoats will know this is payment for the Dog Soldier they killed when they surprised our scouts a few days ago.”
Tall Bull nodded. “It is just.”
Snake grinned. “Have you decided whether we may attack the holy
place of the thunder and lightning?”
Tall Bull drank the steaming coffee and considered, ignoring the writhing, screaming white man. No one knew why, but at the edge of the Shining Mountains, there was a great rock balanced high on a hill. Storms blew out of these mountains more frequently than any other place he knew, and when that happened, lightning and thunder danced continually around the big rock as if God himself, Heammawihio, sat on that rock and directed it.
He could not pass up the chance to kill Pawnee. The Balanced Rock might be holy, but Tall Bull was willing to chance it.
“Yes.” he nodded and stood up. “We will attack the Pawnee camp. After that, we will have a scalp dance before we divide our forces.”
They both turned to watch the soldier writhing by the fire, but he was no longer of much interest to them. A man was judged on his valor, even in death, and the soldier could not even die well. Reno had been right not to trust him.
Snake turned back. “What is your plan, great chief?”
Tall Bull said, “When we divide into two war parties, I will take half to the south to attack settlements and the tracks of the Iron Horse. You will attack up along the river east of here.”
“Near that fort?”
Tall Bull nodded and walked toward his horse. “But first, there are Pawnee dogs waiting to be killed!”
They rode out into the early dawn at a gallop. Behind them, the staked-out, naked man still screamed and wept like a woman.
Chapter Sixteen
This was an impossible situation, Luci told herself again. She had to get away from Johnny Ace. But where else could she get a job? Was she desperate enough to try to find work in the squalid little settlement of North Platte a few miles away?
Luci hesitated for the same reasons she hadn’t considered the rough town before as an alternative. As a railway stop, North Platte was a small, brawling place–dangerous for a woman alone.
But she wanted to get away from Johnny. Luci gathered up her small bundle of belongings, caught a ride on the back of a supply wagon, and set out to find work. No one wanted to hire a half-breed maid or give her a job in any of the shops. Finally she got a job serving drinks in a tough, low-class saloon.
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