Wind River

by Charles G. West

  He had something else on his mind this morning. For the past several days he had been thinking about the scrawny young boy he had patched up that winter long ago. He had developed a genuine fondness for the boy that winter and sincerely regretted the boy’s decision to return to his Indian upbringing. His thoughts went back to the jailbreak of Kroll and Moody and how stunned he was when he found out that the Indian he was chasing was his onetime friend, Little Wolf. At the time he was glad they were unable to catch up with him. Kroll and Moody sure as hell deserved killing if anybody did and, more than likely, Little Wolf had a prior claim on that privilege.

  He wasn’t sure about Tom Allred’s feelings toward the brother he never knew. Tom was hot to find him when he found out who Little Wolf really was, but Squint wasn’t certain what Tom’s reaction might be if he ever came face to face with Little Wolf again. Tom was army through and through. He had worn the uniform too long by now to be anything else. Tom might view Little Wolf more as an enemy of the army than as his own flesh and blood. At any rate, he was relieved when Little Wolf seemed to simply disappear. Squint was not ordinarily a sentimental man, but he was fond of both brothers and he didn’t want to see one of them dead at the hands of the other. Maybe Little Wolf was already dead, he wasn’t sure. But if Little Wolf had only decided to live a solitary life, Squint had a notion as to where he might have holed up. And that was where he was heading as he struck out west, across the Little Missouri and into the plains.

  Since he had no desire to run into any Indians, he kept to the north of Sitting Bull’s usual hunting grounds, crossing the Powder well above the fork of the Crazy Woman, one of the chief’s favorite camps. There was no apprehension on his part at being in the midst of hostile territory. Squint was confident in his ability to take care of himself. He traveled cautiously, being in no particular hurry, keeping a watchful eye about him as he rode, and he chose his campsites carefully.

  He crossed the Tongue River, keeping the Big Horns to the south, and then down across the Big Horn basin toward the Rockies. During the entire journey, he saw no other human being, but twice he crossed trails left by large bands of Indians on the move. From their direction, Squint guessed they were probably Cheyenne going to join up with the Sioux spiritual chief, Sitting Bull. Ever since the number of white prospectors had increased in the Black Hills, there had been more and more reports of Indians leaving the reservations and joining the Sioux. Even Southern Cheyennes from down around the Oklahoma territory were leaving the reservation and traveling north to fight the white invasion. In light of all this, Squint could guess what effect Custer’s massive expedition into the Black Hills would have on the situation. “Probably about like throwing kerosene on a fire,” he mumbled to Joe.

  Two more days’ riding brought him to the Wind River Mountains. He had forgotten how beautiful the mountains were in this part of the wilderness. It had been several years since he had trapped beaver in most of the streams that etched their way through the valleys and basins but, as he looked around him, it seemed that he had never been away. The only thing that’ll never change, he thought, the high mountains. The rolling plains and the foothills might someday be chewed up into little patches by the settlers and opportunists but the mountains were too rugged to be changed. The mountains would always belong to the grizzlies, the sheep and the Indians.

  He climbed high up into the pines and traversed a long rocky ridge before descending into a narrow valley, green with summer grass. Sign was everywhere; deer, elk, even bear. The thought struck his mind that a man was a fool for ever leaving an Eden such as this. He pushed on across the valley and crossed another short ridge until he came to the stream. Joe snorted as if he remembered the place and picked up his pace without encouragement from Squint. He followed the stream for about a quarter of a mile until he came upon an outcropping of rock that overhung the busy water. He couldn’t help but notice the accelerated beating of his heart as he approached his old secret camp. He dismounted and tied the animals to a tree. It would be wiser to go on foot from here. He was sure Joe knew where he was, and even the mule was showing signs of skittishness. It wouldn’t do for them to start making noise to warn whoever might have taken over his camp.

  After quietly making his way over the rocks at the base of the mountain, he stopped for a moment to listen and look around him. Far off in the distance, a hawk called out to his mate. A gentle breeze softly whispered through the needles of the fir trees. There was no other sound. He looked toward the base of the rock wall, trying to find the opening to the camp. The trees and brush had grown considerably since he had last been there, and he didn’t remember right away which trees flanked the opening through the rock. There was no sign that anyone had approached the wall of the cliff but still he was cautious. He made his way through the pines, being careful not to break any branches or bend any twigs that might give away the hidden entrance. When he stood before the opening through the stone wall, he stopped and listened. There was nothing. He made his way slowly through the opening, keeping an eye on the rock ledge above the entrance. As soon as he emerged onto the grassy floor of the enclosure, he knew his hunch was right—someone was using the camp. A gentle snort caused him to spin to his right, his rifle ready to fire. He saw the Appaloosa he and Andy had tracked from Fort Lincoln, tethered behind the clump of laurel that he used to tie Joe and Sadie behind. Another horse was hobbled beside the Appaloosa, a white Indian pony with dark markings around his head and ears. White men called them War Bonnets. Most Indians called them Medicine Hat ponies. Satisfied that there was no one in the camp, Squint backed slowly out of the entrance in the wall, placing each foot carefully so as not to break a stick or make a sound. He had a feeling the owner of the horses would not be far away.

  “It’s a wonder you have kept your hair as long as you have.”

  The voice came from behind him. He whirled, his rifle raised, to face the tall menacing figure of a Cheyenne warrior, painted for war. Even though he recognized Little Wolf, he was still shaken by the figure before him.

  “Gawdamn!” Squint exclaimed. “You scared the bejesus outta me!” He lowered his rifle and drew a breath. “I knowed you’d be up here! I knowed it!”

  Little Wolf remained expressionless, soberly eyeing the huge mountain man as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Why have you come here?” His voice was cool and even.

  For a moment, Squint thought his onetime friend did not recognize him. “Little Wolf, it’s me, Squint Peterson. Don’t you know me?”

  “I know you. If I didn’t, you’d be dead right now. Why have you come here?”

  “Why, to find you, dammit!” Squint was beginning to get a little exasperated. He had expected a somewhat warmer reception from the boy he had doctored back to health and wintered with. He searched Little Wolf’s stony countenance for some sign of softening, but there was none. It was plain to see that there was little, if any, of the boy left in the lean and powerful figure before him. The years had hardened the man and dissolved all remnants of the boy, Robert Allred.

  “So, you have found me.”

  “Yeah, reckon I have.” Squint was perturbed. Now that he had found the man, he wondered if it was worth the bother. “I reckon I just wanted to see for myself if you was holed up here in my old camp.” Little Wolf made no reply. “I wanted to see if you really did go wild like folks say you have. A lot of folks think you’re dead.” He stared into the unblinking gaze that continued to capture his own. Then, as if just then remembering. “How the hell did you sneak up behind me anyway?”

  This brought a faint trace of a smile to Little Wolf’s hardened face. “I watched you come across the basin and the ridge. I saw you tie your horse and mule in the trees and try to sneak into my camp. A herd of buffalo would not have been more obvious.”

  “Huh!” Squint snorted. “I wasn’t of a mind to surprise you. I thought I was just coming for a little visit.” It was a lie and he knew Little Wolf knew it was too, but he would never admit
that his friend had gotten the jump on him. They looked at each other for a few moments longer in silence before Squint decided they had sized each other up long enough. “Well, I can see one thing. Your manners ain’t improved any since you went plumb wild. You ain’t invited me to your campfire for something to eat and I’m plumb starved. You got any fresh meat?” He didn’t give Little Wolf time to answer. “I got some coffee in my pack. I bet you ain’t had no coffee for a spell.”

  Little Wolf’s expression softened a little. If he had intended to remain indifferent toward his guest, it was apparent Squint was not going to give him the option. “Son, you got any fresh meat?” he persisted.

  “Yes.” Little Wolf smiled.

  “Well, git it then. I’m ’bout to starve to death. I’m goin’ to get my animals.” He turned and walked through the opening in the wall.

  * * *

  Squint could see that Little Wolf was not exactly comfortable sitting across the campfire from a white man, even if it was Squint Peterson. But before long, he relaxed some of the stiffness he had endeavored to maintain. Squint was confident that he would. There was something medicinal about coffee. It was just impossible to sit down and drink a cup of hot black coffee with an enemy. The high walls of their mountain camp soon blocked the rays of the afternoon sun and the warm July day cooled toward early evening, making the coffee even more cordial. By the time they had emptied the pot and eaten the last strips of meat, Little Wolf had apparently lowered his guard and appeared to be at ease with his old friend.

  “Why did you come to this place? It’s foolish for a white man to come here.”

  Squint licked the last of the thin grease from his fingers and wiped them on his shirt. Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, he leaned over to one side to release a fart. Feeling more comfortable, he began, “Well, to tell you the truth, I was kind of curious to see you, for one thing. You know, you’ve got a pretty big reputation with the army for being a bad renegade.” Little Wolf registered some surprise at this but said nothing. Squint went on, “I guess I wanted to see if the Cheyenne Little Wolf was the same Little Wolf I wintered with in this same camp. Word is you left Sitting Bull’s camp and turned into a loner. I thought you might have took yourself a wife by now.” He saw at once that this struck a nerve.

  “I did,” Little Wolf said softly. “I had a wife. She is dead.” After some prodding from Squint, he told him about Morning Sky and how she had been killed by the two buffalo hunters.

  “I had a suspicion that might have happened,” Squint said, after offering his condolences over the loss of Morning Sky. “I figured it had to be somethin’ like that to make a man go to all the trouble to bust them two out of jail. When I seen them two where you left ’em, one of ’em with his balls pinned to the ground, I figured as much.” Squint’s face took on a frown. “I should’a kilt them two when I had the chance instead of just puttin’ that nick in Kroll’s ear. If I had, you wouldn’t have been at Fort Lincoln and we wouldn’t of been chasing you.”

  “It was you then? You were with the other two who came after me? The soldier and the other scout?”

  “Yeah, it was me. Only I didn’t have no idea it was you we was chasin’ at the time.” He paused to stir up the fire a little. “That’s another reason I come up here. That soldier—you could have killed him but you didn’t. How come?” Squint knew the reason because Tom had told him, but he wanted to hear Little Wolf’s version of the story.

  Little Wolf shrugged, an expression of boredom on his face as if to imply the incident was of no real importance. “It was a debt. That day on the Washita when Longhair came riding into the camp like a cowardly coyote, the soldier could have killed Morning Sky, and he could have killed me. But he didn’t, so I spared his life. The debt is paid.”

  Squint studied his friend carefully as he asked, “Anything about that particular lieutenant that struck you as odd, or familiar?”

  “No. Why should it?”

  “God, or Man Above if you druther, must have been lookin’ out for you that day when you decided not to kill that soldier.”

  Little Wolf was puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t cotton to killin’ your own brother, would you?”

  Little Wolf was still confused. He didn’t understand what Squint was telling him. He made no reply, waiting for Squint to explain. Squint, enjoying the opportunity to enlighten, let Little Wolf puzzle over it for a few moments longer before continuing. “That there soldier’s name is Lieutenant Tom Allred . . . your brother.”

  If Little Wolf reacted to this shocking bit of news, he gave no outward sign of it. His face remained as stony as before. Squint could not know that the news had actually stunned the young warrior to his core. Little Wolf had not heard that name for so long that he had forgotten the existence of his white brother. And now, to have it suddenly thrust upon him, he did not know what to think or even how to feel. I have no brother,” he mumbled softly, the words dropping from his lips with no thought behind them.

  “The hell you don’t. That feller’s name is shore as hell Tom Allred and he shore as hell comes from St. Louis, and he shore as hell had a little brother named Robert that went off with a mule skinner when he was no more’n a tad.”

  Again there was a long silence while Little Wolf tried to sort out his feelings. He remembered his older brother vaguely. They had not been especially close, but there was never any trouble between them. Finally, he reminded himself that there was no past before the time Spotted Pony found him. “I have no brother,” he repeated. This time it was a definitive statement.

  “If you say so. It ain’t for me to say but I just figured it was my place to let you know about that soldier you run into.”

  Little Wolf nodded his head and held up his hand, signaling an end to that topic of conversation. Squint knew that whatever the young warrior felt about the situation, he was not going to share it with him. He moved on to another topic.

  “If you’ve done turned into a loner, living up here all by yourself, how come you’re wearing that paint on your face?”

  “It is true that I wish to live in solitude but I must end my solitude to help my brothers in our fight to keep the white soldiers out of our sacred hunting grounds. Many, many Cheyenne braves are already in the camp of Sitting Bull. The white men are infesting the Black Hills and the Yellowstone like fleas on a dog. Sitting Bull has called for all warriors to come to the aid of the Sioux. We must stop the white man now. I go to fight beside my brothers.”

  “Agin’ your own kind?”

  “No,” Little Wolf replied sternly, “with my brothers, against the people who killed my father and mother and my wife.”

  There was no uncertainty in Little Wolf’s tone. Squint realized that if he had come to find him a few days later than he did, Little Wolf would probably have been gone from this camp. It was obvious that he was not going to dissuade his young friend from joining the hordes of hostiles now flocking to the valleys of the Yellowstone. He thought of the huge expedition he had watched leaving Fort Lincoln some days before and what repercussions they would cause. At once he felt sad for his idealistic young friend. That he would die or be captured and sent to prison was almost a certainty, and he didn’t like the thought of such a free spirit shackled to a jail cell. Little Wolf was a wanted man but, in his mind, he had done no wrong, at least nothing any self-respecting Cheyenne warrior would not have done. And he was a true Cheyenne, no matter the color of his skin.

  “You’re a wanted man, partner. I guess you know that.” Squint’s voice was low and deadly serious. “If they catch you, they’re gonna hang you shore as hell. There ain’t gonna be no prison for you.”

  Little Wolf looked surprised. “Why? Why do they want me any more than any other Cheyenne or Dakota?”

  “’cause you’re white. You’re a renegade, a white man turned Injun. They’re gonna want to make an example outta you.”

  “I don’t understand why.”

>   “Cause you’re white,” he repeated. “The army don’t take kindly to white men that turns agin’ their own kind.”

  Little Wolf was immediately indignant. “I am Cheyenne. Before that I was Arapaho. Before that, there was nothing. I fight the enemies of my people. I have killed no women or children, only soldiers.”

  “Hell, I know that. But the army don’t look at it that way. They figure if you look like a wolf and you run with a pack of wolves, chances are you’re a wolf too. Anyway, don’t get riled up at me. I’m just telling you what’s what so’s maybe you’ll be a little more careful. Maybe even think a while before running off to join up with Sitting Bull’s bunch.”

  “I must do what my heart tells me to do.”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Squint answered, resigned to the inevitability of it. If he had hoped to persuade his young friend to reconsider his future, he now knew that it was useless to try. There was too much bitterness in the young man, rage that had to be tempered with revenge. They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally Squint spoke again, “Well, I’ll never think of you as an enemy of mine. I hope you feel the same.”