Medicine Creek

by Charles G. West

  Much to her immediate relief, he released her and moved back by the fire. Looking around at Hump’s sack of supplies, he asked, “You got any coffee?” She did not answer. “Damn, I ain’t had no coffee in a week.” Finding nothing that interested him in Hump’s parfleche, he threw it aside and sat down by the fire, this time on the ground. Rain Song could not help but recall a time when a bear rummaged through her father’s camp, poking at everything, strewing things about. “Now, little lady, let’s you and me get acquainted. I’m figuring you to be Cheyenne. Is that right?” She did not answer. “And I’m thinkin’ your man is that white man that calls hisself Little Wolf.” Again she did not answer. She didn’t have to—her eyes answered for her at the mention of her husband’s name. Tobin smiled and slowly nodded his head. “I figured as much.” He knew he now had something Little Wolf wanted more than his freedom, and he would have to come to him to get her. Things couldn’t have worked out much better for Tobin.

  At last Rain Song spoke. “Untie me.”

  “Untie you? Hell, why would I do that?”

  “I have to relieve myself.”

  “Well, go ahead and relieve yourself. You don’t have to be untied for that.”

  Rain Song was shocked. “I can’t do it here.”

  “Shore you can. Just scoot over to one side and squirt, and then scoot back over. You got room.”

  She said nothing more about it, determined to hold it until he had gone to sleep. It proved to be an extremely uncomfortable evening for Rain Song before her huge captor decided to turn in for the night. Frightened to think what plans he might have for her before going to sleep, she trembled when he at last got up from the fire and dragged Hump’s scalped corpse into the brush. After checking her bonds to make sure she wouldn’t bother him during the night, he rolled out his blankets and was soon snoring.

  As the darkness deepened, the flames in the campfire died away, leaving a bed of glowing red coals. Other than the snoring of the hulking man, the night was quiet with no sounds but the calling of a night bird and the soft crying of a forlorn Cheyenne girl. Rain Song was too frightened to sleep, even had the aching in her arms relented. What would her fate be when morning came? Would she ever see her beloved Little Wolf again? This was an evil man who had captured her. She feared her death would be slow and painful.

  She would have been relieved of one of her worries if she’d had any way of knowing the strange man sleeping by the fire. Tobin would not hesitate to frighten her, and he would have killed her if he had no use for her. But she was very useful to him—she was the bait he would use to set the trap for Little Wolf. As for the danger of rape, there was none. Tobin was not interested in her body at this point. Though she was fair enough, the problem was Tobin’s. He did not pursue sexual favors with women because of a profound fear of failure. This was possibly the only fear the man had, a fear of rendering himself vulnerable to ridicule. The last time he had entertained thoughts of a sexual nature was six years before with a prostitute in Lewisburg. He had failed to perform, most probably due to the tremendous quantity of whiskey he had consumed immediately prior to the liaison, and the woman laughed at him. Tobin was mortified. The woman was found dead the next morning, her throat slit from ear to ear.

  Tobin knew what he was going to do. He needed a place to hold his captive, a secure place where she would not have to be under his constant watch. There was just such a place available: The little settlement of Medicine Creek had an empty jail. He might as well put it to some use. Before setting out for Medicine Creek the next morning, however, Tobin planned to effect an understanding with his prisoner so as to make the trip less bother.

  Rain Song had finally fallen asleep a little before daybreak from sheer exhaustion. It seemed her eyes had been closed for little more than a few minutes when she was rudely rousted from her sleep. Groggy with fatigue and lack of sleep, her mind was in a state of utter confusion, and when she managed to shake the cobwebs from her brain, she became panic stricken. The monster who had invaded the night before was now standing over her, leering down at her, a twisted smile his only expression.

  “It’s time for you to pay for your passage to Medicine Creek,” he said. Before she could react, he grabbed her ankles as he had done the night before, one in each hand, and spread her legs apart. She was helpless in his powerful grasp, no matter how she screamed and struggled. Her efforts seemed to amuse him and his grin spread wider across his hairy face. The sheer terror in her eyes told him she was getting the message he intended to send. Clamping a leg under each of his arms, leaving his hands free to explore, he grasped her thighs and slowly advanced his hands under her skirt. All the while, Tobin kept his eyes locked on hers, measuring the terror he instilled. He made no move to stop her screaming, sliding his huge body closer in between her legs. She struggled to stop him from coming any closer, but her pelvis felt as if it were about to split apart. She could do nothing to prevent what was about to happen. She felt her head reeling, close to losing consciousness.

  He leaned over her until his face was almost touching hers. The dank, sweaty smell of him assaulted her nostrils. His grimy whiskers brushed against her cheek. He held her in that position for a long moment and then he spoke. “How do you like it, missy? I guarantee you it’ll be more fun for me than it is fer you.” He let her think about that for a few moments more, then added, “Maybe you and me can have a little understanding.” He pulled away from her a little. The terror he saw in her eyes pleased him. “Maybe we don’t have to do this. If you don’t give me no trouble, I’ll leave you alone. How ’bout it? But if you give me even a pinch of trouble…” He didn’t finish, but she understood fully.

  “No trouble!” she screamed, her voice trembling with fear. “No trouble!”

  He backed off, still holding her ankles. “All right,” he warned, “but you just remember what I said. One pinch of trouble, and I’ll split you up the backbone so fast you’ll wish you was dead.”

  She believed him. Weak from her terrifying experience, she lay back, limp and drained. Right then she determined that she would still run if the opportunity arose. But she would make no attempt unless her chances of escape were extremely good. This creature would hunt her down. Of that she was certain.

  Satisfied that he had thoroughly put the fear of the devil into the young woman’s heart, Tobin cut her hands loose and let her eat. He sat on his horse outside a thicket of serviceberry bushes, and waited while she performed her toilet. When she was finished, he put her on Hump’s horse and started toward Medicine Creek. Before they rode out, he gave her one more bit of instruction.

  “Can you ride pretty fast?” She wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. He didn’t expect a reply. “Well,” he continued, “I don’t reckon you can outrun a bullet from this here Winchester. So don’t forget, I’m right behind you.” She got the message.

  He let her lead and he followed, since all she had to do was stick to the trail traveled by countless hunting parties through the valleys.

  The journey to Medicine Creek took two full days of riding. During that time, there was no attempt by Rain Song to escape. In return, there was no repeat of the brutal treatment suffered at the hand of her grim captor. Although Tobin had no intention to have sexual knowledge of the woman at present, he could still not help but let his mind imagine the pleasure she might be capable of giving a man. He had seen enough of her body to know that she might have the power to arouse his reluctant passions. But he needed her alive, and he knew if he failed to perform, he’d kill her. He’d have to—he would not be able to tolerate the humiliation.

  Tobin permitted her to ride unfettered during the day, tying her up at night while he slept. On the morning of the third day, they left the Indian trail, crossed over a ridge thick with spruce and pine, and emerged from the trees to see the rough buildings of Medicine Creek.

  Ike Freise scurried up the muddy street to the general store. Holding the door open while he remained on the wooden walkway,
he yelled to Arvin Gilbert. “Look yonder at what’s coming!”

  Arvin dropped a half-eaten pickle back in the jar and, wiping his hands on his apron, joined Ike on the walkway. Squinting against the morning sun, he followed Ike’s pointing finger, looking toward the north end of the valley. “Who is it?” he asked, unable to identify the two riders approaching the town.

  “Well, less I’m mistaken, it’s that big ol’ tracker the army hired to go after that damn Injun.” He glanced at Arvin, who was still squinting to make out the riders. “They ain’t many men around that size. And it looks like he may have found his man.”

  The two men watched the approaching riders until they were within a couple hundred yards of Ike’s stable on the north end of town. “No,” Arvin said, “that ain’t the renegade. That looks more like a squaw.” He turned to call back inside the store. “Lester, watch the store. I’ll be back in a minute.” He and Ike started up the street toward the stable.

  They stood in front of the stable and waited for Tobin to approach. As he reached the beginning of the muddy sea of ruts that served as Medicine Creek’s main street, the two men got a better look at his prisoner.

  “Why, that’s that little Injun woman, the one we brung in from that Cheyenne’s place.”

  “Damned if it ain’t,” Ike replied.

  Nothing more was said until the massive scout on the buckskin horse reached the stable. They had assumed he would put his horses up right away but he went right on by, now leading the horse the woman rode. “Morning, gents,” was all he said as he walked by. Like schoolboys following a circus wagon, they walked along beside Tobin, staring at the woman and waiting for an explanation. Tobin reined up in front of the jail and dismounted. He motioned for Rain Song to do the same.

  Arvin Gilbert stepped up on the tiny porch. “We ain’t got a sheriff yet. The jail’s empty.”

  “I figured,” Tobin replied. He pulled his rifle and bedroll from his horse and motioned for Rain Song to open the door. It was locked. Unfazed, Tobin turned his gaze on Arvin. “If I recollect, you’re the mayor of this little swamp, ain’tcha?”

  “Yessir,” Arvin replied at once, “I’m the mayor.”

  “Well, Mayor, I aim to use this here jail for a spell. If you ain’t got a key to open that door, I reckon I’ll have to kick it in.”

  Arvin glanced at Ike, then back at the imposing bulk of Tobin. He knew that, as mayor, it should be his decision as to whether or not someone could simply confiscate a public building. It didn’t seem right for Tobin to come into their town and do what he damn well pleased without so much as a by your leave. He briefly considered informing Tobin that he would take it up with the town council—until he looked into the cold depth of the huge man’s eyes. There was violence there that lay just beneath the surface, promising to explode if given the slightest provocation. “I’ve got the key,” Arvin said, moments before Tobin got set to kick the door in.

  He unlocked the door with a key from a ring holding a dozen others and stepped back to permit the Indian woman entry. Before he could replace the ring of keys, Tobin clamped his wrist in his huge hand and, with the other, opened the ring and took the key off. “I’ll need to keep this,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

  Arvin froze. He wanted to protest, but he did not have the courage. He looked to Ike Frieze for support but Ike had already backed away to give the big man room. Finally, he mumbled that he guessed it was all right to use the jail temporarily. Tobin’s smug expression told him that he had expected as much.

  “I’ve got to get back to the store,” Arvin muttered and turned to leave the tracker and his captive.

  Ike turned also and was at Arvin’s elbow as they walked back toward the south end of the street. When he figured they were out of earshot, he glanced back nervously before speaking. “Damn, Arvin, that devil’s figuring on doing damn near what he pleases.”

  Arvin, like Ike, had had the same thought after their confrontation with Tobin. Medicine Creek was vulnerable to being run over roughshod by men like Tobin. It was too promising a settlement to be endangered by the possibility of a corrupt sheriff. Franklin Bowers had been domineering, but he did submit to the general wishes of the town council. On first appearances, Tobin appeared to do as he pleased. This could be disastrous for the settlement of Medicine Creek.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” Arvin said as they approached Blanton’s Saloon. “Maybe we ought to call a meeting of the council and discuss it.”

  Ike agreed. “Maybe we ought to. You know, I don’t cotton much to him keeping that squaw in there anyway, just inviting that damn crazy Injun to come in here and shoot the place up.” In front of Blanton’s now, he suggested, “Let’s go in and talk to Henry.”

  Henry Blanton was sufficiently concerned about the potential problem when told of the recent occupants of the jail. “You’re right, Arvin, we need to have a meeting right away. I’ll send my boy to fetch Morgan and Mr. Norsworthy.”

  Within thirty minutes, the nucleus of the town council was assembled in the back of Blanton’s Saloon. The last to arrive was the Reverend Norsworthy, who loathed the practice of meeting in a saloon but put aside his principles for the purpose of conducting community business. When everyone but Rev. Norsworthy had a beer in front of them, Arvin called the meeting to order and related the news he and Ike had learned a short time before. To a man, they all agreed that Arvin’s assessment of the situation was most likely accurate and it was absolutely a necessity to set things right with their uninvited guest.

  “Somebody needs to put the fear of God—excuse me, Reverend—in him before he thinks he can just ride in here and take over the town.” Having said it, Ike sat back down quickly before somebody suggested he might be the one for the job.

  There were nods of agreement all around. Morgan Sewell spoke up. “I reckon it would be the mayor’s job to notify him.”

  Arvin was afraid he was going to hear a suggestion like that. He was quick to respond. “I don’t think that devil can be persuaded by one man. It would be far more effective if he sees the whole town is behind this.” He looked around the table, discouraged by the lack of commitment he read in their faces. “Listen, maybe we’re jumping to conclusions here. Let’s speak to the man. We might be reading him wrong.” He still saw doubt in their faces. “Why don’t we just invite him to come up here and talk to us? We might be making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “What if he won’t come?” Morgan asked.

  “Well, instead of asking him to come up here, we could all go down to the jail.” Arvin looked around the table for agreement.

  “I don’t know,” Morgan said. “Hell, you’re the mayor, Arvin. Just go on down there and tell him how things are.”

  Reverend Norsworthy, having held his piece until that moment, spoke up. “Arvin’s right. We should all go down to the jail in a show of support. Surely we can reason with this man. He can’t be as uncivilized as you paint him.”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan repeated, shaking his head.

  There followed two more beers’ worth of discussion but, in the end, they reluctantly agreed that all five of them would march down to the jail and inform this impudent bully that they ran the town of Medicine Creek, and any actions he took would only be with their approval.

  While the Medicine Creek town council was meeting in the saloon, Tobin was inspecting his new lodgings. Rain Song was locked in one of the two cells, and Tobin had stowed his possibles in the other. Before locking Rain Song up, he tested the bars on the small window of the cell and was confident that a horse and rope couldn’t budge the inch-thick iron bars. When he was satisfied that all was to his liking, he locked the front door and took the horses down to Ike’s stable. Duly intimidated by the frightening countenance of the imposing figure, Ike’s eldest son respectfully stabled the horses in the first stall and fed them some grain. He didn’t question it when Tobin told him his credit was good.

  Tobin smiled to himself when
he left the stable and saw the committee waiting for him outside the locked door of the jail. Well, well, he thought, here’s the good citizens of Medicine Creek, coming to lay down the law. The thought amused him. He took his time getting back to the jail.

  “Well now,” he said when he was within earshot of the nervous group. “This is more like it, an official welcoming committee.”

  Arvin Gilbert flashed a nervous smile in an attempt to seem casual. “Mr. Tobin, as mayor of Medicine Creek, it’s my duty to speak for the town council.” Tobin’s smug grin did little to lesson Arvin’s discomfort in the role of town spokesman, but he continued. “The thing is, I don’t—the committee, that is—don’t know if it’s proper to let someone take over the jail without getting approval from the council.” He paused but Tobin made no response beyond a widening of his self-satisfied grin. Arvin got the distinct impression that what he was saying appeared to be amusing to the rough tracker. When Tobin still made no reply, Arvin began to sputter. “Well, ah…well, I guess we’d like to know what your intentions are. I mean, that’s our jail, a public building, and we need to know what you aim to do in there.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Tobin replied, still apparently amused.

  Reverend Norsworthy spoke up then, from his position safely behind Arvin and Henry Blanton. “The fact is, Mr. Tobin, a man simply cannot ride into town and decide to take over the jailhouse. We won’t stand for it.”

  Norsworthy’s fellow council members all took a step backward upon hearing the preacher’s blunt statement. Arvin quickly tried to soften the reverend’s words. “We’re just saying we need to talk about—”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Tobin interrupted. The smile faded from his face and his eyes seemed to harden and go stone-cold. Tobin had sized up the situation in the little settlement the first time he rode in, and knew then that the town was wide open for the first wild gunman who happened by. A collection of storekeepers and barbers, no sheriff, no backbone—he knew he could use the town any way he saw fit to suit his purposes. And his purpose at this time was to set a trap for one renegade Cheyenne. Always finding it more proficient to operate from a position of intimidation, he laid out his own rules for the council.