After studying the faces of the collection of Medicine Creek citizens who had just received an honest introduction to the man known simply as Tobin, the brute spoke. Calmly, in a measured voice, he issued a clear warning. “I said I’d take care of these little set-tos for you, but I don’t like to be bothered when I’m fixin’ to go to bed.”
Henry Blanton was the first of the townsmen to find his voice. “Johnny didn’t mean no harm. Bowers just locked him up and let him sleep it off.”
Tobin cocked his head and fixed Blanton with a cold stare. He held it for a long moment before speaking. “There ain’t no need to lock him up now, is there?” He glanced back at his victim, still unmoving on the floor. “I reckon it’ll be a while before this bastard decides to raise another ruckus.” He reached down and ripped off a large square from Johnny’s shirt and cleaned the blood from his rifle. That done, he started for the door. The gathering parted before him. As he reached the door, he said, “Reckon he’ll need some doctoring. Suit yourself on that. All the same to me whether he lives or dies.”
They waited until his footsteps could no longer be heard on the boardwalk, and then they all moved at the same time. “Is he dead?” someone asked as they crowded around the victim.
“Somebody go get Morgan,” Arvin said.
When Morgan Sewell arrived, he was stunned to see the broken man he had been summoned to treat. “My God! What happened to him?” When told of the cause of Johnny’s injuries by several of the men, he was aghast. “This is worse than Edgar Rawlins when he got mauled by that grizzly—and Edgar died.”
“Can you patch him up?” Blanton asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. First, I reckon we better see if he’s even alive.” He bent down on one knee and attempted to straighten Johnny out. After a few minutes of gentle prodding and poking, he put his car to Johnny’s chest and listened. “Well, I don’t know how, but he’s still breathing. I can put a splint on that arm. The rest of it will just have to be up to the good Lord.”
When Morgan had done all he could for Johnny, a couple of his friends put him in a wagon and took him home. No one was overly optimistic about his recovery. Time would tell. Arvin stood talking to Morgan and Blanton as they watched the wagon roll out of sight.
“I tell you what, I can see a lot more of that kind of thing happening around here.” It was Blanton who voiced the thought that was running through the minds of all three men.
Arvin agreed. “I’m afraid you’re right, Henry. We’re gonna have to do something, but I don’t know what. We might as well have a grizzly living down there in that jail.”
“I reckon the Vigilance Committee will have to do something about him. Run him out, like we done with the Injuns.”
“I don’t know, Morgan,” Arvin responded. “I don’t think this will be that simple.” He didn’t voice it, but Arvin wasn’t sure there were enough men in Medicine Creek to take on this grizzly. “Might be we’re jumpin’ the gun a little. You know, he might be just making an example outta poor ol’ Johnny so everybody else will stay in line.”
* * *
Little Wolf could hear the rumble of a wagon and the voices of two or more men long before they drove into sight. It was a bright moonlit night so he guided his horses up off the trail into a patch of fir trees. Little Wolf sat in the saddle and waited for the wagon to pass below him. When it was abreast of his position in the trees, he could clearly see them in the bright moonlight. Two men rode in the seat of an open farm wagon. There appeared to be another man lying in the bed of the wagon, either drunk or wounded, he couldn’t tell for sure. He had no interest in these men—he was merely intent on avoiding them. When they had driven out of sight, he guided his horse back down and continued to follow the trail leading to Medicine Creek.
16
The full moon had drifted downward and would soon be behind the high mountain to the south and west of Medicine Creek. Little Wolf sat on a ridge north of the settlement, looking at the dark buildings, trying to remember the layout of the town. He had been to the town a half dozen times before the two nights when he came in to kill the mayor and the sheriff. But on those occasions, before all the trouble started, he went only to the general store on the south end of town to trade with the proprietor, Gilbert. Always, as soon as his trading was completed, he retraced his steps back into the mountains. Now he must familiarize himself with the various buildings in order to determine where Rain Song was being held.
He got to his feet and led his horses down the ridge to a closer position, feeling secure in the knowledge that it was too dark to be concerned with being seen. He reminded himself that he was not even sure Rain Song was here. The big scout may have taken her to some other place. But, one thing for certain, he brought her through Medicine Creek. Whether he stopped here or not would be Little Wolf’s task to find out.
The town was quiet. Even the saloon in the middle of town was closed. He would come back in the morning and set up a vigilance, watching the town until, sooner or later, he would see something or somebody who might indicate where Rain Song was being held. There being nothing more he could do that night, he got on his pony and, leading his packhorse, rode off into the low hills behind him to make his camp.
* * *
Rain Song lay still on the straw pallet provided for her bed. It was late, but she was not asleep. Someone had come for Tobin earlier in the evening, and he had gone with them for a while. When he came back, he said nothing to her and went straight to bed. She tried to sleep but could not. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Little Wolf and Canada, thoughts that settled heavily on her heart, causing her to weep silent tears. Several hours passed and still she did not sleep. The moon made its way to a position over the pines behind the jail and shone its light through the tiny window of her cell. She got up from her pallet and, on tiptoes, tried to look out the window. The town was silent now, the only sound was the mournful song of a lonely night bird. It was like the call Little Wolf used to make in order to signal her when he was near. Suddenly, she felt a sense of calmness. She could not explain why. It was almost as if he actually were near. Maybe it was the golden light of the full moon that painted the cold bars of her prison. Maybe it was the assuring sound of the night bird’s call. She couldn’t say, but her mind was eased of some of its sadness. She returned to her bed and finally drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When the sun’s first rays found their way over the hills to the east of the little town, Little Wolf was already in position on the eastern slope. From the narrow gulch he had selected, he could observe the entire length of the one street through the town. Content now to wait until the citizens of Medicine Creek began to rouse themselves to the business of the day, he chewed on a strip of dried elk meat. It wasn’t long before the first early risers began to appear to open the few commercial establishments that lined the muddy thoroughfare.
A squat little man appeared in the open door of the stable at the north end of the street. He stood there for a few minutes, scratching his belly and looking around as if appraising the new day. Little Wolf watched him for only a few moments before shifting his gaze to the postmaster fumbling with a ring of keys, eventually yielding the one that opened the front door. Further down toward the south end of town, he recognized the one man he knew, Arvin Gilbert, sweeping the board walkway in front of the general store. Though only weeks had passed, it seemed like many months since Little Wolf had walked into the store to trade for supplies. Dressed as much like a white man as possible in his brother’s coat, with his long dark hair stuffed up under a hat, he had made his trade as quietly and as rapidly as he could. Now he sat looking at the little storekeeper the bitter bile of contempt rising in his spleen as he pictured the once friendly merchant riding down amid the bloodthirsty posse to murder Sleeps Standing and his women. Little Wolf had exacted his revenge on four of that posse and, after Rain Song had pleaded with him, he had been content to let those four be the end of it. Now he wished he had killed
every man who rode down on his valley that day.
From his position on the hill east of the town, he could not see the front of the saloon, as it faced west. So he did not notice the young boy carrying a tin plate of food until he emerged from the cover of the saloon and crossed the street, angling toward the jail where Little Wolf had waited to settle his score with the late Sheriff Bowers.
He watched as the young man stepped up from the street, stopping to stomp some of the mud from his boots before rapping on the door of the jail. Little Wolf knew the plate was probably for a prisoner. Medicine Creek must have gotten a new sheriff. The door opened, but Little Wolf could not see who was inside. The boy entered and reappeared seconds later with an empty plate. He returned to the saloon. Within a quarter of an hour, the door of the jail opened again, and Little Wolf’s spine stiffened. He had found what he was seeking. The man was so huge, his shoulders so wide, that he had to turn slightly on an angle when he passed through the door. There was no mistaking him, even at that distance. It was the big tracker that had trailed him. Now he knew who the prisoner was. He had found Rain Song.
Having come up on one knee when he first sighted Tobin, Little Wolf settled back on his heels and watched, fighting the impulse to jump on his pony and charge down on the little town. No, he counciled himself silently, I must be patient and see how difficult my task will be. He watched Tobin pull the heavy door shut and fix a padlock on it. Then the huge man made his way across the street to the saloon.
He wondered how securely the jail was locked, but was unable to determine at that distance. He would have to get a closer look at the building. This was not possible in the bright light of day. He entertained thoughts of attacking the saloon and killing the tracker, but only for a moment. He was confident he could kill the big man, and maybe several others. But there was a very good chance someone else in the saloon might shoot him. And that would do no good for Rain Song. No, he must find a way to get to Rain Song without anyone seeing him. He must wait until nightfall and then make his way down to the jail. The river flowed barely fifty or so yards behind the buildings on the west side of the street. It would be best to approach the rear of the jail from the river. That decided, he settled back to watch the little town.
In a short while, Little Wolf saw Tobin leave the saloon and return to the jail. It was apparent the man was staying close to his prisoner, and Little Wolf realized that the wild-looking tracker was waiting for him, hoping he would attempt to rescue Rain Song. There would be no element of surprise. The man had baited a trap and was content to sit on it, knowing Little Wolf had to come for his wife. While this fact prompted Little Wolf to be more cautious, it had no bearing on his determination to free Rain Song. He waited for nightfall.
Hours later the gentle breeze was chilly on the Cheyenne’s wet shoulders, although the river water had felt warm when he crossed. Oblivious to the chill, he crouched low in the darkness, his eyes shifting back and forth, making sure he was alone behind the buildings. It was no more than a hundred feet from the spot where he now stood that he had killed Puddin Rooks. He did not think of that now as he watched the rear of the jail. There had been a light in the building for only a short time after sundown. It was out now. Little Wolf pictured the man waiting inside for him. Was he sleeping? Or waiting—alert and ready? He thought back to what had happened while he watched the building all day. The tracker had come out of the jail a total of three times, to get his meals Little Wolf assumed. The rest of the day he did not show himself. It was even more curious that not one soul had gone near the jail all day either, except the boy who brought food. In some instances, he observed some men crossing to the opposite side of the street when passing the jail. The whole town seemed intent on avoiding the man completely.
Like the night before, there was an almost full moon shining down on the peaceful settlement between the river and the hills. From the riverbank, Little Wolf made his way carefully through the low bushes that ringed the shallow crossing to a stand of trees some twenty yards from the rear of the building. From the many hoofprints he had seen in the sandy riverbank, Little Wolf figured that the ford was used by most folks who rode from the homesteads on that side of the river. He had avoided the narrow footbridge that crossed the water a dozen or so yards downstream, seeing no need to chance an encounter with one of the local citizens on his way home from the saloon. It had been on that same path, leading to the footbridge, that he had settled with Puddin Rooks. On this night, his only intention was to confirm his suspicion that Rain Song was being held in the jail.
Rain Song lay awake on her straw pallet. There was no sound outside her cell door. Tobin had been asleep for hours, but she had been unable to sleep and had tossed and turned since first closing her eyes. The days were long this time of year, and Tobin often went to his cot while there was still light outside. She always waited for the sound of his heavy snoring before she performed her toilet. The huge brute was true to his word—he never laid a hand on her. But he was not above leering at her on the few occasions he had caught her washing herself, or using her bucket.
Nighttime was the only time she felt at peace, even though her respite was of short duration, lasting only until the sun came up again. So it was often she lay awake on nights like this, her thoughts going out to her husband and praying that he might somehow find her. And then she would think of the savage brute asleep in the next room and feel guilty for wishing Little Wolf would come.
She did not realize she had been crying until she felt the tear drops on her arm as she lay on her side, cradling her head. From outside her tiny window, she heard the lonely call of a night bird—probably the same one she had heard the night before. He was pining for his mate. She listened as it called again. But there was no answer from his mate. Sad, she thought, he is alone like I. Still the forlorn little male called out, although his calls were in vain.
After a few minutes, his persistence puzzled Rain Song and she suddenly sat up, listening now with added concentration. There it was again. Fully alert now, she got quickly to her feet and pulled herself up to the window. Knowing in her heart that it was nothing more than a melancholy bird, she still strained to lift herself high enough to see out, unable to explain the tingle of excitement that coursed through her body. She peered out at the moonlit patch of bare ground behind the jail. There was nothing.
It’s a bird, she thought, nothing more, and started to lower herself back down to the floor. But she hesitated—there was a movement in the shadows under the trees across the narrow clearing. Had she really seen something? Or were her eyes simply playing tricks on her in the middle of the night? She stared hard at the spot where she thought she had seen movement. Again, she thought she saw something move in the shadows. Then she felt her heart quicken as if it would burst from her bosom. He was there! As she watched, scarcely believing her eyes, he rose to his feet. Standing tall and straight, it could be no other, even though she could not see his face. It was Little Wolf, but spirit or man, she could not be sure. She feared her grief had been so intense that her eyes were seeing a phantom image of her husband.
Although her arms were trembling from the strain of supporting her body, she refused to drop to the floor, continuing to stare at the figure under the trees. In the next instant she forgot the pain in her arms. The figure suddenly stepped to the edge of the shadows, the moonlight falling on his face. It was no phantom. “Little Wolf!” she gasped. At almost the same instant, the still night air was ripped apart by the explosion of a rifle.
Rain Song screamed. The shot seemed to come from directly behind her. Little Wolf fell backward, rolling over and over, disappearing into the shadows. His sharp senses had detected the barrel of the rifle a split second before he saw the muzzle flash. It came from the other small cell window next to Rain Song’s. Had it not been for the glint of moonlight on the metal of the rifle barrel, Tobin’s bullet might have found its mark. As it was, the lead was embedded in a tree trunk and the massive tracker cursed his
luck, unsure if he had hit flesh or not.
“Little Wolf!” Rain Song called out, her voice almost a scream. “Little Wolf!” But there was no answer from the shadowy trees on the other side of the little clearing. Tears filled her eyes as she began to lose her grip on the iron bars of the window. She had seen him fall, but she could not be sure if he had been hit or not.
“Git away from there!” In her anxiety, she had not heard the rattle of the key when Tobin opened her cell. He grabbed her roughly by the neck and pulled her away from the window, shoving her out of his way and onto the floor behind him. He upended the bucket in the corner and stood on it in an effort to sight his rifle out the window, hoping to get a better angle to shoot from. It was no use—the shadows were too dark. He emptied his rifle into the clump of trees anyway, hoping for a lucky shot. He stood there for a few moments, listening. There was nothing but utter silence. “Damn!” he swore and stepped down from his makeshift stool.
During the few seconds while Tobin fired into the trees, Rain Song lay stunned in the corner of her cell. Her wits about her now, she scrambled to her feet and ran through the open door from her cell. Tobin saw her run but made no move to chase her. Instead he casually walked to the front of the jail where Rain Song was frantically trying to open the heavy door. He stood and watched her frustrated attempts to escape for a moment before telling her she could yank on that lock all week and still wouldn’t be able to break it.
Rain Song shrieked in agony and turned to attack the smirking giant, flying at him with flailing arms. Her frustrated assault seemed to amuse him and he stood solidly before her like a stout oak, absorbing her harmless blows on his massive chest. When he tired of the game, he flattened her with one quick backhand. It was enough to calm her venom, and she sat on the floor, quietly whimpering.
“Why, if I didn’t know no better, I’d think you didn’t appreciate my hospitality—wantin’ to run off with the first buck that come along.” He laughed at his own humor. “I had a suspicion that husband of yourn would be showin’ up pretty soon. I mighta put some lead in his tail, can’t say for sure. Reckon we’ll have to wait for daylight to find out.” He reached down and pulled the stricken woman to her feet and gave her a shove, the force of which drove her back into her cell. “’Course I could go outside and find out right now, I reckon. But I know you don’t want me to git shot.” He laughed again, thoroughly enjoying her dismay.
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