Montana Territory

by Charles G. West

  The people gathered around the travois when he led it into the clearing, anxious to see if Black Elk was all right, but equally curious to see the man Swift Runner had said was Hawk, friend of the Blackfoot. A woman Hawk learned later to be Black Elk’s wife came immediately to her wounded husband’s side and helped move him from the travois and into her tipi. When that was done, Hawk came out of the tipi to find Swift Runner standing beside an elderly man, waiting to introduce him. “This is Wounded Bear,” Swift Runner said. “He is our chief.”

  “Wounded Bear,” Hawk greeted him. “My name’s John Hawk.”

  “Welcome to our village,” Wounded Bear said. “I have heard of a man called Hawk who once lived with the Blackfoot.”

  “I reckon that’s me,” Hawk said.

  “Thank you for bringing Black Elk back to us.” He turned to smile at Swift Runner. “And Swift Runner, too. They do what they can to provide food for our village, but they have no weapons to hunt with but bows. And it is not always easy to get close enough to the deer and antelope to use their bows.”

  Hawk didn’t have to pause to consider that. “Well, they have now.” He walked over to Rascal and untied the buckskin straps holding the Winchester ’66 rifle that had belonged to Tater Thompson. He handed it to Swift Runner, then took the Colt .44 and holster from his saddle horn, along with an extra cartridge belt, also property of the late Tater Thompson, and hung them on the boy’s shoulder. “You won’t have to get so close with these, the rifle, anyway. The handgun ain’t bad for small stuff, like rabbits and squirrels and such.” Swift Runner said nothing, but his eyes were wide with joy and surprise as he carefully turned the rifle over in his hands as if it were a magical thing. “You might notta fired a Winchester before,” Hawk went on. From the look in the boy’s eyes, he figured he probably hadn’t fired any kind of rifle or gun. “I can show you how best to use it. Your father oughta be up and be gettin’ around pretty soon, and then you can show him how to use it.”

  Seeing the signs of joy in the faces of the people gathered around him, Hawk knew that he could have made no other decision—Booth would have to wait. A smiling Wounded Bear stepped forward to thank him again. “I am ashamed that I cannot prepare a feast to honor you. The hunting has not been good here, and Black Elk has had to travel farther and farther to find game.”

  “No problem a-tall,” Hawk replied. “I’ve got a little bit of food with me. We’ll just cook that up. I expect my horse will be glad to get rid of it.” He untied the bundle of smoked venison Rascal had been carrying and set it on the ground. It caused a wave of excitement to rise among the small gathering of people when he spread the hide out to reveal a still sizable pile of smoked meat. He realized the people were on the verge of starvation as they hurried to prepare the meat. It caused him to make another time-consuming delay in his anxious pursuit of Booth and his partner. He looked at Swift Runner, still holding the rifle as if it were a living thing. “Why don’t you and I head out in the mornin’? I think I know where we can find some deer.” He was thinking about the herd of deer the cavalry patrol had frightened near Hound Creek between this chain of mountains and the Little Belt Mountains. “The place I’m thinkin’ about is less than a half day from here, and you can get a chance to see how that rifle shoots without wastin’ a lot of cartridges.” His announcement was too much for them all to contain and a happy cheer resulted, bringing the women tending Black Elk’s wound out of the tipi to see the cause.

  It was impossible for Hawk not to share their joy as every one of the Indians gathered around him stepped up to touch his arm or shoulder, nod happily to him with most repeating the one word, “Hawk.” Black Elk’s wife left her husband’s side to express her thanks for bringing her husband and her son back to her. She introduced herself as Walks Along. Before it was over, Hawk had contributed almost all the supplies he had with him and apologized for not having more. He donated flour, salt, and coffee, keeping only enough strips of jerky to keep him alive until he got to Helena, or some trading post along the way. When he asked if there was a trading post closer to them, he was told there was only one, Bodine’s. Wounded Bear said that the man, Bodine, was not very friendly to his people, even when they had money or hides to trade. Hawk didn’t tell them of his experiences with Bodine.

  A big fire was soon burning in the center of the clearing and before long there were strips of smoked venison roasting over it. With the flour Hawk furnished, the women made pan bread. There was enough for everyone to get a share. Afterward, Hawk was invited to sleep in Wounded Bear’s tipi, so he spread his bedroll inside and passed the night there. Up early the next morning, he found Swift Runner waiting for him with two horses that belonged to Wounded Bear, one to ride and one to pack meat. With Wounded Bear and several others there to see them off and wish them good hunting, they set out at once for the east side of the Big Belt Mountains.

  * * *

  After a ride that Hawk estimated to be close to ten miles, they came out of the hills near Hound Creek. There were no deer to be seen, but there was plenty of sign that suggested it was a regular feeding and watering spot for them. Hawk decided to put the horses out of sight and wait in hopes deer came out of the mountains to the creek, thinking there was a good chance of it. While they waited, he gave Swift Runner a little training on sighting and firing his new rifle, so if deer did show up, the boy would be ready to actually shoot at one. Swift Runner had no problem holding the rifle properly and aiming it. After Hawk was satisfied that the boy wasn’t likely to shoot him or himself, they settled back and waited. As the sun came up and it grew later and later, Hawk was afraid they had not picked a good spot. But just before he suggested they should move farther around the mountain, one lone buck came out of the trees above them and stopped to sniff the air. Hawk counted ten points on the antlers. He was not a young buck. Swift Runner immediately raised his rifle to his shoulder, but Hawk took hold of the weapon to stop him from shooting. “Wait,” he whispered. “There should be more.” Swift Runner understood and nodded apologetically. At the boy’s young age, he was an experienced hunter. But he was so eager to fire his new weapon that he forgot to wait for the does that were waiting in the trees for the all clear from the buck.

  After a few minutes, the buck squealed his signal, and he was joined by a party of four does and one young buck. “Wait till they stop to drink,” Hawk whispered, raised his rifle, and set his front sight on one of the does. “You take that young buck. All right?” Swift Runner nodded. When the deer went down to the edge of the water and stopped to drink, both hunters pulled their triggers. Hawk knocked one down, cranked another cartridge in, and downed a second one, while Swift Runner’s shot hit the young buck in his haunch, crippling him. The rest of the deer bolted across the creek with the wounded buck trying to hobble after them. With a third cartridge already in the chamber, Hawk quickly brought the buck down.

  “I did not kill him,” Swift Runner cried out, disappointed with his performance.

  “You did good,” Hawk said. “You hit him and that’s real good for your first shot with that rifle. You just haven’t gotten to know that rifle yet. I’da most likely done the same thing if I was shootin’ that rifle for the first time. Let’s go put ’em outta their misery.”

  * * *

  Since the deer hunters were but a few hours’ ride from the Blackfoot camp, Hawk decided to throw the carcasses on their horses and take them back there to skin and butcher. He figured they might as well go where there was plenty of willing help to prepare the meat. He had in mind delivering the supply of fresh meat, then saying a quick farewell, anxious to get back on Booth’s trail. With Swift Runner’s help, he loaded the buck and the smaller doe on the extra horse. The other doe was loaded onto Rascal with him.

  When they rode into camp, the reception was as he expected from the near-starving people. Everyone was eager to help, so all he had to do was unload the deer and Wounded Bear’s people did the rest. He stood and watched for a few minutes while S
wift Runner talked excitedly about the place to find deer so near their village. Ready to leave, Hawk prepared to say good-bye to old Wounded Bear, but he was delayed when the women of the camp came to thank him. Each one was eager to thank him for his help. Waiting for the other women to thank him, Walks Along, Black Elk’s wife, wanted to thank him again for bringing her husband and son back to her. “I wish that I could cook you a really fine meal to show you how much I appreciate your kindness.” She shook her head sadly, then said, “But we have had no flour, or salt, or sugar, or cornmeal for a long time. And we used what flour you had last night.”

  Before she could go further, he interrupted. “You shouldn’t feel bad about that. I’m just sorry I didn’t have more to give you.”

  She looked as if she was about to cry, and he knew he would be uncomfortable if she did. So, he quickly told her it was time for him to go; he had to get to Helena right away. Everyone else seemed to be caught up in the skinning and butchering of the three deer, so he said, “Take care of Black Elk. I hope he will soon be on his feet again, so he can hunt with Swift Runner.” He turned and went directly to his horse, climbed up into the saddle, and wheeled him back toward the path he had first entered the village on.

  So busy were the others that they took no notice of him as he rode down the path, with the exception of one. Wounded Bear raised his head in time to glimpse the tall man on the buckskin as he disappeared into the trees. Then his attention was captured by the sight of a hawk flying across the clearing to a perch in the top of a cottonwood tree. He knew it was a sign—the medicine of the hawk was strong as iron. A random thought crossed his mind, and he wondered if he were to go to the trail now, would there be a man on a horse? Or was it the hawk he had seen overhead, no longer in the form of a man?

  “Damn . . . damn . . . damn,” Hawk kept repeating as Rascal found his way back down the narrow path. “I’ve got business to attend to. I can’t waste any more time in these mountains. There’s no tellin’ if Booth and his partner are in Helena or gone on somewhere else without leavin’ a trail for me to follow.” Rascal understood his dilemma, but as usual, made no comment. “Here I am only halfway done with what I set out to do, and I’ve only recovered one fourth of the money that belongs to Donald Lewis and his people,” he went on, knowing he was losing the argument. “Oh, to hell with it,” he finally cursed, wheeled Rascal off the path, and rode up through the trees until he reached the back side of the clearing where the horses were grazing. Without getting out of the saddle, he rode into the small herd, grabbed the bridle of the horse Swift Runner had ridden on the hunt for deer, and led it back the way he had come. Then he continued on down the path, leaving the Blackfoot village to enjoy their celebration.

  CHAPTER 16

  “What tha hell . . . ?” Rufus Bodine blurted. He found it hard to believe he was seeing the man who had just walked in his store. “Hawk!” he blurted again, and started to reach for a shotgun leaning against the end of the counter.

  “Now, why in the world would you wanna do somethin’ as stupid as that?” Hawk asked as he leveled his rifle at him. “How long would you stay in business if you greeted every customer like that?” He glanced up to see Dinah Belle coming in from the kitchen, curious to see what had caused her husband to bellow. “Good evenin’, Mrs. Bodine,” Hawk said. “I just came in to buy a few supplies, and your husband went for his shotgun.” She paused in the doorway, just as astonished as her husband, not knowing what to say.

  “You got your nerve, comin’ in here,” Bodine growled, waiting for what he feared was coming.

  “Why do you say that?” Hawk replied. “You run a store, don’t you? Ain’t my money good enough for you?”

  “You know why,” Bodine shot back, his astonishment rapidly turning into anger. “You come in here, stampede my horses, and shoot one of my customers down. You’re lucky I didn’t see you ride up. I’da shot you down before you got off your horse.”

  “Now, whatever gave you that idea?” Hawk asked, still holding his rifle ready to shoot. He gave Dinah Belle an inquisitive look, as if he couldn’t understand what was possessing her husband. “Do you think I did what he said, ma’am?”

  She was not sure how to respond right away, but then answered him. “Well, somebody sure as hell did what Rufus just said.” She looked at her husband then. “Nobody ever really did get a look at who done the shootin’.” She reminded him then, “You told Booth nobody got a look at the shooter but Trip, and he was dead. It was Booth that said it was Hawk, and Booth wouldn’t go out the door. So he didn’t see who it was.”

  “You came in here askin’ me if four men came through here,” Bodine said. “Said you was tryin’ to catch up with ’em.”

  “I sure did,” Hawk said, “and you told me they were here, but kept on goin’ on their way to Helena. So I never had any reason to doubt you and I kept on goin’. They didn’t come back here, did they?” Bodine was too flustered to answer at that point. “Anyway, I ran into some friends of mine. They’re short on supplies and you’re the closest store, so that’s why I’m here—to buy supplies.” He looked from one of the Bodines to the other, both of them standing dumbfounded from the conversation just ended.

  Bodine and his wife exchanged puzzled glances, then Bodine asked, “Whaddaya need?”

  “To start, I need some flour. I’d say about a hundred pounds,” Hawk answered.

  “A hundred pounds?” Bodine repeated, surprised. “That’s half a barrel of flour.”

  “Right,” Hawk said, then proceeded to call out a few other things, like salt, sugar, beans, and coffee, all in large amounts.

  “You got the money for all this?” Bodine asked, still expecting a holdup about to occur. “Startin’ with the flour, at twenty cents a pound, that’s gonna run you about . . .”

  He paused to look at Dinah Belle then, who replied, “Twenty dollars.”

  “Right,” Bodine repeated. “Twenty dollars.”

  “Now, I’m buyin’ a lot of supplies from you, so when I buy a hundred-pound bag of flour, I expect to get a better price than that. I know things are higher out here than they are back East, but I’m thinkin’ more like a nickel a pound.”

  “Hell, I’d have to get more’n that for it. That’s damn near what I pay for it. How ’bout ten cents a pound?”

  “How ’bout eight?” Hawk countered. And so it went, with bargaining continuing with every item on his list. A fascinated bystander, Dinah Belle watched the trading, halfway excited about the size of the order and halfway expecting to be robbed of it and maybe more. When the list was completed, she added up the total cost on a paper sack and pushed it across the counter in front of Hawk. He took a moment to look it over, then said, “Looks right to me.”

  Bodine and his wife each took a step back from the counter, with Bodine inching a little closer to the shotgun at the end of the counter. Expecting some such move, Hawk walked directly to the end of the counter, picked up the shotgun, took the shells out of it, and propped it back against the counter. Then he pulled his money out of his pocket and counted out enough to pay for his purchase, a move that took both husband and wife totally by surprise. Amazed by what had just happened, Bodine’s manner was immediately converted to that of a grateful merchant. “You’re gonna need a hand loadin’ all that on your horses,” he volunteered, and came around the counter to help.

  “Much obliged,” Hawk said, and put his rifle aside so he could pick up a fifty-pound sack of flour. Dinah Belle picked the rifle up, giving him pause when he wondered if he had taken his bluff too far. But she merely followed him outside and handed it to him after he dropped the sack of flour beside his packhorse. He replaced the rifle in his saddle sling and turned to see Tom Pointer coming from the barn.

  When Tom saw who it was and both Bodine and Dinah Belle out in front of the store, he had to stop to think what to do. When Bodine, who was standing there, his arms loaded with smaller sacks, saw Tom, he said, “Don’t just stand there. Give us a hand. There
’s another fifty-pound sack of flour in there.” With eyes wide with confusion, Tom went to get the flour.

  With Tom’s help, Hawk tied the two sacks of flour on the extra horse, one sack on each side, to balance the load. Then the smaller sacks were tied on, some on the packhorse and some on Rascal’s saddle. Hawk stepped up into the saddle and nodded politely to Dinah Belle, then told Bodine, “Pleasure to do business with you,” wheeled his horse, and rode out of the yard.

  “Come back to see us,” Dinah Belle suddenly called out as he rode away, for no reason she could explain.

  Bodine looked at his wife and exclaimed, “Now, ain’t that somethin’?” He unconsciously took Hawk’s money out of his pocket and stared at it, as if it might not be real.

  Totally confused, Tom looked first at one face and then the other, searching for some explanation. When none was offered, he asked anxiously, “Am I goin’ loco? What just happened here? I thought he was the one who . . .”

  That was as far as he got before Bodine interrupted him. “Yeah, he’s the one, all right, but I don’t know. Maybe he ain’t.” He looked at his wife and said, “Didn’t none of us get a good look at who was doin’ the shootin’ when Trip Dawson got killed.”

  “And you remember,” Dinah Belle reminded him again, “Hawk was the one that kept that Blackfoot Injun from scalpin’ you when they was in here four years ago.”

  * * *

  Wounded Bear’s eyes opened slowly. Something had awakened him. He looked over at his wife, sleeping peacefully, so he knew it was much too early to get up. He lay back and closed his eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep, but then he heard it again, and he realized it sounded like the snuffling of a horse as it grazes. Concerned then that it might be a raccoon or a possum trying to get into the tipi, he roused himself up from his blanket. “What is it?” his wife asked, when she awoke to find him getting up.