by J. T. Edson
‘Like what?’ asked Bigelow.
‘That, Cap’n,’ drawled Resin, ‘is what we’ll have to wait to find out.’
‘You figuring to sit talking, or going to do something?’ asked Calamity, coming forward with the coffeepot.
‘Just talking for now, Calam, gal,’ Resin replied. ‘No point in figuring or doing until we know what’s happening.’
‘Are they still watching us?’ Bigelow inquired after drinking his coffee.
‘Sure,’ Resin answered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the slopes at the rear of the camp. ‘I got two of their wolfscouts spotted now.’
‘Are there more of them?’
‘Likely two more at least.’
‘Could you find them in the dark?’ asked Bigelow.
‘The two I saw, happen they stayed in the same place after dark, which same they won’t. A man don’t get to he a wolf. scout without he’s slicker’n a bad-hunted buffalo-wolf.’
‘Hum! I thought we might get rid of their scouts and pull out during the night, travel as fast as we could through the darkness—’
‘Which’d be twice too slow for a Cheyenne war-relay to follow, and follow they would. Then hit us at dawn, when all our folks were tuckered out.’
‘Amen!’ drawled Killem piously.
‘Then what do we do?’ asked the wagonmaster, ‘sit and wait?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Resin. ‘That’s just what we’re going to do—or so it looks to them scouts.’
Calamity came forward and squatted by Resin’s side. ‘Tell us about it,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve never knowed you flap your lip unless you aimed to do something at the end of it?’
‘How good are our folks with their wagons, Sam?’ the scout asked the wagonmaster.
‘Good as any I’ve seen.’
‘Good enough to harness their teams in the dark, without making a helluva noise doing it?’
The wagonmaster did not reply for a few seconds as he thought out the implications of the question. Then at last he nodded. ‘I reckon they could.’
‘Then I say we get every thing ready to roll in the morning afore daylight,’ Resin said. ‘And as soon as it’s light enough to see start them rolling out.’
‘Will that help?’ asked Bigelow.
‘Injuns are funny. They get a plan all figgered out and stick to it. But happen things go wrong, they’re plumb likely to get discouraged and give it up. So they all plan an early morning rush on the circle and expect us to fight from it. When they come in, find us pulling out fast, they could get to thinking their medicine’s gone bad on ‘em. Won’t be so eager to push home their attack then.’
‘It could work,’ Grade remarked.
‘Can’t think of a better idea off-hand,’ Killem went on. ‘Them scouts won’t be too all-fired eager to stay out on the places when they see us settle down for the night.’
‘I’m counting on it,’ Resin replied, then stopped his next words and looked at Bigelow. ‘The final decision lies with you, Cap’n.’
Bigelow did not answer immediately. Never had he been faced with such an important decision. The fate of well over a hundred lives, including one which had become very important to him, depended on the decision he made. If they stayed in a defensive circle the Indians might not attack, but they would hang around the camp, pin down the travellers and this area did not have water for a prolonged stay, nor did the train carry sufficient food for an extended siege. Yet if they broke the circle and Resin’s plan failed, they would be vulnerable to a mass assault that might easily cost every person—including his Molly—their lives.
Looking at the Scout’s face, Bigelow tried to read something from it but could not penetrate the inscrutable mask. Yet Resin would never suggest an idea he did not expect to have a better than fair chance of succeeding.
Some officers, as Bigelow knew, might have asked their subordinates to take a share of the responsibility, even to the extent of requesting Grade and Muldoon to sign statements to the effect that they took the share of arranging the plan. Bigelow could not bring himself to do that. If the decision had to come, he intended to make it himself.
Then his eyes met Eileen Tradle’s and he saw the way she smiled and nodded. Eileen must guess at his problem, but was signalling to him that she thought he could safely follow Resin’s plan.
‘We’ll give it a whirl,’ Bigelow said. ‘Now let’s get down to. arrangements. The more we plan now, the less confusion in the morning.’
After the men separated to pass word of the arrangements, Calamity, Molly and Eileen fetched in the six-horse team and hobbled it close to the wagon. While they worked none of them spoke, but at last the work ended and they had time to stand and think.
‘Will it work, Calam?’ asked Eileen.
‘Could do. Like Beau says, Injuns are funny critters. If they see we’re doing the plumb unexpected they may not make a solid attack. If they do make it—’
Calamity let her words trail off and the other two girls realised just how serious she regarded the situation, Six eyes looked at each other and then Eileen gave a shrug.
‘Oh well,’ she said, which if not very explanatory, covered her feelings.
‘Can you shoot, Boston?’ asked Calamity.
‘A little.’
‘Got a gun?’
‘Papa sent Vint a shotgun and shells along. I can use that.’
‘Less chance of loosing off and missing with shot,’ said Calamity calmly. ‘How about you, Molly?’
‘I’ve no gun and can’t shoot, but I know how to reload.’
‘That’ll do us then,’ Calamity grinned. ‘We’re riding my wagon tomorrow.’
‘But my aunt and uncle?’ asked Molly.
‘They’ll be all right. One of ole shiny-butt’s soldiers’ll be with ‘em.’
‘Come with us, Molly,’ Eileen said in a pleading tone. ‘I—l know it sounds silly, but I feel sure we’ll be lucky if we stick together.’
Calamity laughed. ‘Damned if I wanted to admit it afore you well-eddicated city gals, but I feel the same way.’
‘And what if the plan fails?’ Molly asked.
Slipping an arm around the little schoolteacher’s shoulders, Calamity gave her a gentle squeeze.
‘Then we’ll know our medicine’s gone bad on us, gal—and I’ll make damned good and sure the Injuns don’t get either of you alive.’
‘Will the Cheyenne destroy everything if they succeed?’ Eileen asked.
‘Likely,’ Calamity replied.
‘Oh!’
‘Hey, now, cheer up, Boston, gal. Hell, we’re not licked yet.’
‘I know,’ Eileen smiled. ‘Now you children be good and go play while I write a letter.’
‘A letter?’ Molly gasped.
‘A funny, silly letter to my husband,’ Eileen explained. ‘Telling him how much I love him, how sorry I am that I never gave him children to carry on our family name, how I’ve been a prideful fool, and how a girl I wouldn’t have thought fit to hire as a scullery maid, much less call friend, taught me humility and—oh, a lot of silly things. I know Vint will probably never get it. But I feel that if I write it, all will go well with us.’
‘Go write it,’ Calamity said gently. slipping her other arm around Eileen’s shoulders. ‘We need all the luck we can get going for us. How about you, Molly?’
‘I—I’m frightened, Calam,’ Molly replied. ‘Afraid of death, of dying before I fulfil myself as a woman, before I even know what it is like.’
‘There’s a way of finding out,’ Eileen told her, ‘I’d talk to old shiny-butt and see what he can do about it.’
‘Before we’re married?’ Molly gasped.
‘Happen things go wrong tomorrow, gal,’ Calamity said dryly, ‘you won’t need to worry about that.’
Without another word Molly turned and walked off into the darkness. Eileen left Calamity’s side and went to the wagon where she found a pencil and paper. Sitting in the light of the fire, she wrote her lette
r. For a time Calamity stood alone, for Killem’s men were all preparing for the next day. A brooding silence hung over the camp, oppressive when one remembered the laughter and noise that usually rang out around the fires. At last Calamity gave a shrug and walked towards Eileen.
‘To hell with it, Boston,’ she said. ‘So we’re due to be massacred comes morning. I aim to enjoy life while I can.’
‘You may have a point, Calam,’ Eileen replied, folding the letter and placing it in the bosom of her dress. ‘Unless these folk are livened up, they’ll be licked before they even start in the morning.’
‘Old Jack Topman plays a mean fiddle,’ Calamity remarked.
‘Have you heard the Deane boy play a jew’s harp?’
‘Nope, but I figger it’s time we did.’
Together the two women from such different environments went around the camp and brought to bear the force of their personalities. At first the musicians they found did not seem inclined to perform, but were bullied and cajoled into doing so. Inside ten minutes of the music starting, the people of the train had forgotten their troubles and started dancing as if they had no cares.
‘Calamity’s a living wonder, so’s Boston,’ Bigelow told Molly as they stood side by side in the shadows and watched the dancing.
‘And me?’
‘You’re a darling,’ he said and his arm slid around her waist. ‘Molly—’
She looked up at him, then her arms went around his neck and her mouth met his hungrily, passionately, far different from the gentle pecks handed to him on other nights.
‘Molly!’ he breathed once more.
‘I spoke to Calamity and Eileen earlier,’ she breathed. ‘Just after the dance started.’
‘Well?’
‘Calamity’s wagon will be empty all night,’ she whispered and took his hand to lead him towards the wagon.
Half an hour later Molly knew what it was like.
At ten o’clock the dancing ended for Resin did not want a sleep-drugged force on his hands in the morning. The scout wondered where Bigelow might be, seeeing Grade making the rounds, and so went to find Calamity to see if she could offer any suggestions.
‘Let’s go look down by my wagon,’ she replied.
‘Sure,’ he answered, but on reaching the side of the girl’s wagon could see no sign of the captain. ‘Where’s Boston at?’
‘Gone to spend the night with Molly’s aunt. Johnson’s on guard and she don’t cotton to being alone.’
‘Molly’d be there.’
‘Nope,’ Calamity answered and something in her tone stopped any further questions Resin might have felt like asking on that subject.
‘In the wagon?’ he asked.
‘Underneath,’ Calamity replied. ‘There’s no room inside.’
‘Huh huh,’ said Resin.
Although he had never owned a watch, Resin woke just after half-past two in the morning. As he moved in the blankets, Calamity stirred beside him and her bare arm slid around his neck. Hungrily her mouth crushed up to his.
‘Time we was thinking about moving, gal,’ he said.
‘So move,’ she replied sleepily.
Fifteen minutes later Resin sat on the blankets, drawing on his shirt and ignoring a pair of cavalry boots which swung down from the wagon. Calamity hurriedly buttoned her shirt and reached for her gunbelt as Bigelow walked away from the wagon carrying his weapon belt in his hands.
‘Get going, Beau,’ she breathed. ‘And good luck.’
All around the camp people were stirring as the sentries went around waking them up. The fires had been allowed to die down, except for one in the centre of the circle and that did not give much light. However, the travellers had been handling harness for long enough to know how to hitch up their teams whether they could see properly or not. Of course, the business could not be done in absolute silence, but it was handled with the minimum of noise.
Following Bigelow’s orders, the men and older boys handled the harnessing of teams and saddling of horses while the womenfolk stayed in the wagons and kept the children quiet. Everything went according to plan, with only minor, easily handled problems coming up.
Carrying a darkened lantern, Eileen arrived at Calamity’s wagon and found one of her friends spluttering sotto voce curses while harnessing the six horse team. As for her second friend—on climbing into the wagon and removing the cover from her lantern, Eileen found Molly seated glassy-eyed on the bed and still wearing her underclothes, her frock lying on the floor with her stockings and shoes.
‘It was wonderful, Eileen,’ she sighed.
‘So I recollect,’ Eileen replied dryly. ‘Come on, kid, get dressed while I see if Calamity needs any help.’
However, Calamity needed no help for she had harnessed her team and was already swinging aboard. All around the camp leather creaked and silence fell as men finished their work and prepared for the departure that would come with the ever growing light. Soon it would be light enough for them to see and when that happened—well, maybe it would be the last dawn any of them saw. Somewhere in the darkness the Cheyenne were gathering and already their coyote-yip signals began to ring out.
‘Got your gun ready, Boston?’ asked Calamity, uncoiling her whip and shaking the kinks out of it.
‘Right here,’ Eileen answered, lifting a magnificent Purdey shotgun from a walnut and brass case.
‘Load it,’ Calamity ordered. ‘Is it clean?’
‘I did it while you pair were holly-gagging around last night.’
‘You scared, Boston?’ grinned Calamity.
‘I’m scared, are you?’
‘Sure. So scared that I reckon I’ll do every blasted thing right when the time comes, same as you pair will. You did last time there was a mite of fuss. Say, I wonder how the champeen’s making out?’
‘She was doing all right last night when I saw her,’ smiled Molly, her fear dying at the other pair’s example. ‘She and Muldoon disappeared into the darkness.’
‘There was a lot of that going on,’ Calamity remarked. ‘Break open a box of shells for my carbine, Molly, gal, and stop blushing.’
Bigelow and Resin appeared, leading their horses. Looking like butter would not melt in his mouth, and acting as formal and polite as if attending a ball at the White House, the captain touched his hat brim.
‘Everything all right, ladies?’ he asked.
‘Right as the off-side of a hoss,’ Calamity replied. ‘And for the Lord’s sake climb up here and give the gal a kiss afore you go. Me ‘n’ Boston’ll look the other way.’
‘Calam!’ Molly gasped, blushing like a schoolgirl.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ suggested Eileen. ‘I’ll close both my eyes, Beau can come up the other side, that way you’ll both get kissed.’
‘Go on, Wade,’ grinned the scout. ‘Kiss your gal, or damned if I don’t.’
‘Let’s both kiss Boston,’ Bigelow countered.
‘Now that’s what I call a real good idea,’ smiled Eileen. ‘Only hurry and do it or we’ll have to start without.’
Both men climbed into the wagon, each kissed his girl, then both gave Eileen a resounding sthack at the same moment. With the service rendered, and their innocence of favouritism established, Resin and Bigelow. jumped from the wagon box, took their horses and rode off.
‘Damned if I ever thought I’d be kissed by a pair of unshaven men before breakfast, neither of them my husband, and like it,’ Eileen stated.
‘Reckon you’ve done a lot of things you wouldn’t’ve thought possible afore you left Boston,’ Calamity answered.
Thinking of the fight on the river bank, Eileen smiled. ‘You can say that again, Miss Canary.’
The sky grew brighter by the second. Hands lifted reins, coiled around whip handles, gripped weapons. Men threw glances at their loved ones and silence lay like a cloud over the wagons. This time Calamity did not think about music, her eyes kept flickering towards the slopes around them as she waited for the signal to roll.
To one side the cavalry mounted their horses and drew the Springfield carbines from their saddleboots ready br use. Other mounted men gathered around the train’s livestock and spare horses ready to start them moving when Bigelow gave the word. From beyond the rim came coyote-yips which did not originate through four-legged throats.
‘Now?’ asked Bigelow.
‘Not just yet,’ replied Resin, gauging the distance to the Coyote-yips.
Suddenly the Cheyenne appeared, topping the surrounding rims and racing their ponies down towards what they hoped was as helpless a bunch of white brothers as could be found. The drumming of something over a hundred and fifty sets of hostile war pony hooves rumbled out but as yet the war yells had not started, they were being reserved to shatter the travellers’ sleep, to jar them into awoken confusion and add to the certain defeat of the hated people who had taken the Cheyenne lands.
Which would have worked a treat if it had not been for Beau Resin’s plan.
‘Let ‘em roll,’ Resin hissed in Bigelow’s ear.
‘Charge!’
Out rang Bigelow’s command, sent forth on the expelled air from a powerful pair of lusty young lungs. Echoing the shout came the wild war scream of the Comanche and that whole column sprang into movement.
Up rose the wagonmaster’s arm, then his whip lash snapped out to crack over the expectant heads of his team. The horses, waiting restlessly for their signal to go, thrust into their harness and the wagon lurched forward, turning from the circle and off in the direction of the west coast. Showing his attendance to orders, the driver of the second wagon started his team moving an instant later and the herd handlers closed in to move the stock into wakefulness ready to go. Wagon after wagon, as its turn came, rocked forward, urged on by cracking whip and bawled out profanity. The Cheyenne braves’ wild war shouts rose and faltered in confusion as they saw the exodus begin.
‘Fire!’ roared Bigelow to his men as half the circle disintegrated and became a moving line.