Riding the Line

by Will DuRey

  Waktaya didn’t use the knife on Jane Walters. Instead, she sliced the ropes that bound Jim Braddock’s hands so that he was able to loosen, then remove the noose around his neck. He coughed and spluttered, and rubbed his fingers against the burn marks that had been inflicted by the rough rope. Waktaya held him tightly while Dean Ridgeway told the full story to the gathering; informing them that Gus Phipps had killed Harvey Goode, that it was Frank Felton’s body that had been incinerated in the burning line cabin and that the remainder of that gang lay dead on the banks of the creek that formed the boundary line between the grazing ranges.

  He didn’t have an explanation for Zeb Walters uttering Jim Braddock’s name with his final breath but assured everyone that the Red Hammer man should have been halfway to the ranch before Jim set off for the high ground looking for strays. Somewhere along the trail, Dean suggested, Zeb had fallen foul of Frank Fenton and his gang and they were responsible for his death.

  ‘Guess we owe you an apology,’ Charlie Grisham said to Jim Braddock.

  Jim didn’t respond, too angry to know what to say or even if he ever wanted to speak to these people again.

  ‘There’ll be a reward for the capture of Frank Felton and the others. You’ll be a wealthy cowpoke.’

  ‘Waktaya killed Gus Phipps,’ Jim said, the words hurting his throat and sounding like the grating of a blacksmith’s rasp against horseshoes. ‘That money is hers.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone knew that reward money wouldn’t be paid to a Sioux or to a member of any of the other tribes across the country. Jim knew it too: he just wanted them to feel a little more uncomfortable.

  ‘We’ll see to it that you get every cent you deserve.’ Dean Ridgeway told him, looking to his father for confirmation.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ said Hec. ‘When we get back to the ranch. . . .’

  ‘I’m not going back to the ranch,’ Jim declared. ‘I’ve been there ten years and I saw today how much my loyalty is worth to you. Didn’t even give me the chance to tell my story, Mr Ridgeway. You’d have swatted the horse out from under me and never given the matter another thought.’

  ‘I thought you’d killed my son,’ Hec Ridgeway said.

  ‘But I hadn’t. So you go your way and I’ll ride on with the only person I can trust.’

  There were no goodbyes. The Red Hammer riders were the first to leave, Charlie Grisham leading the way on his palomino, cutting an easterly trail that would take them south of Fetterman’s Pool and on to their own range land. A chastened Hec Ridgeway went south, leading the Broken Arrow crew, men with whom Jim had worked but who parted from him like strangers. Only young Dean Ridgeway, his head swathed in a fresh bandage, raised a hand as he passed the place where Jim and Waktaya stood.

  ‘I’ve decided,’ Jim said, picking his words with caution, unsure how the fiery Sioux woman would react to what he proposed, ‘that when you go back to Pine Ridge I’ll go with you. It’ll be safer that way.’

  ‘And if I choose not to return to the reservation?’

  Jim looked at her questioningly. He wasn’t sure where else she could go but a kind of serenity had settled on the girl and he was loath to destroy it. Even though he had no clear idea of what the future held for him he was aware that his life and Waktaya’s were now inextricably linked.

  ‘Then I’ll take you wherever you feel most safe. Where you go, I’ll go.’

  The doubt she had once had for her grandfather’s final words had long since disappeared. When Jim Braddock had pushed himself between her and the soldier’s bayonet point, she had known that her future home would be with him.

  ‘I feel safe with you,’ she said. ‘Where you stay, I will stay.’