The Ghost Dancers (A Crossed Arrows Western Book 2)

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “I’ll be with you fellers in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Leo said.

  Ludlow and O’Rourke sat down on a couple of the chairs lined up along the wall. Hawkins, however, remained standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He gazed directly at Leo.

  The barber, aware of the scrutiny, grew nervous as he ran the straight razor over his client’s face. He finished up and tipped the back of the chair into an upright position. “There you go, Lester. That’ll be a dime.”

  Lester Watkins, a member of the church, pulled a coin out of his pocket and handed it over. “Okay, Leo. You got me looking right fine for when I stand in front of our Savior.”

  “Hallelujah!” the barber replied.

  The customer walked out of the shop, and Leo nodded to the three men. “Who’s next?”

  O’Rourke stood up. “We didn’t come here for barbering, Leo. Me and these two officers has got some questions to ask you.”

  “I remember you fellers,” Leo said in a friendly tone. “And I bet the questions are about the second coming.”

  Hawkins, still in a threatening pose, replied, “What we want to know is what do the Guerras Apaches have to do with it.”

  Leo had gone to Hezekiah after Sheriff Martin’s interrogation, and was better prepared for any future inquiries. “Them Injuns, just like the rest of us, are the instruments of the Lord in this second coming of our savior.”

  Now Ludlow joined in. “We understand that you have given them help in order that they can participate.”

  “O’course,” Leo stated emphatically. “We have taught them the Gospel of the Lord so’s they can save their souls. That’s how they’ll learn to ask for forgiveness of their sins.”

  “What about material support?” Ludlow asked. “What things have you given them?”

  “Bibles,” Leo quickly answered in accordance with Hezekiah’s instructions. “We have given ‘em bibles.”

  “What language is in those bibles?”

  “English, o’course,” Leo said. “The same language Jesus hisself speaks.”

  Ludlow frowned in puzzlement. “Jesus didn’t speak English.”

  “Why he sure did!” Leo insisted. “Ain’t you read in the bible what Jesus says? It’s all in English, ain’t it?”

  Ludlow stared into the man’s face for a full five seconds, then he asked. “What about the Indians that can’t read English?”

  Hezekiah had also covered that subject with Leo. The barber announced, “The words miraculously change into Apache so they can understand ‘em.”

  O’Rourke, realizing they were getting nowhere, announced. “I think we better head down to Hezekiah’s store.”

  Leo watched them walk out of his shop, thinking how ignorant army officers must be.

  The stroll down the boardwalk was short and when O’Rourke led them into the dry goods store, they were met by Mrs. Mildred Woodward. “Hello, Marshal. How are you this fine day?”

  “I’m well, thank you, Missus Woodward,” he replied. After introducing the officers, he asked, “We’d like to talk with Hezekiah.”

  At that moment the pastor appeared from the storeroom. “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

  “Yeah,” O’Rourke said, then presented Hawkins and Ludlow yet another time. “We’re curious about this here second coming you been preaching to the local folks.”

  “The Lord Jesus will be here in Hope Wells anytime now.”

  Ludlow, a bit flabbergasted after the visit with Leo, asked, “Do you think Jesus spoke English like he does in the bible?”

  “O’course not,” Hezekiah replied with a grin of amusement. “He spoke Jewish. That’s what he was, y’know. A Jewish carpenter.”

  Ludlow was irritated by now. “He spoke Aramaic.”

  “He did not!” Hezekiah retorted. “He was not an Arab, he was a Jew just like I said. I’m a minister of the Lord and I know what I’m talking about.”

  Now Hawkins’ temper snapped. “I don’t care what he spoke. I want to know what things — I say again, things — have you given to the Guerras Apaches?”

  “Bibles,” Hezekiah said, repeating the lie he had instructed Leo to use.

  “Tell me what they’re gonna do for you in this second coming,” Hawkins stated, wanting to compare his reply with Leo’s.

  “When the time is right, they’re gonna fire their rifles straight up in the air. That thundering noise is gonna be louder’n Gabriel’s horn. At the instant that happens, all the sinners of this entire world are gonna fall over dead. And their miserable souls are going to hell to burn in the eternal flames of damnation!”

  Hawkins gave the preacher a hard look. “How d’you know all this?”

  “God told me! I am his chosen one for this great event.”

  “Does God talk to you?” Ludlow asked. “What does his voice sound like?”

  “His voice is pure and wonderful like an angel singing, young feller,” Hezekiah said. “His instructions come to me in my dreams.”

  Hawkins suddenly spoke up loudly. “We know for sure those Apaches had a ghost dance. It’s a ceremony to raise the dead warriors to wage war against the whites. We had the same situation at Fort Sill in the Indian Territory. The tribes at the agency had a ghost dance to call a messiah to raise up their dead warriors. They said this was the second time he would be on earth and that the whites killed him the first time. And a lot of whites figured this meant the second coming of Christ. But nothing ever came of it.”

  Hezekiah smirked. “That would’ve been ‘cause their faith wasn’t strong enough.”

  Hawkins could see they were getting nowhere. “Well, Mr. Woodward, we thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome,” Hezekiah replied, “and I’m Pastor Woodward.”

  The three left the store and stood out on the boardwalk. O’Rourke pointed down the street. “There’s a grocery store thataway if you fellers are inter’sted in buying some decent vittles. I’m gonna pick up some stuff for myself since I’m eventually gonna have to go to Fort Stryker to attend the trial of that whiskey peddler.”

  “Let’s get our horses,” Hawkins said. “We can fill our saddlebags up with enough decent snacks for the detachment.”

  They started back to the hitching rack in front of Leo’s barbershop, noting several ongoing discussions and arguments among the people on the street.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The full moon cast a strong illumination over the Hope Wells train depot. This would generally be a great disadvantage in a sneak attack, but the risk was canceled out by the stealth of Pontaro and the six warriors with him as they approached the building. Zeke Mason, the station manager and lay brother of the Christian Worship Church, dozed at his desk, and didn’t hear a sound as the Guerras Apaches eased inside the door.

  Pontaro, in the lead, raised his hatchet and brought it down with all his strength on Zeke’s head. The instrument’s blade struck so hard and deep that the man’s eyeballs popped out of their sockets. The attackers, ignorant of how the communication instrument functioned, took their hatchets and began chopping it up until it was a shattered clutter of metal.

  Now Hope Wells had no communication with the outside world.

  With that done the Indians left the building. It took them only a few minutes to locate good cover along the south road leading from the town. The small war party set up an ambush to kill any whites that might come down the rustic thoroughfare.

  At that same moment, north of Hope Wells, Halkon tasked four teen-age boys to take care of the horses while he and Kuchiyo with two dozen warriors snuck through a stand of piñon pines. Their target was Arlo Wheatfall’s cattle ranch. A couple of dogs began to bark until hunks of mutton were tossed to them. The excited hounds began eating, managing to take a few bites before knives were driven into the back of their necks to make sure they created no further disturbance.

  With that annoyance taken care of, Halkon quickly arranged his war party in a semi-circle around the ranch yard, the
n crept forward for a closer look at the objective. No people were visible among the structures. This included the ranch house, bunkhouse and the two small buildings where the married cowboys, their wives and Mexican servant girls lived.

  At that point Halkon signaled the war party to move forward. He had divided his force into two teams. The first, under the leadership of Kuchiyo, would attack the bunkhouse where the bachelor cowboys slept, while Halkon took the second bunch to deal with the ranch house and small buildings.

  The bunkhouse raid was accomplished in a brutally short time. The Apaches rushed through the door and began firing into the bunks, walking rapidly down the two rows of sleeping cowboys. Hatchets and knives stolen from the reservation store were used to make sure all were dead. By then Halkon’s group of warriors had opened fire and charged into the smaller buildings.

  Arlo Wheatfall, a widower sleeping alone in the ranch house, came awake at the first volley of shots. He instinctively jumped up and grabbed his Winchester carbine off its wall rack. The old man, his adrenalin flowing, raced from the bedroom, going out on the porch. After a quick sizing up of the situation, he sped across the open space and entered the building where the two Mexican maids lived.

  When he burst in, he saw the two young women huddled together in one corner of the room. Their eyes were wide with fright and they trembled violently. Arlo crouched and crept toward the outer door with his carbine cocked and loaded. He came to an abrupt halt as two Apaches charged into the interior. The old rancher dropped them both, then looked outside. It took him but an instant to deduce what was happening. The yard was crowded with Apache warriors, and some were dragging the cowboys’ wives out into the open.

  Arlo turned toward the Mexican girls and shot each one, then stuck the muzzle of the weapon under his chin and pulled the trigger.

  Halkon and the other Guerras entered the building, stepping over their dead tribesmen. They were enraged when they saw that the good-looking young women were dead. Halkon mutilated Arlo’s corpse, then went back to join the gang rapes going on outside.

  Swift Horse and Michael Strongbow were on guard at the bivouac when the firing to the north erupted. Before they could alert the detachment, the officers and other scouts were out of their blanket rolls with weapons at the ready. Sergeant Eagle Heart arranged the scouts in a skirmish line facing the direction of the shooting.

  Suddenly all was quiet. Ludlow strained his ears but could hear nothing. He looked at Hawkins. “What do you think that was, sir?”

  “It’s a mystery to me, Mr. Dooley.”

  Ludlow was uncertain and confused. “Maybe that preacher told the Apaches to start shooting to begin the second coming. It sounded like there were a lot of guns going off.”

  “If that’s the case, I’d say every single Guerras warrior was firing those single-shot carbines mighty fast.”

  Eagle Heart appeared. “I send out Corp’ral Tall Bear to be with Swift Horse and Strong Bow. They watch out for trouble.”

  “Well done, Sergeant,” Hawkins acknowledged. “But there’s a chance it was just part of the ghost dance.”

  “There many shots, Cap’n,” Eagle Heart pointed out.

  Hawkins instincts told him the disturbance could be a raid. He had heard of the cattle ranch to the north. Perhaps the Guerras were making a horse-stealing attack. He knew the road coming from that direction led directly to Hope Wells.

  “Sergeant, get the men prepared for action,” he instructed. “And that means saddling the horses. I’m going to position the entire detachment across the road.”

  Eagle Heart quickly turned to the task.

  Marshal Dennis O’Rourke was dressed, and armed with carbine and pistol after being shaken from his slumber by the distant sound of shooting. He strode swiftly down the street toward the sheriff’s office. People were now appearing on the streets, many wailing about the end of the world coming while others were down on their knees holding their hands skyward, praying and weeping. But the majority were armed and silent.

  O’Rourke wasn’t surprised to see that Sheriff Dan Mason and Deputy Arnie Schmidt were already at the jail when he arrived. “What the hell’s going on?” the marshal asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mason answered. “But I’m heading over to Hezekiah Woodward’s house to find out if he’s got anything to do with this.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Mason left Arnie behind to keep order until he and O’Rourke returned. When they arrived at the pastor’s house they noted lantern light in the parlor. Mason banged hard on the front door, yelling, “Open up, Hezekiah! And do it quick!”

  The preacher instantly appeared, obviously having dressed fast. His face was pale. “Hello, Dan.”

  “D’you have anything to do with that shooting that broke out a while ago?”

  “Uh … I don’t think so.”

  Mildred Woodward, wearing a dressing gown, appeared in the parlor. “Is this the second coming, Hezekiah?”

  “Could be,” he said. “Maybe our Savior is out at the Guerras reservation making the Apaches shoot and send sinners to hell.”

  “That shooting came from the north not the west,” O’Rourke said. “And it sounded like there was a coupla hunnerd guns going off.”

  Leo Horton showed up, his voice trembling. “Hezekiah! Hezekiah! What’s going on? Has the second coming begun? We got to get out there!”

  The sight of his deacon calmed the pastor a bit. “Hello, Leo.”

  O’Rourke grabbed Hezekiah by the arm and shook him hard. “Don’t give me any of that second coming shit. Is that them Apaches shooting?”

  “Oh, my God!” Hezekiah cried. “I don’t know who they are! I swear I don’t. This ain’t the way things is supposed to be.”

  Back at the bivouac, Mack Hawkins ordered the detachment to mount up for a withdrawal into town. Since the captain had no idea of who or how many shooters were to the north, he led his command the short distance to Hope Wells to prepare for a possible attack.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The one characteristic that hampered the Indians most in their fight against the United States Army was their marked lack of discipline. They were warriors not soldiers, and had a very loose chain of command that they only obeyed when the mood suited them. Many times, when engaged in battle, they became individualistic, losing all concept of mission accomplishment. Instead, their ingrained fighting spirit caused them to seek personal glory; such as counting coup. This was done by physically touching one of the enemy during close encounters, but did little to affect the results of battle. Now in the yard of that cattle ranch they could celebrate, believing they would soon see thousands of ghost warriors brought back to life.

  The cowboys’ wives had endured gang rapes by one warrior after the other, and now lay dead. With sexual desires satiated, the Apaches had bludgeoned the women with their rifle butts. Now the war party was looting buildings and setting fires. Some even put on women’s dresses and danced around while their tribesmen laughed and whooped.

  Then the men of the Cuadrilla found the whiskey in the storehouse.

  Now with a liquor supply within reach and the imminent massacre of all whites not long off, the Guerras fighters lost control. Halkon and Kuchiyo made no attempt to stop the drunken celebration. The two senior warriors drank no liquor, wanting to be sober when the ghost warriors appeared.

  Dennis O’Rourke and Sheriff Dan Martin were back on Main Street after being completely exasperated by the rambling, weeping hysterics of Hezekiah and Leo. People were milling around, talking and gesturing, while a few were still praying for mercy and forgiveness from their God.

  The crowd became even more emotional when Hawkins and Ludlow rode into town with the scouts. Most were relieved by the sight, thinking the detachment had something to do with the shooting. But that outlook faded away when Hawkins and Ludlow dismounted and began an urgent conversation with Marshal O’Rourke and Sheriff Martin. It was now obvious to the gawkers that something sinister wa
s going on.

  Then flames suddenly appeared on the northern horizon.

  During the last Apache uprising the town was only attacked once. The Indians couldn’t penetrate the heavy defenses thrown up by the heavily armed population. This forced them to turn their attention to making numerous raids on outlying ranches and farms.

  “That’s Arlo Wheatfall’s place yelled!” somebody yelled.

  Immediately all the men in the crowd headed for home to grab guns and bring their families to the buildings on Main Street as they had in the past. It was painfully obvious that the Guerras Apaches had gone on the warpath once more.

  Sheriff Martin grabbed Deputy Schmidt’s arm. “Get down to the depot and tell Zeke Mason to telegraph Fort Stryker for help.”

  Hawkins quickly ordered the scouts to take their horses and secure them inside the livery. Sergeant Eagle Heart set the order into motion, and led his charges to the stables. With that done, they formed up and followed Ludlow to the north side of town to set up a preliminary line of defense.

  In the meantime, Arnie Schmidt galloped south on the road toward the depot. He had just reached a point where he saw the roof of the building, when a well-aimed bullet from Pontaro hit him in the chest. Arnie somersaulted over his horse’s back and crashed to the ground.

  The sounds of the shooting at Arlo’s ranch had been faint at the railroad tracks, but the keen ears of Pontaro and his small band heard it plainly. Now, with an obvious attempt by the whites to telegraph for help, the warriors rushed back to their horses. They leaped into buckskin saddles, ready to attack the town in accordance with Halkon’s plan.

  With Pontaro in the lead they rode hell bent toward Hope Wells. Their intentions were to draw off some of the defenders who would be firing at Halkon and his war party when they charged into the town on the other side.

  The scene in Hope Wells could best be described as organized chaos. Old emergency routines were in full swing as women and children were herded into the sturdier buildings in the business district. Meanwhile, the males of town set up a solid defense to the north, filling in the gaps between Hawkins’ scouts. A smaller group of men was situated on the south road to keep watch and wait for Deputy Arnie Schmidt to return from the train depot.