The Savage Trail

by Jory Sherman

“He’s the one what told me about it.”

  “What about Chet Newgate?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Lieutenant Newgate acted real funny last time I talked to him. Like he wanted to wash his hands of the whole deal. I wanted some supplies for the redskins and he turned me down.”

  “Does he want more money? Is that it?” Ollie asked.

  “I asked him that. He just shook his head. Said he didn’t have none of what we wanted. I told Cap’n Jubal Fry about it, askin’ if he could have a talk with Newgate.”

  “And what did Fry say?”

  “Said he’d look into it.”

  “And did he?”

  “Ain’t heard back since. But he didn’t act surprised. He mumbled somethin’ but when I asked him what he was sayin’, he just changed the subject.”

  “I don’t like none of it, Army. Do we have enough guns for the redskins?”

  “I dunno. Red Eagle says he has twenty more braves that need rifles and pistols. I told him I wanted to see ’em, and he looked at me like I was a bug or somethin’.”

  “Where in hell would he get twenty more braves? I think the bastard’s lyin’,” Hobart said.

  “Me, too. And I don’t trust Fry no more, neither.”

  “Fry is the key to this whole deal. He’s supposed to keep the army off our asses when we jump them miners up in Dead Horse Canyon.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that no more.”

  “Is there something else you need to tell me, Army? Anythingyou’re holdin’ back?”

  “I think we ought to go ahead with what we got and to hell with the soldier boys.”

  Hobart scratched his chin, closed his eyes for a second, then waved a hand in the air. Army waited for some comment on his suggestion, but Hobart just bunched up his lips and shook his head as if in doubt.

  “Go get Dick back here. I’ll get Rosa. Let’s get the hell out of here. Tell Red Eagle we’ll meet up with him tomorrow night.”

  “Where? He can’t come into town.”

  “His camp in the Medicine Bows.”

  “You know where it is, Ollie?”

  “Yeah. It’s a lot safer than this one. I’ll talk to Blue Snake, see if I can tell which way the wind’s blowing.”

  “I don’t trust that buck,” Mandrake said.

  “I don’t trust Red Eagle. Not anymore.”

  Mandrake swore, got to his feet. He started walking to the lookout post where Dick Tanner was standing guard. Ollie signed to Red Eagle, telling him to wait for him. He stood up and walked off in the direction he had sent Rosa and Blue Snake.

  Blue Snake was pulling on a bottle of whiskey from Rosa’s Cantina when Ollie walked into the small clearing. Rosa sat nearby, her skirt hiked up high, nearly to her thighs. She wore a wicked smile on her face.

  Ollie walked up to Blue Snake, jerked the bottle from his hands, and drove a fist into his face. Blue Snake’s eyes rolled in their sockets. Blood squirted from his nose and mouth. He fell to one side as if he were poleaxed.

  Ollie turned to Rosa.

  “Pull your skirt down, you whore,” he said to her.

  “You do not order me,” she said, glaring at him with dark, malevolent eyes.

  “Rosa, you’ve just about wore out your welcome. You want to lie with the bucks, I’ll sell you to Red Eagle. He sure as hell would be a hero if he took you back to his camp and turned you over to his bucks.”

  “You would not do such a bad thing,” she said.

  “You drunk?”

  “No. I gave the Indian a swallow, that is all. It is hot and I was cooling my legs.”

  She pulled her skirt down and stood up, brushed herself off.

  “You know what firewater does to Injuns, Rosa.”

  “I know.”

  “It makes ’em mean. Makes ’em want to go on the warpath. You ought to know better.”

  “You leave me alone with this Indio. I am not good enough for you to keep me by your side when you talk. I give the Indioa drink. What is so bad about that?”

  Ollie walked over to her, drew his arm back, and slapped her on the cheek. She gasped and staggered backward. Her hand went to her face. Tears filled her eyes. She opened her mouth. He clamped it shut.

  “You scream, Rosa, or you say one damned word and I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life and leave you to the buck. Now get on your horse. We’re ridin’ out of here.”

  Ollie took his hand away. Rosa wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve.

  “Wh-where do we go?” she asked.

  “Into town. But you’re on a short leash, Rosa. You got that?”

  “You are a cruel man, Ollie Hobart,” she said.

  “Rosa, you don’t know what mean is yet.”

  There was a dirty towel on the ground. Ollie stooped over, picked it up, and wrapped the whiskey bottle in it. He put the bottle back in Rosa’s saddlebag as she was untying her horse’s reins from a small juniper bush. Then he walked over to Blue Snake, grabbed him by the braid, and jerked the brave to his feet.

  “No drink firewater,” he said to Blue Snake.

  Blue Snake just glared at him.

  “Go back,” Ollie said, gesturing toward the camp.

  Blue Snake dropped a hand to the butt of his pistol.

  “You draw that pistol, Blue, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

  The Indian’s eyes narrowed, then widened. But he dropped his hand away from his pistol and started walking back to the camp.

  “Un dia,” Rosa muttered under her breath, “voy a cortar sus juevos de su cuerpo y tirar a los puercos.” Ollie didn’t hear her, and if he did, he wouldn’t have understood the Spanish.She had said that one day she would castrate him and throw his balls to the hogs.

  CAMP WAS BREAKING UP WHEN THEY GOT BACK. ARMY HAD returned with Dick Tanner, and the Indians were retrieving their horses.

  “I’m glad to get out of here,” Tanner said. “I got dents in my back from sleepin’ on rocks. Army says we’re going into town.”

  “Soon as that sun sets,” Ollie said. “And we’re going in separate-like. Not in a bunch. Dick, you take Rosa to the hideout.I’ll ride in with Army since he knows the way.”

  Dick pulled himself into the saddle. Ollie mounted up.

  “What did you do to Blue Snake?” Army asked.

  “I weaned him from the whiskey,” Ollie said, darting an angry glance at Rosa. She turned her head away from him.

  The sun had set behind the mountains. Long shadows painted the land, puddled up under trees. A cool wind sprang up, riffled through the pines, dislodging cones that fell soft atop the brown pine needles. The blue drained from the sky in the east and the high clouds turned pale pink, with edges bright as smelted silver.

  “I go with Tanner?” Rosa asked.

  “Yes,” Ollie replied.

  “Where do we go? To a hotel?”

  “A house,” Ollie said. “You just do what Dick says. Dick, if she gives you any trouble, knock her in the head with the butt of your pistol.”

  “Aw, Ollie, she’s a woman.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Dick. She was about to let Blue Snake put the boots to her.”

  “Do not talk about me like that, Ollie,” Rosa said. “I am a good woman.”

  “We’ll see about that, Rosa. Now git, the both of you.”

  He watched as Rosa and Dick took one of the paths down to the flat. Soon, they disappeared. Ollie and Army were alone.

  “You shouldn’t have brought that Mex with you, Ollie. She’s already trouble. I smelled whiskey on Blue Snake’s breath. Whiskey and blood where you broke his nose. I think you maybe got an enemy there.”

  “Where did you get the idea that any of these redskins weren’t my enemy, Army?”

  “I dunno. You been friends with Red Eagle a long time.”

  “Army, I ain’t got no friends. And if I did, it wouldn’t be no red nigger.”

  “Yeah,” Army said. He pulled himself into the saddle.

  The clouds were turning to
ash in a dusky sky. The wind stiffened.

  “You ready to ride in, Ollie?” Army asked.

  “Just take it slow. After we get to the hideout house, I want you to send Tanner in to get Fry and Newgate out there. We got to have a serious powwow or this whole operation’s going to turn to shit.”

  A jay squawked somewhere in the pines and there were dark holes in between the trees. A solemnity settled over the land. By the time they reached the flat, it was dark and quiet.

  Like a graveyard.

  19

  Ben cut into his steak as if preparing to dine on his last meal. Watery blood trickled onto his plate from the partially done center of the meat. He forked a bite into his mouth and chewed it until it was small enough to swallow.

  “I almost heard that one moo when you touched a knife to it, Ben,” John said.

  “I like my beef almost raw.”

  “To grow hair on your chest?”

  “You could use a little on yours, sonny.”

  “I like my meat cooked. It’s what separates me from the savage animal.”

  “Nothing separates you from the savage animal, Johnny.”

  “Let’s not whistle that tune again, Ben.”

  John stabbed a cluster of string beans and dropped them into his mouth.

  The Chaparral Café was not crowded at that hour. Two men sat at a side table against the wall; two women chatted at one near the back. Ben and John sat near the middle and felt the heat from the wood stove that was set against the other wall, behind a small counter. A Mexican woman had waited on them and now sat at the counter, saying her beads, while the cook, a skinny Mexican in his twenties, added boiling water to a sink full of plates, cups, eating utensils, a fry pan, and some bowls. A fly roamed its buzzing path overhead, finally landing on the ceiling.

  “Well,” Ben said, “you got the name, anyways.”

  “John?”

  Ben chuckled.

  “I was thinking of Savage,” he said.

  “Well, you always were slow, Ben,” John cracked.

  Ben cut another chunk of steak, sawing it into a bite-sized square, and stuffed it into the corner of his mouth. John drank a swallow of warm beer, then cut into a boiled potato.

  The waitress finished her silent recitation and slipped the rosary into the pocket of her apron. One of the women at the back table called to her.

  “Elena, more tea, please.”

  “Chure,” Elena said. “Un momento.”

  The other two men slurped soup from a pair of bowls. One dabbed a flour tortilla onto his plate, soaked it with juices, and popped it into his mouth. They looked like brothers, were in their thirties, and wore homespun shirts, work boots, and faded denims. They spoke in English, talked about some girls they knew. The fly paid them a visit and one of them swatted the air in front of his face.

  John was eating fast; he kept looking out the front window.

  Ben chewed his steak slowly, his back to the street.

  “We could maybe stay the night and rest up, Johnny. With that extry money you got from the horse sale.”

  “No, we’ll go on.”

  “Shit fire, John. Can’t some things wait a damned day?”

  “Some things can. Laundry, currying, a good foot soak.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” Ben said.

  “Not on important things. Every minute Hobart draws a breath is a minute too long for me.”

  “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  “Mine is already too cold, Ben. Finish that steak and let’s make some miles before sundown.”

  “I’d like to air out my sweaty old bedroll, sleep on a soft mattress tonight.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “We’ll find us bunks in Fort Laramie,” John said.

  “That a promise, Johnny?”

  John nodded, finishing off his steak. The fly landed in a puddle of spilled beer. Ben brought a glass down on top of it, mashing the fly into a squish of blood and goo.

  Within the half hour, the two men were riding out of Cheyenne, heading for Fort Laramie. The sun had slid from its zenith and was now burning their faces and eyes. They pulled their hat brims down and hunched over their pommels, the horses swatting at deer flies like a pair of hairy metronomes. Swick, swish, swick, swish. The gray flies drew blood on both Ben’s and John’s arms. The stings were just another series of annoyances among many as the summer sun boiled the beer out of their flesh, leaving a residue of attractants for the murderousdeer flies.

  The road was well traveled and they passed numerous roads branching off to unknown parts—ranches, prospecting sites, other towns; they did not know. They nodded to people heading for Cheyenne, families, single riders, couples on wagons or pulling carts with burros. Toward late afternoon, the traffic thinned out and they rode across a quiet deserted land where hawks flew over broken country, their shadows rippling over rocks and uneven ground. Prairie swifts darted in pairs toward the east and buzzards floated high in the sky, whirling slowly in circles with only an occasional flap of wings.

  “A man could get mighty lonesome in this country,” Ben said as the sun blazed at them head-on in its slow slide to the western horizon.

  “It makes a man think,” John said. “Makes him feel mighty small.”

  “Oh, I felt small when we was up in the mining camp,” Ben said. “All them mountains loomin’ over our heads. But it’s differentout here. The mountains don’t seem so big, but the land, it just swallers up a man. Like there ain’t no end to it.”

  “It’s a bigger country than I ever imagined, all right,” John said.

  “Sometimes, when they’re ain’t no people about, none on the road, and all, it feels like we’re the onliest ones still alive. Like somethin’ come along and swept all the people away, blew the towns to dust. All that sage and chaparral, lizards and snakes, turkey buzzards and hawks. This ain’t no place for people, I’m thinkin’.”

  “People live here.”

  “Where?”

  “Off in the mountains or on the plain, I reckon.”

  Ben shuddered, as if he had been struck by a sudden chill.

  “Why would a man want to live out here?”

  “Some folks like it quiet and peaceful, Ben. I don’t mind it. And out on the prairie a man can see a long ways. In every direction.Might be some comforting to a lot of folks.”

  “Not to me. I got to know there’s a house over the next hill, with people in it, some stock grazin’, a pond with catfish in it, and roads goin’ by with people wavin’ as they pass.”

  “You better move back East, then, Ben. You’d go plumb crazy out here.”

  Suddenly, Ben straightened in the saddle and peered straight ahead. He tried shading his eyes, but he was staring straight into the sun.

  “Damn,” he said. “I thought I saw somethin’ up ahead yonder.”

  “What?”

  “I dunno. Dust. Road twists and all them little buttes and such, it’s hard to see a long way down this road.”

  John looked.

  He thought he saw a shift in the light, a haze where the sun shot small rays in every direction. The sun was blinding, but he looked off to the side and thought he saw a dust cloud waftingeasterly, reddish and yellow and amber, like whiskey in a cut glass when the light strikes it just right.

  “It isn’t anything,” John said, but he didn’t sound too sure of himself.

  “A lot of dust, looks like.”

  “Ben, I’ve been seeing lakes and ponds and tall oak trees all afternoon. The light plays tricks on you.”

  “Maybe. But that’s a lot of dust for nothin’.”

  “Cattle running, maybe.”

  John saw that there was more dust than before, a larger cloud. It looked thicker toward the ground and then almost vaporousas it rose in the air.

  “Look at Gent’s ears, John.”

  John saw Gent lift his head. His ears were twisting like weather vanes in the wind. His nostri
ls were distended as if he were sniffing the air, trying to pick up a scent.

  “Maybe he sees that dust, too,” John said.

  “Hell, it’s getting closer. Buffalo?”

  “I don’t know. Could be. If so, we’re right in their path.”

  “Maybe we ought to ride off, way off, just in case.”

  “Let’s wait awhile, see if we can make out what’s raising all that dust.”

  John stood up in the stirrups. There was a lot of dust now. He could see it plain. Getting closer. His forehead knitted in thought. If a herd of buffalo was stampeding, they were sure in the way. They could be trampled unless they could ride away, outrun them.

  “Can’t see a thing, damn it,” Ben said. “Just a whole lot of dust.”

  “Look away for a minute. Then, just look at the road, see if you can see anything moving toward us.”

  “Good idea.”

  Ben looked off to the side. So did John. John closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. There wasn’t any dust anywhere else but straight ahead. And no wind to speak of. Just a light zephyr blowing down from the mountains.

  “It’s dust all right. Stirred up by animals or people. But it’s not moving fast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it doesn’t look like something stampeding. Maybe a bunch of wagons or riders.”

  “Could be, I reckon,” Ben said.

  They rode on and the dust seemed to vanish only to rise up again, closer.

  “I-I think I see somethin’,” Ben said after a few minutes had passed by.

  John narrowed his eyes and stared down the road, just below where the sun hung like a pale buttercup above the horizon.

  Movement. Little dark specks. Dust spooling out behind whatever it was. Wider than the road. A puzzling sight just then, he thought.

  “I see something, too,” John said. “Riders? Men on horseback?”

  “Too far to tell just yet.”

  Ben stood up in the stirrups to give himself a longer view. His horse snorted and switched its tail, flapping at deer flies.

  A few more minutes passed by as the two men rode more slowly down the road. John was ready to spur Gent and turn him off to the west or even double back, if need be. He felt his muscles tauten and tingle with an electric surge that always came when there was danger.