But he denied himself the relief of surrender, for he had made up his mind that, if his two companions could make it, he could also. Maybe, he hold himself as he slogged through the snow, his luck had turned. A day out from the agency, they came quite by accident on a solitary mule deer nibbling the twigs of a tree and Sammy dropped it with one shot. They butchered it at once, gorged on deer meat and packed what was left on to the complaining sled.
They saw the fires of the camp on the evening of the second day.
It was a cluster of buffalo hide tents in a shallow dell on the edge of a frozen creek. Later, when he checked it on a map, Steiner found that it was called Dead Indian Creek.
The first thing the agent noticed about it was its utter defenselessness. It could be attacked across open land on the creek side. It could be attacked from a ridge on the west, covered with pines. To the south, running down the slope and clustered along the edge of the creek were birches and willows and here was what was left of the horse herd. There were no guards on the animals. In this weather they were not going anywhere, except to maybe drift before the wind. Certainly nobody was going to come to steal them.
The night, he remembered later, was a particularly beautiful one. The sky had cleared itself of cloud and the moon rode serenely amid an ocean of stars, bright and cold in a dark half-sphere. The temperature had dropped. When a man spat, the spittle crackled in the air.
Not only the horses were unguarded. The whole encampment was without a sentinel. He did not know if this demonstrated trust or despair. The Sioux with them, now a familiar, addressed as Hawk and admitting to a little English, shouted out that he was here with food. That brought them from the tipis, huddled against the cold, faces drawn, tight lips sucking reluctantly on the icy air. They stood and gazed in wonder at the treasures that had been brought.
Steiner said to Sammy: ‘Just forget your Sioux part, Sam. I have to know if the Sioux here have been in a fight with the soldiers. It’s important. It’ll make all the difference to how I play this.’
Sammy nodded. Whether that meant he would do so or merely that he understood, Steiner could not tell. He caught Sammy by the sleeve – ‘I want to know if any of them are wounded.’
‘All right, Captain,’ Sammy said. ‘We both know they’ve been fighting and we know some of them will be wounded.’
‘I have to be sure.’
White Bull appeared in front of him. They did not know each other well, but they had met a couple of times. In their alien but close worlds, both knew to a nicety the other’s reputation. The Cheyenne knew Steiner for a just man, a former soldier who had fought the Cheyenne. Steiner put White Bull down as a wise old bird who was trying to survive in an almost impossible world. Among Indians he was known as a straight man who kept his word. Whether his word was good with a whiteman was another matter. Steiner might sympathize with the Indians in their terrible predicament, but he was nobody’s fool.
They shook hands and Sammy gave the Indian Steiner’s greeting. White Bull returned the greeting politely and with dignity. His manner was a mixture of relief and anxiety. Steiner guessed that his relief at the supplies reaching him was profound. At the same time, he must be acutely nervous because of the presence of the Sioux warriors in his camp. He invited Steiner into the warmth of his tent. Steiner asked that the supplies be put in a safe place. They were limited and they would have to be rationed out carefully. That, White Bull suggested, should be the responsibility of the Kit Fox chief. That was the society then doing police duty for the band. There were three Kit Foxes in his band and they were highly responsible men. Steiner agreed.
Inside the tent, the agent was almost suffocated by the heat, the smell of human bodies, food and other domestic smells that clung to an Indian home. At the same time, it was vastly reassuring to know that such warmth and primitive comfort still existed. With enormous relief, he shucked his heavy buffalo coat and relaxed on a hide rug, leaning against a back-rest. He sighed his contentment and old White Bull smiled. Through Sammy he said that Steiner had come a long way and that he was a good man. They were not starving, but they had been on short rations for some days. If he had not come, they would all have suffered greatly. Game, it seemed, had departed before the snow. Sammy gave the deer meat to the chief’s women and they had it into the pot over the fire in no time at all. Steiner’s stomach juices went wild at the smell of the stewing venison.
After the leisurely exchanges of polite Indian society, but in a shorter time than was usual, they got down to cases. The women chattered softly among themselves. One of them, White Bull’s daughter probably, was a remarkably fine-looking girl, dark for a Cheyenne and with delicate features. She was very shy with Steiner in the tent. Three or four little children, dark-eyed and full of wonder, concentrated their gazes hard on the whiteman. Two young men watched the agent with expressionless faces. Steiner asked the chief if he and his family would care for a little whiskey. The chief said that he had no objection to spirits in moderation. Everybody there, except the children, helped Steiner empty his small flask and that seemed to break the ice a little. Even the young men were able to unfreeze their faces a little. Steiner made White Bull a present of some tobacco. The old man’s smile broadened. Later, perhaps, they would smoke the pipe together. Steiner nodded and smiled.
Suddenly, they were launched into serious talk. Steiner would speak, Sammy would translate and the old man would sit and think calmly before making his reply. After a while, he asked Steiner if he had any objection to two of the elders joining them. Steiner had no objection. They exchanged pleasantries while a youngster fetched the men.
One was a tall, handsome man with a grave, triangular face; an experienced man, but scarcely old enough to be called an elder. He looked intelligent, quick and, at first, slightly resentful of the whiteman. His name was Walks-a-Long-Time. The other was a man older than the chief, bent of back and white haired. He seemed to be half-asleep when he entered and to drop off to sleep completely when he settled himself down. He was called Old Horse.
White Bull appeared not to refer to either of them in the talk that followed. For the most part, they listened (or at least Walks did), but neither spoke. It became clear to Steiner that White Bull was convinced that the army did not intend to protect his band. He had brought his people here to get well clear of the fighting so that the soldiers would know beyond all doubt that they had not taken part in attacks on the soldiers or anybody else.
‘I have brought with me an American flag,’ Steiner said. ‘No soldier would fire on his own flag. You know that it is sacred to us.’
The chief nodded. Yes, he knew that. At dawn, they would put up the flag. That would make them all feel better. Already he felt better.
Now what he wanted was for the chief at the fort to allow him and his people to move near the fort as soon as it was possible so that they would be safe. Once there, the soldiers would know for sure that White Bull was not fighting against the soldiers. Then there could be no doubt in their minds.
Steiner spread his hands. It was to be greatly regretted, but this would not be possible. He would speak yet again to the soldier chief at the fort, but it would do little good. He would not permit the Indians to come nearer than they were now. He was sorry, but there was nothing he could do about it.
The old man did not accept that. He thought that everything in sight was negotiable. Steiner explained again and again that his authority was limited. Ah, said the chief, but Steiner was a well-known and influential man. He persisted until Steiner’s patience began to be stretched beyond its endurance. He was tired to the bone and the heat of the tent was getting to him. By the time the food was ready to eat, he was almost asleep and was fighting yawns.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said to Sammy close at his side, ‘I’ve brought the old devil food, he can have the Stars and Stripes waving over his camp – what the hell more can I do?’
‘Nothing,’ said Sammy, ‘but he has to keep on trying. He’s thinking of the li
ves of everybody in this camp.’
‘Do you think I don’t know it?’ Suddenly, he shot at Sammy: ‘Ask him how many Sioux came in with Hawk.’ He saw Sammy’s look of alarm. The interpreter hesitated. Steiner said: ‘Go ahead, ask him.’
‘The time’s not right, Captain.’
‘I’ll decide that.’
‘There’s only two of us.’
‘White Bull wouldn’t harm us, for God’s sake. He needs us.’
‘He’s old and sensible. His fighting men are young and not so sensible. Let’s take it easy and get to it slowly.’
‘You ask him like I said, Sam. And you ask him that exactly.’
Sammy put a question to the chief. Whether he asked the right question, Steiner had no way of knowing. When he saw the looks on the other Indians’ faces, he guessed Sammy had been honest. They all looked startled, then worried. Walks looked dangerous. Steiner guessed he was dangerous. Steiner wondered if he had been fighting the soldiers lately.
White Bull thought about his answer very carefully.
His reply was definite and short.
Sammy translated: ‘He says that he has not been out against the soldiers. That is true, I think, as far as it goes.’
‘And it don’t go far enough,’ said Steiner. ‘Put the question to him again, Sam. Bluntly. Don’t dress it up. I have to know. We’re through with all the polite nonsense. Get it into his head that I’m trying to look after his interests.’
‘And he’s trying to look after the interests of his band, boss.’
Steiner was impatient. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? Sometimes you talk as if I have a block of wood on my shoulders. I’m trying to save the old fool in spite of himself. Just try and pull along with me, will you Sam, for God’s sake?’
‘Captain, where would be the harm in them coming close to the agency? That would satisfy the old man.’
‘Because it’d bring them close to the fort. Whitehouse is so goddam jumpy, anything could happen. White Bull is out of sight here. The weather’s bad. He could do worse than stay right where he’s at.’
Sammy nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He turned and talked for a long time with the chief. It sounded to Steiner as if he was really trying. He hoped so.
Finally, White Bull went into one of his long periods of thought and Steiner started to nod off. Sammy nudged him and his head jerked up. For a moment, Steiner did not know where he was. Then he became aware that the chief was talking in his own language. Walks-a-Long-Time woke Old Horse. The old man started to nod and suck his gums noisily. White Bull talked for some time. When he was through Walks had his turn. Then Old Horse spoke in a weak, high-pitched voice which gradually faded away until he appeared to be asleep once more. White Bull spoke at length to Sammy. Steiner had no idea how Sammy could remember all that stuff. The interpreter gave it to Steiner in brief.
‘White Bull says that they are agreed. They will stay here. He says yes, he has some young men in camp who have been fighting the soldiers. But he cannot surrender them to you.’
Now Steiner’s patience nearly broke.
‘I’m not asking him to.’
‘I told him that,’ Sammy said. ‘They are very happy about the American flag. They believe you are right and that the soldiers will not fire on the flag or anybody under its protection. They say this, but I don’t think they believe it. They’re afraid.’
Steiner said: ‘I can’t do any more.’
‘They know that. They’re grateful. They’re surprised you have done so much.’ Sammy added: ‘Captain, let’s hit the sack. I’m bushed.’
‘Sure.’
Sammy spoke to the chief and then told Steiner that the chief wanted him to sleep there in the tipi. He could not offer the agent a tent for himself. The people were overcrowding what tents they had. Steiner said that he would be happy to sleep anywhere.
By now, the meat was cooked. They all ate, the Indians with evident satisfaction. Steiner was asleep almost before he was through eating. He was dimly aware that they were waking Old Horse and that the two elders were leaving the tipi. Then Steiner was deep in sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Halfway along Black Horse Valley, McAllister reined in his horse.
‘Look’ee here,’ he said. The army.’
Hickok squinted his poor eyes and said: ‘I can’t see a damn thing but snow.’
McAllister said: ‘A whole goddam regiment of cavalry.’ Then he said several impolite words and added: ‘And they have Lige along with ’em. I’ll have his balls for bed knobs leaving the horses.’
Hickok said: ‘If it’s the army, maybe he didn’t have too much choice.’
McAllister sat his saddle and watched the army’s slow and laborious approach. The men were leading their horses. A couple of officers in the van were still mounted. One of them was a stout gentleman with eye-glasses and a large buffalo coat. McAllister described him to Hickok and the gunfighter said: ‘That has to be Arnie Brevington. Now we’re in for an earful of wind. He’ll bore the ass off you, that one. He has a whole goddam spiel about manifest destiny and the contamination of the savage Indian.’
‘One of those, huh?’
As soon as they were near, Lige hurried forward and started to say: ‘Boss, I didn’t have no choice. These here soldier-boys, they—’
But he did not get any further, for Colonel Brevington had spurred his horse forward and shouted: ‘Hold your tongue, boy, and give way to your betters. You McAllister?’
Wild Bill said: ‘No, sir, my name’s Hickok.’
‘I wasn’t addressing you, sir. I was addressing your companion.’
McAllister said: ‘I’m McAllister. Who’re you?’ There was something about the man that aroused his ire right off.
‘I am Colonel Brevington, commanding the First Volunteers. I understand from your boy here that you are acquainted with the neighborhood and too well acquainted with the Indians for decency.’ When McAllister remained silent, the man went on: ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
The colonel bridled.
‘Are you or aren’t you?’
‘I know this area, sure.’
‘Then you will guide us to the encampment of the Indians.’
McAllister said: ‘Like hell I will.’
‘What?’ The colonel rose in his stirrups and screamed.
‘I said: “You can go to hell.’”
The colonel said: ‘Hickok, I advise you to advise your friend to be a little more co-operative for his own good.’
Hickok said: ‘That sure sounds like a threat to me, Colonel. If I could offer a little advice, colonel, I’d say my friend McAllister ain’t easily persuaded – not by threats. I would employ a little tack. Yessir, tack.’
The colonel turned in the saddle and bellowed: ‘Major Newton, place this man under arrest.’
Now, I do not doubt that in a western novel, the hero would have drawn his gun and defied his enemies, but I do assure you that only a man a little too big for his breeches or a little loose in the head would have drawn a gun in the teeth of two hundred and fifty volunteer cavalrymen. Even Hickok, doughty gunfighter though he might be, sat very still and watched events with some nervousness as the major came forward, plodding through the snow with a half-dozen soldiers behind him.
McAllister, it must be said, did not take his being disarmed by the soldiers in good part. He called the colonel a jumped up son-of-a-bitch and cast some doubt on the legitimacy of his parentage, whereupon one of the volunteers, no doubt through some misguided loyalty to his commanding officer, yanked McAllister from the saddle and dumped him in the snow. This man was a blacksmith in civilian life and had the build and general aspect of a grizzly bear. In his not unnatural rage at his treatment, McAllister took a swing at this man, connected without any noticeable result and received a blow that would have killed a lesser man. After that he seemed, if not willing, at least reconciled to the fact that he would have to do what he was told.
From his saddle, the colonel told him: ‘Get back on your horse, McAllister, and behave yourself. I hope that you have now learned that I am the master of the situation. You will now lead us to the Indian encampment.’
‘For crissake,’ McAllister said, ‘how many times do I have to tell you? I do not know where the Indians are at. A short while back they were camped at the south end of this valley. They moved on and the snow covered their tracks.’
The colonel kneed his horse forward until he could stare down into McAllister’s face. He said: ‘Mister, you will tell me where the Indians are and you will lead me to them. I am not permitted to put you to the torture, but I shall most certainly look the other way while my men take you for a short walk if you do not divulge the truth to me. Do I make myself clear?’
McAllister looked at Wild Bill and Wild Bill looked at McAllister.
‘Jim,’ McAllister said, ‘you and Lige go back to the house. I’ll guide these soldier boys.’
Hickok nodded. ‘All right by you, Colonel? Me and the boy ain’t no further use to you’
‘All right,’ said the colonel. ‘Clear out, Hickok. We’ll send McAllister back to you when the shooting’s over.’
Lige stood looking at McAllister as if he had seen a god stricken by lesser mortals. He had never thought to see McAllister knocked down by a man who would stay in a condition to walk away. He looked at the blacksmith in awe.
McAllister said: ‘Go ahead, Lige. I’ll be gone a few days maybe.’
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