Cruel Rider

by Charles G. West

  “That’s as good as any,” Jordan immediately agreed, and started running up the grassy meadow that sloped up from the bluffs. As soon as he reached the safety of the massive rock formation, he led Sweet Pea to a spot behind the rocks where she would be shielded from rifle fire. Toby followed suit. They had no sooner gotten their horses to safety when the first of the warriors appeared, winding their way quickly and carefully along the many slashes and gullies near the top of the bluffs. It was obvious that the Sioux thought the two white men were still following along the water’s edge below, for they took no notice of the slopes above them, or the occasional rock formations on the grassy hillside. Jordan looked at Toby and nodded his approval on the boy’s selection for ambush. Toby responded with a nervous grin.

  “Let’s wait and let ’em get directly below us. Then shoot fast, but aim careful,” Jordan said. His hope was that if he and Toby could take out a few more of their party, the Sioux might decide their medicine was not strong, and break off the assault. He took an extra moment to study the boy’s face as Toby concentrated on the bluffs now below them. There was nervous anticipation there, but no fear. Jordan decided the boy was all right.

  It wasn’t much of a battle. The unsuspecting Sioux had no reason to believe the two white men were not still hurrying along the river as it cut through the narrow pass. As a consequence, they were completely unprotected from the two repeating rifles above them on the hill. Jordan and Toby held their fire until the warriors reached a point directly below them. Jordan counted eight, five of whom carried rifles. When the lead warrior stopped, evidently discovering tracks where the white men had followed the gully up from the water, he turned at once to scan the hillside above them. His gaze darted across the grassy slope, and finally lit upon a large rock outcropping. Too late he realized that he was looking at two rifle barrels staring back at him. The next moment the Indians found themselves in a blistering barrage of rifle fire as Jordan and Toby cut down on them. Four of the warriors fell before the remaining four could scramble to safety in the gully. Effectively held in check, they had no choice but to descend the gully that Jordan and Toby had climbed up, for that was the closest cover available. A few random shots were fired back, but they glanced harmlessly off the rocks before the warriors retreated.

  “Well,” Toby sighed. “I reckon we stopped ’em again.”

  “I reckon,” Jordan replied. He had a feeling that the loss of four more lives might be enough to discourage further pursuit. The Sioux hunting party had paid a terrible price in their efforts to capture the two white men, and it should be painfully clear that further pursuit would cost more lives. Few things were certain, however, so he deemed it best to take leave of the Rosebud for now.

  Thoughts of Bill Pike and their reason to be in hostile territory resurfaced with the recent Sioux threat over. The image of the two white corpses returned to Jordan’s mind as he led his horse over the top of the ridge. Had it not been for the sudden arrival of the Sioux hunting party, he might have been able to pick up Pike’s trail away from the scene of the murder. It didn’t matter, he thought. Where would Pike likely go? He would hardly ride deeper into hostile country, if he had any sense at all. He would most likely head back to Goose Creek, and the protection of the army because he was unaware that his masquerade as a scout had been uncovered. Jordan shared his thoughts with Toby, and the boy agreed with his reasoning.

  “I’m sorry Brownie wasn’t up to outrunnin’ them Indian ponies,” Toby felt compelled to say as he followed Jordan down the western side of the ridge. He was more than a little embarrassed that the sleek roan stallion had proved to be no match for the mangy-looking mare.

  “Turns out it didn’t matter, did it?” Jordan replied. “I think we put too steep a price on our scalps for ’em.”

  Toby couldn’t help remarking, “I always thought Brownie was a pretty stout horse, but that blame mare of your’n—” He didn’t finish.

  Jordan smiled when he replied. “Sweet Pea was tired, too. She’s just too damn stubborn to admit it.”

  Chapter 13

  Sergeant Cary Cox rapped lightly on the tent pole before entering Colonel Stanton’s tent. “Colonel, sir, Parsons is back,” he said, a spark of urgency in his tone. “Pepper O’Brien and Royce Johnson are both dead, killed by Sioux hostiles. Jonah was just lucky he got out with his scalp.”

  Stanton put down the journal he had been writing in, and paused a moment to consider what his sergeant had just said. “Is that a fact?” he finally answered. He had issued orders to be notified immediately when the man claiming to be Jonah Parsons returned to camp. Pike was the man’s real name, according to Jordan Gray, but Stanton had decided to keep this information to himself for fear that Pike might accidentally be tipped off. He intended to have him put under arrest as soon as he was back. Stopped momentarily by the sobering news that two of his best scouts had been killed, he had to consider the circumstances of their deaths. If they had truly been killed by hostiles, maybe they had found Crazy Horse’s camp. If so, Pike could possibly be of some use even if under arrest for murder. “Sergeant Cox, take a couple of men, and bring Parsons to me.”

  “Yessir,” Cox responded, puzzled by the order. “You want me to detail two men to go with me to tell him?”

  “I believe that was what I ordered,” Stanton replied curtly. “And I didn’t say tell him to report to me—I said bring him to me.”

  “Yessir,” Cox again responded, and turned at once to leave the tent—too long a soldier to further question orders.

  When informed that Colonel Stanton wanted to see him, Bill Pike naturally assumed that the colonel wanted information about the fight with the Sioux. “Sure,” he responded. “I’ll be along directly, soon as I get myself somethin’ to eat.” He preferred to have as little contact with the army officers as possible.

  “My orders are to bring you to the colonel now,” Cox insisted.

  Pike was somewhat surprised by the sergeant’s abrupt response. He glanced at the two privates accompanying Cox, neither of whom seemed the slightest bit interested, and a worm of worry began to tunnel away in his brain. Why did it take three soldiers to tell him the colonel wanted to see him? Well, he thought, I ain’t got much choice. “Well, hell then,” he said. “Let’s go see the damn colonel.”

  Sergeant Cox dutifully escorted Pike to the colonel’s tent. Stanton was standing outside awaiting them. “Here he is, sir,” Cox said. “Will that be all?” He and the other two soldiers turned to leave.

  “Not quite all,” Stanton replied. “You men just stand where you are.”

  “Yessir,” Cox said. He had better things to do, but his expression never revealed his impatience. He took one step backward to stand beside the two privates, his eyes straight ahead to avoid the curious glances of the two.

  Stanton turned his full attention to Pike. “Now, then, Mr. Parsons, tell me what happened.”

  Pike repeated the story he had already told several times since riding back into camp. He modestly related how he had done his best to lead the other two scouts out of danger, but they had been killed by the hostiles. Stanton kept pressing him about where they had been attacked, and what sign, if any, had they seen of the Sioux village. Pike’s answers were vague and hesitant. Stanton soon came to the conclusion that Pike wasn’t even sure where he had been. He was not completely convinced that he and the other two scouts were even attacked by hostiles.

  “Mr. Pike, I’m not sure you have any idea where to look for the hostile camp.”

  Pike was quick to protest. “Oh, I’ve got a’plenty ideas where them red devils is holed up. I’ve done a heap of scoutin’ in this country.” He looked anxiously at the colonel, confused by Stanton’s intense stare. It then registered that the colonel had addressed him as Mr. Pike. In a moment of panic, he blurted, “Parsons. My name’s Parsons.”

  Stanton had already seen the guilt in his face. “Mr. Pike,” he repeated. “That is your name, isn’t it? Bill Pike?”


  “Why, hell no. Who told you that?”

  “An old friend of Jonah Parsons found his body where you left it after you murdered him. I expect you’ll hang for that.” He shifted his gaze to Sergeant Cox. “Place Mr. Pike under arrest, Sergeant Cox.”

  Astounded after listening wide-eyed to the colonel’s astonishing accusation moments before, Cox was quick to respond. The two soldiers standing by suddenly realized why they were there, and reacted as well. Pike found himself securely restrained before he could raise a hand. “Hey, wait a minute!” he protested. “I ain’t kilt nobody. That old coot was already dead when I found him.”

  “Is that a fact?” Stanton replied sarcastically. “Well, I’m sure all that will be considered at your trial. There’s also the matter of O’Brien and Johnson. I’ll be sending out a scout detail to find their bodies.” He shifted his gaze to Sergeant Cox. “Escort the prisoner to the adjutant’s tent. I’ll be along directly to file the charges.” That said, he turned and went back into his tent.

  Captain Herbert Livesey was not particularly pleased to be presented with the problem of Bill Pike. When the regiment was in the field, there was no stockade to incarcerate felons, so the question that confronted him was what to do with Pike. Livesey was not, in fact, the regimental adjutant. He was the acting adjutant while the troop was in the field. The most he had been called upon to deal with was drunken soldiers, fistfights, insubordination, and dereliction of duty—all offenses that could be dealt with handily with company punishment. Leaving the prisoner under heavy guard, he went to confer with General Crook on the situation. Crook’s initial reaction was to simply shoot the man and be done with it. Upon further discussion with his staff, however, he changed his mind. Because Pike was a civilian, it was decided the best course of action was to escort him back to Fort Fetterman to be incarcerated in the guardhouse to await trial.

  Instructed to assign one officer and four enlisted men to escort Pike, Livesey immediately thought of Winston Castle. The young lieutenant was newly transferred to the regiment and, as junior officer, he was the obvious selection. Most new officers were anxious to prove themselves in any assignment. As he suspected, Castle eagerly accepted the thankless task, and the escort party prepared to get underway early the next morning.

  After the standard breakfast of coffee, hardtack, bacon, and a little sugar, the guard detail set out for Fort Fetterman. Lieutenant Castle led, followed by two troopers. Behind them rode a silent and sullen Bill Pike. The other two troopers brought up the rear. It was a diverse collection of troopers. Lieutenant Castle, erect and proper, still new to the frontier, in command of four regimental derelicts. When called upon to detail one man for the escort duty, each of the four company commanders naturally took the opportunity to send their worst soldier. Consequently, the guard detail was made up of four misfits who could, by no stretch of the imagination, be mistaken for model soldiers. There was no need for a guide. Even if Castle wasn’t sure of the way back to Fort Fetterman, there was a broad enough trail left by the massive column on the march out to Goose Creek some weeks back.

  The prisoner escort made good time, reaching a campsite on the banks of the Crazy Woman Creek at the end of the first day. Lieutenant Castle ordered Wheeler and Reed to gather wood for a fire while Ives and Slidell were assigned to guard the prisoner. When their supper was finished, Castle retreated a few yards from the others to sip his coffee away from the banter of the enlisted men.

  Bill Pike grimaced when Ives clamped the manacles back on his wrists. “How about you leave these damn things off so I can sleep?” he complained. “You got two men watchin’ me all the time. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Slidell grinned, enjoying the prisoner’s discomfort. “We don’t want you gettin’ too comfortable. Do we, Ives?” Ives made no comment, but went on to lock Pike’s chains, a grin on his face to match Slidell’s. Slidell continued to amuse himself. “What if we was to forget to lock them cuffs? You could make a run for it. Then I’d have to put a bullet in your behind.”

  “Yeah,” Ives said, joining in the fun, “and then we wouldn’t have to ride all the way to Fetterman.” He winked at Slidell. “Whaddaya say, Pike? We’d give you a head start, say a couple dozen yards or so. Wanna try it?”

  “You can kiss my ass,” Pike growled, causing both men to chuckle.

  Leaving the prisoner to sulk by the fire, Slidell and Ives withdrew a few feet to make themselves comfortable against the trunk of a large cottonwood. Riding as the rear guard most of the day, the two had often fallen back far enough to talk without being overheard. Although assigned to different companies, they had found right away that many of their interests were shared—especially their dislike for army life on the frontier. Ives confided to Slidell that he had entertained thoughts of deserting ever since starting out on the first day of this campaign when the column had marched out of Fort Fetterman in a blinding snowstorm. Slidell admitted that he had similar notions when he had seen so many civilians at Fort Laramie passing through on their way to the gold strike in the Black Hills. The more they talked about it during the long day, the more they had become convinced that they had been handed a golden opportunity with this assignment. Now, as Slidell pointed out, they were already a day’s ride away from the column. It would be a simple trick to take off during the night when they were pulling their shift at guarding Pike.

  “What are you two jokers talkin’ about?” Private Reed inquired as he sidled over to join the conversation.

  “Oh, nothin’ much,” Slidell replied. “We was just sayin’ how much we admired bein’ in the army.”

  “Ha!” Reed snorted, and sat down. “I thought for a minute there you might tell me a lie.”

  “We was just wonderin’ about the lieutenant over there,” Ives said. “I don’t know much about him.”

  Reed shrugged. “There ain’t much to know, I reckon—West Point, I heard—married the post commander’s daughter at Fort Laramie.” He turned his head to glance at Lieutenant Castle, who was still quietly sipping his coffee. “Green as Carolina grass,” Reed said. “He don’t know an Injun from a railroad conductor.”

  Slidell grinned and winked at Ives. “Well, that just puts the frostin’ on the cake, don’t it?” Ives chuckled in response. Reed grinned as well, unaware of the significance of the remark.

  Later, when it was time to turn in, Lieutenant Castle was about to give orders for the guard detail. He had planned to rotate the four men on one-hour shifts throughout the night when Slidell made a suggestion. “Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant, but it might be better if we partner up, and stand two-hour shifts. That way one man can keep an eye on Mr. Pike over there, but make sure the other man don’t go off to sleep. Me and Ives can take the second shift if that’s all right with ever’body.”

  It seemed sensible to Castle, and he really didn’t care as long as the prisoner was watched throughout the night. “All right,” he said, “if that’s the way you’d prefer it, we’ll do it that way. Reed, you and Wheeler take the first shift, and wake Slidell and Ives up in two hours. Tomorrow night, Slidell and Ives can take the first shift.” The guard rotation set, the detail settled in for the night. On the opposite side of the fire, a scowling Bill Pike attempted to make himself comfortable with his wrists locked together and a chain doubled back around a willow trunk.

  It was a little past midnight when Reed awakened Slidell. Slidell sat up without protest, and reached over with his foot to nudge his partner. Ives awakened with a grunt, taking a few seconds to realize where he was. “All right, boys,” Slidell said cheerfully, “you can go get your beauty rest now.” He looked over at the prisoner, curled up around the willow, seeking warmth against the cool night air. Satisfied, he then looked at the lieutenant, fast asleep and snoring softly. Like babes, he thought. In a short time, Reed and Wheeler would join them.

  Reed awakened in a fit of discomfort. He rolled over on his side and pulled his blanket up over his shoulders. After a few moments, he turned back o
n his other side, still chilly. It was then he realized that the fire had almost died out. Damn, he thought, and rose up on his elbow. Looking around him, he couldn’t see Slidell or Ives. Looking quickly toward the willow, he was relieved to see Pike still wrapped around the tree. He still had a feeling something wasn’t exactly right, however. Where in hell were Ives and Slidell? And why in hell had they let the fire die out?

  He craned his neck to look behind him. Wheeler was sleeping peacefully, a low raspy snore issuing from his lips. About to convince himself that everything was all right, he decided to see what time it was, but he found it difficult to see his pocket watch in the deep darkness. So he picked up a splinter of wood and held it in the coals until it suddenly burst into flame. Using it as a light, he peered at his watch. What he saw immediately alarmed him. It was a quarter past four.

  He rolled out of his blanket and scrambled to his feet, looking about in the darkness for Slidell or Ives. They were nowhere to be seen. Those two no-good . . . He didn’t finish the thought when he suddenly realized that two of the horses were missing. Slidell and Ives were not sleeping on duty. They were gone—deserted! “Well, ain’t this a pickle?” he said aloud, both amazed and disgusted.

  Lieutenant Castle was properly alarmed when awakened by Reed a few minutes later. His first thought was concern for how the desertion of two of his detail would look to his superiors. He knew he should do something about it, but at the moment he wasn’t sure what that might be. Maybe he should order the others to mount up and go after them—he wasn’t sure. That idea was quickly squelched when Reed told him there was no sense trying to trail them in the dark. Because it would soon be dawn, Castle decided to eat breakfast, and wait for light enough to look for a trail.

  When the sun finally made its appearance, it revealed two sets of tracks leading down into the creek—and that was as far as the trail led. “They coulda gone up or down stream,” Wheeler said. “It could take us all day, lookin’ up and down this creek, trying to find where they come out.”