Cruel Rider

by Charles G. West

  “Hell, they’re gone,” Reed stated flatly. “With the start they got on us, we’d never catch ’em, anyway.”

  The lieutenant was thoroughly perplexed, feeling helpless to act. Unsure of what he should do, he accepted the troopers’ opinion, and announced that they would continue on to Fort Fetterman as they had been ordered to do. Reed and Wheeler were already grumbling about the extra responsibility they had been dealt by the desertions.

  The only person amused by the situation was Bill Pike. “Hey,” he yelled, “how ’bout unlocking my hands before I have to piss in my pants.”

  “Go ahead and piss in ’em,” Wheeler replied, but Castle ordered him to free Pike’s hands.

  Following the old government road, the reduced guard detail reached the ruins of Fort Reno at midday, and Castle permitted a brief rest for the noonday meal. It was still about eighty miles from there to Fort Fetterman. And although he wanted to make the trip in as short a time as possible, he was persuaded to allow a little extra time for Reed and Wheeler to search about the camp for any food supplies that might have been left behind when the column moved through some weeks back. The prisoner was secured to a tree trunk while the two troopers foraged for whatever might be found.

  Pike had become more and more insolent after the desertion of Slidell and Ives—to the point of unspoken defiance. Despite the fact that he was always kept in chains, his demeanor was that of a man who gave no serious thought toward remaining in custody. When Reed and Wheeler disappeared beyond the still-standing chimneys of the old officers’ quarters, Pike’s surly scowl suddenly turned into a wry smile. Shifting his body around to face the lieutenant, he spoke, “It’s been three solid days since I last took a shit, Lieutenant. And I feel a powerful urge right now.”

  Castle, his face screwed up in undisguised irritation, responded, “The guards will be back in a few minutes. They’ll take you to relieve yourself then.”

  “I’m hurtin’ pretty bad, Lieutenant. It’s boilin’ up in my guts somethin’ awful. I don’t know if I can hold it till then.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to,” Castle replied.

  Pike made a show of agonized discomfort as he shifted his body back and forth. “I don’t think I can,” he groaned, and gazed at the lieutenant plaintively. “If you would just unchain my hands, I could get it done real quick.” When Castle showed reluctance to do so, Pike pleaded, “Hell, if you could just free up one of my hands, I might be able to shit right here—if I can just get my britches down.”

  The man’s plight was desperate. Castle could appreciate that, but he was still reluctant to free Pike, even for the short time it would take for a man to evacuate his bowels. He stood and looked impatiently toward the ruins of the old post, but Reed and Wheeler were out of sight. Turning his gaze back to light on Pike, he was met with an expression of deep misery. Winston Castle was not a hard-hearted man by nature, but he was not inclined to release a man as dangerous as Bill Pike. He looked again toward the ruins, hoping to see Reed and Wheeler returning. They had evidently gone on down to the creek, for there was no one in sight. Pike began a low mournful moan.

  “All right,” Castle conceded. “I’ll free one hand so you can get your trousers down, but that’s all. You can relieve yourself right where you are.” He wished that Wheeler had not already started a fire to boil some coffee. It would have been more desirable to be a little more distant from the spot where Pike defecated.

  With his pistol in one hand, and the key to the manacles in the other, Castle carefully unwound several links of the chain that Reed had wrapped around the tree trunk. His eyes locked on Castle’s, Pike gazed at the lieutenant with the look of a grateful hound. He eagerly held his hands out to be released. “One hand,” Castle reminded him.

  “My right hand,” Pike pleaded. “I can’t do nothin’ left-handed.”

  “All right,” Castle said, and unlocked the manacle on Pike’s right hand.

  “I reckon we’d best get on back before the lieutenant thinks we took off after Slidell and Ives.” Reed tossed the empty container aside. Their search for discarded hardtack had been unsuccessful. Scavengers had long since picked the campsite clean of anything edible. “Reckon Castle might let us take a little time to hunt somethin’ to eat?”

  Wheeler shook his head. “I doubt it. I think he’s wantin’ to shed himself of the prisoner as soon as he can.”

  “Ives and Slidell mighta had the right idea,” Reed mused aloud. “Wonder where they headed?”

  “Knowin’ Slidell,” Wheeler responded, “I know they didn’t head up to Montana. He ain’t likely to expose his sorry ass to them Cheyenne and Sioux. They either headed south or took off to the Black Hills.”

  “I expect so,” Reed agreed. He gave the empty container a kick. “Yessir, them boys mighta had the right idea, all right.”

  “Damn! Look at that!” Reed grabbed Wheeler’s arm just as he was about to step up onto a large flat rock near the water’s edge.

  “Damn!” Wheeler echoed, seeing the cause of Reed’s alarm at that instant. There, coiled on the rock, was a large rattlesnake, its head raised, ready to strike. Wheeler would have stepped right in front of it if Reed had not grabbed his arm. The buzzing of the reptile’s rattles had been muffled by the sound of the water gurgling around the rocks. Both men took a step backward.

  “He’s six foot if he’s an inch,” Reed speculated.

  “He’s meat,” Wheeler pronounced, and drew his revolver from the holster. Steadying his gun hand with his other, he took careful aim at the angry snake. “Just hold still, darlin’,” he cooed, trying to get a bead on the swaying head.

  After a long moment passed and Wheeler had still not fired, Reed chided him. “Hell, if I had my pistol, I’da done blowed his head off.”

  “He won’t hold still,” Wheeler complained.

  “Lemme have the pistol. I’ll fix him quick enough.”

  Rather than yield to his companion, Wheeler fired. The rattlesnake dropped immediately, shot through the head. “Goddam,” he exclaimed, impressed with his own marksmanship. “He’s meat now.”

  Both men stepped closer to gawk at the dead reptile. After a moment to make sure the snake was truly no longer a threat, Wheeler reached down and picked it up. “Damn! That sucker’s heavy. Look at that, Reed. His body’s as big around as my leg.” Then a mischievous thought crossed his mind. “We could have us a little fun with this jasper.” He nodded his head toward the old fort ruins above them.

  Reed caught on immediately. “I expect he heard that shot. He’s probably already nervous about that.” It was common knowledge among the men that Lieutenant Castle was a greenhorn as far as duty west of the Missouri was concerned. “He’d probably shit his pants if we dropped this beauty at his feet.” They both giggled at the picture the thought invoked. “Come on, let’s go see if them new lieutenants shit yellow like a baby.”

  Still about fifty yards away, they could see the prisoner chained to the tree and the lieutenant sitting close by. “Now what the hell is he doin’?” Reed commented.

  “He’s probably tellin’ ol’ Pike about the price of sin,” Wheeler said, causing both men to chuckle. It was an unusual sight, for Castle had never said more than a mouthful of words to the prisoner before, wanting as little to do with Pike as possible.

  The lieutenant appeared to pay them no mind as they approached. His back to them, he continued to sit near the tree where Pike was chained. Dragging his trophy behind him, Wheeler had a grin spread wide across his face in anticipation of Castle’s reaction when the rattlesnake was plopped down before him.

  “Well, we didn’t have no luck,” Reed said as they walked up.

  “You still ain’t got no luck.”

  Both men were startled when Pike spoke. Before they could react, Pike placed a foot in Castle’s back and shoved the corpse over on its side. Too late, they discovered the lieutenant’s revolver in Pike’s hand. Reed reacted, anyway. He made a run for the rifle in his saddle
boot. Pike put two bullets in his back before he had taken three strides. He then calmly brought the pistol around to aim directly at a stunned Wheeler, who was still holding onto the huge rattlesnake. “Now if you don’t want the same, you’d best fetch that key laying on the ground yonder.”

  Wheeler started to do as he was told, then hesitated as he thought the situation over. “What’s gonna keep you from shootin’ me after I give you the key?”

  Pike frowned, obviously irritated. “Well, I’m sure as hell gonna shoot you if you don’t,” he replied.

  “That may be so,” Wheeler said, still pondering his chances, “but you’d still have one hand chained to a tree.”

  A flash of anger sparked in Pike’s eye, but was quickly extinguished to take on a gentler gaze when he realized that Wheeler was right. “Hell, man, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t wanna kill your partner there,” he said nodding toward Reed’s body. “But he was tryin’ to get to his rifle to shoot me. He didn’t give me no choice. All I want is to get myself the hell and gone. I got no reason to wanna kill you—honest to God, man. But I will if you don’t fetch me that key.”

  Wheeler studied Pike’s face, trying to read truth there. In the final analysis, it came down to one simple fact—if he didn’t do as Pike wished, he was going to die. That much was certain. He decided to take the one option that offered a chance for survival, slim as it might be. “All right,” he said, finally releasing the snake. As he did, he thought of the pistol in his holster. His right hand was free now.

  Reading his thoughts, Pike warned, “I’d cut you down before you even got it outta the holster.”

  Knowing that to be the truth of the matter, Wheeler shrugged and picked up the key. “Just take it easy, man. I ain’t gonna try nothin’.” He moved closer to Pike, but stopped short of handing over the key. “There ain’t no need for anymore killin’ here. I ain’t the one that wanted you arrested. I was just doin’ what they ordered me to do. I don’t care one way or the other.”

  “I know that,” Pike said. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Just stick that key in here and unlock me from this damn tree, and me and you’ll be square.”

  “That suits me,” Wheeler replied, and fit the key in the lock. That done, he stepped back a couple of steps while Pike pulled the remaining coils of chain from the tree.

  Once free of his chains, Pike favored Wheeler with a wide grin. Wheeler returned it with one of his own. An instant later, it turned to a look of horror as Pike raised the pistol and pointed it directly into Wheeler’s face. The impact of the bullet at such close range knocked the stunned victim down—an ugly black hole centered in his forehead.

  Pike watched dispassionately as Wheeler’s lifeblood formed a crimson pool under his head. Satisfied that the man was dead, he then turned his attention to the snake. Talking to the dead man, he said, “I wonder if you was thinkin’ ’bout eatin’ that thing.” He considered that possibility for a few moments before discarding it. “I ain’t eatin’ no damn snake,” he stated. “I ain’t no damn savage.”

  Chapter 14

  When Jordan and Toby rode into camp at Goose Creek again, it was to find an army preparing to march. The Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition was once again on the move. General Crook, still smarting somewhat from eastern newspaper accounts of his initial attempt to destroy Crazy Horse’s band, was anxious to launch the second attack. Additional companies of infantry had arrived, and the supply wagons had been left behind. Supplies were to be carried by mules, their main burden being grain for the animals. The entire area around the forks of Goose Creek was alive with activity as infantry and cavalry companies prepared to take to the field again.

  The scene was somewhat discouraging to Jordan. It struck him as organized confusion at best. He had gambled on the premise that Bill Pike had returned to the encampment, but judging by the amount of activity among the departing troops, it might be difficult to find his man. Motioning Toby to follow, he guided Sweet Pea across the lower fork of the creek to the spot where he had found Colonel Stanton’s tent before—only to find it no longer there. Instead, he encountered a group of soldiers from the Third Cavalry sitting around a small fire. Their horses were standing nearby, saddled and saddle packs loaded. The men glanced up with no more than casual interest when the two civilians rode up.

  “Can you fellows tell us where Colonel Stanton is?” Jordan asked.

  One of the men, a corporal by the stripes on his sleeve, answered, “I wouldn’t know, friend. I don’t know who Colonel Stanton is. We just got here from Fort Fetterman day before yesterday.” He looked around at the others only to see equally blank expressions, then turned back to Jordan. “What unit is he in?”

  “He’s head of the scout company,” Jordan replied. “Where are the Crows camped?”

  “There’s a bunch of Injuns camped about a mile up the creek.” He pointed toward the northwest. “I don’t know if they’re Crow or Shoshone.”

  “Much obliged,” Jordan said. He turned Sweet Pea away, and glanced at Toby. “If we find Iron Pony, he can probably tell us if Pike came back to the scout company.”

  They had started back toward the union of the two forks of the creek when Toby suddenly pulled back hard on the reins. A rider on the opposite bank had caught his eye, and in that moment he thought it was Pike. Without waiting for an explanation to Jordan, he drove his horse into the creek, and charged up the other side to intercept the rider. Toby had only seen Pike from a distance on that late evening near his claim. But the heavyset man with the full dark beard, leaning forward in the saddle, seemed to be a dead ringer for the man fleeing Deadwood on that night.

  Puzzled by Toby’s sudden decision to gallop into the creek, Jordan pulled Sweet Pea up sharply, and peered after his young partner. When he saw the rider on the opposite bank, he immediately followed after Toby, pulling up behind him a few seconds after Toby confronted the man. “Who the hell are you, mister?” he heard the boy blurt out, uncertain now that he was face to face with the rider.

  “Who the hell wants to know?” the man replied, not the least bit intimidated by the brash young boy.

  Jordan answered Toby’s demand. “He’s Frank Grouard, if I recollect correctly.” Jordan had met the white scout briefly when Colonel Stanton had solicited Jordan’s help on the campaign against the Sioux. He remembered Iron Pony saying that Grouard and a few others were the only competent scouts among the thirty or so white men the colonel had employed.

  “Jordan Gray, right?” Grouard greeted the buckskin-clad scout.

  “Frank,” Jordan returned.

  “You come back to join the expedition?”

  “No,” Jordan replied. “I’m lookin’ for a man.” He nodded toward a subdued Toby. “We’re lookin’ for a man. That’s the reason my brash young friend here was fixin’ to shoot you.” Grouard cocked an amused eye in Toby’s direction. Jordan went on. “Fellow’s name is Pike, and he was ridin’ with your company of scouts. We trailed him as far as the Rosebud, but we got jumped by a Lakota war party before we could catch up to him.”

  “You’re talkin’ about that feller that called hisself Parsons. Is that right?”

  “That’s the man,” Jordan replied.

  Grouard nodded knowingly. “Well, I can save you some trouble there. Colonel Stanton had that feller put under arrest. They’ve already took him back to Fetterman to stand trial for the murder of Jonah Parsons. I knew that feller was full of bullshit after I talked to him for five minutes. I told Stanton I didn’t want him ridin’ with me. Stanton sent him out a few days ago with two pretty good scouts, Pepper O’Brien and Royce Johnson. Pepper and Royce didn’t come back with Parsons—or Pike, if that’s his real name—and now I’ve got to go out to see if I can find them.”

  “I reckon I can save you trouble there,” Jordan said. “We found your two scouts near the Rosebud. They were both dead, and it didn’t look like the work of Indians.”

  “I figured as much,” Grouard said. “That
bastard. The colonel shoulda just strung him up as soon as he came back.” He gave Toby a quick glance, then shifted back to Jordan. “What are you fellers huntin’ him for?”

  Jordan briefly related the reasons he and Toby had taken on the mission of tracking down the blatant murderer. They both had scores to settle with Pike. Grouard expressed his understanding for their mission, but assured them that they were too late to administer their personal punishment. The army had taken over the situation, but they could take solace in the certainty that Pike would hang.

  The news was met with mixed feelings on the part of Jordan and Toby. As far as the boy was concerned, he had been cheated out of the vengeance that he so desperately wanted. Jordan, although almost as passionate for revenge at first, could be more philosophical about the issue at this point. The matter was simple to Jordan. The murderer needed to be stopped, and he didn’t feel anyone else was going to undertake the responsibility. That is, aside from Toby Blessings, and Jordan was not confident Toby would have come out on top in a match with Bill Pike. Maybe it was just as well that the matter would be handled by a military court. He was not especially fond of the role of executioner, anyway.

  “Well, I’d best be gettin’ along,” Frank Grouard said. “Look me up if you decide you wanna come along with us to fight Sittin’ Bull and Crazy Horse.” He saluted with a single finger to his hat brim, and rode away.

  Jordan nodded in reply, and he and Toby watched the stoutly built man as he guided his horse along the creek. Their search apparently ended, Jordan shrugged and said, “Well, I reckon the army has finished our job for us.”

  Toby’s need for vengeance was not satisfied, however. His passion for Pike’s blood was fueled by his love for a woman. That the love affair had been one-sided made little difference to him. He had pledged his devotion to Polly Hatcher with all the passion in his young heart. And that passion needed desperately to be involved in the final reckoning of one, Bill Pike. “I’m goin’ to Fort Fetterman,” he announced. “If I can’t put the bullet in him that kills him, then I’ve got to see him hung. I want to see that son of a bitch dead.”