Jordan studied the young man’s face for a few moments. There was no mistaking the fact that Toby meant what he said. Jordan felt it would be better for Toby if he put Bill Pike behind him, and went on with the rest of his life. But he refrained from trying to advise the boy. Toby was man enough to make his own decisions. After a long moment, Jordan said, “I’ll ride with you. I might as well head back to Fort Laramie.” He glanced at the figure of Frank Grouard, almost out of sight by then. “I reckon I’ve killed all the Sioux I care to.” He had really given thought to joining General Crook’s troops no more than a fleeting moment.
“Suit yourself,” Toby said. Although making an attempt to sound independent, he was more than grateful to Jordan for accompanying him. Early the next morning, they were once again on the trail—this time the government road back to Fort Fetterman.
“Looks like they camped here,” Jordan commented upon finding recent ashes of a campfire by Crazy Woman Creek. “Good a place as any—we might as well camp here, too.”
There was good grass and ample water available, so they pulled their saddles off and let the horses graze. Toby looked around while Jordan built a fire. Watching as Toby poked around the tree where there were signs that someone had been chained, Jordan wondered if he had ever been that much in love with a woman. It seemed many years since his wife and child were killed. It was something he didn’t think about if he could help it, for when he did, it always stirred a bitter bile in his gut. He supposed he had been just as smitten with Sarah as Toby seemed to be with Polly. It was just so long ago, and so much had happened between then and now, that it was hard to remember ever being as young as Toby. Since Sarah’s death, he had only given thought to one other woman, Kathleen Beard, the post surgeon’s daughter. She had served as his nurse while he recovered from gunshot wounds in the hospital at Fort Gibson. At the time, he was puzzled by the amount of attention he received from the comely young woman. He had supposed it was her fascination with a wild creature—as she had laughingly referred to him then. It went a little deeper than that, but he was too stupid to realize it until it was too late. It was too soon after Sarah’s death to permit thoughts of another to take hold, but after leaving Fort Gibson, he had found that he could not rid his mind of Kathleen.
After months of trying to convince himself otherwise, he finally admitted that he was in love with the girl. By the time he made up his mind to do something about it, she had decided he was a lost cause. Being a practical woman, and realizing she was not getting any younger, she made a practical decision, and accepted a marriage proposal from Lieutenant Thomas Jefferson Wallace. That, in itself, was reason enough to detest Lieutenant Wallace, but Jordan had already developed a strong dislike for the arrogant officer. News of Kathleen’s engagement had struck him with a profound sense of loss.
Realizing that he was allowing his mind to wander back into places that brought only pain, he quickly brought it back to the present. He elected then to think of things that brought him pleasure—like the cool night air and the peaceful quiet of the prairie away from the noisy army camps. “Who the hell can blame the Sioux for not wantin’ to go to the reservations?” he blurted aloud. “Damned if I’d give up my way of life.”
“How’s that?” Toby asked.
Realizing then that he had spoken his thoughts, Jordan replied, “Nothin’, I was just mumblin’ to myself—I need to get some coffee made.”
The next morning, with the horses grazed, watered, and rested, they were back in the saddle. It was Toby who was impatient to ride. Jordan was in no particular hurry, but he was attuned to Toby’s urgency. They made good time, and noontime found them about a mile northwest of the ruins of Fort Reno. It was here that they were first alerted that something was wrong.
Jordan spotted it first—a ring of buzzards circling in the sky ahead. Half a mile farther, off to their left on a gentle rise, a lone horse grazed leisurely in the high grass. It was saddled and, at that distance, they could see that it was an army saddle. It raised its head and whinnied when they approached. Sweet Pea snorted in reply. There was no need for either man to waste words of warning. Both Jordan and Toby tensed as they proceeded cautiously toward the riderless horse. It stood obediently waiting while they approached. Jordan reached over and picked up the loose reins.
“Injuns?” Toby wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Jordan replied. “I don’t hardly expect an Indian would have let the horse go.”
They rode on, guiding on the circle of buzzards. After covering another half mile, they arrived at the ruins of Fort Reno. The ring of scavenger birds was hovering directly overhead. Jordan took a careful look around them before riding in. The closeness of the buzzards would indicate that the birds sensed no threat of danger, but Jordan was still alert to the possibility of ambush. Impatient, Toby pushed on ahead. When Jordan followed him, it was to find the boy staring at three corpses sprawled near the ashes of a campfire.
“Well, I don’t reckon I have to ask if one of those bodies is our man, Pike,” Jordan commented as he rode up and dismounted. It didn’t take a great deal of investigating to see what had happened. “Lieutenant Castle,” Jordan said, recognizing the young officer from Fort Laramie. He at once thought of the officer’s young family, and his wife now a widow. A series of deep bruises and broken skin tattooed the lieutenant’s neck, obviously the cause of his death. There were no bullet holes or other wounds. Apparently, his windpipe had been crushed, and probably with a length of the chain lying at his feet. The other two bodies had been shot—one with a bullet hole in his forehead, the other a few yards away, shot in the back. Since all three bodies were wearing uniforms, there was no need for close examination to know that Pike was not one of the dead.
“I thought that feller, Grouard, said there were four soldiers in the guard detail with the lieutenant,” Toby said, just remembering.
“He did,” Jordan replied. “Maybe the other two helped him pull it off. Or maybe they deserted before they got this far.”
Now there was the question of whether they were trailing one man or three, and there were too many tracks around the old ruins to determine which were new and which weren’t. The road had been traveled a great deal lately by army troops going and coming, but Jordan searched anyway, hoping to find some clue that might tell him which tracks were Pike’s. He soon abandoned his search. This time, Toby didn’t bother to suggest the Christian thing would be to bury the bodies, but Jordan couldn’t bring himself to leave the young officer’s body for the buzzards to feast upon. Picturing Mary Castle’s face in his mind, he didn’t like the prospect of someday having to relate the circumstances of her husband’s death. He resolved that he would at least be able to comfort her with the knowledge that her husband had had a decent burial.
A few miles past Reno, they came upon another saddled horse wandering free. Toby went after it, and soon had it trailing along behind Brownie. “I reckon there’s another horse out here somewhere,” Jordan speculated. “He wasn’t takin’ a chance on being caught with horses wearin’ a US brand.”
The more Jordan thought about it, the more he was convinced they were still chasing one man. He just couldn’t see a man like Pike teaming up with the two deserters. Pike was a lone wolf. The riddle to be solved was where would a lone wolf likely be headed? With no identifiable trail to follow, it was little more than a guessing game. He couldn’t go back to Deadwood—he would most likely be strung up for killing Polly. And to go back into the Powder River country would be heading straight into a swarm of Sioux and Cheyenne. Because there was nothing but speculation to go on, Jordan decided their best chance was to continue on the government road to Fort Fetterman, and beyond to Fort Laramie. His reasoning was that Pike could assume that there were no witnesses to tell of his arrest or the murder of his guards. There was no telegraph between Goose Creek and Fort Fetterman, so he had to figure he could be long gone before the army was even alerted that the guard detail was missing.
It
was late in the afternoon when the buildings of Fort Fetterman came into view. Located on a plateau above the valleys of the North Platte and LaPrele Creek, the post was not one of Jordan’s favorite places. Generally known as a hardship post among the soldiers who were unfortunate enough to be stationed there, Fort Fetterman was the cause of many desertions. Fresh food and supplies were not available on the site. Everything had to be hauled in from Fort Laramie or Medicine Bow Station on the Union Pacific Railroad. It was a constant complaint from the soldiers that the soil was not capable of supporting even a small garden. Jonah Parsons had told of spending a winter there many years back. He said it was a toss-up as to whether he was going to starve to death or freeze solid. Blizzard after blizzard paid regular visits, and the wintry gales never ceased. Jonah claimed that he had a ringing in his ears on into the following summer as a result. Due to the inhospitality of the location, there were no more than a few homesteaders scattered nearby. So there were no social opportunities for the off duty soldier—the only diversion being an establishment known to the troops as the “Hog Ranch,” staffed by a few prairie belles as rough as the rugged land.
Jordan and Toby went directly to the log building pointed out as the post headquarters, where they were met by a Sergeant Murray. Murray informed them that the post commander was off up the river somewhere fishing, but he assured them that he was the one who actually ran the post. When Jordan described the man they were trailing, Murray remembered Pike right away. “Yeah, solidly built man, had a scar on one side of his face. He rode in two days ago. Didn’t stay long, not even overnight—I saw him in the sutler’s store. He bought a few things and left right away.”
“Did he say where he was headin’?” Jordan asked.
“Back east,” Murray answered. “That’s all he said. I didn’t push him for more ’cause he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk. I figured him for just another drifter, and let him be.” The sergeant stepped outside with Jordan and Toby. “What did you say you was following him for?”
“He’s killed some folks, seven that I know of, five of ’em soldiers. We found the bodies of the last three back at Fort Reno two days ago.” He then went on to explain that Pike was being escorted to Fort Fetterman for trial, and the three bodies were part of the guard detail.
“Well, forevermore,” Murray exclaimed. “And he was right here on the post. The colonel’s most likely gonna send out a patrol to look for him.”
“Maybe,” Jordan said. He shot a quick glance in Toby’s direction when the boy showed a slight look of alarm. “I don’t reckon Toby and me’ll wait for the army to get a patrol mounted.” This last, he said for the boy’s benefit, knowing that Toby wanted to beat the army to Pike. “We’ve got a couple of the army’s mounts we’d just as soon get rid of. Can you take ’em off our hands?”
“Shore can,” Murray replied, and walked to the hitching post with Jordan. Noticing Sweet Pea then, he couldn’t help but remark, “I’m surprised you didn’t swap horses when you had the chance.”
Weary of defending his horse, Jordan just smiled and said, “Didn’t think of it.”
Content to have Fort Fetterman behind them, they followed the North Platte toward Fort Laramie. It would be a two-day ride, less if they pushed the horses hard. Starting out with only a few hours of daylight left, they were determined to close the distance between them and the outlaw. Already trailing Pike by a couple of days, it was hard to say if they were gaining on him or not until they stumbled upon a recent campfire around noon the next day. They paused to rest the horses and look around the campsite for sign. It was here that lady luck decided to glance in their direction.
“What is it?” Toby asked, noticing that Jordan was kneeling over a patch of bare ground near the ashes of the fire.
“Might be a break,” Jordan said without looking up. Toby came over to see. Jordan looked up at him then. “I believe Mr. Pike will be slowin’ down pretty soon.” He traced his finger along a hoof print in the soft dirt. “His horse is about to throw a shoe.” Toby bent low to see for himself. There was no doubt about it. The shoe was loose, as evidenced by the double print in the dirt. “He probably didn’t get very much farther before the horse lost it,” Jordan said.
Still two days ahead, but unaware of his pursuers, Bill Pike cursed his horse for throwing a shoe. He pushed on, forcing the animal to keep up a steady pace until the horse began to limp slightly. Still with no compassion for his mount, Pike whipped the horse unmercifully. By his reckoning, he could be no farther than ten or fifteen miles from Fort Laramie at this point, and he was intent upon reaching the post before dark. With each mile, however, the horse’s hoof became more and more tender until, finally, it began to limp in earnest.
“Damn you!” Bill lashed out at the helpless animal, and with great reluctance, dismounted. He would have shot the horse then and there, but even in his fit of anger, he realized he would then have to carry his saddle himself. Frustrated and hungry, for he had finished the last of his meager rations that noon, he started walking, leading the lame animal.
He had covered little more than a mile when he came to a small stream that emptied into the North Platte. He paused for a moment to let the horse drink. Then as he was about to cross over and be on his way, he detected a movement in the corner of his eye. His reflexes were swift. In a flash, he drew his pistol and turned, ready to fire. Expecting an Indian or a soldier, he was astonished to find he was facing a small boy armed with a fishing pole. The boy, even more startled, froze, his eyes wide and growing every second as he stared at the gun barrel.
Pike relaxed and returned the pistol to its holster. “Boy, that’s a damn good way to get your head blowed off,” he said. “Where the hell did you come from, anyway?”
“Down by the river,” the youngster replied. He held his catch up for Bill to see.
It was only one catfish, and hardly of a size to make a meal, but the sight of it immediately reminded the outlaw of his empty stomach. “Here, lemme see that fish,” Bill demanded abruptly. The boy dutifully complied. Pike held it up before his eyes to examine it more closely. Satisfied that it was edible, he looked around him for something to build a fire with.
The boy studied the strange man with a white scar parting the dark beard on one side of his face. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the man’s brusque demeanor, and it was beginning to look as if he was not going to return the fish. He remained still for a few seconds while Pike, clutching the catfish possessively, looked around for wood. He had already dismissed the boy from his mind.
“You hungry, mister?” The boy finally broke his silence.
As if just then remembering the boy standing there, Pike cocked an eye in the lad’s direction. “Damn right I’m hungry. You got anything else with you besides this slimy little fish?”
The boy shook his head. He didn’t care for the stranger’s unfriendly attitude, but his parents had taught him to be respectful of his elders. “No, sir,” he replied. “But if you’re hungry, Mama can fix you somethin’ to eat.”
This immediately garnered Pike’s attention. He looked all around him now, searching for sign of a house. “You live near here?”
The boy nodded, then pointed toward a low ridge to the north. “On the other side of yonder hill,” he said.
This was pleasing news for Bill. He needed food, and he needed a horse. His belligerent attitude swiftly changed, and he broke out a crooked smile for the boy’s benefit. “Well, then,” he said, “let’s go see your mama.” He handed the catfish back to the boy. “What’s your name, son?”
“Jeremy,” the lad replied.
“Well, Jeremy, I’m mighty glad I run into you. Lead away.”
The boy crossed the tiny stream, and started up a path that led along the bank toward a narrow gap where the stream cut through the ridge. Pike followed along behind, leading his lame horse. On the other side of the ridge, they came to a modest cabin built of logs. Pike wasted no time in taking a quick assessment of the home
stead. He was hungry. There was no doubt about that, but there were other things he needed—a horse for certain. So he was quick to look toward the corral. It was of crude construction, built of gnarled pine logs that were no doubt not straight enough for use on the cabin roof. But there was a horse and two mules inside. The discovery brought a smile to Pike’s face. He shifted his gaze to the chickens pecking near the cabin door, and his smile grew wider. Yessir, Jeremy. I’m mighty glad I run into you.
He glanced again at the stock in the corral. “Where’s your pa, boy?”
“I think he’s in the house,” Jeremy replied. “Pa ain’t workin’ the place today.”
“Oh, he ain’t, is he?” Bill responded. “Why ain’t he workin’ today?”
Jeremy looked back at the stranger in surprise. “’Cause today’s Sunday—Pa don’t work on Sunday. It ain’t right to work on the Lord’s Day.”
“So today’s Sunday,” Pike said. “I didn’t have no idea.” He was about to remark that the devil worked every day when a woman appeared in the cabin doorway. “Is that your mama?”
“Yessir,” Jeremy replied. The woman turned her head to make a comment to someone inside, and a moment later Jeremy’s father appeared in the open doorway. “Pa,” Jeremy called out, “this feller’s horse is gone lame.” His father stepped around his wife, and walked out in the front yard to meet them. “And he’s hungry,” Jeremy added.
“John Dunstan,” his father said. “This is my wife, Helen. We ain’t got much to offer, but I’m sure we can fix you up with somethin’ to eat.” Hearing her husband’s comment, Helen Dunstan nodded politely, then disappeared inside to see what she could come up with to feed the stranger.
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