“Hurry!” he implored.
“Here!” Lame Dog exclaimed. “This is where the horses were tied. The tracks lead back toward the road.”
Kneeling, he bent close to the ground, examining each clear hoofprint closely, hoping to find some identifying mark that would set it apart from the many other prints on the wagon road. Realizing then what Lame Dog was looking for, Bloody Hand reined in his impatience and dropped to his knee to join in the search. It had not been necessary to look so closely while following the six horses to Fort Benton, for they had been the only set of tracks to follow. Now they would be mixed in again with the traffic on the river road.
“There!” Lame Dog exclaimed triumphantly. Bloody Hand bent close to see. Pointing to the print of one of the shod horses, Lame Dog touched the forward arch of the shoe with his finger where it showed a small nick.
Bloody Hand was pleased. “You have sharp eyes,” he said. “I am glad that you came with me. Now we must ride!”
Finally feeling Bloody Hand’s acceptance, Lame Dog sprang to his feet, glowing with confidence. They rode up from the riverbank to once again follow the wagon track along the Missouri. Riding side by side, both men looked for signs of tracks leading away from the road again. They found only one set before reaching a common crossing to the other side of the river. It took a few minutes to examine the tracks before they decided they were not the ones they sought. When they reached the crossing, they found that almost every traveler had left the road to cross over to the other side. Just to be sure, they looked closely until they found the hoofprint that told them what they needed to know.
Once they had crossed the river, another search of the tracks was performed to make sure their party had not doubled back. When that was confirmed, Lame Dog felt sure he knew where the four white people were going.
“They’re heading back the same way they came,” he said. “Maybe they will stop at the trading post at Hound Creek, like they did before.”
“If this is so,” Bloody Hand replied excitedly, “we can move much faster. How far is it to the trading post?”
“Maybe one long day,” Lame Dog said. “With two women, they will probably take a day and a half.”
“I think you are right. We will catch them when they make camp tonight.”
• • •
“Is that saddle a little better for you?” Bret asked as he reined his horse back to let Lucy come up beside him.
“Yes, I think it is,” Lucy answered. “Thank you for fixing it.”
“No trouble at all,” he said. “Might as well be as comfortable as you can.”
The young woman was still extremely guarded in her relationship with him, maybe even more so than she was with Coldiron. He hoped that more casual conversation would set her mind more at rest as the days passed. Knowing the treatment she must have endured during her captivity, he felt true compassion for her, and he hoped she would allow herself to forget those painful memories.
She concentrated her gaze on his back as he nudged the paint horse ahead again, wondering what role he had in mind for her, if this talk they had about being a family really was in earnest. On this ranch they talked about building, could she be little more than a servant girl, working in the kitchen, helping Myra? She was not fooling herself. She had no skills to offer. She could cook and clean, work in the fields, if called upon to do so. Beyond that, she had no real worth to them.
“What are you thinking about?” Myra asked, interrupting Lucy’s reverie. She had been studying her young friend’s face after Bret rode back up in front of her. She saw the same signs of worried distress that had often played across Lucy’s face since her rescue.
“Nothing, really,” Lucy answered, and formed a halfhearted smile.
It was not enough to convince Myra.
“Lucy, honey, what’s in the past is just that—past, and it ain’t here no more unless you just hang on to it in your mind. This is a new day, and we’re lucky that we got away with our lives. Not only that, we were rescued by two decent men who will take care of us. So I want you to start looking at the bright side of things. I’ll always be here for you if things don’t work out for us with Bret and Nate. We’ll just find something else to do if that happens. All right?”
“All right,” Lucy said, with the same attempt to smile as before, but she was still just as uncertain about her future.
Along toward the middle of the day, they crossed a healthy stream on its way to join the mighty Missouri. It seemed to offer a good place to make camp, but they decided that they wanted to continue on, since Jake Smart’s place was still over half a day’s ride.
So they stopped only long enough to rest the horses and let them drink. They passed several other streams before finally selecting a spot by a healthy creek where they could ride off the trail a couple of hundred feet into a grove of pines. The men unloaded the horses while the women gathered wood and built a fire. The supper that night was to be leftover pan biscuits and smoked venison, washed down with coffee. But Myra promised better fare when they got to the trading post.
“I’ll take some time to cook something,” she promised.
“And me and Bret’ll take time to do a little huntin’,” Coldiron said. “We ought not be ridin’ for more’n half a day tomorrow—give you ladies a little time to rest.”
“Maybe we can spend a little time gossiping with Jake’s wife,” Myra said, then laughed at her facetious remark.
Coldiron laughed with her, thinking about the grim-looking Blackfoot woman. “I expect you might. She’s a real chatterbox.”
The mood was cheerful as the evening approached, and all the fears and uncertainty seemed far behind them.
• • •
There was just barely enough light to examine the hoofprint closely, but both agreed that it was the print with the nicked shoe they had identified before. Bloody Hand peered through the growing gloom of evening toward a grove of pine trees.
“I think they may be camped in those trees,” he said. “We will wait a little while longer until they have settled down for the night.”
He wanted to be sure there would be no time for the two men to react when they struck.
“We need to be careful,” Lame Dog warned. “I have heard many stories about the scout Coldiron. I have heard that he is as big as a bear and has many kills. The other man, I don’t know, but I know that they both have the rifles that shoot many times.”
He didn’t tell Bloody Hand that he knew this because they had sent him scurrying with a heavy barrage of gunfire when he attempted to steal their horses.
Patient, now that he knew his prey was treed, Bloody Hand said, “It is best to wait until they are asleep. Then we will kill the men in their beds before they have time to protect the women.”
Soon it was dark enough to see occasional sparks flying up into the night air, so the two warriors left their horses and crept up closer to the camp. The glow of the campfire could now be seen through the veil of trees and bushes. They waited a while longer, and then Bloody Hand decided to move almost to the edge of the trees to see if he could determine where the men were sleeping.
After a few minutes, he was back. “They are already in their beds close to the fire, their weapons lying beside them. I could not see the women, but I think they are behind them, close to the horses.”
He checked his rifle once more to make sure it was ready to fire, then told Lame Dog to aim at the man to the left of the fire, and he would take the one on the right.
“Watch for the women. They might have guns also, but be careful you don’t shoot the young one. I must take her alive.” He got to his feet. “I will have the woman again, and the six horses I paid for the bitch,” he boasted.
“Some of them,” Lame Dog corrected. “We will share the horses. You can have the woman.”
He got up and together they stole sil
ently through the underbrush and onto the clean floor beneath the pines. When both were in position, Bloody Hand nodded and they charged into the clearing, screaming a terrifying Piegan war cry and firing at the still forms by the fire.
Shocked from a sound sleep by a howling nightmare descending upon him, he scrambled from his blanket and reached for his rifle just as the first .44 slug caught him squarely in the chest. Still, he managed to cock his weapon, loading a cartridge before a second slug ripped into his stomach, and he dropped back on his blanket. Lying helpless, he heard the rifle on the other side of the fire and knew that his partner had gotten off a shot. But there were no more as his partner went down. Seconds later, the final slug ended it.
“Head the women off!” Bloody Hand shouted. “Don’t let them get across the creek!”
Reacting to Bloody Hand’s commands, Lame Dog sprinted through the trees to splash across the creek, effectively cutting off any alley of escape from the camp. But there was no sign of the women. Baffled, for they could not have gotten across before he did, Lame Dog closed in on the camp, looking for their hiding place. He heard Bloody Hand yelling for him.
“I’m here,” he answered, “at the creek!”
In a few seconds, Bloody Hand ran to meet him, eager for the reunion he had suffered to have.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “Where is the bitch?”
“There’s no one here,” Lame Dog told him. “They’re gone.”
“How can that be? They must be here somewhere!” Bloody Hand was close to a blind rage. He looked all around him frantically, looking for any possible hiding place. “The horses,” he said. “They’re hiding among the horses.”
Both warriors ran then to see, but there was no one hiding there. Choking with rage and confusion, Bloody Hand stopped short when it struck him that there were only four horses. They must have escaped! But how could they have escaped without being seem by them? No one had ridden out of the camp.
“They are not here,” he stated emphatically. “Let’s look at the two men we killed.”
He turned and walked back to the fire, where the two bodies lay sprawled near their blankets. Pulling a half-burned limb from the fire, he poked it around in the glowing coals until it burst again into flames. Then using it as a light, he held it close to the faces of both corpses. He stood back then and stared at the two insignificant bodies of two old trappers while thinking of the description of the bear of a man named Coldiron. In a deadly calm voice, he asked, “Are these the men you saw at the trading post?”
Unable to explain the mistake, Lame Dog fumbled for words. “We both saw the hoofprints, the marked horseshoe . . .”
In a sudden search for redemption, he went to the four horses tied by the creek and began inspecting hooves of the two that were shod. When he found a rough place on the right front hoof of one of them, he exclaimed, “See, here is the horse that left the print.” He seemed to imply that it justified their mistake in following the wrong party.
Once more awash in frustration, Bloody Hand stood staring at the two bodies, idly rubbing the shriveled ear on the cord around his neck between his thumb and forefinger. Lame Dog stood by, hesitant to say more, his head hanging, much like the animal whose name he had chosen. After a long stretch of angry silence, Bloody Hand finally took control of his overtaxed emotions.
“This changes nothing. Let us see if these two white dogs have anything of value.”
Lame Dog enthusiastically joined his savage partner in the stripping of the bodies, ripping pockets to get to their contents, slashing them with their knives if they were too coarse to tear with their hands. All told, their massacre of two unsuspecting trappers netted them four dollars in silver, four horses of average quality, two Colt revolvers, and two single-shot Springfield army rifles.
They loaded their spoils on the horses and rode away, satisfied that they had at least rid the world of two white men who had no business in Blackfeet country. Now half a day behind again, they rode for only a short distance before making camp for the rest of that night. Tomorrow, they would ride to Lame Dog’s father’s trading post to see if the four white people they trailed had stopped there.
Chapter 12
“Well, I’ll be . . . ,” Jake Smart started, then called back toward the store, “Ruby, they’re back! And they’ve got the other woman with ’em.” He replaced the rail to close the corral where his horses and the cow were eating hay he had brought from the barn. “I swear, I wouldn’ta been surprised if we never saw them again.”
Ruby Red Bonnet came from the store to see for herself. Sure enough, there was the big gray-haired scout and his tall dark-haired young friend, turning off and coming down the path to the store. Behind them were the two white women. Like her husband, Ruby had not expected them to successfully steal the young woman out of the Piegan camp. But unlike Jake, she was not happy to see them.
How many of my people died because of this? she wondered.
“Hey-yo, Nate,” Jake called out. “I see you got what you went after.”
“Yep,” Coldiron answered. “Me and Bret most of the time get what we go after,” he boasted. “Ain’t that right, partner?”
“If you say so,” Bret replied, content to let Coldiron be the one to do the bragging. “This is Lucy Gentry,” he said as Lucy reined her horse to a stop beside his.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Jake said. “Welcome to my little business here. I’m real sorry you had to go through all your troubles with the Injuns, but I’m mighty glad they was able to find you.”
“We thought we’d stay over for a day or two,” Coldiron interrupted, thinking Lucy would prefer not to talk about her ordeal right away. “We’ll camp down by the creek where we did last time, if it’s all right with you. Me and Bret plan on doin’ a little huntin’ to see if we can’t add some fresh meat to our supplies. Might share a little with you and Ruby, if we have any luck.”
“You oughta do just fine,” Jake said. “Mule deer and antelope, too, have been runnin’ all along Hound Creek of late. I saw three young does right up at the edge of the yard yesterday.”
“That’s even better,” Coldiron joked. “Maybe we won’t have to hunt ’em up. Me and Bret’ll just lay back on your front porch and shoot ’em when they come a-callin’.”
Jake chuckled. “Maybe so, but I ain’t givin’ no guarantees.” He changed the subject abruptly then. “Did you run into much trouble rescuing the lady?”
Not finished joking yet, Coldiron answered, “Why, not a bit. That fine, upstandin’ gentleman that grabbed her said he was happy to see she got back with her people again. They wanted us to hang around for a while, but we told ’em we had to get back home.”
“Is that a fact?” Jake replied, going along with Coldiron’s nonsense. “Well, them Piegans are known for their hospitality.” He noticed then that the young lady in question did not appear to appreciate the humor in her capture by the Piegan Blackfeet. So he apologized for his own lack of hospitality. “I reckon you ladies are most likely weary. Why don’t you step down and come inside? Ruby can make you a pot of coffee, and maybe set you out a little somethin’ to eat.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Smart,” Myra was quick to reply. “But we don’t want to put your wife to all that trouble. We’ll just wait till we set up camp. We’ve got some deer meat that’s fixing to spoil if we don’t eat it pretty soon.”
She realized that it might be idle suspicion on her part, but she didn’t want to eat anything the sullen Blackfoot woman prepared for them. She might pepper it with gunpowder or some strange Indian herb designed to make a white person sick. Catching the look of disappointment on Coldiron’s face, she gave in a little.
“A good cup of coffee would be welcome, though. That would be plenty.”
“That’d be no trouble a’tall,” Jake spoke for his wife, who was still hanging back at the door of the
store. “Ruby, how ’bout buildin’ a pot of coffee for these travelers?”
Without a word to the visitors, she turned and disappeared inside the store.
• • •
“I swear, she’s something, ain’t she?” Myra commented later while setting up their camp. She was referring to Jake’s wife and her obvious distrust of white people. “That’s one Indian who ain’t signed any peace treaty with the government.” She handed the pot she had purchased in Fort Benton to Lucy. “If you want, you can fill this with some water, and we’ll let some of those beans soak till it’s time to fix supper.”
Lucy paused a moment to reply before going to the creek. “She looked at me the same way those Piegan women looked at me. She doesn’t seem very friendly.”
“Ha,” Myra responded. “She ain’t. You might think I’m being silly, but I didn’t take a sip of that coffee till I saw her pour her husband and herself some of it. I don’t trust her no farther than I can throw her. I reckon Jake means well, but I don’t really believe he knows what a mountain lion he’s married to.”
“Do you think we’re in any danger here?” Lucy asked, concerned now.
“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Myra was quick to reassure her. “That’s the reason we stopped here—’cause it’s close to the trading post, and the Indians in Black Bear’s village don’t bother it. The only thing we need to do is keep an eye on that wife of Jake’s.”
They had set up their camp in the same spot they had used the time before, upstream from Jake’s outhouse perched on the bank above the creek—a location Myra had insisted upon when the proximity of the structure seemed to be of no importance to either of the men. It was little more than a cabinet of vile odors, at any rate, and Myra advised Lucy to avoid it, recommending the willows downstream instead.
“Think that’ll do?” Bret asked, after dropping another armload of wood for the fire.
“That oughta hold me for a while,” Myra replied.
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