The Scalp Hunters

by David Thompson

  Evelyn assumed the lead. The undergrowth was thicker than she expected. She skirted a patch of raspberries and went around a log. Gurgling drew her to a ribbon of water no more than ankle deep and shoulder wide. Dismounting, she stretched. She knelt, placed her rifle beside her, cupped a hand, and drank. The others were soon doing the same, all except Tihikanima, who stayed on her horse.

  Evelyn smiled at Dega, and he smiled at her. She dipped her hand a second time and was raising it to her lips when a square block of a white man came out of the vegetation on the other side of the stream and pointed a rifle at them. The hammer was pulled back. He grinned in wicked humor.

  “The name is Logan, little lady. Tell your green friends to do as I say or I’ll by God shoot them dead.” He patted a brace of pistols at his waist to stress his point.

  Dega started to reach for his bow, but the man swung the rifle toward him and he froze.

  Waku had his bow slung over his shoulder. He motioned to his daughters to stay still, then demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “You speak English, redskin? Good. That makes this easier.” Logan raised the rifle and took deliberate aim at Tihi. “Tell your woman to get off the horse. Make sure she understands I have no qualms about killing a woman. No qualms at all.”

  Waku translated. Thankfully, Tihikanima complied without balking or arguing.

  “Good. Now I want all of you to shed your weapons and raise your hands in the air.”

  “No,” Evelyn said.

  “Did my ears hear right?” Logan growled. “You don’t have any damn say, girl. Not if you care to go on breathing.”

  “You’re one of them, aren’t you? A scalp hunter?”

  “I’m on my own. Now do as I tell you. Shuck your hardware or bleed.”

  “We won’t.”

  “Evelyn?” Dega said.

  Waku was as anxious as his son. “We do not want him to shoot, Evelyn. We must do as he wants.”

  “That’s just it,” Evelyn said. “He’s going to kill us no matter what we do. If we all move at once, he’ll only be able to shoot one of us before we put lead or an arrow into him.”

  “Maybe so, girl,” Logan said. “But which one gets it? You? That boy you were making cow eyes at? Or maybe the kid?”

  “We will put down our weapons,” Waku said.

  “No!” Evelyn had made up her mind. To surrender was certain death. “When I give the word, we attack him.”

  Logan hadn’t expected this. Usually when he brandished a gun people did as he wanted. Inspiration struck, and he quickly said, “Look, girl. All I want are your horses. Give them to me and I’ll go my way in peace.”

  “Our horses?” Evelyn said suspiciously.

  “That’s all. You can keep your weapons and your lives.” Logan backed toward the undergrowth. “I’ll give you a minute to talk it over. Then you bring the horses over to this side one by one.” He paused meaningfully. “Try to run off and I’ll shoot you from the saddle.” With that, he whirled and darted into cover before anyone could think to shoot or loose an arrow.

  Evelyn snatched up her Hawken and rose. Of the many perils her father had warned her about when she was growing up, foremost among them was the danger of being stranded afoot in the wilderness. “Get on your horses and fan the breeze,” she whispered.

  “He will shoot one of us,” Waku said. “It is better we give our horses.”

  “On foot we’ll be easier to catch and scalp.”

  “Him not say he scalp man,” Dega pointed out.

  Evelyn’s every instinct was against turning their horses over. Waku, though, had already taken hold of his mount’s reins. “Please listen to me.”

  “I not want my family hurt.” Waku crossed with his animal, left it on the other bank, and came back. To his loved ones he said in their own tongue, “Do as I have done. We will let him think we are timid.”

  Dega went next. He was almost to the water when Evelyn barred his way and gripped his wrist.

  “Not you, too. Without our horses we don’t stand a prayer. We can’t turn them over.”

  “Father say must.” Dega tried to move, but she wouldn’t let go. “Him wise, Evelyn. Trust him.”

  “Think, Dega. Why does this Logan want our mounts? What purpose does it serve? On foot we’re easy pickings.”

  “Trust father.” Dega lowered his voice so only she heard. “Trust me, too. I always do what good for you.”

  “Oh, Dega,” Evelyn said forlornly, certain they were making the worst mistake they could. She let go, though, and after Dega came back she angrily led the mare over. Waku had gathered up Tihi’s and the girls’ animals and passed her coming the other way. He smiled and winked, but Evelyn didn’t feel like smiling.

  Logan came out of concealment, the rifle to his shoulder. “You did real good. One more thing and I’ll be on my way.” He nodded at the mare’s saddle. “Take that rope and tie these critters in a string.”

  “Just so you do not shoot,” Waku entreated.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” Logan chuckled. “It’s Venom and his bunch you have to worry about.”

  “Who?”

  “The men who are after you. They’ll catch you easy now. It’ll be you or them. Do me a favor and kill as many of the sons of bitches as you can.”

  Evelyn overheard, and was appalled. “That’s why you’re taking our horses? So your friends can wipe us out?”

  “They’re not my friends, girl, and never were. Whether they wipe you out or you wipe them out, it’s all the same to me.”

  “I get it,” Evelyn said. “You finish off whoever is left and have the scalps all to yourself.”

  “Who said anything about scalps? All I want out of this is a couple of hours with you.”

  “Me?” Evelyn exclaimed. “What ever for?” The leer he gave her was adequate answer. “Lay so much as a finger on me and I swear…”

  “You think you have me figured, but you don’t.” Logan turned as Waku went from animal to animal. “Hurry it up, green pants. The twins will be along directly and I need to be long gone.”

  “The twins?” Waku repeated.

  “You’ll meet them soon enough. I passed their camp about the middle of the night.” Logan glanced through the trees to the east. “They think they’re so damn clever, those two, but I slipped by without them knowing.”

  Waku made a loop and slipped it over his wife’s horse. “This is the last one. Take the horses and go.”

  Logan wagged his rifle. “First, you cross back over. No tricks now, you hear?”

  Evelyn boiled with frustration. She had to stand there and do nothing as the man called Logan took hold of the lead rope, and still covering them with his rifle, backed into the woods, taking their horses with him. “We’re going to regret this,” she lamented as the foliage closed around him.

  Dega bounded to his bow and scooped it up. “Now, Father?” he asked in their tongue.

  “Now, Son.”

  Wheeling, Dega vaulted the stream and melted into the vegetation, his buckskins blending in so well that he seemed part of the greenery.

  “Where is he going?” Evelyn asked in sudden alarm.

  “To bring back our horses.” Waku left unsaid what his son must do to accomplish that.

  “You had no intention of letting that man take them, did you?” Evelyn realized. “You were playing along so he wouldn’t shoot any of your family.”

  “What else?” Waku rejoined.

  Evelyn felt like a fool. She retrieved her Hawken and turned toward the stream.

  “Stay!” Waku urged. “We need you to help us.”

  “But Dega,” Evelyn said, torn between her newly admitted feelings for him, and the father’s appeal.

  Waku picked up his bow. “Maybe that man was right. Maybe the bad men come soon.”

  Hooves thudded across the stream. Logan was leaving and taking their horses.

  Evelyn took another step, compelled by her heart to rush to help Dega.
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  “Please stay!” Waku entreated her.

  Emotion tore at Evelyn like red-hot claws. “You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “If anything happens to him…”

  “He is a good warrior. He will do what he must.” Waku faced his wife and daughters. “Miki,” he said, and pointed at a tall tree. “Climb as high as you can. Tell me what you see to the east.”

  “Yes, Father,” his youngest daughter replied.

  The girl was agile as could be and in no time was perched on a branch with one arm wrapped around the bole and her other hand over her eyes to ward off the sun’s glare. “I see riders, Father,” she called down. “White men.”

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  “How far?”

  “As far as a bow can shoot an arrow three times,” Miki reported. “Wait. They have stopped. Now they are talking. They check their guns and put their hands on their knives.”

  “Come down.” Waku beckoned to Evelyn and translated. He ended with something he remembered Nate King saying once. “We have our backs to the wall. We cannot run.”

  Evelyn swallowed. She had hoped to avoid a clash. Now, thanks to Logan, bloodshed was inevitable. “How do you want to do this?”

  “We hide. When the scalp men come close, we attack them before they attack us.”

  “Whites call that root hog or die,” Evelyn absently remarked. She was thinking of Dega, of last night, of the danger he was in.

  “We root hogs,” Waku declared, and pointed at the flintlocks tucked under her belt. “Will you share with Tihi and Teni?”

  Evelyn had no objection to giving each a pistol. She demonstrated how to hold one, with Waku again translating. “This is how you pull the hammer back,” she said, and did so with her thumb. “This is how you aim. Hold the pistol as steady as you can and stroke the trigger smoothly. Don’t jerk it or the pistol will kick and you’ll miss.”

  Mother and daughter were intent listeners.

  Evelyn emphasized, “A pistol is only accurate at short range. We must let them get close. When we can see the whites of their eyes, that’s when we’ll shoot.”

  Tihikanima hefted the heavy weapon and said to Waku, “I would rather have a bow, husband. Why don’t you take this and I will use yours.”

  “I am the better archer.” Waku slid an arrow from his quiver and notched it to his bowstring. He flexed the string a few times, then said in English to Evelyn, “We thank you. You are a good friend.”

  Evelyn gazed across the stream. “I wish…” But she did not say what it was she yearned for.

  Waku followed her gaze. “Do not fear. Degamawaku will be back. He is a good fighter.”

  “God, I hope you’re right.”

  Little Miki raised an arm to the east and excitedly cried, “Look! I can see them through the trees. They are off their horses and come on foot.”

  “It is time to kill,” Wakumassee said.

  Evelyn King felt a stab of panic. “Oh God.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dega glided through the dense growth with an ease born of experience. He had been raised in the thick woodlands east of the Mississippi. The forest was his home. Whether lowland, prairie or mountain, he was as much a part of it as the trees and the brush and the animals he shared it with.

  Dega made no more noise than the breeze as he wound among the boles. He moved low to the ground so his enemy wouldn’t spot him before he spotted his enemy. The man called Logan must not get away with their horses. His father was counting on him. He would not let Waku down, would not let his mother or his sisters or Evelyn, fair Evelyn, down.

  At the thought of her, Dega tingled. Last night had been the best night of his life. To think they had kissed. To think she cared for him as much as he cared for her.

  Dega stopped in his tracks. Now was not the time for daydreaming. Not during a stalk. Not when he soon might need to do that which his people only did as a last resort.

  The People of the Forest never spilled blood for the spilling’s sake. They held life in too high esteem, all life, from a salamander’s to a bear’s, from a butterfly’s to a wren’s. Life was the gift of That Which Was In All Things, the Manitoa, a gift to be cherished, not destroyed.

  There came moments, though, moments like this one, when in order to preserve life, a Nansusequa might have to take it.

  Of late, Dega had taken to wondering if his people would still be alive if they had been less fond of peace and more fond of war. The Sioux and the Blackfeet were both warlike people, and the whites didn’t dare try to take their land. Maybe if the Nansusequa had been more willing to go to war, they would still exist.

  The clomp of hooves brought Dega out of himself. With a growl of annoyance he plunged through the greenery toward the source. He spied Logan on a horse, pulling on the lead rope to the others. Bursting into the open, Dega drew the arrow to his cheek and sighted on the white man’s torso.

  “Stop or die.”

  Logan whipped around and began to raise his rifle but froze and cursed. “Damn you, Injun. You’ve got no more sense than a slug.”

  “Get down,” Dega directed.

  “I don’t have time for this. Even if you stick that in me I’ll get off a shot and we’ll both be dead, and for what?”

  “Get down.”

  “Venom and his friends will be here any minute. You should be with your family and that girl.”

  Dega took another step and aimed at a point just below the sternum, where the shaft would penetrate to the heart. “I not say again. You no take horses. Drop rifle and get down.”

  Logan was mad at being taken off guard. By an Apache or a Sioux he could understand. By a smooth-faced boy who if he were white would barely be old enough to shave was an insult. He lowered his rifle stock-first, then slowly swung his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, his hands in front of him to make the boy think he was as meek as a kitten. “There. Happy now?”

  “We go back. You walk front of me with horses.”

  Logan had expected the boy to tell him to drop his pistols, too. The mistake would cost him. “Whatever you say, boy.”

  “I man, not boy,” Dega said indignantly. “I Nansusequa warrior.”

  Logan had the lead rope in one hand and the reins in the other. He turned as if to retrace his steps. “The Nansusequa? That’s your tribe? Never heard of them. Where are you from, anyhow? Not from these parts, I’d wager.” Logan was stalling. All it would take was a moment’s lapse on the so-called warrior’s part, and he could gain the upper hand.

  “We from east of great river,” Dega answered.

  “I could guess that much. Where exactly?” Logan tugged on the rope and the reins. The arrow’s barbed tip moved as he moved. He had to pass his would-be captor.

  “Ever hear New Albion?”

  “Isn’t that a town somewhere? Indiana or Illinois or one of those states? You’re a long way from home.”

  “All my people die. Mountains home now.”

  “You don’t say.” Logan looked away so the boy wouldn’t suspect, and then, on his very next step, he darted around his mount and drew both flintlocks.

  Dega did the only thing he could think of; he spun and ran. He braced for a searing pain in his back but no shots boomed. Veering to avoid an oak, he spotted a thicket and without hesitation dived in, holding the bow at his side so it wouldn’t become entangled. He went several steps, and crouched.

  “You’re as dumb as a stump, boy.”

  Dega peered through the interwoven limbs and leaves. He hadn’t moved fast enough. The white man was at the thicket, both guns leveled.

  “Not that you’ll live long enough for it to do you any good, but here’s some advice. Never talk when you should kill. Never let yourself be distracted. Now come on out with your hands empty and I might let you live a bit.”

  “No.”

  “To call you a jackass is an insult to jackasses. Either get out here or have holes blown in you.”

  Dega
eased onto his hands and knees. “I must come this way,” he lied. “It hard to stand.”

  “Crawl if it’ll make you happy, just so you get your stupid self out here.” Logan backed off. “Make like a rabbit.”

  “I crawl not hop.” Dega moved slowly. His left arm brushed his hip—and his knife sheath.

  “A briar patch, for God’s sake. Didn’t you say most of your tribe is dead? No wonder. Stupid makes for early graves.” Logan laughed.

  “Much stupid,” Dega said.

  “You call yourself a warrior, boy, but you’re not. You’re a boy playing at being a man.” Logan wagged the pistols. “When you get out of there, stand up and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “I will,” Dega lied. He came to the end of the thicket and unfurled, his head hung low, as if he had given up hope. He turned slightly so he was sideways to Logan and the pistols.

  “This was too easy.” Logan laughed again.

  Dega struck. He whipped his knife out and sprang, stabbing at the other’s throat. The boom of a flintlock and pain in his side were simultaneous. Then he and the white man were on the ground, struggling fiercely, with death hanging in the balance.

  Venom was puzzled. His quarry wasn’t behaving as most quarry did. It made no sense for them to stop in the belt of trees yonder when they should be fleeing pell-mell for their lives. He didn’t like it. He suspected a trick. “You’re sure they’re in there?” He had used his spyglass and not seen anyone.

  Jeph and Seph Kyler were on either side of him. “We wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t so,” the former declared.

  “We’re not liars,” said the other.

  Venom had his men dismount. They were out of rifle range. Only the white girl had guns. She was the one they had to worry about, if they worried at all. After tangling with Apaches and Comanches, going up against a puny girl would be like stomping an infant. “Spread out and move in. Remember I want the white girl alive. Anyone who harms her answers to me.”

  “And the redskins in green?” Potter asked.

  “Need you ask? We’re after their hair.”

  Tibbet coughed. “What about the Injun women? You’re not fixing to deprive us of our fun, are you?”