“What the hell are you looking at?” she demanded, making no move to interrupt her business.
“Something I don’t see very often,” he replied and immediately did an about-face and rode back to take his place at the front. After that, whenever she disappeared, he gave her a couple of minutes before thinking about checking on her.
There had been no problem making the Rosebud on that first day. Jason planned to follow the river north for about forty miles and then swing over to the Tongue. Since it was obvious the girl was not going to hold them back, he figured to strike the Tongue River in two more days. The sooner he got out of this part of the country the better. Even though Sitting Bull gave them safe passage, that didn’t mean they were out of danger. Crazy Horse’s band was camped somewhere in the Big Horn country, as well as some smaller bands of Cheyenne and Arapaho. If he was alone, it wouldn’t bother him to remain in hostile territory indefinitely. But with Abby and the half-breed along, he felt like he was leading a parade.
“Well, I’m going to take a little look around before I turn in.” He poured the dregs of his coffee on the ground and got up. “We’ll get an early start in the morning.”
Jason awoke the next morning to find Abby rolled up in her blanket and snuggled up close against Nathan. While they slept, he stirred up the fire and put some coffee on to boil. After he had taken a look around the camp, he returned to awaken his two companions. Abby opened her eyes when Jason’s boot nudged her foot but she did not move right away. Nathan awoke reluctantly and rolled over to his side, whereupon he bumped into Abby. He almost bolted straight up on finding her sleeping next to him. He scrambled to his feet, looking as if he had found a skunk in his blankets. Abby winked at him and bade him a cheerful good morning, while Jason stifled a laugh.
They made good time that day and dusk found them almost thirty-five miles upriver. They would camp there that night and cross over to strike the Tongue before noon the next day. So far, there had been no sign of hostiles and Jason began to wonder if the trip back might prove to be without problems. He was gratified to find that after two days on the trail, Abby was still cheerful and holding her own—in fact, it was Nathan White Horse who seemed to complain the most. When they had made their camp by a small branch that cut off from the river, Nathan voiced one of his complaints.
He and Abby had changed positions in the line of travel due to the young lady’s necessity to make numerous relief stops. Since Abby was now bringing up the rear, this placed Nathan directly behind Jason’s packhorse. After a day behind Thunder, Nathan was ready to register his discontent.
“What the hell’s wrong with that horse?” he wanted to know as he and Jason hobbled the horses.
“Why, what do you mean?” Jason asked, straight-faced, knowing full well what Nathan was referring to.
“Fartin’! That horse farts more than any damn animal I’ve ever seen. Ain’t you noticed it?”
Jason didn’t look up but finished hobbling White. “That’s an army parade horse. She’s trained to count cadence when she marches in parades. Sometimes she forgets she ain’t in a parade.” He got to his feet and looked at Nathan with no trace of expression on his face. “All army parade horses do that.”
Nathan looked at Jason for a long moment before responding. “Well, I didn’t know that.” He walked away, scratching his head.
When Jason walked back to the fire, he found Abby and Nathan involved in a hushed argument over, it turned out, a rip in Nathan’s pants. Abby insisted on sewing it up for him and Nathan was vehement in insisting it was not her place to “do” for him. Jason said nothing but he couldn’t suppress a grin. Nathan huffed and grunted a couple of times and then removed himself to the opposite side of the campfire.
“Let me know when you get over your stubborn streak and I’ll sew those britches up for you.” Looking at Jason, she smiled sweetly as if he had walked in on her while she was disciplining a difficult child. She sat for a while, finishing her coffee, thinking about her two male companions. Jason, satisfied that the horses and their camp were secure, had already rolled up in a blanket and was well on his way to sleep. He was a curious sort, she thought, completely self-sufficient, needing no one. And, although soft-spoken and polite, she could see that he was as wild as any Indian she had met on her trip out west. He was as much a part of the land as the cottonwoods on the riverbank or the buffalo grass on the plains. She longed to be like that. For all her young life, she had been looking for her place in the world. Having never found it back East, she decided it must be in the prairies and mountains. Taking another sip of the bitter brew Jason called coffee, she thought back to her childhood. Glancing around at the sleeping scout and back to the sulking half-breed, she smiled to herself. What would Daddy think of his little girl if he could see me now?
Life wasn’t always easy to figure out. Charlotte, her older sister by two years, was a dainty, almost fragile girl, with flaxen hair and the small delicate features that had the boys calling before she was sixteen. Why, then, did the second child from the same union of husband and wife turn out as gawky as the first one was graceful? It wasn’t fair. Her parents knew she was going to be a maverick from the start—her mother had been eleven hours in labor before Abby made her entrance into the world. The big feet and hands of the toddler promised a not-so-dainty young lady in the future.
Her mother and sister continued to have hope for Abby in her early formative years, but those hopes were probably abandoned shortly after her fourteenth birthday. Abby remembered it well. It was the Spring Cotillion and would be her introduction to the social world of Chicago. Her mother and Charlotte had done the best they could for the gangly young lady. A lovely pink and white satin dress had been made especially for her first dance. She could never remember a time when she had felt dainty and feminine, but this was as close as she had ever been. After she was all dressed with the help of her mother, her sister, and her mother’s maid, she was ready to go downstairs to gain her father’s approval. She descended the stairs as gracefully as she could, trying hard to imitate the almost fluid movements of her older sister who repeatedly admonished her to glide her feet as if walking through a room filled with baby chicks—not stomp through the room as if the carpet was on fire and she was trying to put it out.
Arlington Langsforth had never been a subtle man. It required a blunt, ruthless businessman to forge his way into the ownership of a large Chicago newspaper. In typical fashion, he crushed the fragile dream of his younger daughter with one dry observation. Abby would hear those words of her father’s in her mind’s ear for years to come. Reading his newspaper when she attempted to glide into his study, he glanced up and studied his young daughter intently. She waited expectantly for what seemed a lengthy, heavy void. Finally he stated dryly, “About like hanging Christmas candles on a fence post.”
Now, seated before a small campfire in the middle of hostile territory, she could smile about it for she had come to like herself as she was. She no longer envied her sister, married to a lawyer and the mother of three. She could ride and shoot a rifle as well as a lot of men and she was still just as much a woman—just a different kind of woman. That thought brought her mind back to Nathan White Horse. He was small and maybe a little shy of character, but she liked him and she figured he might be easily molded into a decent husband. On a practical note, her prospects of attracting a man like Jason Coles were not that sound, but she fancied herself to be a good catch for the likes of Nathan White Horse. She looked over at the half-breed, who had now turned his back to the fire. You’ll take some work, though, she thought.
It was about six-thirty by the time Jason got everybody packed up and ready to ride. At this point on the river, he figured to be no more than ten or fifteen miles from the Tongue, so he led them out due east, into the sun. It promised to be a warm day, with no sign of a cloud in the morning sky, and Jason decided it best not to push too hard. The horses could use a good rest. Maybe, if things looked all right when they stru
ck the Tongue and there wasn’t a lot of sign, they could rest the horses there.
The sun was still high in the sky when they walked the horses into the shallow water of the Tongue to drink. Jason had ridden on ahead to scout out the riverbanks and he led them to a shady clump of willows where they could fix the noon meal. He brought out some salt pork from his packhorse and gave it to Abby to fry. He figured it might be time to give them something hot to eat to go along with the coffee and hardtack. He had seen a small herd of antelope on the far side of the river but he didn’t deem it wise to risk a shot. Hardtack and salt pork would have to do.
“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to offer than army field rations,” Jason said as he took some hardtack from a sack in his saddle pack. He walked back to the fire where Abby was frying the salt pork and knelt down to examine the hard crackers.
Abby watched him intently for a few seconds then commented. “That stuff’s got green mold all over it.” She felt compelled to point that out because it appeared he was going to offer it to her.
“Yeah, I reckon. I’m afraid all I packed for victuals was from the army quartermaster’s stores and this lot of hardtack was pretty old.” He glanced up at her and smiled. “Little bit of mold won’t hurt you, though. We’ll just wipe it off. I’ll show you how the soldiers fix hardtack up so you’ll think you’re dining on pastry back in Chicago.” He laughed at the skepticism plainly conveyed in her gaze. When the salt pork was done and out of the pan, he put the hardtack in and fried it in the grease. When it was done on both sides, he produced a bottle of brown sugar from his pack and sprinkled it over the hardtack. The result was a fairly palatable offering that Abby found quite pleasing, considering their circumstances.
They rested there for the remainder of the day, giving the horses a chance to graze and water. The next morning they were rested and ready to ride again. Jason stepped up on White and waited a few minutes while Nathan and Abby climbed on their horses. Then he led them into the river and started across.
The first shot splashed in the water in front of him. It was a single rifle shot but, almost like a signal, it set off a barrage of rifle fire from the sandy mounds on the opposite shore and all hell broke loose, shattering the early still of the morning. White reared back in the shallow water and Jason almost came out of the saddle before he muscled her back and turned her around. “Get back!” he yelled. It was unnecessary because Nathan and Abby were already kicking their mounts frantically in an effort to escape the swarm of bullets that were buzzing and snapping across the narrow expanse of water.
“Make for the trees,” he shouted. In the same instant, he saw Abby’s horse tumble, throwing her over her mortally wounded horse’s neck and into the knee-deep water. Nathan, a few yards ahead of her and flogging his horse mercilessly, never looked back as he drove for the cover of the trees. There was no time to return fire, even if he could have pinpointed their attackers. In a matter of seconds, Jason caught up to Abby and pulled her up behind him. He didn’t wait for her to seat herself behind his saddle. He just yelled, “Hang on!” and grabbed her by the seat of her pants while she wrapped her arms around his waist and he galloped toward the willows where they had camped the night before. Abby, holding on for dear life, still found breath to curse their attackers.
They reached the safety of the trees not a moment too soon, for the air behind them was now split with Cheyenne war cries as Hungry Wolf and his warriors charged into the river after them.
Jason took but a moment to look the situation over. There were a dozen of them, painted for war. This was not a chance encounter. This Cheyenne band had come prepared to ambush them—and he didn’t have to guess who led them. His rifle out now, he calmly picked off two of the foremost riders as they reached the middle of the river, slowing the others down for a moment or two. In those moments, he directed Nathan to a position on his right behind a log and put Abby behind them to hold the horses.
Now the Cheyennes rallied and ploughed on through the water, one of them pausing to snatch the rifle from the saddle sling on Abby’s dead horse. As they gained the riverbank, Jason knocked another hostile from his pony, ejected the shell, and cut down the warrior who stopped to help his fallen companion. Hearing pistol shots behind him, he glanced back to see Abby holding the horses’ reins in one hand and calmly firing her forty-five Colt Peacemaker with the other. Their combined firepower was enough to halt the Cheyennes’ charge, causing the hostiles to disperse and seek cover. Jason had a few moments to evaluate their situation.
“Everybody all right?”
Nathan White Horse, still hugging the ground behind the log, nodded in reply. Abby, now on one knee reloading her pistol, replied. “Yeah, except the son of a bitches shot my horse and got my rifle.”
Jason looked at her and then glanced at the half-breed behind the log. Of the two, he was glad he had her to back him. Looking back at her, he spoke. “You can drop one of them reins, I reckon.”
She glanced behind her and noticed for the first time that Jason’s packhorse was lying on the ground, blood oozing from her neck. “Damn, looks like we’re down to two horses.”
“Looks like,” Jason replied. Glancing around him, he didn’t like the position they were in. “We’ve got to find a better spot to hold them off. This one’s wide open behind us. They work around us and it’ll be Katy, bar the door. We’ve got to move fast while they’re making up their minds what to do.” Hungry Wolf had lost four warriors when he tried to charge them. He would be thinking now about working around to surround them with the remaining eight men. “Grab that sack of cartridges and some of that hardtack off my packhorse and then lead Nathan’s horse through the trees downstream. They ought to give us enough cover to slip out if we’re quick enough.”
Nathan scrambled back to his horse and he and Abby retrieved the supplies from the packhorse. Jason motioned for them to move out while he protected their withdrawal. There were no shots fired from the riverbank for a few minutes, but Jason fired a couple of rounds toward where he had last seen movement. These shots were just to notify their attackers that they were still there. When Nathan and Abby were safely down the bank and moving undetected downriver, he withdrew cautiously, watching the riverbank for any sign of movement.
Leading White, he stopped briefly beside the carcass of his packhorse to make sure Abby had taken his ammunition. Poor ole Thunder, he thought. At least you went sudden-like. You were a pretty stout horse, even though you were noisy as hell. That thought fostered another: I wonder which end gasped the last breath.
In a few minutes, he caught up with Abby and Nathan. With the trees as cover, they were able to climb on Nathan’s horse, Nathan in the saddle and Abby behind. With Jason leading, they rode as quietly as they could manage until they emerged from the trees some seventy-five yards downstream. Then Jason kicked White for speed and she responded. He didn’t have to tell Abby and Nathan to do the same.
They gained a sizable start before the yells of alarm behind them told them Hungry Wolf had discovered their flight. They rode as fast as they could manage through the cuts and gullies until they came to a deep coulee that led up to the bluffs. This was as good a place as any to take their stand, Jason decided. He guided White up into the coulee and dismounted. The ravine was about ten feet deep so his horse could be protected from hostile fire. He directed Nathan to take Abby to the head of the ravine, where they would have better protection and a better position to see anyone trying to come in behind them. He took up a position nearer the river, at the mouth of the ravine where he could get a clear field of fire. This would be the direction from which the attack would come. He watched for a few seconds while Abby and Nathan climbed up the ravine, and then he turned his attention back to his rifle and cartridges. He didn’t have long to wait.
Jason counted on Hungry Wolf being so angry that he would charge blindly after them, thinking that they would continue to run. He read the Cheyenne correctly, for only moments had passed when the ban
d of hostiles galloped blindly down the riverbank, screaming bloodthirsty war whoops. Jason shrugged his shoulders to loosen them up, then brought his Winchester up. “Time to go to work, son,” he uttered softly.
Hungry Wolf, his blood running hot, was too intent on overtaking his prey to do any tracking. Consequently, he did not notice that his quarry had turned up into the deep ravine and he galloped on past. Jason, intent on reducing their numbers as much as possible, let the leaders go by, sighting down on the end of the line. He knocked the last two riders off. When the others heard the shots, they immediately jerked their ponies to a halt to see what had happened. This gave Jason stationary targets while they stared in disbelief at their fallen companions. He reduced their numbers by two more before they scrambled for cover. Four to three, he thought. The odds were to his liking now because he figured Abby to be as able as any man in their situation. He moved a few yards up the ravine in case they had spotted his position.
Now it was a waiting game while Hungry Wolf figured out what he was going to do. During the shooting, one of them must have seen his muzzle blast because, for the next few minutes, there was a series of shots from the hostiles. Jason could see bullets kicking up sand near the position he had just vacated. In a short time, they grew tired of wasting their ammunition and there was silence.
Beneath the riverbank, downstream from the ravine, Hungry Wolf and his remaining three companions were arguing. Yellow Hawk spoke. “This is not good. This man’s medicine is very strong. He has killed eight of our brothers already.”
Cheyenne Justice Page 8