Jason sat passively, his feet and arms tied together and bound to a tree behind him. He appeared not to even notice the dark figure bound likewise to another tree some fifteen yards away. Knowing it was useless to struggle against rawhide, he waited patiently for whatever fate had in store for him. So unlike the treacherous murderer of Abby, he showed no emotion as Two Moon and his warriors emerged from the lodge.
Pike started pleading immediately when Two Moon stood before him, but the chief silenced him with the raising of one hand. “Untie them,” he ordered. When the two men were untied, several warriors grabbed each man and brought them to the center of the camp, where a circle of men, women, and children had formed to make an arena. Jason was not sure if it was to be a fight or an execution until Two Moon spoke.
“Now you both will have what you have asked for,” he said. Looking directly at Pike, he continued. “You begged me to let you kill this man. Now I will let you do it.” Looking back at Jason, he said, “You have asked only to be given the chance to face this man in combat. You will be given that chance.”
Pike, whose face broke into a smile when he heard Two Moon’s first statement, now turned ashen with the chief’s last remark. He looked quickly from side to side as if searching for an avenue of escape. If what he was hearing was what he thought he was hearing, the chief meant for the two of them to fight. And he had no desire to fight Jason Coles in face-on combat. His reaction did not go unnoticed by Two Moon. The chief spoke again.
“Coles is bigger and stronger than you are and I think he would kill you quickly. You will be given a knife and a war axe and Coles will have no weapons. This will make it fair.”
This brought some measure of reassurance to Pike’s face. It was still not his style of fighting, facing his opponent, but he fancied himself as being handy with a knife. He would run if he had any chance of getting away, but since he didn’t, he felt confident that he could cut Jason to ribbons before he could get close enough to him to use his advantage in strength.
Two Moon’s decision was what Jason had hoped to hear. Since finding Abby back in the Black Hills, the only thought that had driven him was to settle the score with Pike—nothing else mattered and nothing was too great a risk if it accomplished that. He felt no excitement and no elation at the knowledge that he was to be permitted to meet Pike face to face. Instead, there came a grim satisfaction that justice was to be served. The rules that Two Moon laid down—that Pike was to have the weapons—was of no great concern to him. He would do what he had to do, whatever it took.
Several knives and axes were brought before Pike and he looked them over carefully, finally making his choice of a long skinning knife with a bone handle. He held it in his hand, testing the balance deftly. It was obvious he had done a lot of work with a knife. Thinking to intimidate his opponent, he made a few slashing passes through the air, an evil smirk spread across his face as he stared at Jason. Jason gave no visual evidence that he noticed but remained calm, waiting patiently for his captors to release his arms and give the signal to fight. A few more slashes in the air and Pike nodded his acceptance of the weapon. He then picked up a war axe with a steel hatchet blade that had been sharpened to a fine edge. He laid the blade on his forearm and, with a couple of short strokes, shaved a patch of hair off. Looking up at Jason, he grinned. Two Moon did not wait for Pike to signal his readiness. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the other knives and axes to be removed. When this was done, he signaled the combat to begin. “Now you may kill each other, white men.”
The warriors holding the two men released them and shoved them toward each other in the middle of the circle of people. They stood motionless for a minute or two, each man evaluating the strengths and possible vulnerabilities of the other. Pike had a smaller frame than Jason, but he was wiry and tough and he had dispatched men bigger than Jason, though not usually in a fair fight. He was confident, however, as long as he had the knife and axe, and he was determined to slash the scout’s arms and face at long range, never allowing Jason to get close enough to get his hands on him.
Jason pulled his buckskin shirt off and wrapped it around his left arm to help shield him from the razor-sharp skinning knife. As if on signal, the two adversaries began to slowly circle each other, Jason slowly and patiently, Pike constantly feigning with his knife while he held his axe ready to strike. It became obvious to Jason that Pike was not inclined to push the attack, even though he held the weapons. Pike’s plan, instead, was to hold back and fend off Jason’s attacks by slashing at his arms and torso, making the scout pay severely when he attacked.
Pike continued to feign with thrusts with his knife hand but he failed to get any reaction from Jason beyond a penetrating, unblinking stare. He mistook Jason’s patience for a lack of confidence and it served to encourage him. His uncertainty replaced by a feeling of dominance, he sneered at the white scout and, waving the war axe in slow circles, he taunted Jason.
“You ain’t so brave without a gun, are you? Why don’t you come on?” he taunted. “I’m gonna cut you in little pieces.”
Outwardly, Jason did not respond to the taunts. But his eyes never left Pike’s. Staring at the dark, deep-set eyes underneath the flopping brim of the dingy hat, Jason’s mind’s eye held an image of Abby. Poor, helpless, homely Abby, her face must have been a mask of terror as she fought off this vile excuse for a human being. Still he was patient, slowly circling, waiting for an opening.
The longer Jason waited, the more confident Pike grew and the more bold his feints and thrusts became until, finally, he abandoned his defensive stance and made a move. It was quick and it caught Jason by surprise. Reacting as quickly as any man could have, Jason managed to dodge the axe as it whistled by his face, and he almost evaded the knife, aimed at his midsection. As it was, he was quick enough to avoid a deep wound, but the point of the sharp skinning knife opened a long slash across his belly. Pike exclaimed in triumph when he saw the blood running down Jason’s bare stomach. But Jason did not acknowledge the wound. He continued to circle Pike slowly. Pike, convinced now that it was a matter of merely butchering his unarmed adversary, became bolder and bolder. He feinted with his knife hand and struck out with the axe. Jason avoided the blade but the blow landed against his shoulder and caused him to stagger a step to the side. Pike exclaimed again as he positioned himself to go in for the kill. Poised to strike, he looked into the eyes of the tall scout and immediately felt the sensation of the hunted and realized at that instant that he was not merely in a brawl, he was being stalked, for the look he saw in Jason’s eyes was the same a lamb sees in the eyes of a wolf. The smirk disappeared from his face and he began to back away, for it struck him at that moment that no matter what wounds he inflicted upon him, Jason was going to keep coming until they were both dead.
A feeling of panic suddenly overtook him and he realized he was staring death in the face. In an effort to stop Jason’s advance, Pike lunged at him, slashing at his face. Jason parried the attack, catching the thrust with his arm, the knife blade glancing harmlessly off the buckskin-wrapped forearm. Pike struck out at him with the axe but Jason easily avoided the steel blade as it whistled by his head. Jason stepped back as if retreating and Pike, in a genuine panic now, charged after him. Jason ducked into a half-crouch and came up under the charging man, catching Pike’s wrists in each hand. The force of Jason’s counterattack drove the lighter man over backward and he landed on the ground with a grunt as the air was forced from his lungs, Jason on top of him. Pike struggled briefly but he knew the brief battle was over for him. He was helpless to move in Jason’s grip as the powerful hands tightened on his wrists until he could not longer feel anything in his hands. All the while, Jason’s eyes held him captive with the same relentless lethal stare. Finally, Pike’s hands went completely numb and Jason easily knocked the weapons from their powerless grip. Jason’s words were low and filled with a deadly emotion.
“Now you have the same advantage that girl had when you killed h
er.”
Pike was paralyzed with fear. “Please! Don’t kill me! I didn’t mean to kill her. I swear! It was an accident!”
The look in Jason’s eyes almost burned through Pike’s skull. “You cowardly son of a bitch, you accidentally beat the hell out of her and then accidentally shot her twice in the stomach. Well, this ain’t gonna be no accident and I promise you, it’s gonna hurt.
He got up, dragging Pike up with him until they were on their feet again. He released one of Pike’s hands and landed his fist flush on the smaller man’s nose, smashing it and stunning Pike. Then, in a lightning-like move, he spun him around and picked him up in the air. Dropping to one knee at the same time, he came down with all the force he could muster, slamming Pike’s body across his knee. There was a dull crack as Pike’s back was broken as easily as he might have snapped a dry limb.
There was a brief moment of consciousness in the dying man’s brain before he slid into death’s abyss. During that moment, Jason bent down close to his face and said, “That was for the girl.” Pike’s eyes fluttered briefly before they stared, wide and frightened, into the next world. Jason got to his feet and stood staring down at the man he had hunted for so long, lying before him, his body bent at a sickening angle.
There was not a sound within the circle of people who had witnessed the horrifying display of power. After what seemed several minutes, Two Moon ordered his warriors to seize Jason. Jason, weakened by the tremendous release of his own pent-up anger, did not resist. He had done what he had promised Abby and himself he would do, and at that moment, he did not care what happened next. Pike was dead, that was all that mattered.
Two Moon was clearly stunned by the raw, animal-like execution he had just witnessed. Black Hat’s killing seemed more closely related to the natural act of a cougar’s attack on a rabbit. It had been quick and brutal, yet efficient and final. He looked with newfound respect at this white scout standing tall and silent, yet defiant in his serenity. This was a warrior, this Jason Coles. There must have been some grave mistake for this man to have been born with white skin. It was a shame to kill such a warrior, but his decision had been made. There was still the matter of twelve Cheyenne warriors sent to the spirit world at the hand of Jason Coles. Two Moon had planned to execute Coles as soon as the two white men had fought, but now he decided to wait until the next day. Without emotion, Jason shook his arms free of the grasps of his captors and calmly unrolled the shirt from his arm. No one moved for a few moments while Jason pulled the buckskin shirt back over his head, ignoring the knife wound across his belly. His guards looked bewildered at their chief before again taking Jason’s arms. Again, the scout made no move to resist, standing passively, waiting for his judgment, whatever it might be. Two Moon was amazed by the apparent dominance of the scout, even though a prisoner and massively outnumbered. What he had heard was true—Jason Coles was big medicine. He shook his head sadly. It was late in the day and, in truth, he was reluctant to have him killed.
Jason’s hands were tied behind his back once again and he was taken to an empty tipi. Once inside, his ankles were tied together and then tied to his hands, leaving him trussed up and helpless to move. When the warriors who had tied him up left the tipi, one young brave entered the tipi and sat down near the entrance to guard the prisoner.
Struggling to work his arms and legs back and forth, Jason managed to shift his body around so that he faced the brave sitting by the entrance. The young man watched Jason’s efforts with interest, never offering to help but not threatening him in any way either. Jason knew that Two Moon had instructed his warriors not to abuse their prisoner. He was to be killed but, as a tribute to his courage, he was not to be tortured.
Jason glanced around at the inside of the tipi. It had been hastily erected just to hold him; he was sure of that. There was no evidence that anyone had occupied it—the grass on which he lay was still green and there was no fire circle in the center. It was obvious to him that he was being afforded special treatment. It did not make dying any more attractive, however, and Jason’s natural instincts to fight until finished were once again foremost in his mind. Up until Pike’s death, Jason had developed a fatalistic, almost morbid, attitude about living. He had decided it worthwhile to forfeit his life for a chance to end Pike’s. Now that Pike was dead and he still lived, although perhaps for hours only, the game had changed. He would not be led willingly to the stake to be roasted alive. He would fight with any means available to him—kicking, biting, using whatever weapons he could find. He would die just the same, he knew, but he would die fighting. He glanced at the young warrior guarding him. The young Cheyenne was watching him closely. Jason relaxed. There was nothing he could do now, so he would wait and hope for an opportunity.
The hours passed slowly as darkness descended on the Cheyenne camp. Jason’s arms and legs began to ache after an hour or so. By the time the fire outside the tipi had begun to die down, the aching had eased and his limbs became numb and he dozed from time to time for short periods. He was not aware of the changing of his guards until his eyes fluttered open and he saw a different warrior seated by the entrance. He had no idea of the time but he judged it to be quite late, for there were no sounds of any activity in the camp outside. He slid into sleep once again.
When he woke up again, he lay there for a moment before trying to shift his body around in an effort to keep the blood circulating in his cramped limbs. His efforts did not seem to cause any reaction from his guard. Jason looked up at the man’s face and realized he was asleep. In almost the same instant, he felt the tugging at his hands behind him as a knife blade sawed away at his bonds.
“Do not make a sound,” was the whispered warning. “We must not wake White Bird.”
Jason glanced up at White Bird. The warrior was deep in sleep. The voice behind him again warned him to make no sound as he continued to work away at the rawhide thongs. It seemed like minutes but it was actually only seconds before his hands and feet were free and he turned to see his liberator. It was Red Hawk, the son of Talking Owl, Jason’s blood brother.
There was no hesitation on either man’s part as Jason sprang to his feet, helped by Red Hawk, only to stumble and almost fall if the young Cheyenne had not caught him. He staggered toward the slit in the back of the tipi where Red Hawk had entered, rubbing his leg muscles vigorously to force circulation. He glanced back briefly at the still-sleeping White Bird before slipping through the back of the tipi and out into the cool night air.
It was a dark, moonless night. Jason could barely make out the features of the Cheyenne Keeper of the Sacred Arrows as he motioned for Jason to follow him, and then turned and was gone. Jason was quick to follow after the fleeting shadow, past the outermost tipis to the edge of the camp. Red Hawk waited until Jason dropped down beside him. They both were silent for a few moments while they listened to make sure there was no alarm in the camp.
“I am Red Hawk, son of Talking Owl,” he started.
“I know,” Jason quickly replied.
“This thing I do is wrong. Two Moon is wise and he believes his decision to be just. But you were friend to my father, and you showed your friendship to my people by returning the arrows. I feel that I must return that friendship in my father’s name. I mourn the loss of some of the warriors you killed, but I know that Hungry Wolf was a bloodthirsty man and I believe you when you say you had no choice but to defend yourself.”
“I thank you, Red Hawk. I know how dangerous this is for you and you have my eternal friendship in return. If I can ever help you, I will.” He grasped the young Cheyenne’s arm in gratitude.
“Now you must hurry. I tied your horse down by the river. I am sorry that I could not risk taking your saddle or your weapons. This is all I can do for you.”
Jason clasped Red Hawk’s arm once more before disappearing into the darkness. “You have done more than enough for me. I thank you again.”
“Go fast, Jason Coles. Two Moon will send warriors after you as soo
n as he finds you gone.” Red Hawk looked into the darkness after him for a few minutes before making his way back through the sleeping village to his lodge.
Chapter XVI
Jason rode hard, making his way as fast as he possibly could over the uneven ground. The night was dark and there were many holes and gullies hidden in the coulees that extended down toward the river. It would start to get light in a few hours and daylight would bring a horde of angry Cheyennes after him. He knew exactly where he must go first and, for that reason, he was sticking close to the river instead of striking straight for Fort Lincoln. He needed a weapon and he knew where weapons and ammunition were waiting for him if no one had found the cache he had left. If the cache was still there, providing he could find it again, he could arm himself and then strike out for Lincoln. He should have all the head start necessary to outrun his pursuers.
It was hard to calculate, but he figured the small gully he had buried the Winchester 74 in should not be more than a few more hours up the river. He was making good time in spite of the darkness. That was the last thought he remembered for several minutes before going sprawling over the paint’s head into the darkness. When his head stopped spinning and he was able to regain his senses, he found himself sitting on the ground. It took a moment more to realize he had been thrown.
He quickly checked himself over to make sure he had no broken bones. Although a pain in his hip told him he had landed pretty hard, he discovered no real damage. Behind him, he heard his horse grunting as he struggled to his feet. Jason got up immediately and went to him. “You all right, boy?” He took the reins and led him a few yards. “Dammit!” he uttered. The paint was limping badly, unable to put any weight on his left front leg. “Dammit,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, boy. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” This changed things drastically. The horse could not carry any weight. Jason started again, this time on foot, leading the paint. Now it became imperative to find the cache, and as soon as possible.
Cheyenne Justice Page 23