“I still say it.”
“It will be dark soon,” Wolf Kill said to Red Sky. “They will regret jumping into that hole. If we are careful, we can shoot them before they know we are upon them.”
“If we are careful,” Red Sky echoed. “We were not so careful before and we lost four brave warriors. Both of the white men have the new repeating rifles, and they are both good shots. Are you sure one of them is the scar-faced man who wounded you and killed Dead Man?”
“Yes,” Wolf Kill said. “I saw him when he and the other one crossed the river near the sacred hills. It’s him. No other man has a face like that.”
“You were wise to come back to our camp for help. I think this scar-face has strong medicine, and I don’t know if he can be killed.”
“I will kill him,” Wolf Kill replied. “I don’t fear his medicine. He has killed too many of our warriors, and he must not get away again. I think his medicine is nothing without the gun that shoots many times.”
“We will see,” Red Sky said. “Already there will be crying in four lodges tonight. I hope we can avenge our brothers who have fallen today.”
“I reckon it’s about time,” Ike said. “You ready?”
“Reckon so,” Ben answered. “You gonna keep leadin’ that sorrel? It might slow you down some if it turns out we’re in a race with those Indian ponies.”
“You might be right,” Ike said. “The damn horse has got a mean streak, anyway. Might serve them Injuns right if they catch him. We’ll take what we can use off him and leave him.” They checked their weapons and their saddles in preparation to move out of the basin. “In case you forget in the excitement that’s fixin’ to happen, you’re still under arrest.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Ben said.
It was too dark now to see if they were being stalked or not, so there was nothing to do but climb in the saddle and ride like hell. Up out of the defile they charged with Ike leading the way. Their flight was immediately discovered and a loud cry of alarm filled the air behind them as the warriors scrambled for their horses to give chase. They were able to gain a sizable lead because of the time it took for Red Sky and Wolf Kill to gather their warriors from both sides of the basin. Galloping recklessly across the prairie, ignoring the possible dangers of prairie dog holes and weathered gullies, they used the dark forms of some distant hills as a guide with the sound of Sioux war cries growing stronger behind them.
“We can’t outrun those damn Injun ponies,” Ike yelled as they descended the side of a wide ravine. “We’d best look for a place to stop and slow ’em up.” Ben nodded his agreement as they rode up the other side of the ravine.
The race continued until the Sioux ponies had closed the gap enough to get within range of their rifles, and shots began to zip by the two white men. “Up ahead!” Ben yelled, and pointed to a low stand of bushes that indicated water of some kind. Ike yelled back his okay and they held the two tiring horses to a hard gallop, their hooves thundering across the prairie grass, in an effort to reach the safety of the creek banks. With bullets whining all around them, they slid from their saddles and led the horses back behind some of the thicker bushes. Then they quickly scrambled back to the edge of the creek bank with their rifles and cartridge belts, prepared to thin out the ranks of their assailants.
Red Sky paid dearly for his continued assault upon the two white men with Winchester rifles, as Ben and Ike methodically picked off one warrior after another, until the hostiles were forced to break off their attack and scatter for cover out of rifle range. Red Sky looked around him in frantic despair to discover the number of missing warriors. “This is no good,” he said to Wolf Kill. “I have already lost too many.” He turned so all could hear him. “This is not a good day to fight. We have lost many warriors. Their weapons are too much for us, so we must let them go before we lose any more of our brothers.”
“No!” Wolf Kill responded. “We must kill the scar-face or he will continue to kill our people. We must not turn back now when we are this close.”
“I will go back to mourn our dead,” Red Sky said, knowing that this defeat would weaken his medicine and cost him his status as a war chief. “Wolf Kill must listen to his own heart, and each of you must decide what your heart tells you. That is all I have to say.”
“Who will follow me and kill this white devil?” Wolf Kill challenged, his pony stepping from side to side nervously as a cold wind spun tiny eddies of fine snow to dance around them. It was not a good sign for the warriors. “No one?” Wolf Kill exclaimed. “Then I will go alone.”
“I believe that stopped ’em,” Ike said, straining to see the remaining warriors who had now come together several hundred yards away. “They’ve lost too many men. They’re thinkin’ now that their medicine ain’t right tonight. I expect it’d be a good idea to sneak on outta here now and get a little more distance between us, in case they change their minds and come at us again.”
Hoping their retreat would not be noticed in the dark, they waded the creek, leading their horses slowly up the opposite bank. Ben stroked the buckskin’s neck and face. “I’m sorry, boy,” he uttered, knowing the horse was nearing exhaustion. Because of this, they continued to walk, leading the horses, as long as there was no outcry of discovery from the gathering of warriors. So far, there was no indication that they had been seen as they led their tired horses across the prairie.
“Hell,” Ike commented, “I can’t believe they ain’t seen us. Pretty soon we’ll be out of sight in the dark. We might just walk the rest of the way to Laramie.” He had no sooner said it than a shrill war cry was heard behind them. They looked back to see a warrior charging after them at a gallop. “Shit!” Ike uttered, thinking the lone rider was leading the whole pack after them again. “Let’s get goin’!” he shouted, and climbed up in the saddle.
Ben, still on foot, heard the impact of the rifle slug that caught Ike in the back a split second before the report of the carbine. Ike slumped forward on his horse’s neck as the gelding sprang into flight. Ben yanked his rifle from the scabbard and turned to meet the charging Indian. He saw only one, so he dropped to his knee and brought the front sight to bear on the rider’s chest. As soon as he pulled the trigger, the Indian recoiled with the shot and threw both hands in the air, but did not fall from the saddle. The horse continued to gallop toward Ben, forcing him to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. Several dozen yards past him the Indian pony came to a stop and his rider keeled slowly over and fell to the ground. Ben took a quick look back toward the dark prairie. There were no other riders following the lone Indian. He didn’t take the time to wonder why. Instead he jumped in the saddle and took off after Ike, whose horse was still running, but wandering off to the south.
Within a few minutes’ time, he caught up to the errant horse and took hold of the bridle. Ike looked to be barely holding on. “Can you hang on till I find someplace to help you?” Ben asked.
“I’ll hang on,” Ike responded painfully, his speech slow and labored. “I think I’m hurt pretty bad, but I’ll stay on this damn horse.”
“There wasn’t but one of ’em and I got him. I don’t think the others are comin’ after us, but I’ll look for a place to hide, in case I’m wrong.” He took Ike’s reins then and led his horse back to the course that Ike had originally set. Constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit, he held the horses to a gentle lope, hoping to gain more ground before having to rest them. When it became clear that the Indians were not coming after them, he began searching for a place to rest and try to tend to Ike’s wound. Moving up into a more hilly country now, he finally came to a small stream that wound its way down a narrow ravine. This looks as good as we’ll likely find, he thought, and led the horses up the stream toward the head of the ravine.
Once he got Ike off his horse and settled on a blanket on the ground, he soaked a bandanna in the stream, intending to clean the blood around the wound. As soon as he got his shirt off, however, he realized
that Ike was hurt worse than he had hoped, and there was very little he could do for him. The bullet had lodged deep in his chest, and there was no amount of probing he could do to extract it without killing him for sure. “You need a doctor,” he told him. “There ain’t nothin’ I can do for you. That bullet’s deep inside you.”
“I’m freezin’,” Ike complained, between spasms of stinging pain. “Dumb son of a bitch,” he muttered as he gasped for breath. “I got careless—dumb son of a bitch.”
“I can’t build you a fire,” Ben said. “I ain’t got nothin’ to build it with. We don’t wanna take a chance on anybody seeing a fire, anyway.” He was at a loss, not sure what to do for the wounded man, and he was trying not to reveal his indecision in his tone. He only thought on it for a moment, however, before deciding. “We ain’t stayin’ here, anyway. I’m takin’ you to the doctor at Fort Laramie.”
“I don’t know, partner” Ike gasped, his breathing becoming more and more difficult. “I believe I finally found the bullet with my name on it. I don’t think I can make it to Laramie.”
“I’ll be damned . . . ,” Ben replied sharply. “You’ll make it. I don’t intend to have another dead lawman on my hands. You’ll make it, or I swear, I’ll put another hole in you.” He took his extra shirt from his saddlebag and cut it up to make bandages to try to stop the bleeding, placing them over the wound in Ike’s back. With what was left of the shoulders and sleeves of the shirt, he held the bandage in place, tying the sleeves around Ike’s chest. Then he pulled Ike’s shirt back over his head and wrapped the blanket over his shoulders. “You said back yonder at the Niobrara that Fort Laramie wasn’t more’n thirty miles from there, so we’ve got maybe twenty or twenty-five from here now. You can make that, Ike. Hell, you can make twenty miles standing on your head. So don’t talk to me no more about dyin’. I’m gonna put you back on that horse and we’re goin’ to Laramie—if you told me the right way to go. If you didn’t, you deserve to die.”
Ike tried to laugh, but choked on it and coughed instead, each cough causing him to wince with the pain. “All right, partner, I’ll try.”
As soon as he could get Ike settled on his horse, they set out for Fort Laramie. The wounded deputy marshal tried to sit upright in the saddle at first, but soon slumped over to lie again on his horse’s neck. Ben checked on him frequently, encouraging, even daring him to hang on as they made their way toward the hills to the west. In the wee hours of the morning, they struck a road that led to the fort, and Ben followed it past the first signs of settlement until at last the buildings of Fort Laramie came into view. “You still with me, Gibbs?” Ben asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” Ike rasped painfully. “I reckon so.”
“You hang on, damn it, ’cause we made it. You got just a little bit more to go.”
Approaching the parade ground, they encountered a sentry who issued a challenge. “Halt! Who goes there?” Ben explained that he had a critically wounded U.S. deputy marshal who needed medical attention right away, and the soldier directed him to the hospital with no further delay. Ben stood by while two hospital orderlies carried Ike inside, then one of them ran to rouse the doctor out of bed. By this time, the Officer of the Day had been alerted and had come to investigate. He was naturally interested in hearing any details of a hostile Indian attack. When Ben told him the route they had traveled, the lieutenant commented, “Probably Red Sky’s band. He’s been raiding north and east of here.” He paused to study the sinister face of the stranger, then had to ask, “You both deputy marshals?”
“Ah, no, sir,” Ben answered, “just him. I just brought him to the doctor.”
“What was he doing out in that territory? Where was he going?”
Ben shook his head thoughtfully. “I reckon you’d have to ask him. I just happened along.”
“Well, I guess he’ll tell us more after the doctor sees him,” the lieutenant said. “You’re probably tired and hungry after what you’ve been through. The mess hall will be open for breakfast in about thirty minutes. You can get something to eat there if you want. I’ll tell the mess sergeant.”
“‘Preciate it,” Ben said. “I expect I’d better take his horse to the stable first, if you could point the way.” As tempting as coffee and breakfast sounded, he had no intention of lingering any longer than he had to. He was thinking about wanted papers and what Ike might say when they asked him who the man was who brought him in, so it was healthier for him to leave Fort Laramie and head for parts unknown.
The morning stable detail had not reported for duty when Ben took Ike’s horse to the barn. There was no one there except the soldier on guard duty. Ben explained the reason for his being there to the indifferent guard, then unsaddled Ike’s horse and let it out in the corral with the others. When that was done, he climbed in the saddle and headed the buckskin north, eager to put Fort Laramie behind him. He only traveled far enough to ensure a little distance between him and the fort before finding a place to camp. His horse was already near exhaustion and he felt an intense need for coffee and some sleep afterward, so the quiet little stream lined with cottonwoods looked extremely inviting. And this close to the fort, he felt he was relatively safe from trouble with any more Indians. So after taking care of his horse and building a fire to boil coffee to complement his dried jerky, he spread his blanket and went to sleep.
His sleep was deep and filled with dreams that made no sense, about Cleve and Ike, Jonah and Victoria, and hostile Indians. When he awoke, it was already past noon. Still drowsy and reluctant to move quickly, he revived his fire and boiled more coffee. Then he sat by the fire and tried to decide what he should do, for he was now free of all the obligations he had set for himself, except one—Garth Beaudry. He had accounted for those who had pulled the triggers that took Cleve’s and Jonah’s lives, but not the one responsible for ordering them to do so. “Damn!” he suddenly swore, sick of this trail of vengeance, but the need to punish all those who were part of the murder of the people he cared about weighed heavily upon his head.
Thoughts of Beaudry brought thoughts of Victoria, and he suddenly found himself wondering how she was handling the loss of her father. He tried to picture her plain, friendly face, and found he could not, more easily remembering her soft voice and her easy way. She’ll probably marry again, he thought. The ratio of men to women in Deadwood was so much heavier on the males’ side; she would no doubt be swamped with proposals. That ain’t for me to concern myself with, he thought. It ain’t got nothing to do with me. He remembered how obviously frightened she was by him when she had met him for the first time. “I hope she finds a good one this time,” he announced to the buckskin. “She deserves it. She’s a fine woman.”
Undecided on whether or not to return to Deadwood right away to finish the business with Garth Beaudry, he turned his attention to the state of his existence. There was still the matter of being wanted by the law, and the scar that made him so easily identifiable would always be there. So where could he go? He longed for a peaceful life, but how far would he have to go to have a chance for one? In the end, he decided to go back to the Black Hills. There were plenty of places for a man to hide in those mountains and plenty of game to hunt. After all he had been through in the past weeks, he still had his weapons and most of the money from Shep. He could afford to outfit himself pretty well. He would think some more about settling with Beaudry. Part of his hesitation was the fact that he would be taking the life of Victoria’s husband. Even with his despicable treatment of her, she might still feel something for the father of her son, and Ben could not bring himself to do anything that would alienate her feelings for him. One decision he didn’t hesitate on, however, was the necessity to change his name. There had to be plenty of men sporting scars in this untamed country. He’d just be one of them.
Chapter 17
Lieutenant Robert W. Shufeldt, post surgeon, came to stand beside the bed of the patient admitted two days earlier. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re st
ill with us,” he said when Ike opened his eyes and looked up at him.
“Damn, Doc,” Ike managed, “I ain’t so sure I’m glad I made it or not.”
“You’re lucky to be here. If that bullet had been half an inch closer to the left, you wouldn’t be. You’re gonna be in a lot of pain for a while yet. I’m sorry we can’t make you more comfortable.”
“What about the feller that brought me in?” Ike asked.
“I don’t know,” Lieutenant Shufeldt said. “I’m told he took your horse to the stable, but never came back.” They were joined then by another officer and Shufeldt introduced him. “Mr. Gibbs, this is Lieutenant Chambers. He wants to ask you some questions about the attack and also about the man who came with you—if you’re up to it.”
“I reckon I’m up to it,” Ike said.
He gave Chambers all the information he could about the Sioux war party that attacked them near the Niobrara, the number they had killed, how well they were armed, and how they had managed to escape. The lieutenant listened attentively, and when Ike had finished, he had one more question. “Who was the man that brought you in here?”
“Him?” Ike replied. “Oh, he ain’t nobody special. He just happened to come along in time to save my ass from them Injuns.”
“The reason I asked is we got a wanted notice in the adjutant’s office about a man named Ben Cutler, wanted for murder, and he’s said to have a serious scar across his face. And from what I’ve heard from the Officer of the Day on that morning, this fellow who brought you in had the nastiest scar he’s ever seen. Any chance this might be the same man?”
“Ben Cutler?” Ike replied. “No, that man ain’t Cutler—Cutler’s dead, killed in a gunfight on the Deadwood road, just south of Custer City. That feller that brought me in was just one of them gold miners from up Custer City way. I don’t know his name. I think it’s Fred somethin’. Too bad he didn’t hang around long enough for me to thank him for haulin’ me over here.”
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