And he could always tell Corrigan what he knew about Snell later on, once things were safer, Wingate mused.
The lieutenant turned to Wingate and asked, “These men are friends of yours?”
Wingate forced a smile onto his face and nodded. “They sure are,” he lied.
“Then maybe they can help us locate the Carling expedition.”
Snell’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’re lookin’ for that artist fella and his friends?” he asked quickly.
“That’s right,” Corrigan said. “Do you know where they are?”
“’Deed I do.” Snell pointed toward the north. “They’re a couple miles in that direction, bein’ held prisoner in a Sioux village. And if you’ve come to rescue ’em, Lieutenant, you better hurry, ’cause I think those savages are plannin’ to kill them most any time now!”
This was the stroke of luck he had been waiting for, Luther Snell told himself as he looked at the red-and-blue uniforms of the soldiers.
When he and the others had heard the riders coming, Snell’s first thought was that a war party was about to stumble upon them. The men had grabbed their guns, ready to fight and sell their lives dearly if necessary.
Instead of enemies, the newcomers turned out to be potential allies, and a plan immediately suggested itself to Snell.
He had been worried all morning because he hadn’t seen any sign of Willard Carling while he was spying on the Teton Sioux village. Nor did he see any of the other pilgrims, or Preacher and Rip Giddens. It was possible that all of them had been killed in the battle with the Crows the day before. The thought that he had come so close to the means of making himself rich, only to possibly lose it, was almost enough to drive Snell mad. He had to find out what had happened to Carling.
Of course, he couldn’t just walk into the village and ask. He didn’t trust the Indians, not for a second. But with the soldiers on his side, he and his men could hit the village hard and fast on horseback, wipe out the remaining warriors before they knew what was happening, and force some answers out of the survivors. He and the others would still be outnumbered by the remaining warriors in the village when they attacked, but with the element of surprise on their side, Snell was confident they would be victorious. That was why he talked fast and thought even faster, explaining to Wingate and the lieutenant in command of the patrol about how the Indians had captured Carling and the others and held them prisoner for almost a week. That wasn’t exactly the truth, but Snell didn’t care about the truth, only about getting what he wanted.
“My God!” the lieutenant exclaimed when he heard that the prisoners were in danger. “We have to get in there and rescue them.”
“Those Injuns’ll put up a fight,” Snell warned, “so you better go in shootin’.”
“Hold on a minute,” Wingate said. “How do you know they’re about to kill the prisoners?”
Snell hesitated, but Baldy came up with an answer, picking up on what Snell was trying to accomplish. “They been chantin’ all mornin’, and I know a killin’ chant when I hear one, Wingate. I’ve come damn near hearin’ savages singin’ a death song for me too many times not to recognize it.”
“I have to rescue those captives if at all possible,” Lieutenant Corrigan said. “I believe we should attack the village right away.”
Snell wondered what was so all-fired important about the soldiers getting their hands on Carling and the others. That might present a problem later on. But for now, all he was really concerned with was making sure Carling was even still alive.
“Now you’re talkin’, Lieutenant,” Snell said. “We’ll lend you boys a hand.” He turned to his men. “Get the horses. We’re gonna teach those redskins a thing or two.”
Wingate still looked a little doubtful, but he didn’t make any objection as the combined force prepared to attack the village. Snell recalled that Wingate was friends with Preacher, so he didn’t expect the red-bearded trapper to like him very much. Like everybody else who had been at that Rendezvous, Wingate knew about the bad blood between Preacher and Snell. But at the moment, Wingate believed that Preacher was a captive in the Sioux village, so he would be willing to take part in the effort to free him.
“Part of the village burned down yesterday,” Snell said as the group of soldiers and trappers rode closer. “Don’t know what happened; maybe one o’ the cook fires got out of control. We saw the smoke and thought about tryin’ to sneak in while that was goin’ on to get the prisoners loose, but we figured there were too few of us to put up a good fight if they caught us.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that now,” Corrigan assured him. “Those savages will never know what hit them.”
Snell grinned to himself. Neither would this baby-faced officer or the troops he commanded, once the fight with the Indians was over. Snell had already passed the word quietly to the others in his party. When he gave the signal, they would open fire on the unsuspecting soldiers and wipe them out.
Of course, that hinged on finding Willard Carling alive and well in the village....
As they came in sight of the village, Lieutenant Corrigan drew his saber from its scabbard and lifted it in the air. “Charge!” he called as he swept the saber down and kicked his horse into a gallop. The others thundered toward the village with him.
The Indians heard and saw them coming, of course, and there was no mistaking the intention of the riders. Arrows began to fly through the air as the inhabitants of the village attempted to mount a defense. They were too startled to put up an effective resistance, though, as ruthless attackers swept into the village for the second time in about twenty-four hours.
Those soldier boys didn’t know this was the second attack, though. Snell grinned as he thought about how skillfully he had manipulated things into going his way. Guiding his horse with his knees, he lifted a pistol in each hand and blasted two of the warriors right into the spirit world.
“Watch out for the prisoners!” Corrigan bellowed to his men. “See that they come to no harm!”
The attackers had to make every shot count. Snell jammed the empty pistols into his saddlebags and lifted the rifle that was slung on his saddle. He yanked his horse to a halt and lifted the rifle to draw a bead on a warrior who was charging at him brandishing a tomahawk. He pulled the trigger and sent a ball crashing into the Indian’s chest. The red bastard never had a chance—and that was just the way Snell wanted it.
All around him, the other trappers were fighting with the same deadly efficiency, each of them accounting for two or three of the Teton Sioux defenders. The soldiers weren’t quite as effective. Some of their shots missed. But they did a good job of skewering the Indians with the bayonets attached to the muzzles of their rifles.
In a matter of two or three minutes, most of the warriors left in the village had been either killed or wounded badly enough so that they were out of the fight. All that was left now was mopping up, and Snell and his men handled that with brutal dispatch, cutting throats and blasting pistol balls through heads. One of the last defenders to fall was a big, ugly warrior with a scarred face and a little bit of an ear missing. Snell recognized him as Bites Like a Badger, one of old Hairface’s sub-chiefs. Snell hadn’t seen any sign of Hairface, and wondered if Badger had become the chief of this band now.
Badger wasn’t anything anymore except meat. He’d been shot twice in the chest and had a bayonet buried in his guts. He lay on his back in a spreading pool of blood, sightless eyes staring up at the sky.
Most importantly, Snell hadn’t seen any sign of the prisoners. He couldn’t figure out where they had gone, and he was beginning to get worried. If Carling wasn’t here, then it was all for nothing.
When all the warriors were either dead or too badly wounded to fight, the soldiers began going from lodge to lodge, rounding up the women and children and old people and herding them to the center of the village. Snell stalked along with them, still looking for the prisoners. His worry grew as none of them were f
ound.
Then he spotted a white face as a tall, skinny man limped out of one of the tepees, using a crutch to get along because of a wounded leg. Snell recognized him as either Tom or Ed Ballinger, although he didn’t know which.
“Ballinger!” he said as he hurried over to the lodge, since it didn’t really matter which one the man was. “Where the hell are the others? Where’s Carling?”
“Gone,” Ballinger replied. “He left early this mornin’ with Preacher and a few others. They went after the Crows who captured Miss Carling and that fella Sinclair.”
Snell bit back a curse and thought fast. It was bad enough that Carling was gone, but now Ballinger was spilling things Snell would have rather hadn’t been known just yet. “What Crows?” he demanded loudly in an attempt to lessen the potential damage.
“The ones who attacked the village yesterday,” Ballinger replied.
Wingate walked up in time to hear that. “What?” he exclaimed. He turned toward Snell. “You didn’t say anything about any Crows attacking the village.”
“I didn’t know anything about it! We saw smoke and knew there was a fire, but that’s all we knew.” There, Snell thought. Nobody could disprove that statement. He went on. “We thought you boys were prisoners of these Sioux. We just been waitin’ for a chance to bust you out o’ here.”
Ballinger shook his head. “We started out as their prisoners.” His voice caught a little. “They killed poor Ed when they jumped us. But then Preacher fought their chief, Bites Like a Badger, to a standstill, and they called a truce and let us go.”
Corrigan had come up, too, and now the lieutenant said, “I’m confused by all this.”
Snell grunted. “So am I. Looks like we was mistaken about what’s been goin’ on. We thought sure that the folks from that expedition were captives, and we didn’t know anything about any Crow raiders.”
Wingate scratched at his beard and asked, “Who’s left alive?”
“Well, Mr. Carling and that journalist fella, Hodge,” said Ballinger. “And Preacher and Rip Giddens. Poor old Switchfoot and Hammerhead Jones are both dead. Crows got ’em yesterday. And of course, Miss Carling and Sinclair. But the Crows carried them off, along with some Sioux prisoners.”
Corrigan took off his shako and ran his fingers through his hair as he frowned. “So you weren’t prisoners here anymore, but two members of your party were captured by these Crow Indians you mentioned?” Clearly, he was struggling to understand.
“That’s right,” Ballinger said. He looked around bleakly. “I’d say that you killed all these folks for nothin’. . . .” His face and voice hardened. “Except for the fact that they killed my brother and planned on torturin’ the rest of us to death when they first grabbed us. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for them.”
“Well . . .” Corrigan was a little pale and queasy-looking now. “They were hostiles,” he went on. “And we had only the best intentions in attacking the village.”
Wingate spat. “Road to hell,” he said curtly. No explanation was needed.
Corrigan put his hat back on and said, “The important thing is that we still have to find the remaining members of the expedition. You say they’ve all left here except for you?”
Ballinger nodded. “I reckon those Crows are headin’ back to their usual huntin’ grounds, north and east of here, out on the plains. They were Medicine Bull’s band, accordin’ to Badger.”
“I know where to find ’em,” Wingate said. “Preacher will, too.”
“Then we’ll follow along and try to catch up to them,” Corrigan decided. “That’s the only acceptable course of action.”
“You lost a couple of men in the fightin’,” Wingate pointed out. To Ballinger, he said, “How many in the Crow war party?”
“Lord, I don’t know. I think Preacher said somethin’ about fifty or sixty warriors.”
“We’ll be rather heavily outnumbered. . . .” Corrigan mused.
Snell said, “We’ll go with you, Lieutenant. You can count on us.” He looked around, and the men with him nodded, even Vickery. Fate had taken some odd twists and turns, but they could still salvage this situation and come out of it as rich men.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Snell,” Corrigan said, “but I can’t order you to—”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant, but you ain’t orderin’ us to do nothin’. We’re volunteerin’.”
“That’s very decent of you.” Corrigan nodded. “Very well. I accept your offer. We’ll continue our pursuit of the surviving members of the expedition as soon as possible.”
And the rest of them would continue their pursuit of being rich, Snell thought.
Chapter Twenty-six
Preacher found the canyon where the Crows had left their horses before attacking the village. He had suspected that the raiders were mounted, but this confirmed that suspicion and prompted him to say, “This is gonna make things even harder.”
“Why is that?” Willard Carling wanted to know.
“If they’d all been on foot, they would have had to move a mite slower,” Preacher explained. “From the looks of the sign they left behind, the prisoners are still walkin’, even though the members of the war party are ridin’. That’ll keep them from movin’ too fast, but they’ll still get along quicker’n they would have otherwise.”
“Yeah,” Rip agreed, “they’ll make those prisoners trot to beat the band.”
“Or kill them if they can’t keep up,” Carling guessed.
Rip looked like he wished he hadn’t said anything. “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he declared, trying to reassure Carling.
Preacher wasn’t sure of any such thing, but he didn’t say so. He just said, “Come on. Let’s get movin’.”
He had no trouble following the trail left by the Indians and their captives. As they pressed on through the day, their route wound through some heavily wooded hills, but overall, the landscape was beginning to flatten out.
When Jasper Hodge commented on that, Preacher said, “Crows are Plains Indians. They live mostly off hunting buffalo and from raiding other tribes. They don’t come into the mountains much. Most of the Sioux bands, like the Hunkpapa and the Ogallala, are the same way. Fact is, those Tetons, like Badger’s bunch, are about the only Sioux who spend most of their time in the mountains. It’s more often the Shoshone, like Mountain Mist and Sparrow, that you find up here in the Rockies.”
“Will we be out on the plains before we catch up to them?” Carling asked.
“Could be,” Preacher replied, “and that ain’t necessarily a good thing, either. There ain’t nearly as much cover out there, and it’ll be a lot harder to sneak up on ’em.”
“That’s why we have to hurry, then, to try to catch them before they get out of the mountains.”
“Yep. But the odds are against it.”
“I don’t care about the odds,” Carling said. “I just want to get my sister back safely, whatever it takes.”
When they stopped to rest the horses along about the middle of the afternoon, Rip caught a moment alone with Preacher, out of earshot of the other three men, and said, “You reckon Carling knows his sister’s prob’ly gonna be abused by those redskins before we catch up to ’em?”
“Maybe she won’t be,” Preacher said. “Now that ol’ Medicine Bull’s got what he came after, maybe he’ll be in such a hurry to get back home that he won’t let them take the time for such shenanigans.”
“It don’t take all that much time,” Rip pointed out grimly.
“I know,” Preacher said with a sigh. “I’m just hopin’ for the best. Right now, that’s about all we can do.”
Faith dreamed that she was back in Boston, back in her own bed, in her own room, in her brother’s house on Beacon Hill. She sighed and snuggled deeper into the warm comforter . . . only to sneeze when something tickled her nose.
That sneeze brought her out of her slumber, and as she woke up, terror flooded in on her brain. She gasped and jerke
d her head up. She saw that it had been the hairs of Chester Sinclair’s beard that had tickled her nose, and to her utter mortification, she realized that she was practically lying on top of him, cradled in his strong arms.
He had been asleep, too, and he yelled out as her reaction startled him awake. But he didn’t let go of her, even when she put her hands on his broad chest and pushed herself halfway upright.
“What . . . what are you doing?” she asked. She looked around wildly, saw the other prisoners and the Crows who had captured them, and everything came back to her, almost overwhelming her with despair.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” Sinclair said as he finally released her. She scooted away from him, only to hurriedly move close to him again when one of the Crow warriors glared at her. “I don’t know how that happened,” Sinclair went on. “I wasn’t aware that I was . . . was holding you like that. We must have . . . rolled together in our sleep . . .”
That made sense, Faith supposed. Since both of them were prisoners of these savages, and the only whites among the captives at that, it was only natural that they would reach out to each other. It didn’t mean anything except that they were alone and scared—very, very scared, as any normal person would be in this situation.
The Crows had kept the prisoners trotting along the previous evening until they were so exhausted they were about to drop. At least, Faith had certainly felt that way. When the war party had stopped for the night, she had slumped to the ground, stretched out, and immediately fallen asleep, not even thinking about the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day and her stomach was empty. She guessed that Sinclair had lain down beside her, and that during the night . . .
A sudden rumbling in her belly, accompanied by sharp pangs, reminded her of how hungry she was and took her mind off the position in which she had found herself when she woke up. She shivered a little as she leaned her shoulder against Sinclair’s and asked, “Do you think they’re going to give us anything to eat this morning?”
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