by John Legg
“I ought to arrest you, dammit all.” Then he grinned. “I guess we can’t all be perfect,” he said. Then he laughed. “Again, I’m obliged for your offer, Lieutenant, but I’ll respectfully turn you down.” Whitehill nodded. “Well, then, Marshal, my command won’t interfere in this business. I’ll see to that.” He grinned a little. “From the looks of it, it’s more marshal business than army business anyway.”
“That it is.” He touched his heels to the horse’s flanks and trotted off with his three companions.
They moved at a quick pace, heading for the agency in general. Just before getting there, they turned northwest a little, moving to the Little Wind River, which they planned to follow until they reached Murdock’s camp. If he was still there.
Morgan felt a sense of urgency—or maybe it was expectation. He was sure a battle was imminent and he was prepared for it. More than prepared; he looked forward to it.
Half a mile or so away, they saw a solitary figure racing toward them.
“That’s Orv,” Big Horse said.
Morgan wasn’t sure whether to believe Big Horse. He had always thought he had good eyesight, but Big Horse’s abilities seemed almost beyond belief. However, within a few moments, he, too, was fairly certain it was Ashby. He grinned, thinking he had figured Big Horse out. The Shoshoni’s eyesight was no better than his own. His power lay in his willingness to hazard a guess earlier than everyone else. He simply deduced who might be coming from that direction and guess it was that person unless there was something to lead him to believe differently.
Morgan picked up his speed a little more, and before long he was slowing again, with the galloping Orville Ashby closing the gap fast.
Ashby pulled to a stop, his horse sweating and foamy and his own face flushed with perspiration. He waved a piece of paper and shouted frantically, “I found this in my house. What’s this all about? What, what?”
“Damn, Orv, calm down,” Morgan said.
“How the hell can I calm down when I come home after a week and find a letter from my wife telling me she’s gone off to live with the Shoshonis?” he demanded.
“It’s not as bad as all that,” Big Horse said in mock offense.
“Like hell.”
“Come on, Orv, relax a little. Let’s squat here a bit and we can bring you up-to-date.”
Ashby looked skeptical, but he nodded. When they were all sitting, passing a canteen around, Ashby demanded, “Well, what’s going on?”
“There was trouble at the agency, Orv,” Morgan said. “Old Belly and Red Hand were killed, and we thought your family might be in danger there. So we brought them to Washakie’s village.”
“And they’re supposed to be safe in a Shoshoni village?” Ashby almost screeched.
“I’m offended,” Big Horse said, not meaning it. Ashby glanced at him. “You know what I mean.”
“Look, Orv, I don’t want to give you all the particulars. Grace’ll do that. But right now she’s safe, as are the youngsters. We all found out that Private Skousen is mixed up in the whole thing, and that Pomeroy was, if not the mastermind, at least the key player in the Murdock raids and the killings of the Shoshonis.”
“That sounds farfetched.”
“I know,” Morgan agreed. “It’s true, though. Lieutenant Whitehill took over command from Pomeroy, and had Pomeroy arrested.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. How about you, Orv? You come up with anything?”
“Huh?” Ashby seemed in a daze. “Yeah. Oh, yeah,” he said, regaining his sense. “Thoughts of my family have made me a little absentminded, I guess.” He drank from the canteen and then handed it to Rabbit Tail. “Well, as we suspected, that wire from Floyd was phony. I sent a wire from one of Hogg’s stage stations and waited for a reply. It was a couple of days in coming. I don’t know if some of the lines were down or whether Floyd was just too busy to get to it.”
He took another sip of water. “Regardless, he was shocked—and I daresay a little irritated—at Pomeroy’s presumptuousness. He did, by the way, say you are to arrest him if you deem it necessary and that he would worry about the ramifications.”
“I tried arresting him, but Lieutenant Whitehill claimed Pomeroy as his prisoner.” He sighed. “Well, me and my friends here have business to attend to. Take your time out to the village. Your family’s safe. And give our regards to Whitehill if you pass him and his men on the road.”
Morgan and his companions hit the Little Wind River and began following it into the foothills of the Wind River Mountains, and then higher.
The sullen, lead-gray skies that had been with the small group since they had left finally split and poured out their contents. There was little thunder and only an occasional flicker of lightning.
“This rain’s going to make it harder to find those bastards, Buck,” Big Horse said.
Morgan nodded as he shrugged on a slicker. The three Indians pulled blankets around them. The rain, the low-hanging clouds, and the fog would make it almost impossible to see smoke or even firelight. The weather also would mask sounds—both their own, which was good, and Murdock’s men’s, which was not good.
Rough Wolf edged up to the two. “You wait here. I go there,” he said, his English poor and heavily accented.
Big Horse looked at Rough Wolf and then asked him to explain in Shoshoni.
When Rough Wolf did so Big Horse turned to Morgan. “Rough Wolf says we should wait here while he goes ahead to scout. I think it’s a good idea.”
“Can he find them without being seen or heard?” Morgan asked quietly.
“Rough Wolf’s one of the best at such things,” Big Horse answered. “Hell, I’d thought of doing it myself, but I’d only wind up walking right into the middle of their camp or they’d hear me coming and shoot me dead.”
Morgan nodded. “Sounds good to me. Let’s pull in over there.” He pointed to a stand of trees against a sharp cliff with a large overhang. Between the outcropping of stone and the trees, they should be out of the weather.
Big Horse spoke to Rough Wolf in Shoshoni for a few moments. Then Rough Wolf nodded and rode off, his pony walking slowly. It made the bow and quiver slung across Rough Wolf’s back shift rhythmically on the horse’s rump.
“We might as well build a fire,” Morgan said. “I could use some coffee.”
“Good idea,” Big Horse agreed. “Rabbit Tail, gather wood.”
Morgan looked at Big Horse sharply, ready to say something. But the look in Big Horse’s eyes made him keep his silence. When Rabbit Tail had wandered off a little ways Big Horse said, “It’s our way, Buck. It’s no insult to Rabbit Tail. He is expected to do such things on his first war party. Maybe others, too. But if he draws blood this time, he’ll be looked at with more favor by the others. Then he can call himself a warrior—and be treated like one.”
Morgan nodded. He was not all that concerned about how Rabbit Tail was being treated. He had just thought it curious.
Soon the three had a fire going and coffee being made. They waited, grateful for the cover they had, not envying Rough Wolf at all. The latter showed up, appearing as if by magic, a little over an hour later.
Morgan was startled by Rough Wolf’s sudden appearance, but he covered it quickly. “Come, have coffee,” he said.
Rough Wolf nodded and pulled his tin mug from a bag hanging from his saddlehorn. He filled it and drank a little, savoring the coffee. The day had turned cool with the rain—and with the rise in elevation—and the hot liquid felt good to all of them inside.
After a little while Morgan finally asked, “Did you find them?”
Rough Wolf nodded. “Seven that I could count,” he said in Shoshoni, while Big Horse translated for Morgan. “There might be a lot more. I’m not sure. They’re in a canyon a couple of miles upriver. They look like they’ve decided to make a comfortable camp, like they plan to wait for someone who isn’t supposed to come for another couple of days.”
“They on the alert?” Morg
an asked.
“Didn’t seem to be, partly because of where they are.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The canyon they’re in is off the trail on a very small trail. It’s almost impossible to see, since the mouth of the canyon is covered by trees and shrubs.”
“Did nature put them there?” Morgan asked.
“Some of them. Murdock’s men added some.” Rough Wolf sipped more coffee, then he said, “Since they’re in such a spot I think they figure they’re well protected. And so they don’t have to be on the alert.”
“Can we get in there easily enough?”
Rough Wolf shrugged. “Might be hard. They’re in a cave maybe twenty feet up a rocky slope. However, as soon as you get in the canyon, the trail is off to the left. It goes down an almost sheer cliff. And it’s in full view of the men in the cave. Even if they’re not paying too much attention, they’re bound to spot us if we all try going down there together.”
“Take them at night?” Morgan asked hopefully.
“Only if you’re crazy,” Rough Wolf responded. There was no smile accompanying the statement.
“Any ideas on how we can get down there?”
Rough Wolf shrugged again. “Alone, any of us could do it. Like I did before. But four? Not impossible, but not too likely either.” He did grin then, just a little. “Of course, if only Shoshonis were to take the trail, there’d be no problem.”
“You’re saying I’m clumsy because I’m a white man?” Morgan demanded angrily.
“You should know better than to insult a friend, Rough Wolf,” Big Horse said. “I am Shoshoni, but I’m no better than Buck in creeping up on people.” He thought a minute, as Rough Wolf and Morgan glared at each other over the fire. “What direction does the cave mouth face?” he asked Rough Wolf.
“Southeast,” Rough Wolf responded. “Why?”
Big Horse nodded, a little excited. “Then we go down there just after dawn.”
“Why?” Rough Wolf said. He was good at stalking and other such arts, but strategy was not Rough Wolf’s forte.
“Because the sun’ll be in their eyes,” Morgan said with a nod, understanding immediately.
“Exactly,” Big Horse said. “Let’s move on up there as close as we can today and then wait the night out.”
“Can we find our way up to the canyon mouth at night, Rough Wolf?” Morgan asked thoughtfully, deciding to put aside his anger for the moment.
“I think so. Why?”
Morgan waved a hand at their surroundings. “This here’s a nice little place to stay. We have cover, wood, some forage for the horses. We have a fire going and coffee made. Why not just stay here overnight? We can be reasonably comfortable. Just before dawn, we head for the canyon.
“I think I like that idea,” Big Horse said. “How about you, Rough Wolf?”
Rough Wolf nodded.
“Good,” Big Horse said. “Then it’s settled.” He did not consider asking the boy about it, and Rabbit Tail was not bothered by not being asked. It was the way of things.
“Can we take them once we get into that canyon, Rough Wolf?” Morgan asked suddenly.
Rough Wolf nodded again. “I think so. If we can get in there, we can take them. There’s a small, clear area in front of their cave, but if they’re inside—where they’ve made their camp—they can’t see very well to either flank. Plus there are enough trees and rocks around the open area to give good cover.”
“Sounds all right,” Morgan said. He rose and unsaddled his horse and groomed it. Then he stretched out on his bedroll against the cliff wall. The others soon followed suit.
Morgan awoke hungry some hours later. The sun had gone down, but clouds covered the moon and there was a thick mist in the air. He stoked up the fire and put more wood on. He made fresh coffee and set that on the fire to heat. He threw some bacon in an old black skillet and some beans in a small, battered pot.
By that time, Rough Wolf was awake and had slipped into the bushes. Within minutes, Big Horse and Rabbit Tail also woke. No one said anything. They just took care of their personal business and then squatted at the fire and had some coffee. Before long the food was ready, and they ate quickly.
Still without speaking, they mounted their horses and rode off into the thick blackness of the night. They moved slowly, letting the horses pick their way on the rocky track. Rough Wolf was in the lead, since he was the only one who even had an inkling of where they were heading.
With a whisper, Rough Wolf at last called a halt. The whispered word was passed back from man to man, since no one could really see the others.
“Is this it?” Morgan asked. He was in the rear, with Rabbit Tail just ahead of him, then Big Horse.
“Yes.” The word went from mouth to mouth.
“We’ll wait here for a little while,” Rough Wolf said. They moved into the trees alongside the trail, deep enough that they would not be seen from the trail.
Dawn was beginning to edge into the land, and the sky had turned from pitch black to a faded, dirty gray. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough for them to dismount and tie their horses off for a while.
“You think the horses can make their way down there, Rough Wolf?” Morgan asked.
“The trail’s wide enough,” Rough Wolf answered. “But I think we should go on foot.”
“Why?”
“The horses are large, perhaps large enough to be seen. They’re also noisy. And clumsy.”
Morgan nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Rabbit Tail,” Big Horse said, “you will stay here and watch the horses.”
“But...” Rabbit Tail stopped, then set his face. “The war leader has not said that,” he said in Shoshoni.
Big Horse’s face colored in anger, but then he composed himself and almost smiled. He translated for Morgan.
The lawman looked at the boy. “You’ll stay here with the horses, Rabbit Tail.” he said.
The boy didn’t like it when Big Horse translated, but he accepted it. After all, the leader of this war party had told him to do it, and do it he must.
Half an hour later, with the dull light of a cloudy day covering them, Rough Wolf rose. “Now’s the time,” he said in Shoshoni. Morgan did not need that to be translated.
Leaving their slicker or blankets behind, the three well-armed adults pushed through a thick curtain of, brush and tree branches. Straight ahead was a wall of stone, but to the left a trail headed downward. The trail was perhaps four feet wide, large enough to allow horses, and even loaded pack mules, but was much too narrow to permit wagons.
As soon as each man went far enough down the trail to get beyond the stone wall, they stopped and looked down at the small canyon. Dull grayish-red light splashed across the rocky slopes opposite them.
Rough Wolf pointed to a substantial cave across from them. “That’s where they camp.”
“Great,” Morgan hissed. “Now get your ass movin’ before we get stuck here.”
Rough Wolf glared at him for a few moments, then turned and moved on.
It was a hard trek, what with all the loose chunks of rock and the slickness of the mud from last night’s rain. Morgan was glad that the rain had stopped. Looking down, they all could see the heavy coat of fog in the canyon bottom. There was no fog this high, and the sun peeking through the clouds cast an eerie light on the fog below, and on the cave.
Eventually they made the floor of the canyon. The fog was not as thick, but they did not know whether it was because they were in the midst of it or because the sun was burning it off.
They pressed ahead, slowly, since it was very difficult to see down here. When they came to the open meadow area they backed up in a hurry. There they took positions behind trees and boulders. Then they hunkered down to wait.
Chapter Thirty-One
When the fog had dissipated enough for the men to see the cave there seemed to be little or no activity in or around it. Morgan turned his head at the sound of an owl. Such a bird should n
ot be awake at this hour. Then Morgan noticed that it was Big Horse who had made the sound. Big Horse was pointing to his left.
Del Murdock and eight men were riding toward the start of the trail, ready to head up it.
“Dammit to hell,” Morgan muttered. He jumped up and began running, leaping over rocks and logs, dodging trees and boulders. By the time he reached the small path through the trees that led to the trail up the mountain, three men were already heading up the mountain trail.
Morgan jacked a round into the chamber of his Winchester, brought the gun up, and fired. One of the outlaws fell. Suddenly Morgan saw two more men drop from their horses, both pincushioned with arrows. He fired the Winchester again but missed.
By that time, the three outlaws on the trail were heading up as fast as they dared. All the other outlaws had slipped off their horses and melted into the trees and rocks across the little path from Morgan.
“Rough Wolf!” Morgan shouted. “Up the hill.” He pointed.
Seeing the three outlaws riding as fast as they dared up the hill, Rough Wolf charged toward the bottom of the trail. Then he was moving upward, loping with strong, sure strides. Bullets began kicking up dust or ricocheting off rocks, but none seemed to hit him. The three outlaws disappeared over the rim of the canyon, while Rough Wolf was a little more than halfway up.
Morgan turned his attentions back to the pines all around him. Everything was quiet now. Even the birds had stopped singing. A soft, pattering rain began.
“What now, chief?” Big Horse asked a bit sarcastically from his position a little to Morgan’s right.
“Hell if I know. You see who it was made it up the trail?”
“One of them was Murdock, I think. I’m not sure of the others.”
“Well, we aren’t going to get those miscreants while we sit here on our asses.” Morgan rose and headed to his left a little before crossing the path. He stopped, back against a tree trunk, and waited, trying to hear something that might indicate where the outlaws were. He noticed that Big Horse had done the same farther down the path. From here on, though, he figured they’d each be on their own. The trees and brush here were too thick to allow them to work closely together.