Rampage of the Mountain Man

by William W. Johnstone

  STOVE, HEATING

  DISASSEMBLED

  “Aaaarggghh!” Walking Bear shouted in anger and frustration as he watched his triumph slip away from him.

  Sorento, Wyoming Territory

  A train sat on the tracks at the depot, its relief valve venting steam. A small white sign nailed to the railroad depot identified the town as Sorento, Wyoming Territory. The town was small, with a posted population of two hundred fifteen, but it was busy beyond its size because it was a railhead to which surrounding ranchers brought their cattle.

  The air of the town was perfumed with the strong odor of the several hundred cows that were now waiting in feeder lots awaiting shipment.

  Trent Williams dismounted in front of a small building that had a sign out front identifying it as the Indian agency. A small bell was attached to the door, and it rang as he opened it to step inside. The inside of the building was bare of any type of decoration, and consisted only of a waist-high counter that separated the entrance from the rest of the building.

  Shortly after Williams stepped inside, a large man with muttonchops and chin whiskers came into the room. He was wearing a three-piece suit with a vest that was stretched by his girth.

  “Yes, can I help you?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Abernathey. Colin Abernathy.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Abernathy isn’t here. His office is in Laramie. My name is Cephus Malone. May I help you?”

  “I don’t understand. Isn’t Abernathy the purchasing agent for cattle to be used to supply the Indians?”

  “Yes, he is, but he is in Washington right now and won’t be back until the fifth of next month,” the man answered. “In the meantime, I am authorized to accept delivery of the cattle, and to give you a receipt which will be redeemed by Mr. Abernathy for the appropriate amount. I’m Cephus Malone. Do you have cattle?”

  “Yes,” Williams said.

  Malone smiled. “Ahh, then you must be Mr. Kirby Jensen. Well, Mr. Jensen, I must confess that you got here much sooner than I thought you would. You have three thousand head for me, I believe?”

  Williams didn’t know anything about Kirby Jensen or his cattle, but for the time being it he thought it might be a good idea to go along with Malone’s belief that he was Jensen.

  “Yes, three thousand head.”

  “Good, good. As soon as I make an inventory of the cattle, I can issue a government draft for the funds. Where are the cattle? Just outside of town?”

  “Uh, no, the herd isn’t here yet.”

  “Well, I can understand,” Malone said. “It’s a long way up here from Big Rock, Colorado. But the sooner you can get them here, the better.”

  “Yes, well, I just wanted to check and see if you still wanted to purchase the cattle.”

  “Mind you, in order to secure the purchase you must be the first one to deliver the cattle,” Malone said. “And I must warn you, you are not the only one in the picture. A man named Trent Williams has also contacted us for possible delivery.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Williams replied. “I’ll rejoin the herd and bring them up as fast as I can.”

  As Williams left Malone’s office, his mind was racing with possibilities. If he could deliver over three thousand head, that would be over one hundred thousand dollars. All he had to do was get control of the three thousand head of cattle that a man named Kirby Jensen was bringing up from Colorado.

  The way Williams saw it, there were two problems to contend with.

  Problem number one was to find the herd.

  Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, given the mountains, passes, and rivers, how many ways up from Big Rock, Colorado, were there?

  Problem number two would be to take the herd once he found it.

  That shouldn’t be too difficult either. With three thousand head, he could afford to hire a band of men to do the job for him and still have more money than he would have had had he been able to take Jason Adams’s herd.

  He could afford such a band of men, and he knew just where to find them.

  Before going to bed that night, Trent Williams sent a telegram back to Salcedo. The recipient of the telegram was a man name Will Staley. Staley was the former sheriff, but had been defeated in the last election because of accusations that he had been in cahoots with a cattle rustler.

  Staley denied the accusations, but was defeated anyway. Now he operated a private cattle protective agency going after rustlers. Although he was no longer a sheriff, and no longer had territorial authority to make arrests, he compensated for that by declaring himself a bounty hunter, and indeed, he did collect bounty on those who were wanted. But his primary income came from the cattlemen who hired him. There were those who said that Staley didn’t always let the law get in the way of getting the job done, especially if there was enough money involved.

  Williams was sure that he could offer Staley enough money to get the job done. But he could pay only if Staley succeeded in getting a herd for him. And the herd Malone had mentioned, the one belonging to a man named Kirby Jensen, would be that herd.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had been five days since they came through the snow and were again on dry ground. In fact, as far as Andy was concerned, it was too dry. The reason for that was that he was riding drag and eating the dust kicked up by the herd.

  It was because he was riding drag that he was the first to see the Indians. He wasn’t sure he actually saw them because it was only a slight movement, a shadow within a shadow that caught his eye. He dismounted and pretended to be working on his saddle while actually looking behind him.

  There! He saw it again, and this time there was no question. Three Indians, riding in line, moved through a cut in the ridge. They were bending low over their horses, obviously trying to remain unseen.

  Andy remounted, then rode, not at a gallop but at a quick pace, until he caught up with Smoke.

  “Smoke, there’s some Indians on our tail,” he said.

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know,” Andy said. “But they are trying their damn’dest to stay out of sight, so I know that they are up to no good.”

  Smoke stroked his chin and looked out over the herd. “Andy, do you think you can get to the other side of the herd without letting the Indians know that you are on to them?”

  “Yeah,” Andy said. “I think so.”

  “All right, you get over there, tell Billy, Mike, and the Butrum boys that, at my signal, I want them to get the herd moving as fast as we can. The river’s not more than a mile ahead and Sally is already set up there. If we can get the herd across, we’ll make our stand there.”

  “Right,” Andy said as he started around the herd.

  “Pearlie!” Smoke called.

  Pearlie turned his horse and rode back to see what Smoke wanted.

  “Andy has spotted some Indians behind us. We’re going to try and get the herd across the river, then turn to face them. Send Cal on up to be with Sally. Have them pick out some defensive positions for us, then help the others drive the herd.”

  “Smoke, isn’t there a chance of spookin’ the cows into a stampede if we try and hurry them now?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re tired and they’re headed toward water. I don’t think they’ll scatter. And I know this area. Once they get on the other side, there’s no way they can go except the way we want them to go. Hell, I hope they do run, it’ll keep ’em out of the line of fire. Now, get goin’.”

  “Right,” Pearlie replied.

  Smoke watched Pearlie ride back up to deliver his message to Cal. He saw Cal ride off at a rapid clip, and not until Cal was at least half a mile away did he raise his pistol and fire.

  “Let’s go!” he shouted. “Move ’em out! Move ’em out!”

  The cattle started forward at a gallop with the cowboys on both sides urging them on with whoops and shouts and waving their hats.

  “Here, cows, run!” Smoke heard Billy calling. “Run, cows, run
!”

  Smoke rode to the rear of the herd, pulled his rifle, then looked back. The Indians, realizing then that they had been seen, gave up all pretense of trying to keep out of sight. They started after the cattle.

  Smoke sighted on one of the Indians and squeezed the trigger. The Indian grabbed his chest, then fell from his galloping pony. That caused the other Indians to pull up for a moment. It was a moment only, but that gave Smoke the chance to turn and catch up with the herd.

  By now the leading animals of the herd were crossing the river, their hooves churning up water ahead of the onrushing cattle behind them.

  “Pearlie, you and Andy grab your rifles,” Smoke said. He pointed to the neck of a small island that faced the western bank of the river, the direction from which they had just come.

  “See if the two of you can squirm down through the tall grass. Take a position as near to the point as you can get, and do as much damage as you can when the Indians start across the water.”

  “Right!” Pearlie called back. “Andy, let’s go!”

  “The rest of you,” Smoke ordered. “Find yourselves a good spot and get ready.”

  As the men got on their knees and began looking around for a rock or hill or tree log to provide them with cover and concealment, Smoke walked back to the chuck wagon, where he saw Sally making herself a firing position from behind one of the wheels.

  “Sally, you’re on your own,” Smoke said. “When the shooting starts, I’m going to be moving around.”

  “You do what you have to do, Smoke,” Sally replied. “I’ve got a good position here. I’ll be all right and, I suspect, I might even get off a shot or two.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Smoke laughed. “You might get off a shot or two, huh?” he said. He knew that, next to him, Sally was probably the best shot there. And he knew that nobody had more courage. “Just make sure you know who you are shooting.”

  “Any more snide remarks like that, Smoke Jensen, and you’ll be my target,” Sally quipped.

  Smoke kissed her, and they held the kiss a moment longer than they normally would have.

  “You be careful with all your moving around,” Sally said as Smoke took his leave of her.

  Smoke hurried back to see how the others were positioned, and where they were deployed.

  “All right, now remember, Pearlie and Andy will shoot first!” Smoke said. “So don’t be spooked into shooting when you hear them. I want you to hold your fire until the last possible moment. Then make your shots count!”

  “Smoke, here they are! I can hear ’em coming!” Jules said nervously. His announcement wasn’t necessary, however, for by then everyone could hear them. Above the drumming of the hoofbeats came the cries of the warriors themselves, yipping and barking and screaming at the top of their lungs.

  The Indians crested the bluff just before the river; then, without a pause, they rushed down the hill toward the water, their horses sounding like thunder.

  “Remember, hold your fire until the last possible moment,” Smoke shouted to the others. “In fact, hold your fire until I give you the word!”

  The Indians stopped just at the water’s edge, then holding their rifles over their heads, began shouting guttural challenges to the men who were dug in on the island.

  “Hu ihpeya wicayapo!”

  “Huka!”

  “Huka hey!”

  “They’re working up their courage,” Smoke said. “Check your rifles, make sure you have a shell in the chamber.”

  The men opened the breaches and checked the chambers, then closed them and prepared for the attack.

  The Indians rushed into the water, riding hard across the fifty-yard-wide shallows, whooping, hollering, and gesturing with rifles and lances. Then two of warriors pulled ahead of the others, and when they were halfway across the water, Smoke heard two distinct shots from the point of the island. The two warriors in front went down.

  The remaining Indians crossed the river, then started up the sandy point.

  “Fire!” Smoke shouted.

  Smoke, Sally, Billy, Mike, Hank, LeRoy, and Jules fired as one. Four of the Indians went down, not because a couple of them had missed, but because a couple of them had fired at the same target. The devastating volley was effective, for the warriors who survived swerved to the right and left, riding by, rather than over, the cowboys’ positions.

  The Indians regrouped on the east bank of the river.

  “Turn around!” Smoke yelled. “They’ll be coming from behind us this time!”

  The cowboys had just barely managed to switch positions when the Indians turned and rode back in a second charge. They were met with another volley, this one as crushing as the first had been. Again, a significant number of the Indians in the middle of the charge went down.

  The Cheyenne pulled back to the west bank of the river to regroup, watched anxiously by the men on the island. By now the river was strewn with dead Indians. There were at least eight or ten of them, lying facedown in the shallow water as the current parted around them.

  “Anyone hit?” Smoke called.

  “Yeah, I been hit,” LeRoy called back, his voice strained. “How bad is it?” Smoke asked.

  “I—I reckon it’s killed me,” LeRoy said, his voice growing weaker.

  “LeRoy!” Hank called, moving quickly to his brother’s side.

  “Hang on, LeRoy,” Smoke said. “We’re going to get out of here. We’ll be having drinks in a saloon in a few days, telling tall tales about this fight.”

  “You fellas have a drink to me,” LeRoy said.

  “LeRoy! LeRoy!” Hank called anxiously.

  “How is he?” Smoke called.

  “He’s dead,” Hank said in a tone that reflected both his shock and his sorrow. “I can’t believe this. My brother is dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Hank. He was a good man.” Smoke looked at all who had gathered around him. “You are all good men,” he said.

  “Smoke, what about Pearlie and Andy?” Cal asked. “You think they are all right?”

  “Good question. I’d better go get them.”

  “Why don’t you just call ’em in?” Billy asked.

  “No, I can’t do that. If the Indians hear us, that will make Pearlie and Andy easy targets. I’ll go get them. Cal, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”

  “Right,” Cal replied.

  Smoke worked his way down through the tall grass until he reached the point. Looking up, he saw both Pearlie and Andy behind tall clumps of grass, just on the other side of an open sandbar.

  “Pearlie, you and Andy all right?” Smoke called to them, just loudly enough to be heard.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” Pearlie replied.

  “Come on back with the rest of us now,” Smoke said. “We’ve lost whatever advantage we had by having you out here.”

  “All right,” Pearlie said. “Andy, you go first, I’ll cover you.”

  Nodding, Andy bent over at the waist and darted across the open bar of sand until he reached the tall grass.

  “All right, Pearlie, it’s your turn,” Andy called back.

  Duplicating Andy, Pearlie darted across the sandbar, then dived into the grass alongside Smoke and Andy.

  “Anyone hit back there?” Pearlie asked.

  “Yeah. LeRoy was killed,” Smoke said grimly.

  “Damn.”

  “Come on, let’s get back.”

  The three men wriggled through the grass on their bellies until the reached a slight depression that allowed them to stand up. Once up, they were able to move quickly until they were back with the others.

  “You think they’re going to come back?” Mike asked.

  Smoke shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wish I could see them well enough to know what is going on.”

  “I have a pair of army binoculars,” Andy offered. “Would that help?”

  “It might,” Smoke said. “Let me see them.”

  Andy hurried back to where the ho
rses were tied. He fished the binoculars from his saddlebag, then took them back and handed them to Smoke.

  “These are good-looking glasses,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah,” Andy replied. He smiled. “I took them from Sergeant Caviness.”

  “Good,” Mike said. “I hope the son of a bitch had to pay the army for them.”

  The others laughed.

  Smoke raised the binoculars to look across the water. He saw one Indian who was obviously in charge, riding back and forth in front of the others, holding a rifle over his head and shouting.

  “Somebody seems to be stirring them up,” Smoke said.

  “May I take a look?” Andy asked.

  “Sure, they’re your glasses,” Smoke said, handing the binoculars to the former soldier.

  Andy lifted the binoculars to study the Indians. “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Walking Bear,” Andy said.

  “Who?”

  “Walking Bear,” Andy said, lowering his glasses.

  “You know him, Andy?” Billy asked.

  Andy shook his head. “Can’t say as I know him exactly,” he replied. “But he’s been givin’ the army some trouble for a long time now. He was part of Red Eagle’s camp, but when Red Eagle went to reservation, Walking Bear took a lot of warriors with him and left. The army’s been after him ever since then, but he’s been like a ghost. No one’s been able to find him.”

  “Looks like we just did,” Smoke said.

  “Yes, sir, it does at that,” Andy said.

  “How bad is this Walking Bear fella?” Mike asked.

  “Pretty bad. Just before I got out of the army, Walking Bear attacked a platoon of soldiers that was escortin’ a supply wagon. He kilt ever’ soldier in that platoon.”

  “Are you sure this is Walking Bear?” Smoke asked.

  Andy nodded. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” he said.

  “Sally,” Smoke called. “Come here for a moment, would you?”

  Sally walked over to where Smoke and Andy were standing. Smoke took the binoculars from Andy and handed them to Sally.

  “Take a look at the Indian in front,” Smoke said. “The one riding back and forth, yelling at the others. Do you see him?”