Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  Tip shook his head. If he’d lived, George would probably have been court-martialed, too. No, Tip Thornburgh was both calm and thorough, not like the hot-headed Custer. Tip would celebrate his ninth wedding anniversary on his thirty-seventh birthday this coming December and wanted to grow old beside his Lida with grandchildren and Irish setters playing around his rocking chair. That hysterical Indian agent, Meeker, was probably yelling ‘wolf’ again for no good reason.

  Major Thornburgh and his cavalry rode west first, sixteen miles into the lawless little frontier town of Rawlins where outlaws were known to hang out. In Rawlins, two troops from Fort Russell in Cheyenne had been sent to join him.

  What worried Tip Thornburgh now was that no member of this command had ever journeyed between Rawlins and the White River Agency. Even as he asked around town about a suitable scout, Tip wished again that he had not succumbed to his brother Jake’s pleas and left his best scout and guide, Taylor Pennock, with the hunting party. Someone recommended a local livery stable owner, Joe Rankin, as scout and Major Thornburgh took him along as the troops turned south through the barren badlands of Wyoming and into Colorado.

  As the days passed, he didn’t feel any better about this assignment. It was almost 200 miles from Rawlins and its railroad to the White River Agency. He was having to take all his necessities by wagon and a load of supplies Meeker had ordered were being sent at the same time.

  Captain Payne fell in beside him. “Not a bad trip so far.”

  Tip drawled, “Leaves are turned red and gold—good hunting weather. I wish I could have brought my setters—probably some quail or prairie chicken thick in this brush.”

  “You had to leave a hunt to come, didn’t you, sir?”

  Tip nodded. “It couldn’t be helped. Rotten timing on Meeker’s part, but a soldier does what he must.”

  Captain Payne squinted against the sun and looked at Joe Rankin riding ahead of them. “The new scout seems all right.”

  Tip felt sheepish. “I suppose I shouldn’t have let my brother, Jake, talk me out of my scout, but he didn’t see any reason their hunt should be ruined, too. After all, they came quite a ways.”

  “You’ve even had the president’s son up here hunting, haven’t you, Major?”

  “And General Crook, too,” Tip added. “Colorado has superb hunting. No wonder the Utes, poor devils, might be willing to fight to hang onto the land.”

  “I know. Two years ago, I was with the command that went after Chief Joseph and his Nez Perce. It was mostly old people and women and children with us shooting at them. All they wanted to do was go to Canada and live in peace. They almost made it.”

  Captain Payne looked pale and too heavy, Tip thought, and moved as stiffly as an old man, although he was Tip’s age. Payne’s health had broken and he’d never really recovered from his service in the Nez Perce campaign. “It’s a dirty business, this corralling Indians and trying to make them live the way we want, where we want.”

  Captain Payne hesitated. “They sent the Nez Perce down to the Indian Territory. It’s hot and dry down there—they’re dying like flies.”

  Tip stared at the gold and red autumn landscape ahead of him. Like the Nez Perce, the Utes were mountain people, too, used to roaming twelve million acres of rich hunting lands. “I think Ouray knows that could happen to his people if he doesn’t keep them at peace.”

  “Excuse me, sir, but aren’t the Utes friendlies? Didn’t they provide scouts for us while the army was tracking down the Sioux after Little Big Horn?”

  Tip sighed and touched the butt of the fine, engraved pistol in his holster. “How does the poem go: ... ‘Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldiers knew someone had blundered; theirs not to make reply, theirs but to do and die—’ ”

  “As I recall, sir, the next lines are: “Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred.”

  Tip laughed. “We don’t have six hundred and I’ll try not to blunder, and get us trapped like Custer. We’ll keep our supply wagons close enough so that we’ll have all the ammunition and food we need.”

  “If you say so, sir.” Payne looked behind them. “What is that contraption we’re hauling along?”

  The major shrugged. “Supplies for Meeker. He’s ordered a threshing machine from Brewster Industries.” “I remember seeing plows unloaded from the train months ago,” Captain Payne said. “You mean to tell me he actually got Utes to plow and plant and now he’s making plans to harvest?”

  “Maybe he’s just being ambitious and planning future crops,” Tip Thornburgh said and grinned. “Thank God we’ll get this all solved and things will be peaceful again before the weather turns really bad. You ever shoot over fine-blooded dogs, Captain?”

  “Are you inviting me, sir?”

  “Certainly! My setters are the best. Maybe we’ll hunt quail. Lida’s a good cook. We’ll sip a little good Kentucky bourbon and eat fried quail and tell tall tales about what an adventure this was, even if it turns out to be dull.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll look forward to it.”

  Tip started to say something else, then paused with his mouth open and looked at the horizon. Captain Payne’s gaze followed his own.

  A handful of Utes, no doubt a hunting party, was silhouetted against the light of a distant bluff. Major Thornburgh raised his hand and the order went down the line to halt.

  “Sir, do you think they see us?”

  Tip frowned. “How could they miss several hundred troopers and all these supply wagons strung out for more than a mile? I was hoping to reach the agency before they even realized we were in the area.”

  Captain Payne’s corpulent face turned a little paler. “So we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

  “That can’t be helped, I’m afraid,” Major Thornburgh said and shrugged. “What the devil do these warriors have in their belts that reflects the light so?” He handed his field glasses to the other officer.

  Captain Payne leaned forward in his saddle, peering through the glasses at the hunting party. “Looks like they’re all carrying big knives.”

  “Now who would sell the Utes something like that?” Thornburgh frowned.

  “Maybe they stole them someplace.”

  “I hope we don’t find some trader lying out here in the brush with his throat cut,” Tip muttered. He peered through his field glasses again, watching the Utes turn their ponies and come down the ridge, riding toward them.

  “Stay calm, captain,” he cautioned, “we’re not supposed to start any trouble.”

  The pudgy officer snorted. “You think the Utes know that? They wouldn’t think we’re out on a Sunday school stroll with all these troops and equipment.”

  They sat, waiting until the small group of Utes rode to face them, looking over the units suspiciously. An old warrior asked, “Where soldiers go?”

  “We are not here to make war on the Utes,” the major assured the suspicious old man. “The agent has sent for us to sit down with him and your people to straighten out our differences.”

  The stony-faced Indians surveyed the long line of mounted cavalry, infantry, and supply wagons. “Much people and guns just to talk. Not come on reservation land.”

  Tip hadn’t planned to. The Utes would see that as an act of war. “Suppose when we reach the reservation boundary we halt and meet with your leaders?”

  The Utes looked skeptical. “How many soldiers you bring to meeting?”

  Thornburgh considered. “To show our good faith, what about only five soldiers?”

  He saw the sudden alarm in Captain Payne’s pudgy face, but ignored it. “We will ride ahead and confer with agent Meeker and set up some kind of parlay.”

  The Ute nodded. “It shall be as you say.” They turned and galloped back up over the distant ridge.

  Payne wiped the sweat from his face. “Begging your pardon, sir, but you don’t really intend to meet with them with only five soldiers?”

  “I’m not here to start a war, Captain. I’m trying
to calm things down.”

  Payne chewed his lip. “Have you forgotten what happened to General Canby?”

  Tip shrugged. The only general to be killed fighting against Western Indians so far, Canby and his officers had sat down unarmed to counsel with the Modocs in 1873, and the Indians had suddenly pulled out weapons and killed the little group. “I’m cautious, Captain—I don’t think I’ll walk into a peace talk unarmed.”

  The other officer heaved an audible sigh of relief.

  Tip leaned on his horse’s neck and watched the hunting party disappear into the hills. “Now that we’ve been discovered, they’ll be watching us to make sure we don’t come on reservation land. Call a meeting of all the officers and scouts, Captain Payne. I have decisions to make.”

  The scout, Joe Rankin, was adamant. “We’ve got food and ammunition, but we’ve got to have water. We’ll probably have to get it from Milk Creek first and then ride on, but we’ll be on Ute reservation land by then.”

  Major Thornburgh shook his head. “I told them we will bring in only five men to parlay. The Utes will see our trespassing as an act of war and act accordingly.”

  “Can’t help that,” grizzly old Joe Rankin said. “If you leave your troops at the reservation boundary, they’ll be in Coal Creek Canyon. Bad place to get trapped if the Utes decide to attack, like fish in a barrel.”

  “Trapped and cut off like Custer,” someone muttered.

  Major Thornburgh frowned. “No, not like Custer. I’m not about to get my troops stopped and waiting where they’re easy targets. Send a messenger to agent Meeker that we’re coming and that I’ve arranged to meet with the Utes with a small group of officers to parlay.”

  “You think they’ll trust you?” Lieutenant Cherry, the officer with the Fort Russell troops, asked.

  “Maybe when they see the large force, that will cool them down some,” the scout said and scratched himself under his fringed leather jacket.

  Captain Payne opened his mouth, started to speak, then paused.

  “All right, Captain,” Tip said, “out with it.”

  “You’re going to ride in and face all those Utes with a handful of men to parlay?”

  “It’s part of my job, you know. Ours not to reason why,” Tip smiled. “Stop worrying, Captain. I’m cautious.”

  “You’ll also be miles from your troops and supplies, sir,” Lieutenant Cherry said.

  “I’m more worried about my troops than myself. All these men and hundreds of mules and horses need water and as Rankin says, I won’t let them be halted in Coal Creek Canyon.”

  The scout spat tobacco in the dust. “Past the canyon, there’s a little valley that Milk Creek runs through. Water’s a little chalky-lookin,’ but not bad.”

  “Isn’t that on reservation land?” Major Thornburgh asked and frowned at him.

  “Wal, yes sir, but these troops have to have water.”

  “We can’t do that,” the Major protested and began to pace up and down. “They’ll think I lied.”

  “This is a big country, Major,” the scout said, “so maybe they’ll never know exactly where we camped. It ain’t very far into Ute land.”

  “What’s the alternative?” Thornburgh asked and looked around at the serious faces of his officers.

  “Halt ’em in the trap, but with all this drought, not any water there.”

  No one said anything. Tip paced up and down. He was the commanding officer; it was his decision to make. Somewhere out in the prairie grass a quail called and the breeze blew the golden aspen on the distant mountains. He wished he were with his brother sitting around that campfire, spinning hunting tales of good dogs and fine bourbon. He longed for his pretty wife. He must remember to order her a nice anniversary gift. Possibly, Lida would give a party. Maybe he would get Bobby and Olivia a setter puppy for Christmas. He wished he were sitting down to dinner with his family right now.

  “Major?” Captain Payne cleared his throat politely.

  Tip blinked and looked around, once more facing choices involving hundreds of soldiers. Ours not to reason why …

  “Rankin, I suppose you’re right,” the Major said as his broad shoulders slumped. “I intend to keep my word about a small group parlaying with the Utes, but I can’t leave my men deliberately stopped in a trap. We’ll ride on to water.”

  Everyone nodded and looked at each other. It was the only logical choice, really. They could only hope the Utes didn’t spot the moving column and misinterpret the army’s action. If Major Thornburgh and a small peace party could just sit down with them, everything would be all right.

  That decided, they rode on. It was beautiful but desolate country, the Major thought as he looked toward the east and old Sleepy Cat Mountain. It was only a couple of days until October brought autumn to the Western slope. Once winter laid its snows across the mountains, the prospectors would stay out of this country until spring, and that would calm the angry Utes. As to whether idealistic Nathan Meeker and his clanking threshing machine would ever convert these warrior Indians to farming, that was debatable, but it wasn’t Tip Thornburgh’s problem. He was only here to keep an Indian war from breaking out.

  Tip held his breath riding through Coal Creek Canyon, but there was no sign of Indians. His troops had to have water so they did not halt. They were on Ute land now and the Utes had a treaty, so there were no legal grounds for soldiers to be here. Newspaper men would be pouring into the area as word of the Indian trouble spread, Tip thought as he rode, bridles jingling. Lida would be so proud if he stopped an Indian war, won a medal, or was mentioned in the paper.

  More than that, it would vindicate Tip’s father. A proud Tennessean opposed to slavery, the senior Thornburgh had been called a traitor to the South during the War and thrown into the ghastly Andersonville prison, where he died. No one ever thought about Southerners dying in that hellhole.

  Captain Payne gestured. “Major Thornburgh, sir.”

  Tip looked where Captain Payne pointed. Mounted Utes rode along the rim of the bluff. They were on Ute land and the Utes had seen them. Now there was going to be trouble whether the army liked it or not!

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Wannie clung to Keso’s waist as they galloped along with the Ute war party, still attempting to sort things out in her mind. She looked off to her left. Cleve glared back at her, evidently angry and jealous. She had been too easily dazzled by Cleve’s sophistication and charm. What a shallow fool she had been!

  When she finally got a moment alone with Keso, she was going to tell him how she had changed. How could she have been so blind to his devotion? She looked down at his ring on her finger. If they came through this alive and returned to Silver and Cherokee, she hoped Keso would build her a home up in their private valley. They would live happily for always with many children for Silver and Cherokee to spoil.

  Right now, she had other worries. Around them, the Ute war party looked grim and angry as they galloped toward the northern boundary of the reservation. Would there be a confrontation with the soldiers? In spite of everything that had happened, Wannie couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Indians. They seemed desperate, harried, and many of them looked ragged and hungry.

  The riders topped a crest and reined in. Strung out in the valley between the buttes was a long blue line of cavalry and their supply wagons.

  Next to her, Coyote reined in sharply. He looked over at Keso and shouted in English. “I told you white men lie! They promised to stop at our boundary!”

  “This is an act of war!” another shouted. “Remember what happened to the Cheyenne at Sand Creek!”

  Around her, Utes were stopping, swinging down from their horses, and reaching for rifles. Keso’s stallion, Spirit, had half turned so that Wannie saw the scene below in an instant, the cavalry strung out riding along the narrow creek, the officers out in front, the sun reflecting off the shiny brass insignia on their uniforms.

  Horses around her neighed and snorted, kicking up dust along the treeless blu
ff as the Utes dismounted, reaching for rifles.

  “They see us, too!” a Ute warrior called in warning.

  Below her, the cavalry seemed to pause in split second confusion. She wasn’t sure who fired the first shot, the enraged Utes or the surprised soldiers, but abruptly rifle fire cracked and echoed through the hills.

  Keso’s big stallion whinnied and reared in the uproar. She almost slid off, but Keso reached down, and grabbed her wrist as she clutched his waist. She clung to Keso, feeling the tension in his body as he seemed to be trying to decide what to do. She heard a sound of fear and glanced over at Cleve, whose handsome face was as white as a dead frog’s belly. He looked about wildly. In that instant, she almost seemed to smell Cleve’s fear along with the scent of dust and sweating horses. Below them, retreating through a few straggly trees, was a major, the light glinting off his brass insignia and the pistol in his hand.

  Next to Wannie, a brave cried out and clutched his chest and fell, moaning pitifully.

  Keso craned his neck to look back at her. “These poor Utes are in for it now!”

  The Utes were firing at the troops. All around them was confusion, blood, and noise as the Utes scattered to take cover. Below them, the troops tried to retreat, gathering closer to their supply wagons.

  She hung onto Keso, knowing he was trying to make a choice of loyalties. Neither group was wrong or right, but some would die today.

  Coyote laughed aloud as he cocked his big fifty buffalo gun and took aim. “First the soldiers and then you, son of Ouray!”

  Below them, she could see the handsome major, his pistol flashing in the sunlight as he tried to rally his troops. He was out ahead of his men now, urging them into a thin growth of willows that might protect them from the Utes, who had the advantage of the bluffs on both sides.