Larkspur

by Dorothy Garlock

  A coyote spoke to the sky, his shrill cries mounting in crescendo, then dying away in echoes against the canyon walls. Always cautious, Buck turned abruptly, rode a short distance and waited, listening. He heard no hoofbeats or other sounds of travel. There had been no sign of an enemy, yet he took no chances. After a while he walked his horse on down the trail and rode into grass-covered country scattered with tall pines.

  For the first time in his life, Buck was letting another man call the shots. Cleve Stark had said for him to sit tight and guard Kristin. Without her, there would be no way to prove that Forsythe and Lee had forged the document that gave Lee the authority to sell the Larkspur to Forsythe.

  What Cleve didn’t understand was that Kristin had come to mean so much to him that without her he didn’t care what happened to the Larkspur. When this was over, if it ended in their favor, he would give her his land, his house, and take himself out of the country. Buck wanted nothing more than to grab her up and take her someplace where she would be safe—but that was out of the question. She’d go nowhere with him. He was just an ignorant cowboy reaching for the stars.

  He had crossed Sweet Grass Creek and was coming through brushland when he heard the three pops echoing down the valley. He pulled the gray to a quick stop and listened. There was no sound except the scraping of stiff dry branch as the wind passed through them.

  “Kristin.” He spoke her name into the silence. He said her name a second time, louder, this time with rising fear.

  He slapped his mount on the rump, and the gray was off and running, heedless of obstruction. He darted around turns in the trail the first quarter mile until he came to the open field, then Buck urged the gray into an all-out run, knowing that with one misstep he and the gray would go down.

  It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. As he neared the ranch buildings, he saw lights. He pulled the blowing horse to a stop, put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Seconds later he heard the answering signal and urged the tired gray to move on.

  A group of people waited in front of the bunkhouse. His eyes searched for blond hair but saw only that of Kristin’s cousin. Gilly, Bernie and three Indian drovers stood with him. Bonnie sat on the bench beside Tandy.

  “What’s happened? Where’s Kristin?” The words were out of Buck’s mouth even before the horse came to a complete stop.

  “She’s gone—”

  “Gone?” Buck stepped from the horse. “Goddammit! What do you mean . . . gone?”

  “Just that,” Gustaf said. “Bonnie and I were sitting out here by the woodpile, and when Bonnie went in, Kristin was gone. The front door was open—”

  Buck grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Damn you! You were to watch her! If she’s hurt, I’ll break every bone in your worthless body.” Buck shoved Gustaf from him. His mind was so clouded with worry he could hardly think. “Gilly, where’s Bowlegs?”

  “Iron Jaw sent for him this mornin’ right after ya left.”

  “Godamighty! Why didn’t you send for me?”

  “Thought there’d be no problem. We ain’t seen hide nor hair of them hired riders. Ain’t nobody even been scoutin’ ’round. They ain’t so brainless they’ll come in without scoutin’, is they?”

  “Mr Lenning, ah . . . Buck, if it’s anybody’s fault Kristin’s gone, it’s mine.” Bonnie stood wringing her hands.

  “There’s no time to be laying fault. When did you last see her?”

  “After supper we went to the outhouse. And”—sobs came up in Bonnie’s throat—“and we came back here and saw Gustaf at the woodpile. I stayed with him for a while . . . and Kristin said she was goin’ to bed.”

  “How long were you here?”

  “Three hours or . . . more,” she answered in a low voice.

  “Three hours? Dammit to hell! Sonofabitch! Gawddamn bunch a tinhorns with shit for brains!” A string of obscene words spewed from Buck’s mouth. “She could be anywhere by now. That is if they let her live. Get me a fresh horse,” he barked to one of the drovers.

  “Buck, hold up jist a dad-burn minute.” Gilly’s voice stopped Buck as he strode toward the house. “Wait up an’ listen ’fore ya go off half-cocked.”

  “Listen to what? More muddleheaded excuses. She’s gone!”

  “Me an’ the boy here’s got us a idey.” The boy, who had been left to guard the Indian camp hung back behind Gilly. He had never seen the Wasicun so angry.

  “Say your piece,” Buck snapped.

  “Beaver Boy come an’ told me when I came in to noonin’, that Runs Fast had been to the drovers’ camp an’ asked where ya was. He told the boy a bunch of bad men was camped up on Billy Creek and Iron Jaw sent him to tell ya ’bout it.”

  “Runs Fast lied. Iron Jaw knows the people camped on Billy Creek are a preacher and his boys. Tinhorn Bible-thumpers is what they are.”

  “There be somethin’ else. Gus said old Sam lifted his head once and growled, then calmed down and went back to sleep. If a strange white man had been within smellin’ distance of Sam, he’d a raised old Ned. But that dog’s been hangin’ ’round the drovers’ camp and is used to Indian smell. Might be he paid it no mind.”

  “You think Runs Fast got her?”

  “The door was open. I’m thinkin’ that she went out for a breath o’ air and Runs Fast was waitin’. There ain’t been no riders on the trail a’tall. And them hired riders ain’t goin’ to circle ’round to come in from the other side and risk gettin’ their hair took.”

  “Have you looked for tracks?”

  “No, an’ I told ’em to stay clear till ya could look.”

  Buck and Gilly took the lantern and went around to the front of the house. The group by the bunkhouse stood quietly waiting, relieved that Buck was here, even though his anger was frightening.

  “Stands to reason a Injun took her,” Tandy said. “Ain’t many white men that I know of what can sneak up on a body like one a them redskins.”

  “Oh, Lord. I don’t blame Lenning for being angry. Bonnie and I were talking, but I swear I never heard a thing. I was depending on the dog, and I shouldn’t have. What if we don’t find her? This is such a big . . . gawddamn country—” Gustaf finished lamely when Buck and Gilly returned.

  “Found moccasin tracks,” Gilly announced. “I’d bet my hat it was that stuck-on-hisself Runs Fast that’s always struttin’ ’round like a rooster. He had his eye on Kristin’s blond hair from the start. Remember, Buck? He stole her drawers right off the line.”

  “He’ll regret the day he set eyes on her when I get through with him.”

  The Indian had warned Kristin that he would be back and she had believed him, but Buck had thought it just a brag. He wished now that he had taken the threat more seriously and gone straight to Iron Jaw’s camp and had it out with Runs Fast.

  A drover came from the corral leading a long-legged sorrel with Buck’s saddle on its back.

  “Ain’t ya better wait and rest up a bit?” Gilly said. “Ya been in the saddle since mornin’.”

  “I’ll rest when I get Kristin back, and not until.”

  “Bonnie, run get him a canteen of water and something to eat on the way.” Bernie gave his sister a little nudge toward the house.

  “I’m going with you, Lenning,” Gustaf said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “It was on my watch that she was taken, and she’s . . . my cousin.”

  “You’re not going,” Buck said emphatically. “I don’t want to have to be looking out for you. I’ll have my hands full as it is. I doubt he’ll take her to Iron Jaw’s camp, but that’s where I’ll have to go to find out where he might have taken her.”

  Buck spoke to the Indian boy in the language of the Sioux.

  “You did good telling Gilly about Runs Fast coming to your camp. By doing so we may find the Wasicun woman quickly.”

  He hung the canteen over his saddle horn and tucked the cloth-wrapped food in one of the deep pockets of his coat. Before he mounted, he spoke to Gilly,
who came from the bunkhouse with extra rifle shells that he dropped in one of the saddlebags.

  “Stay here at the house. Have the drovers watch the stock so they aren’t run off. I’ll not be back until I have Kristin.” He swung into the saddle and put his heels to the fresh mount.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Buck was almost sick with worry.

  He rode toward Iron Jaw’s camp feeling as if he had rocks in his stomach. An hour from the homestead he had taken a few sips of water and had tried to eat a few bites of the food in the pack, but it had stuck in his throat.

  It had been some comfort to learn that it was Runs Fast who had taken Kristin and not Forsythe’s men. They would want her dead. The Indian wanted her for a trophy. He would be cruel to her if she did not comply with his wishes, but he would not kill her. Buck wondered if Kristin might not rather be dead than suffer the indignity of being raped by the Indian.

  All he could think of was how frightened she must be. He didn’t allow himself to think of what may have already been done to her. He didn’t believe the Indian would rape her . . . yet. He would want to be sure she was not carrying the Wasicun’s child and would have one of his women examine her. He cringed inwardly at the thought of how humiliated she would be to be held down and have her legs spread.

  When Buck was within five miles of the Sioux camp, he looked for a place where he could bed down until daylight. He knew better than to approach the camp in the dark. He also knew that he needed his strength for what lay ahead, and that meant rest now for him and the horse. He got stiffly down from his mount and led him into an area sheltered from the wind by a thick growth of pines. After unsaddling and picketing the horse, he threw out the bedroll he always carried behind his saddle.

  Buck lay down, his handgun and his rifle by his side. It was a cold night. He pulled a blanket up over his shoulders and lay still, hearing the slow heavy beat of his own heart. He tried not to think of Kristin, but his mind returned to her again and again. He saw her running toward him the day Runs Fast caught her down by the creek. That day he had felt like he had the whole world in his arms . . . for a while, until reason took over.

  Was she cold? Had that bastard hit her and knocked her senseless before he carried her away? She wasn’t strong like an Indian woman. But she had spunk, she would fight him and not give in to him until her hope of being rescued died. She must know that he would come for her . . . or die trying.

  I’m coming, sweetheart! I’ll be with you as soon as I can.

  Sleep overcame Buck suddenly. More than twenty hours in the saddle had taken a toll even on his great strength. He slept soundly. When he awoke it was just as suddenly. He was fully alert. Birds were chirping in the branches overhead and the light of dawn streaked the eastern sky. He rolled up his bedroll, then moved around to get the stiffness out of his joints.

  After relieving himself, he drank from the canteen and ate one of the biscuits from the food pack. He talked to the sorrel while he saddled him.

  “You’re a good boy. I know you’re thirsty. We’ll find a creek up ahead and you can drink your fill.”

  Before he mounted, Buck checked the handgun and the rifle. Satisfied that they were ready, he stepped into the saddle. The sorrel was eager to go. Perhaps he understood the promise of water. Ten minutes later, Buck knelt beside a stream and splashed water on his face while the horse drank.

  While still several miles from the Indian camp, Buck was aware that his presence had been observed. At one point, he lifted his arm to a sentry who stood on a bluff. The warrior lifted his rifle in response. Buck thanked God that he was known and liked here. He would have to convince Iron Jaw that Kristin was his wife and had not gone willingly to Runs Fast’s lodge.

  The Sioux respected marriage. Divorce, however, was not uncommon, for no one could hold a Sioux to anything against his wishes. Divorce was particularly easy for the woman. The tepee was hers and any time she was dissatisfied with the husband she was free to throw his possessions out into the village as public notice that she was done with him.

  It was also easy for a man to throw his wife away. If she displeased him, he usually got a give-away stick, carved to mean a giving, and threw it at some man who might at least take care of the hunting and the protection of the woman until another man wanted her.

  The warrior might take a second wife and even a third, but he usually consulted his wives before adding to their number. Buck doubted the arrogant Runs Fast would do that.

  A Sioux maiden learned early in life how to use a knife. She carried one in her belt, ready for work and for defense. She would defend herself at all cost against attack, against any who would violate the chastity rope of soft doeskin she always wore when away from the lodge. Such attacks were rare. Any such attack was punished by being forced to live alone and camp outside of the lodge circle.

  The smell of woodsmoke and cooking meat filled the air as Buck rode down the line of lodges to the large one at the center of the camp. An old man stood in front of it with his arms folded across his chest. His face was wrinkled, his hair gray, but his back was straight and his eyes sharp.

  “How do, friend Iron Jaw?” Buck held up his hand, palm out.

  “How do, Lenning? Come.” Without further ado, he went into his lodge.

  A boy appeared to lead Buck’s horse away. Buck dismounted and followed Iron Jaw into the lodge, leaving his rifle in the saddle scabbard, for to remove it while among friends would have been an insult.

  Iron Jaw seated himself on a blanket across from a man Buck did not know. Between them was the morning food: Indian bread, a dish of boiled lamb and onions, and stewed gooseberries.

  “Sit and eat,” Iron Jaw said, helping himself to a large slab of the Indian bread. “When word came you were coming, I sent for Black Elk. He is cousin to Crazy Horse, nephew to Red Cloud.”

  Buck looked at the handsome face of the Indian. Black Elk stared back. Seated on Iron Jaw’s right, he was evidently a man of importance. Buck remembered Gilly saying a group of Oglala Sioux from the south were joining Iron Jaw. Then suddenly it came to him where he’d heard the name.

  “I have heard of Black Elk from his sister, Little Owl. Did her leg heal straight?”

  “She is walking with two sticks.” The Indian spoke perfect English.

  “I am glad.”

  “It was much you did.”

  Buck shook his head. “It was only what I hope would be done for my sister.”

  “Is your sister good to look upon?” A smile flicked across the Indian’s face and was gone.

  Buck forced a smile. “I have no sister, but if I did she would not be as sightly as Little Owl.”

  Courtesy demanded that he eat the meal before he spoke of his reason for being there. It was hard to wait. He talked of the herd he had driven onto Indian land, and told Iron Jaw about the death of Man-Lost-in-Head. He referred to Kristin several times as his wife.

  “I not know you take wife, Lenning.”

  “We married and signed a paper long time ago. I was but a lad. She stayed with her family until now.”

  “It is so with our people.” The old man nodded his understanding.

  “Runs Fast came to my ranch and wanted to take her away. She would not go. Now she is gone. I must find her. She may be carrying my son in her belly.”

  The old Indian’s sharp eyes fastened on Buck’s face.

  “You say Runs Fast took your woman?”

  “I say she is gone. He came to my house while I was at Wheeler Creek and spoke to Beaver Boy. She is gone. I see moccasin prints.” Buck shrugged indifferently.

  “Runs Fast much trouble here. He says he sees vision from the Great Power. He take warriors who follow him and go west to Little Big Horn.”

  “Do you know the way he would go? If my wife went with him willingly, I will divorce her and she can stay with him. If not, I want her back.”

  “You will fight for her?” Black Elk asked.

  “Of course. Wouldn’t you fig
ht for your wife?’

  The Indian nodded. “I fight for what is mine. I show you the way.”

  When Buck came out of the lodge, he saw Little Owl. She stood with a group of maidens and smiled as Buck came toward her.

  “Hello, man from Larkspur.”

  “Hello, Little Owl.”

  “My leg will not be crooked and I will not limp as I feared.”

  “That’s good, Little Owl. Mighty good.”

  “Did bad men try to kill you?”

  “They came on my land and tried. I killed one. The other went far away.”

  “That is good.”

  The boy brought Buck’s horse and he mounted. Black Elk appeared on a fine spotted horse. A half dozen warriors were with him.

  “Good-bye, Little Owl.”

  “Good-bye, man from Larkspur.”

  Buck joined Black Elk and they rode out of the camp. The maidens with Little Owl began to chatter.

  “He is the one?”

  “You never said he was handsome for a Wasicun.”

  “Will he be back?”

  Little Owl watched the horsemen leave and hoped that he would.

  * * *

  Del Gomer got off the morning train and walked rapidly up the street to the hotel. In his room he took a gun from a canvas bag, loaded it and put it in a shoulder holster beneath his coat. He checked the load in the gun on his thigh and put extra shells in his coat pocket.

  He worked quickly. The expression on his face did not reflect the rage that burned within him. Del had been gone a week on what he called a wild-goose chase. The judge he had gone to kill was not in Bozeman. Del was told that he was away in Helena but that he would be back any day. Del waited, pretending to be a traveling man, keeping his ears open for news of the judge’s return. Every day he was away from Big Timber he became more concerned for Bonnie. Forsythe suspected she and her brother had helped the Anderson woman get out of town. Bonnie needed him, whether she realized it or not.