Sioux Sunrise

by Ron Schwab

  The two Winchesters cracked again and again as the Indians approached the scattered boulders in front of the bluff. Three Indians tumbled from their horses, and another wheeled his spotted pony in retreat, blood running freely down his side, painting his body scarlet. A shower of arrows bounced against the barricade and the rocky cliff face behind. As the defenders ducked to elude the barbed onslaught, half a dozen warriors leaped from their ponies, rolling behind the meager shelter of rocks beneath the rampart. With this accomplished, the main body swung away from the bluffs, racing back to regroup, but not before Joe slammed another bullet into the neck of a fleeing warrior.

  Tom breathed a sigh of relief at the brief respite, and the two men snapped cartridges into their Winchesters, readying for their next assault. The roar of Sarah's shotgun broke the stillness, as an Indian, climbing up the embattled scarp toppled backward, his chest a bloody mass. A rifle exploded from below, and a bullet chipped the rock just left of Tom's ear. He ducked, aware, for the first time, of the attackers below.

  "There're at least four or five down here," Sarah called to Tom. "A couple of them have rifles. It looks like the others are supposed to rush us."

  "They have to come in by your side," Tom answered, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes. "Can you handle it over there?"

  "You’re damned right, I can," she said slamming a shell into her shotgun's empty chamber, "but don't let any more of them get down here."

  Sarah's fear had evaporated. The waiting was the worst part, and that was over. She'd do.

  Properly reprimanded, Tom leveled a shot at an Indian skulking in the rocks below; a sharp yelp indicated that he drew blood.

  "Here come the bastards!" Joe yelled as dust rolled from under the thumping hooves of the advancing ponies.

  Two more Oglala fell, mortally wounded, before arrows rained again like large hailstones against the rocky fortress, but, before the Indians rode away from the bluff, Tom caught sight of several more slipping behind the rocks below.

  "They're in a hurry, Joe," said Tom, "and the only way they can get this job done before nightfall is to overrun us. Keep your eyes on the low side. I think Sarah's going to need help on the next charge."

  No sooner had his words escaped, than the main body rumbled in again toward the bluffs. Simultaneously, the others leaped up from behind the rocks and rushed toward the ledge. Tom's Winchester cracked and another Indian pitched backward, clutching his forehead as he struck the ground, his legs kicking convulsively.

  Others reached the wall below the ledge, however, and hugged tight against it, out of reach of the rifle fire. Twice, Sarah's shotgun thundered, and Joe jumped to her aid as he saw a bare-chested Sioux warrior, his face a crimson, pulpy mass, release his hold on the stone shelf, and fall backward bowling over several of his red brothers as his body crashed to the earth. Sarah crouched against the cliff wall, fumbling with the shells as she hurried to reload the double chambers. A skinny warrior pulled himself upon the ledge, pushing away several of the big rocks that formed the barrier. Spying Sarah, he raised his war club to strike, but the weapon dropped in midair when Joe's Winchester bullet ripped through his belly. The Indian plunged forward, hitting Sarah sharply as he fell, jarring the shotgun from her hands. As she leaped for the shotgun, two more warriors climbed over the ledge, one brandishing a wicked, steel war axe, and the other lifting a sharp, stake-like lance behind him. Joe's rifle jammed as he squeezed the trigger and, whipping it around, he grabbed the barrel end and drove the Winchester's butt into the head of the axe bearer. Sarah retrieved her shotgun just as a third Indian gained footing on the ledge, and, from a sitting position, pulled the trigger blasting the Indian in the groin and sending him, shrieking, backward to the ground below.

  Tom was oblivious to the bloody struggle around him as he held the outlying Oglala at bay with steady fire, and he never saw the Indian that drove the lance deep into his muscled back just under the right should blade. Dark blood soaked his shirt; abrupt searing pain swept Tom's back. His arms tensed and stiffened, and the rifle dropped uncontrollably from his hands. He felt overwhelming nausea and dizziness before he crumpled to the ledge and everything went black.

  Sarah paled when she saw Tom sink, with the lance sticking grotesquely from his back and crimson spreading over his denim shirt. But, before the Indian could withdraw the lance, she emptied the shotgun's second chamber broadside in his chest. Stunned, she threw the gun aside, and moved to Tom, glancing momentarily at the dying Indian sitting with his back against the face of the cliff. She received an almost sadistic pleasure when the urine ran down his legs and his bowels emptied, as he flopped forward in death.

  Joe, in the meantime, snatched up Tom's Winchester and braced himself like an enraged Goliath to drive the invaders from their sanctuary. But to his surprise, no one came to face his wrath.

  Then, he paused, hearing an almost rhythmic snapping of rifle fire from the far end of the butte and to the left of the attackers. He caught the glint of sun against metal about half way up the face of the bluff, and, over the remnants of the barricade, he saw the Indians pointing excitedly toward the sniper as bullets sprayed about them. The mounted warriors had already eased away from the bluff and retreated beyond rifle range, and now, the few remaining in the rocks below took off like rabbits, streaking frantically toward the main body. Joe let loose a few token shots at the escaping Indians and then whirled to help Sarah.

  She had just pulled the bloodied lance from Tom's back, and blood gurgled and bubbled from the puckered hole like lava from a seething volcano. Sarah slashed away his shirt, wadding some of the pieces into a ball and jamming it into the bloody chasm, pressing firmly as scarlet fluid trickled out around it.

  "Jesus Christ, look at that mess," murmured Joe as he knelt beside Tom's still body. His eyes met Sarah's for a second, and he saw heart-sinking despair there, as big, silent tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, streaking her dust-caked face.

  "Joe, help me drag him back in the shade," she said.

  Joe did not hear; he just stared at Tom's back as the blood from the awful wound saturated the crude compress and seeped up between Sarah's fingers.

  "Joe, damn it! I said help me move him," she said sharply.

  Shocked by the harshness in her voice, Joe obeyed and moved to assist, pausing just briefly to look over the barrier to be certain the Indians were staying put.

  "It's bad, Sarah . . . real bad . . . the worst I've ever seen." Shaking his head helplessly, tears starting to well now from his dark eyes, he choked, "He's my brother, Sarah. Did you know that? He's my brother . . . we had the same papa."

  Sarah shredded some more of Tom's shirt making a new compress from the dirty rags. "Joe, wet a few of these rags for me. I've got to clean around here and see what we've got. He's going to live . . . he's got to live," she said determinedly. "He said he'd help me find Billy . . . he promised . . . he promised, and . . . oh, God, I love him, Joe."

  Rocks rattled as they struck the ground below and Joe, abruptly brought to his senses, grabbed for his rifle as a brown hand reached over the ledge.

  "Hot as white man's hell," Stone Dog grumbled, as the ugly little man pulled himself upon the ledge and stepped nonchalantly into the tiny parapet, spitting a wad of tobacco back over the side. Then, seeing the prone, silent figure stretched out on the rock floor, the Pawnee moved catlike to Sarah's side. The old Indian pulled back the sopped, red compress and studied the gory cavity in Tom's back. "Damn bad," he mumbled. "Big damn bad." Then, catching Sarah's anguish, he reached out and patted her shoulder gravely.

  "They're pulling out," Joe yelled jubilantly. "The dirty bastards are pulling out!"

  Stone Dog joined him at the barricade briefly, and, sure enough, saw the Oglala ponies racing away, fading quickly out of sight.

  "They almost had us," Joe said. "Why are they quitting now?"

  "Almost dark. Cost too many warriors. Many Oglala heading for Powder River country," Stone Dog commented solemnly.
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  Then the two men turned to their fallen comrade.

  16

  THE NIGHT'S CHILL was already settling in, even before the flaming orange of the sun disappeared over the horizon. Sarah's fingers touched the back of Tom's neck and a worried frown crept over her face as she felt the unhealthy, fiery heat emanating from his skin. Stone Dog had left briefly and returned a short time ago with an assortment of plants and herbs, which he had ground patiently between stones and then mixed with water and boiled over their small fire until he had a greenish, putrid-smelling gumbo. This he had stuffed deep into Tom's wound and then asked Sarah to prepare another compress, which they bound tightly around Tom's back and across his chest with long strips of cloth torn from Joe's shirt.

  Hot as he appeared to be, Tom began to shiver and tremble from the combined effects of fever and the nipping mountain air. Sarah could see the scarlet tentacles of fevered flesh spreading out from beneath the bandages, and knew that the anticipated infection had announced its arrival. She slipped her fingers to the crusty red-brown rags covering the wound and traced the rising, bulging tissues there.

  Joe and Stone Dog had taken inventory of their few remaining supplies. Joe's horse had taken a bullet during one of the Sioux assaults and among them, they now had one mount, Sarah's ornery black gelding. Stone Dog had been able to salvage a few blankets and coats from his and Tom's dead horses, which the Sioux had apparently overlooked in their eagerness to depart. Food supplies had disappeared with the pack horses, and the party would have to rely on Stone Dog and Joe to locate and kill wild game. If they had horses, Tom still could not be transported, even by travois, since the slightest movement triggered a new flow of blood from the pit in his back.

  Using one of the retrieved blankets and some slender poles, the men had constructed a makeshift lean-to shelter above Tom's place on the ledge. Sarah had moved her few remaining belongings and bedroll into the small refuge beside Tom, while Joe and the Pawnee tossed their makeshift bedding at the base of the butte, just beneath the ledge.

  Sarah spun with a start as Joe lifted himself upon the ledge, sending a few small stones clattering to the rocky ground below. "He's burning up, Joe," she said matter-of-factly, "but I don't know what else we can do for him."

  "Nothing, Sarah," he responded. "Stone Dog says we just wait. We've been talking things over. . . . Whether Tom lives or dies, we're going to need horses and supplies before we move on. If he makes it," he said soberly, "it'll be days, maybe even weeks, before we can ride. We've agreed I should take the horse and go back to Custer Stockade or find some other place to re-supply. With luck, I can be back here in a few days. Stone Dog will stay here with you and Tom. He can help Tom more than I can, and he has a better chance of keeping you alive in his place if I don't make it back. Sound okay?"

  "Sounds okay," she answered softly. She took his huge, rough hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly. "And thanks, Joe. . . . Thanks for everything. We'll bring him through this," she said adamantly. "I guarantee it. Then we'll find Billy."

  He smiled uncertainly. "If you say so, Sarah, I believe it. Now, I think I'll get some shut-eye. It's been kind of a long day, and I want to pull out first thing in the morning. Stone Dog says he'll check on Tom every few hours. If you need us before, just holler."

  She released his hand, "Good night, Joe."

  It was dark now. Sarah gazed into the black sky, speckled this clear, crisp night with millions of glittering stars. She picked out the Big Dipper, and, tracing along the two stars in the front of the cup, as she had been so carefully taught by Sam Kesterson, she spotted the North Star. She bowed her head and sat there silently, and then, wiping the warm dampness from the corners of her eyes, she crawled under the blanket next to Tom, pressing close to his trembling body in an effort to protect it from the night's chill. In a few moments, she dozed off, her arm stretched limply across the small of his back, her head nestled next to his heaving ribs.

  17

  THE SIOUX BAND edged their ponies up the rugged shale incline. Less than ten feet to his right, Billy could see that the rock terminated abruptly, dropping off to form a sheer cliff that stretched some three hundred feet below to a narrow, pine-covered plateau running the length of the cliff. The plateau ended at a rocky rim supported by steep granite walls that dropped still farther into an enormous, seemingly endless, canyon. Billy could make out the blue-white ribbon of a creek that roared and twisted its way through the rocky canyon floor. He could hear the clanking of metal against rock echoing through the canyon walls below, and he observed three or four distinct streams of gray, powdery smoke rising up from the chasm bottom. Dozens of ant-like figures scurried back and forth along the banks of the creek.

  Bear and his band had kept their distance from the canyon. Bear had told Lone Badger earlier, "We ain't takin' on no miners today. We gotta get back to the village and find out what's goin’ on in these hills."

  Ever since he overheard that conversation, Billy's eyes had been fixed forlornly on the activity in the canyon below. Several days before, Bear had warned Billy, in his peculiarly vulgar way, that the boy would get his comeuppance soon. And, just yesterday, Billy had first sighted the gray-black outline of the mountains they had now entered. Even a small boy could conclude that these were surely the Black Hills, and the men below were, no doubt, miners armed and ready for a fight.

  Billy's attention was diverted abruptly from the canyon, by the harsh, painful rapping of a rifle barrel against his already tender, bruised ribs. "Okay, you puny little bastard," Bear whispered knowingly, "just keep your eyes up front. You ain't going down there. Tomorrow night, this little trip will be over, and you'll be all bedded in with Lone Badger." He grinned evilly, running his tongue along his broken teeth, and then, choking a bit, foamy saliva flecked with brown bits of tobacco rolled out of the corner of his mouth.

  Billy shivered involuntarily and then, for just a moment cast his eyes again, miserably, down the canyon.

  18

  THERE WAS A new enthusiasm in the camp. The night was pitch black, and a frosty wind nipped at Billy's nose and ears as he huddled near the fire, a tattered wool blanket pulled over his shoulders. Normally, the camp would have been asleep by this time, but the warriors chattered excitedly, obviously anticipating their arrival the next day at the main camp. Billy sat across the fire from Bear and Lone Badger who were arguing vociferously.

  "Goddamn it, Lone Badger," Bear said, "these boys is gonna be madder than hell if the village is already moved out. We lost two . . . maybe three . . . weeks 'cause you got a hair up your ass and had to go on another raidin' streak. Well, shit! My ass is gettin' saddle sore, and I ain't in no mood to follow a bunch of crazy Oglala into the Big Horns . . . least ways, not till I stuffed my belly and shacked up with my squaw a mite. Christ, it's October; it could be snowin' and cold as hell by the time we'd hit the Big Horns."

  Lone Badger spat, "Bear does not have to follow Oglala leader. Can go back to white eyes friends if he wants." He slipped out his blood-crusted scalping knife and glared at Bear. "No more back talk."

  Bear scratched his rump. "Aw, shit," he said. "I didn't mean nothin'."

  Lone Badger hadn't touched Billy for days, but Billy was startled, almost frightened, just a short time earlier this evening when the warrior had stooped and again started kneading his buttocks, and then, suddenly, had forced his hands into Billy's breeches and tugged roughly at his genitals. Terror-stricken, Billy had squirmed away. Upon removing his hand, the Sioux had scratched at his own groin, grinning wickedly, and Billy's eyes had opened wide in alarm when the Indian's stiff, swollen organ popped inadvertently from the side of his breechclout. Bear, observing the incident as he gummed his supper a short distance away, had roared convulsively, stopping instantly, almost choking on his own saliva, when his eyes met Lone Badger's icy glare.

  After Lone Badger had stomped away, Bear chortled, "He's just getting warmed up, little fella. You behave yourself, and that old Injun will give you
a taste of that hunk of meat in his britches. Just you wait till tomorrow night. . . . Boy, would I like to have me a little peephole," he giggled. "And then, in a few weeks, when that old buck's through with ya, you're gonna come visit ol' Bear for a few days . . . ’fore we cut your balls off."

  Billy shuddered. Since Billy had quit resisting, his hands and feet had been bound only while the Indians slept at night. During the day and early evening, he was free to wander about as long as he did not leave the sight of the others. He was expected to gather wood and perform other menial tasks, but beyond that, he had been virtually ignored by all except Bear and Lone Badger.

  Ever since he had seen the miners in the canyon, Billy's spirits had buoyed with thoughts that he may have found a way to escape his dilemma. In the background now, he could hear the monotonous hum of a little stream splashing over the rocks down the steep mountainside that sloped away from the Sioux camp.

  His father had once told him, "Billy, if you are ever lost, find the nearest stream. That stream will eventually lead you to a creek, and the creek will flow into a river. The river will finally take you to people." The cold stream meandered back in the direction they had come from, and would take him to the miners or other white people—if he could get that far.

  Billy rose slowly from his place by the fire, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders and drop in a heap on the ground. Lone Badger was talking to another warrior at the next fire; Bear, sitting across from Billy, eyed him suspiciously. Billy commenced unbuttoning his trousers and walked casually into the timber as if he were going to relieve himself. Bear's eyes bored after him, but the big man did not attempt to follow.