Night of the Coyote (The Coyote Saga Book 1)

by Ron Schwab

  “Bear Killer, the night your friends were lynched and you escaped, were you anywhere near the Harper place?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I do not know where the Harper place is, so I cannot know if I was near the place. If you mean, did we attack a white family and kill them—no. We did not see anything, and we did not hear anything until the white men came to our camp and took us away.”

  “What were you doing this near Lockwood?”

  “In the winter, I lived at the Quaker school. I helped with milking of the cows and cared for the livestock owned by the Quakers. I went to class with the white students. Some of them were not pleased that an Indian came to their school, but others became friends. Screeching Hawk and Raven Eyes came with me to visit one of my white friends, Jamie Carlson. We stayed at his father’s ranch for a day.”

  “Charlie Carlson?”

  “Yes, that is his name.”

  Ethan knew Charlie Carlson. He was a small rancher who had the C Bar C spread a few miles west of the Webb place. Charlie was a good man, not likely to be intimidated by his neighbor. If he could vouch for the Indian boys’ presence at his ranch, it would show they had good cause for being in the vicinity. He made a mental note to ride out to Charlie’s place and verify the story.

  “Did you carry any weapons?”

  “Our knives and bows. We hoped to return to the village with meat. Some in our village did not think my father should permit us to make the journey. We thought it might stop their grumbling if we returned with meat . . . but instead, we brought only death, and some of the people are doubting my father’s wisdom as chief.”

  “Like Badger Claw, for instance?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “A lucky guess.” So the Indians had their political power struggles, too.

  “Some think I was a coward for not staying with my friends, but we all tried to break free. The others were caught. My pony was faster.”

  And you were smarter, Ethan thought.

  “There was nothing I could do. At the time I did not know they planned to kill my friends. I thought they would be put in the white man’s jail, and I did not know what we were accused of.”

  “You did the right thing, Bear Killer. There’s a big difference between being foolish and being brave. Would you recognize any of the men who captured you?”

  “It was dark. But two, I will never forget. One, they called the deputy, told the others he was in charge, but they treated him as buffalo dung. He was a weak man and a coward. The true leader was a huge man, broad and tall as the grizzly, fierce and angry. The others feared him but did not respect him. It was he who demanded our death. It was he who first called us murderers, savages.”

  “But did you not hear his name?”

  “No, but I would know him.”

  The description could fit a lot of people—including Clete Webb. All roads led to the Circle W; that would be where the answers would be found. . . . If at all.

  The door to the ranch house opened and Skye stepped in, followed by a stocky, gray-haired Indian dressed in white man’s attire from the black Plainsman hat on his head to the scuffed leather boots on his feet.

  Ethan got up and extended his hand. The Indian nodded solemnly and accepted it. “Red Horse, you are one man we’re mighty glad to see,” Ethan said. “Sit down, please.”

  “Pour Red Horse some coffee, Ethan,” Skye said. “I will heat up the leftover stew and biscuits. This poor man has not eaten anything but berries and roots for three days.”

  The Pawnee took a chair. In the soft lamplight, Ethan could see that the Indian was very old, for his face was crisscrossed with a web of creases that looked like they had been carved there. But he was a barrel-chested man and his muscular arms and shoulders were evidence he was far from feeble.

  Skye talked as she knelt at the fireplace and stirred the stew in the Dutch oven. “Red Horse was with Ben Dobbs at the Harper place the night after we left Lockwood. He knows who killed Ben; they tried to kill him, too. Apparently, someone was afraid they were going to find something there. Red Horse has been hiding in the hills between here and the Pennock School waiting for one of us to show up. He is one Pawnee who can count coup on a Sioux, believe me. I was walking along the edge of the trees when he came up from behind me out of nowhere.”

  “You’re lucky it was Red Horse,” Ethan scolded. “That’s why you should keep your damn fool head in the house. You’re not invincible; none of us are.”

  “You always know what’s best, don’t you?”

  “I’ve never suggested such a thing. I learned better a long time ago. I consider myself lucky if I’m right half the time.”

  “If you are no better than that, perhaps I should get another lawyer.”

  “The way this has turned out, I wish you had. Ben Dobbs would be alive today.”

  She stared up at him, a hurt look on her face, eyes like those of a puppy that had just been swatted. Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t blaming her; he was just so damn frustrated with all that had happened, and the loss of Ben was only now beginning to sink in. He hurt, too. He hurt like hell, and working the Lazy R was going to be lonely as the devil without Ben around.

  Ethan swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean that, Skye. I’m upset about things. I’m sorry.”

  “It is all right,” she said softly and then turned back to the stew. “But it is true, I guess.”

  Ethan prided himself on his even, cautious temperament. He was not given to shooting from the hip and had not had to take back many words in his life. He wished he could take back the last ones. For some reason, it was important to him that he not hurt Skye dePaul.

  He turned to Red Horse who had been watching Skye and Ethan with interest throughout their exchange. “Well, Red Horse, my first question is who killed Ben Dobbs?”

  The Pawnee held up two fingers. “Two men. Strangers who wear guns low. One taller, skinny fellow . . . older than you, maybe. Never seen before.”

  “Probably the same hombres who were waiting to ambush us,” Ethan said, as Skye placed a plate of stew and biscuits in front of the Pawnee. “One’s dead; the other will be soon.”

  The Indian swiped a biscuit through the beef broth, and stuffed it in his mouth and chomped and sucked noisily before he swallowed and then spoke. “Ben Dobbs and me, we went to the Harper farm before sundown. Damn stupid. Ben wanted to read sign. We went everyplace around the yard. . . . No injun sign. Ben Dobbs knew injun sign. I know Sioux sign. No injun sign. We got plenty of white sign. Shod horses all over hell. Boots; everybody wears boots. No moccasin prints. If Sioux been there more than three nights past, I smell them.” He looked at Skye and Bear Killer and shrugged. “Damn sorry, but true. Not bad smell, but I know Sioux.”

  “Okay, so you didn’t find anything,” Ethan said. “Then what happened?”

  “Started to leave. Ben wanted to come back after dark to dig up bodies. But Circle W riders rode in. Should run like hell, but too damn stupid. Ben Dobbs said wait. So we wait. Four riders come up. Madder than damn hell. Clete Webb with them; told us to get the hell out. Ben Dobbs said ‘you get the hell out’. Clete was ready to draw, then seen my scatter gun pointed at his belly. They rode away first. We went into the hills to wait for sundown.” The Pawnee stopped and returned to his eating. He devoured the rest of his food and downed a cup of coffee while Ethan waited impatiently.

  Then Red Horse continued. “After dark comes, we ride back in. Damn stupid. White spirits; Indians spirits—no difference. Don’t like it. I told Ben Dobbs, damn stupid. Ben said ‘go back to goddamn school, then’. I stayed. Damn sorry, too. Not hard to dig up, just covered with little dirt and rocks. Both of them—father and daughter. Damn bad deal . . . damn bad.”

  “Could you tell anything?”

  “Not much. . . . Enough.”

  “Well, what?”

  “It was dark, moonlight bright, but still
damn dark.”

  “Well, what did you find out, Red Horse?”

  “Jake shot. Shot through his damn chest.”

  “Scalped?”

  “Nope.”

  “Mutilated?”

  “Mu—”

  “Mutilated. Cut up. . . . Chopped up. . . . With a knife or axe.”

  “No, not that. Shot in chest. Pistol, Ben said. Shot up close. I don’t know. Don’t read guns good.”

  Ethan looked at Bear Killer. “You said you didn’t have any guns that night, right?”

  “No. Boys our age? There are not many rifles in our village. No pistols. Do you think my father would let boys take our few guns?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just the lawyer in me. . . . I wanted to confirm it. To hear what you would say. It’s a good answer. One that makes sense. The kind I like to hear on the witness stand.”

  Ethan turned back to Red Horse. “What about the girl?”

  “Too dark, couldn’t tell. Not shot. Not stabbed. No time to find out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ben and me took Jake and the girl into hills, then go back and cover empty graves. Damn crazy. Riders come again. More riders . . . six, seven maybe. We didn’t wait to see. Plenty damn scared. Ben and me buried bodies in gully. Covered with rocks. Bad not to bury dead. Spirits all over hell. Ben said he didn’t want nobody digging them up. Who want to?”

  “There might be somebody,” Ethan said. “Ben knew what he was doing. Can you find the place again?”

  The Indian cocked his head and stared at Ethan. “Damn stupid question.”

  “Red Horse, you’ve given me a lot of good information. Your testimony might not prove who’s guilty, but it will go a hell of a long way toward proving the Indian boys were innocent . . . if the jury will listen.”

  Skye warmed Red Horse’s coffee, and he grunted something akin to thank you. “Cynthia Harper,” Skye asked, “what was she wearing?”

  “Not damn much.”

  “A dress? A gown? What?”

  Red Horse gulped down the cup of coffee and held out the cup for a refill. The Pawnee stared at his coffee cup, seemingly embarrassed by the questions. “Underthings. Damn little of them.”

  “Were they torn or anything like that?” Ethan asked.

  Red Horse shook his head negatively.

  Ethan’s immediate thought was that Cynthia Harper might have been attacked and raped. Her father could have been killed trying to stop the assault. Murder was never logical, but the theory, or some variation of it, was plausible. It was something to think on.

  “Red Horse,” Ethan said, “I’m still not sure when Ben got killed. Near as I can tell, he must have been killed the day after Skye and I left for Lame Buffalo’s village.”

  “Night, I think. The two rattlesnakes come to the Quaker School next morning. Miss McBride call me up to school building, said somebody wants talk to me. I went; seen damn rattlesnakes waiting there. Older fellar said Ben Dobbs wanted to see me, hurt bad. Said they was friends of his and would ride to his place with me. Thought I was damn dumb injun, that’s what they thought. . . . Damn dumb injun. Said I get my horse. Went back to barn and got my horse, all right. Then beat the hell out back door. Damn gunslingers, that’s what they was. Rattlesnakes. Killed me deader than hell, if I let them. Not such a damn dumb injun. Seventy-five winters I’ve lived. Damn dumb injuns don’t live that long, not in these mountains.”

  “Did they follow you?”

  “Oh, you betcha. I circle round Lockwood, came out on top of Lazy R and seen damn buzzards in sky. Go down closer and seen Ben Dobbs in the yard . . . dead, damn dead. Seen that. Then heard rattlesnakes coming from down trail and got hell out. Had to leave Ben Dobbs for worms. Felt damn bad, and now Ben Dobbs’ spirit madder than hell, too.” The Pawnee, his face stoic, shrugged. “Nothing else to say. Been keeping red ass in trees ever since. Figured if you wasn’t scalped, you or Miss Skye show up sooner or later.”

  “These gunslingers,” Ethan said, “the rattlesnakes, you ever see them before?”

  “Hell, no. Don’t forget them kind. Damn hired guns.”

  Ethan sat quietly, gazing pensively at the flickering lamp. Then he looked at the Pawnee. “Red Horse, how are you with a gun?”

  “Pistol, no damn good. Rifle okay. Scatter-gun, damn good.”

  “I think Will Bridges could use a man who can handle a shotgun,” Ethan said. “The sheriff’s coming out in the morning to take Bear Killer into protective custody. I’d like you to go along for two reasons. First, you’re a key witness, probably the most important one we’ve got. You’ll be safer in town with the sheriff. Secondly, I have a hunch the sheriff is going to come up short-handed on getting help to guard the jail. If you can handle a shotgun, you could make a difference if there’s trouble at the jail. But I have to warn you, it could be a very dangerous place to be.”

  “If there’s place to sleep and food to eat, I’ll go,” the Pawnee said. “Tired of eating like a damn buffalo.”

  16

  ETHAN TWISTED HIS neck and tugged at the stiff shirt collar that chafed uncomfortably at his skin. He felt like some eastern city dude in his gray suit and black string tie. The days out of the office, dressed in simple, open-necked garments had spoiled him, and as he thumbed through the neatly-written memoranda Katherine Wyeth had left on his desk, he wondered, not for the first time, if he was truly suited for the legal profession. Somehow, it was difficult to see his destiny in the drab prison of these four walls.

  It was Wednesday. He had assured Katherine she could start making appointments for his clients—if he still had any—next week. He was certain that no matter what happened, his role in the Harper murders would bring him back to the town’s stream of life by then.

  Already he was laying the groundwork for whatever legal battle lie ahead. This morning, they had gotten Bear Killer settled in a cell. Red Horse had moved into the jail’s only other cell next to the Sioux boy. Ethan found the presence of the old Pawnee and the big double-barreled shotgun he cradled so menacingly in his arms reassuring. Will Bridges seemed glad enough to accept the Pawnee’s help and had told Ethan it was his plan to move his own personal things into the front office and plant himself on the old cot there until the Harper business was resolved.

  Red Horse, of course, was not a prisoner. The boy’s cell would be left unlocked, too, Will had said. Just in case somebody did get through over his dead body, he was not going to have the Indian boy cornered like a rat in a trap. Will knew that Bear Killer was innocent and that there was no way a white man would have been held on the flimsy evidence, but like Ethan, the wily old sheriff knew they were playing for the bigger stakes of averting a bloody Indian war.

  Ethan was to meet with Bridges and the town council at the sheriff’s office later this morning. “I need some help,” Will had said. “I kicked Rube Tatnall out on his ass. I’m not sure he shouldn’t be in the hoosegow for malfeasance in office, or something. But now, I don’t have a deputy. I’d like to get Red Horse deputized, give him a little more weight. But did you ever hear of an Indian deputy in Wyoming?” Without waiting for an answer, Bridges continued, “They’re all well-meaning old farts, but they’re scared shitless right now. They’re afraid the town’s going to go up in smoke. But we still need the council’s backing to get the decent people behind us. You have a way with folks, Ethan. Somehow, what you say always sounds reasonable. A good law wrangler might help me out with those gents. You can’t do any harm being there, I know that.”

  Ethan had been anxious to return to the ranch, but he could see the sense in Will Bridge’s pleas and agreed to be at the meeting. It was not the ranch he was worried about; it was Skye. With typical stubbornness, she had refused to join them on the trip to town. He had just assumed she would be going with them, but after breakfast, she had started to clean up the house and gave no indication she planned to go with them.

  She had been strangely quiet and subdued since Bear Killer hit
her with the vision story the previous night. Something sure as hell was eating at her. Maybe the Indian in her took the dream seriously; he sure as hell didn’t. Not now, in the bright of day. He had heard a lot of stories about Indian visions. And a lot of Indians were dead now because they believed in the invincibility or supernatural powers bestowed upon them by their dreams.

  He and the two Indians had seen to the care of the stock that morning, and as Bear Killer and Red Horse saddled up the horses in readiness for Will Bridges’ arrival, Ethan returned to the house. There he found Skye serenely sweeping the floor of his combined parlor-kitchen. “Do you suppose you could get your things together?” he had asked.

  She looked at him quizzically, “What for?”

  “Well, Bear Killer won’t be here anymore. I thought maybe you could go back to the Quaker school. You should be safe there with the other teachers. Or, if you prefer, you could put up in the hotel.”

  “I was planning to stay here . . . for now,” she said matter-of-factly. “Unless you will not permit me.”

  “Don’t put it that way. I thought you’d be safer someplace else. And I don’t . . . well, I don’t suppose it’s quite proper, really . . . under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “Well, a man and a woman . . . it’s not like we’re brother and sister. Oh, hell, do I have to spell it out?”

  “You do not want me here then?”

  “No . . . Yes . . . I want you here, but—”

  “Then I shall stay. I think you will be safer if I am here.”

  “Good God, woman, I was Chief of Scouts at Laramie; I’m not some goddamn tenderfoot. I can take care of myself.”

  “I did not say you could not, but we have found on several occasions that it is safer when we are together.”

  “Yes,” he conceded, “I can’t deny that.”

  They had made a good team so far, he thought at the time. They seemed to have an uncanny way of anticipating what the other would think, the move the other would make. It was a little spooky.