Son of the Hawk

by Charles G. West

  “After them!” Leach shouted, encouraged by the wounding of the hostile. And the column was off again, pushing their exhausted horses up the side of the ridge. At the top, the soldiers halted momentarily while Leach looked frantically over the rolling hills before them, searching for signs of the hostiles.

  “There they go!” Turley shouted, pointing to another rise a few hundred yards off to their left. Luke followed Turley’s outstretched arm and saw the eight Sioux as their ponies scampered up the slope. At the top, they paused to once again hurl defiant gestures at their pursuers.

  Leach was off again immediately, leading his troopers down the grassy slope toward the next ridge. “Come on, boys,” he shouted in encouragement, “their horses are as tired as ours. Don’t give ’em a chance to rest.”

  Having no choice in the matter, Luke followed his captain’s lead, but it seemed to him that Leach was embarking upon a foolhardy endeavor. Luke remembered something that Buck Ransom had once told him—that the smaller, faster Indian ponies could run the army’s horses into the ground. Their horses were already near foundering, but Leach had blood in his eye and an overpowering desire to punish the Sioux. He was determined not to let the Indians escape. Luke wondered how far Leach would go before he realized they might all be afoot.

  By the time the heavy army mounts had gained the base of the next rise, the hostiles were on their ponies and gone again, disappearing down the far side. Charging up to the top of the ridge, the troop halted once more and searched for the fleeing Sioux. Someone spotted them galloping toward a stream, lined with heavy brush and a few cottonwoods—a good half mile away.

  “Dammit,” Leach muttered when he realized that he was no closer than before—the Sioux had actually increased the distance between them. Without hesitation, he signaled the column forward. Down the side of the ridge they went, some horses beginning to stumble as they struggled to maintain their footing. Leach spurred his mount mercilessly, while constantly waving his men onward. Into a narrow defile they galloped, only to be brought to a stop by the sudden appearance of a lone rider standing squarely in their path.

  Holding his horse back to keep from colliding with Turley’s, who was fighting to keep his horse from plowing into Leach’s mount, Luke was startled to recognize the solitary figure of Trace McCall, casually biding his time in the middle of the trail, patiently waiting for them to approach.

  Leach was mystified. “What the hell . .?” was all he managed to utter.

  While the surprised troopers stacked up behind their officers, Trace nudged his pony gently with his heels, and the paint moved obediently forward to meet the column at the mouth of the draw. Before he could speak, Captain Leach demanded, “McCall, what in hell are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Trace began, taking his time to reply, “figuring on saving you a heap of hurt, I reckon.” He glanced at Luke and nodded, then looked at the column of soldiers behind Luke, taking note of the spent horses and drawn faces of the troopers. Turning back to Leach, he asked, “Where are your scouts?”

  “They deserted,” Leach snapped back.

  Trace considered this for a moment. “I guess that explains why you’re letting that bunch of Sioux run you all over the territory.”

  Leach was at once incensed and not about to be chastised by this half-wild individual. “We were about to overtake those murdering savages when you got in the way.”

  Trace fixed the bristling captain with a look of contempt. “You weren’t even close to catching up to those warriors—and you never will, that is, until they’re ready for you to catch ’em—which would be pretty damned soon now—as soon as you can drag your wore-out horses down to that creek.”

  “What do you mean?” Leach demanded impatiently.

  “It’s just a guess on the number, but I’d say there’s about two hundred Sioux warriors waiting for your soldierboys to come riding down to that water.”

  Leach was stunned, but after a moment he recovered enough of his arrogance to retort. “Good! I believe sixty well-armed mounted dragoons are more than enough to handle two hundred savages.” He pulled on his reins as if to go around the mountain man. Trace moved to the side to block him again.

  “Captain, I’m trying my damnedest to save your ass. You’ve been slickered by one of the Injuns’ favorite tricks. They sent that small bunch of warriors out to lead you all over hell and back—wear your horses out so you can’t run. Now they’re gonna lead you right into an ambush.”

  Leach finally received the message, but he was still stubborn enough to make protests. “I still like the odds—sixty rifles against their bows and arrows.”

  His impatience clearly defined in his face now, Trace nevertheless responded calmly. “Captain, there’s at least fifty rifles in that bunch. You go riding in there and there’s gonna be another massacre.”

  Leach hesitated, his resolve finally broken when reminded of the massacre of the thirty-four troopers under Luke’s command in the Black Hills. For the first time, the sobering possibility of a second disaster penetrated his feeling of invincibility. He looked behind him at his detachment of weary mounts and men, as if just then noticing their condition. Calmer then, but still unwilling to acknowledge any careless actions on his part, he reluctantly thanked Trace for the warning. “You’re right, McCall, they have a superiority in numbers. It’s best to let them go this time. But I hate to miss an opportunity to fight the bastards.”

  The hint of a smile parted Trace’s lips. “Oh, you’re gonna be in a fight, all right. It’s just a question of where, and on whose terms. Your horses are spent. Ol’ Iron Pony already knows that and he’s waiting for you. As soon as he figures out that you ain’t coming no more, he’ll be after you like bees after a bear.”

  “You’re saying we’d better set up a defensive position?” Luke asked. He had been silent up until then, and only spoke because it appeared Leach was undecided as to what he should do.

  Trace nodded, then said, “But not here—they’d be above you on both sides here. If you can make it about a mile and a half back over the ridge, the creek winds back below that butte. You can dig rifle pits on both sides of the stream and have a clear field of fire before you.”

  “Very well, McCall,” Leach said, “lead us out.”

  Very well, indeed, Luke thought, knowing Trace had just saved their necks, even though they were not out of the fire as yet. He filed in behind Trace as the tall scout Buck Ransom had called the Mountain Hawk led the column back the way they had come. When he reached a shallow draw that led off to the west, Trace followed it for a few hundred yards until he found a place to climb up the side that would be easier on the weary horses. Turning south then, he set a course that would intercept the stream.

  As soon as they reached the banks of the stream, Turley began positioning his men on either side and ordered them to start digging. At Trace’s suggestion, the horses were herded into the middle and allowed to drink. To most of the men, young and inexperienced, Trace McCall remained a mysterious figure as the buckskin-clad mountain man rode slowly up and down the line of frantically working soldiers, his eyes taking in the defensive preparations as well as occasionally checking the hills they had just recently deserted. Seeing Luke Austen striding over to meet him, Trace dismounted and let his horse drink from the stream.

  “Howdy, Lieutenant,” Trace said.

  Luke smiled broadly, offering his hand. “Trace McCall—you do seem to show up when you’re most needed.” Trace only shrugged in response. Luke went on, “How do you happen to be out here, anyway? Looking for us?”

  “No,” Trace answered. “I just stumbled on you boys. I’m looking for somebody else. I saw that big party of Sioux hiding back there by the water, and I knew they were planning a little reception for somebody. So I decided to have a look-see.” Trace thought it unnecessary to say that he had come in search of Iron Pony’s band himself, and the half-Shoshoni boy who had set out to take revenge for his mother’s death. Trace continued, “I
watched those eight bucks when they crossed the ridge back there. It wasn’t hard to figure what they were up to.”

  The quick smile faded from Luke’s face as the seriousness of their situation returned to prompt him to ask, “What are our chances of getting out of this without a fight?”

  “None,” Trace quickly replied, nodding toward a low hill off to the north. Luke turned to follow Trace’s gaze and saw a lone Sioux warrior in the distance, obviously scouting them. “They’ve already found us. Now that they know what we’re gonna do, they’ll be coming, all right.”

  Captain Leach joined them at that point and immediately asked, “Are you sure of the number of hostiles? I’d hate to think you exaggerated the count and they’re getting away while we’re busy digging in here.”

  Trace turned a cold gaze on the arrogant officer, thinking carefully before he answered. He didn’t like Leach—not since the first time he laid eyes on the little martinet—and his inclination was to tell him to go scout them for himself. Leach was about to repeat the question when Trace spoke. “Captain, you’re gonna get all the Injuns you can handle in the time it takes that scout on the hill over yonder to go tell Iron Pony you ain’t riding into his ambush. Your sergeant did the right thing, having the men dig in and get ready. The Sioux are fighters—born to it—and these men of yours look pretty green to me. The best chance you’ve got of coming out of this thing with most of your men is to stay dug in here to make your fight. You’ve got your horses protected and plenty of drinking water. You can hold out here for a long time. If you can keep your head down, and kill off a good number of his warriors, Iron Pony might decide his losses ain’t worth staying on the attack.”

  Leach cocked a skeptical eye at the tall man in buckskins. “I’m not so sure we couldn’t dispatch this band of savages with one concentrated volley. I doubt if they’ve ever faced a disciplined line of dragoons.”

  Trace was rapidly losing his patience. He shot a quick glance at Luke Austen to see if the young lieutenant agreed with his captain. Luke showed no emotion one way or the other, staring unblinking at the mountain man. Shifting his gaze back to the captain, Trace said, “I don’t know about the moral effect of a disciplined volley, but I do know about Sioux warriors. If you stand your soldiers up in a line to fight, Iron Pony ain’t likely to line his boys up against you. He’ll just lay back and snipe away at your soldiers till he’s rubbed them all out. Then he’ll likely thank you for lining up another bunch.”

  Leach didn’t say anything right away, but Luke could see that the mountain man’s obvious contempt for him was raising the captain’s bile. Irritated, but reluctant to chance serious casualties in the event Trace knew what he was talking about, Leach swallowed his pride, the bitter taste of which caused him to screw his face into a deep frown. “We’ll make a stand in these emplacements until I can evaluate the hostiles’ fighting capability. Then we’ll see.”

  The first sighting was not long in coming. The lone Sioux scout that Trace had spotted on the ridge had been gone for no longer than half an hour when a long line of mounted warriors suddenly appeared along the ridge line. Silent and motionless except for the occasional feather that fluttered in the gentle breeze ruffling the long buffalo grass, they presented a foreboding promise of what was to come.

  After a lengthy wait with no show of action by the Sioux, Turley uttered, “Damn, how long are they gonna just sit there?”

  “Long enough to make sure we see how many of them there are.” Trace answered. “Iron Pony is trying to intimidate us with his superior numbers,” Trace answered. “If he didn’t have the advantage in numbers, he wouldn’t be showing his strength. We don’t have to worry yet. He ain’t gonna come charging down here and take a chance on losing a lot of his warriors. Right now, he’s deciding how he’s gonna attack. My guess is he’ll come at us from the sides, up and down this creek.”

  Captain Leach moved up beside Turley and Trace, his field glasses in his hand. “They’re still sitting there,” he said. “I believe they’re having second thoughts about attacking us.” He stood up, brazenly exposing himself while he scanned the seemingly endless line of warriors. “Hell, they know damn well we’ll cut ’em to pieces. They’ve lost their stomach for a fight.” He turned an accusing eye on Trace. “One attack en masse from us and they’ll scatter to the wind.”

  Trace held his tongue. He had no more patience to waste on the arrogant officer. Looking around him at the nervous troopers, crouching low in their rifle pits and staring at the painted hostiles, he could see that Iron Pony’s intimidation ploy was successful. Unlike their bullheaded commander, the men appeared none too anxious to mount any kind of assault. Eyes wide and mouths dry, even though there was a swiftly running stream right at their backs, they nervously checked their rifles again and again. What the hell am I even doing here? Trace wondered. Looking for the boy, he had found Iron Pony and the soldiers, but no White Eagle. Holed up here with a bunch of green troopers and a damn fool officer who seems hellbent on committing suicide. It ain’t my job to keep the damn fool from getting scalped. Still, he felt an obligation toward Luke and the rest of the innocent souls that Leach seemed so anxious to sacrifice. He shrugged his shoulders and moved over beside Luke.

  “Lieutenant, I’m tired of trying to talk some sense into that hardheaded son of a bitch. You seem like a levelheaded young man and I hate to see you get yourself scalped because of him. I know he’s your captain and he’s the one supposed to be in charge. But if he orders you boys to charge up there after those Injuns, ol’ Iron Pony’ll just give way in the middle then close up around you and eat you up. He’s just praying that you’ll come after him.” Having said his piece, Trace left Luke to think it over and went back to the edge of the water where his horse was waiting.

  Luke was left with a desperate decision. He looked beyond the kneeling figure of Sergeant Turley and focused on Captain Henry Leach, still standing defiantly on the upper ledge of the creekbank. Luke did not doubt that what Trace McCall had told him was true—if they mounted an assault on the line of Sioux, it would result in serious losses, perhaps even total annihilation. Luke had already experienced one massacre, he wasn’t anxious to be involved in another. He had been in the army too long to even think about disobeying a command from his superior. Still, did he not have an obligation to protect the men from being sacrificed for the sake of one officer’s stubbornness?

  Luke did not want to make the decision. He prayed to God that Leach would take Trace’s advice and stay put. Suddenly thoughts of Annie popped into his mind, and he realized that he wanted desperately to see her again. He tried to form a picture of her face in his mind, but found he could not. No matter what happens here, he thought, “I will get back to you.”

  “Sir?”

  Sergeant Turley’s question brought him back to the present. He had been unaware that he had spoken the last part of his vow aloud. Recovering his senses quickly, he responded. “Nothing, Sergeant, I was just thinking out loud.” He looked again at Leach. The captain had turned and was staring at his men, crouching in the pits. Luke knew Leach was making up his mind. “Sir,” Luke said, hoping to sidetrack Leach’s thinking, “I think McCall is right. We’re in the best defensive position here by the stream.”

  Leach jerked his head around as if he’d heard a pistol shot. Glaring at his lieutenant, he barked, “I didn’t come out here to go on the defensive against a ragtag mob of savages. This might be a good opportunity for you to learn what it takes to command.” He turned to Turley. “Sergeant, pass the word to prepare to mount. It’s time we showed these savages what it means to defy the United States Army.”

  “You ride out of here and they’ll cut you to pieces on both flanks,” Trace warned.

  Leach smiled contemptuously. “They’ll play hell, trying to turn my flanks if I’m charging straight into them.”

  “They’ve already done it,” Trace answered calmly.

  Leach snorted his disbelief, his obvious dismissal of T
race’s opinions apparent in his eyes. Displaying his impatience with those whom he regarded as fools, he extended his arm in the direction of the stoic line of Sioux on the ridge. “Unless my eyes have betrayed me, the enemy is standing in a line, waiting to be routed, and apparently showing no stomach to join in battle with a disciplined troop of cavalry.”

  “Maybe you need some glasses,” Trace retorted, his tone low and even. “You better take a closer look at that line of warriors—a good third of ’em ain’t there no more.”

  Trace’s remark brought Leach up short, and he jerked his field glasses up again to scan the formation of Sioux more closely. The line of warriors was spread out a little more than before, with slightly more space between the ponies. While Leach had been contemplating a move to attack, every third or fourth warrior had slowly backed his pony unnoticed from the solid line, disappearing from view below the crest of the ridge.

  Immediately leaping to the wrong conclusion, Leach exulted in what he interpreted to be a confirmation of his initial assessment of the situation. “By God, they’re starting to withdraw.” Turning an angry leer in Trace’s direction, he spat, “Damn you, McCall, I should have never listened to you. If these savages escape, I’ve a good mind to put you in irons for aiding the enemy.”

  “That might take a little more doing than you’re figuring on,” Trace answered calmly, his gaze locked on that of the captain’s.

  A tense moment followed, while the two men glared into each other’s eyes, neither man blinking. Leach was the first to break the eye contact when he suddenly turned to Sergeant Turley. “Get ’em mounted, Sergeant, we’re gonna ride right over that bunch on the ridge.” Running for his horse, Leach called out, “Bugler!”

  Holding his horse steady in the midst of sudden confusion, Trace stood there watching the frenzied actions of the troopers as they scrambled from their rifle pits to collar their reluctant mounts. Looking across the stream to the point where the first soldiers were forming up behind their captain, Trace’s gaze met that of Luke Austen’s. Luke simply stared back at him, expressionless, obviously contemplating what Trace had told him before. What a waste, Trace thought when he perceived that Luke was not going to be able to bring himself to countermand the captain’s orders—he had been a soldier too long to disobey. He glanced back at the ridge where Iron Pony’s warriors remained, motionless, waiting. Get ready, boys, Trace said to himself, here comes another serving of soldierboys. Climbing on his horse, he walked the pony slowly across the stream to a point out of the way.