“Howdy, Lieutenant,” Will responded. “Boyle sent me over here to see if I could help you find your way off the post.”
Bordeaux laughed. “Is that a fact? Well, I have been known to get lost now and again.” He extended his hand when Will pulled Spades up beside his horse. “Are you goin’ with us sure enough?”
“Yeah, I was fixin’ to go back to Camp Supply with some dispatches. Boyle thought you might want a little company as long as I was goin’ that way, anyway. I reckon the dispatches aren’t that important.”
“Always glad to have your company,” Bordeaux replied gallantly. “Don’t see much of you since you’ve been ridin’ out of Supply. How long has it been since you rode with me on patrol?” He paused to remember. “Last summer sometime,” he said, answering his own question. Then he laughed when he recalled. “Over in that strip of no-man’s-land beyond the Outlet. We were lookin’ for a Comanche raidin’ party—didn’t find any Indians, but we found a herd of antelope. God, what a feast, I ain’t ever ate that good on patrol before or since. I had to swear every man to secrecy before we reported back to post.”
His comment caused Will to chuckle. He recalled the incident—five days out on a ten-day patrol. They were nowhere close to catching up with the Comanches, so Bordeaux gave the order to return to Fort Dodge. As was his custom, Will was a good mile ahead of the column when a herd of antelope crossed in front of the patrol. Jumping at an opportunity to have something to eat besides salt pork, Bordeaux gave permission for two of his troopers to chase after the swift-moving animals. They were unsuccessful in their efforts to overtake the herd, and wasted several rounds of desperation shots before giving up the hunt. Up ahead, however, Will heard the shooting and rode back to investigate. Although the troopers attempt to catch the antelope failed, it did serve a useful purpose, for the soldiers’ gunfire drove the antelope straight toward Will. All he had to do was find himself a spot on the side of a ravine the frightened animals were heading for. With little effort, and no skill required, Will dropped two of the antelope as they passed below his perch.
By the time the advance scout caught up to him, he was already skinning the carcasses and preparing to quarter one of them. “Tell Lieutenant Bordeaux I decided the detail needed a little fresh meat,” he had told the soldier.
Speechless at first, then delighted to see the two carcasses, and after hearing an embellished version of the skill with which Will had cornered the animals, the soldier took off at a gallop to take the news to the rest of the fifteen-man patrol. As pleased as the private who had delivered the message, Bordeaux called a halt to the march even though it was early morning, and declared a holiday. He ordered a feast in celebration of St. Antelope’s Day, claiming that it was a regular holiday in the south of France, where he was born. Not a man in the patrol had spilled the beans about the holiday feast, although there were quite a few references to St. Antelope that the uninformed puzzled over for a week or two after. Bordeaux explained the extra day on patrol to the colonel as having been necessary to follow fresh Indian sign.
Will and the lieutenant had a good laugh recalling that day, and he couldn’t help thinking of the contrast between his friend and Lieutenant Lyman Bridges. He could imagine Bridges pulling out a copy of army regulations and finding article and paragraph stating such a thing strictly forbidden. “Who’s your point man?” Will asked. When told that it was Corporal Kincaid, he commented, “Well, you don’t need me out front. Kincaid’s about as good as they get.”
“Yeah, you can ride with me,” Bordeaux said. “We’re goin’ straight to this fellow’s farm—Wilson’s his name. There won’t be nothin’ to find there, but I figure we can start lookin’ from that point north of Bluff Creek. That’s when I can use you best. You and Kincaid can split up and scout out to the flanks. Reports we’ve gotten lately say that Bloody Hand has been the one leading the raids against army patrols, but I doubt if this is any of his doing—stealing a cow and a couple of chickens.”
“Don’t sound like it,” Will replied.
“Hey, Lieutenant, looks like you ain’t gonna need me out front now.”
Will turned to see Corporal Kincaid walking toward them, leading his horse. “I’ll be damned,” Will replied. “I’m just ridin’ along so you soldier boys can protect me from the Injuns.” He gave the corporal a wide grin. “How you doin’, Kincaid? I thought you’da lost those two stripes by now.” He reached over to shake Kincaid’s outstretched hand.
“I thought maybe you were comin’ along to help us hunt antelope,” Kincaid said. They both chuckled over that.
It would have been fine with Will to be permanently assigned to scout for C Company. Lieutenant Bordeaux was easy to work for, and there wasn’t a better man than Kincaid to ride scout with. Will’s problem was Ben Clarke. Clarke knew Will was the best scout he had and he made sure the colonel blocked any requests from other regiments for Will’s services. Will knew he was the best, too, but he never openly admitted it. Bordeaux had even suggested to him that he should quit Ben, then come back to Dodge to look for a job. But Will was reluctant to quit a man who had hired him and treated him square, as Ben Clarke had. He had to laugh to himself when it occurred to him that another run-in with Lieutenant Bridges might solve the problem for him.
Chapter 4
After a ride of less than an hour, the patrol arrived at the farmhouse of Robert Wilson, his wife, and two young sons. Wilson, still dismayed over the brazen thievery so close to the fort, met the troopers with his shotgun in hand. “I didn’t know they was even there,” he confessed. “The dog didn’t even bark, and he was sleepin’ right there on the porch.”
Will and Kincaid looked the ground over around the barn, but there were no clues that could serve to tell them much about the raiding party that ran off his cow and chickens. There were a few tracks showing where the thieves crossed the small stream that ran behind the barn, and removed three rails from the corral where the cow and two mules were kept. “I got my mules back,” Wilson said. “I reckon they didn’t want nothin’ but the cow and two of my hens.”
After a brief look around, Will said, “Don’t look like there was but two of ’em that done the stealin’. Course it didn’t take no more’n that to lead a cow and grab a couple of chickens. They didn’t go to much bother to cover their tracks. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s a bigger party.” He paused to point toward a line of hills to the south of the farm. “Maybe they waited for their supper in those hills yonder.”
“You think they just sent two men to get the cow to eat?” Bordeaux asked. “Why didn’t they take the mules, too?”
“I reckon since they had a choice, they preferred beef to mule,” Will replied. “I can’t blame ’em there. The thing that worries me is, if they were just out to steal livestock, they most likely would have taken the mules. On the other hand, if they were part of a war party on their way to raid somebody, they wouldn’t wanna bother with two mules.”
“I see what you’re thinkin’,” Bordeaux said, still puzzled. “But if they were out on the warpath, why didn’t they attack Wilson and the house—burn it to the ground?”
“Damned if I know,” Will replied. “Too close to the fort maybe—maybe we’ll find somethin’ in those hills.” He turned to the corporal standing beside him. “What do you think, Kincaid?”
The corporal shook his head. “I ain’t paid to think,” he said, “but what you said makes sense to me. These tracks are plain enough. We might as well follow ’em and see if they lead to a bigger bunch of Injuns.”
“Probably just a couple of hungry Indians lookin’ for somethin’ to eat,” Bordeaux told the concerned farmer. “Most likely moved on—we’ll see if we can pick up their trail, maybe run ’em to ground.” Back in the saddle, the patrol left the family of four standing in the front yard, their confidence in the army to protect them somewhat shaken.
With close to a mile of open prairie between Wilson’s farm and the hills, the patrol crossed the str
eam and headed south with Will and Kincaid about a hundred yards in the lead. They had ridden about one hundred and fifty yards across the prairie when they reached a spot where a dozen or more horses had waited. They paused for the patrol to catch up. “Here’s where their friends waited, in case the first two ran into trouble, I reckon,” Will reported. “Then it looks like the whole bunch moved on off toward the hills.” He looked then at Bordeaux and paused. It didn’t make sense to him and he expressed his doubts to the lieutenant. “What I’m wonderin’ is what a bunch this size is up to. They ain’t likely a huntin’ party. If they were, they wouldn’t be huntin’ around here. If they’re a war party, why didn’t they strike Wilson’s house and family? What do you think, Kincaid?”
“Me, I ain’t paid to think,” Kincaid answered, “but I’ve been studying on the same thing.”
“Well, maybe we can find out. We’ll keep followin’ ’em,” the lieutenant said. “That’s what we’re here for.”
Upon reaching the base of the hills, the patrol turned and followed the tracks up through a steep ravine that led to a broad ridge. A few more yards along the ridge brought them to the remains of a campfire and the charred head and bones of Wilson’s cow. Off to one side, near a thicket of scrubby laurels, a trio of buzzards fought over a scattering of chicken entrails. “Here’s where they had their supper,” Kincaid said.
“From the looks of things, they don’t seem to be worryin’ much about anybody followin’ them,” the lieutenant said. He was still thinking about how close they were to the fort, and the apparent boldness with which the Indians had raided. “It’s almost as if they were darin’ us to come after them.”
“It does sorta look that way,” Will agreed as he took note of the obvious trail leading away from the camp and down toward the valley on the other side of the ridge. He couldn’t help but think of Bloody Hand even though the raiding party was smaller than the savage war chief usually led.
“Well, there’re no more than a dozen warriors, accordin’ to what you’re tellin’ me,” Bordeaux said. “Let’s get on the move and maybe we can catch up with them.”
“Maybe me and Kincaid better move a little farther out front now,” Will advised. “I don’t like the look of this thing. They might be leadin’ us into an ambush up in these hills. They’re makin’ it mighty damn easy to track ’em.” Bordeaux agreed and sent the two scouts on ahead. They split up, Kincaid taking the ridge on the right side of the valley, and Will crossing over to take the left ridge.
Bloody Hand strode forward to meet his Cheyenne scout as he approached the stand of willows that formed a screen beside the creek where thirty- five warriors waited. “The soldiers are coming,” Brave Elk sang out when he saw his war chief coming to meet him. “They found the place where we slaughtered the cow, and they are following our trail.”
“Good,” Bloody Hand said, nodding sternly. “How soon?”
“Before the sun is there,” Brave Elk replied, pointing straight up over his head.
“It is time to get ready,” Bloody Hand said, and returned to the creek to alert the rest of his warriors. Brave Elk, along with ten others, jumped on their ponies and rode back up the valley while those remaining with Bloody Hand found concealment on both sides at a point where it narrowed to form a pass to the neighboring range of hills. Bloody Hand positioned himself higher up the slope, where he had a clear view of the entire field of fire.
Will asked Spades for a little more speed as he loped across the valley floor to reach the left ridge before Kincaid got too far in front of him on the opposite side. Climbing the slope, he made as good a time as possible along the ridgeline, his eyes open and senses alert. Closing the distance now to parallel Kincaid, he caught occasional glimpses of the corporal between the trees as he followed the natural ridgeline. He stuck as close to the side of the slope as possible in order to see the valley below clearly. As the valley began to narrow, he started to sense a feeling of caution. Looking the situation over, he realized that it shaped up to be a perfect setup for an ambush. Thoughts of other ambushes where hostiles lured troopers into traps came to mind and he wondered if the dozen or so hostiles, leaving such an obvious trail, might in fact be leading Bordeaux’s patrol into a hornet’s nest. It made sense to him then—the theft of Robert Wilson’s cow. The hostiles had to know a sizable troop would not be sent out to look for a few Indians that stole a cow—ten to fifteen normally. If they had killed Wilson’s family and burned his house, the army would more than likely have sent out a detachment of company size. On the other hand, the smaller patrol would likely be outnumbered, allowing the larger party of warriors to annihilate them and gain firearms and ammunition in the process. This was a typical way for followers of the Cheyenne warrior, Bloody Hand, to acquire rifles, and Will was sure they’d like to get their hands on the carbines the cavalry patrol carried.
A decision had to be made in a hurry. Looking back the way he had come, he could see Bordeaux’s troopers entering the mouth of the valley. Shifting his gaze back to search the opposite ridgeline, he tried to spot Kincaid again and somehow signal him. Seeing no sign of him, he decided to try to angle across the valley floor and hope to cut the corporal off. Down the steep slope he went, his back almost touching Spades’ rump as the big bay slid through the shale and gravel of the hillside. Reaching the valley floor at a point where it took a sharp turn, he was about to relax when he was startled to find himself facing about a dozen Cheyenne warriors, their faces painted for war. Sitting calmly on their ponies, they were obviously waiting for the patrol to come into view. Brave Elk and his warriors were as surprised to discover Will suddenly appear from nowhere as he was to see them.
“Oh, shit!” Will exclaimed when he realized where he had landed. In the chaos that followed, there was a competition to see which party could react quickest. The decision went to the rangy army scout, who thankfully was naturally gifted with quick reflexes. While the hostiles struggled to get their horses in line, Will drew his Henry rifle and threw five quick shots into their midst. Not waiting to see if he hit anyone, he kicked Spades hard. The bay needed no further encouragement, and they were soon racing across the narrow valley to the tune of war cries and flying lead. From the ridge now on his left, he heard the welcome sound of Kincaid’s carbine—at least he hoped it was Kincaid. It was, and the corporal was now lying low on his horse’s neck as he sidled down the slope and galloped along the valley floor after Will. Brave Elk and his warriors raced after them.
The chase lasted only until the Indians saw Bordeaux and the patrol riding hard to meet them, whereupon they pulled up and let the two fleeing horses go. Angry at first that the ambush had been discovered, Brave Elk decided that the full plan had not been revealed. The soldiers could not know that Bloody Hand waited with more warriors beyond the turn of the valley. “Come,” he said, “we will pretend to run away from them. Maybe they will still follow.”
One of the warriors continued to stare after the two riders. Certain then, he turned to Brave Elk. “It is the same man,” he said, “the white man with the gun that shoots many times. He is the one who killed Painted Arrow and the others when we attacked the woman in the wagon at the river.” He turned again to follow the tall scout with his eyes before offering a cautious comment. “I think this man has strong medicine. Where did he come from just now? How did he know we were hiding here?”
“What Tall Bull says may be true,” Brave Elk said. “We should be cautious, but he just shot five times into our midst and didn’t hit anyone. Maybe his medicine is not as strong as it was by the river. I say we should lead the soldiers back to the others and see if his medicine is strong enough to save them.” His statement was met with grunts of agreement from most of the warriors.
Back down the valley, Lieutenant Bordeaux halted his troop to receive his two scouts as they pulled their horses to a sliding stop before him. “Looks like they’re runnin’,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s get after them before they disappear into the hills
.”
“You might wanna hold up a minute,” Will said. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think they’ll be scatterin’ into the hills. I’ve got an itchy feelin’ that there may be a whole lot more of their friends waitin’ around that turn in the valley.” He turned to the corporal. “What do you think, Kincaid?”
As before, Kincaid agreed in his usual style. “I ain’t paid to think,” he opined. “But what Will says struck me the same.”
“You sayin’ we oughta withdraw,” Bordeaux asked, “instead of tryin’ to engage them?”
“Well, I reckon that’s up to you,” Will replied. “What I’m sayin’ is that you might wanna hold back until I can get up on the other side of those hills and get a look at what’s around the bend. I’d keep movin’ if I was you, but at a walk, like you were restin’ your horses, so they’ll think you’re still chasin’ ’em.” He paused to look around at the lay of the land. “You might wanna keep your eye out for a good place to defend if you have to,” he said, “like that hole by the creek over there.”
Bordeaux looked ahead to where Will pointed. “All right, we’ll stall until you have time to scout ahead. Maybe you’d better take Kincaid with you. What do you think, Corporal?”
“I ain’t paid . . . ,” Kincaid started.
“I know you ain’t paid to think,” Bordeaux interrupted. “I’m tellin’ you to volunteer to go.”
“Yes, sir,” Kincaid replied.
“Let’s go,” Will said, and the two of them were off again, holding the already tiring horses to an easy lope.
Will waited for Brave Elk’s party to disappear from view around the turn of the valley before retracing his original path up through the hills. They continued along the crest of the ridge past the point where Will had descended before to land in the middle of the war party. “I wanna get on the other side of that bend in the canyon where the valley looks like it runs out,” he told Kincaid. When they had gone far enough, they guided the horses behind a shallow swale. “I’ll work my way down off this ridge on foot,” he said, leaving Kincaid to take care of the horses. “If what I suspect is waitin’ where that canyon takes a turn, I may need my horse in a hurry.”
War Cry Page 5