A holler went up when the Sioux sighted Hays with the warriors. But Buffalo Horn shouted some words and everyone quieted down. A couple of the women scowled as they walked through the camp.
However, one smiled at Hays and asked, “You got whiskey?”
Hays shook his head in a negative answer. Then he glanced around and noted that almost everyone had the unhealthy look that Buffalo Horn and his friends displayed. Now he fully understood Eagle Talons’ hatred of liquor and the effect it had on his people.
Buffalo Horn led the army officer to a blanketed lean-to. He motioned for him to sit down. A woman cooking in an iron pot at the side of the structure glared at him as she stirred the contents of the container. Hays winked at her, making her scowl and turn away.
A few moments later, Buffalo Horn appeared with another warrior. Struggling and stumbling behind them was a white woman. Her hands were tied to a rope that led to the warrior’s fists. He dragged her along, then yanked her forward and forced her to sit in front of Hays.
Buffalo Horn said, “This is white woman. Three barrels of whiskey.”
Hays smiled at the woman in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “How do you do. I am Captain Darcy Hays, of the U.S. Dragoons.”
The young woman was red-haired and slim. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. She had a lightly freckled face and, although she was disheveled and dirty, it was still easy for Hays to see that she was quite lovely. Just like the daguerreotype found at the scene of the killings.
“Oh, sir!” the girl blurted out. “You have come to save me!”
“I am in the process of doing exactly that, Miss,” Hays said, in what he hoped was a tone of assurance.
“Please!” she pleaded. “Take me away from here, for the love of God!”
“Of course,” Hays said, “It is going to take a little time. May I ask your name please?”
“Loralie Campbell,” she replied. “Miss Campbell, I must ask for your patience,” Hays began to explain. “Believe me, you will be delivered from this predicament at the earliest possible moment.”
Her face assumed an expression of despair. “Sir! Aren’t you going to take me with you?”
“I regret that I cannot,” he said. “But I have made arrangements with Buffalo Horn—” He pointed to the warrior who stood arrogantly beside them with his arms folded. “—To have you released as soon as a ransom is paid. I came here to establish if you were, in fact, alive and well.”
“Oh, Lord, deliver me!” she said, weeping.
“I must ask you not to abandon hope, Miss Campbell,” Hays went on. His heart was breaking at her distress. Hays would have given anything if he could take her by the arm and lead her away. “You will be returned to civilization. Believe me! But it will take a little time.”
“Must I endure—” She hesitated, then spoke softly with her eyes cast to the ground. “I have been outraged, sir. Every night. During the day I must work for the women, and they beat me.” She began to weep softly. “Please! Please!”
Hays gritted his teeth as the picture of warriors forming up to ravish her filled his mind. “Please, Miss Campbell. I shall do my very best to expedite your release.” Then, although he was far from a religious man, he added, “Trust in God.”
“I shall, sir,” Loralie said. “I shall pray without stopping.”
“The quicker I get back to this business, the quicker you will be free,” Hays said struggling to his feet. He took a couple of steps forward until his nose was almost touching that of Buffalo Horn. “Don’t touch this woman again.”
Buffalo Horn smiled and held up four fingers. “Bring this many whiskey?”
“Yes, you conniving son of a bitch!” Hays hissed.
“Then the woman will not be used by the men,” Buffalo Horn said. “She will work.”
Hays knew that meant long hours of toil under the cruel supervision of Indian women. He shook his head, saying, “No! God damn it! The men leave her alone. The women leave her alone. No work! No nothing!”
“This many barrel of whiskey,” Buffalo Horn said holding up five fingers.
Hays knew he couldn’t give in again. “No. This many barrels of whiskey, you drunken bastard.” He held up four fingers.
Buffalo Horn grinned. “This many barrel of whiskey.” He held up four fingers to show he agreed with Hays’s last offer. He grabbed Loralie Campbell and pulled her away, half dragging the young woman across the length of the camp.
Loralie looked back at Hays. “Please, sir! You won’t forget me, will you?”
“Keep up your spirits,” Hays called after her.
The dragoon officer turned on his heel and walked out of the camp and into the forest. He retraced his steps until he reached the spot where Lieutenant Tim Stephans and Eagle Talons waited for him.
“Did you see the girl, sir?” Tim asked.
“It broke my heart,” Hays answered, still walking. Tim, with Eagle Talons beside him, hurried after the captain. “Is she as pretty as the daguerreotype shows?”
“Lovelier,” Hays said. He slowed and waited for them to catch up with him. He looked at Eagle Talons. “Do you know the whiskey peddler who sells liquor to the Wolf Society?”
“Yes,” Eagle Talons said.
“Do you know where to find him?” Hays inquired. “Yes. I know all his camp places,” Eagle Talons responded.
“Do you have something on your mind, sir?” Tim asked.
“Damned right I do!” Hays snapped. “I want to go on a sneaky mission that can only be done by three men. Are you two interested?”
“Yes, sir!” Tim answered.
“I go,” Eagle Talons said.
“Just what sort of mission are we going on, sir?” Tim wanted to know.
“We’re going to steal four barrels of whiskey from that liquor-peddling son of a bitch,” Hays said.
Eight
The troopers in Captain Darcy Hays’s dragoon patrol had grown a bit saddle-weary as they once again followed the Sioux warrior Eagle Talons through the Black Hills country of Wyoming Territory.
It was the fourth day of the patrol, and the second after leaving Buffalo Horn and the Wolf Society with their captive, Loralie Campbell. Normally that amount of time in the field would not have been so physically demanding, but Captain Darcy Hays had kept them constantly moving on the mission. Time taken for meals was short, leaving no opportunity for the more creative cooks among the troops to punch up the drab menu of salt pork and hardtack with condiments and special tricks in preparation and cooking. Hunting fresh game for food under those circumstances was completely out of the question.
Eagle Talons was not letting up, either. He had visited three of the sites used by the whiskey peddler in the area. All had been empty, but showed signs of previous activities. Smashed barrels, ashes of old campfires, and discarded trash gave ample evidence of the messy activities that took place during Indian drinking binges. A close examination of the ground also showed wagon tracks. But these were impossible to follow since, after the peddler had left the area, the trail was wiped out by a combination of time and weather.
Even the veteran horse soldiers, used to inconvenience and hardships in the field, had started to grumble among themselves as the trek continued. Being on horseback in mountainous country was an exhausting, sometimes painful experience. When it was a continuous, almost twelve-hour daily ordeal, it could be close to agony. Thoughts of the limited comforts offered by the Fort Laramie barracks had begun to dance through the troopers’ minds as they grimly held their seats in the saddles.
Suddenly, in the late afternoon, Eagle Talons held up his hand to signal a halt. Captain Darcy Hays and Lieutenant Tim Stephans rode forward to see what he had found. Back in the ranks, the men stood in their stirrups to get the numbness out of their hard-used buttocks.
“New track,” Eagle Talons said, as the two officers joined him. He had dismounted and knelt down, examining the ground.
Tim stayed in the saddle
and kept a wary eye open while Hays stepped down from his horse’s back. After years on the frontier, the army officer was as good a tracker as most of the Indians he’d worked with or fought against.
However, with his eyesight dimmed slightly by the passage of time, he couldn’t quite find sign as quick as when he was younger.
Hays, gritting his teeth against the discomfort, knelt down to examine what the Sioux had discovered. “Yeah,” he said, when he could get closer. “Not more than two days old.” He looked up and pointed. “Headed for the northwest, I’d say.”
“Yes,” Eagle Talons said, noting the direction indicated. “That way.”
“Does this trail lead to a camp used by the whiskey peddler?” Hays asked.
“Yes,” Eagle Talons answered. “He go to there many, many times before.”
“How far is it?” the captain wanted to know.
“We can be there before this sun goes away,” Eagle Talons said.
“I don’t want to go all the way up there with all these soldiers,” Hays said. He was pleased they wouldn't have too much farther to travel. “Just take us close enough to settle the men down without giving ourselves away. Then you, Tim, and I will sneak into the smuggler's camp by ourselves and get the whiskey we need.”
“You want to do that, huh?” Eagle Talons asked.
“I sure as hell do,” Hays said.
“Maybe we should sing our death songs before we go,” Eagle Talons seriously suggested.
“We whites don't have any such customs,” Hays said. He realized that the Sioux warrior considered the mission extremely dangerous. But at least he wasn't backing away from it. “You can sing a death song for Tim and me.”
“Sing your own,” Eagle Talons said. “If you have strong medicine.”
“I suppose we'll just have to think of something,” Hays said. “Let’s get moving.”
A few moments later, the column continued its trek across the steep terrain. This time, however, because of the proximity of unfriendly people, the dragoons had been ordered to have their carbines ready for instant use. Now, remembering the running gunfight of a few days back, they forgot the physical discomfort they endured. Each dragoon kept a sharp eye out for any drygulching whiskey smugglers. Every one of the troopers wanted to even the score for the friend they had lost back in the valley.
The ride continued for another two hours, with several stops so that the tracks they followed could be checked. At a couple of places, the sign indicated that some of the riders they trailed had split off from the main group. Later, marks on the ground showed they’d rejoined their friends.
“What do you make of that, sir?” Tim asked, during one of the times the situation was noted.
“The whiskey peddler is sending riders out to let potential customers know he’s in the area,” Hays said.
“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “That means there’s going to be a hell of a lot of Indians in the camp we’ll be sneaking into.”
“I didn’t say it was going to be easy,” Hays said. He winked at the younger officer. “Eagle Talons thinks we should sing our death songs.”
“I heard you two talking about it,” Tim said.
“Do you have strong medicine enough to make one up for us?” Hays asked.
“The closest thing I know to that would be the hymn ‘Rock of Ages,’ “ Tim said.
“I think the Twenty-Third Psalm would be more appropriate,” Hays said. He looked over to Eagle Talons. “Lead on!”
Tim suddenly remembered the one sentence from the psalm mentioned by his commander: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil... thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Tim spoke to Hays, saying, “It isn’t rods and staffs that comfort me, sir. It’s carbines and Colt revolvers.”
Hays grinned. “Amen!”
They rode on for almost three-quarters of an hour. Then, once again, Eagle Talons made a silent gesture, this time to let Hays know to lead his patrol off into the deeper woods. This would be the place where the dragoons would wait while he, Tim, and the Indian made their three-man raid on the liquor smuggler’s campsite.
“Sergeant O’Murphy!” Hays called out, as he and Tim slipped from their saddles.
The noncommissioned officer rode up and dismounted. “Yes, sir?”
“You’ll hold the men here,” Hays said. “Right now, I want all saddles removed and the mounts given rub-downs. Follow this up with a quick feed of oats, then resaddle and stand fast for a quick withdrawal from the area.”
“Just what the hell are you gonna do, sir?” O’Murphy asked.
“Eagle Talons, Lieutenant Stephans, and I are going to sneak into the whiskey fellow’s camp and steal that liquor we need to trade for the captive girl. I made a promise to her that I meant to keep,” Hays said.
O’Murphy winced. “Then you’re really serious about that, Cap’n?”
“Can you think of a quicker way of getting that young woman back?” Hays asked.
“No, sir,” O’Murphy admitted. Then he added, “Or a quicker way of getting you three killed.”
“There is no choice,” Hays pointed out. “We can’t leave Miss Campbell with those Sioux any longer than is absolutely necessary. Eventually, she’ll die of mistreatment. She already appears to be in terrible condition.”
“Good luck then, sir,” O’Murphy said.
“If we’re not back by dawn, you are to make an immediate return to Fort Laramie,” Hays said.
“Yes, sir,” O’Murphy said. “But I’ll keep the lads ready to move in and help if you need it.”
Hays shook his head. “That is the last thing I want you to do. If we get caught, you are not to make any rescue attempt. There’re not enough dragoons here. It would be a waste of lives. You will return to the garrison in the quickest and safest manner possible. Do you understand, Sergeant?”
“What about if we were able to provide you with covering fire, sir?” Sergeant O’Murphy asked.
Hays repeated, “You are to return to Fort Laramie in the quickest and safest manner possible.”
“Yes, sir.” He thought a moment and started to speak again.
“Sergeant!” Hays said angrily. “Obey my orders to the letter!”
“Yes, sir!”
Hays walked over to Tim and Eagle Talons. The Sioux had allowed his horse to be given the same care as the army mounts after a dragoon offered to tend to the animal. The soldier felt sorry for the horse. The horse, like all Indian mounts, did not receive the best of treatment. It had never had a rubdown, nor a feed of oats from a canvas bag. The animal stomped its hooves in appreciation at the good treatment.
Hays asked the Sioux, “Should we ride our horses closer to the camp?”
“Leave horses here,” Eagle Talons advised. “Too much noise. We can be there quick by walk.”
Tim glanced up through-the trees at the sun that was now pressing down on the distant peaks. It would have been much lighter at that time of day on the prairie, but days were shorter in the high country, where the sun quickly hid itself behind the mountains. Dusk went by fast in such terrain.
Eagle Talons noticed the lengthening shadows. “We go now. When we reach whiskey camp, it be dark.”
“Let’s strip for action, Lieutenant,” Hays said.
The old captain and young lieutenant shucked themselves of unnecessary items of clothing and equipment. Spurs, sabers, hats, and extra leather gear were left on their horses. Broad-brimmed hats could easily be caught in branches to make noise, so even those items of apparel were abandoned for safety reasons.
When they finished, all the pair had were their carbines, revolvers, personal knives, and bandannas wrapped around their heads. Eagle Talons also left off some of his own extra gear. He carried his long gun and had a knife attached to the cord around his breechcloth. With no hair ornaments and wearing only moccasins, the Sioux warrior was ready for the work ahead.
It was gloomy by the time the trio set off through t
he woods. Eagle Talons, knowing exactly where to go, led his companions through the trees. He avoided places with deadfall so that no crackling of trodden limbs would give them away. When he reached a spot where the going was treacherous, he slowed down. Each step was a methodical, deliberate physical effort done in a gradual motion. The full weight was not put on the foot until it was certain nothing beneath would make noise. The dragoon officers imitated him as best they could. As part of the mounted branch of the Army, they rarely moved for any great distance by foot, so they had not developed the skill of silent walking to the extent that Eagle Talons was able to do it.
They made their way through the forest for nearly an hour before the first noise of the camp could be heard. Occasional shouts, loud talking, and a fiddle sounded in the near distance. Another five minutes of walking brought them to a point where they could spot the glow of numerous campfires dancing through the trees.
Eagle Talons stopped and turned. “We wait here. Be a lot of drinking, talking, fighting. Then everybody go to sleep. We get whiskey and leave.”
“We might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Hays said. Both Hays and Tim knew that several hours would go by before the drunks started to pass out.
“I go to scout,” Eagle Talon said. “I come back and tell you what I see.” The Sioux warrior quickly disappeared into the darkness.
The pair of dragoon officers found a soft spot under a tree and settled down on the far side from the camp. Because of the noise being made by the revelers, they could easily speak to each other in whispers without fear of being overheard.
“How many people do you figure are in there?” Tim asked.
“From the noise, I’d say around twenty or thirty thousand,” Hays said. He grinned to himself in the dark.
“You are exaggerating, aren’t you, sir?” Tim inquired.
“Just making a poor joke,” Hays said. “I’m sure that Eagle Talons will let us know.”
“Indians aren’t real good with numbers,” Tim reminded him.
“He’ll have an answer we can use, don’t worry,” Hays assured him. “Anyhow, no matter how many there are, we need them all to be asleep or passed out so we can get our hands on the whiskey. I want to get Miss Campbell back to civilization.”
The Dragoons 4 Page 8