One of the two men standing there cursed. “God damn it! Now we’re going to jail.”
“What’s your name?” Hays asked.
“Norb Walton,” he answered. He indicated his friend. “This here’s George Davis.”
“You’re all under arrest,” Hays said. “The charge is illegally transporting spirits into Indian lands.”
“Mister, I still say you don’t look like no soldier,” O’Dell said
“Look at the saddles on those mounts,” Hays said. “And check the brands on the shoulders. You can also stop calling me Mister. My rank is captain.”
“That don’t mean nothing to me,” O’Dell insisted.
“It damn well will mean a hell of a lot to you before all this is said and done!” Hays said. “The three of you get together over there and sit down. Now!”
The smugglers walked over to the area indicated and settled on the ground. They mumbled angrily among themselves.
“I want you to shut up and stay that way,” Hays growled at them. He indicated to Tim and Eagle Talons to join him. “I’ve just had an idea,” he said in a low voice.
“Great, sir,” Tim said. He grinned and said, “Since it appears the people we’ve just shot are criminals and not innocent travelers in these parts, we won’t be going to jail this time. However, I am positive that you’ve come up with a sure-fire way to guarantee us each a life term in a federal penitentiary somewhere with this new scheme of yours.”
“I’m certainly working on it,” Hays said with a wink. “What do you think of letting these fellows in on our mission?”
“You mean, to get that other whiskey seller?” Tim asked.
“Sure,” Hays said. “We’ll promise them full pardons.”
“How are we going to guarantee that a federal judge will pardon the smugglers after they’re brought to trial, sir?” Tim asked.
“I’m not planning on charging them,” Hays said. “In exchange for helping us and giving a promise to clear out, we’ll let them go.”
“That’s illegal, sir,” Tim pointed out.
“What we are doing now is illegal, Lieutenant,” Hays reminded him. “Have you forgotten that we are both absent from duty without permission?”
“I guess I did forget, sir,” Tim said. He shrugged. “What the hell? Let’s use them.”
Eagle Talons found it difficult to understand what was going on. “What we do, Dar-Say?”
“These fellows are going to help us catch the other whiskey peddler,” Hays explained. “Then we let them go. I don’t want you to kill them.”
“If they help, I don’t kill,” Eagle Talons announced. “Good,” Hays said. “Now, let’s go have a talk with Messieurs O’Dell, Walton, and Davis.”
The three smugglers looked up sullenly as the soldiers and their Indian friend approached. O’Dell rubbed his chin and growled.
“Are you gonna take us back to Laramie?” he asked. “I’ll tell you what, O’Dell,” Hays said. “Let’s make a deal. If you help me catch that other smuggler, I’ll let you go scot-free. How’s that?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” O’Dell asked. “It’s plenty plain, isn’t it?” Hays said. “If you help us run down that other fellow—his name is Rollo Kenshaw—I’ll let you go.”
O’Dell’s eyes lit up. “We can kill Rollo Kenshaw?”
“If necessary,” Hays replied.
O’Dell asked, “And we can sell our liquor without no bother?”
“Hell, no, you can’t peddle whiskey in Indian lands!” Hays snapped. “The deal I’m offering is that I’ll not press charges against you if you promise not to return to the Black Hills after you help us catch Kenshaw.”
“I don’t know,” O’Dell said. “Rollo Kenshaw is one rough galoot. I was taking enough chances just sneaking around here. He already killed two of my boys earlier on.”
Norb Walton was more receptive. “You mean, if we help you run him down, we can go without no questions asked?”
“That is exactly what I’m offering,” Hays said. “In fact, it will appear as if I’m the leader of this outfit instead of O’Dell here. The advantage to this arrangement is that Kenshaw doesn’t know me. So he won’t suspect anything until I start peddling this whiskey of yours. That should pull the son of a bitch in for a final showdown.”
“Hell!” O’Dell scoffed. “One mistake on your part and Rollo Kenshaw is gonna kill ever’ damn one of us!”
“He might at that,” Hays cheerfully confirmed.
“Don’t you worry about anything,” Tim said. “We just shot down eight or nine of your men. We’re not amateurs, y’know!”
“Are they all dead?” George Davis asked.
“Everyone,” Hays said.
“I make coup on one,” Eagle Talons said. “Then I kill him. Use tomahawk. Kill others with arrows.”
Chet O’Dell was not impressed. “They was a bunch o’ rum dummies I hired from a tavern in St. Louis. Most of ’em couldn’t find their own butts in broad daylight with a hunting dawg’s help.”
“Maybe we should tie you up and leave you here, O’Dell,” Hays said. “Your two friends seem to like the deal. We’ll come back and get you later.”
“I couldn’t just lie around here all trussed up,” O’Dell protested. “And what if’n you didn’t come back—which I think is gonna be the case—the wolfs and bears’d eat me up—”
“I would say your options are limited and not very attractive,” Tim said. “Choose which alternative appeals the most to you, or I shall assume you wish to wait out the situation here.”
“I’ll go! I’ll go!” O’Dell exclaimed. “My God! You two and that Injun is plumb crazy!”
“We’re just a bit more than crazy,” Hays said. “I owe Kenshaw for the deaths of some of my men. I have more of a score to settle here than just to keep the Indians sober.” He didn’t trust his reluctant allies. “By the way, there’s a company of dragoons shadowing us. When we make the final showdown, they’ll move in for the kill. They’ll also do the same thing if you try any dirty tricks with us.”
“I’ll play square with you, Mister,” O’Dell said.
Hays turned to Eagle Talons. “The first thing to do is meet up with Buffalo Horn and his group. I think they will join us if we offer whiskey as payment.”
Eagle Talons shook his head. “I don’t want see drunk Indians.”
“It will be the last time they’ll get drunk for a long time,” Hays pointed out. “Remember, if we kill or capture Rollo Kenshaw, there won’t be any more whiskey peddlers in the Black Hills. At least, not for a while.”
“Good idea,” Eagle Talons said, by way of agreeing with the army officer. “I go that way.” He pointed to the northwest. “You follow. When I find Buffalo Horn, I come back for you and we all see him together.”
“Let us not tarry,” Hays said. He motioned to O’Dell and his two men. “Hop up on the wagon.”
“We got horses over in the trees yonder,” Norb Walton said.
“Go fetch them and tie them to the back of the wagon,” Hays said. “You’ll not be on horseback.”
“If we get bushwhacked, we’ll be sitting ducks on that damn wagon seat!” O’Dell protested.
“I didn’t say this was going to be a bed of roses,” Hays retorted.
“Maybe that’s exactly what it is,” George Davis said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice. “There seems to be plenty o’ thorns in this agreement.”
The three men went into the trees with Hays and Tim guarding them. They returned to the wagon and did as they had been instructed. After the mounts were secured to the tailgate, the trio reluctantly stepped up to the wagon seat and sat down.
The two dragoons swung up in their saddles. “Let’s go, buckos!” Hays called out.
O’Dell cracked the whip over the mules pulling the wagon and yelled out, “Hayaah, you jackasses! Hayaah!” Norb Walton frowned. “I wonder who the real jackasses are around here.”
Tim leaned toward Hays a
nd asked in a soft voice, “There really isn’t a company of dragoons shadowing us, is there, Captain?”
“Of course not,” Hays whispered back. “You know that. I just don’t want those three to suddenly get rebellious on us. If they think other troops are close by, they’ll be sure to cooperate.”
The small convoy of two riders and the wagon lumbered across the rolling terrain. Now and then, when the forest thickened up, one of the whiskey smugglers was obliged to leave the wagon and hack out an opening in the vegetation to let the vehicle roll through. Then, tired and sweaty, he would climb back up on the seat as the trip continued.
Tim trailed behind to keep an eye on things, while Hays rode beside the wagon. The dragoon officer was curious about Chet O’Dell and Rollo Kenshaw.
“I take it that you and this Kenshaw are sworn enemies,” Hays said.
“We wasn’t always,” O’Dell said. “Fact o’ the matter, we once was pards. But we had an argument over a split of the take about two years back and we ain’t got along since.”
“Who was cheating who?” Hays asked.
“Hell!” O’Dell replied with a scoff. “We was both cheating. Anyhow, we each went our own way. I decided to waylay him at the first chance, but the damndest thing happened.”
“He got you first, huh?” Hays remarked.
“Nope,” O’Dell said. “He never went back into the Black Hills by the reg’lar route we used. I thought he mighta shifted things to keep from being bushwhacked, but I never found hide nor hair of him or his shipments.”
“How long has that been?” Hays asked.
“More’n a year,” O’Dell said. “Now, ain’t that the damndest thing?”
“He has to be taking some hidden trail to get his whiskey up in here,” Hays said. “Unless he’s making the liquor himself. Do you think he might have set up some stills in the Black Hills?”
“Nope,” O’Dell replied with a shake of his head. “Rollo Kenshaw don’t know nothing ’bout making whiskey. He can drink it and sell it, but he sure can’t cook it. I know his supplier. It’s the same one we always used. What I don’t know is how in hell he’s getting it in here.”
“When we find Mister Kenshaw, I shall inquire into that,” Hays said.
“I wished I knew,” O’Dell said. “I tried to get some in not too long ago and he killed my boys and stole the load.”
“You mentioned something about that when we first met,” Hays said.
“That was the farthest I got up to that point,” O’Dell said. “I’m lucky I got this far.”
“He’s probably hung back because of previous encounters with the Army,” Hays said. “That’s been fortunate for you.”
“He hit my shipments a coupla times on the other side o’ the Platte River,” O’Dell said. “That’s because my supplier tipped him off.”
“There is treachery everywhere,” Hays said. “Honor among thieves, but not liquor smugglers.”
“He’s one supplier who ain’t gonna tip nobody off no more,” O’Dell said. “He ended up in the Missouri River.”
“That sounds like the man’s business was in Leavenworth,” Hays said.
“Not the town,” Hays said. “The fort. He was a sutler there.”
“There’re three kinds of people I don’t trust,” Hays said. “One is a Yank horse trader, another anybody that calls me brother if he’s not my brother, and the third is an army sutler.”
“That being a sutler is what I was gonna do after a few trips up into the Black Hills,” O’Dell said. “I could’ve made enough money to buy me a license and set up shop in an army fort somewheres.”
“After cheating the Indians you could cheat the soldiers that fight them, hey?” Hays said.
“Yeah,” O’Dell replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I better not ever catch you as a sutler anywhere in the United States Army,” Hays warned him.
O’Dell frowned. “Hey! Now, that wasn’t part of our deal at all!”
“You just remember what I said, God damn you!” Hays snarled. He was tempted to reach out and give the man a fist in the jaw, but he controlled the impulse.
Further conversation was interrupted when the ambush exploded from the nearby forest. George Davis heard the sound of the shots for only a split second before being hit simultaneously by three bullets.
What was left of him wasn’t fit to be seen.
Sixteen
The response of dragoons Darcy Hays and Tim Stephans to the ambush was instant and decisive. After enduring numerous surprise attacks within the previous few weeks, both had developed near instinctive skills in dealing with the deadly situation.
There was no need for a word or even a gesture between the pair.
Using their Colt revolvers, both men lay down an immediate heavy fire straight into the source of incoming bullets while galloping straight at the bushwhackers. Yelling at the top of their voices, the army officers damned caution as they charged into harm’s way.
For his part, the Sioux warrior Eagle Talons, with his own inbred battle intuitions, rode off the narrow track to disappear into the trees of the forest. He had ways of making war that were both logical and spiritual at the same time.
Hays’s and Tim’s combined fusillades produced instant results as a pair of men crashed from their concealed positions to roll out into the open. Their tom, bloody shirts showed where the cruel .44 slugs had ripped their flesh and blown away their lives.
Hays and Tim galloped completely through the attackers, going some fifteen yards before making a quick turn to make another run into the hell of the ambush.
This time, with single-shot, breech-loading carbines ready, the pair of dragoons charged back. At the precise opportune moment, both cut loose with shots from the cavalry long-arms. This time, two more of the enemy went down, but their wounds were slightly worse than the others, due to the heavier .52-caliber slugs that plowed through flesh, muscle, and bone.
One ambusher died, the other wished he had.
This time, the charge carried them all the way back to the wagon, where Chet O’Dell and Norb Walton crouched with their weapons at the ready.
“They ain’t been nobody shooting this at us since you two went riding at them low-down bushwhackers,” O’Dell said. “I reckon they—”
Splinters from the vehicle splattered as several bullets smacked into the wooden sides.
“You spoke too soon,” Hays said, as he and Tim slipped from their mounts and went behind the conveyance to take advantage of the protection afforded by its thick construction. They immediately reloaded their revolver cylinders.
The incoming bullets died down to a few scattered, individual shots that whined overhead.
“They must be losing interest,” Walton said.
“I think so,” Hays said. “Mister Stephans and I took the starch out of them with our charge.”
O’Dell looked around. “Where’n hell is that comp’ny o’ dragoons you said was dogging your trail?”
“If we stay here long enough, they’ll catch up. Don’t worry yourself about that,” Hays said.
Suddenly a scream sounded from the nearby woods. A man staggered into plain view with two arrows in his back. A short whirring noise followed and a tomahawk, thrown from a short distance, sliced into his skull. The victim crashed to the ground and went into spasms that lasted even after his life ended.
“I see Eagle Talons has joined the fray,” Hays said. He shoved his cylinder back into the weapon and checked the two extra in his pockets.
Tim nodded. “I would agree. One of those fellows we hit seemed to be wounded. If Eagle Talons found him, he won’t stay alive long.” Able to move faster than the older captain, the young lieutenant had already charged his own revolver, and had shoved paper cartridges into both carbines.
“That’s too bad, in a way,” Hays said. “I’m not suddenly developing any sympathy for them. I just think it would be handy to have a prisoner to question.”
Chet O’Dell
wiped at the nervous perspiration on his forehead. “You fellers is starting to make me feel real skittish.”
“Me, too,” Walton said.
“Listen!” Tim said.
The sound of horses running away sounded through the forest, the noise slightly dulled by the heavy vegetation.
“I guess they’ve had enough,” Hays said with a satisfied grin.
O’Dell pointed and said, “I seen that dead feller decorated with them arrows and the tomahawk before. He’s one o’ Rollo Kenshaw’s men.”
“That’s very interesting,” Tim said. “Those are just the fellows we were looking for. That bunch was probably a scouting party out looking for good whiskey-selling opportunities for their boss.”
“Damn it!” Hays yelled out as he suddenly realized something. “We can’t let them get away. If they get back to their gang, they’ll warn them about us.”
“I’m pretty sure they saw me,” O’Dell said. “Ever’one o’ that gang knows me by sight. They’ll tell Rollo.”
“We’ve got to follow them,” Hays said. “I intend to fight this Kenshaw fellow, but on my own terms. I don’t want to have that whole pack of scoundrels in my face before I’m ready.” He rushed to his horse. “Hurry up, Tim! We’ve got to ride, and ride fast!”
In one flashing moment, both were in the saddle and galloping back into the trees. Tim, his youth once more giving him an advantage, rode slightly ahead using his keen eyesight to find the easy trail left by the desperately fleeing whiskey peddlers.
Hays bent low to avoid the tree branches. The sudden, explosiveness of the pursuit brought his rheumatic condition into painful stimulation. Damning whiskey-peddling whites, whiskey-drinking Indians, and fast-riding young lieutenants, the captain bore the pain with a long string of expletives uttered under his breath.
He also began to wonder about the whereabouts of a certain whiskey-hating Indian named Eagle Talons.
The hot pursuit continued for another hundred yards before they burst out into the open country of a long, mountain valley. It was one of those places boasting a natural mystery where the trees inexplicably stopped growing, leaving a small, empty prairie in an unlikely area of the high country.
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