Buffalo Horn said, “You don’t got soldiers with you. We look all around here. We not see one soldier.”
“No,” Hays said. “I did not come here to fight with you. I want to talk.”
“That is good,” Buffalo Horn said. “We not want to fight with you or soldiers. We not want to fight with nobody.”
“I said angry words to you before,” Hays said.
“It was because of the white woman in our camp,” Buffalo Horn replied.
Tim felt a strong, lasting stab of angry resentment. The Indian men who sat in front of him had possessed the one woman in the world that he loved. He looked off to one side and clenched his fists. It took a few long moments for him to be able to relax and look back at them.
“I have a present for you so that you will know I am no longer angry,” Hays said. He turned and motioned to Norb Walton, who stood by the wagon.
Walton, knowing what to do, walked out with one of the horses of the whiskey peddlers who had been killed. He brought it up and stopped.
“That horse is for you,” Hays said.
Buffalo Horn nodded. “That is a good horse.” He barked some words and a woman came from the brush and took the animal away. “I am not angry with you. You gave me whiskey for the woman. The whiskey is gone, but you have the woman. I thought I did bad in the trade. Now I have a horse. I am not angry with you.”
“That is good,” Hays said.
“You are called Dar-Say?” Buffalo Horn asked.
“Yes,” Hays answered. “That is one of my names.”
“Dar-Say, why do you want to talk to me?” Buffalo Horn asked.
“I want you to help me know something,” Hays said. “I want to know how Rollo Kenshaw gets the whiskey into the Black Hills to trade to the Indians.”
Buffalo Horn said, “That is easy to tell you. He brings it in on wagons.”
“I mean before he puts it on the wagons,” Hays said. “I know where he go and get it,” Buffalo Horn. “But I never see him get it.”
“Where does he go?” Hays asked.
“The river,” Buffalo Horn said. “The river you white men call the Platte.”
Hays looked at Tim. “He must have it brought up by flatboats, huh?”
“It appears so,” Tim said.
Hays turned his attention back to Buffalo Horn. “When will Rollo Kenshaw go to the river again for whiskey?”
“Long time,” Buffalo Horn said. “He already got whiskey. He don’t go to river right now. We meet him for whiskey in three sleeps at Little Valley. But first he see Cheyenne and Crow at Medicine Cache Hill.”
“You have enemies among those people,” Hays said. “Why won’t you go fight them and get the whiskey they will get? You can get whiskey and count many coups while you kill your enemies and get scalps.”
“Because Rollo get angry and go away,” Buffalo Horn said. “Then no whiskey for us.”
Tim leaned forward and whispered in Hays’s ear. “That only shows what a wretched state these Indians have sunk to. They’ll pass up getting battle honors and revenge on old enemies in order to get drunk.”
“You’re right,” Hays said. He motioned to Buffalo Horn. “If I can give you whiskey now, will you not go to Little Valley?”
“You got whiskey, Dar-Say?” Buffalo Horn asked. Suddenly Eagle Talons leaped to his feet. He spoke furiously and harshly at the three other Sioux warriors in their language, then turned and stalked off into the woods.
“What’s the matter with him?” Hays asked.
“He thinks we should not drink whiskey,” Buffalo Horn said. “He thinks we should fight our old enemies.” Hays didn’t want the Indians to consider the other’s angry words. “Do you want whiskey?”
“We always want whiskey,” Buffalo Horn said.
Hays repeated his question, “If you get whiskey now, will you not go to Little Valley?”
Buffalo Horn sensed something he would like was about to happen. “If we get whiskey, we stay here. No reason to go to Little Valley.”
“I want more than that,” Hays said. “I have much whiskey. I want you to stay here and not go to Little Valley while I go someplace else. When I return, I want you to take me to the river where Rollo Kenshaw gets his whiskey. This means much to me. Will you do that?” Buffalo Horn conferred with the other three Sioux. After speaking together for a few moments, he turned back to Darcy Hays. “How much whiskey will you give for us to do this, Dar-Say?”
“Let us talk of all the things that must be done,” Hays said. He called out for Eagle Talons.
The warrior returned to the powwow, but did not sit down. “What is it?” he asked.
“We must speak truthfully and plainly so all can understand,” Hays said. “For that reason, I want you to change all my words into the Sioux language so that Buffalo Horn and his friends will not misunderstand what I say.”
Eagle Talons sat down. “I will do this,” he said.
As the deed went into more complicated terms, Chet O’Dell and Norb Walton stood by the wagon and watched the proceedings with growing nervousness.
Walton bit off a chaw of tobacco. “What do you make of all this, O’Dell?”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” O’Dell said. “I ain’t never in all my borned days been a situation like this, either inside or outside o’ Injun country.”
“The two soldier boys is more’n crazy,” Walton complained. “They’re mean crazy. Do you think that old cap’n woulda shot that young’n if’n he hadn’t taken a drink o’ whiskey like he wanted?”
“Hell, yes, he woulda shot him!” O’Dell exclaimed. “He’d shot his damn head right off’n his shoulders. And don’t you think he wouldn’t neither!”
“Hell, I believe you,” Walton said. He rolled the plug around in his mouth, then spat. “What’re we gonna do?”
“Why ask me?” O’Dell inquired.
“You hired me on for this job,” Walton complained. “You’re still supposed to be in charge.”
“How’n hell am I gonna be in charge, if them two shot up my men, tuck away my whiskey and wagon, and is holding me’n you prisoners?” O’Dell indignantly demanded to know.
Walton was thoughtful for several minutes. “You reckon we could sneak away?”
“Now that’s a grand idea,” O’Dell sneered. “We’d have them two sons of a bitches and half the Sioux Injun tribe tracking us down. If’n they didn’t let the Injuns burn us alive, they’d put us in jail for the rest of our lives.”
“Yeah,” Walton said. “Remember the cap’n said they was more dragoons trailing after ’em.” He pondered the statement. “D’you think he’s telling the truth?”
“Would you care to take a chance on that?” Walton offered. Then he said, “I think not.”
“Then we’re stuck having to stay with ’em, huh?” Walton asked.
“I’m glad you finally figgered that out,” O’Dell said. “And we’re also stuck having to do what they say. Has that dawned on you yet?”
“I reckon it has,” Walton said.
“O’course, if you’ve a mind to, you could take off by yourself,” O’Dell said.
“I don’t know this country,” Walton said. “I’m more used to towns. I’d end up running around in circles ’til they caught me.”
“Then you’d better shut up and do what they say,” O’Dell advised him.
“What if they want us to fight that feller Rollo Kenshaw?” Walton asked.
“Then we’ll fight the son of a bitch, won’t we?” O’Dell said angrily.
“Them two is gonna get us kilt like they done the others,” Walton said.
“The onliest chance we got is for that crazy old bastard of a cap’n to get what he wants,” O’Dell said. “Then we can ride the hell out of here. I ain’t never gonna bring another drop o’ whiskey in Injun country as long as I live. I reckon I’ll go ahead and get that sutler’s license, like I said.”
“The cap’n said he don’t want you to do that,” Walton reminded
him.
“Hell, he can’t be with me the rest of his life, can he?” O’Dell said. “Somewhere down the line we got to split up and never see him or his pard again.”
“If we live that long,” Walton said.
While the pair continued to discuss their uncertain futures, Hays and Tim pressed their offer to Buffalo Horn and his three companions. Eagle Talons, fully understanding what had to be done, put the words into the Sioux language so that everything was understood by the warriors of the Wolf Society.
There was much repetition and redundant remarks as the deal was finalized. Several times the four Sioux went off to discuss the situation among themselves. But finally, as it became late afternoon, they accepted what Hays offered.
Buffalo Horn summed it up. “We stay here. We take your whiskey and drink it here. We don’t go someplace. We stay here ’til you get back. Then we take you to river where Rollo get his whiskey.”
“That’s it,” Hays said.
Buffalo Horn stood up. “Now we get whiskey.”
Without another word, the four Sioux members of the Wolf Society walked toward the area where the women held their horses. Within moments they were mounted up and riding back to the village farther up the creek.
Hays, Tim, and Eagle Talons walked back toward the wagon. The warrior, disgusted with the thought that his fellow tribesmen were about to get crazy and stupid drunk, wasted no time in preparing his horse to leave. He turned to the captain, the disapproval evident in the expression on his face and the tone of his voice.
“I make camp where the creek comes from the pond,” he said. “Meet me there and we go.”
Hays waved as the Indian leaped aboard his horse and rode off. He looked at Tim, who was sullenly watching their departing companion.
“You showed a great deal of restraint,” Hays said.
“I agree,” Tim said.
Hays knew that being that close to the men who had raped Loralie Campbell had been a trying experience for the younger officer. “You acted in a mature and responsible manner,” Hays said. “I would like to commend—”
“Oh, shut your mouth!” the lieutenant snapped. Then he added, “—Sir.”
“All right, Tim,” Hays conceded. “We won’t speak of it again.”
“Good,” Tim said. “Now, maybe you should explain your plans to me.”
“I shall,” Hays said. “And to O’Dell and Walton, too.” He whistled sharply to get the pair’s attention, then motioned the smugglers to join them.
O’Dell and Walton walked up apprehensively, as if expecting an announcement of their impending doom.
“We have a job ahead of us,” Hays said. “We’re turning the liquor over to these Indians, and they will stay here until we return from our mission.”
“Where’re we going, Cap’n?” O’Dell asked.
“I’ve learned that Rollo Kenshaw and his gang are at a place called Medicine Hill Cache,” Hays said.
“I know where that is,” O’Dell said. “It used to be a rendezvous place for mountain men, and it’s a handy spot to sell and trade liquor to the Indians.”
“That’s exactly what Kenshaw is doing this very moment,” Hays said. “After he’s finished his business there, he is supposed to go to Little Valley to meet our Indians for more dealings.”
Walton pointed in the direction of the village. “But they’re over there, Cap’n. And you said they was gonna get our liquor.”
“That’s right,” Hays said. “They won’t meet Kenshaw, but we will.”
O’Dell cleared his throat. “Are you meaning to take on Kenshaw, Cap’n?”
“I sure am,” Hays said. “I plan on ambushing him at a position someplace between Medicine Hill Cache and Little Valley.”
“He’ll whip us,” O’Dell said.
“We’re not going to take him on in an out-and-out fight,” Hays said. “As a matter of fact, I want all our fire directed at his whiskey supply to shoot up the barrels.”
“His men will be shooting back even if them barrels don’t,” O’Dell pointed out.
“That’s right,” Hays said. “So you’d better fire fast and accurate. The better you do, the sooner we’ll clear out and make a run for it.”
“Say, Cap’n,” Walton said. “Why don’t we wait for them dragoons you say is tailing you to catch up? That’d give us more men.”
“Say, Walton!” Hays exclaimed. “That’s a great idea!”
“Thank you kindly, Cap’n,” Walton said with a satisfied grin.
“But we just don’t have time,” Hays said.
“I don’t see the point in all this running around,” O’Dell argued. “Even if we get away with it, Kenshaw will just go get more whiskey.”
“That’s exactly what I want him to do,” Hays said. “Because we’re going to follow after him and find out the source of his deliveries once and for all.”
Walton nervously shifted the tobacco in his mouth. “Say, Cap’n, then can we wait for them dragoons to join up with us?”
“Nope,” Hays said. “Those Indians in the Wolf Society will be going with us.”
“They’re on our side?” O’Dell asked.
“Sure are,” Hays said cheerfully. “Now, you two get ready to go at first light. You’ll each take one of the horses we have left over from those men we shot up.”
“What about my wagon and the team?” O’Dell asked.
“Won’t them Injuns do something with ’em while we’re gone?”
“No,” Hays replied. “What do they want with a wagon and a pair of draught horses that aren’t good for the warpath? Stop worrying and do what I say.”
“Sure, Cap’n,” O’Dell said. He and Walton slowly walked away to prepare for the trip.
Tim grinned in spite of his bad mood. “Those two are a bit reluctant, are they not?”
“I don’t blame them,” Hays said. “They’re stuck with us as it is. But if we hit Kenshaw hard and fast, we just have to spend enough time to shoot up the wagon carrying his liquor. Then we can make tracks while he and his men try to figure out what happened to them.”
“Do you think we really need O’Dell and Walton?” Tim asked.
“I sure do,” Hays said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have them along. We’re going to have to pull double-duty keeping an eye on them to make sure they carry their weight.”
“Those two will make a run for it the instant things don’t look good,” Tim said.
Hays laughed. “Then put them both under guard, Lieutenant. Things couldn’t look worse for us than they do right now.”
Nineteen
Rollo Kenshaw stood at the open flap of his tent. He had just pulled his trousers on over his faded red longjohns and now shoved his feet into a pair of heavy boots.
He grinned to himself as he looked over the debris caused by the previous night’s drinking bout carried on by his Crow Indian customers.
Two wagons were parked behind the whiskey peddler’s canvas domicile. Both vehicles sat under the watchful and suspicious eyes of Otto Bolkey and Bruno Glotz in case any of the drunken warriors decided they needed more whiskey than they had already bargained for.
One of the conveyances was piled high with furs under its cover. The pelts represented a winter’s trapping by that particular band of Indians who now slept off the effects of heavy, almost desperate drinking. They had brought the hard-earned skins to Kenshaw to exchange for liquor.
Most of the alcohol had been consumed, and the condition of the Indians’ camp gave stark evidence of the debauchery, violence, and stupidity of the drunken binge.
Two warriors, killed in some argument that had developed in the haze of drunkenness, still lay where they had fallen after hacking each other to death with hatchets. The weapons, acquired through trade with honest white
dealers a couple of years before, were among the practical things the tribe had opted for in dealing with white merchandisers before whiskey had made its insidious entrance into their lives.
&nb
sp; Now the hard work of trapping and hunting was devoted to the acquisition of liquor. Like the Wolf Society of the Sioux tribe, this particular band of Crows was corrupted and doomed by the vice.
An even newer and worse degradation was introduced to the people when Kenshaw’s men traded cupfuls of liquor to some of the women for trysts in the woods. This was normal in those transactions, but now it had been carried even further when two of the Indian females arranged blankets out among the trees where they entertained numerous members of the gang as they sank into an alcoholic haze. Through the influence of addiction, prostitution on its lowest level was now in the Black Hills, where once only the spiritual traditions and way of life of the Indians had once prevailed.
Kenshaw went over to the wagons and inspected the merchandise he had garnered. Bruno Glotz, his dull eyes matching his wits, watched his boss check out the condition of the furs.
“Be they prime, Rollo?” Glotz asked.
“As prime as can be,” Kenshaw said pleased. “This particular bunch o’ goods is gonna fetch a mighty fine price back East.”
“We got whiskey left,” Bruno said. “What’re we gone be doing with it, Rollo?” He pointed to the Indians’ camp. “Them Injuns ain’t got nothing for to trade no more. We got ever’thing they brung for to trade.”
Otto Bolkey laughed and said, “Their women is still available.”
“We don’t make no money on what them women give for whiskey,” Kenshaw pointed out.
Bruno Glotz was perturbed. His question had not been answered, so he once more asked, “What we gone be doing with the whiskey what is left over, Rollo?”
“We’ll pack up and head for Little Valley with the liquor we haven’t traded off,” Kenshaw said. “Buffalo Horn and his bunch are gonna meet us there.”
“Do they be trapping?” Bruno asked.
“I doubt it,” Kenshaw answered. “But they’ve had time to make raids on tribes that have. I don’t expect to make much from them, but we’ll get enough to turn a profit. Don’t worry none about that.”
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