Man in the Saddle

by Matt Chisholm

  So they slept where they were, shivering in the cold night air.

  In the morning, they ate breakfast after Pagley had scouted around. The Delaware was acting spooky, because he said he had the feeling that his luck was going to change. Spur was feeling better and looked something of his old self, although the horror he had experienced seemed to be somewhere back of his eyes. Old Two Bulls in spite of being hog-tied all night and the fact that he had refused food and drink from his captors, looked as full of spunk as a young colt. As soon as they untied his ankles to get him aboard the pony, he tried to make another break for it. Pagley caught him, this time with a quickly thrown rope.

  They put him astride the bay and tied him there and the Delaware said: “You can’t blame him for tryin’. What’s it going to look like to the tribe - maybe the biggest man they have been took by two men and a girl. Watch him close. He’d rather kill himself than go back to his people disgraced like this.”

  Spur said: “His disgrace will be the greater for his being exchanged for a young girl.”

  “That’s the truth,’ Pagley agreed. “Be kinder to cut his throat.”

  “If the disgrace is so great, maybe the Kiowas won’t think it worthwhile trying to save him.”

  Pagley looked unhappy.

  “You think I haven’t thought of that? Jane, you know the Kiowas better’n we do. What do you think?”

  “They hold him in enormous respect,” she told them. “Even if a lot of ’em despise him for being caught this way, there’re sons and grandsons who’ll do anything for the old man. If the girl’s in the camp, they get her from whoever owns her and hand her over for the old man.”

  Pagley smiled wryly.

  “Girl, I hope to hell you’re right. If you ain’t, come noon we’ll be without our hair.”

  They moved out. They didn’t travel fast because the horses had had poor bait during the night and all three of them were worried about the beasts. If they were called on to make a run of it if and when they got the girl, these animals would hold no advantage over the fresh horses of the Indians.

  Owing to the dangerous nature of the country with its deep and sudden coulees, its massive outcrops of rock, deep timber and fast streams, all of which gave the advantage to any ambushing party, Pagley rode circle around them on the dun while Spur walked leading the bay with Two Bulls astride. They traveled down a coulee, hit meadowland, walked carefully around its edge and found that they were on a vast green bench which, when they had crossed it, seemed to them to hang in the blue sky over a titanic basin. Spur and the girl had their breath taken away at the wild beauty of it. Both were grown accustomed to the immensity and grandeur of the West, but both were so struck by this wilderness paradise that they stood motionless gazing over it. Pagley cantered up and swung from the saddle.

  “By God,” he said.

  After a while, Spur asked himself as much as them: “Could a man ask for anything more than this?”

  From below them came a soft roll of thunder and gazing down past their feet almost, they saw a herd of wild horses running before their guardian stallion, manes tossing, tails streaming out behind them - bays, sorrels, pintos, roans, a speeding patchwork of color.

  At once, Pagley saw something more than beauty. Danger.

  “Something scared ’em,” he said. “We’re standin’ on the skyline. Move.”

  They moved back from the rimrock, hurrying along the edge of the bench into scrub timber, following the Delaware closely now to a sudden break in the basin wall that proved to be a steep and narrow path. He led the way down this. They all walked, for it was difficult going for the animals.

  For fifteen minutes, they made their slow and cautious way down, until, turning a sharp corner, Spur sighted the Indian village which by a trick in the terrain he had failed to notice from the bench above. Spur didn’t like it, outlined as they were against the face of the cliff, but he put his faith in Pagley. The Indian would know what he was at.

  He could see the Indians moving about below small as ants and for some time they gave no sign that they had seen the people above. Pagley led the way unhesitatingly till they came to a shelf of some twenty feet wide. And here he halted.

  “Now,” he said, “if you can find a better spot than this, I’d be glad to know of it.”

  Spur looked around.

  “One man could hold them off coming up from below. Another could stop them coming from above.”

  “Right.”

  “What happens when we want to go back up and they’re blockin’ the way?”

  “Brother,” the Delaware snarled, “you want it perfect. Whose idea was it to risk our necks for this Grimes girl?”

  “You don’t—?”

  “You think this Indian’s stupid?”

  “No, but—?”

  “There ain’t a man down there among that heathen bunch that wouldn’t sell his grandmother for a handful of coffee-beans. All right, we’re playin’ this the Kiowa way. We get the girl. But they don’t by God get the old man back till we’re clear of here.”

  Spur thought about that for a bit. He didn’t like it, but he knew that Pagley was right and couldn’t think of any other way of playing it and keeping their own skins whole. The only point that troubled him was that probably the Indians wouldn’t part with the white girl till their chief was returned.

  He put the problem to Pagley, who said: “You’re right. There’s weakness in any plan of this kind. We have to think quick. Quicker than we ever did before in our lives. Take your lead from me. There’s goin’ to be some mighty fast work performed here today.” He took hold of Two Bulls and untied him from the pony, heaved him unceremoniously to the ground, put a lassoo noose around one of his ankles and led him forward into plain view of the camp below.

  That done, he said: “Here we go,” drew his pistol and fired a single shot into the air.

  For a moment, it looked as though none of the Indians had heard it. Then faintly, a shrill cry came up to them.

  “Now we wait,” Pagley said. “Here, Spur, take a-hold of this rope.” He handed his rope to Spur. “The old man’s likely to throw himself over the cliff, if he gets the chance. Don’t let him.”

  Spur took the rope in his left hand and pushed the tails of his borrowed coat back with his right so that the butt of his Remington was ready to hand. The girl held his Henry repeater. They stood with their eyes fixed on the encampment below. All movement seemed to have momentarily come to a stop.

  Then the clamor of many voices drifted up to them, men who had their ponies at their tipi doors ran to them and mounted, others legged it for the horse-herd crying out to the boys watching the animals.

  Almost, at once, horsemen were riding for the foot of the cliff and were soon lost to view. ,

  Pagley turned to the other two and grinned briefly. “I’m goin’ to meet ’em. Keep your eye on the old buzzard.”

  Spur said: “Pagley, let’s keep together. No call to risk your skin.”

  “I have to convince them of my good faith,” he said. “You worry about them poor ignorant savages, not me.”

  He unbuckled his gunbelt and walked along the shelf to the head of the steep path up which they had no doubt Indians were now mounting. The only weapon he carried was his bowie knife in its sheath at his back.

  They watched him disappear.

  “Best man to take along,” Spur said softly, “I ever knew.”

  The girl touched his arm shyly.

  “Best man I ever knew,” she whispered, “they call Spur.”

  He gave her a smile.

  “If we don’t come out of this alive,” he said, “I just want you to know—” He couldn’t find the words.

  “I know,” she told him simply.

  The warriors below had reached the horse-herd and were roping their animals, jumping astride them bareback in their hurry and galloping back through the village. Curs barked and women screamed for their children.

  “Nice country for a horse-ran
ch,” Spur said conversationally.

  “Nice country for the broomtails, too,” she told him. “Me an’ pa chased ’em here.”

  Spur was surprised.

  “You mean your old man came after them here?”

  She smiled. “He said Texas and Kansas was gettin’ too crowded for him. He was kilt near here. An’ I guess I was took not too far off.”

  Again Spur was surprised. He thought her father had been criminally crazy, but he didn’t say so.

  He nearly lost the rope in his left hand as old Two Bulls headed for the edge of the cliff. Spur was hauled from his feet and measured his length on the ground, but the weight of his body brought the chief up with a jolt and brought him down. Spur scrambled to his feet and ran to the Indian.

  The old man lay on his face. Spur rolled him over and received that look of fierce hatred again. He was getting used to it now.

  “You old fool,” Spur said. “You might have broken my wrist.”

  The girl came up and together they hauled the man to his feet. He stayed where they put him, motionless, as though nothing had happened, hands tied behind his back and the noose around his ankle. Spur walked him backward away from the brink and once again he fell into his pose of stone, aloof from them.

  Spur and the girl waited, wondering what would happen next and whether Pagley would survive his meeting with the Indians.

  The first Indian to come around the sharp bend in the narrow path, found the unexpected. A lone man sitting some thirty yards above him, motionless and apparently untroubled. The Kiowa who was several yards in advance of his fellows was so surprised that he didn’t know whether to run or charge.

  His hand was reaching back for an arrow to fit to his bow string when the man above gave him the peace-sign.

  The Kiowa didn’t feel too safe even though the sign was meant to indicate that unless he did anything foolish he stood a good chance of staying alive. He needed only to put a foot wrong by a few inches and he would plunge to his death. Which meant that the man above had considerable advantage over him.

  Behind him, the next warrior asked: “Why are you stopping?” The man was also below him and could not see Pagley squatting calmly on the path.

  The first Kiowa said somewhat irritably: “There is an enemy ahead.”

  “Then kill him.”

  “He seems not to be armed and he has given me the peace-sign.”

  “Which makes it easier to kill him.” So speak all men behind the front-line of battle. The first Indian, Running Wolf, didn’t see it that way at all. It being his skin that was being risked, he gave the peace-sign to the man above.

  A brave, third down the line who could see no more than Running Wolf’s heels called out: “Why are we stopping?”

  The second man, who was a sub-chief of sorts named Eagle Son, told him: “There is an enemy ahead.”

  “Then let us kill him.”

  Eagle Son explained that there wasn’t much he could do with so little room to move in. Running Wolf seemed to be in a peaceful mood.

  The third man, a notable warrior named Stone Horse and famous for his skillful use of the war-club, said: “You should have allowed me to go first. I would have settled the enemy’s hash in no time at all.”

  They waited and listened, gripping their weapons and wondering if they would be able to gain a scalp or count coup that day without too much bloodshed. There had been too many men killed lately.

  The stranger was making signs and the man below heard Running Wolf grunt in amazement.

  “What is it?” Eagle Son demanded.

  “This strange Indian before me says that the whiteman whom we held prisoner has Two Bulls up above on the ledge.”

  “I told you,” Eagle Son said angrily. “Nobody would believe me when I said that I saw Two Bulls on the ledge and it is known that I have the sharpest eyes of all our people.”

  “Do you still want this stranger killed?” Running Wolf asked rather nastily.

  “You talk like a fool. Two Bulls is grandfather of all of us. He must not be harmed. Tell the stranger to lay aside his arms and I will come and talk with him.”

  Running Wolf made his signs and asked the chief: “How will you go past me? It is too narrow here.”

  “Lie on your belly and I will walk over you.”

  The warrior did not like this, but he obeyed.

  Above them Pagley waited showing outward calm, but with his nerves tense, his right hand ready to snatch the knife from his belt and to hurl it. He saw the warbonnet of the chief coming into view and made a sign to make the man stay where he was. Eagle Son told him that there was nothing to fear. While Two Bulls was in the hands of the whiteman there was peace between them. Pagley replied that they would stay this distance apart and there would be a better chance of the peace remaining. Besides the path was dangerous and if the chief came any nearer he might end up a dead man.

  Eagle Son stayed where he was. Over his shoulder he said softly to Running Wolf: “Pass the word down the line. Some of our people must ride hard and get above the whiteman. They must not harm him until I give the word.”

  He heard Running Wolf muttering his message.

  Pagley spoke with his hands again.

  The whiteman would be happy to return Two Bulls to them on one condition: that the white girl be returned to him unharmed. The worry in Pagley’s mind was the Kiowa practice of violating women before they returned them.

  Eagle Son looked astonished. He put all he had into the performance. White girl? He knew of no white girl. Pagley replied that he was in a hurry and would not waste time with lies. The white girl was in the camp. She had been seen. She must be returned at once or Two Bulls would be shot, scalped and his body hurled from the cliff into the Indian village.

  The chief showed sincere horror at the threat.

  He said something quick and soft to the man behind him. The murmur of the threat went down the line. Twenty warriors gripped their weapons the tighter and wished death on the whiteman and this stranger Indian who dressed like a whiteman.

  Eagle Son protested with his hands, laying his club aside to talk the easier. The stranger was mistaken. The Kiowa had given back the only white girl they had ever had in their possession and the whiteman had tricked them, he was without honor and did not deserve to walk in the company of men. This girl they had not taken from her people but had found wandering lost on the eastern prairie. The Kiowas did not make war on women and did not harm them. Let the strangers return Two Bulls to them and the Kiowa would allow them to go in peace. If the chief was not returned all sorts of terrible things could happen to them.

  Eagle Son trembled with rage when Pagley told him that he was a lying cur and should have his foolish squaw’s tongue cut from his mouth. The Kiowa had killed the girl’s father and taken her by force. The other girl, the one with the white hair, was in the Kiowa village now. The whiteman had seen her. Let her be returned now or not only would Two Bulls be tossed lifeless into their camp, but many white soldiers would come and the mourning songs would be sung in all the villages of the Kiowa.

  The chief tried to digest that. He would have to take a lot more before the other men were in place on the bench above and ready to attack these strangers in the rear.

  The stranger Indian was saying: “Let the chief and one other important man come without arms and talk with the whiteman. I speak with a straight tongue.”

  Eagle Son thought about that.

  There might be a chance here to kill the whiteman and this foul-tongued Indian of unknown tribe.

  He turned his head and spoke to Running Wolf. “There is a chance here for much glory for the two of us. Throw down your bow and keep only your knife, only let it be hidden. You and I will go and talk with this whiteman. Tell our people to come as close as they can without being seen.”

  He gave the warrior time to pass the message back, then stood up, showing the man above that he held no weapons in his hands. Pagley signed for him to stay where he was until
he heard a call from above. The Delaware edged his way backward around the corner in the cliff and ran as fast as he could back to Spur and the girl.

  “Two big men coming now,” he said. “Jane, if you know them, tell me. One of them looks like a chief and he’s been playing for time. You’d best watch the path above. Pretty soon there’ll be time for some of these boys to make their way up there.”

  Spur asked: “How do you reckon on getting out of here?”

  “Our shield will be a Kiowa with a gun in his ribs.”

  He shouted for Eagle Son to come ahead and within a few minutes the chief and Running Wolf appeared looking slightly doubtful of their welcome. They spread their hands as soon as they reached the shelf to show that they carried no weapons. Pagley sat down by the rock on which he had laid his holstered revolver and beckoned them on.

  They strode forward, two slightly bow-legged but fine looking men, looking as fierce and proud as they knew how in front of these strangers. They pretended not to see Two Bulls as he stood motionless with his back turned to them.

  Jane said: “The one with the feathers is Eagle Son. Tricky as a coyote. Watch him.”

  The man named folded his arms and waited.

  Pagley started speaking with his hands.

  The whiteman wanted the girl with the pale hair and he wanted her now. The chief would send the warrior with him back into camp to fetch her.

  The Delaware saw Eagle Son’s eyes flickering from him to Spur, measuring distances, showing that he did not like the fact that Spur had moved so that the two Kiowas could be caught in a crossfire.

  Eagle Son smiled with some wickedness.

  His hands said that there were men above and men below. What did the whiteman and his slave think that they could accomplish? If they wanted to stay alive, they should free Two Bulls now before the Kiowa became angry.