Eagle Talons (The Iron Horse Chronicles: Book One)

by Robert Lee Murphy

  “Ah, now, darlin’. If ye’re talking about drinking weak tea with the customers and pretending it’s whiskey, I’d agree.” Paddy grinned and rubbed the scar on the side of his face where she’d slapped him.

  “Stop it!” Kavanagh said. “Both of you. We’ve got work to do. I’ve got to ride over to Fort Sanders. Sally, dear, you’ve got to get downstairs and entertain our guests. And you, Paddy O’Hannigan, need to take that liquor and ammunition out to Chief Tall Bear.”

  CHAPTER 40

  * * *

  Lone Eagle walked Will to the edge of the village. “Return the same way you came.” He pointed south, across Lodgepole Creek. “Stay alert. The buffalo herd comes late this year because of the railroad. Our village needs food, so a hunting party went out that way a day ago to hunt antelope. They will return soon. Not good if they find you.”

  Will stepped into the creek, stopped, and looked back. “So we’re even now, Lone Eagle?”

  Lone Eagle nodded. “Even.”

  Will hefted the canteen. “Thanks for the water and hardtack.” Lone Eagle had kept the saddlebags and revolver. Will waded through the creek and struck out across the basin toward the escarpment that rose a mile away. Once he climbed that ridge he’d be out of sight. It was late afternoon and he still had several hours of daylight ahead of him for a trek back to Cheyenne.

  But he had no intention of returning to Cheyenne.

  It didn’t take long to reach the top of the ridge. Will walked far enough to be sure he wasn’t visible from the village, stepped several paces off the trail, and crawled into a tangle of bushes. He would rest here in a bit of shade until sunset.

  He nibbled on the hardtack and sipped water. Where was Jenny today? Had the McNabbs reached Fort Sanders? The warmth of the afternoon made him drowsy and he nodded off to sleep.

  Voices and the trod of ponies roused him from his nap. The hunting party Lone Eagle had cautioned him about was approaching. He flattened himself under the cover of the bushes and pulled his hat firmly down on his head to hide the white bandage.

  Three braves rode along the trail leading to the village. They were in a jovial mood, chattering and laughing. Two of them sat astride a single pony together, since one pony was burdened with the carcasses of two antelopes. They would be welcomed by the Cheyenne encampment for bringing in fresh meat.

  All three were armed only with bows. Will rubbed his arm where the arrow had pierced his bicep. He had full use of the arm now, but the muscle ached from time to time. He knew how good the Indians were with bow and arrow.

  After the Cheyenne hunters passed, the rest of the afternoon dragged. He watched the sun descend beyond the hills. When the burning disk dropped out of sight he rose and walked west into the fading light. He remained away from the edge of the cliff, careful to stay out of sight of the village. He planned to approach the camp from a different direction. He knew where Buck and the chief’s horses were corralled. That was his objective.

  He trudged along the ridge toward the base of the Laramie Range. The clouds strung above the mountains reflected vivid shades of red, orange, and yellow, from the setting sun. When he reached the base of the hills he turned north and descended to Lodgepole Creek, where it rushed out of a canyon onto the plain. He was a half mile upstream from the camp. He turned east and followed the south bank of the stream back down to the village.

  The tremolos of women added to the chanting and singing of men, all accompanied by the steady thump of drums. The noise from the camp masked any sound he made. Still, he approached the area opposite the corral with stealth. He didn’t want to alert the boys who watched the herd. He crept through the brush, slipping from tree to tree, trying not to shake the branches. He knelt beside a large cottonwood and studied the village. Light from cook fires cast shadowy figures on the walls of the lodges. The antelopes brought in by the three hunters had provided a reason for a feast and the entire camp was enjoying the celebration. Nothing indicated to Will that he’d been spotted.

  A light evening breeze blew from the west, down from the hills, parallel to the creek. That should keep his scent from drifting across the stream to the horses. He wasn’t so sure that the Indian boys didn’t also possess a heightened sense of smell. He’d heard that an Indian could smell a white man a mile away. He hoped the wind didn’t shift.

  He eased close to the creek’s edge. By the glow of the campfires on the opposite side he counted the silhouettes of six herd boys clustered along the farthest reach of the rope corral. Good. They were observing the festivities—probably wishing they were participating. He was pretty sure it was six boys he’d counted earlier. The horses were congregated near the boys too.

  Will stepped off the bank into the fast-moving water. He felt carefully for stones that could shift under his weight. “Dang it.” His left boot tangled in a branch concealed beneath the surface. He stopped and looked around, hoping his ill-considered curse hadn’t been heard.

  The stream was deeper here than he’d anticipated. He blew through his pursed lips when the water spilled into his boots. There was no help for it. His feet would just have to be wet and cold. He refilled his canteen and slung the strap over his head and shoulder, tucking the canteen under his armpit to keep it secure.

  He continued across the creek, crouched so that only his head extended above the bank, and studied the corral. No horse moved. No herd boy shifted.

  Will climbed out of the creek behind a tree around which was tied the rawhide rope that formed one side of the corral. He unwound the bandage from his head and tucked one end into his waistband. He struggled to untie the rope. The knot was so tight his fingers couldn’t budge it. He pulled the eagle talon from beneath his shirt, inserted the sharp tip into the knot, and picked at it until it loosened. He untied the knot and clasped the two ends of the rope in his hand, holding it in position.

  He pursed his lips and whistled. “Tseeeee, Tse, Tse, Tse!”

  Buck whinnied, whirled away from the other horses, and trotted toward him. The herd boys jerked their heads around and shouted. “Aiyee!” They raced toward him.

  Will dropped the ends of the rope as soon as Buck reached him.

  “Stay, Buck! Here, boy!” He grabbed Buck’s mane and flung himself onto the horse’s back.

  “Hiyah! Hiyah!” Will shouted. He swung the bandage wildly above his head. The white cloth flashed in the reflected light of the campfires. The other horses spooked at the flailing bandage and Will’s shout. They wheeled and raced through the opening in the corral rope, jumped into the creek, and leaped up the far bank. The herd boys chased after them. Will dropped the bandage. No need to attract the attention of pursuers with a white flag.

  Having no halter rope with which to guide Buck, he grabbed a handful of mane and leaned over the horse’s neck. “Let’s get out of here, Buck.” Buck snorted and jumped into the creek.

  Will tugged Buck’s mane and guided him up the middle of the creek. He wanted to stay in the water to conceal any tracks from Buck’s shod hooves. Perhaps the Indians weren’t good enough trackers in the dark to realize Buck was no longer with the other horses.

  He’d decided earlier in the day not to ride to Cheyenne. That’d be the direction they would expect him to go. That was the direction the other horses were now running. From his memory of General Dodge’s map, he’d decided to cross the Laramie Range by way of Cheyenne Pass and ride for Fort Sanders.

  It was late afternoon the next day when Will and Buck reached the fort. Dryden Faulkner’s wagon train, which had been circled outside the fort a few days ago, was gone. Will felt certain that Jenny’s wagon would have rejoined the train before it had headed west. He felt sorry he hadn’t returned in time to see her again.

  He rode through the front gate, crossed the parade ground, and tied Buck to the white picket fence in front of the Officers’ Club. He’d spotted his uncle’s horse hitched there as soon as he’d entered the fort.

  Will stepped into the open doorway of the club and remo
ved his slouch hat. The four men he sought were standing in the center of the room. Homer stood with his back to him talking to the other three. “I tried to talk him outta going, suh.” Homer spoke in an apologetic tone. “Honest, I did.”

  The three men facing Homer looked over his shoulder. Homer turned to see what had drawn their attention. “Well, speak of the devil.” A broad grin spread across Homer’s face.

  Dodge, Rawlins, and his uncle looked at him. Will’s uncle broke their silence. “You’d better have a good explanation, young man.”

  Will stepped aside so they could see Buck tied to the fence. They all laughed.

  “I expect you’re hungry,” Dodge said.

  “Yes, sir. All I had to eat was hardtack.”

  “Let’s get you something.”

  Dodge insisted that Homer join them at the table while Will ate cold chicken and a plate of stale biscuits. While he ate he told them what had happened since he’d left Homer.

  “That’s quite a tale, Will,” Rawlins said. He paused to cough into his handkerchief. “I’m grateful you got my horse back, but I wish I hadn’t asked you to ride in the race. I’m sorry you had to undergo that painful ordeal.”

  “Oh, don’t be sorry, sir. Buck and I would’ve won that race if it weren’t for Paddy O’Hannigan’s conniving.”

  “Mortimer Kavanagh was more than likely behind all of it, I imagine,” Dodge said.

  Will’s uncle had sat silently through Will’s telling of his story. “Will,” he said. “I have some unpleasant news for you.”

  He stopped chewing on a chicken leg and looked at his uncle.

  “The McNabb family was attacked by Indians between Virginia Dale Station and here. A Percy Robillard traveling with them was killed and scalped . . . Jenny is missing.”

  CHAPTER 41

  * * *

  Will excused himself and dashed outside. He almost knocked Lieutenant Moretti off his feet. Moretti grabbed him and steadied them both.

  “What’s the rush, Will?” Moretti asked. “And welcome back, by the way.”

  “Uncle Sean told me Jenny’s missing.”

  “Ah, that’s so.” He twisted the end of a waxed mustache.

  “Are the McNabbs still here?”

  “In a tent behind the stables.”

  Will hurried in the direction Moretti pointed. He found an Army wall tent and called out as he approached. “Mr. McNabb! It’s Will Braddock.”

  Alistair McNabb stepped through the tent’s open flap. The one-armed Confederate veteran looked haggard, his features drawn. He clasped the stump of his missing arm in his good hand. “Hello, Will,” he said.

  “Jenny’s missing?”

  “True.”

  “What happened?”

  Elspeth and Duncan came out of the tent and joined their father.

  “My sister’s gone,” Duncan said. He hugged his father’s waist. His lower lip trembled. “We don’t know where she is.”

  “And they murdered my Percy.” Elspeth blubbered. “The savages scalped him.”

  McNabb placed his good arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “Now, now, Elspeth. Crying won’t change the facts. Try to control yourself.”

  “I can’t help it, Papa.”

  “Come in, Will,” McNabb said. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

  The four of them sat on cots in the tent while McNabb told Will that after they’d buried his wife they’d set out alone from Virginia Dale. He’d thought they’d be safe because reports had indicated no recent Indian trouble, but when they’d stopped the second night along the trail they were attacked. “Indications are they were Cheyenne,” he said.

  Will frowned. “Cheyenne?”

  “Percy evidently tried to fend off their attack, but there were too many,” McNabb said.

  “It’s awful.” Elspeth sputtered. “They scalped Percy of his beautiful red hair.”

  Red hair. Black Wolf had been wearing a red-haired scalp in the Cheyenne camp.

  “There, there, Elspeth. Dry your tears.” McNabb handed his daughter a handkerchief.

  Elspeth sobbed and settled her head against her father’s shoulder.

  “We three got away,” McNabb continued, “and hid in the woods until the Indians rode away and the cavalry patrol arrived.” McNabb fell silent.

  Will waited a moment before prompting him. “Go on, sir.”

  “We made our way back to the wagon. It was destroyed. All our possessions burned. The only recognizable things were the cast-iron stove and the tires and hubs of the wheels. Percy was beyond help. And the oxen were gone.”

  “And Jenny?” Will asked.

  “Jenny had walked away from the wagon after we’d finished supper. She wanted to see if Virginia Dale was still visible from above the trail. She probably hoped to get one last glimpse of where we’d buried her mother. Elspeth, Duncan, and I climbed the slope where we’d last seen Jenny. We could follow her trail going up the hill because the heels on her shoes made a distinct depression in the soft soil. It’d rained earlier and she’d gotten her work shoes wet. The only shoes she had to wear were her high-button ones.”

  High-button shoes! Will leaned forward. Could that be?

  “At the top of the slope her tracks were obliterated by those of the Indian ponies that’d evidently surrounded her. We found her bonnet tangled in a bush, but no other trace. I fear she’s been taken by the savages. I just hope she’s still alive.”

  Will closed his eyes and recalled the vision of Jenny’s feet tapping to the music—the shape of her ankles contained in the high-button shoes had captivated his imagination and drawn Jenny’s chiding. He pictured the high-button shoes he’d seen the Indian girl wearing in the camp. Of course. They had to be the same shoes! Why hadn’t he recognized that!

  McNabb finished his story. “After the troopers helped us bury Percy, they brought us to Fort Sanders.”

  Will couldn’t bring himself to tell the McNabbs that Jenny had probably been in the Cheyenne camp while he was there. And he’d done nothing about it. Would she still be there?

  He left the McNabbs’ tent and went to look for his uncle. He found him talking with Homer outside the Officers’ Club.

  “Homer,” Will’s uncle said. “General Dodge plans to press on tomorrow. He wants to get to Salt Lake City and talk with Brigham Young about the Mormons providing contract labor for grading in Utah. He wants us to go along and check the surveying that’s been done across the Red Desert.”

  Will stood silently beside the two men. He only listened to half of what his uncle said. He kept visualizing a red-haired scalp and high-button shoes. Jenny had been in Chief Tall Bear’s village. He was sure of it.

  His uncle acknowledged Will’s presence with a nod, but continued talking with Homer. “Get the gear packed. Find Joe and Otto and tell them to be ready to head out at first light tomorrow.”

  “Uncle Sean,” Will said.

  “Just a minute, Will.” His uncle placed a restraining hand on Will’s shoulder. “Did the sutler get any flour?”

  “Yas, suh. Not much. I bought all he had . . . two bags. That won’t last long.”

  “When you find Joe tell him I need his help to calibrate the transit this afternoon. Otto can get the horses ready.”

  Homer nodded.

  “I think that’s everything, Homer. On your way.”

  Homer headed across the parade ground and his uncle turned to his nephew. “You find out what happened to the McNabbs?”

  “Yes, sir,” Will answered. “I’m pretty sure I know where Jenny is, Uncle Sean.”

  His uncle cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “She had to have been in Chief Tall Bear’s camp while I was there. She’s probably still there.”

  “Well, at least you got away from the Cheyenne safely.”

  “But I can’t leave her there.”

  “What do you mean? You don’t know for certain she’s there. And what can you do about freeing her from a camp full of h
ostile Indians?”

  “I have to try.”

  “Forget it, Will. We’re leaving Fort Sanders in the morning. We have to accompany General Dodge. This may be the most important assignment that the survey inspection team has been given. Don’t you want to be part of it?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. But—” Will couldn’t think of anything else to say to his uncle. He wanted to be part of the team. He didn’t want to lose his job with the Union Pacific. But he couldn’t forget Jenny.

  “Well then, help Homer get packed up. We’re leaving in the morning.” His uncle turned and strode across the parade ground. Will stood with slumped shoulders and watched him go.

  Lieutenant Moretti rode his horse across the parade ground. That’s it, Will thought. The Army can get Jenny back. Colonel Stevenson had refused to rescue Buck, but that was a horse. This is a human being—a white woman. The Army can’t refuse to act.

  Will intercepted Moretti’s path. “Luey,” Will called.

  Moretti reined in his horse. He pulled on one end of his mustache. “Will, I guess you travel west tomorrow with your uncle.”

  “I’m supposed to,” Will said, “but first I have to do something to help Jenny McNabb.”

  “Jenny McNabb?”

  “Yes. I know where she is.” Will explained what he’d seen in the Cheyenne camp. “Luey, you have to take some soldiers to the camp and get Jenny.”

  “Will, that’s not going to happen. Colonel Gibbon’s not going to issue orders to attack an Indian camp. Even if he did, I don’t have enough men to fight a whole Cheyenne village. It would be suicide to approach that camp with my small detachment. Remember Captain Fetterman last year. You know what happened to him . . . and he had a full company.”

  Will dropped his head.

  “Sorry, Will.” He flicked the reins and his horse walked away.

  His uncle wouldn’t help. The Army wouldn’t help. There was nobody else to turn to. He had to do it himself.