Eagle Talons (The Iron Horse Chronicles: Book One)

by Robert Lee Murphy

  Throughout the afternoon, Will helped Homer pack the supplies and equipment. Homer fussed at him each time he placed an item in the wrong pack or accidently spilled the contents that had been carefully assembled.

  “Pay attention, Will. Where your mind be, son? You ain’t done this bad afore.”

  “Sorry, Homer. I can’t stop worrying about Jenny. I should’ve helped her while I was there.”

  “Now, you stop fretting. Ain’t nothing you can do ’bout it. Nothing! And don’t you go getting foolish ideas ’bout trying something, neither.”

  Will shook his head and returned to the job of packing. Yes, there was something he could do about it. He would take Buck back to Chief Tall Bear and trade the Morgan for Jenny.

  They finished the packing and Homer left to say goodbye to friends. Will’s uncle had not yet returned from calibrating the transit. While he and Homer had worked in silence, Will had formulated his plan.

  He had to get Buck out of the cavalry stables and through the front gate of the stockade without being stopped. Getting Buck out of the stables was easy. He simply told the corporal on duty that he’d been sent by General Rawlins to exercise the horse. The necessity to lead the horse had enabled him to put a bridle on Buck, but he’d have to ride bareback. A saddle would’ve been suspicious.

  He led Buck out to the parade ground. The sun was setting and the Army’s patrol from the Overland Trail was due to return. The fort’s gates would be opened to admit the patrol, but only for a few minutes. He had to be in position at the right time.

  He walked Buck back and forth across the parade ground. Buck was restless, tossing his head and shaking his mane. The horse seemed to sense something unusual was about to happen.

  Will kept one eye on the sentry pacing the wall near the blockhouse. Finally the sentry lowered his rifle and called down to the sergeant of the guard. “Patrol coming! Open the gates!”

  The gates opened and the half dozen cavalrymen rattled through. They had barely cleared the entrance when the guards shoved on the gates to close them.

  Now! Will swung onto Buck’s back and kicked him hard in the flanks. The Morgan jumped forward and raced through the closing gates.

  Darkness descended across the Laramie Plains behind him as Will galloped away from the fort. He urged Buck up the steep western slope of the Laramie Range. When he neared the top of the ridge he halted. “This is as far as we go tonight, Buck.” He looked at the blackening sky. “There’ll be no moon tonight. Too dark to go on.”

  He’d hoped to cross over the crest of the ridge and down the other side as far as the headwaters of Lodgepole Creek so he could get water for himself and Buck, but night had come on too fast. He dismounted and let the bridle rope trail on the ground. The horse could graze on patches of the short grass and gain some moisture from the vegetation. As for himself, he’d have to suffer his stomach grumbling through the night.

  Will wasn’t worried about Buck wandering off, so he left him unhobbled. He found a pile of boulders to crawl among to shelter himself from the wind, turned the collar up on his shirt, and buried his hands beneath his armpits to keep them warm. The day had been strenuous and he soon nodded off to sleep.

  Will jerked awake. The squeaking of a leather saddle grew more pronounced. Someone rode close by. There was no moonlight, but his night vision was aided by a clear sky filled with sparkling stars. He watched the silhouette of a horse and rider appear in front of his concealed position. Trailing them was another horse without a rider. Abruptly the rider stopped.

  “Howdy, Will,” a hoarse voice said.

  Will let his breath out. “Bullfrog Charlie. How’d you know it was me?”

  “Oh, I see right good in the dark. Helped me keep my scalp all these years.” Bullfrog dismounted. “Besides, my horses scented yours and they knowed it weren’t no Indian pony.”

  Bullfrog unbridled his riding horse, loosened the cinch on his saddle, and lifted it from his horse. “Mind if I join you in the shelter of them rocks?”

  Will shifted to the side. “Help yourself.”

  Bullfrog dropped his saddle in the space Will vacated. “What’s for supper?”

  “Nothing.” Will groaned.

  Bullfrog laughed. “Thought so. Didn’t see no fire. We can fix that though.” He stepped back to his trailing horse and removed its pack. “What you doing out here by yourself?”

  “I’m taking Buck back to Chief Tall Bear to trade for Jenny McNabb.”

  Bullfrog built a small fire and boiled coffee. The two of them shared a simple meal of jerky and hardtack. “Now,” Bullfrog said, “tell me more about this plan of yours.”

  Will told Bullfrog about his suspicions that Jenny was being held captive in the Cheyenne camp and that the only way left to him to rescue her was to take Buck back to the chief.

  “I reckon it’s not my place,” Bullfrog said, “but I question the wisdom of riding into that village alone. You got away with it once, but I’d be mighty careful if it was me going in there again.”

  “I have to try to free Jenny.”

  “I reckon I can understand that.” Bullfrog raised his cup of coffee. “Here’s to luck.”

  Will touched his chest. Beneath his shirt he felt the scratch of the eagle talon.

  CHAPTER 42

  * * *

  Jenny flipped the rawhide thong back across her shoulder to keep it from trailing in the pemmican she was making. Small Duck had tied the water-soaked thong around her neck the night she’d been brought into the Cheyenne village. Once the leather dried, there was no way Jenny could untie it with her fingers. It may as well be an iron collar. She could cut it off, but the old woman never left her alone with any of the knives.

  Kneeling on a buffalo hide beside a cook fire, she placed strips of dried meat, from her father’s oxen, on a large flat stone and ground it into a pulp with an elk bone. Then she mixed the pulp with an equal amount of bone marrow and blended in a handful of dried, crushed berries. She patted the pemmican into compact cakes about six inches square and wrapped each one in thin strips of damp parchment.

  She stared into the fire and wished it were the cook fire next to their wagon. But there no longer was a McNabb wagon. She’d watched it burn the night she’d been captured. She frequently pictured her father, sister, and brother running into the trees behind the wagon. At least she kept telling herself she’d seen them get away. Anything else was unimaginable.

  She licked her fingers. The pemmican tasted good, but she felt guilty about eating it. The poor oxen had never been abused. Even when her father lashed out his bullwhip it was above their backs. The sharp crack of the whip was enough to get them moving. The oxen had simply let the Indians herd them away. How’d they know they were to be butchered?

  Jenny shook her head. She had to stop reliving those horrible memories. She had nightmares every night. She didn’t need to think about it during the day. She would not, however, stop saying a prayer that her father, Elspeth, and Duncan were still alive. She reminded herself how her mother had persevered through the war. She had to be as strong as her mother had been.

  A week had passed since she’d arrived at this village along the pretty creek. If it’d been under different circumstances, she would’ve found the place charming. She might even have liked the people. But she was a slave. Plain and simple. She was their prisoner to do with as they chose. Thankfully they hadn’t physically abused her. At least not yet.

  Black Wolf sauntered past and shook Percy’s scalp at her. She dreaded each time she had to look at the strong warrior who painted the lower half of his face black.

  “Go away,” Jenny hissed.

  “Forget about Black Wolf.” Lone Eagle stepped up beside her. “Ignore him. He will stop.”

  Jenny sighed, stood, and brushed her hands down the front of the soft buckskin dress to smooth its folds. It was beautifully decorated with blue trade beads and multicolored porcupine quills. Its skirt brushed the tops of her soft moccasins. A young Cheyen
ne girl now pranced around the camp wearing her high-button shoes. Actually, she was glad she wore the moccasins. They were far more practical than high-button shoes for the life she now led.

  She was thankful for the times she could talk with Lone Eagle. He showed her more respect than the others. He spoke good English and understood what she was saying. He’d told her about his education at the boarding school in Saint Louis. She knew his father was a white trapper and his mother was the chief’s daughter. She was able to relax in Lone Eagle’s presence, something she couldn’t do when Black Wolf came around. Lone Eagle kept a respectful distance and never touched her.

  “Lone Eagle.” She had to look up. He was much taller than she. “How much longer do I have to endure this? I’ve been here for seven days.”

  “You are fortunate you have not been sold to the Blackfoot or Sioux. Chief Tall Bear sells white captives fast. It is not wise to keep slaves here . . . too close to white man’s eyes.”

  “I don’t want to be a slave! I want to be free!” She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. Lone Eagle’s face revealed no sympathy.

  “It could be worse. Black Wolf offered ten ponies for you. Black Wolf would take you for his wife.”

  Jenny shuddered. Yes, that would be worse.

  “You are lucky Small Duck likes you. My grandfather lets her keep you. She does not let others whip you. You have it good.”

  Jenny lifted the leather thong from her neck. “This is good?”

  Lone Eagle did not answer.

  “I know Chief Tall Bear is your grandfather,” Jenny said. “Is Small Duck your grandmother?”

  “No. Small Duck is grandfather’s second wife. My grandmother died long ago.”

  “Small Duck’s not so small,” Jenny said. “She’s twice my size. She drags me around by this rope. I don’t like it.”

  “Chief Tall Bear offered you freedom.”

  “Sure, he offered me freedom. He demanded a large ransom from my family. I told him we were poor. Even if I were certain my family were still alive, they have no money to ransom me.”

  “Then you remain a slave.”

  “Lone Eagle, you and I have talked about your time at the school. You told me how you felt confined there . . . how you missed these prairies and mountains.” Jenny searched Lone Eagle’s eyes. “Did they tie you up at night so you couldn’t move, like that old squaw, Small Duck, ties me up in that wikiup prison of mine?”

  Lone Eagle shook his head once.

  “But you felt enslaved. They locked you in your room. You felt you’d been deprived of your freedom. You ran away. You returned to your freedom.”

  He stared at her.

  “What chance do I have? How can I ever achieve my freedom? It’s not right for one person to make another his slave.”

  “You sound like Will Braddock.” Lone Eagle turned and walked away, leaving her alone.

  Jenny glanced around. No one was near. She knelt and pulled her eagle talon from where she had secreted it beneath a seam in a small, beaded parfleche she wore tied around her waist. Lone Eagle had allowed her to keep the talon, but the yellow ribbon on which she’d worn it was gone. It, like her high-button shoes, was now the proud possession of a Cheyenne child. She unwrapped one of the parchment packets and cut the center out of the pemmican block with the sharp talon. Slipping the mushy substance into the soft leather parfleche, she returned the talon to its hiding place beneath the seam. Then she scooped sand into the hole left in the pemmican and rewrapped it.

  “Aiyee, aiyee, aiyee!”

  She jerked her head up. Had someone seen her steal the pemmican? No, the sharp cry came from the far edge of the camp. The warning passed quickly from one tepee to another. Small Duck waddled up and grabbed Jenny’s thong from behind. The old woman pulled hard on the thong.

  Jenny tripped and fell forward onto her hands. Small Duck yanked the thong. Jenny choked. “Agh.” She reared back onto her knees and clutched at her throat, sliding her fingers beneath the biting leather to keep it from crushing her windpipe.

  Small Duck jabbered in Cheyenne. Jenny couldn’t understand. The old woman dragged her to her feet and down to the wikiup beside the creek where she was secluded each evening. Small Duck forced her through the narrow opening into the shelter constructed of branches and twigs surrounding the trunk of a cottonwood sapling that had been incorporated into the back portion of the wikiup. Jenny obeyed Small Duck’s pointed directions and sat with her back to the tree trunk.

  Small Duck kicked her in the ribs and pushed her in the chest to force her back tightly against the trunk. Jenny stretched her feet out in front of her. The woman pulled Jenny’s arms behind the sapling and tied her hands with a length of rawhide. Jenny winced. The old squaw certainly wasn’t gentle with cinching the knot. Small Duck took three turns with another rope around Jenny’s waist, trussing her snuggly against the cottonwood. Then, she stuffed a rag into Jenny’s mouth and tied a strip of rawhide around the rag to secure it. Small Duck had never done this before. Why now?

  Small Duck tugged on the thongs to ensure that Jenny couldn’t move freely. Then she left the wikiup, dropping the flap door and tying it closed behind her.

  Jenny struggled to find a comfortable position. The rawhide binding her hands bit into her wrists. The one around her body dug into her ribs and limited her ability to breathe. But the most painful was the thong that cut into the corners of her mouth where it passed over the rag. She was afraid to swallow. She might draw the rag deep into her throat and choke on it.

  CHAPTER 43

  * * *

  Will reached Lodgepole Creek opposite the Cheyenne village in the late-afternoon sun. His clothes were almost dry. He’d been soaked by an unusual early-morning rainstorm that had pelted the Laramie Range. As a result, the creek flowed swifter than the last time he’d been here. He urged Buck into the strong current. The water rose to the horse’s chest. Will swung his feet to the side to keep his boots out of the water.

  He rode slowly through the outer ring of tepees. The camp’s dogs growled and yapped. Buck pranced to fend off the nipping dogs. Will faced straight ahead. His eyes shifted from side to side to check out the gathering crowd. The Cheyenne hemmed him into a narrow passageway, forcing him toward the central circle.

  Will reined in at the circle’s outer edge. Opposite him stood Chief Tall Bear. Will raised his hand in the peace sign. Lone Eagle stepped up beside his grandfather.

  Will inhaled deeply, squeezed his fists tightly, then exhaled to calm himself. He hoped not to convey his nervousness. He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “I,” he said. He next pointed to the chief. “Bring you.” Then he placed two fingers of his right hand astride the imaginary horse formed by his left. “Horse.”

  The chief held up a hand and waved his palm back and forth. “Stop,” he said in English. He continued speaking to Lone Eagle in Cheyenne. Lone Eagle translated. “Chief says you cannot give him the horse. The Irishman already gave him the horse. You stole it.”

  “Paddy O’Hannigan and your braves stole the horse from me!” Will hadn’t meant to speak so angrily—his temper got the better of him.

  The chief folded his arms across his chest and stared at Will.

  “I return horse,” Will said, “in exchange for Jenny McNabb. She is your captive.”

  Lone Eagle translated for his chief. “Chief says there is no Jenny McNabb here.”

  “Jenny’s father told me their wagon was attacked by Cheyenne.” Will pointed to Black Wolf. “That brave wears the scalp of Percy Robillard on his belt. Percy was with the McNabb wagon when Jenny was kidnapped.”

  Through Lone Eagle, Chief Tall Bear spoke. “Scalp could be anyone’s. Why do you think it belongs to someone you call Percy?”

  “The scalp has red hair. Percy Robillard had red hair.”

  Lone Eagle translated again. “Chief says many white men have red hair. This does not prove Cheyenne attacked the wagon.”

  “I have more proof,” Will said. “When
I was here two days ago I saw a Cheyenne girl wearing high-button shoes. They are Jenny McNabb’s shoes. She was wearing them when your braves brought her here.”

  The chief spoke through Lone Eagle once more. “Chief says many white women wear these shoes. This does not prove anything.”

  “I recognized those shoes,” Will said. “I have seen Jenny wearing them.”

  Lone Eagle again conversed with the chief. “Chief says high-button shoes are all alike. Could be any white woman’s shoes.”

  Will had exhausted his line of reasoning. He couldn’t think of any other way to convince the chief he knew Jenny was in the camp.

  Chief Tall Bear spoke to two braves standing next to Black Wolf. They crossed the circle. One of them grasped Buck’s reins and the other pulled Will off the horse. They led Buck away.

  The chief spoke to Lone Eagle, turned and left. The crowd dispersed. Only Lone Eagle and the snarling dogs remained facing Will.

  “Chief says you have a long walk again. You are lucky you are not dead. Chief still thinks you are a brave fellow. Not wise . . . just brave.” Lone Eagle spread his hands open before him. “You come empty-handed. No saddle. No saddlebags. No food. No water. No gun. Come, chief says to feed you again. Then you can rest before you have to walk tomorrow.”

  Will slumped. He’d failed. Not only had he not rescued Jenny, he’d lost Buck again.

  The cottonwood and willow trees along Lodgepole Creek faded from green to gray. Then the grays dimmed into shadowy blacks. Only a matter of minutes passed after the sun disappeared behind the Laramie Range until night engulfed the camp.

  Will stared into the fire. A log snapped. The flames blazed up momentarily, then the burning pile settled to fill the void created by the explosion of a knot in the log. Red and gold sparks flitted fitfully into the air.

  Will and Lone Eagle sat beside one another. “Lone Eagle,” Will said. “The cavalry patrol that rescued the McNabb family and took them to Fort Sanders found signs at the site of the burned wagon that identified the raiders as Cheyenne.”