Return of the Coyote (The Coyote Saga Book 2)

by Ron Schwab

  "In his dream, my father saw a river, the flat water . . . the Platte, the white man calls it. On one side stood warriors of our village painted for war and armed for battle. On the other were the blue-coated yellowlegs. They, too, were prepared for war. My father raised his arm to signal his warriors to attack, when from among the yellowlegs appeared the Puma. He waded into the shallow flat water and crossed it to where our people waited. Standing before my father, he held out his arm and cut it with a knife. The blood flowed like milk from the tits of a nursing mare, so my father said. And then, as if from nowhere, my cousin, Sky-in-the- Morning, appeared beside the Puma. She took his knife and sliced her own arm and pressed her bleeding flesh to his, and their blood mixed. And when my father looked again across the river, the yellowlegs were turning their horses away from this place that had been chosen for battle. Then the Puma took my cousin's hand and led her to the water, and they walked away to follow his people. My father turned to the Brule and said, 'Return to your lodges; we shall fight the white man no more.'"

  The boy's eyes were wide, and for a moment he seemed distracted from his sorrow. "Me no see what this mean. Puma is good man. Yes?"

  "My father believed he could be trusted by our people. He also thought Sky-in-the-Morning and the Puma were meant to be together and to lead our people into the ways of the white man's world. The full meaning of such visions cannot always be known until time reveals them, and sometimes the truth is found in mysterious ways."

  Ethan decided to bring story time to a close. "We have work to do. It will be dusk soon." He moved toward the dry creek bed, and saw that the last of the bodies had been stacked, those of Good Heart and Little Hedgehog on the top row nearest to where Ethan and Running Fox stood. Otter had hurried further down the creek bank where Lame Buffalo and her mother and his other two wives had been placed. She spoke loudly to the assembled survivors in Sioux, and suddenly their voices filled the air with surprising strength in a song that seemed more of a collective wailing. He assumed it was a death song of some type. This went on for no more than five minutes when the singing abruptly stopped, and Otter issued what was obviously an instruction.

  Then the little band began throwing, pushing, and dropping the accumulated rocks onto the layered bodies until a mound of stone rose above the creek banks. Ethan helped Running Fox cover the place where his mother and brother lay. He thought the boy seemed to take some comfort in the labor of dealing with the task at hand, but he could not begin to imagine the depth of the wounds left by such violent loss. When they were finished, darkness was settling in, and Otter joined them as they headed back to the remains of the village. A few feeble campfires had been started and signaled the way.

  And then a sound shattered the stillness of the night that sent shivers down Ethan's spine. It was the long, mournful howl of a coyote from the low mountains above the village. And then another. And another. Others yipped and barked like dogs. There must be a large pack of them, he figured. But they picked a damn creepy time to show up.

  "They have returned," Otter remarked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "We have not heard coyotes for months. It is very unusual. There had always been coyotes in the mountains. They were a part of our lives. The coyote was my father's medicine animal, and it worried him. He said the coyotes left after his vision. That was when you and Sky-in the-Morning came for Bear Killer and took him back to the white man's village to find justice for the crime that was not his."

  Ethan did not know how to reply to this, so he said nothing for some time. Finally, when they arrived at the lodge poles that had formed Lame Buffalo's tipi, they stepped into the roofless shelter and sat down, Running Fox inching close to Ethan and pressing his skinny frame against his shoulder. Ethan spoke to Otter. "We have to do something about your people. I don't think they should stay here. What do you have to eat?"

  "I think a search of the village will turn up small amounts of dried venison. In the morning, we will begin to clean up the rubble, and the tipis should have some foods secreted away. There are roots of some plants in the forest that are still edible, and a few of the older boys may be able to kill a deer or two. We can feed the people for as long as a week, I would guess. Then it becomes a problem."

  He had been pondering the question of caring for the band while they labored at the burials that afternoon. Now he made his decision. "I want you to bring your people to my ranch."

  "You are not serious?"

  "I am. My ranch is in a valley east of Lockwood. You would usually move your village to lower ground for the winter. Your people would never survive here when the storms come, especially after this. There are many deer on my ranch, and I will supplement with beef. I think there are people in our town who would help."

  "Whites would help us?"

  "Some would. Not all. We can get you through the winter until you decide what to do. I know the army is pressing for the bands to go to the reservation. That might be best for some. Others, such as you, might make a place for yourself outside the reservation. Your language skills will be valuable. But whatever happens, you must survive the winter first."

  "But our hunters will come back to an empty village."

  "They will figure out what happened. And don't tell me they won't find you with the trail we leave behind. Hopefully, they will bring meat with them."

  "But we have no horses, and most of these people cannot walk that distance."

  "I will leave in the morning to arrange preparations. This Wyoming Territory is rough country. It will take me less than two days to get to Lockwood and a bit more than two to make the trip back with horses and supplies. A day to round up help and horses and make other arrangements. I'll be back in five days, six at the most."

  "Many will not like it, but they will come."

  "I'm sure you will see to that."

  "Me go with you," Running Fox said excitedly.

  "No, you must wait here," Ethan said firmly. "When I return, you will go with us."

  "Me will go now," the boy insisted.

  Ethan sighed, "No, you will slow me down and you should be with your people."

  Running Fox did not reply.

  That night, the three slept in the circle of the tipi. Otter had found a tattered buffalo robe and settled in on one side. Ethan fetched his bedroll from his horse and rolled it out on the other. When he finally drifted off into a restless sleep, Running Fox was burrowed in the blankets and curled up against his back, sleeping soundly.

  Early the next morning Ethan, astride Patch, rode out of the village, and so did Running Fox, perched behind Patch's saddle, his bony arms wrapped as far as they could reach around Ethan's waist and his fingers clutching his new friend's buckskin jacket.

  3

  After two days working his way down the rough, sometimes treacherous, trails of the well-named Rocky Mountains, as well as carrying some extra cargo, Patch was showing serious fatigue, Ethan noted. When they broke out of the forested slopes and onto the grassy foothills above Lockwood midmorning, Ethan decided he would swing by Fletcher's Livery, leave the gelding with Enos Fletcher, and rent two horses to complete the short journey out to the Lazy R. Enos was the master of rehabilitating tired horses, and Patch had earned a few days of Enos's tender care.

  Running Fox had been quiet and withdrawn during most of their journey down the mountain. The boy had annoyed Ethan slightly when he repeatedly asked, "How much long we be there?" But Ethan finally started answering "more than two hours" and figured out the boy had no concept of what that meant in terms of time and at least deferred his questions for longer periods. He was a hell of a worker. Ethan would grant the boy that. He scurried to do camp chores at night, looking to Patch's watering and staking the animal out on the best grass before gathering an armload of firewood. By sundown Running Fox was rolled up in his buffalo robe and sound asleep within reach of Ethan's own bedroll.

  As he reined Patch around the curve on the narrow, dusty wagon trail that merged into
Lockwood's main street, he caught sight of Enos Fletcher snoozing in the old rocking chair he kept in front of the livery stable. The grizzled livery owner did not awaken as they approached, and Ethan could hear him snoring. Tobacco drool clung precariously to the corner of his mouth. He guessed Enos was in his mid-seventies now and entitled to an early siesta.

  Reining his gelding to a halt five paces in front of the sleeping businessman, Ethan said in a soft voice, "Enos, I've got some paying business for you."

  Enos's head popped up, the tobacco paste dropping from his mouth, and his head swiveled from side to side in confusion before his eyes focused on Ethan. Then he grinned a half-toothless smile and lifted himself clumsily out of the chair, groaning and rubbing his lower back as he straightened up. "Well, if it ain't my favorite law wrangler," he said in a gravelly voice. "Ain't seen you for near a week. Didn't miss you none, but I sort of like my daily visit from Patch."

  "You like the money you get from looking after Patch, you old fart. I spend my days working to support Fletcher's Livery."

  "Worse causes, son, worse causes." He cocked his head to the side and looked past Ethan with a squinted eye. "And you brung a tadpole along. He's an extra two bits if you leave him for the day."

  Ethan dismounted and lifted Running Fox off the horse. "Running Fox, this is Enos Fletcher, distinguished proprietor of Fletcher's Livery. Enos, this is my young friend, Running Fox."

  Enos extended his rough hand, and Ethan nudged the Sioux boy to put his own hand out. Enos grasped the boy's hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

  "Welcome to Lockwood, young man."

  The boy looked at Ethan. "What is hands rub mean?"

  "That's how white eyes say they are happy to see you and welcome you. They call it a handshake."

  The boy shrugged. "Okay." He gave Enos a faint, tentative smile.

  "I'd like to have you put up Patch for a few days, Enos. And spoil him a bit. I'm going to call on some folks while I'm in town. I'll be back later to rent a few horses to ride out to the Lazy R. Joe's going to wonder if I'm ever going to be there to help out."

  "Got to tell you, Ethan, when you took on Joe Hollings, you won a blue ribbon for cowhands. He don't need you much. That cowpoke's a workin' fool . . . especially since that young lady he was gonna get hitched to took up with the young banker."

  "Yes, I'm lucky to have Joe looking after things. And I'm going to make it worth his while to stay on. But right now I've got more urgent things to take care of and I'd welcome your advice."

  "My advice, huh?" He looked at Ethan skeptically.

  "Yes, you know everybody in this town, and I need to talk to the right people . . . today."

  Ethan told Enos about the slaughter at the Sioux village and the abduction of Skye and the other young women. "And I need help to bring the survivors of the raid to my ranch and to look after them over the winter. I want you to tell me who might be friendly to what I'm doing."

  Enos reached into his tattered shirt pocket and pulled out a tobacco plug. He bit into it and gnawed off a chunk and then limped back to his rocking chair and plopped down. He seemed to be ruminating on Ethan's query and silently worked his jaw for a spell, before he spat out a string of gooey tobacco. "Well, Mr. Lawyer, I'd say if you bring a whole slew of Injuns to plant themselves on your ranch, you can look to be the least popular feller in Lockwood. Might as well shut up that weasel shop of yours. I'd say you'd have no more than a dozen folks who'd show up for this party your planning."

  "And who are the dozen?"

  "Start with Will Bridges. Go to the Quaker school. There's three ladies there . . . two of them have farmer husbands. Methodist preacher might help . . . but don't count on much of the flock. He might lean on a few folks. Josh Wilson at the general store and his woman would likely pitch in. Red Horse would help, even if he is Pawnee."

  "You're a little short of a dozen."

  "There'll be a few surprises. Oh hell, count me in. I'll loan you all the horses I can spare . . . and two wagons, if you can figure out how to get the damn things up there."

  The livery owner's offer caught Ethan off guard. Nobody in Lockwood squeezed a nickel tighter than Enos Fletcher. "I appreciate that, Enos. I really do. Now, I'd better go see Will."

  "The tadpole can stay here with me till you're done, if he wants. I could use some help lookin' after the horses."

  Ethan was doubtful. The boy had clung to him like a wood tick ever since they met up. He bent down and looked Running Fox in the eyes. "What do you say, Running Fox? Would you stay with Enos while I take care of some business around town?"

  "You come back?"

  "I'll come back as soon as I can."

  "Me like this old man. Me stay."

  Enos had worked some kind of magic on the boy, but Ethan couldn't figure out how or when it happened.

  4

  If there was any man Ethan could call best friend in Lockwood, it would be Sheriff Will Bridges. The white-haired, bushy-mustachioed lawman was a formidable presence with his burly physique and height that reached well above Ethan's six feet two. Ethan knew him to be a kind and gentle man, though, unless provoked. He was more a listener than a talker, but when he spoke, thought and common sense usually lay behind his words.

  Bridges leaned back in his wood swivel-chair, with his booted feet resting on his scratched and pocked desk, as Ethan explained the plight of Lame Buffalo's band of Sioux. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as Ethan spoke, his pale-blue eyes intense.

  "That's about it, Will. I've invited a band of Sioux to winter at the Lazy R. Enos thinks I'm bringing a lot of trouble to the county. But the ornery old coot's offered to help out."

  "Well, you might be bringing some trouble, but a lot of life brings one kind of trouble or another. It's how we deal with it that counts. Of course, you've taken on a bigger chunk of trouble than most. I do think Enos underestimated the number of folks that will pitch in to help. He's kind of a pessimistic old turd sometimes. No, a lot of folks won't like this a damn bit, but there's a healthy minority who will pitch in to make things happen."

  "I hope you're right. There's a lot of work to be done."

  "I know you want to hit the trail and find Skye, but if we're going to get these people here, you'll have to lead a party back to the village. The Indians would probably be reluctant to come down if you aren't there to reassure them. I'll get a deputy to ride up with you and ask Sarah if she can twist the preacher's arm and rally some Methodists to get some food supplies together for you to take along when you go back to the village. Maybe I can call out the volunteer firemen to come up with some kind of temporary shelters to put up at your place."

  "I'd really appreciate that, Will. I knew I could count on you, but I hate dropping all of this in your lap."

  "I suggest you talk to the Quakers. They know at least some of the younger people who have boarded at the school. Maybe they could help get arrangements worked out for care and feeding of these people after they get here."

  "I'll do that as soon as I leave here. Then I'll swing by the livery and pick up Running Fox and some horses and head out to the ranch and warn Joe of the storm that's coming."

  After he left the sheriff's office, Ethan walked briskly to the Pennock School, which was located on the outskirts of town. As he approached, he noted that the place didn't amount to much, essentially a cluster of whitewashed clapboard buildings that included what appeared to be a small school building and two, even smaller, dormitories lined up with three drab-looking cottages. He knew that beyond the houses, the several Quaker families owned small parcels of farm ground on which they raised fruit and vegetables to market directly to locals, as well as to the general store in exchange for beef and other foodstuffs when cash was in short supply.

  He didn't see any sign of activity in the compound, so he turned up the rocky path that led to the school. He was uncertain whether he should knock on the door but finally opted to simply ease it open. He stepped quietly into a single room that was furn
ished with a half dozen small tables each with a single, two-person bench behind. There were eight students, ranging from ages six to fourteen, he guessed, sitting at the benches. Two of these appeared to be young Sioux girls. He suspected that they and a few ranchers' kids slept in the dormitories.

  At the front of the room, next to her own desk, stood a young, flaxen-haired woman who could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old, he thought. Her drab, gray dress, with its high neck, could not hide her attractiveness. She looked at him with cobalt-blue eyes that seemed to ask what in blazes he was doing there.

  "Ma'am, I'm sorry to intrude. I didn't see anyone else about, and I'm on kind of an important errand."

  "Everyone else is out at the hay ground, trying to get the last cutting in before winter. Can I be of help?"

  "Well, I hope so. Could we step outside?"

  She hesitated, and then admonished the children to keep quiet and stick to their work, before she eased her way between the desks and joined him. They stepped outside and stood facing each other.

  "I'm Ethan Ramsey," he said. "I'm a lawyer here in Lockwood."

  "I know who you are, Mr. Ramsey. Skye dePaul told me about thee."

  "Nothing terrible, I hope."

  "Sorry, she spoke to me in confidence." She extended her hand and he took it, mildly surprised at her firm grip. "My name is Rachael Cooper. Skye and I shared a house when she taught here."

  He swore he saw traces of a smile on her stern face. He felt she was making a careful appraisal of his character, as he told her of his dilemma, and she was obviously distraught over Skye's abduction.