by Ron Schwab
By the time Ethan and Jeb had their horses separated out and in the stables, the trading was completed, and Badger Claw and Antelope, with their new Cheyenne friends, joined them at the corral to take their own horses. As the Cheyenne readied to ride out, Ethan noted that Skye's customers were departing with blankets and coats and other remnants of clothing salvaged from the renegades. Evidently, Skye had thrown in some boots, and he was glad to see they were going away with some items that would help them through the winter that was on the verge of arrival.
After the Cheyenne and their new friends left, the two men returned to the post, where they found Skye and She-Bear, with Running Fox's help, sorting through the bounty and arranging the pelts by type and quality. He noticed that another buffalo robe had joined their other, and it appeared Jeb and She-Bear had an extra robe. He began retrieving the hidden rifles and ammunition and consoled himself that the Cheyenne did not make off with much that would be useful in a battle with the army. Hopefully, the anticipated war was the product of someone's imagination anyway
Running Fox napped on top of his robe with a new deerskin tugged over his shoulders, and Ethan allowed himself a break in front of the spitting and crackling fire. He decided that the day had gone well. The main objective had been to cut the horse herd down to size, so they could take proper care of the animals. That had been accomplished, and Skye had turned the process into a capitalistic venture resulting in some merchandise with serious market value. He saw no sign of snow, and the sun had creeped out from under the smoky-looking cloud cover, so it appeared they would be underway in the morning. With their lightened load, they could make the trip back down the Powder Trail in good time.
He started at the sound of gunfire outside before he remembered that Jeb and the two women were commencing the lessons. Jeb had suggested She-Bear might have some tips for handling the rifle, and Ethan suspected Jeb wanted to evaluate her skills and decide whether he might issue a challenge for a match. Since She-Bear could shoot as well as anyone Ethan had ever seen, male or female, he doubted that such a challenge would ever be made. It might take time, but Ethan had a hunch he would not be challenging Skye to any shooting matches either.
34
Ethan crawled out from under the new buffalo robe early the next morning, his muscles and bones less sore because of the new robe that Skye had spread out beneath them to cushion the hard floor. He tossed a few logs on the fire and warmed his britches in front of the dancing flames before slipping them on and heading outside to take his first look at the day. When he opened the door, he was surprised to be greeted by a good foot of snow, which sent him back for his boots and sheepskin coat. Damn, the snow was still falling like goose down from the sky. They would not be saddling up and pulling out today. The big question was how soon?
After a breakfast of biscuits and venison strips, Running Fox, Ethan, and Skye trudged through the snow, leading the horses to the half-frozen stream to drink. Jeb and She-Bear headed into the woods to ferret out grazing spots that had not been covered by the snow or where the white cover could be easily brushed away. Ethan sent Running Fox to find a few solid sticks with which to break away the thin layers of ice that lined the stream's banks, while he and Skye held the horses, and he attempted to shatter the glaze with his boot heels.
"Puma, help me," the boy called, his voice choked with sobs.
Ethan and Skye both turned and stepped back from the stream bank. One Ball McLarty. He stood some fifty feet away, his left arm locked around Running Fox's neck, a blood-soaked rag covering his injured hand. His right hand gripped his favored Colt Peacemaker, with the barrel pressed to the boy's head. His shirt and fur hat were caked with snow crust, and icicles clung to his beard like a creature risen from the frozen earth.
Ethan chastised himself as a fool. How could he have let down his guard this way? He should have known that a man like McLarty was close to indestructible in these mountains. And who else would have the patience to wait nearby for his opportunity? The man was devoid of conscience. He would kill the boy in an instant if it suited him.
"It's time to deal, Ramsey," McLarty yelled in a raspy voice that betrayed his weakness. "Listen close now. I want two horses, saddled and ready to ride, brought to me right here. I expect to see some grub in the saddlebags, and bring me a decent coat while you're at it. I ain't got nothing to lose, so you don't do what I say . . . I blow the papoose's brains out."
Two horses. The son of a bitch didn't intend to ride out alone. That could not be allowed to happen. It would be a death sentence for the boy. For now, he would delay and wait for an opportunity to make a move. "Skye and I will get everything you need. Just don't hurt the boy."
"Nope, your half-breed whore ain't going no place. She's going to walk over here careful-like and trade places with the papoose. We'll stay right here till you bring the horses and supplies. And one more thing. I want a pair of saddlebags stuffed with them gold coins you and the half-breed found."
Ethan tossed a look at Skye, whose lips were set firm and whose dark eyes glared challengingly at McLarty. She handed him the reins of the two horses she had been leading and began to walk deliberately toward the mountain man.
When she reached him, McLarty released Running Fox and latched his fingers in her long hair in the same instant. He twisted her hair and yanked her near, pressing the Peacemaker barrel against her temple. "Now, get about your business," McLarty commanded. "You do what your told, the squaw will be alive when you get back."
Running Fox took the reins of Skye's horses, but his tear-filled eyes were fixed fearfully on Skye. When Ethan and the boy returned to the stable, he told Running Fox to find Jeb and She-Bear and tell them what happened and send Jeb to the stable. The boy and She-Bear should get some supplies together, the biggest coat they could scare up, a few robes and, of course, the saddle bags with gold. Ethan would bring the horses up to the trading post to pack. He decided that, to appear cooperative, he should provide a packhorse for most of the gear, but he did not intend to allow any of the animals or people to leave the trading post grounds.
Jeb showed up about the time Ethan finished saddling Razorback and a husky, sorrel gelding, which he suspected might have been Captain Quint's mount. The former soldier's dark eyes searched his own.
"The old bastard's immortal. You can't kill him," Jeb said.
"He can be killed, and the sooner, the better."
"What're we going to do boss? Do you think he'd really pull out in this snow?"
"The snow's letting up some. These early snows high up tend to hit quick and disappear for a spell before they settle in for the winter. I think he's got that figured out. That means we need to beat the hell out, too, if we don't want to spend the winter up here. Anyway, we're going to get the horses packed up. Then we'll tell Running Fox he's got to stay inside till we say he can come out."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I think you've got to stay back for now. If they leave on the horses, Skye will be separated from him. You and She-Bear be ready to take him down with your rifles. The problem is we don't know where he'll head. He's not going to take the trail we came in on. It would be too easy to follow him. He'll probably disappear into the woods as soon as he can, and then it will be hell to catch up. I'm hoping to get an opening before they get to that point."
"Boss, the man's a lunatic. And you can't trust anything he says."
"I know. And that's the reason I can't let Skye leave with him. I'll never see her alive if they ride out of here together."
35
Skye's head was locked tightly against McLarty's chest, as his arm gripped her neck to him like a vice. The blood from his mutilated hand dripped on her neck. He remained unbelievably strong, but he was breathing heavily, and his rancid breath struck her face like blasts from a bellows. Of course, it had never been Running Fox he wanted. He was no doubt determined to make her pay for the damage she had inflicted, and she shuddered to think of her fate if he escaped with her as his
hostage.
She tried to work the buttons of her bulky coat free, hoping she might inch her fingers into a gap and free her pistol. There was no way she could aim the pistol at a vital organ cinched against him like she was, but a foot or a knee was possible. It evidently had not occurred to McLarty that she might be armed. That fact wasn't helping her now, but, if she didn't panic, she might have her chance, and she vowed she would not hesitate to grab it. She remembered Jeb's words about handling a firearm. "Be patient, be calm, be ready."
What worried her most was Ethan. She knew he would comply with McLarty's instructions. He was doubtless formulating a plan, but the wily McLarty would know he dared not depart with Ethan alive. Ethan had been an Army Chief of Scouts, and he was no amateur as a tracker. He would follow and eventually catch up to them at some moment when the odds had changed. No, McLarty had to deal with Ethan now.
It seemed like they waited for hours in place, McLarty's body stiff and tense, his arm never relaxing its grip on her neck, his head turning repeatedly like a bird dog sniffing out game. And then Ethan appeared over the ridge on which the building site was situated. He was leading Razorback and Quint's sorrel with a packhorse trailing behind. As he approached, she willed him to stop. And he did, some twenty yards away.
"Bring me the horses, Ramsey."
"Turn her loose first."
"Don't be an ass, Ramsey. Why do you think I wanted two saddled horses?"
"I figured you wanted a switcher."
"You're not that dumb. Now bring me the horses. If you don't, I'd just as well put a bullet in her brain and be done with the whore. It would be her due for what she done to me." She could feel the cold iron of the Peacemaker barrel pressing more firmly against her temple, and she closed her eyes waiting for the blast that would send her into oblivion. "Now, bring me the horses, and then open the saddle bags, so I can see the gold."
Ethan approached slowly, and Skye knew he was thinking, searching for the right moment. She decided that when Ethan handed the reins to McLarty they would have their moment. McLarty would have to take the reins with the gun in his hand or he would have to release her. She would go limp if he did not let her loose, and her dead weight would throw the mountain man off balance, and Ethan could make a move. He was not a gunfighter, but he was quick as lightening in his reactions. He would do something. If he did release her, she would have her own pistol in hand in seconds.
As Ethan came within nearly ten feet of McLarty and Skye, McLarty croaked, "Stop right there."
Ethan obeyed.
"Open the saddle bags on the pack horse. Show me the gold."
Ethan said, "I can't do that and hold the reins of the others. You'll have to take them."
McLarty turned the Peacemaker away from Skye and pointed it at Ethan and squeezed the trigger twice. Deafening thunder roared in Skye's ears, and she was frozen with horror for a moment as she saw Ethan sink to his knees, scarlet trickling through two holes in his coat. McLarty threw her on the ground and holstered his pistol as he moved to grab the horses' reins. "Stay put, bitch, or you'll get the same."
As she tumbled to the ground cushioned by the thick blanket of snow, she released one more button of her coat and slipped her hand through the opening and pulled the pistol from its holster. She saw that McLarty was struggling with the frightened horses, trying to calm them as he tried to get to the saddlebags on the pack horse, momentarily obsessed with his potential riches. She clambered up and put her weight on one knee, raised her crippled left arm, and rested the pistol in the crook. She took her time, taking a deep breath and putting everything out of her mind but the target. The pistol held steady, and she squeezed the trigger, flinching at the gun's kick and crack. She did not see the wound between McLarty's shoulder blades, but she saw him topple backwards, landing face up on the white ground.
She got up and rushed first to McLarty. He was still alive, staring up at her in disbelief. She placed another shot between his eyes for good measure. Her task completed, she whirled and moved Ethan who lay crumpled in the snow. She thought, at first he was dead, and she found herself engulfed by unquenchable sorrow and emptiness. But, then, he coughed.
36
Jeb and She-Bear eased an unconscious Ethan onto the buffalo robe Skye had spread out in front of the fireplace. Jeb and She-Bear had rushed to the gunfire and had arrived at the scene of the shooting just as Skye fired her second shot. She-Bear and Skye had removed Ethan's coat and found three wounds, one in the right rib area where a bullet had appeared to enter his side. They surmised that the second wound, located in the lower back, was caused by the exit furrowed by the bullet from the first. The other had torn a gaping hole in his chest and had been pumping blood that portended a dire end. The two women had temporarily staunched the bleeding before Jeb, with She-Bear's help, carried him to the trading post.
Knowing She-Bear had unusual skills in tribal medicine, especially for one so young, Skye deferred to her judgment in treatment of the wounds. Jeb had been a battle-hardened soldier, and when he knelt beside Ethan, the grim look on his face conveyed his pessimistic outlook.
Jeb got up and said, "I'll gather up the horses and leave Ethan's care to the two of you." He turned to Running Fox, who stood, seemingly frozen in place, near Ethan, looking on in horror. "Fox, you come help me with the horses. It won't take long if you'll help."
"Me no want to leave Puma," he said with a tremor in his voice.
"Right now, we all need to help. This is how you can help."
Jeb headed toward the door, and the boy followed, his reluctance obvious.
She-Bear had placed a small kettle of water on the fire and instructed Skye to cut away Ethan's shirt and then to find the cleanest fabric she could from any source and slice it or rip it into strips.
The fabric was no problem with the clothing they had salvaged from the renegades. Clean cloth was a challenge, though, and Skye had to make do with the least dirty. When she carried an armload of the crude bandages to She-Bear, she found her friend busy washing the area around the wounds.
She-Bear said, "The bleeding has slowed from the rib wounds. They do not seem serious . . . unless they putrefy . . . and that can happen with the slightest wound. I have some dried herbs we can boil and make us a paste much like the one I put on your face. We will apply it to your wounds again, also, although they seem to be healing nicely."
Skye had almost forgotten her own injuries, and she ran her fingers over the scabbed lesions that marked her cheek. She must be uglier than a wild pig, she thought, with the bruised eye and the scarred face. It was amazing Ethan would even look at her, let alone share her robe. What was she thinking of? What did it matter? He could send her away if he wished. She just wanted him to live. Regrets poured over her now, realizing that her dreams of just a few hours previous were fragile, as all dreams are, subject to the whims of fate. If she had only not pushed him away before she returned to Lame Buffalo's village, none of this would have happened. She would have married him, and they would now be living in peace on his ranch. Her people would not have been so needlessly slaughtered. It was strange how the seemingly insignificant decision of one person could innocently trigger a chain of events that would affect the lives of many. She supposed this happened to every person, perhaps, even daily. It was something one could think about too much.
"Sky-in-the-Morning?" It was She-Bear.
"I am sorry. I was thinking."
"Think about this. I do not know what to do about the chest wound. It is deep. I do not think I can remove the bullet. I am afraid I might do great harm if I try."
"He will die if we do not."
"Yes." She-Bear looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. "I am sorry to say this, but I fear he is near death. It is in the hands of the Great Spirit."
She-Bear's words angered her. "How can you say that? He is not going to die. He cannot do this to me. I will not allow it."
She-Bear got up. "I will prepare the poultice."
Skye sat
down on the robe beside Ethan and took his hand in hers. She studied his pale face, covered by the scraggly beginnings of a beard she was not fond of. She watched his chest rise and fall. His breathing was steady and did not seem labored. She told herself this was a good sign. She spoke softly in a near whisper. "You are not going to die on me, you son-of-a-bitch. You do not dare. I will make you regret it. Do you understand?"
Ethan moaned and his lips moved. She convinced herself he was affirming he understood.
Soon, She-Bear returned and poured some of the boiling water in a tin pan and began adding various powders until she produced a yellow paste. She moved to Skye and lowered herself to her knees and began coating her injured cheek with the hot poultice. Then she applied the concoction to a small area above the eye. "Now," she said, "I will put this on your warrior's wounds. I will need you to help me with the wrapping."
"He spoke to me, you know."
She-Bear looked at Skye doubtfully. "I did not hear him."
"He spoke softly. You had to be close to him. But he spoke."
"That is good."
Skye could tell that her friend did not believe her, but it didn't matter.
Later, Jeb and Running Fox returned. "How is he?" Jeb asked.
She-Bear shook her head doubtfully. "Sky-in-the-Morning says he spoke. His breathing is steady. He would survive the wounds near his ribs. I do not have the skill to remove the bullet from his chest. It is buried in a place I would not dare touch."
Running Fox stepped quietly over to his wounded friend and sat down next to Skye. "Me afraid," he said. "Puma like my father. Him good to me. Helps when mother die."
"Be brave, Fox. We will make him live."
Jeb said, "The snow has about stopped."
"That is good. Because we're leaving in the morning . . . at daylight. Can you make a travois?"