Return of the Coyote (The Coyote Saga Book 2)

by Ron Schwab

  "Yeah, but Boss is in no shape to travel."

  "Do you think he will be ready in two days . . . a week? Tell me."

  "I don't know, ma'am. I don't know."

  "You think he is going to die here, don't you?" She did not give him time to respond. "Well, start thinking differently. We are taking him to Dr. Henry Weintraub in Lockwood. I was supposed to die once, too." She lifted her damaged arm. "I ended up with this, but Ethan would not let me die. Now it is time for me to pay him back. Jeb, how long will it take us to get to Lockwood?"

  "I don't know, ma'am. It took us more than a week to get here, but we made some long stopovers. Depends on what the snow has done to the trails. We have the advantage of downhill most of the way. I think we could do it in five, if we're lucky."

  "Think three."

  Jeb rolled his eyes but remained silent. "I'd better get started on the travois." He turned and walked back outside.

  As nightfall cast its dark blanket over the mountains, Skye took a break from Ethan's side and tugged on her coat and the high-legginged moccasins she had taken from the dead Pawnee and walked out into the snow. She paced nervously in front of the trading post, from time to time kicking up puffs of powdery snow in frustration. The anemic wind that had come with the snow had died and left utter stillness behind, and the star-spangled sky signaled the storm had passed—for the moment anyway.

  Suddenly, she stopped, and a chill raced down her spine. She could have sworn she heard the mournful howl of a coyote in the distance. She froze in place and listened. It came again, clearly now, and was followed by excited barking from a pack. Did coyotes live this high up? It would more likely be wolves, she thought. She had spent only summers with Lame Buffalo's band, and a Cheyenne city girl did not develop the keen sense of sounds that most Sioux had. But she would swear the howl was a coyote's. The Sioux within her sought meaning in this moment. Then she panicked. Had Ethan died? She whirled and raced to the cabin and barged through the door, slamming it roughly behind her before she hurried quickly to his side. She slipped her hand under the robe and placed her fingers lightly on his chest, breathless as she waited for the rhythm of his breathing. Then she felt it, and tears trickled down her cheeks. He was alive. She poked another log into the fireplace, and then she removed her coat and moccasins and crawled under the thick robe to snuggle as close as she dared to the man she loved.

  37

  Skye had experienced brief moments of encouragement during her nearly sleepless night. Twice Ethan had awakened, tossing and groaning, and talking unintelligible nonsense about his cattle and his horse, Patch. But both times he had also repeated her name softly and tenderly, as though summoning her to his side. She had assured him she was there and taken his hand in hers, and he had quickly faded away. At the time she did not know if he was in a coma or only sleeping, but she knew he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

  This morning they had packed and saddled early. Jeb had constructed a sturdy travois with long lashed poles that were hitched to Patch's empty saddle and again by a pair of ropes that anchored around the gelding's powerful neck and shoulders. The travois bed was covered with stretched deer skins, and after they had placed Ethan on the contraption, they wrapped him like a mummy in one of the buffalo robes and tied him to the dragging stretcher to stabilize his body and to cushion him as much as possible from aggravation of his wounds as they bounced over the rugged, rocky terrain.

  They were taking a brief break now, having made the crossing to the east side of the Powder River. Maneuvering the travois above the water had been the biggest challenge, but Jeb had foreseen the problem and had cut chinks in the base of the stretcher and attached a rope to the ground end of the travois poles. He wrapped it around his own broad shoulders and hoisted the end as he mounted his own horse so that Ethan was suspended above the water as he followed Patch, led by Skye mounted on Razorback. Skye was quickly realizing that Jebediah Oaks was a man of exceptional skill and resourcefulness. He never said much, but when he spoke, it made sense to listen to what he had to say. He had insisted on the stop, so he and She-Bear could take a few old blankets and dry the legs and undersides of the horses before they moved on. "We've got to take care of the animals," he said. "We don't get out of these mountains without them."

  Jeb had suggested she focus on trying to get Ethan to take some water, and she was coaxing him now, with a feeling of hopelessness, carrying on a one-sided conversation with him as though he understood every word and was participating in the dialogue. She knew that he could survive the trip down the mountain without food, but water was another matter. Three or more days without water, especially with his blood loss, would make the journey to the surgeon in vain.

  "You listen to me, Ethan. You are going to drink this very slowly. There is no choice. You have to, and I am going to be very angry if you do not."

  She pressed the battered military canteen to his lips, thinking that her missing hand would be helpful at this moment. He mumbled something that she chose to believe was "yes, ma'am," and his dry lips sucked at the water, but he took it too fast and began to choke and cough. At least he showed signs of life. She had an idea and plucked an old kerchief she had pilfered from the renegades' things. She could not vouch for its cleanliness but decided that was the least of their worries right now, and she stuffed the end of the cloth in the canteen and, after drenching it, pressed it between Ethan's lips. He began sucking like a baby at his mother's breast. She repeated this numerous times before their departure and was satisfied he was taking in some water. It was a painstakingly slow process, and she worried whether he was getting enough.

  It seemed to Skye they were crawling like snails down the mountain trail, but several hours after sunset of the first day they reached the campsite where she and She-Bear had been held at the time of their escape. She was pleased to confirm that, indeed, the backtracking trip was moving nearly twice as fast as the climb. But not fast enough. It helped that the snow was turning to a light frosting on the ground as they moved away from the high country. She wanted to travel through the night, but Jeb took command.

  "You'll kill the horses, ma'am. We've got to give them time to graze and rest, and a warm fire would do us all good. I can make some biscuits, and She-Bear will get some venison strips roasting. You and Fox can tend to the boss. I don't think he's taking enough water."

  "I've got an idea, and if it works, Running Fox can probably be of more help with Ethan," Skye said.

  After unhitching the travois and carrying the Ethan-laden platform to the fire, the riders staked out the horses. Then Skye and Running Fox sat next to Ethan in the firelight, and Skye pulled her skinning knife from her belt and sliced off a small piece of doeskin that lapped over the travois pole. She trimmed it into a crude circular shape and punched a tiny hole in the center. Skye reached for the canteen and plucked a skinny leather thong from her pocket and began to tie the doeskin to the canteen opening.

  "Me see," Running Fox said. "Make mama's tit for Puma. Feed him like papoose."

  Skye noticed that the boy was grinning for the first time in several days, and she smiled back. "We'll try it now and see if it works. If it does, you can help give him water. He must have water."

  "Me want to help Puma."

  Skye scooted next to Ethan and instructed Running Fox to find some furs to stuff under Ethan's head, and when the boy returned, they raised Ethan's head enough to allow him to drink. Skye pressed the doeskin nipple between his lips, and he began to suckle eagerly. She nodded to Running Fox. "Can you hold this? You must be careful not to let the water go too fast into his mouth."

  "Me can do this."

  Skye watched as the boy carefully administered the water. His instincts were good, and he quickly had the knack for the job. And he seemed to be hugely pleased for the opportunity to help his friend.

  She loosened the ropes that bound Ethan to the travois to give him some freedom of movement in the unlikely event he needed it during the night and l
ater spread her robe on the ground next to him. She was a little surprised when Running Fox put his own robe down next to hers before he burrowed into it. She wondered if the boy was unknowingly trying to fashion a new family.

  38

  They were back on the Powder River Trail before sunrise, but after several hours on the trail an ominously dim light began to sift over the mountain tops. The dark clouds that blocked the sun's rays looked too much like those she had seen a few days back. She hoped the snow would stay higher up this time, too.

  She-Bear edged her gelding past Skye and Razorback and moved ahead on the trail. Instinctively, Skye knew this was not a whimsical move, and she heightened her alertness. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Running Fox was leading She-Bear's pack horses and that Jeb was signaling a halt. She reined in Razorback and dismounted and hurried to check on Ethan. Running Fox soon joined her with the nipple-topped canteen. He drank thirstily from the canteen, but when her fingers caressed his forehead, she found the flesh burning like a raging fire. She had expected this development but hoped they could keep the fever at bay for some time yet. Perhaps She-Bear would have something among her herbs that would help.

  Soon She-Bear returned, accompanied by a young mounted brave wearing buckskins, his braided hair adorned with two feathers. A wave of relief swept over her when she recognized the visitor. It was Bear Killer, a youth just short of seventeen years of age and the son of Lame Buffalo and brother of Otter. He also happened to be her cousin since her mother, Singing Lark, had been Lame Buffalo's sister.

  He was the reason she had met Ethan. She had retained Ethan to represent the boy after he escaped a lynching where two of his friends had been brutally hanged for the murders of a man and a woman. While she and Ethan had ferreted out the real killers, Skye incurred the broken bone that cost her part of her lower arm. Bear Killer had been on the hunt with the other braves and warriors when the renegades attacked the village.

  She rushed out to meet her cousin who raised his hand. "Greetings, my cousin," he said. "After many days of sadness, it lifts my heart to find you well." The young man, at his father's insistence, had lived four winters at the Quaker school, and Skye had taught him for two of those. He was a natural scholar and spoke English without an accent. Certainly his English was better than her Lakota.

  "I am happy to see you, Bear Killer. You were not expected."

  Two other young braves rode cautiously up behind Bear Killer. They were solemn-faced and obviously wary, and Skye recognized them as members of Lame Buffalo's band, although she could not recall their names. Bear Killer was a tall, sinewy, muscled young man, and his companions represented marked contrasts.

  Bear Killer nodded at a short, unusually pudgy brave for a Sioux. "This is my friend, Walking Turtle." Then gesturing to the skinny, taller rider, whose ribs were outlined on his torso, he said, "This is my friend, Hungry Wolf. When the coyote told me I must find you, my friends asked to join me on the quest."

  'The coyote?"

  "Yes, when the hunting party returned to the village to find our people gone, Badger Claw left with others to follow your trail. The younger braves and warriors sought the location of our tribesmen, to take them the small offerings from the hunt, and found the survivors at the Puma's ranch. Otter told me the story of the brutal slaughter that took place at our village and of the death of my father. Sleep would not come that night until I heard the coyote calling to his mate in the hills. It made me think of my father's vision on the night of the coyote and gave me peace. I returned to my robe and fell quickly to sleep. It was then that the coyote visited and spoke. He said the Puma was near death and that I should find you. He said the future of our band demanded that I find you both, for the strength of the two carries big medicine."

  "You have found me, and I am glad you and your friends have come. We need your help. The Puma is gravely wounded and, yes, near death. We must get him to Lockwood and the surgeon there as quickly as possible."

  Bear Killer turned toward his friends and spoke in Lakota. She understood the language of her mother's people well enough. Bear Killer was explaining that their help was needed and they were engaging in animated conversation about an alternate trail. Walking Turtle and Hungry Wolf turned their ponies and headed back down the Powder River Trail.

  "She-Bear has already told me of the urgency of your journey to the white medicine man. She said that the Puma is now your man. As you know, he is my friend, and I owe him my life. I will try to repay. There is another trail that will save many hours on your return to Lockwood. It is narrow and partially grown over, but my friends and I will ride ahead and clear the way to ease passage of the travois."

  "Thank you, cousin. We shall follow your trail."

  When she returned to Ethan's side, she found She-Bear pouring some powders into the canteen. "These will sometimes lower the fires," the tall woman said, re-tying the nipple to the canteen's mouth and handing it back to Running Fox, who pressed it between Ethan's lips.

  As they readied to move forward, huge flakes of snow began to fall from the sky.

  39

  After riding, and often walking, most of the previous night and all day, the party arrived in front of Dr. Henry Weintraub's office and hospital shortly after sundown. Skye hammered demandingly on the door until Weintraub appeared. At first his eyes widened, and the young Jewish physician seemed startled and perplexed by what might have looked like a Sioux war party outside his office. Then he recognized Skye.

  "Miss dePaul?"

  "Yes, Doctor. It's Ethan . . . he's been shot. Over three days ago now. You've got to save him."

  Weintraub sprang into action. The tall, gangly physician called back into his office, which was a part of a large two-story home where he and his wife, Ruth, resided and also maintained a three-bed hospital. "Ruth, would you prepare the surgery? We have a badly wounded man out here."

  Then Weintraub gently moved Skye aside and rushed out onto the snow-frosted street and knelt by the travois. "Untie the robe," he said to no one in particular. Jeb began uncinching the bonds while the physician felt Ethan's forehead and probed his neck for a pulse. The robe pulled back, he traced his fingers down Ethan's chest and torso. Skye watched closely, and the grim set of Weintraub's face confirmed what she already knew.

  "Get this contraption into the house," Weintraub said, "and follow me to my surgery."

  "Go ahead, Doctor," Skye said, "I know the way."

  "Yes, I guess you would. I'll get everything prepared."

  Jeb and Bear Killer, with the help of Walking Turtle and Hungry Wolf on the sides, maneuvered the travois into the physician's surgery where under Weintraub's supervision they gently lifted Ethan upon a long, sheet-covered table. Dr. Weintraub and his assistant, who happened to be his obviously pregnant wife, Ruth, started removing Ethan's clothes as Skye began to follow Jeb and the young Sioux braves from the room.

  "I will return in a few moments," Skye told the physician.

  "You had better find a chair in the waiting room. This will take a while."

  "I am sorry, Doctor. I must be here. We are stronger together."

  Weintraub tossed her a quizzical look and evidently decided he didn't have time for a losing argument. "Well, you can't wear those filthy rags in here. There are some surgical gowns in the closet just outside the door. Use one, and while you're out there put a few more logs on the fire."

  When she went into the waiting room, she found Running Fox sitting on a straight-back chair. "Me stay?"

  She thought a moment. "Yes, but you must wait here. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. Me stay here."

  She spoke briefly to Jeb. "I am sure you and She-Bear can leave the horses at Enos Fletcher's and rent some others. Tell him that the Lazy R will take care of the bill. Could you secure the furs and gold at Ethan's house? You and She-Bear can stay there for now."

  "Ma'am, I don't know. Are you sure the boss would be okay with that?"

  "Absolutely. Somebody needs
to be there to protect the gold."

  "Ma'am, there's something else you need to know about."

  "What is that?"

  "When we were coming down that mountain, Bear Killer told me something that's a personal worry to me and going to be a concern to all of us. He said all Sioux have been ordered to the reservation up in South Dakota by January 31, 1877. Any that don't show up will be arrested and taken there by the army. Mostly they want the Indians out of the Black Hills, but they're concerned about trouble they think Sitting Bull and his friends are stirring up in north Wyoming and southern Montana."

  "That is probably where Badger Claw and his Cheyenne friends were going."

  "I'd say that's likely."

  "We have something over three months. I will think about this. But right this moment there is something more important on my mind."

  After giving Running Fox a hug in the waiting room, Skye found a hospital gown and stripped off her filthy trail clothes, becoming aware for the first time how much she stank and needed a good bath. She was surprised that Ethan had been willing to share a robe with her. Of course, she guessed he didn't smell like a bouquet of roses, either, but she had not noticed.

  She quietly entered the surgery. Dr. Weintraub was bent over Ethan, who had a cloth tossed over his lower extremities and private areas but was otherwise naked. She was instantly struck by the sight of his body's ghostly paleness. The physician was cleaning and examining the wounds.

  "You did well with the rib wounds," he commented. "I'll do some flushing, but I won't suture. It's best to bandage and let it drain. The chest hole is another matter. Frankly, I don't see how he's lived this long. I just don't know how much good I can do. I want you to be prepared for the worst."

  "He is not going to die. He is not allowed to do this to me." She saw the physician look doubtfully at his wife and shrug.