Bitterroot

by Charles G. West

  Chapter XX

  It had been a little more than a week since Little Wolf had passed through this way, when he and Squint were on their way to help Tom Allred. Yet, in that short time, the lower basins seemed to have plunged headlong into spring. This was a time of season that Little Wolf had always appreciated, a time of year when the earth renewed herself. He had been taught, as all Cheyenne and Arapaho boys were taught, to honor and respect the earth. His father, Spotted Pony, had instilled in his adopted son his own love for the mountains, rivers, and plains that provided the Indian with all his needs. And spring was a time of new beginning.

  On this day, however, Little Wolf’s mind dwelt on other, more troublesome matters as he guided his horse up from the river bottom toward a high mountain pass. It troubled him a great deal that he had not been able to take Squint’s body back to his valley and bury him there. But he felt sure that Squint would have approved of what he did. It was the only thing he could think of to make it look like Tom was dead. As far as Sheriff Crutchfield was concerned, the huge body he quickly put in the ground was that of the bounty hunter, Cobb. And Tom Allred lay dead at the bottom of a gully.

  Little Wolf looked back at the injured man barely able to remain upright in the saddle. Little Wolf fretted over the situation. This was no good. Tom was in no condition to continue the journey. He was going to have to stop and let Tom rest in spite of the urgency he felt to return to his valley. Finally, when Tom almost fell off his horse, Little Wolf started looking for a suitable place to make camp and let his brother rest.

  * * *

  Tom opened his eyes. He had been asleep for quite a while, and now, as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight that filtered down across his bedroll, he looked around to see what world he had awakened to. During the past several days, he had teetered on the edge of consciousness, drifting back and forth in a dreamlike state, never fully aware of his surroundings or what might be happening. Awake now for the first time without the intense pain and nausea, he strained to remember the events that led him to this place.

  He remembered being helped on his horse by Little Wolf, and he remembered his determination to ride. But, once in the saddle, everything seemed to fade from his mind and, for a time, he no longer cared whether he lived or died. Now at least he was encouraged that he was going to recover from the terrible beating he had suffered at the hands of Cobb. He unconsciously lifted his hand to touch the wounds on his head. This simple motion caused him to recoil from the sharp stab of pain that coursed through the length of his arm. He had forgotten about his broken arm. Slowly and carefully, he lowered the injured arm. He examined the splint Little Wolf had fashioned. It was a commendable job—a doctor could not have bound him up any better. This prompted him to wonder where Little Wolf was, for he realized that he was alone by the campfire.

  “So, you have decided to return to the world of the living after all.”

  He had not heard his brother approach, an occurrence that he would soon learn was not unusual, and the sudden sound of his voice startled him. “Yeah, I guess I have at that,” Tom answered, “but I don’t feel like I’m ready to wrassle a grizzly anytime soon.”

  “I reckon you’ll be ready to eat something now,” Little Wolf said. “I snared a rabbit.” He held it up to show Tom. “Pretty fat for this time of year, too.” He knelt down in front of his brother. “Can you eat? Your jaw still looks kinda stove up. Maybe I better make it into some soup.”

  “No,” Tom was quick to respond, “I think I can chew all right.” He put a hand up to his chin and felt it. “Although that crazy son of a bitch loosened a couple of teeth for me.”

  “Good. I don’t know how to make soup anyway.” He took out his knife and set about skinning and gutting the rabbit. That done, he fashioned a spit from a willow switch and set the rabbit over the fire to cook.

  Neither man spoke for a long while as they seemed occupied with the cooking rabbit. When it was done, Little Wolf pulled it from the flame and tested it. Deciding that it was cooked enough, he took his knife and cut the rabbit into two equal portions, and they ate their supper. When the last of the rabbit was gone and the bones sucked clean, Little Wolf sat back against a tree to contemplate the situation.

  The two brothers studied each other for the first time. Both men found the awkwardness hard to ignore, and words were slow in coming. In fact, neither man spoke for some time, their thoughts linked by a mutual compulsion to know the other’s mind. To Tom, this encounter was like a dream, this face-to-face confrontation with this most feared and notorious renegade. The man before him, gazing intently into his eyes, did not look to be the savage and cruel Cheyenne leader that the army had claimed. Could it be true? Could this man really be his brother? He studied Little Wolf’s face. There was, he had to admit, a slight resemblance in the nose and mouth. But that could also be a coincidence. Little Wolf was the first to break the silence.

  “So you are my brother Tom.”

  “That’s what they tell me.” Another long pause followed while the two continued to look each other over, then Tom said, “I don’t reckon you liked it any more than I did when you found out.”

  Little Wolf smiled. “No, my brother. I wanted to kill you and hang your scalp on my lance. You and your soldiers killed many of my people.”

  Tom was quick to counter. “You and your Cheyenne warriors killed right many of my friends. There was blame on both sides.”

  “Maybe. But the soldiers had no business in this land. It has belonged to the people since the land was here. We did not start this war.”

  Tom became defensive. “Goddammit! I didn’t start it either. I was a soldier. I went where they told me to!” They glared at each other for a moment before his eyes softened and he confessed, “You’re right, though, we had no business pushing the Indians onto the reservations. Hell, I saw a lot of things I didn’t like, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.”

  The tension of the moment eased, and the smile returned to Little Wolf’s face. “Let us forget the fighting. It is behind us.” He leaned back as if to take a longer look at Tom. “Now I must see if you were worth saving. Your rescue cost a terrible price. Squint Peterson was the best white man I have ever known. If it were not for him, I’m not sure I would have come. He must have some reason for thinking your hide was worth saving.”

  Tom started to rankle, but saw the glint of mischief in his brother’s eye and realized he was being teased. “Well, I think he figured you needed the guidance of an older brother.”

  Little Wolf’s face was expressionless for a moment. Then he suddenly laughed. “Squint tried to be my older brother ever since we met. Now Squint is gone and you are the cause of it. So you will have to take his place.”

  Though it was plain that Little Wolf’s remark was not meant to lay blame on his brother for Squint’s death, Tom found his words to have a sobering effect. “I’d give anything to bring him back,” he said softly.

  Little Wolf sought to console him. “There is no need to blame yourself for Squint’s death. He chose the path he walked. I think he knew that he might not return to the Bitterroots. When I started to help him kill the bounty hunter, he asked me not to interfere. I understood why he did it. Squint was a mighty warrior, but he felt the years coming on him. His eyesight was failing week by week, and I know that he could not tolerate the thought of ending his life sitting around waiting for someone to take care of him. It is best this way. He was proud to end his life dying as a warrior dies. And, my brother, he would be happy to know that his death gave you new life.”

  Tom studied his brother’s face for a long moment. “I appreciate what you’re offering, and I might take you up on it for a while till I get back on my feet. But I don’t want to bring any trouble down on you.”

  Little Wolf understood what he meant. “If you are worried that the soldiers will come looking for you, you worry for nothing. That fat sheriff in Bozeman will tell them that you are dead, your body lying in the bottom of a
ravine in the mountains. He was so anxious to get those bodies in the ground, he didn’t take time to look at them real close. The army will forget about you. We will go back into the Bitterroots and breed horses. Maybe I will give you an Indian name. What do you think?”

  Tom laughed. “I don’t know about that. But I do know a thing or two about horses.”

  “Good. Now that you look like you can stay on a horse again, we’ll break camp and go home.” He paused for a moment, and with a twinkle in his eye, said, “There is someone who waits for you there.”

  * * *

  “Dammit! Now what?” Aaron Crutchfield looked up from his plate of fried eggs over fried potatoes that he had just started working on. It seemed to him that the only time anything happened in his town was when he was trying to eat breakfast.

  “There’s a whole bunch of soldiers down at the jail looking for you.”

  Aaron’s chewing stopped for a moment, and he fixed his young deputy with a cold eye. “What do they want?”

  “They want to know about Tom Allred was what they said.”

  “Tom Allred? Goddammit! I’m sick of hearing about Tom Allred! I sent my report to the army. I’ve done told them all I know about it!”

  “What you want me to tell ’em?”

  “Tell ’em to go to hell!” When his deputy started to turn around and head for the door, he stopped him. “Tell ’em I’ll be down there in a minute, as soon as I finish some business here.” He turned his attention back to his breakfast.

  * * *

  “Sheriff Crutchfield? I’m Captain Walsh. Did your deputy tell you I’m looking for information on the fugitive, Thomas Allred?”

  “He did.”

  “According to your correspondence on the matter, you say the body was never recovered. Is that still the case? Have you been able to find the body yet?”

  “It ain’t a question of finding the body. We found the body, what was left of it anyway, after the wolves and coyotes got done with it. There wasn’t much to see. We just throwed some dirt over the bones and left it at the bottom of a ravine.”

  “Are you sure the body was Allred?”

  Crutchfield was losing his patience. “Well, who the hell else would it be? We buried everybody else that was in that little set-to on the Utah trail. Hell, the handcuffs was still on his wrists. I’m satisfied it was Allred.”

  Captain Walsh studied the sheriff’s face for a moment as if evaluating this information. Finally he shrugged and said, “I guess there’s been about as much confirmation as we can get.” He thanked Crutchfield for his help and ordered his men to mount up. “I’m recommending we close this case,” he informed the sheriff as he wheeled his horse and prepared to leave.

  * * *

  Far away from Aaron Crutchfield and Bozeman, in a gentle valley painted green with the lush grass of early summer, a simple Indian ceremony took place. It was performed by an old Nez Perce with a handful of friends, as well as God and the towering mountains, as witnesses. This ancient ritual signified a new beginning for the man and woman standing together to declare their love for each other. It was a simple ceremony, but it was sacred to those who came to celebrate with Tom and Ruby. When it was over, he kissed her softly on the lips, as if she was a precious thing.

  “I guess this will have to hold you till we can get a parson to do the real job,” he whispered.

  She smiled. “I don’t need a parson to make me know I’m your wife.”

  “How do you like your new name, Missus Peterson?”

  “I reckon one name’s as good as another, as long as the ‘Missus’ is in front of it.” Her smile faded momentarily. “I know how much Squint Peterson meant to you. And, if it’s best for us to take on a different name, then I can’t think of a better one to use.”

  He stood there looking at her for a moment before confessing, “I swear, I really love you, Ruby. I just never dreamed we would ever be married.”

  “Hell, Tom Allred, I knew I was gonna marry you when you first set foot in Ruby’s Choice.”

  Their blissful moment was interrupted by his brother, Robert. “Enough of this silly chatter. Come, brother, we have horses to tend to.” His broad smile betrayed the intent of his remark.

  “Do not tease, Little Wolf,” Rain Song scolded.

  Tom laughed. “To hell with those horses. I’m on my honeymoon.”

  CHARLES G. WEST is the author of the western adventures Stone Hand, Black Eagle, and Wind River. He lives in North Port, Florida.