Range War in Whiskey Hill

by Charles G. West

  Two Cheyenne women greeted him cordially as they passed him on their way back to the lodges with water skins. He smiled and nodded in return. During his short stay in the camp he had picked up a few words of Cheyenne, but not enough to really communicate. He was thankful that Walking Woman knew more English words than he had learned in her language. The two words that he heard most often from her were “too soon.” Knowing that he could not afford to linger long in the care of the old woman, he pushed himself to get back on his feet. She would wrinkle her brow in a deep frown, and scold, “Too soon, too soon.” Picturing her now, as he stood watching his horse drink, he couldn’t help but smile. He owed the old woman a lot, and he was sorry that he had nothing to give her in return. There were others he was indebted to: Red Moon, Pearl, and Mary, as well as the people of Red Moon’s village, many of whom had brought food to Walking Woman’s lodge for him.

  Reaching for the saddle sling, he drew the rifle his uncle had sent with his horse. It was a Winchester ’73, just like the one he had lost. Still, it would not ease the disappointment he felt over losing his own rifle, because that rifle had belonged to his father, and his father had specifically willed it to him.

  He had not had a chance to test his new weapon, so he pulled it up to his shoulder now to get the feel of it. Maybe, he thought, I can take the time to go hunting to repay Red Moon’s people for their kindness. He felt the obligation, but he could not escape the urgency to help his family. It had been a week since he had dropped off the face of the earth, and he was anxious to get back. Concerned over what his uncle and brother might be encountering with Drummond’s men, he harbored a feeling of guilt for having been shot. Mary came to visit him a couple of times during the week, but she could not tell him what was happening between his family and Drummond, and as each day passed, he became more and more worried. “It’s time to go,” he announced to Buck. His decision to go was delayed, however, when Red Moon strode down to the creek to meet him.

  The old chief was calling something out to him, repeating it over and over. Colt had no clue as to what Red Moon was saying. It sounded like “wa’tis, wa’tis.” When Colt gestured that he didn’t understand, Red Moon tried to act out his meaning with gestures and signs until Colt began to guess. “Buffalo?” Red Moon shook his head and continued his pantomime until Colt guessed, “Deer?”

  Red Moon nodded excitedly. It sounded like the white man’s word he had been trying to remember. Then he pointed to Colt’s rifle and pretended to be shooting an imaginary deer. “You want me to shoot a deer?” Colt asked. Red Moon nodded again, even though he did not understand Colt’s words. Satisfied that the white man understood, he beckoned Colt to follow him. Not without a small measure of pain, Colt climbed up in the saddle and followed the chief back to the lodges, where he found several of the men preparing to ride. They were armed with bows and a couple of old single-shot rifles. When Red Moon told them that the big white man, with the spirit gun that shoots many times, was going to hunt with them, they raised their weapons in a spontaneous cheer.

  The hunt was on. Some of the young boys had spotted a herd of deer moving through the hills beyond the village on their way to a shallow basin a mile or so away. Colt and four of the older men rode out of the camp, guided by the boys who had found the deer. From the excitement among the group, Colt guessed that game had been scarce recently, so his eagerness for a chance to repay his hosts for their kindness and generosity with what food they had overshadowed the slight discomfort caused by the jostling of the saddle.

  The deer were sighted at the upper end of the basin, feeding beside a pool formed by the narrow stream that wound its way along the base of the hills. Considering the weapons they carried, the Cheyenne hunters were inclined to make a sudden strike into the herd, hoping to get in close enough to be effective. Through signs and gestures, Colt persuaded them to wait until he crossed over the range of hills and came up on the herd from the other side. He figured he could kill a couple of the deer from the hillside before they suspected they were under attack. The Winchester was not a true long-range rifle, but it was of considerably longer range than the old single-shot weapons he saw the hunters carrying. If he was lucky, and got in the right position, he might drive the rest of the herd toward the waiting Cheyenne. When finally he was sure of Colt’s meaning, Red Moon nodded his agreement. Leaving their ponies with one of the boys to watch them, the hunters crept down the slope to take positions near the bottom, while Colt circled back to cross over to the other side of the basin.

  The fact that he still had some healing to do was the thought in Colt’s mind as he grunted with each breath when he left his horse on the ridge and worked his way down to a rocky crag about one hundred yards beyond the grazing deer. Bracing his weapon against the trunk of a stunted tree, he prepared to begin the slaughter. Drawing a bead on a large doe closest to him, he squeezed off his first shot. The rifle fired true. As the animal collapsed, Colt ejected the shell and shifted his aim to down a second doe. The rest of the herd, too startled to run when they heard the shots, realized the danger then, and bolted into flight, but not before Colt dropped one more of their number. Luck was with him, for the frightened deer bolted toward the hunters waiting in ambush. Before the confused animals could scatter into the hills, three more fell victim to the bullets and arrows of the hunters.

  The hunting party returned to the village to a joyous welcome. It had been some time since they had seen a good supply of fresh meat. Watching the skinning and butchering, Colt was glad that he had delayed his departure long enough to lend a hand with the hunt. The hunt had also satisfied him that he was well enough to end his convalescence. Riding provided some discomfort, but it was tolerable. Firing the Winchester offered a little stab of pain, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

  He lingered long enough to enjoy some of the feast that was under way, then sought out Red Moon and Walking Woman to thank them for their kindness. Walking Woman seemed genuinely sad to see him leave. She embraced him with an awkward hug, taking care not to squeeze his ribs, and scolding him with the words he heard from her most often, “Too soon, too soon. Dark soon, wait till morning.”

  “It’s best for me to ride at night,” Colt replied.

  The chief had seen fit to give Colt a new name, a Cheyenne name. “Nanose’hame,” he said, “come back to stay with us again.”

  Since it was all said in Cheyenne, Colt could only respond with a smile and nod. “Nanose’hame?” he repeated as well as he could, then looked at Walking Woman for help.

  “New name,” she explained, then thought hard, but could not come up with the English translation of his name. Finally, she shook her head and said, “Good, good.”

  He nodded again and repeated his new name a couple of times, hoping to remember it. Then he said good-bye to the people gathered around him, and stepped up in the saddle, preparing to leave. He hesitated when someone at the edge of the creek called out that a rider was approaching. Colt dismounted and drew his rifle.

  Mary prodded her father’s reluctant sorrel for more speed as she saw the smoke from the campfires wafting up into the fading light. The fires were larger and more numerous than usual as if the people were celebrating some occasion. It worried her, knowing that Bone was searching for Red Moon’s village. If he was anywhere in the valley, he could hardly miss the glow from the fires. Afraid she would arrive too late to warn Colt, she had pressed the horse mercilessly all the way from town. It was with great relief, and somewhat of a surprise, to ride into the camp to discover Colt standing there by his horse.

  “Colt!” she cried out upon seeing him. “You’ve got to get out of here!” Nodding and trying to smile at the people who crowded around to greet her, she pushed her way through to him. In the firelight, he could see the concern etched in her face, and came forward to meet her. “Thank God you’re still alive,” she exclaimed upon reaching him. “We’ve got to go at once. That monster is on his way here.”

  “He knows about this
place?” Colt asked, surprised.

  She hurriedly told him of Bone’s visit to her father’s house, and that her father had inadvertently told Bone that Colt was in Red Moon’s village. “The foolish drunk,” she complained, “he had no idea where you were. He just said you were here so he could get money for whiskey. He got his skull cracked for his trouble. Bone’s not going to stop until he finds you. Pearl came to work this morning and said he followed her home last night. She thought he was going to kill her if she didn’t tell him where you were. She told him you were dead, but he showed up at my house, and my father told him you were here.”

  Colt showed no emotion as she frantically told her tale. His first thought was to wait for the determined killer right there in the Cheyenne village. He was as eager to settle with Bone as the determined assassin was to kill him.

  Seeing him hesitate, obviously weighing a decision in his mind, Mary pleaded urgently. “You’ve got to get out of here. He’s coming to kill you.” Still Colt hesitated. “If you don’t care about yourself,” Mary implored, “think about my grandmother’s people.” Gesturing at the people gathered around them, she went on. “These old men and women are not warriors. If the shooting starts here, innocent people will be killed.”

  Realizing that he had not given that possibility serious thought, he wavered. She was right. It would not be fair to bring Bone’s wrath down on these innocent Cheyenne. It occurred to him then that to wait for Bone here would also place Mary in harm’s way.

  “If you are not here, he may search the village, but when he does not find you, he will go on his way— maybe think you really are dead,” Mary argued.

  Colt considered the possibility that Bone might do harm to someone, even if he didn’t find him. Thinking it over, however, he decided that Bone probably wouldn’t chance an arrow in his back if he was surrounded by Indians. “All right,” Colt said, “climb on your horse, and I’ll take you home.”

  Taking only a moment, Mary hugged her grandmother, then climbed up in the saddle. Red Moon said farewell to Colt once more, calling him by his Cheyenne name, as they wheeled their horses and splashed through the shallow creek and disappeared into the darkness. Since she was more familiar with the trail back to Whiskey Hill, Mary led the way as they galloped through the trough that served as the passage from Bear Basin. Once clear of the gulch, they stopped to rest the horses at Bitter Branch since Mary’s horse had already been ridden pretty hard.

  Watching the horses drink from the shallow stream, with the soft night enveloping them, they felt the sense of urgency fading considerably. “We’ll let the horses rest for a little while longer,” Colt said as he sat down on the bank beside Mary. “We drove ’em pretty hard through that gulch.” He had something on his mind that he felt needed saying, but he wasn’t very good at expressing his thoughts, so he hesitated a few moments before getting it out. “Mary,” he started before pausing again, then continued. “I’ve been thinkin’ about how much I owe you—and Pearl, too—for stickin’ your neck out to help me. I just can’t figure out why you’re takin’ the chances you have to help an ex-convict that everybody else is either tryin’ to kill or run out of town.” If he had not concentrated his gaze on the bank between his feet, he might have seen the warm smile on her face. “Anyway, I want you to know how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

  “Colt McCrae,” she replied, “if I thought you really did shoot that bank guard, or had anything to do with it, I wouldn’t be lifting a finger to help you.”

  “I thank you for that,” he said.

  Amused by his shyness, she commented, “Evidently, old Red Moon took a liking to you. I heard him call you Mountain Lion.”

  “Mountain Lion?” Colt asked, surprised. “I thought it meant good. At least, that’s what Walking Woman said.”

  Mary smiled. “No, he called you Mountain Lion.” She was thinking it was a good name for him. There was something in his manner that suggested the savage strength of the mountain lion. “You should be honored,” she said. “Red Moon doesn’t think much of white men in general.”

  He thought about what she said for a few moments. Then, finding no words to express his feelings on the matter, he said, “I reckon the horses are rested enough.” He reached down to help her up, taking her arm when she extended it. Light as a feather, she came up a little too fast, and fell against him, remaining there for a few seconds before regaining her balance. He quickly released her arm, but the sensation of her body pressed against his, if only for that moment, reminded him how long it had been since he had felt the touch of a woman. He immediately hoped she had not taken offense.

  He acted like I burned him, she thought. She prepared to climb up in the saddle, thinking that it might have been nice to remain pressed against his body for a little while longer. Pearl would scold me for thinking such a thing, she thought, smiling. Leaving Bitter Branch, they set out across the prairie toward Whiskey Hill.

  It was just past midnight when Colt and Mary reined up before Mary’s house. A lamp lit up in the window when they walked their horses up to the front porch. Moments later, Mary’s mother came out on the porch to greet them. Worried for her daughter, Blue Sky In Morning rushed to embrace her.

  “I’ll put your horse in the barn for you,” Colt said, and reached down to take the reins.

  “What are you planning to do?” Mary asked.

  “I guess I’ll go on out to my uncle’s place. Oughta get there by sunup.”

  “Colt, you must be hungry,” Mary said. “You come on in the house after you put my horse up, and I’ll find you something to eat.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Colt said. “I won’t put you to the trouble.”

  “No trouble,” Blue Sky In Morning insisted. “You come in.”

  “You need to build your strength,” Mary reminded him. “Mind my mother. Mothers know best.”

  He laughed. “All right, if you’re sure you don’t mind,” he said.

  Colt turned Jared Simmons’ horse out in the corral and returned to the house to find Mary preparing to fry some bacon while her mother freshened the fire in the stove before placing a cake of corn bread on the edge to warm. Colt hadn’t realized he was hungry until the sharp aroma of the frying pork filled his nostrils. There was still coffee left in the pot from supper as well, so Colt graciously sat down at the table. When the food was ready, Mary sat down across from him to watch him eat.

  “What’s he doin’ here?” Jared Simmons demanded as soon as he saw the stranger sitting at the kitchen table. Asleep until moments before when the aroma of bacon awakened him, he stumbled out of the bedroom, a rag bandage wrapped around his head, the gash it covered the result of Bone’s parting blow.

  “He brought me home,” Mary quickly replied. “I just fixed him a little something to eat before he leaves.” She exchanged a worried glance with her mother.

  “Well, food’s cheap enough,” Jared snarled sarcastically. “Might as well feed every saddle tramp that knocks on the door.”

  Colt held his tongue, not wishing to cause any trouble for Mary or her mother. He continued to eat while the belligerent drunk glared at him. After a moment, Jared blurted, “You’re that son of a bitch everybody’s lookin’ for, ain’tcha? And you’re settin’ at my table eatin’ my food? Mister, you can get your sorry ass outta here right now!”

  Mary jumped to her feet in alarm. “You set down!” Jared roared, jabbing a finger in the air.

  “Jared!” Blue Sky In Morning cried out. “I asked him to eat. Mary paid for the food. She can give it to who she wants.”

  Jared lashed out with a backhand to his wife’s face, knocking her back in her chair. “Don’t you ever tell me who eats food in my house,” he threatened. He drew his hand back to strike her again.

  Like the mountain lion for which he had recently been named, Colt sprang from his chair, knocking it across the kitchen floor. Before Jared’s hand could strike again, Colt caught it in an iron grip, and with one violen
t move, slammed Jared against the wall, bouncing his head on the planking. “Yes, damn you, I’m the son of a bitch everybody’s lookin’ for. And I’m the son of a bitch who’s gonna string your guts on the clothesline if I ever hear you hit one of these women again.” He grabbed a handful of the stunned man’s hair and rapped his head sharply against the wall again. “Do we have an understandin’ on that? ’Cause I don’t like cowards who beat women, and I’d just as soon shoot your cowardly ass as look at you.” He released him then, and Jared slid down the wall to sit dazed on the floor.

  “Come,” Blue Sky In Morning said to her husband, “I will help you back to bed. You’ll be all right in the morning.” She pulled his arms, but could not budge the stunned man. Colt reached down and, grabbing him by the back of his collar, pulled him up on his feet. Jared stared straight ahead in bewildered silence. “Come,” Blue Sky In Morning repeated, and he allowed her to lead him back to the bedroom.

  Colt, his rage still simmering, watched the belligerent man with eyes flashing lightning until he was out of the room. Only then able to calm himself, he turned to Mary. “You’ll be all right?”

  She nodded. “I think so.” Then, seeing the red stain on his shirt, she exclaimed, “Your wound’s bleeding again!”

  He looked down at the deerskin shirt Walking Woman had given him to replace the one ruined by his gunshot. Blood had begun to seep through from the bandage. “I guess I pulled it apart,” he said. “It’ll stop soon.” Walking over to pick up the chair he had knocked over, he pushed it up to the table. “I’ll be goin’ now.” He looked at Blue Sky In Morning. “I’m obliged for the food, ma’am.”

  Mary followed him outside and stood by his stirrup while he mounted. “Where will you go?” she asked.

  “I’ll go to the Broken-M tonight,” he replied. “I expect they’re wonderin’ where I am.”

  “Colt, be careful.” She stepped back. He nodded and wheeled Buck around. She watched him until he faded into the night. I wonder if my feelings for him are getting too strong, she thought. That could be a bad mistake with a man like that. Pearl would certainly tell her that quick enough.