Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man Savage Territory

by William W. Johnstone

  Matt walked over to the table Donavan had pointed out, then saw a stack of paper about two inches high. He took the top page off and looked at it.

  REWARD!

  $10,000 DOLLARS CASH

  To be paid to whoever finds

  CYNTHIA BIXBY

  And returns her safely

  Reward offered by Jay Peerless Bixby. Inquire at Phoenix House Hotel in Phoenix.

  Taking one of the flyers with him, Matt started back to the hotel, intending to have a few words with Bixby. He didn’t have to go all the way back to the hotel, though, because he saw Bixby standing on the front porch of Sikes’ Hardware, talking to a crowd of men who had gathered in the street in front of the store. Bixby was holding up a piece of paper.

  “This piece of paper says that I have drawn a draft at the local bank to put ten thousand dollars into an escrow account to be paid to anyone who can locate and return my wife to me.”

  “Mister, ten thousand dollars don’t do you no good if you are dead,” one from the crowd shouted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If what I’m hearin’ is right, then it is more than likely that your wife was took by Delshay,” the man said. “Maybe you don’t know it but yesterday, the same day he took your wife, he kilt seven men. He’s also raided and kilt ever’body at two different ranches. It’s a miracle he let you live and—”

  “He didn’t let me live,” Bixby said, forcefully interrupting the speaker. “I escaped.”

  “However it happened, it’s a bit of a miracle that you run into him and you’re still alive. I don’t know whether your wife is still alive or not, but I ain’t goin’ out there by myself to look for her, and I don’t reckon anyone else will either.”

  “Suppose several of you go together,” Bixby said. “There is safety in numbers.”

  “Hold on here!” Matt called.

  “Mr. Jensen,” Bixby said. “You have something to add?”

  “Bixby, the last thing we need is a lot of people running around out there, getting in the way, spooking Delshay, and maybe even pushing him into doing something he hadn’t planned to do.”

  “That’s just the kind of reaction I would expect from someone like you,” Bixby said. “It’s no secret that you intend to conduct this search on your own because you don’t want to share the reward money with anyone.”

  “Bixby, I was going out to look for her before I even knew about the reward and you know that. What I cannot understand is why you would do something like this to purposely make it more difficult to find your wife.”

  “How dare you accuse me of that, sir?” Bixby said. “It is precisely because I do want to find her that I am offering a reward so as to involve the greatest number of people possible.”

  “Maybe some of you folks would like to come with me,” someone called.

  Matt recognized the man who issued the invitation.

  “Pogue Willis,” Matt said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, Jensen. Goin’ after that reward. That is, unless you think you’re the only one entitled to it.”

  “Pogue Willis?” one of the other men in the crowd said. “Is that who you are, mister?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, now, that changes things a bit. If I’m goin’ to be in a fight, I’d sure like to have someone like you on my side.”

  “I’ll go with you, Willis—but I figure we’re goin’ to need four or five others just to be sure,” another man said.

  “Hell, why don’t we all go and form a posse?” Meechum said. “I don’t about the rest of you fellas, but if I’m goin’ up against Delshay, I want as many guns with me as possible.”

  “I agree,” another shouted. “That is, if it’s all right with you, Mr. Willis.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s fine. All right, men, get rifles, bullets, and what food you plan to take. We’ll meet here in one hour,” Willis said, assuming unopposed command of the posse.

  Matt shook his head in disgust, then mounted Spirit and started out of town.

  “Mr. Jensen,” someone called.

  Looking toward the sound of the voice, Matt saw Ken Hendel standing just under the overhanging porch of the apothecary.

  “Mr. Hendel,” Matt replied, touching the brim of his hat.

  “I tried to stop him,” Hendel said. “Mr. Bixby, I mean. I tried to stop him from posting that reward.”

  Matt twisted in his saddle to look back toward the hardware store. He saw the crowd breaking up, hurrying to get weapons and food to join the impromptu posse.

  “I swear, Mr. Hendel, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Bixby is purposely making it more difficult for me to find his wife.”

  “I don’t know what happened out there, but the truth is, I think Mr. Bixby is trying to take the edge off a feeling of guilt,” Hendel said.

  Matt watched Bixby step down from the porch of the hardware store and start back toward the hotel.

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but you might be right,” Matt said.

  “Find her, Matt,” Hendel said, the words expressing his deepest feelings. “Please find her and bring her back safely.”

  “I’ll do my best, Ken,” Matt promised.

  Pogue Willis and Billy Meechum waited in the middle of the street for the other members of the posse to return.

  “I wonder how many are goin’ to go with us,” Meechum said.

  “Why does it matter?” Willis asked.

  “Well, if there’s eight more that go with us and we find the woman, that would be only one thousand dollars apiece.”

  “No, that would be ten thousand dollars for us and none for them,” Willis said.

  “What? How can that be?”

  “You just let me worry about that,” Willis said confidently.

  It was now three days since Cynthia had been captured and they had changed the location of their camp six times. Every night, just before dark, they would move their encampment, then find a place to spend the night. The next morning, just after sunrise, they would move the encampment again. This, Chandeisi explained, was to prevent the white men from discovering were they were. Chandeisi was constantly by Cynthia’s side, for which she was grateful. She had seen Nalyudi looking at her from time to time, and she knew that it was only Chandeisi and Delshay who kept him from claiming her.

  After three days, Cynthia felt a need to change clothes, for she was still wearing the same green dress she had on when she was captured. Since she had taken no clothes with her on what she thought would be no more than a couple of hours’ drive into the country, she had nothing to change into, and she feared she was stuck with the situation.

  To her surprise and delight, Chandeisi came to the rescue by bringing her a couple of dresses made from deerskin.

  “These were the dresses of my wife,” he said as he handed them to her.

  “Oh, Chandeisi, thank you,” Cynthia said. She looked at the dresses. “They are beautiful.”

  The dresses were wonderfully soft, and prettily decorated with porcupine quills and bright, blue beads. There was nothing to wear under the dresses, and at first Cynthia was keenly aware of that fact, but after a couple more days she quit thinking about it.

  Each night, Chandeisi helped Cynthia to make a soft bed of stretched skin and fragrant grasses; then he would leave the wickiup to allow her privacy while she slept. Because they spent so much time together, Cynthia was able to engage him in conversation. She did so for two reasons: because she was genuinely curious, and because she thought that it would be good to have a friend in this situation.

  “Where did you go to school?” Cynthia asked.

  “I attended the mission school at San Carlos,” Chandeisi answered.

  “Have you ever been off the reservation to live among the whites?”

  “No, I have never done that. I have spent my whole life with my people—mostly on the reservation.”

  “Do you ever wish you could live with white people?” Cynth
ia asked.

  “No, I like living with my own people,” Chandeisi replied. “But there are many things I would like to see.”

  “What would you like to see?”

  “I have read that in the tall buildings of the big cities, there are little rooms that you can step into, and those rooms will rise, taking you to the top of the building.”

  For a moment, Cynthia had to think of what Chandeisi was saying; then she laughed out loud. “You mean elevators,” she said. “Yes, the tall buildings in the big cities do have elevators.”

  “And I have read as well that one does not need a candle or a lantern. You can turn a valve and have light, for the gas is piped in.”

  “Yes, that is true,” Cynthia answered. “And in some buildings, water is piped in as well.”

  “And is there really a device where one person can speak to another over great distances?”

  “Oh, yes, it is called a telephone,” Cynthia said.

  “Have you seen such marvels?”

  “I have them in my home,” Cynthia said. “The gaslights, the running water, and the telephone.”

  “I am puzzled,” Chandeisi said.

  “What has you puzzled?” Cynthia laughed. “I hope you are not puzzled about how these marvelous things work, because even though I live with them every day, I do not think I can explain the operation to you.”

  “No, that is not what puzzles me,” Chandeisi eplied. “It is just that, with so many wonderful things for the white man to see and enjoy, why must he come to our land?”

  “Do you think the white man has done nothing good for the Indian?” Cynthia asked.

  Chandeisi shook his head. “I can think of no good.”

  “What about your education? You have gotten a wonderful education from the white man.”

  “The white man taught me how to multiply and divide, but not how to skin a rabbit. I have had to skin a rabbit many times. I have never had to multiply and divide.”

  “You said you went to a mission school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must have learned about Christianity. Do you not feel joy from knowing that your soul has been saved?”

  “You are talking about the white man’s Jesus God, aren’t you?” Chandeisi asked.

  “Yes, I am. Do you believe in Him?”

  Chandeisi nodded affirmatively.

  “Good, good,” Cynthia said.

  “Why is this good?”

  “Because, it is very important that you believe in the one way to the true God.”

  “There are many paths to the Great Spirit,” Chandeisi said.

  Cynthia shook her head. “No, there is but one path. Our Father in Heaven will not welcome you into His Kingdom if you do not come to Him through the Son of God.”

  “You call Him our Father? Does that not mean we are all children of the Great Spirit?” Chandeisi asked. “Are you not His daughter? Is Delshay not His son? Are earth, wind, fire, and water not His creations?”

  Cynthia thought hard, trying to remember all of her Sunday School lessons, but no matter how hard she tried, no easy answer came to her.

  “I cannot answer all of your questions. I can only tell you how things are,” she finally said, hoping that Chandeisi would accept her explanation and press the issue no further.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  San Carlos Indian Reservation

  Although there was a central area to the San Carlos reservation where Indian Agent Baker lived and where the commissary, hospital, and school were built, not all the Apache lived there. In explaining it once, Baker had said that the reservation was like an Indian state and in the state were several small villages scattered about. At the extreme northwest part of the reservation was the most remote of all the villages. Here lived Alope, the daughter of Nopoloto. Nopoloto was the nephew of Cochise and had fought with Cochise until the great chief made peace with the U.S. Army.

  The sun had not yet risen, but Alope knew that it was nearly dawn, because she had heard the morning birds begin their singing. Now, as she lay on blankets in her father’s wickiup, she contemplated the events that were to happen today.

  For a long time, Alope had been in love with a young man from one of the other villages. Because Cochinay, whose name meant Yellow Thunder, was from another village, he had to have authorization from the council for the privilege of going to Nopoloto to ask his permission to marry Alope. After some consideration and exploration of Cochinay’s family, the council of elders gave their consent and Cochinay went to Alope’s father to make his petition.

  Nopoloto agreed to give his daughter to the young man, on condition that Cochinay give him many ponies. When Nopoloto told Cochinay how many ponies he wanted for his daughter, Cochinay said nothing; he simply rode out of the village.

  Hearing how many ponies her father asked for, and seeing Cochinay ride away without so much as a word, Alope feared that there would be no marriage. She wondered why her father had been so demanding. Perhaps love meant nothing to her father. Perhaps Nopoloto wanted to keep Alope with him, for she was a dutiful daughter.

  “Do not question me, daughter,” Nopoloto said. “I set a very high price to test Cochinay’s love for you. If he returns with the ponies, it will prove that his love for you is deep, and it will satisfy a father that his daughter will be well taken care of, and that there will be grandchildren to bless me in my old age.”

  To Alope’s joy, Cochinay returned the very next day and appeared before Nopoloto’s wickiup with even more ponies than Nopoloto had asked for.

  That was one week ago. In the week since permission had been granted, Cochinay had come to the village to make a home for them. He constructed a wickiup of buffalo hides, putting in it many bear robes, lion hides, and other trophies of the hunt, as well as his spears, bows, and arrows.

  Alope had made many little decorations of beads on buckskin, which she placed in the wickiup. She also drew many pictures on the walls of what today would be her new home.

  But that would not be until after the council declared them married, so for now, Alope lay on the blankets in her parents’ wickiup, waiting for the sun to rise and the marriage to be ratified. Finally, a sliver of sunlight slipped in through the opening of the wickiup, and Alope, anxious to begin the day, got up, picked up a bucket, and started toward the nearby stream to get water.

  In the dawn’s early light, just outside the little village where Alope lay waiting for the day to begin, Pogue Willis looked around at the men who formed his posse.

  “This don’t look like no warrior camp. I think this is just a village,” one of the men said. “Do you really think the Bixby woman is here?” one of the men asked.

  “I don’t know if she is or not, but she could be,” Willis said. “The way I look at it, there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to go in and have a look.”

  “But what if she ain’t here?”

  “What if she ain’t? If you think about it, Lathum, it don’t make any difference whether she’s here or not. I mean, look at it this way. Every Indian we kill will just be payin’ them back for them killing those six miners and Mr. Malcolm,” one of the others said.

  “But we don’t know that these here Injuns is the one that done the killin’,” Lathum said.

  “It don’t matter whether these are the ones or not,” Meechum said. “The ones that done the killin’ were Apache, weren’t they? These here Injuns is Apache. If we kill a bunch of Apaches ever’ time they kill some of us, they will pretty soon get the word that the only way they can keep from gettin’ killed themselves is to stop their own from killin’ us.”

  “I tell you true, gents, Meechum is makin’ sense to me,” one of the others said.

  “Yeah, I guess if you put it that way,” Lathum said. He nodded. “All right, if we are goin’ to do this, let’s get it done.”

  There were fourteen armed men in the posse and they lined up abreast. Just before they started, however, a young woman came from one of the wick
iups, carrying a water pail. She started toward the stream. Then, seeing a long line of armed white men sitting on their horses just outside the village, she dropped the pail.

  “Cochinay!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

  “Shoot that bitch!” Willis shouted, and instantly several gunshots rang out. The young woman fell back, the top of her dress red with blood from the many bullet wounds.

  The girl’s scream and the sound of gunfire alerted the others in the village, and several stuck their heads out to see what was going on.

  “Kill them!” Willis shouted. “Kill them all!”

  The posse rode through the village, shooting everyone they saw whether it be man, woman, or child.

  Many of the villagers were able to get out through the backs of their wickiups by crawling underneath the walls, then running toward the arroyo that traversed the back side of the village. In this way, more than half the village escaped. Finally, when all were either killed or had run, Willis shouted at the others to stop shooting.

  “You ain’t doin’ nothin’ now but wastin’ your ammunition,” he said. “Get down and take a look through all them huts, see if there’s a white woman in any of ’em.”

  For the next few minutes, every wickiup was searched, but there was no white woman to be found.

  “What do we do now?” one of the men asked.

  “Burn the village,” Willis said. “I want these Apache bastards to know that we mean business. For every one of ours they kill, we’ll kill ten of them.”

  “That would mean we would have to kill seventy, and there ain’t no seventy dead Injuns here,” Lathum said. “There’s only about ten or eleven.”

  “Yes, well, I do think they will get the picture,” Willis said as the men began setting fire to the highly flammable structures.

  It took but a few minutes before every hut was ablaze. Then, with two dozen columns of smoke climbing into the air, the posse rode away, leaving behind not only the burning wickups, but also the bodies of those they had killed.

  Cochinay was one of those who got away. Catching one of the fleeing ponies, he set out to find Delshay.

  “Why did you not join me before?” Delshay asked when Cochinay arrived at his encampment and told him of the raid on Nopoloto’s village.