by J. T. Edson
All that and more he saw, but ignored the signs of passing wild life. His main interest directed itself on some marks made after the rest of the sign, comparatively recently or Dusty missed his guess. Roughly oval marks with a heart-shaped piece forcing in at the rear. That particular type of track had no duplicate. One might mistake deer and elk tracks, confuse the line left by a dog with that of a wolf—but there was no mistaking the marks caused by a horse’s hooves.
Merely finding horses’ hoof prints would have caused Dusty no concern, but the four sets before him told a significant story. One point of identification normally set aside and showed the horse’s tracks plainly. The shoe left an unmistakable addition to the rest of the mark—only the tracks before Dusty lacked that addition.
Numbers of wild horses roamed the plains country and never felt the touch of an iron shoe; but not in the Indian Nations. Every wild horse had long since been captured by the Indians living on the reservations. The Indian never shod his horse, never gave its feet any protection.
Dusty knew that the riders who crossed the stream earlier that day had been riding unshod horses. Which meant they were most likely Indians.
Thirteen – Vaza’s Change of Mind
The discovery of the tracks did not worry Dusty unduly and he saw no need to disturb his companions by mentioning his find. For the most part the Indians in the Oklahoma reservations, watched over by fair-sized garrisons of the U.S. Army, prevented as far as possible from owning firearms and other weapons, dependent on the white man for food and shelter, tended to keep the peace. Of course a small party of whites might be killed and their property looted if such could be done with small risk or chance of detection; but Dusty doubted if four Indians would chance making mischief against so nearly equal odds.
Despite his thoughts, Dusty could not shake off an uneasy feeling that they were being watched as they crossed the river and made camp. Try as he might, he could see nothing of the watchers in the tree-dotted, broken, rolling land around him, so he helped set up the camp.
Night came without any sight or hint of hostile presences. After a meal and the usual discussion, the travelers prepared to go to sleep. Dusty had mentioned his uneasiness when, showing that remarkable facility for guessing his thoughts, Vaza asked what made him so nervous. However, he told the others that there was little to fear, and believed it himself. He did insist that they brought the horses in and fastened them with rope to the side of the wagon instead of allowing them to graze hobbled as on other nights.
Settling down in his blankets, Dusty kept one of his Colts in his hand. He could hear the coyotes yipping all around the camp and counted it as a good sign. Soon he drifted off to sleep and silence fell on the camp.
Shortly after midnight, a squirrel chattered its warning in the trees down by the river. All around the camp, the coyotes continued their nightly serenade although there had been a slight period of silence to the west shortly before the squirrel gave tongue.
Crouching beyond the light of the fire, Walks Quiet, son of a one-time Kaddo war chief, studied the sleeping camp. Knife in hand, he moved forward in the silent way which gave him his name. Two of his companions edged out a short distance behind, making for the wagon in accordance to the plan made earlier. Out in the night, the fourth member of the band crouched on his haunches and gave life-like coyote yips to prevent any chance of the white-eye victim noticing the silence of the animals in that direction, a method advocated by the battle-tried veterans who told tales around the reservation fires of the glories of the war-trail.
The quartet were young bucks who reached manhood too late to ride to war, but the spirit of their war-loving ancestors flowed through them. In the old days they would have ridden on raiding parties, gaining praise and the adoration of the tribe’s maidens when they returned with coups counted and trophies to show. Such things could still be done, although not on the grand old scale. A small party of whites might be found and accorded the time-honored .treatment. Of course, one could not return flourishing scalps and leading horses loaded with loot that might be traced back should the victims’ bodies be found. However, Burkee, the trader, took such things and gave attractive, praise-winning goods in return, without ever questioning the bringer’s right to possession.
On seeing the wagon cross the stream, Walks Quiet and his companions held a debate on their actions. Odds of three to four did not strike them as being good medicine, until they gave thought to the three men they would attack. Having an extensive knowledge of white men, Walks Quiet figured two of the three would give them no trouble. They wore the clothing of the white-eye god-men; such were neither fighting men nor went armed. Which left the third male member of the party. No meek, defenseless god-man, that one, but a ride-plenty, a cowhand such as rode herd on the white-eyes’ spotted buffalo herds that came through the Indian Nations. Every ride-plenty knew how to fight with the guns he wore.
So, Walks Quiet decided, the ride-plenty must die first, before he could wake and use his guns. Then the others would be easy. Kill the men and the girl—but she must not die too soon or before he and his companions took their pleasure.
Stepping on silent feet, Walks Quiet drew closer to the sleeping Texan. From the steady rise and fall of the blankets, the Indian knew his victim slept deeply and without any suspicion of danger.
“Dusty!” Jarrel’s voice roared in the small Texan’s head. “Wake up!”
Instantly Dusty woke to see and understand the meaning of the shape looming above him. A life-time spent in dangerous situations had taught Dusty to come straight from sleep to wakefulness without any transitory period of dull-witted lack of comprehension. Seeing the Indian, he knew all that was necessary to send his lightning fast reactions into operation.
An expression of amazement came to Walks Quiet’s face as he saw what should have been a helpless victim suddenly, and without any reason that the Indian could see or hear, change into a deadly menace to his very life. His advance had been made with silence which brought him his man’s name and he knew that the Texan slept deeply, undisturbed by anything Walks Quiet did. Even as Walks Quiet tried to understand, flame lashed from the barrel of Dusty’s Army Colt and a .44 bullet drove up under the Indian’s chin to burst out of the top of his head.
Rolling from his blankets, even as Walks Quiet toppled over backwards, Dusty turned his attention to the other two Indians. At the shot, they halted in their tracks, flung a startled glance towards where their leader dropped dead and saw the proposed victim turn to face them. Knowing that their Green River knives were no match for a revolver in capable hands, the braves whirled on their heels and bounded swiftly into the darkness.
“Thanks, Jarrel,” Dusty said, rising and looking to where the two men emerged from beneath the wagon. “You yelled just in time.”
“They came to kill us,” Adek gasped in a disbelieving voice. “And to do far worse to Vaza. But why? We have done them no harm.”
“It’s the Indian way,” Dusty replied, holstering his Colt and then buckling on his belt. He picked up the carbine and went on, “I’d best scout around and make sure they’ve gone. Keep Vaza in the wagon until after we’ve moved the body.”
“Be careful, Dusty,” the girl called.
“I’ll do that, but you stay inside that wagon.”
With that Dusty left the clearing. The delicate and dangerous business of scouting against hostile Indians held his full attention and prevented him from wondering how Adek guessed so accurately at the attackers’ intentions.
After Dusty left, the girl swung down from the wagon. She gave a shudder as she looked towards Walks Quiet’s body, then turned to the men.
“I was too frightened to move when I realized what they meant to do,” she said. “Thank you, Jarrel.”
“That’s the first time I have ever been able to communicate with Dusty,” the man answered. “I can understand him sometimes, but until tonight never reached him. It is fortunate that I did, for I forgot to shout.”
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“It happened in the town when the young man meant to kill Dusty,” Vaza said. “I reached him then. Sometimes I think I can almost get through, especially when we are close. Perhaps the stimulus of impending danger makes him more receptive.”
“That’s possible,” admitted Adek. “You have a great liking for that young man, Vaza.”
“I have. If only there was some way we could find out ”
“The records of the Salem party were destroyed, so we do not know if these people are the same organically as we are,” Adek remarked. “But we have the means to find out.”
“You mean that body there?” the girl breathed.
“It conforms with the requirements,” Adek answered. “But we must move swiftly before our young friend returns. I don’t think that it would be wise to let him know what we do.”
“That was the reason for our people’s arrest at Salem,” Jarrel put in. “The citizens of the town saw an experiment being carried out. We must take no chances this time. True I have a weapon, but I have no wish to use it.”
If there had been a witness to the scene, he would have sworn that the group stood in silence, for their lips never moved and no word came audibly. Turning, the two men went to where the body lay and lifted it from the ground to carry it and place it inside the wagon. Then Jarrel went to make up the fire, but Adek and the girl remained inside.
Dusty spent a good hour or more searching the woods. While he heard the sound of hooves departing, he could not say for sure how many horses left and knew enough about Indians not to accept that each horse carried a rider. Making a thorough scout led him at last to believe that the remaining trio of raiders had gone, instead of one taking the horses off out of hearing and leaving his companions to make a second attempt at stealing horses or grabbing some other loot once the camp settled down again. When satisfied, Dusty made his way back through the trees and towards the fire’s glow.
“Is all well, Dusty?” asked Jarrel when the small Texan walked back.
“They’ve gone and I don’t reckon they’ll be back,” Dusty replied. “Where’s Adek and Vaza?”
“In the wagon.”
“Is Vaza—?”
“She is a little shaken by the experience, but nothing more.” Jarrel replied and followed the direction of the other’s gaze. “We thought it advisable to remove the body and so carried it off into the trees.”
“Good thinking,” Dusty drawled. “You’re sure that Vaza’s all right?”
Before Jarrel could answer, any doubts Dusty might have felt received an answer. The girl sprang from the wagon, her face alight with such happiness that Dusty wondered what caused it. Rushing forward, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“Dusty!” she gasped. “It’s all right. We are the same.”
“Hey, easy there now,” he replied, gently freeing himself. “What do you mean by ‘We’re the same’?”
“I—I meant, I was pleased to see you safe,” she replied, her eyes glowing with a warmth that stirred Dusty more than he could imagine.
“I’m safe,” he agreed. “But you—”
“Let us walk together for a time and I will explain,” the girl said.
“If that’s what you want,” Dusty drawled gently.
“It is. And it will help me recover. I will not sleep unless I can forget the happenings of tonight.”
“I wouldn’t want you to lie awake all night,” Dusty smiled. “Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, he and the girl left the fire. In passing his bed, Dusty laid down the carbine. Then, slipping his arm around the girl’s waist, he walked off into the darkness.
“We are the same, Dusty,” she breathed as they entered the wooded land, “and there is nothing to prevent—”
“Yes, Vaza?”
“You asked me to stay with you. Do you wish it still?”
“You know I do,” Dusty stated.
“Even though you know so little about me, where I am come from, what I am.”
“I know all I want to know.”
“Then I accept.”
With that she turned to face him and her mouth reached for his in a long, passionate kiss.
“We’ll leave getting the engagement ring until we get home,” Dusty told the girl as they separated.
“What is that?” she asked.
“One of the customs of the country,” he said with a smile and explained.
“In my country, we signify it in a different manner,” she said.
“What is it?” asked Dusty.
“This,” she replied, and drew him down to the ground.
Time passed and the girl nestled warmly in Dusty’s arms. “What do you think of my country’s customs?” she whispered.
“We have it over here,” Dusty admitted. “But that doesn’t stop me liking it.”
Much to Dusty’s surprise, on returning with Vaza at dawn, Adek and Jarrel showed no disapproval or objections to their being away all night.
“Congratulations, Dusty,” Jarrel said when the Texan announced his intention to marry the girl. “You will be a good husband for her.”
“I hope that everything is as you wish,” Adek went on. “It is not the first time one of us has settled in a country during an expedition, but not always with success.”
“This time it will be,” Dusty promised.
“I think it will,” smiled the old man. “My best wishes, children. Now, come and eat.”
“We’ll have to call at the sheriff’s office in Linton,” Dusty remarked as they sat eating a breakfast almost as good as Vaza would have cooked. “I’ll tell him about last night and he’ll warn the reservation agent. Maybe I’d best take a look at the buck I shot so’s I can describe him.”
“We—We buried the body after you left us last night, Dusty,” Adek said hurriedly. “Is that not the custom of your land?”
“Sure, although most folks wouldn’t do it for an Indian,” Dusty answered. “Maybe I’d best take a look just the same.”
“We removed the clothing and trinkets from the body,” Jarrel put in. “Will they do for identification?”
“I reckon they will,” agreed Dusty. “And I wasn’t too eager to start digging the body up at that.”
After eating, the party moved out from their camping ground. As usual Vaza rode so that she could talk to Dusty; but showed no interest in anything but the small Texan.
“It will not be easy to fit into your world,” she warned. “There is so much I must learn. Cooking ”
“You cook real good,” Dusty objected.
“Cook!” the girl laughed. “All the food we eat was prepared before we left and only requires heating in water to be ready.”
“You mean that it comes out of a can?” asked Dusty.
“In a manner of speaking,” she agreed. “Do you have such food?”
“Air-tights? Sure we have them, but nothing like you can turn out. Corn, tomatoes, peaches, milk’s about all we can. You look like you’ve got everything.”
“Practically everything,” smiled the girl. “So you see, you are not marrying a good cook.”
“We can live on corn, tomatoes, peaches and milk if we have to,” Dusty grinned back. “Or maybe have Adek send us boxes of your stuff over after he goes home.”
“I think it will be better if I learn to cook your way,” said the girl seriously. “Unfortunately I was trained as a scientist and did not learn such things.”
“I’ll just have to live with it,” Dusty drawled. “There’s Linton in the distance.”
Despite his interest in the radiant-faced girl at his side, Dusty studied a trio of cowhands who approached from the other end of the town. He read trouble in their manner of coming. Instead of the usual rowdy rush, the trio rode slowly, the outer men supporting the one in the center as he sat doubled over, face ashy and pain-lined, wet with sweat, hands clutching at the saddlehorn.
“Where at’s the doctor, friend?” called the man at the right to a passing town
dweller.
“Out of town,” came the reply. “He’s—”
Before the man could continue, the central cowhand let out a moan and slumped forward weakly, hung for a moment and then started to slip out of his saddle. Jumping the paint forward, Dusty left its back and ran forward. So swiftly did he move, that he reached and caught the slipping man, holding him from the ground.
“Back those horses off!” Dusty barked. “Move it, damn you!”
His voice brought action from the two young men. Recognizing the tone, they obeyed without question. One grabbed their companion’s mount and together they walked their horses back and allowed Dusty to lower the groaning figure to the ground.
Showing a remarkable agility for so old a man, Adek sprang from the wagon and darted forward. He dropped to his knees alongside the cowhand, reaching out to draw aside and up the shirt, exposing the lower stomach.
“How long has he been like this?” Adek asked, looking to where the other two cowhands dismounted.
“Started complaining of pains in his belly around breakfast, but we thought it was nothing more’n an attack of the grippe. Then when he got worse, our trail boss told us to bring him into Linton to see the doctor.”
“Then he’s come for nothing,” the townsman put in. “Doc left town for the Neal place last night.”
“Can he be fetched back?” Adek inquired.
“It’s half a day’s ride up to the north,” the man replied.
“There is not that much time to spare,” gritted the old man, looking down.
“Can you do anything to help, Adek?” Dusty said.
“I could—but—”
“Mister,” one of the cowhands interjected. “Joey here’s a good pard. Happen you can help him; well, we haven’t any money, but the boss’ll let us draw on our end-of-drive pay.”
“The money doesn’t come into it,” Adek snapped.
“I can do all that is needed provided—”