“I’ve got a pretty good supply of grain,” David replied. “I hope it’ll be enough.”
“Don’t worry about havin’ to have some for my horse,” Luke said. “He’s an Injun pony. He ain’t used to grain. He’s et it before, but he ain’t used to it.”
Luke remained seated at the table for a few minutes while David hurried out to give Mary Beth the news. Having given his word, he had no thoughts toward changing his mind, but he continued to consider the potential for trouble on the journey. He knew that reports from a Lakota man who had recently come from Sitting Bull’s camp placed the Sioux leader on the Rosebud. The man had said that the war chief would likely move back to the Powder. Luke doubted this because it made no sense to him. He would expect Sitting Bull to move farther away, toward the Bighorns, in hopes of discouraging the soldiers from following him. He reasoned that Sitting Bull would fight if the army pressed him, but if given a choice, he would avoid a confrontation. If he was right in this assumption, it should lessen the danger the three of them might face in their journey north, with the necessity only of avoiding stray parties of Sioux and Cheyenne who might be on their way to join Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. I reckon we’ll see, he thought as he got up from the table.
Chapter 5
“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Mary Beth wondered aloud when she saw Luke Sunday approaching their wagon.
David paused to look accusingly at his wife. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now,” he said. “We talked this thing over a hundred times, and you said you wanted to push on to Montana. I wouldn’t have said anything to the man if I thought you were gonna change your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she replied quickly. “I was just wondering, that’s all. I hope we’ve put our trust in a dependable man. He just looks so wild, he scares me a little.”
“I don’t think Ben Clarke would have recommended him if he wasn’t trustworthy,” David said. “At any rate, I’ll be keeping an eye on him.” His comments were intended to assure his wife. In reality, he was a little intimidated himself by the solemn-looking scout.
“Still, if he’s so trustworthy, a person has to wonder why he isn’t scouting for the soldiers anymore,” Mary Beth said.
“We don’t know the whole story on that,” David replied. “Could be any number of reasons. Like I said, Ben Clarke said he was a good scout, and it’s lucky for us that he’s available to help us. That’s the main thing.” There was no more time for comment, for the object of their discussion was approaching to within earshot. David put the piece of harness he had been mending on the tailgate of his wagon and walked out to meet Luke.
“You ain’t changed your mind yet?” Luke asked in greeting.
“No, sir!” David replied with enthusiasm. “We’re ready to go to Montana.” He waited for Luke to dismount before introducing Mary Beth. “I know we talked briefly on the trip from Medicine Bow when you led us across that river, but we never introduced ourselves. This is my wife, Mary Beth. Honey, shake hands with our partner, Mr. Sunday.”
“It’s just plain Luke,” he said, embarrassed by David’s formal introduction. He took the hand offered to him as if afraid he might break it, then quickly released it. Pointing toward the river then, he said, “I’ll make my camp down below the bluff a ways, and we’ll start out in the mornin’.”
“You can camp here with us,” David said. “I thought you might want to make your bed under the wagon, in case we get a little snow shower during the night.”
“’Preciate it, but I’ll be all right,” Luke said, glancing up at the sky. “It don’t look much like snow tonight.”
“Well, suit yourself, but you’re welcome to share our fire,” David said. “What about supper?”
“I’ve got somethin’ to eat. I’ll be fine,” Luke assured them, then stepped back up in the saddle to discourage David’s offering more. “See you folks in the mornin’.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Mary Beth said when Luke had ridden out of earshot. “I don’t know about you, but I’m just as happy not to have him sleeping under me. I almost kicked you in the shins when you suggested it.” She followed their strange new partner with her eyes until he dropped out of sight below the bluff. “Come on, supper’s almost ready. You’d best wash up.” She glanced again at the bluffs. “I expect he just eats his meat raw, like a caveman.” For a few moments she paused to consider the situation in which she found herself. Minnesota seemed an eternity away. Even Cheyenne seemed a hundred years ago. She and David had been so young when they decided to buy a wagon and accompany a group of people starting out for Wyoming Territory. Thinking back, she realized it had really been only a little over a year and a half, and they had been filled with the optimism of youth. They had their health and ambition; what could go wrong? It didn’t take long before the harsh reality of trying to build a home on the bleak Wyoming prairie killed the bloom on their dream, and she realized that David lacked the skills and drive of his older brother, John. But she placed no blame for that on David. He tried as hard as any man, and he loved her. As long as the two of them kept trying, she felt sure they would eventually establish a home somewhere in this vast country of wild Indians and men like Luke Sunday. The latter caused her to think, If he doesn’t decide to kill us and steal all our possessions.
* * *
The next morning Luke waited until he saw David’s fire freshen up before he led his horse over to the wagon. Sounds of an army preparing to move out had awakened David and Mary Beth, even though General Crook’s column would not actually get under way before twelve or one o’clock that afternoon. Glancing up to see their guide approaching, David called out, “Good morning,” loud enough to alert Mary Beth, who was still inside the wagon. “We can have a little breakfast here in a few minutes,” David offered.
“’Preciate it,” Luke responded, “but I already ate.” His breakfast had consisted of nothing more than a few strips of deer jerky, and the only thing he needed now was a cup of coffee. He had just bought a supply of coffee beans from the sutler’s store the day before, but he was gambling on the strong possibility that the Freemans would offer theirs. He was not to be disappointed.
“You can at least have a cup of coffee,” Mary Beth said as she stepped down from the wagon.
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke replied. “That’d be mighty kind of you.” He dropped the paint’s reins to the ground, got his cup from the parfleche secured behind his saddle, and moved up to kneel by the fire while David filled the cup.
David poured a cup for himself, then sat down to drink it while Mary Beth cut strips of bacon to fry. Feeling somewhat awkward and at a loss for conversation with the solemn man he had hired to take him to Coulson, he made a show of concentrating on sipping his coffee. Sitting across the fire from Luke, he couldn’t help making a judgment on the strange man’s earthly possessions. Obviously, everything Luke Sunday owned was on that one paint pony—or the man himself. Dressed in animal skins, like an Indian, he carried a skinning knife on his belt and a bow on his back. In addition to the parfleche, his horse carried a buffalo robe behind the saddle, rolled to possibly contain a blanket and maybe some cooking utensils. The parfleche, with a hatchet strapped to it, was balanced by an ammunition bag and a quiver of arrows on the other side of the saddle. This, then, was the sum total of the man’s wealth—no home base, no family, nothing stored for the future, probably no thoughts beyond finding food for himself and his horse each day. It’s a strange partnership you’ve made, David Freeman, he told himself. I hope to hell it was a wise one.
When Mary Beth could stand the awkward silence no longer, she questioned Luke, “How long do you think it will take us to get to Coulson, Mr. Sunday?”
“Luke, ma’am. My name’s Luke. There ain’t no Mr. Sunday. I can’t say exactly. It’ll depend on how far you can drive your team in a day without wearin’ ’em out.
I figure it’s best for us to head straight north from here for most of the way, before cuttin’ over to strike the Powder. If what I hear is true, that big bunch of Sioux and Cheyenne the army’s goin’ after is on the Rosebud, so we need to steer plenty wide of ’em. It’s longer than headin’ straight across the Tongue and the Bighorn, but I figured you folks wanted to get there with your scalps still on. I expect it’ll take us eleven or twelve days to get to the Yellowstone, then maybe another five to seven days from there to this town you’re lookin’ for, dependin’ on how far west it is.”
Mary Beth cast an uncertain glance in her husband’s direction. Luke’s estimate seemed much longer than they had speculated on. “We didn’t think it was that far,” she said, wondering if David was going to question Luke, but David remained silent.
Reading the doubt in their eyes, Luke said, “Well, like I said, I’d have to see how your wagon travels. This time of year you can’t count on the weather. I figure we can make twenty miles a day if we don’t run into any trouble. You might wanna ask Ben Clarke, or one of the other scouts, how far they think it is—give you a little peace of mind.”
David was quick to respond, afraid that Mary Beth might have offended him. “Oh no, we don’t have to do that. We don’t doubt your word on it. It’s just that it’s farther than we thought it was.”
“It ain’t too late to change your mind if you’re havin’ doubts about goin’,” Luke said. “I couldn’t say I blamed you.”
David looked to Mary Beth for confirmation before stating, “No, we’ve made up our minds. We’re going.”
Luke nodded in reply, then looked at Mary Beth. She looked as if still uncertain, but made no comment. He could not read complete trust in either of their eyes, but he figured that it was their problem, not his. “Well, if we’ve still got a deal, then I reckon you’d best hitch up your horses, and we’ll get a start before we burn any more daylight.” He got up to rinse out his cup, and David went to fetch his horses.
It was half an hour past sunup when they finally broke camp and headed north across a treeless landscape of rolling prairie that stretched ahead of them in a patchwork of brown grass and scattered patches of snow. In the beginning, Mary Beth rode on the wagon seat beside her husband, the uncertainty of their decision still fresh in her mind. “What’s to stop him from leading us off in this wilderness and murdering us for our money?” she whispered in spite of the fact that Luke was some fifty yards out in front of them.
“Well, I guess that would be my responsibility,” David answered.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t take care of me,” she quickly assured him, fearing she had hurt his feelings. “I know you will always protect me. I guess I’m just saying that we had better always be on our guard around him and give him no opportunity to take advantage of us.” She would not for the world belittle her husband’s protective potential, but she would not care to see him in a confrontation with a man who moved with the lethal grace of a puma, whose very demeanor spoke of a capacity for violence. “I’m just saying that it would be a good idea for you to wear your pistol belt. You never know when you might need it.” She didn’t voice it, but she also intended to get her father’s old pistol from the trunk and keep it by her bed at night. “Don’t forget, Ben Clarke told you that man was raised by Indians.”
Behind them, General Crook’s column of cavalry, infantry, and supply wagons moved out of Fort Fetterman at approximately one o’clock. Near the head of the column, Lieutenant James Findley rode with two of his scouts, Bill Bogart and George Wylie. “What happened to that feller and his wife that came with you from Medicine Bow?” Bogart asked. “They turn around and head back?” His interest in the couple was inspired solely by the glimpse he had gotten of David Freeman’s comely young wife and the wishful thinking it had created.
“No,” Findley replied. “They’re bound and determined to make it to someplace on the Yellowstone River. I heard his brother struck it rich up in Helena and they’re planning to join him.” He paused, then continued with a faint grin. “Your friend Luke Sunday went with them as a guide.”
“That son of a bitch,” Bogart blurted. “Well, I feel sorry for them folks, ’cause I wouldn’t give ’em much chance to make the Yellowstone.” He allowed himself to fume for a few moments over the mention of Luke’s name, and then another thought entered his mind. “You say they had folks that struck it rich?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Mighty interestin’,” Bogart muttered to Wylie, “and Luke Sunday’s gone with ’em. I wouldn’t mind headin’ out through Powder River country with that pretty little woman. There’s a lot of things could happen on a trip like that—some of ’em bad.” He winked at Wylie and grinned. “And some of ’em damn good.” The grin remained on his face as he brought to mind the trim figure of Mary Beth Freeman.
* * *
As the afternoon wore on, Mary Beth became tired of riding in the wagon, and got off to walk beside it. At the rate of about two miles an hour, it wasn’t difficult for her to keep up. She had always prided herself in her stamina and her capacity for physical activity. As she walked, she became aware of the endless sameness of the prairie. In all directions, the scene was identical, with no trees other than a lone pine here and there that caused her to wonder how even that happened to be. The most prominent growth seemed to be scattered clumps of sagebrush. I surely hope this is not what the country around Coulson looks like, she thought. Noticing an increase in the number of clouds, she was struck by the thought that a person could easily lose her sense of direction if the sky was overcast. She concentrated her gaze on the broad back of their guide then, while thinking of the discussion she had had with David earlier. Maybe her fears about the man were unfounded, she allowed. She had to admit that he had seemed genuinely indifferent to their commitment to make the journey, and had not pressed them to go.
Unaware of the state of uneasiness he had caused, Luke rode on ahead of the wagon, alert for anything in their path that might cause a problem. There was no road to follow, not even a trail, but the terrain was not so difficult as to cause delay. While he rocked gently with the paint’s easy motion, his mind wandered back to the couple behind him. There was no doubt that the woman was the decision maker in that union, and Luke was not convinced that her husband really knew it. This country would eat up a man like David Freeman. He needed a woman as spunky and determined as Mary Beth appeared to be.
By early afternoon, Luke estimated they had probably covered more than ten miles, and figured it time to stop to rest the horses, so he signaled David when he came upon a small stream, bordered by sagebrush and one lone cottonwood tree. “I expect this is about as good a place as any to rest the horses,” he said to David when he caught up. “Might be the best time to eat somethin’ while we’re here.” Glancing up at the sky, he continued. “We might be in for a little snow, the way those clouds are lookin’. If we’re lucky, maybe it won’t be much more than a light shower—be a good idea to feed your horses some of that grain, too. They might have to work a little harder—in case we ain’t lucky.”
Old ashes near the edge of the stream served as evidence that others before them had picked this place to camp. The lack of available firewood was of major concern, but Luke assured them that a small fire, enough to boil a quick pot of coffee, could be built with sagebrush roots and branches. “I’ve still got plenty of deer jerky to keep you from starvin’ till suppertime. I figure we can make it to a little creek about halfway between here and the Cheyenne River. There’s firewood there and grass for the horses, if it ain’t snowed under by the time we get there.”
While David went about the business of unhitching his team, Luke guided his horse under the solitary cottonwood. Standing on his saddle, he was just tall enough to reach the lower limbs of the tree. With his hatchet, he chopped off as many of the branches as he could manage. Watching him, Mary Bet
h realized that this was the reason the tree was pruned so high up the trunk. Others before him had done the same. She assumed he was after wood for the fire and wondered if the green branches would burn well enough to serve their purpose. She learned that he had other intentions, however, when he took his knife and began skinning the bark from the branches, after which, he fed the shavings to his horse.
They rested there for an hour before hitching up and starting out again. They had driven for a couple of hours when the wind picked up and heavier, dark clouds began to roll in from the northwest, signaling an end to the fair weather. Mary Beth climbed back into the wagon and spread a blanket over her and David’s knees. “If this keeps up, I’m going to have to get our heavy coats out again,” she said as she pressed close to her husband.
“He doesn’t seem to mind it,” David said, nodding toward the lone figure sitting relaxed in the saddle some fifty or sixty yards ahead.
Contrary to their thoughts, Luke was perturbed by the sudden blast of wintry air blowing out of the mountains, but not because it was cold. He was as eager to complete this journey as the couple he was leading, and he was disappointed to see any weather that might lengthen it.
Another hour passed before the first flakes began to fall, so he was confident that they would reach the creek he had planned on with no trouble. By the time he caught sight of the little cluster of trees along the bank of the creek, the snow had begun to accumulate upon the prairie. So it was with a welcome sigh that David wheeled his wagon between the trees to park it as close to cover as he could manage. Mary Beth didn’t wait for the men to build a fire, but started gathering dead limbs while David and Luke took care of the horses. She was cold and hungry, so she gathered enough for a large fire. Then a thought entered her mind as she was about to light it. Turning to Luke, who was carrying his saddle back to throw under the wagon, she asked, “Is this too big? Should we be worried about our fire being spotted by Indians?”
A Man Called Sunday Page 8