A Man Called Sunday

by Charles G. West

  Amused by her question, he showed no sign of it, however, when he answered, “No, ma’am. Make it as big as you want. I wouldn’t expect to find any Injuns in this part of the country, except maybe a Crow huntin’ party, and they’d just wanna get warm. We don’t have to worry about runnin’ across any hostiles till we get beyond the Cheyenne River and the Belle Fourche.”

  “What’s the name of this creek?” David asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s got a name,” Luke replied. “At least I ain’t ever heard one. I expect the Crows call it somethin’.”

  “We’ll name it, then,” David said, cheered by the news that he had worried about hostile Indians needlessly. “We’ll call it Freeman’s Creek. Whaddaya think, Mary Beth?” He chuckled playfully.

  When Mary Beth replied with only a look of mock impatience for her husband, Luke said, “As good a name as any, I reckon.” He started to withdraw then to set up his own camp, but was stopped by Mary Beth.

  “There’s really no need for you to go off by yourself,” she said. “You might as well eat with us. For goodness’ sake, we’re going to be traveling for quite a long time and I can cook for all of us.” She said it because it was the thing to do, although she was still uncomfortable in his presence. Then she chided herself and admitted to being uncomfortable when he was not around as well, and she had to wonder what he might be up to.

  As stoic as ever, Luke nodded thoughtfully before replying, “I reckon it makes more sense at that, instead of makin’ two fires and two camps every day. If you’re offerin’ to do the cookin’, then I reckon I can volunteer to provide the meat, so we don’t cook up all the salt pork you’ve got. Is that all right with you folks?”

  “That’s a fair arrangement,” David said. So the partnership was struck, although David still wore his pistol belt and Mary Beth kept her late father’s revolver close to her, even while cooking the supper. The only one not wearing a weapon while they were camped was the one the other two sought to defend themselves against. It did not go unnoticed by Luke, but it failed to concern him. In fact, he couldn’t say that he really blamed them.

  After a supper of boiled beans, bacon, and coffee, Mary Beth was relieved to hear Luke turn down David’s suggestion that he should sleep under the wagon to give him some protection from the snow, which had shown no sign of stopping. “’Preciate it,” Luke said, “but I think it’d be a good idea if I slept over on the other side of the creek where I can spot anythin’ movin’ on the prairie behind us. I can make a half shelter with my buffalo robe to keep the snow off.” He figured that was as good a reason as any, although it could have occurred to David to point out that something might come upon them from the other direction. His real reason was having no desire to sleep under the young couple. During supper, David had remarked that he and Mary Beth had only been married for less than two years. Luke didn’t want to hear them struggling over his head all night, in case the bloom had not faded in their lovemaking yet. When there was no comment from either of them questioning his reasoning, he finished his coffee and said good night.

  Thank you, Mary Beth thought as she watched him depart, for she unknowingly shared similar feelings. David was still inclined to seek intimacy at what she considered inappropriate times, and she did not care to share them with their sinister guide. She never denied her husband’s advances, even though her mood might not match his. David was not a confident man, having never really succeeded in any important endeavor, and she was careful not to discourage his ardor, lest he feel rejected. Her mind returned to the circumstances of their marriage. The only daughter, raised in a household with four brothers, she was eager to accept the first decent opportunity to escape the madhouse of her family. Being the eldest, she was more like a second mother to her brothers, and burdened with the responsibility of cooking, washing clothes, and cleaning up after the rowdy boys.

  David’s family owned the farm next to her father’s in Minnesota. The youngest of the Freeman boys, David soon came to call on Mary Beth. She was a little ashamed to admit it, but when he proposed to her, she said yes, primarily to escape her family. The fact that David had dreams of making it on his own in the free country of the West, as his older brother had done, suited her even better. So they bade farewell to family and friends and set out for a plot of land near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, a piece of land that David had bought sight unseen. The land turned out to be one hundred and twenty-five acres of arid soil, incapable of sustaining crops. Mary Beth did not complain during the long, hard months they worked to bring life to a land that refused to support it. She worked just as hard to build her marriage and strengthen a love for her husband that she had to admit was not fully there in their beginning. When they received word from David’s brother inviting them to join him in Montana, they were both ready to go. Now it appeared that, after some discouraging setbacks, they had found a way to continue their quest—even if it was with a half-civilized guide. She could not consider herself a brave woman, but she was determined as hell at this point.

  * * *

  David and Mary Beth were awakened the next morning by the sound of distant gunfire from the north. Alarmed, they scrambled out of the wagon to discover Luke standing on the opposite bank, his ear to the wind, listening. Seeing that the couple was awake, he crossed over to their side, carrying an armload of dead limbs for the fire.

  “Whaddaya think it is?” David asked. “You think we’re in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so,” Luke replied calmly. “Sounds to me like somebody’s run up on some buffalo, most likely a Crow huntin’ party. I was just fixin’ to go take a look. I was waitin’ for you folks to wake up—didn’t want you to think I’d run off and left you. I’ll get a fire started.” About a four-inch blanket of snow had fallen during the night, ending an hour or so before sunup. Luke raked it away to uncover the charred remains of their fire from the night before. In short order he had a healthy blaze glowing, and when he was sure of its promise, he got to his feet. “I won’t be gone long,” he said as he started toward his horse.

  “How long should we wait here?” David asked.

  “You go ahead and fix your breakfast and get ready to break camp. If I ain’t back by then, start out without me.” Before David could form words to voice the alarm at once reflected in his eyes, Luke turned and pointed toward the northern skyline. “See that line of hills with what looks like a chimney at one end of it? You just start your horses on that line, and I’ll meet you before you get there.”

  “Don’t you want to wait and get some coffee before you go?” Mary Beth asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Luke replied. “You folks ought not take too much time gettin’ started. I wanna make camp tonight at the Cheyenne River. That’s about twenty miles from here, and this snow ain’t gonna make it any easier.”

  “What if you aren’t there by the time we reach that rock?” David asked.

  “I’ll be there,” Luke assured him. “That rock’s the best part of ten miles away.” He stepped up in the saddle and guided the paint along the north bank of the creek.

  Mary Beth moved up to stand beside her husband, and they both watched him until he faded into the early morning mist hovering over the creek. There was no need to express the feeling of emptiness that descended upon them at that moment. Their wagon, a pinpoint in a vast ocean of stark white prairie that extended on all sides to a distant horizon, left them with the realism that without their guide, they were truly lost. “You don’t suppose—” Mary Beth started.

  “He’ll be back,” David interrupted her. “He said he’ll be back, so don’t start worrying your mind about it.” Another thought occurred to him then. “He ain’t gonna leave before he gets his money, so let’s just get some coffee boiling and get ready to go.”

  Breakfast was a hurried affair on this morning, with no lingering over coffee afterward. Mary Beth was washing her dishes and the fry
ing pan before David had a chance to finish his bacon. Gone for the moment were her feelings of suspicion and discomfort she had harbored for the tall scout whenever he was around. They were replaced by a need for reassurance from his quiet confidence and indifferent manner.

  * * *

  After a ride of approximately five miles, Luke approached a low ridge that appeared to be one side of a wide, grassy draw. The sound of random gunfire from the other side of the ridge, and the rumble of many hooves, told him that what he had suspected was probably true, that someone was killing buffalo. To make sure, however, and to determine if they were friend or foe, he left his horse when almost to the top of the ridge and climbed the rest of the way on foot.

  Lying on his belly at the top of the ridge, he watched for only a minute or two before uttering, “Black Feather.” He had run up on the Crow scouts he had been sent to find several days before, led by his friend Black Feather. He watched for a few minutes as the small herd of perhaps one hundred buffalo swept through the draw with the Crow hunters darting in and out of the mass of bodies to kill what they needed, their nimble ponies quick to avoid the dangerous horns. With no further need for caution, Luke got to his feet and went back to get his horse.

  Riding diagonally down the side of the ridge, he urged the paint to join the hunt. Having done it many times before, the fearless horse charged into the mob of thundering hooves. So intense was the chase that the Crow hunters were not aware of the addition to their hunt until the Henry rifle spoke and a young cow collapsed with a .44 slug placed neatly behind her left front leg to take a tumble in the snow-covered grass. Surprised, for there had been no rider to his left moments before, Black Feather jerked his head around to see Luke bearing down on another cow. “Hi-yi!” he cried out excitedly. “Dead Man!”

  Luke raised his rifle overhead in greeting to his friend, then abruptly reined the paint back, veering away from the stampeding herd. The one buffalo cow was enough to supply the Freemans and himself for a good while, so there was no sense in killing more. The Crow hunters, most of whom were still unaware that he had joined them, continued their chase for a short while longer before breaking off to return to butcher the carcasses left behind. Upon seeing Luke, they quickly gathered around him.

  “Have you come to join us?” Black Feather asked.

  “No,” Luke answered in the Crow tongue. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you were going to meet General Crook.”

  “We go to meet him at the Powder River near Dry Fork, where the army fort used to be,” Little Bear said.

  “The soldiers left Fort Fetterman one sleep ago,” Luke said. “Maybe two more sleeps they’ll reach Fort Reno and think you’ll be there.”

  Black Feather shrugged indifferently. “We had big hunt, killed plenty meat for our village. That was important before we left to fight Sioux.” He and the others went on to explain that they were on their way to meet General Crook when they happened upon a second herd of buffalo. They were fortunate to be able to take advantage of this smaller herd to make meat for their battle with the Sioux.

  “Need strong meat,” Little Bear said. “Soldiers fight on coffee, beans, and tree bark. No iron in their food. Absaroka warrior need iron in food.”

  Luke had to smile at Little Bear’s comparison of the army’s hardtack to tree bark. He shared the sentiment. “Crook expects to find you at Fort Reno when he gets there,” he repeated.

  “We go,” Black Feather said, “when we butcher the meat.” Luke knew there was no use in trying to hurry him. The Indian tended to put things in proper priority, and having decent food was more important than being at a particular point on the Powder because the soldiers would be there at that time. “Soldier Chief send you to find us again?” Black Feather asked.

  “No, I’m not goin’ with you,” Luke replied, switching back to English. “The general fired me. I’m taking a couple of white settlers to the Yellowstone. I thought you were long gone.” The Crows could not understand the reason for not using Luke as a scout, even after he tried to explain the events that led to his dismissal. Luke refrained from telling them that he was also a friend of Two Moons of the Cheyenne. That might have been a little difficult for Black Feather to understand. He went on to tell them about David and Mary Beth, and his promise to lead them to the Yellowstone.

  “Maybe we don’t go to scout for Soldier Chief,” Little Bear said in support of Luke. His comment was followed with grunts of agreement among the warriors gathered around.

  “No,” Luke insisted. “The general needs you, and he wants you to keep all the Sioux ponies you can capture.”

  This served to remind the warriors of the main reason for volunteering to scout for the soldiers, the prospect of stealing many ponies, so the focus of their attention was returned to the business of butchering their kill. Luke knew they would be another day or two longer before arriving at Fort Reno. They would feast on the fresh meat today while drying out the rest. As for his cow, he would butcher it right away, using his knife and hatchet, wrap the portions he wanted to take in the buffalo’s hide, then ride to intercept David and Mary Beth. The weather was still cold enough to keep the meat until they reached the Cheyenne River, so he planned to camp there long enough to smoke the meat to preserve it. When his butchering was done, and the meat loaded on his horse, he wished his Crow friends good luck and bade them farewell.

  * * *

  Mindful of his pony’s heavy load, he slow-walked the paint on a course that would intercept the wagon before it reached the stone pillar he had pointed out to David. Random thoughts played upon his mind as he guided the paint through a series of deep gullies with frequent outcroppings of the unusual dark brown rock, prevalent in this broad prairie. The rock had always struck him as odd. It looked soft and had a lot of little holes in it as if a carpenter had taken an awl and drilled it, and he could think of no practical use for it.

  It was well past noon while resting in the shadow of the stone pillar when he spotted the wagon in the distance. Assuming they would be ready to stop to rest the horses and eat something, he placed more sticks on the fire he had built, and cut some strips of fresh meat to roast. Firewood was scarce, since the only source were two dwarf trees that survived on the tiny trickle of water generated by the melting snow on the ridge above. For that reason, he had no thoughts of smoke-curing the buffalo meat until they reached the Cheyenne River.

  “Well, looks like we made it to the rock, and where in hell is our guide?” David complained as they approached the tall stone pillar. Already starting to wonder what he would do if Luke failed to show, he was about to voice his concern when Mary Beth interrupted.

  “Is that smoke I see?” She pointed to the thin column wafting up from the base of the pillar.

  “I think you’re right,” David said, wary now that they might have encountered some Indians. His fears were alleviated at once, however, by the appearance of Luke Sunday when the rugged scout stepped up on a rock and waved them on. More than ready to stop for a while, David drove his wagon around the rock to discover a fire going and the aroma of roasting meat. It was a welcome sight, and Mary Beth wasted no time in getting out her coffeepot.

  “I’ve got a pretty good supply of meat that I need to smoke before it starts to turn,” Luke told them. I need to load it on your wagon, if you’ve got room. Then if you folks ain’t in that big a hurry, we can lay over for a day to dry it out when we get to the Cheyenne.”

  “We’ll make room for that,” Mary Beth replied. “It’ll save some of our supplies.” She glanced at David and he nodded in return.

  There was still an invisible wall of caution between the young couple and their somber guide. Luke could sense it, and was becoming tired of it, so he thought it was time to comment on it. “Look, folks, you can stop worryin’ about me. I said I’d take you to this little town of yours, and that’s what I’ll do. I ain’t gonna rob y
ou, or kill you, or leave you on your own out here on the prairie.”

  David blanched, embarrassed by Luke’s accurate assessment of the situation. Mary Beth clearly blushed. “Why, Mr. Sunday, we didn’t worry about that at all,” she started, then paused before continuing. “Well, yes, we were a little worried about that, I’ll admit. I guess we owe you an apology, but we didn’t know anything about you, and you’re so . . .” She didn’t finish, unable to find a word that wouldn’t offend.

  Luke had to smile. “It’s Luke, ma’am. There ain’t no Mr. Sunday.”

  Mary Beth returned his smile. “All right, Luke.” She emphasized the name. “We won’t worry about you anymore, but you should smile more often, so you don’t look so fierce.” Obviously relieved of a heavy burden, she said, “If we’re going to stay an extra day when we get to the river, I might go into my flour barrel and bake us some bread to go with all this meat you’ve supplied.”

  Chapter 6

  After a day spent to prepare the meat Luke had supplied, the travelers moved on with horses rested and bellies filled with meat. A day’s travel took them near the headwaters of the Belle Fourche, where they camped overnight before following that river north for the next three days. After camping one last time on the Belle Fourche, Luke left the river and headed in a more westerly direction to strike the Little Powder. In all the time since they’d left Fort Fetterman, there had been no sighting of Indians, although they came upon travois and pony tracks in several spots that indicated parties on their way to join Sitting Bull or Crazy Horse.

  Even though still chilly, the weather remained stable with no further snowfall, allowing them to make good progress, averaging almost twenty miles a day. With no sign of hostile Indians, each day became easier on David’s and Mary Beth’s nerves. Although their guide still presented an image of a creature of the wild, more Indian than white, they no longer harbored the fear that he might have thoughts of murdering them in their sleep. David reasoned that had he possessed any such intentions, it made no sense to wait until this late date to act upon them. Even so, Mary Beth continued to find it uncomfortable at times when his intense gaze followed her movements around the campfire. Still, she could not deny a certain fascination for their tall sandy-haired guide. She wondered how he came to be the mysterious man that he was, and one evening when camped about a mile short of the forks of the Powder and Little Powder, she was given the opportunity to learn more. Thinking he had ridden away from their camp to scout the area around and ahead of them, she went down to the edge of the river to wash her frying pan.