“Keep your head down,” he called to caution Mary Beth again as shots from less powerful weapons opened up. From the popping sound of them, he guessed they were carbines similar to the Spencers he had taken from the first party. Searching back and forth along the bluffs, he waited for a glimpse of one of the warriors. When their assault offered no signs of success, the hostiles became impatient. It was what Luke was counting on. Anxious to be the first to kill the white man, one of the hostiles leaped up from his hiding place and bolted toward a high hummock near the water’s edge. Luke took aim, leading him a little less than he would have a deer, and patiently shot him in midstride, causing him to tumble and roll a few times before remaining still.
Luke had barely withdrawn from the spot before two quick shots from the Springfield tore into the rim of the gully. “That damn Injun’s pretty good with that rifle,” he muttered as he shifted to a new location. Crawling up beneath the branches of a clump of sagebrush, he found a better place to scan the terrain between the gully and the cottonwoods on the opposite bank. For a while, there were no more opportunities for a clear shot, for the two remaining hostiles, who had moved in closer, had evidently seen enough of Luke’s accuracy with his Henry rifle to discourage them from continuing to advance upon the gully. All was quiet for quite some time before the two suddenly sprang from their hiding places and fled back to the cover of the trees as fast as they could run. Luke was not quick enough to hit either one. He cursed the missed opportunity.
“I think that’ll most likely be it for the afternoon,” Luke said when he moved back to the wagon.
“Do you think they’ll give up and leave us alone now?” Mary Beth asked, still huddled behind the trunk and clutching the shotgun.
“Don’t know,” Luke replied. “Maybe. There’s three of ’em dead. That might be enough for ’em. On the other hand, they might just be waitin’ for dark and try to sneak in on us. They probably figure one of ’em can get around behind us and we can’t cover all three of ’em. That’s more likely what they’re plannin’ on.” He looked up at the afternoon sun. “It ain’t gonna be much longer before dark, and they know we can’t drive this wagon outta here with them sittin’ there watchin’ us.”
His assessment of their situation did very little to comfort Mary Beth’s fears. From what she could see, they could not leave the gully without great odds of getting shot, and it was impossible to drive the wagon up the back of the gully. It was already wedged fairly snug in the mouth of it. “What are we going to do?” she asked, not at all comfortable with the idea of sitting in this grave they had dug for themselves and waiting for their executioners to close in on them.
“We’re leavin’ here as soon as it gets dark,” he answered. Before she could question him further, he laid it out for her. “We’re leavin’ your wagon right where it is. We can’t outrun anybody with that wagon, and it leaves a trail that a blind Injun can follow, so we’re ridin’ outta here on horseback.” He paused to comment, “I hope to hell you can ride. Even if you can’t, that’s the way we’re goin’.” She at once looked alarmed, and began to glance around in the wagon, concerned for all her possessions. Guessing her thoughts, he continued. “You’re gonna have to leave most of this stuff. I rigged up a packsaddle for that sorrel, so we’ll take the most important stuff, whatever we can get on the packhorse and behind us on the other two ponies.” Without waiting to hear her protests, he asked, “Can you ride a horse?”
“Well, I have ridden one,” she answered, still struggling with the notion that she might lose all her earthly goods.
“Good,” he replied curtly. “I expect you’ll do better in the saddle, so I’ll put you on my horse and I’ll ride the spotted gray pony.”
“We didn’t bring much furniture because David’s brother said we could build most of what we needed out there,” she said. “But we have the bedstead and my trunk and some personal things that I can’t leave. We can’t carry all that on the horses.” She frowned her distress. “My mother’s china, I can’t leave that, our grandmother clock—” That was as far as she got before he interrupted.
“Ma’am,” he said sternly, “you ain’t got no choice. If we’re gonna get to your brother’s house alive, you’re gonna have to leave all that stuff. Take some clothes, some food, somethin’ to cook it with, and whatever money you’ve got—guns and cartridges—that’s all we have to have. We ain’t takin’ but one packhorse.” He went on to explain his reasons for setting her two horses free. “I know it’s a hard thing for you to part with your things, but that’s the way it’s gotta be if you’re gonna save your scalp. I’m ridin’ out of here as soon as it’s dark—with you or without you.” He knew he was putting it to her pretty harshly, but he didn’t want to give her any room to argue the point. In truth, he would never leave without her, but if it became necessary, he would take her forcefully, convinced as he was that it was their best chance for escape. He felt now, since their recent Indian encounters, that it was too dangerous to try to continue pulling a wagon through the Powder Valley.
On her knees in the back of the wagon, she stared at him, stunned by the realization that she must discard possessions that had belonged to her mother and father, and desperate in the knowledge that her immediate fate depended on the rugged sandy-haired scout. The feelings of distrust she had felt in the beginning came back to frighten her now, but what choice did she have? He had threatened to leave without her if she balked. “All right,” she said finally, “I’ll get my things ready to go.” She couldn’t help adding “I guess you want to make sure I take all our money, money we saved up for our new home.”
“Only a hundred dollars of it,” he answered. “The rest is up to you.” He turned his attention back to the expanse of sand and gravel between the gully and the trees on the opposite bank of the river. Without turning to look at her again, he said, “Put everythin’ you wanna take on the tailgate and I’ll pack it on the horses.”
When the sun began to drop low on the hills to the west of them, he slid back down from the perch he had taken on the rim of the gully. “Crawl up there and keep your eyes open while I load the horses,” he instructed her. “Be mindful of the river both ways in case one of ’em tries to swim across and get in behind us.”
She dutifully did his bidding, although greatly disturbed that her situation had been so drastically changed. She no longer held any authority over a man she had originally hired. The fact that she was in no position to challenge his decisions added to her dismay, all the while knowing that if she was to escape this siege with her life, it would be him that saved her. These were the thoughts that crowded her mind while she strained to detect movement of any kind in the long shadows of twilight. They were not helped by the underlying basic fear that, at any moment, a screaming savage might suddenly spring up to take her scalp. So intensely was she watching the river and the bluffs beyond that she didn’t hear his question. “What?” she asked.
“I said, is there anythin’ else you wanna take?” he repeated. “’Cause this horse can carry a little more than what you pulled out here.” He took another look at the items she had selected. “Maybe you don’t need some of these things. You could leave ’em and take some more of your personal things.” He nudged a heavy large gunnysack with his toe. “What’s in this?”
“Corn,” she replied.
“Well, like I said, maybe you’d wanna leave it and take somethin’ else instead.”
“No,” she quickly said, “I want to take it. I can’t leave it.”
He was confused by her insistence. “What is it, seed corn?” She nodded. He shrugged and reached down to heft the sack up on the horse. “Damn!” he involuntarily blurted, for the sack was a good deal heavier than he expected. “This must be some special kind of corn. I’m gonna have to repack this stuff to balance the load. You got somethin’ else you wanna pack on here?”
Surprised, she turned to
look at the horse, for she thought she would be told that she had chosen too much. She hurried back to the wagon to select some of the personal items that she had thought to sacrifice, amazed by the efficient way in which he had fashioned the pack. While waiting for her, he took over her post as lookout. “Be quick,” he called back softly as the sun sank out of sight and the shadows faded into evening. “We’ve got to get outta here right now.” The river valley that had been bathed in twilight only moments before was now cloaked in darkness as if someone had suddenly blown out a lantern. He wanted to move out of the gully before the moon came up, knowing that the Sioux warriors would probably try to sneak in close to them while it was darkest. And he intended to be gone when that happened.
When all was packed and tied securely, Luke saddled the paint and helped Mary Beth up in the saddle. He saw at once that he had to adjust the stirrups for her shorter legs, which he did while she sat quietly as the Indian pony shifted nervously. “He’ll be all right,” Luke assured her, “once he gets used to you.” Knowing that the horse was accustomed to more weight than that of the slender woman, he packed a good portion of their dried meat behind the saddle. Satisfied that they were ready, he said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
With his rifle in hand, he climbed up the back of the gully on foot. Near the end, where it reached the top of the bluff, he dropped to his hands and knees to search the darkness, upstream and downstream. He saw no one in the deepening night. About to rise to his feet, he stopped suddenly when a slight movement near a clump of berry bushes caught his eye. Unconsciously lowering his body close to the ground, he then remained motionless while locking his eyes on the bushes. In a few seconds, his suspicions proved to be accurate as a shadowy form emerged from the clump and moved stealthily toward him. Judging by his movements, he figured the Indian had not spotted him, so he very carefully backed away from the edge of the gully and drew his skinning knife, hoping to do what he had to quietly. He continued to edge his way back down the gully until he came to a spot that formed a little bit of a step that created a darker hole below it. Deciding he was not going to find a better spot, he crouched there against the sandy side of the gully and waited.
Behind him, he heard one of the horses snort at the bottom of the gully. It served to hurry the warrior, who was now at the top. Anxious to surprise the occupants of the camp, he stepped down in the rough trench, his carbine at the ready. Unaware of the demon awaiting him until it sprang up from the darkness to plunge the skinning knife deep into his gut, the Sioux warrior expelled a sharp grunt, as much a reaction of surprise as a cry of pain. Down they went, in a tumble, to land at the feet of the waiting horses, causing them to fidget nervously to get out of the way. Like an enraged puma, Luke withdrew his knife from the hostile’s gut and drew it across the warrior’s throat while the hostile struggled helplessly in his grasp.
A witness to the violent execution, Mary Beth sat rigidly in the saddle, terrified by the savage exhibition of hand-to-hand combat. She grabbed the saddle horn with both hands to keep from coming off the horse when it became excited by the two bodies rolling near its hooves. When the Sioux warrior was finally subdued, Luke dragged his body to the side, then freed Mary Beth and David’s team of horses. He tossed their bridles in the wagon and glanced at Mary Beth. “Come,” he said, and jumped deftly on his pony’s back. She did not follow at once when he started up the gully, still stunned by the horrible scene. “Come!” he repeated sharply, and she followed immediately, afraid not to. With the lead rope in hand, he started up the back of the gully, his rifle ready, in case the other two hostiles had moved faster than he figured. Once he was clear of the gully, he quickly scanned the bluffs, and when he was certain no one else had headed them off, he motioned for Mary Beth to follow. Much to her relief, the paint responded obediently to her urging.
Even though it was dark there in the bluffs, she felt as if she was exposed to anyone in the valley, and expected to hear gunshots ring out at any minute. A few yards ahead, Luke looked back briefly at her before walking his pony along the bank until entering the water at a low spot about twenty yards above the gully. Walking the horses slowly to minimize their splashing in the knee-deep water, he led Mary Beth down the river. After they had made their way about a hundred yards downstream, Luke felt they were clear of any ambush by the other two warriors. He rested the heavy Henry rifle across the gray’s withers since he had no saddle, and consequently, no scabbard for the rifle. What happened next was dependent on the disposition of the remaining Sioux warriors, he decided. He could not guess what they would do when they found the body in the gully. He had taken a toll on their small scouting party, reducing it to two warriors. He hoped they would consider their medicine bad on this scout, pick up their dead, and break off their pursuit, but there was also the possibility they would follow, determined to avenge their dead. For this reason, he remained in the river, hoping to disguise their trail.
Mary Beth finally relaxed to let her body adapt to the gentle motion of the paint pony. She had been rigid for so many tense moments that she now ached in her legs and back. It was going to take some time, however, before the picture of the killing just witnessed would leave her mind. It was stronger even than that of David’s gaping throat, and she wondered how many of these brutal scenes she could live through before she was driven out of her mind. Then she thought of the many things left behind in the wagon to be stolen or destroyed by savages. And the horses, what would become of them? She had seen both of them follow the Indian ponies out of the gully and down to the river’s edge, but they had stopped there, content to drink and graze. She would never see them again, and she hoped that they could survive on their own. There was very little left of her and David’s life, a few sentimental trinkets, some dishes, some clothes, a few other things. She suddenly felt tears inching down her cheeks as she found herself in hopeless despair, and though fearful of the man leading her down the river, she was more afraid to be without him.
Luke continued down the river for almost a mile before coming to a low bank covered with short grass. Figuring this to be as good a place as he was likely to find to leave the river, he turned the gray toward the west bank and climbed up out of the river. He dismounted and waited for Mary Beth to catch up. “You doin’ all right?” he asked. “Just got your feet wet a little, I reckon.” She only nodded in reply. He took a minute to check the packs on the sorrel. “Looks like nothin’ got too wet. I ain’t sure those other two ain’t found out we’re gone yet, but if they were of a mind to come after us, we shoulda heard somethin’ from ’em by now.” She remained silent, nodding only to acknowledge understanding. He went on. “We’d best make as good a time as we can while we’ve got a clear night. I don’t know how much longer this weather is gonna favor us. It’s mighty unusual for this time of year. We’re gonna leave the Powder now and head on a more straight line for where we’re goin’. If we head west and a little north, we can strike the Pumpkin by daybreak, now that we ain’t slowed down by a wagon.”
It didn’t occur to her that he had said more words at one time than he had ever spoken before, so she was unable to recognize his clumsy attempt to set her mind at ease after the shock of their narrow escape. “If we still ain’t seen any sign of ’em after a couple more hours, we’ll stop and rest the horses—and get you a little somethin’ to eat.” He felt reasonably sure that, if there was no sign of the two Sioux warriors by the time they reached Pumpkin Creek, he could stop worrying about them. Hopefully, they would see fewer trails left by other hostile parties since that should place them about three or four days northwest of the big Sioux camp. If he could believe reports the Crow and Shoshoni had told General Crook, Sitting Bull was camped somewhere along Rosebud Creek, and would probably move toward the Big Horn. The mental image of General Crook led him to thoughts of the scout who had caused him to lose his job. It should have been Bill Bogart in that saloon back at Fort Fetterman instead of Sonny Pickens, he thought
. But he had not been given a choice when Pickens took a shot at him. He had not given Bill Bogart any thought for quite some time, and he wondered why he came to mind now. I’ve got a strong dislike for that son of a bitch, he thought. It’s a good thing I’m done with him, else one of us would wind up dead for certain.
Chapter 8
Maybe by coincidence, the man Luke Sunday had brought to mind a hundred miles away was at that moment sitting by a campfire at Goose Creek, grousing with his partner, George Wylie, after receiving a brutal dressing-down by Major Potter. “By God,” Bill Bogart complained, “that pompous little banty-rooster ain’t got no call to blame me for none of that whuppin’ them hostiles put on the soldiers. I ain’t the only one that thought the Injuns would run instead of fightin’.”
A Man Called Sunday Page 13