Stone Hand

by Charles G. West

  Jason had to take Long Foot by the arm and lead him away from the brow of the hill, reassuring him that Stone Hand would not escape this time. Magpie waited at the foot of the rise, where she held the horses. She studied the faces of the two men when they returned. While Jason’s was expressionless, she could read the anxiety that etched deep furrows in the face of her brother-in-law. They mounted and Jason led them back trail for a mile or so until he found a suitable place to wait out the daylight.

  Magpie knelt beside Jason where he rested against a young sapling. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I can boil some of the corn I brought.”

  “No,” he replied, “I’m not hungry.” He watched the young girl as she rose and returned to the small fire she had built between two small boulders. He was not concerned about the fire. The smoke would hardly be noticeable. Magpie, he thought, what an inappropriate name for a girl of such obvious beauty. He let his mind muse over the thought. It was a white man’s connotation that made the name seem harsh and awkward. Magpie was an Osage girl and, to the Osage, the name was no different from Lark or Sparrow. Possibly her father saw a magpie on the day she was born and named her accordingly. Her older sister, Long Foot’s wife, was named Raven. Her parents must have been partial to birds, he thought. I guess she’s lucky they didn’t sight a buzzard when she was born.

  He realized his mind was wandering unfettered into the world of the ridiculous so he gathered his thoughts back to consider the night that lay before them. At this point, he had no real plan. It was difficult to say what the situation might be when they scouted the Commanche camp after nightfall. He hoped he would be able to pinpoint the tipi Sarah was being held in and simply slip into the camp and carry her away. He preferred to see to her safety before coming back to deal with Stone Hand. His concern was for Long Foot. Would he be able to hold him back long enough to get the women somewhere safe?

  There being nothing to do until the time came, he decided to get some sleep. While he arranged his large frame in an effort to get comfortable on the hard-packed ground, he looked over at Long Foot. The Osage had not stopped pacing since they made their temporary camp.

  “Better get some rest, Long Foot. If things go the way we want, chances are we’ll be doing some hard riding all night.” To himself he thought, At least that’s the way I hope it will go. He knew that Long Foot was here primarily to settle the score with Stone Hand and his passion to kill the renegade might complicate the rescue mission. I’ll deal with it when the time comes, he thought.

  Long Foot seemed in a trance. “No rest till Stone Hand dead,” he mumbled. And then he added, “Damn right.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m gonna try to get some rest.” He glanced at Magpie. His tone softened as he looked into the deep brown eyes that returned his gaze. “You better try to rest, too.” She nodded and, spreading her blanket beside him, cuddled up close against him.

  * * *

  “What? What is it?” He had been asleep and now he was aware that someone was shaking him violently. The sleep that fogged his brain quickly dissipated and he sat up to find Magpie kneeling beside him.

  “Long Foot!” she cried, her voice filled with anxiety and she continued to shake Jason.

  He placed his hand on hers to calm her. “Long Foot? What about Long Foot?” He glanced quickly around him. The Osage was nowhere in sight.

  “He’s gone!” Her eyes wide with fear, she told Jason that she, too, had gone to sleep. She awakened to discover Long Foot quietly leading his horse out of the camp. He had painted his face for war and upon meeting her gaze had silently ordered her to hold her tongue. Then he rode off toward the Commanche camp.

  Jason was afraid this might happen. His friend had been unable to rid his mind of the constant burning he felt inside. Now he had gone to extinguish that fire in the only way that could satisfy him. Damn fool, he thought. He had permitted his lust for vengeance to drown his common sense. Well, he decided, the fat’s in the fire now. We ain’t got much choice. To her he said, “Come on, we’ve got to see if we can catch him.”

  She responded at once and within a few minutes’ time they were off at a gallop. It was a useless effort, for their camp was little more than a mile from the Commanche village and Long Foot would have reached it long before Jason and Magpie. Still Jason deemed it worth the effort to overtake his friend in the hope that Long Foot would take the time to scout the village before riding blindly in. He was to be disappointed, however, for Long Foot’s grief had robbed him of any notions of caution.

  * * *

  The cookfires were already burning in front of the tipis in the quiet village as the women began to prepare the evening meal. The sun had fallen behind the rolling hills to the west, spreading soft shadows across the tiny stream toward the open prairie beyond. Darkness was not far away. A man of the village finished hobbling his favorite war pony close by his tipi. As he rose to his feet, his eye caught a movement toward the west. A rider was approaching. Curious, he continued to gaze toward the hills, his vision somewhat impaired by the setting sun behind him. Now a few of the others in the camp caught sight of the rider and paused to watch him as he made his way across the shallow stream and continued toward them. Lame Dog came out of his lodge and stood silently watching.

  Long Foot rode straight into the enemy camp, ignoring two Commanche warriors who had leaped upon their ponies and rode out to flank him. He rode into the center of the circle of tipis and pulled up before the lodge of Lame Dog.

  Lame Dog stared at the stranger still seated silently on his horse. After a long moment, he spoke. “What business do you have here? It is not a friendly visit, I think. A friend does not come to visit with his face painted for war.” He paused before adding, “One warrior makes a small war party.”

  “I am Long Foot, Osage. There is one among you who is a cowardly camp dog, one who steals babies…a killer of women. It is him I seek, a Cheyenne coyote. Where does the coward hide?”

  The look of shock that claimed Lame Dog’s face was reflected in those of his village who also heard Long Foot’s words. Stone Hand was feared as much in this Commanche camp as he was among the Cheyenne and the gathering of people involuntarily backed away a few steps as if afraid the lightning that would surely strike Long Foot might also singe them.

  “Where is Stone Hand?” Long Foot demanded.

  “I am here, you Osage dog.”

  An instant hush fell upon the village and all heads turned in the direction from which the ominous voice had come. He emerged from a tipi near the stream and stood, his feet wide apart, defiantly, his face a mask of cool contempt. Long Foot turned his pony to face him. Nothing more was said for a long time while the two men stared at each other. Finally Long Foot broke the silence.

  “I have come to kill you.”

  His simple statement brought a thin smile to Stone Hand’s face. “You have come to die,” he replied.

  Lame Dog spoke then. “Stone Hand is a guest in my village. Have you no honor, that you come and challenge a guest in a peaceful camp? Is this the way of the Osage?”

  Long Foot answered the chief although he continued to look straight at Stone Hand. “This dog, this guest of the mighty Commanche, has murdered my wife. While I was away from the lodge, he came in like a sneaking coyote and killed her. Then he stole the white woman and her baby. I say it is my right to challenge him.”

  Lame Dog listened to his words and considered the seriousness of his charges. He turned to look at the sneering countenance of Stone Hand. He did not doubt that what Long Foot claimed was true. And while Stone Hand was in fact a guest in his camp, he was by no means a welcome guest. On the contrary, many of the men of his village would have turned the renegade away had they not feared the man so much. After some consideration, he decided that the matter should be settled between the two. “If what you say is true, it is your right to challenge Stone Hand.”

  “You will not interfere?” Long Foot asked.

  “My warriors will not interfe
re.”

  Everyone in the camp had gathered around them by this time and all eyes turned toward Stone Hand. No one had dared to challenge this fierce Cheyenne warrior before and they were curious to see his reaction to the insults of this foolish Osage. Stone Hand did not disappoint them. He laid his rifle aside and drew his knife, walking slowly toward Long Foot. Long Foot, in response, left his own rifle in the saddle sling and drawing his knife, slid off his horse and stood ready to face his enemy.

  Stone Hand’s contempt for his accuser was evident in the sneer etched upon his face. “I could have put a bullet between your eyes when you rode in, Osage dog. But there would not have been any pleasure in that. Now I will cut you in little chunks and feed you to the dogs.” He began to circle to his left, his eyes unblinking, his evil smile fixed permanently on his face.

  The contrast between the two was stark, for Long Foot was slender and smooth-muscled like most men of his tribe. Stone Hand, while not unusually tall, was more massive, his body well muscled and defined, unusual for any Plains Indian. There was no hint of fear in the Osage, however. His grief for his wife was an unbearable weight, for his love for Raven was great. He would have known no fear if he had been facing a grizzly.

  The people of Lame Dog’s village formed a circle around the two antagonists, a good proportion of them secretly hoping the slender Osage would be able to perform a miracle. Their feelings were of no concern to Stone Hand. He preferred to be feared rather than well received and it was obvious he was enjoying the opportunity to kill the Osage, enjoying it to the extent that he did not want to end it too soon. So he continued to circle, making playful feints with his knife, taunting Long Foot as he circled.

  Long Foot became impatient with the sparring and after another of Stone Hand’s feints he followed by lunging at his adversary, thrusting with his knife. Stone Hand easily caught his wrist and with a viselike grip imprisoned Long Foot’s hand. With his other hand he ripped across Long Foot’s side with his knife, laying open a long gaping gash. Long Foot folded and would have fallen had he not been held up by the renegade’s grip on his wrist. He made no outcry but the pain was etched in the lines of his face.

  “Your woman put up a stronger fight, Osage dog.” Stone Hand hissed in Long Foot’s ear. “I will roast your liver over the fire before I feed it to the dogs.”

  Long Foot strained against the powerful grip of his sneering enemy. It was obvious to all that the Osage was no match for the powerful Cheyenne renegade. They waited for the mortal blow. But Stone Hand was not ready to cut short his enjoyment. With the hand that clutched the wrist, he threw Long Foot backward, causing him to sprawl in the dust of the circle. Long Foot struggled to regain his feet. He held his bleeding side with one hand while he strained to steady himself. Stone Hand began to slowly circle him again, like a wolf circling a crippled calf.

  It was at this moment that Jason and Magpie reached the rise above the Commanche camp where he had scouted it that morning. “Oh my God,” he whispered when he saw the scene below. Magpie almost cried out when she saw Long Foot staggering and bleeding, encircled by the Commanche camp. “You poor bastard,” he murmured to himself, for he knew Long Foot didn’t stand a chance against Stone Hand. “Why didn’t he just shoot the son of a bitch?” Not understanding his question, Magpie looked at Jason, her eyes wide with terror. He realized the girl was on the verge of panic. “Easy, girl. Just get a hold of yourself. We’ll be all right.” He reached over and patted her arm. She moved over close to him, pressing close against his side.

  There was nothing Jason could do at this point. Long Foot was a dead man already. Jason could tell that by the enormous amount of blood that soaked Long Foot’s shirt and ran down his leggings. As they watched, Stone Hand moved in once more and with a powerful thrust sank his knife in Long Foot’s ribs. Still the Osage made no sound other than a low grunt. With a violent motion, Stone Hand snatched the knife back, leaving Long Foot doubled over and fighting to stand up. Stone Hand backed away to watch the doomed man’s efforts, amused by the helplessness of his prey.

  Jason was almost sick with anger, the frustration almost strangling him. He raised his rifle once, the thought in mind to end his friend’s misery. But he could not get a clear shot at either man due to the crowd of spectators. “There’s nothing I can do for him,” he said quietly, looking at Magpie. She nodded understanding. “I have you and Sarah to think about.”

  Resigned to the fact that he could do nothing to help Long Foot, he turned his thoughts back to the original purpose of his mission, to rescue Sarah and the baby. Just then it occurred to him that every person in the village was watching Long Foot’s execution. If he moved quickly, he might be able to find Sarah before the spectacle ended. At least, he thought, Long Foot’s death would not have been for nothing if he could rescue Sarah. The question now was, in which tipi was she captive? He quickly scanned the circle of lodges in an effort to determine which one was the most likely. He decided upon the last one in the circle, closest to the stream. In contrast to the others, it had very little decoration, with no paintings on the sidewalls.

  “Come,” he whispered to Magpie and, crouching to keep from providing a profile, made his way quickly along the rise until he reached the bottom. Here he waited for Magpie to catch up. When she joined him, he gave her instructions to hold the horses there at the bend of the stream while he continued on foot.

  Making his way along the low creek bank, he crossed behind the last of the lodges before risking another look at his target. What he saw when he cautiously raised his eyes above the sandy creek bank immediately confirmed his guess as to the right tipi. They had been hidden from his view on the rise but now he discovered three horses hobbled next to the tipi. Two of them were Appaloosas—his Appaloosas.

  Keeping low to the ground, he pulled himself over the edge of the creek bank. He paused to listen. The noise from the circle in front of Lame Dog’s tipi told him that Long Foot’s ordeal was not yet finished. He had to remind himself that there was nothing he could do to save Long Foot and to keep his mind on saving Sarah. Wasting no more time, he moved to the rear of the tipi and stopped to listen. There was no sound from within. What if she’s not even in there, he thought. Without further hesitation he took his skinning knife and slashed a long tear in the hides. Then very carefully he parted the skins and peered inside. There, on the far side of the tipi, her hands and feet securely tied, lay Sarah, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Jason!” she whispered and her face immediately reflected the relief and hope his appearance brought. Tears of joy brimmed in the eyes that were dark and hollow with despair moments before. It was for a brief moment, however. Then her expression took on a blank, unconscious facade.

  He moved quickly, sawing away at her bonds with his knife. “Hurry!” he encouraged while he helped her to her feet. “We don’t have much time.” He looked around the tipi. “Where’s the baby?”

  At that moment in answer to his question a Commanche woman entered the tipi, carrying the baby. She stopped short upon seeing Sarah free of her bonds and standing in the center of the tipi. She did not see Jason standing beside the entrance flap of the tipi until she was all the way inside. By then it was too late to give an alarm. He grabbed the startled woman, pinning her arms to her side with one arm while trying to catch the baby with the other. Sarah reacted quickly enough to step forward in time to catch the infant. The woman started to cry out but Jason clapped his hand over her mouth. In a matter of minutes, he had her bound, hands and feet, with a gag over her mouth.

  “Quick! Out the back!” He shoved Sarah toward the rip in the tipi. “Go, go…hurry!”

  Once they had made it safely to the bank of the stream he paused to let Sarah catch her breath while he looked back to make sure they had not been discovered. Sarah’s eyes were wide with fright, and although they could ill afford to waste any time he took a moment to calm her. “Sarah, listen to me, you’ve only got to run about a hundred yards and you’ll be safe. C
an you do that?”

  Eyes still wide, she nodded. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she was willing to do anything to escape the Commanche village. “I can do it,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Good.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the point where the stream turned around the small stand of scrubby trees where Magpie waited. “Keep as low as you can and follow the creek bank. Magpie’s waiting with the horses.” He gave her a gentle shove. “Now go.”

  When she realized that he was not going with her, she hesitated. “Aren’t you going?”

  “I have to get my horses. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be along pretty quick. Now go!”

  She paused for just a moment then turned and ran toward the trees. After he watched to make sure she was safe, he crawled back over the bank and made his way back to the tipi. He debated for a brief second before deciding to take only his Appaloosas. The thought ran through his mind to take Stone Hand’s horse and leave him on foot. But two extra horses might prove to be troublesome to handle. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Stone Hand with a horse. He could just cut him loose but then the horse might run toward the gathering of warriors, alerting them of his presence. Finally, he decided to leave the horse. Knowing the savage as well as he did, he knew Stone Hand would simply take any horse he wanted from anyone in the village anyway.

  Looking over his shoulder every few seconds in the direction of the crowd of Commanches, he hastily fashioned a bridle from a rope beside the tipi. That done, he paused to take one last look in the direction of the massacre. The noise from the gathering around the combatants relayed a vivid picture of the slaughter as the people reacted to each slash of Stone Hand’s knife. He did not have to see what was going on to know that Long Foot was probably dead by this time. The thought triggered a sick feeling in his gut, not from fear or revulsion for the killing, but due to his failure to help his friend. Nothing I could do, he quietly tried to convince himself as he leaped on the back of one of the horses.