Kiowa Vengeance

by Ford Fargo

  No. She would not let herself think like that. She was still alive, still free, and so she would remain.

  “They’ll not have me,” she said.

  “You’re right,” Benteen said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We’ll fight them off.”

  He located his bag and opened it, pulling out some cotton wadding. He handed some to both Hix and Cora.

  “Stuff that in your ears, quick! Gunfire in here will be deafening.”

  They did as he suggested, and he dropped the remaining wadding on Weatherby, who was not so hopeless as to be stupid. He put the wadding in his ears.

  It grew quiet outside. Cora kept a close watch on the windows above her head. After a few moments, she saw something move. She recognized it. It was the top of her other hat, the one that had been in her trunk. The hat moved up an inch.

  Cora raised her pistol in both hands, and when the hat moved again, she pulled the trigger. The explosion was such that even with the wadding she had a fierce ringing in her ears. The smoke was too thick for her to see the result of her shot, and she did not hear a scream, but she was confident that the bullet she fired had taken off the top of the Indian’s head.

  Cora had never killed anyone before, though she was wanted for the murder of a member of the posse that had come for her brother. She had been careful not to hit anyone that day.

  She’d thought she’d feel different after taking someone’s life—sad, perhaps, or guilty—but she felt neither of those things. Elation was more like it. One of them was dead. That left four.

  As the smoke cleared, she could see something resembling a smile on Hix’s face. Benteen’s lips were moving, but she couldn’t make out the words. He seemed pleased, however.

  The Indians would not be pleased, she knew. They would try even harder to get them out of the coach, but as long as they came at them through the windows, she or the others could pick them off.

  “Did I kill him?” she asked. Her voice sounded odd to her, and she could barely hear herself.

  Benteen plucked the wadding from her right ear. He spoke slowly and formed his words carefully, which helped Cora to understand.

  “You might have grazed him,” the gunsmith said. “Gave him a good surprise, for sure. I was surprised, too. I never had a schoolteacher like you.”

  Cora took back the wadding and replaced it in her ear. She was not terribly disappointed that the Indian wasn’t dead, as long as he’d been frightened, but she was afraid that she’d revealed too much about herself. Determination was one thing. Pulling the trigger to kill a man was something else. She had hoped to play the role of a modest schoolteacher to keep people from being too interested in her. She’d thought it would be easy, but she hadn’t counted on finding herself in a wrecked stagecoach fighting off Kiowas with three men she’d just met. Two men, really, she thought. Weatherby hardly counted.

  “I was frightened,” she said, trying to get back into her role, “and I must have pulled the trigger by accident. I’m glad the poor fellow wasn’t hurt too badly.”

  Seeing her lips moving, Hix and Benteen took the wadding out of their ears. Cora repeated what she’d said and hoped they believed her. Hix looked skeptical but made no comment.

  “Is there any way we can escape this coach?” Cora asked, once again removing the wadding.

  “Not with those Indians out there,” Benteen said.

  “I don’t hear them. Could they be gone?”

  “No, they couldn’t be gone,” Hix said. “Your ears are still ringing. They’re out there. They’re just cooking up some kind of devilment to get to us.” This time Cora was sure a grin creased his face. “You showed them that it wouldn’t be easy.”

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Cora said.

  “No,” Benteen said. “We can’t. They know that as well as we do, but they might not be able to wait for long. If they’ve been out raiding, the army knows about it by now. The soldiers will be looking for them. If we can hold out long enough, they might leave.”

  “Wouldn’t be like them to give up,” Hix said.

  “No,” Benteen admitted. “It wouldn’t.”

  They stood in the cramped space, practically breathing in each other’s faces, and Cora wondered if their situation could really be as hopeless as it seemed.

  She heard a sound like a smothered thunderclap and at the same instant a bullet tore through the roof of the coach and came so close to her face that she thought she felt the heat of its passing. Splinters flew, narrowly missing her face. One of them stuck in Benteen’s cheek, but he didn’t cry out.

  “Damn,” Benteen said. “Begging your pardon ma’am.”

  He pulled Cora down on Weatherby. Hix fell atop them. He didn’t beg anyone’s pardon.

  “One of them has a rifle,” he said.

  Another bullet tore through the coach. Cora heard muffled yells from beneath her and Benteen. Weatherby. He was the safest of them all, but had no courage.

  “We need to get the one with the rifle,” Hix said.

  Benteen pushed him aside and said, “My pleasure.”

  He stood up and thrust himself through the center window on what was now the top of their compartment. He pulled his boots up just in time to avoid a third bullet that cracked into the coach.

  Cora heard three muffled shots from above and then a couple of thunks against the coach as arrows struck it. Benteen dropped back down inside.

  “Get him?” Hix asked.

  “Nope,” Benteen said.

  “Damn. Sorry about the language, ma’am.”

  “Got his rifle though,” Benteen said. “It won’t be any good to them now.”

  Cora found herself wishing that Benteen had been a little better shot and gotten both the Indian and the rifle.

  “Was there another rifle?” she asked.

  “Didn’t see one,” Benteen said. He paused. “Didn’t really have time to look around.”

  Cora had heard that the Kiowa were as deadly with their bows as most men with a rifle, but at least an arrow couldn’t penetrate the coach, not with enough power behind to do anyone any harm. Something else occurred to her.

  “Why is this happening?” she asked. “I thought the Kiowa were at peace with us.”

  “It’s a shaky kind of peace,” Hix said. “Any offense can set them off—and usually does, whether it’s real or not. Most likely it’s real, though. Things have gotten out of hand between townspeople and the Indians more than once. There’s buffalo hunters around here, too. They don’t get along too well with the Indians, and the Indians hate them.”

  “I can understand why,” Cora said, thinking of all the dead animals that the Indians would no longer be able to use for food and clothing.

  “Yeah,” Benteen said, “but when the killing starts, understanding doesn’t matter much. Whatever happened, it wasn’t our fault. We weren’t anywhere around. Doesn’t matter to the Kiowa, though. We just happened to be handy. That’s enough for them when something gets them stirred up.”

  More arrows thudded into the side of the coach. Cora wondered why the Indians bothered, but only for a few seconds. Then she smelled the smoke.

  “Well, that does it,” Benteen said. “We can’t stay in here.”

  “First one out’s a dead man,” Hix said. “They’ll be waiting.” He gave the drummer a light kick. “Let’s give ‘em Weatherby. He’s useless.”

  “No, no, my God, no,” Weatherby said.

  “That wouldn’t be right,” Cora said, though she agreed that Weatherby was useless.

  Weatherby whimpered, and Hix toed him again, a little harder this time.

  “We won’t give them anybody,” Benteen said. “We’ll wait awhile. The coach is heavy wood. It won’t burn fast, and the smoke won’t get in here for a while. It’ll get thicker outside, though.”

  Cora didn’t see how that would help, but Hix seemed to.

  “Right,” he said. “We can’t wait too long, though. What’s the plan?”

>   “When the smoke gets thicker, you and I will pop out the windows and start shooting. Hope to hit somebody.”

  “Like a jack-in-the-box, grinning like the devil,” Hix said.

  “Let’s hope a pair of devils can do the trick,” Benteen said.

  Cora thought it over. Acting demure wasn’t going to help any in this situation. She could go back to that later.

  “Three devils,” she said. “I’ll be shooting, too.”

  “Now, look, ma’am,” Benteen said, “I don’t think—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think. Three guns are better than two, even if I don’t hit anybody. You know it.”

  Benteen looked at Hix. Hix shrugged.

  “All right, then,” Benteen said. “Wait until I give the word. Hix will take the right window, and Miss Sloane will take the left. Hix, you know what to do.”

  “Sure,” Hix said.

  Cora knew there was something they weren’t telling her, but their faces gave nothing away. She didn’t have long to think about it because of in spite of what Benteen had said, smoke had begun to gather in the coach

  “Ready?” Benteen said.

  Hix and Cora nodded.

  “On three,” Benteen said. “One . . . two . . . three!”

  The three of them popped up. Fire licked at the bottom of the coach. Cora could see only dimly through the smoke, but it appeared to her that the Indians were far out of range of the pistols. She fired a shot, anyway.

  Hix fired, too, but not Benteen. He’d somehow opened the door.

  “Look out!” he yelled, and he flipped the door open.

  It banged down against the side of the coach, but Hix had moved out of the way. Benteen climbed through the doorway and dropped to the ground. Hix was right behind him. Cora held her fire. She didn’t want to shoot one of them in the back by accident.

  The two men ran toward the Kiowa, but not in a straight line. When they were close enough Hix stopped and fired. Benteen kept moving.

  One of the Indians dropped from his horse. The others didn’t seem to know what to do. Hix started to run again, and Benteen stopped to take a shot. Another Indian dropped. Benteen was running before the Kiowa hit the ground.

  The other two Indians turned their horses’ heads and kicked their heels into their sides. They galloped away, followed by the mounts of the fallen men. Hix and Benteen stopped to watch them go.

  Cora was strong and agile enough to pull herself through the doorway of the coach. It wasn’t easy, not with her dress and undergarments hanging on things, but she crawled out and jumped through the smoke. She landed awkwardly and fell, but she was back on her feet before Benteen and Hix got to her.

  “Where’s Weatherby?” Benteen asked.

  “Still inside, I suppose,” Cora said.

  They all looked at the coach and saw Weatherby creeping out. He toppled to the ground, but no one went to help him up.

  “What you did was very brave,” Cora said to Benteen and Hix.

  “Or insane,” Benteen said.

  “It worked,” Hix said. “Indians don’t like to deal with crazy people.”

  “You killed two of them,” Cora pointed out.

  “They like dealing with crazy people who kill them even less,” Benteen said.

  Weatherby removed his coat and used it to beat the flames on the coach.

  “He turned out to be good for something, after all,” Hix said. “We should help him. I have a bag in there.”

  He and Benteen joined Weatherby, and they soon had the fires extinguished. When they were done, Benteen went around to the unburned side and climbed into the coach. He tossed out the bags, including Cora’s reticule.

  “What do we do now?” Cora asked when the fire was out. “The next stage station must be miles away.”

  “Six or eight,” Benteen said. “And the last one’s about the same.”

  “There’s a ranch a few miles from here,” Hix said. “Two or three. The Manning place. It’s a lot closer than the stage station.”

  “I’m not sure I can make it that far,” Weatherby said.

  “Up to you,” Benteen said. “Stay here if you want to. Maybe the Kiowa won’t come back.”

  “Or maybe they will,” Hix said.

  “Couldn’t there be more of them along our way?” Cora asked.

  “Sure could,” Benteen said. “We can’t stay here, though. Those two might bring back some others.”

  Cora looked back at the coach. The clothing from her trunk was strewn all around.

  “I’m going to put my things back in my trunk,” she said.

  “You can’t carry that trunk with you.”

  “I know that.” Cora was demure again. “It’s not seemly to leave them lying out.”

  “No, ma’am, I guess not,” Benteen said. He gave her a look.

  Cora ignored him and went back to the coach. She pulled the trunk a good distance from the smoldering hulk and put things in it as best she could. It didn’t take long. The Kiowa had broken the latch, but she closed the trunk anyway.

  Benteen helped her stow it in the boot, along with the bags. He’d taken some ammunition and the remaining revolver from his, and Hix and Weatherby had also gotten a few items from theirs.

  “Ready now?” Benteen said.

  “Yes,” Cora said. “Which way is that ranch you mentioned, Mister Hix?”

  Hix pointed back down the road. “We go that way for a while, then cut off to the left. You sure you’re up to a long walk?”

  “Certainly,” Cora said, and she set off at a brisk pace.

  “I sure never had a schoolteacher like her,” Benteen repeated to Hix.

  Cora heard him, but she paid him no mind. She kept on walking, the bottoms of her skirts lightly stirring the dust.

  1CHAPTER TWO

  Wolf Creek, Kansas

  Wilson Marsh sighted in on his target. She was framed—and undressed—just right. He held his breath, then let it out slowly as he pulled the lanyard. The bright flash caused the mostly naked woman to jump.

  “Whatever are you doing, sir!” Mrs. Pettigrew grabbed the diaphanous scarf—which did nothing to hide her bare breasts—and held it up to her chin, as if this futile attempt at modesty didn’t expose other parts of her anatomy.

  Marsh knew his business as photographer, both of regular portraits and blue ones. And this was the bluest of the blue. Edith Pettigrew’s ample bosom was completely caught by his clever photography, as was a considerable amount of silk stockinged leg all the way up to the thigh. If he had thought she would sit for it, he would have considered asking her to do a full nude. The woman’s vanity was almost as great as her need for what he carried in his coat pocket.

  “Now, Mrs. Pettigrew, I warned you I had to use flash powder. The room is dark. You wouldn’t want me to open the curtains, would you?”

  “Why, I—of course not. I don’t know how I ever let you talk me into such foolishness.” She made ineffectual fluttering moves to again hide her nudity, even knowing it was far too late. The photograph had been taken.

  “How could I not look upon your beauty and want to capture it for all eternity? Think of the models used by Titian and Reuben. Your comeliness far transcends those poor examples of European feminine pulchritude.”

  “Why, uh, of course it does. I do. Rather, I am sure you are the expert in such things.” She began gathering clothing draped over the back of a nearby chair. As she bent, Marsh wished he had another photographic plate ready. This pose, while revealing less bare flesh, was far more provocative.

  “This will be our special secret,” Marsh said, going to her as she struggled into a blouse just a bit too small. Her clothing had been stylish once, but the death of her husband, Seth, one of the founders of Wolf Creek, had left her with a tidy inheritance that she was in the process of slowly squandering. Current fashion had given way reluctantly to other expenses.

  Wil Marsh was nothing if not an opportunist. Edith Pettigrew would do anything he wanted. Total
nudity for the next set of photos might be out of the question, but eventually she would agree. The blue pictures were hardly her only secret. She wanted a man to appreciate her fading beauty. Marsh could mouth the words, even if he had to take a swallow or two of Billy Taylor’s Finest whiskey to wash away the taste afterward.

  But a risqué photograph wasn’t the only secret of hers he would keep.

  “This is for you, my lovely,” he said, pulling out the flimsy yellow Western Union envelope he had stolen from Dave Maynard over at the telegraph office. If anyone saw Mrs. Pettigrew with it, they would assume she had received a telegram—and not a few pinches of opium bought from Tsu Chiao at the Red Chamber.

  She need not indulge her addiction by anything so gauche as chasing the dragon—even in Tsu’s private rooms. She need only let Wil Marsh take racy photographs while praising her beauty, feeding her addiction and vanity simultaneously. She could partake in the solitude of her own home. Marsh saw this as a winning situation for everyone.

  “Be careful returning home, Mrs. Pettigrew,” Marsh said, taking her elbow and steering her toward the door. He unlocked and opened the door for her with a panache that brought a tiny smile to her lips. She appreciated his gallantry, even if it was feigned. He couldn’t help noticing her pupils were black pinpoints, even in the dim lighting of his studio. The woman had smoked a pipe of opium before coming, and he was certain she would return home for another.

  “You will let me know when the photograph is ready for viewing?”

  “For private viewing, yes, of course, Mrs. Pettigrew.” Outside, the false dawn brought a surreal grayness to Wolf Creek. In only a few minutes the town would come awake and begin its day’s commerce as the darkness fled and the sun struggled upward in the cloudless sky. He had so much to do and so little time.