Nathan Stark, Army Scout

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said gruffly. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s take care of myself.”

  Without him really being aware of it, she had gotten close enough for him to smell the soft scent of her, even with the stronger smells of horseflesh, straw, manure, and piss that filled the air of any stable. Shafts of light slanted through gaps in the boards, struck reddish-gold glints in her hair, and caressed the soft curve of her cheek.

  Nathan’s heart slugged in his chest as he realized he wanted to lift a hand and stroke her cheek as well. He drew in a breath and turned back to Buck. “I’ll be fine. You look after yourself and your school.”

  “Nathan—”

  “I need to go get my rifle and the rest of my gear.” He picked up the horse’s reins. “Come on, Buck.” He led Buck out of the stall, forcing Delia to step aside.

  She said to his back, “Good-bye, Nathan.”

  “So long.”

  He had just reached the stable’s open double doors when Moses Red Buffalo led a high-stepping paint up alongside him and Buck.

  The Crow scout said, “You really are a damned fool, Stark. That woman wanted you to kiss her.”

  Nathan’s head jerked toward him. “You keep your filthy red tongue to yourself. You go near that woman, you even talk about that woman, and I’ll kill you.”

  “You can try,” Red Buffalo said coolly. “But don’t worry. I have no interest in white women. Not everything you believe about my people is true, Stark.”

  “It’s true that you bleed when I blow a hole in you or cut your throat. That’s all that matters to me.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The patrol rode out of Fort Randall a short time later, heading northwest along the Missouri River. On the other side of the broad, slow-moving stream, a range of hills rose. Nathan glanced toward them and wondered if hostile eyes were watching from those heights. Certainly, it was possible. A cold feeling in the pit of his belly told him it was even likely.

  Hanging Dog and the Sioux probably wanted to know what the army was doing, just as much as Colonel Ledbetter desired information about the hostiles.

  Nathan rode next to Lieutenant Pryor at the head of the patrol. Red Buffalo, on his paint pony, was off to one side about twenty yards. Sergeant McCall and forty soldiers rode behind. They were mounted infantry, not cavalry. If it came to a fight, they wouldn’t do battle on horseback but would dismount and form up in a skirmish line with the horses behind them or arrange themselves in a square with the horses in the middle, depending on the circumstances.

  Nathan had served with many such companies and found that they varied widely in discipline and fighting ability, depending on their experience and the quality of their officers. These men didn’t appear to be green recruits, at least for the most part, but he wouldn’t know what they actually were made of until he saw how they handled themselves in a fight.

  And there might not be a fight during this patrol, he mused. They might ride around for four or five days and never see a single Indian, the way it had been on Pryor’s last patrol. The lieutenant took that as a personal failure, but he didn’t realize that out there, you only saw redskins when they wanted you to see them.

  “Which way did you go the last time you were out, Lieutenant?” Nathan asked.

  “We rode due west,” Pryor replied. “There were some Sioux villages in that direction several months ago, but they don’t appear to be there any longer.”

  Nathan nodded slowly. “They move around some. There’s a place a few miles upriver where we can ford and then strike north into the hills. Might be more likely to run into Hanging Dog’s bunch up that way.”

  “You’re the scout, so I’m certainly disposed to listen to your advice, Mr. Stark. I mean, Captain Stark.”

  “Either way,” Nathan said with a shrug. “It doesn’t really matter to me. The war was a hell of a long time ago.”

  “Yes, I heard a great deal about it from my father and uncles.”

  Nathan let a little grunt of laughter escape at that reminder of Pryor’s youth.

  The lieutenant heard it and flushed. “Perhaps you should consult with your fellow scout about our best course,” he suggested.

  “No,” Nathan said, his voice flat and hard now. “I don’t need any advice from the likes of him.”

  “Officially, the two of you have the same status, you know. You’re both civilian employees of the army.”

  “You listen to whoever you want to, Lieutenant. Just remember that it’s a redskin’s nature to lie. And to kill.”

  “The War Department wouldn’t have sent Mr. Red Buffalo to us unless the men there believed he could help us.”

  “One thing you might ought to learn about politicians and bureaucrats, Lieutenant... they have a lot of reasons for the things they do, but being helpful usually isn’t one of ’em.”

  “That’s bold talk, Captain.”

  “Just what I’ve seen with my own eyes,” Nathan said.

  They rode along in silence for several minutes then Nathan asked, “Where are you from, Lieutenant?”

  “Ohio. And I believe you’re from... Indian Territory?”

  “Not exactly. Right over the line in Kansas. I’ve spent a lot of time there over the years, though.”

  “According to the stories I’ve heard, you’ve spent a lot of time just about everywhere west of the Mississippi.”

  Nathan shrugged. “A fella works for the army, he gets around. I never had much interest in staying in one place.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. There had been a time in his life when he would have been happy to stay in the same place... as long as Camilla and their children were there.

  “There was a great difference of opinion in Kansas during the days before the war, wasn’t there?”

  Nathan gave an outright laugh. “If you’re asking whether it’s true that I fought for the Confederacy, Lieutenant, it is. Don’t think too badly of my family, though. My older brother fought for the Yankees. That’s the way it was in the border states. Some fellas went one way, and their fathers and brothers and sons went the other.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. The Union was preserved, and we’re all countrymen again.”

  “One way to look at it,” Nathan said.

  With that subject apparently exhausted, silence reigned again for a spell, until Pryor said quietly, “I heard that you had trouble with Sergeant McCall.”

  “He gave me this scar on my forehead, and a heap of bruises, to boot.”

  “I trust that that animosity won’t affect the two of you being able to serve together on this patrol.”

  “I don’t hold any grudges,” Nathan lied. “I’m just here to do my job.” He pointed toward the river. “And part of it is leading you to this ford, which I’ve done.”

  Nathan and Pryor reined in.

  Red Buffalo turned his paint and loped over to them. “You do not intend to cross the river here, do you, Lieutenant?”

  “That’s what Captain Stark suggested.”

  Red Buffalo shook his head. “Bad mistake. The water is shallow, but the bottom is too muddy. In a few places, it’s almost like quicksand. You’ll have some horses bog down if you try it.”

  “I’ve forded here before,” Nathan said. “It’s been a while, but the river doesn’t look like it’s changed.”

  “That buckskin of yours is lighter than those army mounts. Probably more sure-footed, too.”

  “Buck’s a damn fine horse.”

  “That’s my point,” Red Buffalo said. “It will be safer to cross the river at a spot I know farther upstream, Lieutenant.”

  Nathan’s first instinct was to argue. His pride didn’t want to let himself be corrected by a redskin. But then he thought about how he had considered Colonel Ledbetter’s pride to be foolish and stubborn, and he didn’t want to be like Ledbetter.

  Besides, he considered himself a practical man. Red Buffalo had a point about the difference between Buck and the army h
orses, and the soldiers weren’t necessarily the most skilled riders, either. “Maybe we ought to have a look at the place Red Buffalo is talking about, Lieutenant.”

  “Really?” Pryor responded, looking and sounding surprised.

  Red Buffalo just narrowed his eyes, as if having Nathan agree with him made him suspicious.

  “Well, it can’t hurt anything... unless he’s leading us into an ambush.”

  “If we are ambushed by the Sioux, they will be more eager to kill me than to kill you,” Red Buffalo said. “You know that, Stark, whether you care to admit it or not.”

  Stark just shrugged. It was true that the Sioux and the Crow were enemies of long standing. That didn’t mean he was going to trust Red Buffalo or anything crazy like that.

  “We’ll take a look,” Lieutenant Pryor decided. He raised a gauntleted hand and waved the troop forward.

  * * *

  Red Buffalo was right. The spot he’d picked out three miles upstream was better for fording. The river bottom was more solid and there wasn’t as much risk of the horses getting stuck. Nathan knew that as soon as he rode Buck out into the muddy water. He hipped around in the saddle and nodded to Lieutenant Pryor.

  “Sergeant, move the men across single file,” the junior officer ordered McCall. “I want five men standing watch, rifles at the ready at all times while the others are crossing. Once half the men are on the other side, some of them can take over that duty.”

  “Aye, sir.” McCall turned and barked commands at the soldiers.

  Nathan had been about to suggest that very thing to Pryor, but the lieutenant had beaten him to it. Pryor was young, but he had the makings of a decent officer—if he lived long enough.

  Water splashed up around Buck’s legs as Nathan rode on across the broad river. When he reached the northern bank and turned around, he saw Moses Red Buffalo fording behind him. The Crow scout wore a satisfied smirk that made Nathan want to smash a fist into that red face.

  Red Buffalo rode out onto the bank. “You never forded the Missouri here?”

  “Not right here, no,” Nathan answered tightly. “But I never had any problem getting from one side to the other when I wanted to.”

  “It is a good thing Colonel Ledbetter sent both of us, then.”

  “We’ll see about that.” It was a particularly weak response, and Nathan was annoyed that he had made it. He turned his horse away and looked up into the hills.

  When Lieutenant Pryor joined them a few minutes later, Nathan said, “I reckon I need to ride on ahead now and have a look around. The terrain’s more rugged on this side of the river. More places for hostiles to hide.”

  “I will go, too,” Red Buffalo said.

  “I didn’t ask for company.”

  “We are both scouts. I know my duty.”

  Pryor held up a hand to stop the wrangling. “I don’t want both of you gone at the same time. Mr. Red Buffalo, you stay here while Captain Stark reconnoiters.”

  “I’m just as good a scout as he is—” Red Buffalo began.

  “I’m not doubting that,” Pryor broke in. “Next time, you’ll go ahead. This time, it’s Captain Stark’s job.”

  Nathan nodded and raised a hand to his hat brim to acknowledge the lieutenant’s orders. It wasn’t a military salute, but he wasn’t in the army. He turned Buck and heeled the horse into motion. A grin stretched across his face, because the last thing he had seen as he turned away was Moses Red Buffalo scowling.

  The cottonwoods along the river fell behind him. Several miles of rolling grassland lay between the Missouri and the hills. Nathan knew that out in the open like he was, anyone watching from higher ground would spot him easily, but he couldn’t do a blasted thing about that. Once he got into the hills, he would have to rely on his eyes and ears and most important his instincts to warn him of any lurking danger.

  Thoughts of Delia Blaine and the way she had come to the stable to say good-bye to him kept trying to crowd into his brain, now that he was away from the rest of the patrol. As much as it pained him to admit that the Crow could be right about anything, he knew Red Buffalo had pegged that correctly, too. Delia had wanted him to kiss her. She’d been waiting for him to put his hands on her shoulders and press his lips to hers . . .

  A growl sounded deep in his throat. There was a time for pondering such things—maybe—but it sure as hell wasn’t while he might be riding under the watchful, hostile eyes of a Sioux war party.

  He shoved Delia right out of his head.

  His keen vision constantly swept the countryside around him. The weather had been fairly dry for months, and it would be difficult for a large group of riders to move around much without raising some dust. He knew the soldiers’ horses had kicked up plenty so far. The huge, arching vault of blue sky was clear around him, though. If Sioux were in those parts, it wasn’t a big bunch of them.

  Or if it was a big bunch, they weren’t going anywhere.

  He didn’t see any smoke, either, or any other signs of a village. Was it possible that all the rumors about Hanging Dog were just that? Nothing but rumors? According to what Dietrich Bucher had told him back at Fort Randall, large groups of Sioux had been spotted by previous patrols for several months, but the hostiles hadn’t attacked and in fact had disappeared whenever the soldiers tried to close with them. They were supposed to be on reservations and by being out on the plains and in the hills they were asking for trouble... but did Hanging Dog really want trouble? Or did he and his people just want to be left alone?

  Nathan frowned disapprovingly at his own thoughts. That sounded almost like he was excusing the savages’ being in violation of the treaties. Nothing could be further from the truth. The heathens deserved to be pushed onto reservations and kept there where they couldn’t hurt innocent people. If they didn’t want to go, then whatever happened was on their own heads. He was just annoyed with Red Buffalo and tired of the inaction that had laid heavily on him for weeks. He needed something to happen.

  Let the Sioux try to jump him. He would match Buck’s speed against their ponies any day. They could chase him right back to the river... where the soldiers’ rifles would be waiting to cut down the red savages.

  By the time he reached the base of the hills, it was becoming obvious that he was the only human for miles. He saw a herd of elk grazing peacefully. They bolted when they smelled him coming. An eagle wheeled gracefully through the sky. Nathan reined in when he was halfway up the first hill, turned in the saddle, and looked northwest along the river. A dark smudge several miles away would be a small herd of buffalo, come to drink. Peaceful, yeah, and beautiful.

  Nathan grimaced and heeled Buck into motion again. They rode the rest of the way to the top of the hill. He reined in and swung down from the saddle before he reached the crest, then led the buckskin along the slope until he found a place where they could slip over without being skylined too much. Something stirred inside him, an indefinable sense that some men had to start with or developed if they lived very long out on the frontier. Earlier, he had been absolutely certain that he was alone.

  Suddenly, he was equally sure that he wasn’t.

  The far side of the hill dipped down, then rose again. Brush choked the little valley between the hills. Somebody could be hidden down there, watching him. When he mounted up again, he pulled the Winchester ’73 from its scabbard, levered a round into the chamber, and held it across the saddle in front of him as he rode slowly down the hill.

  Since buying the rifle at Statler’s Mill, he had tried it out several times to familiarize himself with it. The action was smooth as it ought to be and had been used enough to be broken in but no more than that. Nathan had adjusted the sights until it fired true each and every time. He trusted the weapon as much as he could, considering that he had never fired it in anger.

  Until that happened, he could never be completely confident in the Winchester.

  Maybe today . . .

  He reached the brush at the bottom of the slope and rei
ned in. Still nothing to go on except his instincts, but he cocked his head slightly to the side as he listened. He heard water flowing somewhere nearby—a little creek somewhere in the thicket.

  Something made a small splash. A horse’s hoof? Had somebody stopped to let his mount drink, maybe wet his whistle himself?

  Nathan slid his feet out of the stirrups, swung his right leg over Buck’s back, and dropped lightly to the ground, making only the faintest of sounds. He gripped the rifle in both hands. Buck wouldn’t go anywhere with his reins hanging loose, and Nathan knew it. He crouched forward, moving slowly and cautiously as he eased the branches aside to penetrate deeper into the brush.

  Some men would get nervous in a situation like that, would rush and make too much racket and announce their presence. Not Nathan Stark. He had been in such circumstances many times and was cool-nerved.

  Minutes ticked by before he reached the tiny creek winding through the hills. He dropped to one knee, leaned forward, and parted the brush to look along the narrow stream to a clearing on the other side where an Indian stood with a brown pony while the horse drank. The redskin was young but still a warrior grown. He was a Sioux. His face was not painted for war, but as he rested his left hand on the pony’s shoulder, his right hand held a Winchester.

  Nathan lifted his own repeater and drew a bead. There might be a hundred of this warrior’s friends just over the next hill. Hell, there might be five hundred of the bastards. Nathan didn’t know, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He settled his sights on the young Sioux’s chest.

  Before he could pull the trigger, he heard a faint snap! somewhere behind him, and the next instant a gun blasted.

  CHAPTER 17

  With blinding speed, Nathan reacted to the almost inaudible sound of a twig breaking. He twisted to his left and brought the Winchester around. At the same time he heard the shot, he felt the hot breath of a slug pass close to his cheek. The bullet would have gone through his head if he hadn’t moved so fast.