A Million Tears (51 page)

36

For a month they wandered towards the state of Wyoming and the distant Rocky Mountains, still three hundred miles away. Once the aches and soreness had gone they were developing into hard young men, losing excess weight and toughening up their muscles. As their height above sea level increased so the nights got colder, though the days continued warm and dry.

Once there was a heavy thunderstorm but they found a large overhang of rock under which they could light a fire, keep dry and even shelter the horses.

They had given themselves two weeks to return to St Louis and the day dawned when, reluctantly, they decided that after one more day they needed to start retracing their path.

Disaster struck shortly after they made their camp that night. They had been swimming in the river and had just finished eating a rabbit stew. None of them heard the approach of the intruders. Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by ten men, pointing rifles at them. There was something about these men that chilled the boys’ hearts. It was not merely the silence, nor the odd way they were dressed. It was possibly the lack of emotion; the way they held themselves. They seemed to be ready to kill for any reason. It might have been all these things or none of them.

Sion was lying on his bedroll and suddenly sat up. ‘What do you . . .’ he got no further as a rifle butt smashed into his jaw and sent him sprawling. For a few seconds he lay still and gave a low groan, trying to clear his head. His jaw was not broken but badly bruised. Tentatively he touched his chin and tried flexing it back and forth. It was too painful to move. Nobody else risked saying a word. Paddy realised that they were surrounded by half-breeds, men of mixed white and Indian parents – outcasts from both societies. Two of them saddled the boys’ horses and packed the mule. One of them indicated that the boys should get up, get their bed rolls and climb onto their horses.

In the confusion of movement and blankets Sion slipped his Bowie knife from its sheath where it had been hidden under his saddle and pushed it down the top of his boot. He kicked the sheath into some long grass out of sight. The knife chafed uncomfortably against his leg at every pace he took. Their captors collected their guns and their knives but did not search the boys.

All night they rode west. When Sion was convinced he could no longer stay awake a halt was called, and a frugal camp set. Wearily the boys stripped their tired horses, led them to water and then tied them amongst long, lush grass. After that they unfurled their bed rolls and dropped on to them.

At all times two of their captors kept them covered with rifles. At no time did any of them speak; it was more and more uncanny. In spite of his exhaustion Sion was unable to sleep. What did these men want? If they were being kidnapped for ransom surely they would not go further west away from their families. But surely there was no other reason for taking them? What possible use were they to these men? These and other thoughts whirled through Sion’s mind until he finally fell asleep.

They were woken by hearty kicks which brought them instantly to their feet. From the position of the sun they could only have slept for about three hours. Their captors had taken their watches, all their money and even their hats.

All day they went west. The sun seemed hotter than ever, especially since they had no cover for their necks and heads. They were not given water or food even though their captors drank and ate.

By the second day they were desperate for a drink and finally, towards evening, they were given some. Greedily they drank their fill. They were also given a piece of jerky, tough and unpalatable. Somehow Bill managed to keep the rancid stuff in his stomach. Sion was not so lucky. Unable to chew properly because of his aching jaw, he puked when he tried to swallow chunks which were too large, much to the amusement of their captors.

Sion and Bill exchanged views using their sign language. Why did the gang say nothing? Where were they going? What was their captors’ intentions? Slavery? It had taken a long time to pass their signals as they would make part of a gesture and often have to complete it when the guards looked away. Bill and Sion rode side by side, Steve and Paddy in front, the half breeds surrounding them. One man rode a few hundred yards ahead and two trailed behind.

The way they back tracked, the frequency with which they changed direction, though continuing generally westward, and the pains they took to hide their tracks suggested the gang was frightened of being followed.

About mid-morning on the fourth day they approached a high butte, rising sheer for seven or eight hundred feet and sticking out like a thumb into the clear blue sky, surrounded by low lying undulating hills. All day they rode directly towards it, with no meandering off course. It was evening when they got to the foot of the butte and rode around it to the other side.

The sun set and night was falling fast when they camped. Dawn had just broken when they were again roused by the now regular kicks. They were given water and more jerky to chew on and were taken towards the path up the butte.

Sion noted that one of the gang stayed below. The path was easy to follow until they reached the first bend. Then it narrowed and became steeper. Rocks were dislodged and dropped out of sight. The horses became more and more nervous. Finally, the group came to a natural chimney; a fissure in the rock that wound round like a spiral stairway. They went round and round as well as up, the light alternating from deep gloom to brilliant sunshine. The going got harder and towards the top they were almost dragging their reluctant mounts behind them. The gang’s horses seemed to take it in their stride and were obviously used to the route. Sion did not like the idea of leading his horse down again. The mule, after being cantankerous at the river crossing took the climb surprisingly calmly; it was loaded with all their gear including the cane Sion had cut for his kite. At the top the view was incredible. In the crystal clear air they could see for forty miles in any direction.

The top of the butte was flat and dotted with boulders. In the middle were a couple of scrubby trees and patches of lush grass. The four of them were taken to a catchment area where water bubbled gently out of a rock. They could see six, round, bee-hive tents each about four feet high, near the trees. There was nobody else present.

After drinking their fill, still wondering what was going to happen, the boys were taken to within a few yards of the butte edge and made to sit down. Pegs were hammered into the ground and the boys were spread eagled, their wrists and ankles tied to the pegs. When their captors left them there was silence for a few minutes.

‘What’s this all about?’ Steve asked in a pained whisper. ‘What in God’s name do they want with us?’ His voice came out as a rasp in his fright.

‘I don’t know,’ said Paddy. ‘I just don’t know,’ he paused. ‘But I don’t mind admitting to you guys that I’m scared clear through. I’ve never seen people act like this before. I guess they’re probably from a reservation, perhaps outcasts. But what do they want with us?’

The loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty swept through Sion and suddenly tears trickled down his face. He was overwhelmed by his feelings. He knew, with a clarity, with a flash of understanding, that they had been brought here to die.

The sun was beating down on them unmercifully and their last drink seemed to have been ages ago. From the sun’s position it was just past noon, though on what day none of them could have said.

By straining his head Sion was able to catch glimpses of their captors as they prepared a meal and argued over the gear they had stolen from the boys. He watched them throw his kite sticks to one side along with the sheet he had cut and sewn to cover the frame. The afternoon was never ending. The sun was a burning, yellow ball, dehydrating them and leaving them with parched throats and aching heads. Throughout the afternoon there was no sign of their captors but towards sundown they heard the gang yelling and laughing.

Paddy said: ‘They’re drunk. Right out of their rotten skulls, the lot of them. Look at the fools dancing around. The pigs. I hope they stagger over to the edge and fall off.’ He hid his fear behind hate and disgust.

The sun had just set when three of the gang staggered over, laughing and giggling like children and cut the ropes holding Steve. They hauled him roughly to his feet but because Steve had long lost any feeling in his hands and feet he collapsed. The breeds laughed and began kicking Steve in the head and side. They were so drunk their efforts did not hurt him much but did get him awkwardly to his knees and finally to his feet. They pushed him roughly and each time he stumbled it sent the breeds into fits of laughter. In the rapidly falling light the boys saw him thrown down and staked out again.

‘I wonder what those devils are going to do?’ asked Sion, his voice sticking in his throat, fear like bile in his mouth.

‘I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t like it,’ rasped Paddy. ‘Those bastards are capable of anything,’ he lapsed into silence.

The moon was up and still the sound of revelry went on. The silence that descended took them by surprise. Suddenly into the night came the most awful, blood curdling scream of terror and pain they had ever thought possible, even in their darkest nightmares. It seemed to go on and on and on. The boys went into a frenzy trying to get loose from their bounds, trying to block out the noise of Steve’s agony.

After what seemed like an eternity the sound dropped to a whimper in the still air, though from time to time, unexpectedly, it would rent the air apart again.

‘What have they done to him?’ Sion was nearly whimpering. ‘It’s the unknown that I hate the most, this not knowing. Oh God . . . God . . . God.’

Soon afterwards the night fell silent. Their captors had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor and Steve made no more sound. Now they were cold, shivering in the bright moonlight. Nervous exhaustion sometimes let them doze off fitfully but on two occasions during that long night Steve’s ugly scream, dying to a sob, brought them alert and trembling. Dawn broke in a radiance of colour and clear skies. It was going to be another hot and beautiful day. Was Steve still alive?

None of the gang was in evidence and nobody disturbed the tranquillity of the camp until the guard from below appeared without his horse. He went and roused one of the others who made his way in a staggering gait towards the pathway.

It was late afternoon when the others started to emerge from their bee-hive tents. They could hardly walk straight and spent ages at the water hole drinking. After another day in the sun without water the boys were half crazed for a drink and the three of them had blood around their wrists where they had fought against their bonds.

‘What did they do to him?’ Sion screamed the last word and then struggled against the ropes in a frenzy but to no avail.

A few seconds later one of the gang whom they had identified as the leader, loomed over them and looked down with contempt and hate on his face. It was the first time any of them had shown emotion to the boys except when they had been laughing at their discomfort. It was also the first time one of them had spoken to them.

‘I shall tell you white boy what we did. You will think about it until your turn comes to die.’

‘For God’s sake why are you doing this?’ Paddy asked in anguish. ‘We haven’t done anything to you.’

The steady, blue expressionless eyes looked from one to the other. The man’s nose was hooked like a beak, his hair jet black and tied at the nape of his neck. Although he wore buckskin trousers and moccasins he had on an old army jacket and battered hat with a feather stuck in the band. ‘Never mind why. Only know what. Your friend died sooner than we had expected. A slip of the knife. I cut open his belly and pulled out his innards. After a while I poured molasses over him. It’s a type the red ants love. He was tied over an ant hill. He should have lived until tomorrow at the earliest. It was a pity he didn’t. Our enjoyment has been shortened by one day.’

‘You swine,’ Sion yelled at him. ‘You filthy bastard. I hope you rot in hell.’

‘You will be there a long time before me,’ said the man calmly.

‘For God’s sake, why?’ Paddy was almost pleading. ‘Tell us that, man. What have we done to deserve this? If you must kill us, if you want our scalps, at least kill us quickly.’ His voice changed and the last word was begging. ‘Please.’

Suddenly the man towering over them became animated. ‘I’ll tell you why,’ he said fiercely. ‘I’ll tell you why. My grandfather was white. The rest of my ancestors have been Indian. We,’ he waved his hand to indicate the other men with him, ‘are from similar backgrounds. We have been outcasts in our tribes, given the dirtiest jobs and been treated like dung beneath the feet of the other braves. The white men treated us worse. What they have done to me and my friends would take longer to tell than you have to live. We left our tribes and banded together. We settled on unused land, raised a few cattle, started our own village. Then, a few years ago white men wanted it. One day while out hunting we returned to our village to find it burnt, the women and children killed and our horses gone. Some of the women had been raped and then burnt alive at the stake. One of the women was my wife. She had been lovely, gentle and kind. Our two sons had been made to watch before they were killed. Now we have nothing to live for except revenge. Our revenge is to kill as many white people as possible in the most painful way until we die or are killed. With you three I shall be more careful than I was last night, I promise you. You shall die in mad agony, eaten alive by the ants. You will be aware of them crawling into your eyes and brains until you go mad.’ Abruptly he walked away.

The boys lay in silence for a few seconds and then Sion spoke. ‘Oh my God,’ was all he managed to whisper because he was then sobbing, his body heaving.

The evening was a replay of the night before, starting with the heavy drinking, the laughing and the giggling.

‘Who is it to be?’ Paddy asked when they saw the figures looming out of the moon lit night.