Blood Dance (8 page)

I had a taste of revenge and I wasn’t sure I liked it. But there didn’t seem to be anything else I could do. Eyes wide open, staring at the rough plank ceiling, I waited for daybreak.

Come sunup, I got out of the flophouse, leaving Honest Roy asleep, and went out to find some breakfast at any place that wasn’t Pickle Nose Annie’s.

I ended up with flapjacks and buffalo rump, the meat being ripe enough to poison a creek with.

After eating, I rented a horse and saddle gear, and started for a ride. I felt like getting out of Dead wood Gulch for awhile, clear my nostrils of the stink and do a little thinking.

I had brought both rifles, and had talked Moses into the loan of a revolver. I wished right then that I had gone ahead and taken Mix’s. Some miner was probably selling it in a saloon for booze. But I didn’t spend much time harping on it.

I was about to ride out when Honest Roy came up. He was scratching obscenely and cussing. “That’s the most louse-ridden house I’ve ever slept in,” he said.

“The little buggers are all over me. Where you heading Red Spot?”

“Just doing some riding.”

“Well, I wouldn’t ride too far, or you’ll not have any hair to part. Sioux and Cheyenne are all over the place.”

“Not going far.” I scratched my beard. “Thought I might find a stream somewhere, wash up.”

“I told you about that,” Honest Roy said.

“I’ll remember that you did if I get sick.”

“Well, Red Spot, I got to get me some breakfast, the keep-down kind.”

“I certainly do
not
recommend Uncle Billy’s pancakes. I would just as soon eat a buffalo chip.”

“Maybe you did.”

“See you later, Roy.”

“Hey, uh, Red Spot… you wouldn’t be able to sort of loan me…”

“Yeah.” I still had a bit left over from the sale of my horse; which, bad price and all, had turned out better than boarding him. “There.” I tossed Honest Roy a coin. “You won’t eat big with that, but you’ll eat.”

“Watch your top-knot!” he yelled as I rode down the street and out of Deadwood Gulch.

It was beautiful country out there, and I enjoyed it. Got me away from the stench of Deadwood Gulch and the thoughts of blood and revenge that thundered through my head like a stampede of wild horses.

I don’t know what I had expected from killing Mix, Taggart and the Crow, but I sure wasn’t getting it. Can’t say as I regretted it. If I had it to do over, I’d do it again. But it left something hollow in me. But not hollow enough for me to let Carson go.

Riding around, I started to formulate an idea. Mix had been pretty much like a tick on Carson’s hide. If Mix had been in the Gulch, maybe Carson was, too. Or, most likely, they had split up and would meet up again.

Even if Mix were not incentive enough for Carson to come to Deadwood Gulch, gold would be. It was the boom spot of the country. It was like Honest Roy had said; gold fever brought them all out of the woodwork—debtors, gamblers, hardcases and double-crossers. Carson was in that group. More than once, by my figuring.

I could pound a horse all over the country looking for him, but most likely I could just wait and let Carson ride into my hands. He’d come to Deadwood Gulch, if he wasn’t there already. And if he was, I’d know soon enough.

If he didn’t show, then I’d be no worse off. I could still ride that horse all over the country, and by Bucklaw’s dead eyes, I would; ride that beast to death if I had to, and then another and another and another till I tracked down that double-crossing, murdering sonofabitch.

Gold had brought Bucklaw and me to this country, and in an indirect way, it had killed Bob. With luck, it would do the same for Carson. That which he worshipped would see him dead.

Gold did strange things to me. I could still remember that newspaper and the ad that got me and old Bucklaw going.

STRUCK IT AT LAST
Rich Mines of Gold and Silver
Reported Found by Custer

PREPARE FOR LIVELY TIMES!
Gold Expected to Fall 10 Per Cent—
Spades and Picks Rising—The National
Debt to Be Paid When Custer Returns.

Yeah, I remembered it. I had read it enough times. It sure had hooked me and Bucklaw. And now even more gold had been found. The Hills would soon fill with white men, greedy and ready for gold. I hoped that greediest of all sonofabitches, Carson, was with them. If so, it would damn sure be his last camp.

I found a creek a little later on, one with the signs of having been heavily panned. There were tracks all around it and a lot of the bank had fallen into the water from being torn down by boot heels.

It was cold, but I’d carried my stink around long enough. I tied up the horse. Stripping off, I carried the Winchester out toward a rock in the middle of the creek. I put the rifle on the rock, balancing it within easy reach. Then I sat down in the icy water and washed. After about ten minutes I was used to the chill, and another ten or fifteen minutes had me clean. I got my Winchester and walked out of the water.

I squatted on the bank and washed my shirt and pants. While they were drying on a pine limb, I stretched out my blanket and lay naked in the sun with the Winchester at my side. It felt good, as good a feeling as I’d had in ages.

My clothes were just the slightest bit damp when I finally dressed, and I was thinking about stretching out on the blanket again and letting the sun finish the job when I heard gunfire.

Gunfire wasn’t too uncommon around Deadwood Gulch, but I guess I’m part busybody. As my pa used to say, “I knew it wasn’t any of my business, so I checked into it.”

I saddled up quickly and rode toward the sound. Not fast, just easy. I was curious, not stupid.

I came upon a place where the land sloped off pretty steep. Down about four hundred yards away I could see a party of men riding in my direction, in such a way that they would cross in front of me by about two hundred yards. If they saw me, they didn’t show it, so I figured they didn’t. Not from that angle. There were just enough trees to the right to make that difficult">hat dift.

I got off the rented horse and tied him back in the trees a bit, took the Winchester, went over to where the ground sloped and lay down.

The riders were Indians. One was just a bit out in front of the others, and he was riding like hell. Behind came about a half dozen whooping Sioux. The man in front was a Crow, and even from that distance I knew it was Dead Thing. In a moment, his name was going to be more appropriate than ever.

I balanced the Winchester on the ridge and took aim at the Sioux in the lead. I owed Dead Thing and I was about to make a down payment.

Dead Thing turned halfway, swung down to the side of his horse and fired an arrow back at the leading Sioux. Got him in the chest before I could bead in my shot.

I picked out the next one, took my time, and fired.

It was a head shot, and it knocked the Sioux off his horse. Wasn’t any doubt he was dead.

I shot another of them, and that left three.

Dead Thing wheeled his horse, and like a madman he rode back toward the Sioux.

I had heard that the Crow would fight like hell one day, and run like hell the next. I had also heard that they are terrified of the Sioux.

Either that is all lie, or Dead Thing was damned different. It took quite a man to ride back toward three men with rifles when he himself had nothing but a bow and arrows.

If Dead Thing felt like I had evened the odds, then his arithmetic was a lot different from mine.

I’ve heard that a lot of the Plains tribes could shoot arrows from horseback steadier than a white man could shoot a rifle, and I came to believe that myself. Dead Thing had three arrows in the air before the Winchester was cocked good. He held them in the same hand he held the bow with and fed them to his firing hand as fast as a Gatling gun belt. Two of the arrows found the same Sioux’s chest, and the third struck his horse in the throat. Both man and animal went down.

One of the Sioux, as he passed, leapt off his horse and tackled Dead Thing from his.

I dropped another Sioux with my Winchester.

There wasn’t any way to help Dead Thing from where I was, not with him and that Sioux wrestling one another up close. All I could see was bodies spinning and knives in the air.

I got my horse and rode down there. By the time I arrived, the Sioux was lying on the ground and Dead Thing had the man’s scalp in his hand. The Crow’s face was raised to the sky and he was yelling like a crazed coyote.

He turned to me, smiling. Blood was on his face, hands and arms.

“We meet again,” I said.

I hadn’t brought any foodstuff, but Dead Thing had some jerky and we ate it down by the creek, washing it down with stream water.

“So you killed the little man,” Dead Thing said when I told him about Mix. “You are sure it was him?”

“I’m sure.”

Dead Thing grunted. “I wanted to kill him.”

“I’m afraid I also chalked up the big one, Taggart, and one of your tribe, as well.”

“I would have liked to have had his hair. You should have saved him for me.”

“Well, at the time it didn’t seem like the thing to do. ‘Sides, I had some help with those three. A man by the name of Honest Roy.”

“It is a good name,” Dead Thing said seriously. “An honest man is hard to find these days in red or white.”

I didn’t break his heart by telling him the truth about Honest Roy. “Listen,” I said. “We’re working toward the same thing. We want Carson, and I guess I want those Crow brothers of yours, too. They shot me up, and I’d like to return the favor. They killed my friend, along with Carson, Mix and the others. I don’t know that I can get them all, that I’ll even remember the others should I see them. But those I do remember, I want.

“We ought to be working together. I say these men will show up in Deadwood Gulch, and when they do I intend to kill them.”

“White men would not accept me.”

“They accepted that Crow with Mix, least as good as white men accept Indians. You’d just have to cowboy up your dress some and hang around with me. I’m not bad company.”

Dead Thing smiled. “No. Not bad. But no, I must do this thing alone. If you leave any of them for me.”

“I’ll do my best not to, Dead Thing. I offer you this because you saved my life.”

“We are even now.”

“All right, we’re even.”

Dead Thing grunted. It was his favorite expression.

“What are you going to do now, if you’re not going into the Gulch?”

“I will fast, and I will dance the Sundance. I will wait for a guiding vision.”

“And I’ll wait for Carson.”

Dead Thing smiled. “You think to do such things as I do are foolish?”

“I think you do what you do, and that I do what I do.”

“But you think it is foolish.”

“All right, it strikes me as silly. But so does most religion. I’m not much of a Christian, either, and from what I’ve seen of them I don’t want to be.”

“There may be more beyond what you can touch.”

“Maybe.”

“Dance the dance with me and I will consider your offer.”

“I’m not sure I want your help that bad.”

“And if your plan for finding Carson fails, how will you find him?”

“I’ll find him.”

“Dance the dance with me and we will find him together.”

“Don’t you stick things in your chest and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“No thanks.”

“Through pain we have vision.”

“I’ve had a lot of pain lately, and not too many good visions.”

“It was not done right.”

“You’re telling me.”

“This is the path to the spirits.”

“If I do this, we’ll work together?”

“Maybe. If the spirits say so.”

“I’m not crazy about pain.”

“I know you. You are fearless.”

I wondered if maybe he knew someone else. “Where would this take place? When?”

“It would take place in as safe a place as we could find. It would begin now.”

Ever do something just totally loco and not know why?

That was me. I wasn’t all that fired sure I needed Dead Thing’s help, but for some reason I felt driven to get it. I figured it must have been due to the fact that we had the same grudge, and that carrying vengeance is a festering sort of job made easier by comradeship. Guess it goes back to the old saw about misery loves company. From what Dead Thing had told me about the Sundance ceremony,
ackicirua
, as he called it, I might have done better to brood alone. I also learned that I was greatly honored. The ceremony was almost a thing of the past now, even to the staunchest of tribesmen. It was just not practiced anymore. And certainly white men were not normally let into the ways. Dead Thing had distinguished me by his invitation. Maybe that made me feel all the more obligated. I don’t know.

Actually, the Sundance wasn’t just a worship of the sun, like I thought. Dead Thing explained it some. Certainly the sun entered into it. It was a great Crow god, and the dance was a tribute to the sun. But among the Crow it was also a dance of vengeance, a painful prayer for revenge.

These days, as the dance was not performed in great rituals as it had been before, and since Dead Thing was ostracized from the tribe—or had ostracized himself—it was necessary to perform the dance on one’s own accord.

There was quite a bit to be done before the pain began. We built a lodge for the dance, not very big, but it took time. Among Dead Thing’s possessions was a doll, a sacred thing that had been made for just such a ceremony. He would need it during the dance. It wasy lance. I his medicine. He informed me that I would need a medicine bundle as well, and I should make one.

I cut away a piece of my blanket and put a bullet in it, along with a drop of blood that I coaxed out of my thumb with a thorn. I felt sort of silly about it, but I swore an oath over the bundle, tied it up, and that was my medicine.

We went through some other rituals. Finally it was time to fast. We left the lodge and found a place deep in the woods. We fed up the horses good and made a small corral of little logs we chopped down with Dead Thing’s knife and tomahawk. The horses went inside of that with plenty of green stuff to eat and some bark that Dead Thing said would prevent them from getting the scours. I hoped it would be enough. Dead Thing told me that a fast sometimes lasted for a week.