Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) (10 page)

“Wait a minute, Roberts,” Waltz countered. “We don’t know if they have guns. An’ even if they don’t, hatchets and arrows can kill us just as dead. I’m leaving, an’ if you an’ the others have any sense, you’ll come with me.”

Hoping Waltz might have second thoughts about staying if he had some food in his belly, Roberts said, “Well, at least eat some dinner before you go.”

Weiser overheard this exchange and grinned, pleased to have an unexpected ally in Roberts. “These men are going to follow Tenaya like children following the Pied Piper,” he thought.

While the others checked their gear and fixed supper, he slipped away to find Tenaya. He found the chief near the river, sitting cross-legged and studying the current. As Weiser approached, the old man gestured for him to sit down and said, “Why have you come to me?”

“I want gold,” Weiser said.

The corners of Tenaya’s mouth tightened, but it was barely perceptible.

Weiser waited.

After a time, Tenaya made a small nod, just enough for Weiser to suppose he should continue. “I can give you guns in return,” Weiser said softly.

“If I give you gold, are you willing to lead your friends into ambush?” Tenaya asked.

Weiser knew he might get caught in the crossfire. And even if he got out alive, he would need Waltz’s help to get back to civilization. After a slight hesitation, Weiser decided to trust Tenaya. “I’ll get you guns, but only if you promise me an’ my partner Waltz will get out alive.”

“Don’t worry,” Tenaya said easily. “I will take care of you.”

Half an hour later, having stolen guns from the other men’s gear and delivered them to Tenaya, Weiser went back to the campfire. After filling his plate with biscuits and beans, he sat down between Young and Green to do some persuading. Leaning toward Young, he said, “That Indian’s gold looked pretty damn good.”

Webber was sitting on the other side of Young. He leaned forward and said, “I seen it, too! Them hunks of gold was as big as my fist. We’d be crazy not go after them. If that redskin has as much gold as he claims, we’ll be set for life.”

Young didn’t say anything. But he stopped chewing his biscuit, swiped his sleeve across his chin to wipe off molasses, and looked thoughtfully at Weiser.

Weiser winked at him and said, “Those nuggets would make a man like you real popular with the ladies.”

That got a horse-laugh from the others.

Ignoring them, Young looked at Weiser and said, “Redskins ain’t got no use for gold anyway, do they?”

Was Young looking to ease his conscience about taking the gold? Weiser met his eyes and said, “Sure they do. They use it for trading with white men.”

The others were quiet as they thought this over.

On the other side of the campfire, Roberts and Waltz heard the men. Roberts looked at Waltz and said, “That gold looked mighty good, Waltz. Are you sure you won’t stay with us?”

“Are you insane?” Waltz answered quickly. “Don’t you understand those Indians will lead us into a trap?”

Weiser overheard them. He grinned and, loudly enough for everyone to hear him, said, “I thought you was a brave man, Waltz. It ain’t like you to be scared of a handful of redskins!”

Waltz looked at Weiser and said, “Ain’t you the coward who rode with women and children when we was crossing the desert?”

Roberts didn’t say anything.

Made bold by Roberts’ silence, the corners of Weiser’s lips turned up in a mocking smile, and he said, “And ain’t you the fella who went into our mine all by hisself and damn near drowned?”

Young, Green, and Webber laughed out loud. But next to them, Gideon Roberts looked down at his plate, and Peeples shook his head ruefully.

Furious now, Waltz turned and roared, “What the hell’s the matter with you, Roberts? You’re supposed to be leading this group! Are you going to just sit there and let Weiser take charge?”

When Roberts still remained silent, Waltz got to his feet and strode down to the river.

“Guess we’re going with the Indians,” Weiser said with a smug smile, and poured himself another cup of coffee.

Roberts followed Waltz to the river and found him throwing rocks at a small boulder. Waltz ignored him at first, but after a few minutes he said, “Why didn’t you back me up?”

“Maybe I should have,” Roberts admitted, “but think about it, Waltz. We killed Indians in Texas and didn’t think twice about it. We ain’t really going to sell guns to Tenaya, but he has gold. Maybe he and his men will get hurt when we take it, but they’re only Indians.”

Waltz snorted in disgust.

Roberts put his hand on Waltz’s arm and said, “Please, Waltz, I need you to stay.”

Forgetting his own moment of temptation, Waltz said, “I thought you was a man I could look up to, but you ain’t acting like a man I want to ride with any longer.”

That night, Waltz lay awake long after the others had gone to sleep. He had to admit he was tempted by Tenaya’s gold, but his gut told him to get on his horse and get out of there. And his conscience said killing for gold ain’t the same as killing to save your life.

Toward dawn, he drifted into a fitful sleep and dreamed he was at the edge of a dark forest. He saw the other men, his friends, resting in a sun-filled meadow. Bloodthirsty savages lurked among the trees, waiting to ambush them. He tried to warn his friends, but they paid no attention. As he watched, they went into the forest, the trees trembled violently, and in a moment Indians came out of the forest leading a string of horses with bloody bodies slung across their backs. Waltz awoke with a start, his heart beating wildly.

After a moment, he heard his companions snoring in the vulnerability of deep sleep, and he realized he could not abandon them now. With this change of heart, his conscience let him sink back into sleep, and this time it was dreamless.

In the morning, Waltz found Roberts at the campfire and said, “I’ll stay with you, even though you’re asking for a heap of trouble. We’ve come too far for me to quit now.”

“Thank you, Waltz,” Roberts said. “You’re my right-hand man. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Waltz grunted and picked up a plate. Helping himself to biscuits, he soaked them with molasses, poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down, and began to eat.

Weiser saw Waltz and sidled over. “I thought you was leaving,” he said.

“What I do is none of your damn business,” Waltz replied.

“What’s the matter?” Weiser sneered. “Was you too scared to go by yourself?”

Waltz was prevented from responding by the timely arrival of Chief Tenaya, who had been standing at the edge of the clearing listening to this conversation. He smiled a little and motioned for his two braves to step forward. Each brave held a potato sack filled with gold. As they opened their sacks and displayed their gleaming contents, Tenaya gestured toward the gold and said, “Here is proof of my wealth. There is much more at my place in the mountains.”

As he had intended, the sight of his gold put an end to the white men’s doubts. It was a forgivable mistake, but one that was to cost them dearly. The truth was, the gold in front of them was all Tenaya had, a desperate gamble of revenge for his son’s execution at the hands of other white men. In Tenaya’s mind, all white men were the same, and he would not rest until they were all dead. “I will wait for you at the river,” he said and left them to pack up and follow him.

Speckled rainbow trout splashed in the clear water beside the path as they entered the forest. The path was just wide enough to ride single file. Roberts rode in front, Waltz in the rear once again to keep an eye on Weiser. Each mile into the misty forest took them farther from the main road. The only sounds were the quiet clink of horses’ bridles and the rush of the river beside them. Danger was in the very air they breathed. Waltz had never been more alert to his surroundings. He had spent enough time in Grass Valley to know forests were never quiet like this. It was as if birds and animals were watching and waiting, like the calm before a storm. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he heard the soft, “Ha-hoo, hoo-ha-hoo-hooooo,” of an Indian’s simulation of a great horned owl’s cry echo through the trees.

As the day advanced, Waltz thought he saw shadowy forms move silently among the trees. They vanished quickly, before he could be sure they were more than the shifting of foliage from a passing breeze. At the edge of the trail, a golden-mantled ground squirrel sat squarely on his hind legs and watched them pass, his beady eyes sparkling at a private joke.

Shadows deepened and darkened around them and the trail became a mossy footpath. They made camp, ate a comforting supper of bacon, biscuits, and molasses, and Waltz spoke briefly about taking cover when they were attacked. No one corrected his use of “when” or complained about taking a turn at sentry duty.

The second morning was warm and dry, the late autumn weather sometimes called Indian summer. They continued to ride beside the river, but now the trail was little more than a footpath. Spurious bird calls increased and vague shadows disappeared as the sun came out.

Shortly before midday, the trail approached a deep, narrow gorge with steep sides. Large boulders and fallen trees surrounded a small clearing beside the trail. Roberts halted his horse and said, “This is as far as we’re going.”

Chief Tenaya appeared at the top of the gorge. He had changed his shabby jacket for a crimson shirt and eagle-feather cape, and his battered derby had been replaced with a magnificent eagle-feather headdress. His face was painted white with gray stripes running vertically down his face, starting above his eyebrows, going down his cheeks, and ending in forked tails. The braves who traveled with Tenaya now wore crimson stripes down their forehead from the center of their hairline to the tip of their nose and continuing from the center of their lower lip to their throat. Their cheeks and jaws were black, they still wore their gold-filled purses around their necks, and now they had arrows in their bows. Thirty additional war-painted braves stood behind them.

Most of the white men jumped from their horses and ran for cover, but Weiser immediately saw this opportunity to steal a little gold while the other men’s attention was diverted. Cool as a cucumber, he unbuckled each of his companions’ saddlebags and helped himself to a handful of nuggets. They’ll never know the difference, he thought.

As Weiser tucked his companions’ gold in his own gear, Chief Tenaya raised his lance and led his braves in a terrifying battle cry that echoed through the clearing. A moment later, Indian arrows filled the air.

Concerned for the safety of their horses, Coho Young left the shelter of his boulder to lead the horses away from the battle. But as he came back, an arrow pierced his thigh. He collapsed in anguish, unable to move. Heedless of his own safety, Waltz went back and carried Young to cover behind a fallen tree.

While Waltz was saving Young, Weiser tried to escape, but his getaway was blocked by one of Tenaya’s gold-wearing attendants. Weiser backed away in mock terror. Fifty feet away, Webber saw this from his position behind a tree, fired, and the Indian went down, blood darkening his shirt as he fell. As Webber approached to help, Weiser grabbed the fallen Indian’s tomahawk, spun, and buried it in Webber’s skull — then stole the Indian’s pouch and stuffed it in his pocket.

Waltz saw all this from across the clearing and shut his eyes for a moment, appalled by his partner’s despicable action. Without conscious thought, he raised his rifle and drew a bead on Weiser, but before he pulled the trigger, Waltz paused and lowered his rifle. “Shooting’s too good for him,” Waltz thought to himself. “Before I kill that bastard, I’ll make his life so miserable he’ll beg me to pull the trigger.”

Waltz laid his rifle down carefully. Staying low to the ground, he sprinted across the open space between them and dragged Weiser over to where Young lay in a pool of blood. “I’m going to pull this arrow out of Young’s leg,” Waltz said, “an’ you’re going to help me.”

Weiser’s face turned white at the sight of Young’s gory leg, and he muttered, “I can’t do it.”

Waltz pulled his pistol from its holster and aimed it at Weiser’s chest. “Yes you can,” he said though clenched teeth. “Squat down there an’ hold his leg, dammit.”

Shocked into reacting, Weiser crouched down beside Young.

Waltz put his pistol back in its holster and said, “Now give me your whiskey.”

Weiser handed over his flask. Waltz unscrewed its top, poured a swig into Young’s mouth, and took a gulp himself.

Weiser looked at Waltz and whispered, “Shouldn’t we get out of here? We can come back later for Young.”

Waltz grabbed his pistol and spat, “Sit on that leg, you goddamn coward, or I’ll blow your head off.”

Weiser shut his mouth and shifted his weight.

Waltz opened his pocket knife, cut off the lower half of Young’s pant leg, and handed it to Weiser. “Tear this into strips,” he said.

“How wide?” Weiser asked, his face turned away as he avoided looking at Young’s wound.

“Wide enough to stop the bleeding,” Waltz replied.

Weiser tore the strips and handed them to Waltz, who wrapped and tied a tourniquet, and began cutting the feathers from the arrow.

“Why don’t you just pull the arrow out?” Weiser asked.

“Because he’d bleed to death from the arrow’s head tearing his flesh,” Waltz replied. “Now sit on that leg an’ hold it still.”

Waltz began to ease the arrow through Young’s thigh muscle grunting with effort as the fibrous tissue resisted. Weiser gritted his teeth and hung on. Sweat beaded Waltz’s forehead as he strained to push the damned arrow, until at last it moved through the muscle and came out cleanly in a fresh gush of blood.

Weiser’s face, already pale, turned still whiter at the sight of the surging blood.

Waltz wiped the sweat from his face, poured whiskey in Young’s parched mouth, and used the rest of it to clean his wound.

Weiser tried to ease away, but Waltz stopped him short as he snapped, “Not so fast, Weiser. You got us into this an’ you’re goddamn going to see it through. Tighten the bandage.”

Weiser obeyed, then turned his back and vomited. Neither man had noticed that the gunfire had tapered off.