Luke's Gold (17 page)

“Let's do it the easy way,” Cade said as he started Loco forward with Ben keeping pace beside him. Holding Loco to an easy walk, he headed toward the white mare grazing near a blue roan stallion that was obviously the leader of the greatest part of the herd. Ben, knowing the roan to be the leader, started for him. Cade held him back. “Never mind about ol' stud there,” Cade said. “You go on up and turn that white mare. She's the boss-mare. The others will follow her, even the stallions.” He held his horse back while Ben approached the mare. “Let her know you're the boss,” Cade called after him.

A curious audience of Hank and Johnny watched in openmouthed surprise as little Ben rode brazenly up to the mare and effectively turned her toward the camp. As soon as she lifted her head and loped away, she was followed by the rest of the horses, the blue roan stallion right behind her with a group of bachelor stallions bringing up the rear. “Look at that,” Hank chuckled.

“He's already too big for his britches,” Johnny mumbled.

 

When the horses were back in close to the camp, everybody helped drive them into the two largest corrals. That taken care of, all hands took a little time to eat supper. As the sun gradually sank behind the mountains behind them, Cade and Ben prepared to take their turn as nighthawks. “Ben, you keep your eyes open,” Hank couldn't resist cautioning his younger son.

“Pa,” Ben complained, embarrassed, “you don't have to tell me that.”

Cade was careful not to show the smile the ten-year-old's remark caused. Ben was a rambunctious kid, eager to fill a man's role. Cade understood that. It was reminiscent of another kid he remembered: young Cade Hunter. That youngster had taken on the role of executioner of the men who killed his father. It was something Cade tried not to think about too often. Looking now at young Ben Persons, he hoped the child would never know the burden of living with something like that on his conscience. Realizing he had permitted his mind to wander to unpleasant places, he shrugged and blinked away the dark memories. “Come on, partner,” he said to Ben. “We'd better get on the job.”

According to what Jack Walker had told them, the Blackfoot raiding party had come down from the mountains to the north, probably following the river. Walker had figured that, if it was the same bunch of Indians, they would be discouraged by the sight of more men in the camp, and might decide it was not worth the risk. Cade was inclined to agree, but he felt the responsibility of taking care of Ben. So he stationed Ben at the back corner of the upper corral, the one closest to the shack. He didn't tell Ben that they had decided to give him and Cade the first watch out of concern for the boy's safety. Jim Big Tree and Walker figured if they were raided, it would most likely come in the hours before dawn, just as before.

As hard dark set in, the two lookouts took a wide tour around the corrals to make sure everything was peaceful. Then Cade sent Ben back to his post with instructions to fire his rifle in the air if he saw anyone approaching the corral. “And everybody'll come a'runnin'. You see that stand of pines over there?” he said, pointing toward a spot near the base of the hills north of the camp. “That's where I'll be, so make sure you don't shoot me if you see me comin'.” Seeing a questioning look on the boy's face, he was quick to assure him. “I'll be comin' over to check on you every half hour or so. If you need me, just whistle like a whip-poor-will three times. You can do that, can't you?” He demonstrated, and Ben immediately imitated his whistle. “Right,” Cade said. “You do it better'n I do.”

 

“We have been away from our village a long time. I think it is time we returned home.” Running Fox tore another strip of meat from the portion of deer haunch roasting over the fire. It was the same conclusion that his friend Bear Track had come to. The Blackfoot raiding party had been away for more than two weeks, and their village was a long way from this valley where so many white men now lived. Starting out with twelve warriors, they had been successful in running off fifteen horses from the white man's camp at the edge of the hills. Half of their raiding party returned with the stolen horses, but Bloody Feathers, Running Fox, and four others elected to stay and plan for a second raid on the camp. When they scouted the camp a week later, there were no horses in the pens the white men had erected, only a couple of horses the two men rode—and these were kept too close to the hut to chance stealing.

Running Fox had been in favor of going home when their second attempt brought no results, but the others, especially his wife's brother, Bloody Feathers, argued that there was no honor in returning to the village with nothing to show for their lengthy absence. Consequently, they had spent the past seven days scouting the valleys beyond these mountains, only to find that the white man had arrived in too many numbers, building villages and digging the dirt they found so precious from the hills and streams. Now, ready to leave for home, they waited while Bear Track made one last scout on the camp at the foot of the hills. “We have taken their horses,” Running Fox had insisted. “They do not have any more horses. They are probably gone from that camp.” Bloody Feathers had argued that Bear Track might as well make sure. So they sat by the fire and waited for his return.

“Someone comes!” one of the warriors whispered, and the others grabbed their weapons and quickly moved away from the fire. The warning was followed a few seconds later by the confirmation that it was Bear Track returning.

Running into their midst, Bear Track exclaimed excitedly, “Many ponies! The white men have brought more ponies!”

His news caused immediate reaction from his fellow warriors. “How many?” Bloody Feathers asked.

“I don't know,” Bear Track replied. “I couldn't count them—maybe fifty or more. But they are grazing a long way from the camp where the white men live.”

“Are there still only two white men to guard them?”

“No,” Bear Track answered. “I saw four more, but two of them are only children.”

While his friends rejoiced over an opportunity to steal more horses, Running Fox considered the news that Bear Track had brought. The two white men who were living in the hut had the rifles that shoot many times. Maybe their friends had the same weapons. It would be unwise to try to make a surprise raid on the herd of horses. He, Bloody Feathers, and Bear Track had single-shot rifles. The other three had only bows. When the warriors' initial excitement settled down, Running Fox counseled on the folly of matching weapons with the white men. “We will go after these horses, but we will have to wait until darkness so that we can surprise them. Their guns are too strong.”

There was no disagreement with his advice, for they all knew about the repeating rifles. It did not dampen their enthusiasm for the raid, however. “Maybe we can kill some of them and take their guns that shoot many times,” Bear Track said. He smiled at Bloody Feathers. “I could kill many enemies with a gun like that.”

It was a long time coming, but night finally descended upon the mountains, and the small raiding party quietly made their way down a wooded ravine toward the valley. Much to their disappointment, the horses were no longer grazing free on the open prairie. They had been driven back to be penned in the large corrals near the hut. This called for a new plan of attack. Heading back toward the white men's camp, they trotted along in single file, hugging the base of the hills and the cover the trees afforded. When within fifty yards of the corrals, Running Fox halted the party and looked the situation over.

“There are no guards in sight,” Bear Track whispered. “They all sleep in the hut.”

Running Fox was not so sure. “They wouldn't leave all those horses unguarded,” he said. “I think maybe there are guards hiding where we cannot see them.” He studied the scene a few moments longer. “I think they would see us if we try to cross all this open space between here and the pens. I think it would be better to climb up this hill and come down near their hut. Then we can climb over the fence and take out the rails, and drive the horses out the back of the pen.” He paused then and looked around him at his fellow warriors. “That is just what I think. What does someone else say?” The plan seemed good to the others, so they started up through the trees.

 

Young Ben Persons watched Cade Hunter's back until the rangy man from Colorado was enveloped in the darkness and had faded from sight. Then he settled himself again with his back against a sizable boulder near a rear corner of the corral. Though only ten, he was certain that he could handle himself as well as the adults, so he was a little disappointed that Cade had chosen to station him in a safe place close to the cabin. Clutching his 1864 model Spencer carbine, he felt confident and unafraid, proud that Cade had welcomed him as a partner. He had heard the men talking, so he knew they expected no trouble until the hours preceding dawn. But if the Blackfoot raiders showed up sooner than expected, he would give them something to think about. He was a good shot with the surplus army rifle, and he told himself he wouldn't hesitate to shoot the sneaky horse thieves.

The night wore on, and Ben shifted his body several times when the hard ground began to become uncomfortable. From his position, he could see the back rails of the two big corrals as well as the sides of one of them. After what seemed an eternity, he heard a soft whistle. He immediately answered it, and a few seconds later, Cade emerged from the darkness, leading his horse.

“How you doin', partner?” Cade asked.

“I'm okay,” Ben answered boldly. “Is it time to get Pa and Johnny?”

“No, we've only been out here for a little over half an hour.” Ben couldn't see the smile on Cade's face. “Time just passes slow when you ain't doin' nothin' but waitin',” he said.

“It don't bother me,” Ben boasted. “I could stay out here all night if I had to.”

“Well, I hope we don't have to,” Cade replied. “I'm gonna take a little turn around the far side of the corral and look around. I just wanted to let you know where I was.”

Ben watched his partner again until he disappeared around the corner of the corral; then he settled down against the boulder once more. The time began to drag as before, but a short time later he heard a bird call. He answered immediately, smiling to himself.
It didn't sound much like a whip-poor-will,
he thought, and waited for Cade to reappear. No more than a couple of seconds passed when he heard another bird call, this one like the first he had heard, but behind him. Maybe it was a real bird he had heard and not Cade. He got up and moved cautiously toward the fence corner, peering into the darkness. The actions of the next few seconds happened so fast that Ben was helpless to even struggle. The powerful arm that trapped him pinned his rifle to him, holding him captive while a hand clamped over his mouth so tightly that he couldn't make a sound.

Bear Track had been unaware of the boy's presence on the other side of the boulder until Ben unwittingly answered Bloody Feathers' signal. Surprised to find the sentinel was a mere child, Bear Track quickly sprang upon him, but found the boy to be a handful. Ben struggled to free himself, causing Bear Track to hold him even tighter. He intended to silence the boy permanently, but he found he could not free a hand to draw his knife without chancing a shout from Ben to alert those sleeping in the hut. Seeing no alternative, he carried Ben back up the hill into the firs, seeking a place where the child could not be heard.

Terrified now that he found himself helpless against the strength of the savage arms that bound him, Ben continued to struggle, but to no avail. He was transported back up into the forest as easily as if he were a sack of flour, his attempts to call for help no more than muffled murmurs.

Moving as fast as he could, for he knew the others waited for him to remove the rails in the corral, Bear Track slammed the boy down under the limbs of a fir tree. With one hand holding Ben down by his throat, he released the other hand and snatched his knife from his belt. One forceful strike through the youngster's chest should finish him quickly. He raised the knife high over his head, then thrust downward only to meet with a steel grip that caught his wrist—at the same time feeling a pistol barrel against his side, a split second before the revolver fired. Bear Track stiffened as the bullet tore into his insides, causing him to release his hold on the boy's throat. In desperation, he tried to turn to face his assailant. With one wrist still entrapped, he clawed at Cade with his other hand until the pistol fired again, ending his struggles.

Below them, at the foot of the hill, Cade could hear the sounds of alarm from the cabin as the others clamored to fend off the attack. He shoved Bear Track's body over, freeing the stunned ten-year-old. “Are you all right?” he asked, as Ben gasped for air. Still too frightened to speak, Ben nodded his head frantically. “Come on, then,” Cade said, and started back down through the trees. “Stay close,” he added.