Way of the Gun (9781101597804) (11 page)

His thirst for vengeance satisfied, only then did he pause to assess his situation. His horse was spent, it was already late in the afternoon, and he was several miles from his packhorse. Thinking that the three white people he was determined to kill might have taken the opportunity to escape, he knew that he had no time to waste. There was no choice but to walk back to the fort and lead his horse. He looked quickly back behind him to see if the two extra horses Lame Foot had released were anywhere in sight. They were not, and he cursed them for running away. He looked then at Lame Foot's horse and knew that it was spent. Angry again, he took the time to take Lame Foot's scalp before turning to glimpse his carbine a few yards away in the bushes. He put the Spencer in his saddle sling, and with his Winchester in his hand, he took the blue roan's reins and started back.

He reached the forks of Little Piney Creek in the fading light of day to find his packhorse gone and his packs spilled upon the ground. His horse went immediately to the water to drink. Red Shirt, furious that he had to admit to himself that he should not have chased Lame Foot, was now faced with the loss of many of his supplies. He could not carry them all on one horse. He needed a packhorse, and in his anger he had left Lame Foot's horse behind. It would have been no more trouble to lead the horse along with his. The thought caused his fury to rise to a level he could not contain. Then he looked at his horse drinking from the creek and discovered the two broken pieces of his scalp stick, stuck unceremoniously in the sand at the water's edge. He threw his head back and howled like a wolf, thinking it a challenge from the young white man. “I will cut your guts out and eat your liver!” he roared out at the dark and silent fort on the plateau above him.

To confirm what he already knew to be true, he went up the bluffs to the deserted army fort. They had gone, but there was enough light remaining to see the direction they had taken. He followed a difficult trail on the baked-out dirt until reaching a portion of the parade ground that was knee high in grass and weeds. Even in the growing darkness, the trail left through the weeds by seven horses was plain to see. It told him that they had left in a hurry, taking no time to hide their tracks. Unfortunately for him, he could not follow their tracks until morning, no matter how anxious he was to catch them. But he promised himself that he would follow Carson Ryan to Canada, if he went that far.

* * *

As Carson had hoped, the game trail led them around the mountain and descended to pass between the mountain they had camped on and a higher one north of it. The trail wound back to the west, where they appeared to be approaching a dead end at the foot of the rock face of yet another mountain. To their surprise, there was a small passage on the south side of the mountain that the game trail entered. It brought them to a narrow canyon bisected by a wide stream. Since it had been a hard morning's work for the horses, they decided it best to rest them there. With the steep walls of the mountains on either side of them, they settled down to eat their midday meal. There was a sense of protection within those high walls, shutting out the evils of the surrounding prairie grassland. It was almost enough to lull the small party of travelers into a false sense of safety, so much so that Frank suggested staying there for the rest of the day. “Our horses are looking real tired, and I'm thinking they sure need a little more time to rest up.” Carson had to agree with his assessment of the horses' condition, even though the bay he rode appeared much stronger than theirs. He was not enthusiastic about delaying their escape that long, but justified it for the simple reason that the horses would serve them better in the long run. So they stayed where they were, gave the horses an extra ration of grain, and let them rest for the balance of that day.

Nancy gave voice to the feeling of security. “As many twists and turns as we've taken today, I don't think anyone could have followed us.”

Carson reminded her that even though the way had been difficult at times, they had been following a game trail. “Anybody else could follow the same trail,” he said. “And Red Shirt can follow where there ain't no trail.”

“I declare, John, you sure know how to spoil a perfectly good picnic.” She stood over him, about to refill his coffee cup. “I've a good mind not to give you any more coffee until you can show us you can smile.” She nodded to her husband then. “And the same goes for you, Frank. I know you're hurting. I miss Jonah, too, but we've got to turn our thoughts toward making a new life in Montana.”

“I know what you're trying to do,” Frank said. “It's just a little bit too soon for me to start kicking up my heels and singing a song. We only laid Jonah to rest last night. I need a little more time to get over the fact that he's gone.”

She said no more, but proceeded to fill the cups of both men, then busied herself with the chore of washing their plates in the stream. Her life had been nothing less than one terrifying moment after another ever since they had left Custer City in the Black Hills. And she was terribly afraid of the vengeful murderer who seemed determined to kill them all. But she was reluctant to tell Frank of her fears, for she felt that he was as afraid as she, and she was trying to maintain a brave and cheerful front to encourage him.
God help us if anything happens to John,
she thought. She paused then to look back at their young guide, sitting by the small fire they had built to cook their food.
He's so serious
. Then another thought entered her mind.
Some guide, he doesn't know where we are, or where we're going.
That bit of irony made her chuckle in earnest.

As they expected, the night passed peacefully with no guests.

Back in the saddle the next morning, Carson led them along the stream until he found the point where the trail began again. They followed it between two more mountains and out onto a broader valley. At this point, the game trail took a sharp turn and headed almost due south, following the valley. Carson pulled up to confer with his fellow travelers. “It ain't gonna do us no good to stay on this trail.” He pointed to the sun, then back to the trail. “We need to keep the sun on our left shoulder. If we follow that trail any longer, the sun'll be on our right shoulder, and that ain't the way to the Yellowstone.”

“Well, whaddaya wanna do?” Frank asked.

“If it was up to me, I'd say stay with this valley till it runs out,” Carson answered. “It's headin' in the right direction for one thing.”

“Well, it is up to you,” Nancy quickly remarked, “so I guess that's the best thing to do.” There was no argument from Frank, so they turned north and followed the valley.

* * *

They were still following the valley when nightfall caught up with them, and they made their camp in a small cluster of trees near the edge of a creek that flowed down from the mountains beside them. There was good grass, and the water was swift and clear. Since there had been little opportunity during the last few days to do so, Nancy decided it was time to take a bath. After they had eaten their supper, she announced her intention to do so.

“Not me,” Frank said. “You're liable to freeze to death in that water.”

“I don't care,” Nancy replied. “I declare, I'm downright grimy. I've got to have a bath, and I need to get out of these clothes and give them a good cleaning.”

“Well, don't say I didn't warn you,” Frank said, “when you come down with pneumonia.” He looked at Carson then and shook his head.

Carson figured this was one decision he had no say in, but he tended to side with Frank, and he wondered how Nancy could even think of taking a bath with Red Shirt lurking out there somewhere. “Well, if you decide that's what you're gonna do,” he said, “I reckon I could take a little ride back down the valley just to make sure we ain't got no company. That would give you a little privacy to take your bath.” He had planned to scout their back trail, anyway, just to be safe. With the trail they had ridden since leaving Fort Phil Kearny, it seemed damn near impossible for anyone to follow them, but he didn't trust Red Shirt. He was halfway convinced that the half-breed was part devil.

“You don't have to leave,” Nancy said. “I can just go on the other side of those bushes hanging over the creek. You can stay here and talk to Frank.”

“I was gonna take a look around behind us anyway,” Carson replied. He finished his coffee and rinsed the cup in the creek. As he did, he couldn't help commenting, “That water is a mite cold, though.” He picked up his rifle and started walking back the way they had come. “I'll sing out when I come back in.”

When they thought he was out of earshot, he heard Frank say, “I'd better watch you take your bath in case there's some bears or something around.”

“You stay right there by the fire,” she told him. “You don't need to be looking at me. If any bears come around, I'll send them over to you.”

“Ah, shoot,” he replied. “It's not gonna hurt just to look.”

“Now, Frank,” she scolded playfully, “you know it's not good for you to start thinking those thoughts when we're in a place where you can't do anything about it.”

Walking back through the trees, Carson couldn't help chuckling to himself. They might need a little time to themselves, because there certainly hadn't been any since he had joined them. Leaving the creek, he walked back along the valley they had ridden along, looking for signs that might tell him they were still being followed, but expecting none. It seemed more unlikely now that Red Shirt had picked up their trail. If he had, he would have caught them by now, since they had lost almost a full day when they took extra time to rest the horses.

As he walked, he was struck by the heavy silence of the broad valley, especially in contrast with the noisy hum of insects back by the creek. And he was reminded once more how much he enjoyed the nighttime. He had never even minded riding nighthawk when he was driving a herd. Nighttime was a good time to think on the many things there was no time for during the day. He wondered then what had become of Duke Slayton and Johnny Briggs, and Bad Eye—and Lute. It struck him then that Lute might have come close to warning him that day. The old man was not at all anxious to ride to the support of his friends. And he thought to himself how much he would like to run into them somewhere in the future, so he could thank them personally for the fine mess they made of his life. Maybe it made no difference now, for he never planned to visit Wyoming Territory again. Then he laughed at himself for having been taken in for a fool, and he remembered thinking they were the worst drovers he had ever ridden with.

His thoughts returned to the couple back in the camp, and he wondered if Nancy enjoyed her cold bath. He was prompted to wonder then why Frank and Nancy had no children. He had no idea how long they had been married, but they didn't act like newlyweds.
Well, ain't none of my business,
he thought.
Maybe Frank ain't figured out how to make a baby
. He grinned at the thought. Frank seemed not to know how to do a lot of things. Feeling at peace with himself for the first time in quite a while, he looked up when a three-quarter moon popped up above a mountain peak, seeming to rest atop the mountain. The scene caused a craving in him to see more of the mountains of this wild country.
I best be getting back to the camp,
he told himself, realizing that he had walked for a couple of miles.
As cold as that water's bound to be, she ought to be finished with her bath by now
.

* * *

Shivering so hard she could barely pull on the clean pair of Frank's trousers that she favored to her skirts and petticoats, Nancy would not admit it to Frank when she returned to the fire, but the water had been so cold that it stung when she waded in up to her knees. That was as far as she could force herself to go. Washing her torso and arms with a cloth dipped into the fast-moving creek, she had almost lost her breath and her very bones ached with the cold. She finally finished drying her back and arms, although she would not be comfortable until back by the fire. Pulling on a heavy shirt, she was about to leave the cover of the bushes that had ensured her privacy when she detected movement in the shrubs on the other side of the creek.

That dog,
she thought with an impish grin, but immediately had second thoughts. Frank would hardly have crossed over to the other side of the creek to annoy her. Then she realized that Carson had been gone for a long time, and she was at once bitterly disappointed in the young man she had become so fond of. That he would slink around in the bushes to spy on her told her that he was lacking the character she had given him credit for. Maybe he thought it was a funny joke, spying on a lady. Angry now, she pulled her coat over her shoulders and picked up the pistol and holster she had become accustomed to carrying. Leaving the screen of bushes, she stopped suddenly when she saw the dark form across the creek moving back toward the fire. “Well,” she yelled, “did you get a good eyeful?”

Startled, Red Shirt turned at once and fired, his shot passing inches from Nancy's head and clipping a large branch from the bush she had just left. Terrified, Nancy dived to the ground, her fingers trembling as she tried to pull the revolver from its holster. Finally she freed it and shot at the place where she had seen the form, although it was no longer there. It immediately occurred to her that now he knew where she was, but she no longer knew where he was. Her only impulse was to run, and run she did, leaving her soiled clothes on the ground where she had fallen.

“Nancy!” Frank screamed out when he heard the shots. He dropped his coffee cup, grabbed his rifle, and ran to meet her on the dark bank of the creek.

Seeing her husband, Nancy exclaimed breathlessly, “He's found us!” She rushed to meet him, but wasted no time in an embrace. “We've got to hide!”