Way of the Gun (9781101597804) (9 page)

With bullets flying all about him, he dived for cover beside Frank, cocked his rifle, and immediately threw shot after shot at the low shrubs by the creek when he saw a muzzle flash. “Could you see any of 'em?” he asked Frank.

“Jonah,” Frank responded. “We've gotta get Jonah.”

Carson realized then that Frank was still in a state of shock over having seen his brother shot down, and had not fired a shot at the creek. Carson reached over and felt the barrel of the Winchester he had given him. The barrel was cold. “Frank,” he said roughly, “Jonah's gone. There ain't nothin' we can do for him now, so we've gotta keep throwin' lead at that patch of bushes down by the creek, and maybe we can scare 'em off.” He felt Nancy move up beside his arm.

“Give me the other rifle,” she said. “I'll shoot it.”

He laid the cartridge belt between them, and she wasted no time in firing at the shrubs he had pointed out. Following her lead, Frank finally put his rifle to use. Carson took a moment to evaluate their position. There was nothing but open space between them and the people shooting at them, so they were not likely to charge them, but he was concerned about their rear. From the shots fired so far, he figured that it was a small party attacking them, but how small? Big enough to split up and send half their force to circle around behind them—maybe to make a try for the horses? He had to make sure. “Can you two keep an eye on that fork of the creek down yonder? I don't think it's a very big party, and I doubt they wanna try chargin' across that open bluff. I need to check behind us in case some of 'em's thinkin' about gettin' us caught in a cross fire.” He figured that was what he would do if he was in their shoes. “We can't let 'em get to the horses.”

Nancy answered for them. “We can do that. Frank and I will shoot anybody who tries to run across that clearing. But you be careful. Don't you get yourself shot and leave us to fight the Indians alone.”

“I won't,” Carson said. “Just be sure to keep your heads down.” Then he withdrew, trying to keep his head low as he crawled backward. When he felt the contour of the plateau inhibited their line of sight, he got to his feet and ran to the horses. He found them where he had left them, pulling against the reins that tied them to the scorched timbers. Frightened by the sound of constant gunfire, their natural instincts told them to run. He took a few minutes to try to calm them down before finding some protection for himself while watching the open parade ground behind them. As he settled in behind a partially burned doorsill, he couldn't help worrying about the two guarding the front. Frank seemed visibly shaken by the surprise attack. Carson supposed it was mainly the loss of his brother that had gripped him with such paralysis, but he appeared to have come out of it when Nancy stepped up. Picturing the determined woman, he was at once reassured that she could handle the situation.

* * *

“Damn the luck,” Red Shirt cursed. “If we had attacked them at night, we wouldn't have had to sit back under this bluff and shoot at 'em at this range.” It was frustrating to have caught up with them and yet be unable to advance close enough to kill them. All the sign he had read during the previous day had told him that he was almost upon them. It prompted him to ride on late into the night until the horses became so tired they were forced to make camp. And then to catch up with them only in time to see them leaving their camp was too much for Red Shirt's patience. So when the shot presented itself, even at a fairly long range, he could not resist the temptation to take it. He had succeeded in killing one of them, but the others escaped, including the one he really wanted. He slid back down from the bank to confer with his partners after making sure Carson and the other two were not going to make an attempt to ride out the other end of the fort.

“I think it would be a good thing to get around behind them and steal the horses,” Walking Fox said.

“That would not be easy in the daylight,” Lame Foot said.

“What you say is true,” Walking Fox countered. “But there are enough old beds where the buildings were burned that if a man is a skillful scout, there is a good chance he could find the horses. And without their horses, they would be at our mercy. I am such a man.”

Red Shirt nodded. “I've been thinking the same thing,” he said. It had occurred to him, but he had discarded the idea because the fort behind Carson was just as open as that expanse before them now. Maybe Walking Fox was right. Maybe there were enough old beds to use for cover. He tried to picture the
beds
Walking Fox spoke of, knowing he was referring to some old foundations where buildings had once stood. “It is possible,” Red Shirt said, “but it would be dangerous, and would take a man who could move quickly and carefully.”

“I am such a man,” Walking Fox repeated, drawing his shoulders back proudly.

“Yes,” Red Shirt said, “you are such a man. Go, then, and we will keep them pinned down from here.”

“I will go with you,” Cut Hand offered, “to help with their horses.”

Red Shirt smiled. “It's a good plan. Cut back near the forks of the creek and come up the other side. Me and Lame Foot will keep 'em busy.”

* * *

With no sign of anyone coming up from the other side of the parade ground, Carson took the time to drag a couple of charred timbers over to lay on top of his doorsill in an effort to build a higher barricade for him and his rifle. The sun was starting its daily climb into the prairie sky. It made him wonder if Nancy and Frank had a canteen of water with them. If not, they might get mighty thirsty if the siege lasted all day. He thought of Frank then, and the tragic killing of his brother, and wondered if he had been in any way to blame. Maybe he should have routinely been scouting their back trail each night to make sure no one was following them. It had never occurred to him to do so. Then he wondered if it was Red Shirt who was shooting at them.
If it is,
he thought,
he sure got himself some help awful fast
. But the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed to him. These and other thoughts raced through his mind, and it occurred to him then that he had definitely assumed the responsibility for seeing Frank and Nancy safely to their destination in Montana. Thinking of the long day of waiting before them, he wondered if he should take the canteen from his saddle and sneak back to them. “Hell, I don't know,” he mumbled, realizing that he didn't like the role as the person in charge. Further thoughts were curtailed for the moment when a slight movement near the old officers' row caught his eye.

Immediately back in the moment, he laid his rifle across one of the timbers he had dragged into position and strained to see what had prompted him to become alert. There was nothing for several minutes, causing him to believe it had been the wind blowing the sage that had grown up along the old palisade wall. He was about to shift his gaze to scan the empty parade ground again when he saw them. First one, then a second figure crawled from behind the scorched rubble of a building to take cover behind the ruins of a house that had stood next door. His instinct had been right on. They were making a play for the horses.

He quickly checked his rifle to make sure it was ready to fire, then shifted his focus back to the ruins of what appeared to have been a row of small buildings. With his rifle aimed at the space between the houses, waiting for the two to appear, he cautioned himself not to fire until they had made their way a little closer. In a second, they reappeared, and he could definitely identify them as Indians, and it was obvious that they planned to gain the protection of the pile of burned lumber that had once been a large building of some sort. From there, it was a distance of perhaps fifty yards of open ground to the horses gathered behind him. Although he had a shot, he told himself not to take it, not sure if he would be able to get a clear shot at both stalkers. And he needed to get both, because now that he had seen that only two had circled around behind them, he was sure it was a very small party of Indians. If he could kill both of these two, it might discourage the others from pressing their losses and maybe convince them that they had chosen the wrong camp to attack. So he waited.

After what seemed to him to be an unusually long wait, the two warriors evidently decided to make their move. Only one of them appeared from behind the pile of rubble, however. He ran in a crouched lope across the open space, covering about half the distance to the horses when the other warrior followed him. Carson didn't take time to puzzle over the interval between the two. Maybe it was to determine if there was anyone watching the horses. Whatever the reason, it meant Carson's reactions were going to be tested if he was to kill both warriors, so he flattened himself as best he could behind his charred breastworks, hoping the first warrior could not see him.

Walking Fox loped past the timbers piled low across the burned-out sill at a distance of perhaps fifteen yards, never noticing the man lying flat behind them. Carson waited until he had run past; then he slowly raised his rifle to sight in on Cut Hand, who was still only a few feet from the protection of the ruined building. Taking careful aim, he squeezed the trigger. When the Winchester fired, he didn't wait to see Cut Hand fall, instead reversing his position at once to bear down on Walking Fox, who spun around at the sound of the gunshot. The Winchester spoke again, slamming a slug against the Lakota's chest before he could raise his carbine to fire. It had happened so fast that Carson did not remember cocking the rifle between the first and second shot.

Back under the bluff on the other side of the fort, Red Shirt cursed, for the two shots he heard were unmistakably from a Winchester rifle, and they were the only shots heard. There were none from the old single-shot rifle Cut Hand carried, or the Spencer carbine he had given Walking Fox. “Damn him,” he spat, knowing that Carson had gotten both of them. His frustration with the young man was beyond control, so much so that he rose and fired half a dozen reckless shots at the corner where Frank and Nancy had taken refuge. Two answering shots prompted him to duck down again.

Like Red Shirt, Lame Foot realized the two shots they had first heard were not from the weapons his two friends carried, but he had not come to the same conclusion that caused Red Shirt to curse. “Maybe they were not able to get to the horses,” he said. “Maybe we will have to wait until night. Then we can slip in, kill them, and take the horses.”

“Walking Fox and Cut Hand are dead!” Red Shirt spat back at him. He knew it to be true, just as sure as if he had witnessed the shooting. “That damn coyote pup does not miss with that rifle of his. He was sent here to devil me!” Oblivious of Lame Foot's questioning stare, Red Shirt fumed on. “I had him once, tied to a tree. I set him free to let him ride with me, and the devil turned on me. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“Maybe they not dead,” Lame Foot insisted, not ready to concede to Carson's invincibility, in spite of Red Shirt's ranting.

“They're dead,” Red Shirt pronounced emphatically.

“I go see,” Lame Foot said, not at all happy with Red Shirt's lack of concern for his friends' fate. It had been several minutes now with still no sound of shots from the Lakota warriors. “I go see,” he repeated.

“You ain't gonna find nothin' but two dead Injuns,” Red Shirt called after him as Lame Foot scrambled back down the bluff to follow the same path his friends had taken. He needed to kill someone so badly that he was tempted to raise his rifle and shoot Lame Foot in the back.
He still hasn't won yet,
he thought, referring to Carson Ryan.
Lame Foot and I can still keep them pinned down with me in the front and him in the back
.

* * *

Carson remained where he was, watching the parade ground to make sure there were no other raiders trying to close in on them. He felt sure Frank and Nancy were probably nervous, wondering about the two shots he had taken. When he heard the barrage of rifle shots from below the bluff, and the shots fired in response, he wanted to run back to support them, but he stayed a few minutes longer before deeming it safe to abandon his post even briefly.

“We were wondering,” Frank said when Carson crawled in beside them.

“Two of 'em tried for the horses,” Carson said. “I got both of 'em. I heard a lot of shootin' from back here. What was that about?”

“I don't know,” Frank replied. “One of them just took a notion to pop up and blaze away. We both took a shot at him, but I don't think we hit him.”

“I know we didn't,” Nancy added.

“I got a feelin' there ain't but two or three of 'em left, and I'm hopin' they might decide to give up on us since they just lost two. If you can hang on here for a while longer, I'll go back to make sure there ain't nobody else tryin' to get behind us. If there ain't, we might be able to slip out the back and find a better place to hole up.” He paused. “Is that all right with you?” They both nodded enthusiastically, more than ready to abandon Fort Phil Kearny. “All right, then, I'll go back to the horses.”

The first thing he noticed when he returned to his makeshift breastworks was that the body of the foremost Indian had been moved several yards. Possibly Walking Fox had not been dead and tried to drag himself back, but the thing that puzzled him most was the fact that the carbine he had carried was missing. He looked back at the other body and it appeared to be in the same place it had fallen. He paused only a moment to consider the risk, then decided there were no others behind the rubble of the large building, so he went out in the open parade ground where the body lay. There were footprints around the body and back toward the ruins where the other body lay. He didn't hesitate to follow them, certain that the Indian who had left the tracks was in full retreat. When he got past the remains of the back palisades, he stopped. The tracks went on down toward the fork of the Little Piney Creek. It was a sign to him that it was his party's chance to slip out the back of the fort, so he immediately turned around and went back to Nancy and Frank.