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  By midafternoon, they set out for Powder River country. They had a pledge to steal those eight horses.

  Part Four

  Gaining the Prize

  Chapter Fifteen

  “IT’S THE RIGHT setup,” said Gideon.

  Nobody used a word like “perfect.” Too many things could go wrong.

  From a timbered ridge they looked down on the small village tucked into a curve of Crazy Bear Creek, soon after the stream dropped from the mountains to the plains. It was a dozen lodges.

  Scouting, they had found a much bigger village of Sioux—Head Cutters, in the Crow language—further down Powder River. But they wanted a small one. The best way, Blue Horse said, was to find the horses held in one place, so you could drive them all off. That way they couldn’t come after you, or at least you could get a big advantage. “Many lodges, many horses, more pursuit,” he said.

  Here there were maybe forty horses, about a quarter mile upstream from the village on some good grass.

  “They’ll still have their buffalo horses,” Sam said. These were staked by the lodges.

  “No pursuit, no fun,” said Flat Dog.

  They put camp by a little rivulet well off the ridge. A small fire would be safe here because the aspen would burn smokeless. They couldn’t relax for a moment, not in Head Cutter country.

  “Let’s stake the mules up the trail,” Gideon said. “Five miles maybe.”

  While the two brothers watched the village, Sam went with Gideon. They found some water and good grass and hobbled and rope-corralled the mules and Blue Horse’s and Flat Dog’s mounts. “Be embarrassing,” Gideon said, “to go to steal someone’s horses and have them steal yours.”

  Not just the horses, either. Saddles, traps, extra powder and lead, blankets, coffee, goods to trade to the Indians—all their possibles, everything that made life in the mountains more than a desperate scrape-by.

  “Is this far enough?” said Sam. He was picturing stopping for the animals while pursuing Head Cutters filled the air with arrows.

  “We don’t leave ’em behind in five miles,” said Gideon, “we got bigger troubles than losing our horses.”

  When they got back to the little camp, Blue Horse was staring into the fire. Sam knew he was worried. He’d been hinting.

  Sam helped himself to coffee and jerked meat.

  Blue Horse said, “To go to war, a man must see something.”

  The four eyed each other across the little fire.

  Flat Dog nodded his agreement with his brother.

  Sam and Gideon knew what Blue Horse meant. Crows went to war because of medicine. One man had a dream of success, or in a vision saw enemies falling, or many horses. If he had a history of strong medicine, if his war parties had succeeded before, other men would agree to join in. Or some would consult their medicine and see that this was not the time for them to go to war.

  No one in this outfit had proper medicine for war.

  Lying in front of his knees, Coy looked up at Sam pathetically.

  Sam pondered. Then he said, “I think maybe I have seen something.” He waited. “I’ve dreamed about this constantly. Not running the horses off. Driving them into the village, everybody looking at us, Meadowlark being proud.”

  He sipped his sugarless coffee. Actually, he hadn’t dreamed it. More like daydreamed it. “Is that medicine?”

  After a little bit Blue Horse shrugged. “White men are different,” he said. “Maybe that’s how your medicine comes.”

  Nobody spoke for a moment. “You with me?” Sam said.

  Blue Horse smiled and nodded. “You are my friend.”

  Sam looked quizzically at Flat Dog.

  “I’m always good for a fight.”

  “Wagh!” exclaimed Gideon.

  Now they were looking down on what seemed like a good situation. “This timber’s good cover,” said Sam. “Let’s make a plan and move in the morning.”

  “Not too much plan,” said Flat Dog. “Action.”

  Coy yipped. Sam let him yip. Anywhere in the West there was nothing suspicious about a coyote yipping.

  SAM WATCHED BLUE Horse and Flat Dog get up, gather their weapons, and wrap their blankets around their shoulders. The Big Dipper said halfway between midnight and dawn, and the night was chill.

  He shook himself. He wouldn’t be able to sleep while they were getting started. The rest of the night was going to feel long. He sat up. Coy looked up with accusation in his eyes, ‘What are you doing?’

  The brothers looked across the remains of the fire at Sam. Their smiles were plain in the light of the three-quarters moon. “It is a good day to die,” said Blue Horse in Crow.

  “Die or fly.” That was Flat Dog, always the wise-ass.

  With that they were off.

  Sam held a hand close to the ashes. Warmth, therefore coals. He could get fire easily. He added small twigs, blew, and soon had flame.

  He rummaged in his goods and found the sack of roasted coffee beans. He put them on a flat rock and ground them carefully with another rock, taking his time, mashing them all the way to powder. As he did it, he was full of big thoughts.

  “Coffee would feel about right,” said Gideon from his blankets.

  The usual rejoinder was, “I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, too.” But Sam said, “‘A good day to die,’ what does that mean?”

  “Don’t know,” said Gideon.

  Sam added the fresh ground coffee to the grounds of several previous days in the pot. Then he poured water in and set the pot on the fire.

  “What do you figure?”

  “Something like, ‘Let’s go live so grand, so extra grand, it would be good to die like this.’”

  “Mmmm.”

  The smell of coffee wafted on the night air.

  He wished he had some sugar left.

  Coy whined like he did too.

  SAM COULD HARDLY stand it. The sky was getting light, but he couldn’t see.

  Early morning fog smeared itself over the creek. Somewhere below, Blue Horse and Flat Dog were slipping toward the horse herd, and toward the sentry. The one sentry, they thought. But they would check carefully for a second.

  “We Crows,” Flat Dog had said, “like to count coup on Head Cutters.”

  Sam looked across at Gideon. He was behind a boulder too. It would be good cover when the time came. Between them was a well-used pony drag trail running up the creek. Soon it would turn south, parallel to the mountains. In half a day they’d turn west up a creek and cross the mountains to the basin where the Big Horn River ran, and where Rides Twice’s village would be. It wasn’t a subtle escape route, but it would be wide open and fast. If Sam and Gideon did their work well, being quick was what they needed. Four men, more than forty horses, and one coyote racing across the mountains.

  Rumble!

  At first he wasn’t sure he heard it. Yes, rumble!

  Sam grinned at Gideon. The horses were on the move. No outcry from the sentry. Blue Horse and Flat Dog had done it perfectly.

  “Yi-ay, Yi-ay!” they would be yelling to make those ponies run. They would snap their blankets at the horses too, but Sam wasn’t close enough to hear.

  The Sioux, who preferred to be called Lakotas, would hear the racket. Asleep or not, they’d jump up and come hard after the herd.

  He grinned. The few with horses to ride would come hard.

  He thought he saw movement at the edge of the fog. Yes, ponies going headlong for the timber, right up the trail.

  He checked The Celt’s priming. Everything ready. He had to make the first shot count.

  Soon the ponies roared past, manes and tails flying, hooves throwing clods of dirt and clumps of pine needles into the air. Right behind them came Blue Horse and Flat Dog on stolen mounts, riding bareback, running the herd hard.

  We did it!

  Sam watched the edge of open ground between the fog and the timber. One Lakota rider. After a long moment, two more.

  Another long moment,
two more. Now every horse staked in the camp was in the action.

  The first rider galloped furiously up the trail, whipping his mount.

  Sam took a deep breath and sighted on the horse. No horse, no pursuit. He relaxed, and as he let the breath out pulled the trigger.

  Blam!

  For a moment he couldn’t see through his own black smoke. Then he saw—horse gimping around, rider running into the trees. All right!

  He started reloading fast.

  The next two riders came around the bend.

  Sam was just beginning to ram the ball home. He wouldn’t be ready for a while.

  Gideon let them get close. Sam knew he intended to create the impression of two shooters on that side of the trail.

  Blam!

  One rider pitched off the horse backward. The horse skittered off into the woods.

  “Way to go!” yelled Sam, still ramming.

  Blam! This was Gideon’s pistol.

  The horse reared, and when it came down fell onto one side.

  Off jumped the rider, down behind the animal.

  The horse struggled back to its feet, unable to use one front leg. Sam thought, Shot in the shoulder.

  Coy sprinted toward the horse and rider, barking furiously. “Coy!” shouted Sam, half in a panic. “Come! Come, Coy!”

  The coyote turned, looked at Sam, hesitated, and started trotting back. Sam breathed again.

  Two more riders came around the bend.

  Sam rammed furiously. He wasn’t ready, and both of Gideon’s guns were empty.

  The riders stopped. Seeing the lame horse and the rider behind it, plus the downed rider, they figured out what was going on. Off into the woods they sprinted.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Sam.

  He sprinted toward Paladin, Gideon right behind him.

  In a flash Sam was in the saddle and whipping Paladin up the trail. He could hear Gideon coming too.

  He dropped the reins—he could depend on Paladin now—and rammed that ball home. They were going to need it.

  Sam felt Paladin’s speed under his butt. Nothing could feel better right now.

  He turned to look at Gideon. Dammit, Gideon’s horse was falling back a little. They had some time—the woods would slow the Lakotas down—but not much.

  Coy was dropping back too. But no one would bother a coyote, and he would come along.

  Sam kicked Paladin and hollered to her for speed. He was thinking hard.

  He kept looking back. Gideon wasn’t too damn far behind, but…

  On the third or fourth look he saw the Lakotas well behind Gideon, smack in the middle of the trail, coming as fast as they could.

  About a quarter mile on he whirled Paladin off the trail and dropped her reins. He gave thanks now that she would respond to his hand signals or whistle. He dashed behind a tree.

  When Gideon passed, Sam hollered, “Go like hell!” Coy ducked behind Paladin.

  Within seconds the Lakotas were in sight.

  Sam leveled The Celt. He didn’t want to let them get too close. Finally he took a long shot.

  The Lakotas bolted in opposite directions, into the trees.

  He’d missed, but Sam was satisfied.

  They wouldn’t charge forward now. They’d circle and come up on the place where his smoke hung in the air. And Sam would be long gone.

  SAM AND GIDEON picked up the brothers’ mounts and the pack mules, no problem. Before long they caught up with Blue Horse, Flat Dog, and the stolen ponies. The four grinned at each other—we did it.

  Still, just in case, they ran the horses hard for three or four hours. It was fun, the herd like one huge galumphing animal, bodies, necks, legs, manes, tails, everything flying along, cavorting through the air, and the rumble of more than 150 hooves, noisy as a waterfall. The August day would be hot by noon, so this was the time to move along. They figured safety lay in getting the hell out of there.

  Sam and Coy dropped back every so often to wait and put fear into the pursuers. The trail was crossing plains here, and the visibility was good. The first three times, he just scared the two Lakotas at long range. Finally he let them get close, almost too close, and shot one of the mounts square in the chest. “One horse left,” Sam said to himself, and ran like the devil with his empty rifle.

  He jumped into the saddle. An arrow ripped open his shirt sleeve and his forearm. He put the whip to Paladin but good. Two more arrows flew just out in front of him. Finally, Paladin’s speed took them out of range.

  He caught up at a creek where they were letting the horses drink a little. There Gideon poulticed Sam’s arm with a concoction he swore by.

  Now Gideon waited and laid the ambush. He didn’t catch up for a long time. “Nobody comes anymore,” he said.

  “We can’t take that for granted,” said Sam.

  “Let’s give the horses a breather,” said Blue Horse. There was some good grass, so they did.

  Sam took thought. This break would be short. Blue Horse and Flat Dog had been up and moving since maybe 3:00 A.M. There was good visibility from the rise behind them. “I’ll watch for a few minutes,” he said.

  But Sam saw no rider. One man won’t try to take us. If there is one left. He stretched and worked the muscles in his bloodied arm.

  After half an hour they hit the road.

  TWO MEN TO drive the herd, a lookout well to the front, another to the rear. That’s how they ran it, the two Crows front and back, the white man and French-Canadian with the herd.

  The trail wound down toward another drainage, a nice little creek edged by leafy cottonwoods. Here they would leave the main pony trail and head up the creek into the mountains.

  When they rode into the shade of the cottonwoods, Sam took a deep breath of the air, cooler here along the creek. Coy dashed into the water, lapped some up, and pranced around in it.

  Then Sam saw Blue Horse come riding slowly back toward them. He tensed. What the hell is wrong?

  Warriors stepped from behind almost every cottonwood. Lakotas. Their bows were drawn, their few rifles cocked.

  Blue Horse kicked his pony a little and came back closer to Sam. A terrible smile scrawled itself across his face.

  A voice sounded in a strange language. Blue Horse turned to the right toward it, looked into the trees.

  An arrow rammed through Blue Horse’s chest. Sam saw the point come out below his shoulder blade.

  Slowly, Blue Horse teetered out of the saddle backward. He hit the earth head first. His neck bent at a terrible angle, and his body crumpled.

  Several warriors kicked their ponies up to Blue Horse to touch his body first, or second, third, or fourth, so they could claim the honor, the coup. First was an arrogant-looking man with a two-horned buffalo headdress, second a pock-marked man. At ceremonies they would brag about this deed.

  From the creek Coy whined plaintively.

  Gideon whipped his horse straight into the trees and bellowed like a madman. Arrows whipped through the air. One must have hit the horse, for the beast screamed. Another sank into Gideon’s hip, and he bellowed louder.

  Sam wheeled Paladin and dashed straight back along the trail.

  No one shot an arrow, fired a ball. Maybe they really want Paladin. Fire rose up Sam’s gullet. Maybe they’ll try to catch me, we can outrun…

  Two sentries walked their mounts into the trail ahead of him.

  Sam wheeled Paladin to the left, just beyond the cottonwood grove.

  A half dozen riders trotted out in front of him.

  A half dozen more flocked behind him.

  Live for an hour and you may live until tomorrow.

  He dropped the reins. He set his rifle butt on the ground and held the muzzle lightly. He made his mind blank and very clear. They don’t know Paladin will respond to my voice.

  Riders from behind came up close.

  Two arms ripped Sam backward out of the saddle and slammed him to the ground. The arrogant-looking, two-horned Lakota smiled down at him. Strong ma
n, Sam realized through his dizziness. The pock-marked warrior threw a loop around Paladin’s neck. Two Horns seized Sam’s rifle.

  Other Lakotas seized Sam and hauled him to his feet. A loop settled around his neck and pulled half-taut. The pock-marked warrior held the rope and grinned sardonically at Sam.

  Blue Horse dead.

  Gideon hurt bad, likely dead.

  Sam hoped Flat Dog wouldn’t ride blindly into this disaster.

  Paladin stolen. Coy stolen. The Celt stolen. All our possibles stolen.

  I messed up.

  I’m dead.

  WARRIORS WALKED UP to Sam, their faces lit with satisfaction. One took his shot pouch. Others grabbed his butchering knife, his hat. Someone stripped off his cloth shirt and belt. His breechcloth fell into the dust. His moccasins went—since they were Crow made, they would be saved and worn, or traded for value. Someone snatched his gage d’amour, his emblem of Meadowlark’s affection, and ripped it off. Last, someone took his medicine pouch, with the buffalo hair. Joins with Buffalo had lost his buffalo medicine.

  He stood totally naked. He showed no emotion. It would not do to show anything.

  They waited. No one said or signed a word to Sam. He felt like trail dust.

  Coy trotted over to him. Sam petted the little coyote, then decided to put him through some tricks. By turns, Coy laid down, rolled over, and jumped up to touch Sam’s held-out hand with his muzzle.

  Some of the Lakotas watched curiously. But the bastard who took Sam’s rifle, Two Horns, growled something and they looked away.

  In a few minutes an entire village of Lakota came up, all their belongings trailing behind pack horses on pony drags. Big Bellies, women, old people, children, and a phalanx of warriors.

  Now Sam understood what had happened. They had ridden headlong into an entire village of Lakotas on the move. He feared something worse. The way these people were headed, they might even be joining the village whose horse herd Sam had stolen. Good Godawmighty.