Stone Hand

  SPIRIT OR MAN?

  The crash of thunder came at almost the same instant as the flash of lightning, illuminating every rock and twisted tree in sharp detail. And standing not twenty yards from him was the savage who hunted him, Stone Hand.

  In the frozen moment of brilliant lightning, the man appeared to be more spirit than mortal. And though it was for no more than an instant, the image of the infamous killer was seared into Jason’s brain.

  Jason reacted immediately. He rolled over behind the carcass of his horse, his pistol ready, and prepared to shoot when the next bolt of lightning flashed. When it did, he could see no sign of Stone Hand. The man had disappeared. Like a spirit…

  Vision or reality, spirit or man, it didn’t matter. Jason was ready to deal with whatever Stone Hand was.

  STONE

  HAND

  CHARLES WEST

  SIGNET

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

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  First published by Signet,

  an imprint of Dutton Signet,

  a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First Printing, March, 1998

  Copyright © Charles West, 1998

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-101-66295-3

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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  To Ronda…who else??

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Jason Coles stepped down from the saddle and dropped Henry’s reins. He stood and watched for a few moments while the horse drank from the tiny stream, really just a trickle through the soft rock of the hill above him. It was a long way between water holes in this part of the territory and Jason let the horse drink his fill. He knew Henry would not take on more than he needed. He was an Indian pony.

  Jason had traded for the horse with an Osage scout two years before. He had cost Jason a Henry rifle, so Jason thought it appropriate to name him Henry. It had been a good trade for both of them, the horse and Jason. Henry had turned out to be the stoutest horse Jason had ever ridden. The Osage hadn’t treated the horse well, so it turned out to be a better deal for Henry, too. Jason had another horse that wasn’t exactly a slouch either. A little mare named Birdie, she had black stockings on her forelegs and a little white patch in the middle of her chest that looked like a bird in flight. Both horses were unshod. In his business, it was safer to leave unshod hoofprints in case a war party happened upon his trail.

  He stretched hard to pull some of the stiffness out of his muscles. He had been riding since sunup and he still had two days’ riding ahead of him before reaching Camp Supply, although the going would be easier once he hit the main trail. He didn’t ordinarily like to travel stage roads, but it had been four years since the Cheyennes moved onto the reservation at Camp Supply and there had been no real hostile activity in this part of the country. It was still considered hostile territory, however, because of a few scattered bands of renegades, so Jason was careful to maintain a sharp eye.

  In the saddle again, he settled into Henry’s easy gait and let his mind rummage through the events of the past couple of days. The message he got from Colonel Holder, summoning him to Camp Supply, held an urgent connotation although it offered no details as to the employment the colonel had for him. Jason had worked for Holder before, in the summer of ’69 on a campaign that set out from Fort McPherson, Nebraska, headed for the Republican River. The expedition was accompanied by a whole battalion of Pawnee scouts but Holder had wanted Jason to go along as his own personal scout. Jason went but he didn’t have much to do with the Pawnees. He preferred to work alone. It wasn’t that he thought he was any better scout than the Pawnees. It was just his way. He had always relied on his own intuitions and intuition was as big a part of scouting as reading sign.

  He was jolted from his thoughts by the sharp crack of a rifle, army carbine by the sound of it. It was followed by a series of shots, some of them from a muzzle loader. He figured it had to be an attack on a settler’s wagon because he was less than a mile from cutting the trail to Camp Supply. Somebody was in trouble. He prodded Henry gently and the pony immediately took up a canter. By the time he emerged from a treeless ravine and climbed to the top of a rise, the firing had subsided to an occasional shot from the rifles. Below him, in a stand of cottonwoods, he saw what the shooting was about.

  It appeared to be an army ambulance, half hidden from his view by the trees, and three, maybe four, soldiers were shooting from under it. Their attackers, some dozen or more Indians, were shooting at them from two sides. Jason took a moment to assess the scene before he took any action. Evidently the Indians had ambushed the ambulance when it entered the trees. It was Jason’s guess that the raiders were after guns and ammunition because there was only one old musket between them and it was misfiring half the time. The rest of the raiding party were using bows. It didn’t look like much of a raiding party to Jason. He wondered why the troopers didn’t go out after them. They had rifles. It wouldn’t take much to discourage that bunch.

  “Hell, Henry, I reckon we’d better root ’em out of there or them poor soldier boys will lay under that wagon till they run out of ammunition.”

  Keeping low behind the rise of the hill, he circled around behind until he had a clear field of fire. Then he left his horse and crawled up to a point behind a fallen tree. From there it was a simple matter to bring his Winchester to bear on the attackers and he methodically began to pick off one after the other, taking out three of the party before they figured out what was going on. In a matter of five or ten minutes, the rest of the raiders were scrambling to get to their ponies and, taking their dead with them, quit the fight. Jason stood up and watched until they disappeared over the horizon.

  “They were a pretty sorry-looking lot,” he muttered to himself. “Renegade Cheyenne, I expect. They look like they’ve seen better days.” Glancing back toward the trees, he saw a soldier crawl out from under the ambulance, looking first at the departing Indians, then back at Jason. Jason called out, “I’m coming in. Hold your fire.” He turned to retrieve his horse.

  “Well, sir, I’m mighty glad you come a
long when you did.” The man who spoke wore the uniform of a sergeant, with the insignia of the medical service. Behind him, two privates crawled out from under the ambulance. They were followed by an officer dusting the sand from his uniform. By the insignia on his lapel, Jason saw that he was a doctor. In a glance, Jason summed up the situation, a doctor and his orderlies. What, he wondered, were they doing out here away from the post? It was lucky he came along. No doubt they would have laid under that wagon and shot up all their ammunition. Then the renegades would have walked in and scalped the lot.

  “Looks like you folks were in a tight spot,” Jason said. “What in hell were you…” He stopped in midsentence, his thoughts interrupted by the appearance of a figure behind the wagon wheel. Crawling on her hands and knees until she cleared the wagon bed, she then stood up and began to vigorously brush the dirt from her riding skirt. Jason was stunned. She glanced up briefly and smiled at him, more interested in removing the dust from her skirt.

  Jason watched, fascinated. It had been some time since he had seen a white woman. This alone, in a place like this, was enough to leave him speechless for a moment. Even allowing for that, this woman was as out of place as if she had come from the moon. It was not her outfit alone, attire more suited for a canter in the park in Philadelphia perhaps. It was more than that. Her face was alive with the sparkle of youth and her skin as fair as a spring morning. Jason hardly heard the surgeon’s words as he expressed his appreciation for Jason’s sudden appearance.

  “I want to thank you, sir, for coming to our aid.” Jason nodded, and he continued. “We were in a desperate situation. I’m Captain John Welch. I’m on my way to Camp Supply—temporary duty to set up a field clinic.”

  Jason shook the outstretched hand. “Jason Coles,” he replied, his gaze still fixed on the vision that had appeared from behind the wagon wheel. Her skirt now thoroughly dusted, she approached him.

  “We are certainly in your debt, sir.” She smiled and extended her hand. Jason clutched it awkwardly. “I’m Sarah Holder.”

  “Jason Coles,” he blurted. Her smile warmed him like sunlight. He had to lecture himself to wipe the foolish grin from his face before the lady marked him for an idiot. He didn’t know why he seemed struck dumb by the appearance of this splash of original beauty in this drab territory but he knew he’d better come back down to earth. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Holder.” Then he paused. “Holder? You wouldn’t be kin to Colonel Holder, would you?”

  “He’s my father. I’m on my way to visit him now.”

  “Well, I’ll be…” He didn’t finish, somewhat surprised that Lucien Holder would permit his daughter to come out to a desolate place like Camp Supply. It was hardly the kind of place a man would want his daughter, especially if she looked as genteel as Sarah Holder. Well, he decided, it wasn’t his business. “Camp Supply,” he stated. “That’s where I’m heading. Your daddy sent word he wants to see me.”

  “Good,” the doctor chimed in, “maybe you’ll ride along with us.”

  “I reckon,” Jason answered, noting the smile his reply brought to Sarah Holder’s face.

  Jason was immediately taken by the young woman. There was something about her that struck a chord deep within him, a chord that had been mute for years. What was it about her that aroused long-forgotten feelings? It was more than the natural loneliness that was common baggage for life on the western frontier. Then it struck him. Sarah Holder bore a striking resemblance to a young girl of eighteen who would always occupy a small corner of his subconscious mind. Her name was Kathy and she had loved him and they were to be married when she returned from a visit with her grandmother in St. Louis. Only she had never returned to Kansas, where he had waited. He had long ago decided that she had been too perfect for this world and that was why she was taken from him. There had to be a reason for her to be taken at such a tender age. Her death was so sudden and unbelievable—a rock slide had caused the stage she traveled in to venture too close to the edge of a deep ravine. The driver escaped by leaping from the coach as it tumbled over the side. Kathy, her mother, and father, all three were killed.

  He shook his head as if to clear the memories from his conscious mind. He had tried to make it a rule never to dwell on what might have been. Even though more than ten years had passed since that fateful day, he still found it painful to recall. Sarah Holder had brought back thoughts he had sought to forget. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, he told himself. Looking now at the smiling face of Sarah Holder, he thought, if I were a few years younger, I might give that dashing young doctor a ran for his money.

  Once the party was under way, Jason pulled up alongside the doctor. “Captain, what in hell are you people doing out here with no escort?”

  Captain Welch shrugged. He made no attempt to hide the sheepish expression on his face. “It was my understanding that the Cheyennes were at peace and had been for several years. We were going to have to wait three more days at Ford Cobb before a military escort was provided. Miss Holder arrived at the fort and was anxious to see her father. So I figured it would be all right to escort her myself.”

  “Didn’t anybody tell you there were still raiding parties out here?” Jason found it difficult to believe they were permitted to set off across the territory with no more protection than one doctor and three orderlies, none of whom appeared to be the least bit familiar with the rifles they carried. It was the answer to a renegade Indian’s prayer.

  “We were warned, but I guess I underestimated the danger.” He shrugged off the responsibility for his rash judgment. “We are supposed to be at peace with the Indians. Anyway, it turned out all right. You showed up in the nick of time.”

  “If I hadn’t, your scalps would be flying on a Cheyenne lance right now, except for the woman’s. She’d be on her way to a Cheyenne camp.”

  “But you showed up,” Welch insisted.

  “I reckon,” Jason replied. The doctor was oblivious to the consequences that might have resulted from his naïveté, consequences that should have resulted from an action so stupid.

  * * *

  “Mr. Coles.”

  Jason glanced up when he heard his name called. He was checking Henry’s right front hoof for sign of a stone bruise. He had crossed through a rocky region a few days before and he thought there might be the possibility that his horse had caught a sharp edge. Henry appeared to be all right. He dropped the horse’s hoof and straightened up. “Miss Holder?”

  “I wanted to tell you we have plenty of food and you’re welcome to join us. Captain Welch brought enough provisions for three more days and, since you say we’ll make Camp Supply by tomorrow afternoon, we have enough for a banquet. That is, if you can consider salt pork and biscuits proper fare for a banquet.”

  He returned her smile. “Why, ma’am, that sounds like a real feast to me.”

  “Good. There’s no sense in your sitting over here by yourself when we’re all traveling together.”

  Jason blushed a little as he fumbled for an explanation. “Well, I didn’t want to impose myself on you folks. I know I don’t look too presentable after being in the hills for the past six months. I don’t reckon you see many half-wild men back East in…” He hesitated.

  “Baltimore,” she filled in the blank.

  “But, if you don’t mind my scruffy appearance, I’d be delighted to join your party. First I’m gonna take a little look-see around our camp to make sure we don’t have any guests without invitations.”

  After satisfying himself that the Cheyenne raiders were no longer in the area, Jason unsaddled Henry and joined Sarah and the doctor at their campfire. The three enlisted men sat off to one side, nursing their own campfire, a fact that amused Jason. There they were, six souls, out in the middle of the Oklahoma territory, and protocol dictated separate fires for the officer and the enlisted men when there wasn’t much firewood to be found in the first place.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, does Colonel Holder know yo
u’re coming to see him?”

  “Well…” She hesitated, a hint of a guilty smile parted her lips. “It’s going to be a surprise.”

  Jason thought this over for a moment before replying. “It sure is,” he said.

  “Do I detect a hint of disapproval in your tone, Mr. Coles?” Her voice held a touch of amusement. It was apparent that she was unconcerned with what others might think regarding her actions.

  “Oh, no, ma’am, not in the least. It sure ain’t my place to approve or disapprove of what anybody does. But you sure will surprise your daddy. I know that for a fact.”

  “Oh? Is there some reason I shouldn’t be going to see him? Camp Supply is a military post. Is it not?”

  “Well, I guess some folks might call it that,” he allowed. “Injuns, maybe. But I’m afraid you might find it offers rude accommodations for the fair sex. Camp Supply ain’t much more than a field camp and a Cheyenne reservation.”

  “I’m sure my father will be happy to see me,” she insisted. “And I don’t need genteel accommodations, Mr. Coles. I’m not as fragile as you may think.”

  He had to smile at that. “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just surprised you were going to Supply, that’s all. I’m sure you can handle it.”

  Sarah Holder was not a woman easily impressed by just any man she happened to meet. She suspected that there might be something more to this seemingly simple man than he openly displayed. Possibly, he was justified in questioning her judgment to journey unannounced to see her father but it didn’t worry her. Though young and only recently graduated from finishing school, she was none the less secure in her self-knowledge and confident that she was fully competent to make her own decisions. This was probably a result of having a father who was absent from home most of her life, stationed in some remote wilderness like Camp Supply. Constance Holder had been a loving, almost doting, mother until pneumonia claimed her life two weeks before Sarah’s seventeenth birthday. Her aunt, though a willing substitute for Sarah’s mother, was no match for her headstrong young niece. Consequently, Sarah did pretty much as she pleased. And at this point it pleased her to go to visit her father at this desolate outpost on the frontier. She was to begin her tenure as a teacher in Baltimore in the fall and thought this the best time for a visit with her father before she embarked on a career. Aside from a desire to visit her father, this would probably be her best opportunity to see the frontier. She and her friends had often wondered what it must be like to actually see wild Indians in their rugged homelands. The thought never failed to excite her and on a sudden whim she had decided to make the trip that summer while she had the time.