Ride the High Range Read online

  They found Fort Laramie to be a busy army post when they arrived in early January. Most of the activity, however, seemed to be toward recovery and regrouping from the campaigns of the year just past. Some had been successful thrusts against Sioux and Cheyenne hostiles. Some, notably the Powder River Expedition under General Conner, had proven to be costly to the army and proof enough that Red Cloud and the other principle chiefs were gathering forces to repel the white invaders.

  “It don’t surprise me none a’tall,” Johnny commented upon learning that Conner’s men had staged no aggressive action against the Sioux. They had destroyed a harmless village of Arapaho. Beyond that, their combat had been strictly defensive as they were harried all the way back to Camp Conner with most of the cavalry on foot as a result of horses frozen to death in the harsh winter storms. “Red Cloud ain’t about to let folks keep followin’ the Bozeman Trail up to Montana,” Johnny said. ”Ever′body calls it the Bozeman since John Bozeman and John Jacobs cut a trail up there a few years ago that’s a little easier for wagons to travel on. But the truth of the matter is Injuns been travelin’ that trail runnin’ north and south through the Powder River country for longer than the white man ever thought about it. Hell, it’s their prime huntin’ ground.”

  He was proven quite the prophet when they learned that the army was already talking about closing the trail to all civilian traffic because of the threat of Indian attacks. The government hoped to settle the problem peacefully. Just a week prior to their arrival at the fort, runners had been sent out to all the hostile camps inviting them to come in to Fort Laramie for a great peace council in June.

  Cold and tired, Jim and Johnny rode across the parade ground and tied the horses at the sutler′s store.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” William Bullock sang out when the two weary travelers walked in. “Johnny Hawk. I ain’t seen you in a year or more. I thought sure you’d gone under out there in the mountains somewhere.”

  “Not hardly,” Johnny replied with a wide grin. He had known Bullock for over ten years, since he was first hired by the sutler, Seth Ward, to manage the store. He swaggered up to the counter, as much as his stubby legs would allow, to grab Bullock’s hand. “I got snagged by the colonel down at Fort Riley in Nebraska to scout for ’em. Took me a damn year to get shed of ’em.” He nodded in Jim’s direction. “Say hello to my partner, here.”

  “Howdy, young feller, I’m William Bullock,” he said with a smile. “You musta been in a desperate situation to have to partner up with the likes of this ol’ badger. What’s your name?”

  “Rider,” Johnny quickly answered for him, afraid Jim might slip. “His name’s Rider.”

  Bullock laughed. “Does he talk?”

  “Very seldom,” Johnny came back. “That’s the reason I took him on as a partner.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Rider, in spite of the company you keep.” He hesitated then, curious. “Is that your first name or last name?”

  Jim shook the hand extended to him. “It’s just Rider,” he said.

  “All right,” Bullock said as he studied the somber young man. It was not unusual to meet a man in these parts who went by only one name for whatever reason. Bullock gave it no more thought.

  “Maybe you can tell me where ol’ Two Bulls is camping,” Johnny said.

  “Last I heard,” Bullock replied, “his bunch was camped on the Laramie, about ten or twelve miles from the fork. I haven’t seen any of his people in the last week or so. They mighta moved back up closer under the mountains since the weather′s turned so cold.” He chuckled then. “I expect you’re anxious to see that little wife of yours.” They both laughed at that, leaving Jim to wonder about the joke.

  Johnny brought in a few hides he had been accumulating over the last six months and traded them for some staples the two of them were running short of. After that, they lingered long enough for Bullock to bring Johnny up to date on the news concerning the Indians and the action the army had taken to secure the Bozeman Trail to the Montana gold mines. It was a topic that was of interest to Jim, because he was of a mind to see that country for himself—maybe in the spring. They said farewell to Bullock and turned their horses toward the Laramie River.

  Jim glanced at his partner from time to time as they followed the Laramie River south. The stumpy little man looked about him constantly with an air of eager anticipation. Jim guessed that Johnny was reacquainting himself with an area that he knew well, checking to see if anything had changed since he was last here. When they came to a sharp bend in the river, Johnny stood up in the stirrups to get a better look ahead. He explained to Jim that the crook in the river was a favorite camping spot for Two Bulls. There was water and game, and plenty of grass for the ponies, but there was no one there on this day. “Don’t surprise me none,” Johnny said while looking the wide area over, reading the signs that told of the recent presence of a village. “Bullock guessed about right. I expect Two Bulls moved ’em back to the North Laramie, up closer to the mountains when the cold weather set in.”

  It didn’t take long to confirm his speculation, for the movement of a large village left indelible tracks, even with a light covering of snow. “Yep,” Johnny said, looking toward the shoulders of the Laramie Mountains about ten miles distant. “That’s where they headed, and I know the spot he picked to camp.” He went on to tell Jim about a grassy meadow where a strong stream made its way down from the mountain above to empty into the North Laramie. “It’s a right pretty spot,” he said. “I expect it would be a good place to camp year-round if the stream didn’t dry up some in the summer.”

  They were spotted by a couple of Indian hunters when they were about two miles from the base of a mountain near the lower end of the range. The hunters halted their ponies and sat watching them until they approached close enough to be recognized. Then one of the Indians let out a whoop and charged straight toward them with the second hard on his heels. Jim could not help dropping his hand to rest on the butt of his carbine, but Johnny simply grinned from ear to ear and continued on at the same steady pace. When within about fifty yards, the Indian in the lead held up his hand and shouted excitedly in the Crow tongue. “What did he say?” Jim asked, catching the excitement when he saw that whatever the hunter said, it seemed to be friendly.

  Johnny answered the greeting, also in the Crow tongue. Then he answered Jim’s question. “He called the name the Crows gave me—Little Thunder. That’s Deer Foot and White Fox.”

  “Little Thunder?” Jim questioned.

  “Yep. That’s because of my Remington buffalo rifle,” he explained as the two riders pulled up to circle around beside them.

  Jim sat patiently on his horse while Johnny greeted his friends. Excited as children, the two Crow hunters could hardly have been more jubilant to see the little man had he been the great white father in Washington. Jim was convinced that Johnny must certainly be well liked by the tribe. Scarcely noticing him for a few minutes in a confusion of Crow words, the two suddenly stopped their chattering and cast their gaze upon him, and Johnny switched the conversation to English. “Friend,” he said, pointing to Jim. “Rider.” Then he repeated the name in Crow so they understood the meaning. Deer Foot repeated Rider several times. Satisfied then, he said, “Welcome, Little Thunder friend.”

  “Much obliged,” Jim responded, in lieu of anything more appropriate to say.

  The reunion over, they continued on to the village. Deer Foot and White Fox galloped on ahead of them to announce their arrival to the people. Jim glanced at his partner. The little man was grinning happily, his lone front bottom tooth prominently displayed as he was obviously enjoying his apparent status in the Crow village. When they reached the lodges at the foot of the mountain, it appeared that everyone in the village had come out to greet Johnny—like the homecoming of a figure of royalty, Jim imagined. Because he was a friend of Johnny’s, Jim was received graciously as well, with people crowding around the two of them when they dismounted, s
miling and touching them.

  A moment before he stepped down from the saddle, Jim had noticed a group of women standing to one side of the gathering, and he could not help noticing one who stood head and shoulders above the others. Not only tall, she was big also, a heavyset woman with a stern face until it had suddenly lit up with a wide smile when some of the other women appeared to be saying something to her. He thought no more about it until the mob parted to give Chief Two Bulls room to greet his friend. Once again the crowd converged around them, only to part once again when the large woman came toward them. The people suddenly became quiet, although the smiles remained in place, as they backed away to let her through. Mystified, Jim moved away from Johnny’s side, since the huge woman appeared to be heading for the little man.

  Turning to see her, Johnny stopped talking, but a happy smile still shone upon his whiskered countenance. She walked directly up to stand looking down at the stumpy man whose upturned face sought her eyes from a level just even with her generous breasts. She spoke softly to him in her language, then bent down and lifted him up in her arms, holding him as she would a child. There was an immediate outburst of approval from those watching the reunion, with only one person silently amazed. It was a scene Rider would remember many years hence, and it would never fail to bring a smile to his face. It was not an insignificant feat. Johnny was short, but he was husky and by no means a lightweight. Jim remembered a comment made by William Bullock in the sutler’s store earlier, realizing now why Bullock and Johnny enjoyed a hardy chuckle when Bullock speculated that Johnny was probably anxious to see his little wife.

  It was the custom in the Crow tribe for the husband to move into the wife’s mother’s tipi, so Jim followed the unusual couple to Jim’s mother-in-law’s lodge when Johnny signaled for him to come along with them. With Johnny in Morning Flower′s arms, that left Jim to lead their four horses. Uncertain at the moment whether he wanted to remain in the village, or to make a camp away from it, he decided that he would see that Johnny’s horses were taken care of before he settled on it. When they got to a large tipi on the inner circle, Morning Flower kissed her grizzled lover and put him down, much to the delight of an old gray-haired woman Jim assumed was the mother-in-law. Then the three of them, and the others that followed the procession, all enjoyed a great laugh—and Jim realized then that it had all been in fun. Still, he had to marvel at the size and apparent strength of Johnny’s big wife. She was certainly not the average Crow woman, but it appeared she felt a genuine affection for the little man more than twice her age.

  When the crowd began to disperse, Johnny told Morning Flower that he would tend to his horses now. “I fix you and Rider food,” she said, still beaming.

  “That’ud be good,” Johnny said. “There’s meat a-plenty on the packhorses. We can have us a feast.” He turned to Jim then, who was still standing there holding the horses’ reins. “Come on, Rider, let’s unload these horses. Then we’ll let ’em out to graze. Ol’ Two Bulls said he’s callin’ for a dance to celebrate my home-comin’, but it’ll be a while yet, so we’ll eat somethin’ first.” He reached over and pinched his wife’s bottom as she started toward the horses. “Morning Flower′s a right fine little cook.”

  Morning Flower squealed girlishly and playfully slapped Johnny’s hand. Then grinning at Jim, she stepped up close to him to look him in the eye. “Rider tall, like Morning Flower,” she said. Then she squeezed his forearm. “Need meat. I fix.” She laughed then and proceeded to the packs.

  “Don’t you worry ’bout Rider,” Johnny said. “He ain’t much more’n a boy. He’ll fill out, I expect.”

  The weeks that followed the triumphant homecoming of the miniature scout saw his friend Rider settle into the daily life of the Crow village. Morning Flower′s mother, Owl Woman, had a large tipi and Jim made his bed on one side, near that of the old woman’s, while Morning Flower and Little Thunder slept on the other side. It was not an especially comfortable arrangement for Jim for the first few nights, owing to the couple’s version of lovemaking. Judging by the sounds that came from the blankets, which Jim tried unsuccessfully to muffle by pulling his blanket over his head, it was more closely akin to a wrestling match, or possibly the copulation of buffalos. It was an assortment of grunts and groans, occasionally accompanied by an identifiable blast that was usually followed by the announcement “Jaybird.” Jim was struck by the suspicion that possibly Johnny had earned the name Little Thunder by means other than his Remington Rolling Block buffalo rifle. Initially, he felt embarrassed for Morning Flower’s mother until he found out that Owl Woman was almost stone deaf, and could not have cared less even if she could have heard her rambunctious daughter′s antics.

  After a week or so, Jim became oblivious of the activity on the other side of the tipi, and in short order the frequency of their mating fell off dramatically as the younger Morning Flower drained the energy of her older lover. Soon Johnny began to complain to Jim that he feared Morning Flower was going to wear him out completely, and to avoid the possibility, they planned a hunting expedition for antelope. Some of the men of the village had recently returned from the grasslands to the north where they had found a sizable herd of the animals. It was unusual to find a large herd in this part of the country this time of year, so Johnny suggested that they should ride up toward the Lightning River to see if the pronghorns were still in the area. Deer Foot and White Fox asked to go along. The big hunts with the entire village involved had been made earlier, but they could always use more meat. Before they left, Morning Flower took some measurements for a shirt and coat for Rider, planning to use hides she had already cured and dried. Johnny was quick to instruct his wife that Rider wanted a shirt like his, with no tribal trimmings—a fringed sleeve was all right, but nothing more. “There ain’t no tellin’ where you and me’ll end up, and you don’t wanna be tryin’ to convince a Blackfoot warrior that you ain’t a Crow.”

  Luck was with them. After riding for two days, they caught up with the antelope. The herd was not as big as the other hunters had reported, but numbered thirty or forty animals, plenty for this small hunting party’s needs. The problem facing them was in the form of terrain, an open grassy plain that stretched to a line of hills several miles beyond. To give chase would be a waste of their horses’ stamina, for the swift pronghorns would soon outrun them. With no possibility to even get within effective rifle range, they paused to decide on the best plan. After watching the herd for a while, they decided that the antelope seemed to be moving in the general direction of the hills to the northwest.

  “We’ll let ’em be,” Johnny said, “go around ’em and wait for ’em in the hills yonder.”

  “How do you know where they’ll strike the hills?” Jim asked. “They might not even keep headin’ toward those hills.”

  “I reckon we won’t know for sure till we get in the hills and see,” Johnny replied. “But I got a feelin’ there’s water somewhere up there, and that’s most likely where they’re headin’.” None of the other three had any better suggestion, so they swung wide of the herd and headed for the hills to set up an ambush.

  The hunters had plenty of time to set up their trap once they reached the hills, because the antelope were moving slowly as they pawed the snow in search of grass. Consequently, they reached the foothills while their game was still distant on the prairie. Reaching the first hill, they tied the horses and climbed to the top where they could watch the progress of the herd. From this vantage point, it was still just a guess as to where the antelope were going. Finally Johnny said, “They’re heading for that draw yonder.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a passage between the two highest hills. They wasted no time in getting back to the horses.

  “This is it, all right,” Jim confirmed when they reached a narrow passage that led through to a wide creek on the other side. It looked to be an oft-used trail by antelope, deer, and maybe buffalo at one time or another.

  “Let’s get down there and get to work buil
din’ a fence,” Johnny said, and started to climb back in the saddle.

  “Wait!” White Fox said, and pointed toward a stand of cottonwoods near the creek. There among the trees, Jim saw the reason for the Crow warrior′s caution. There were about a dozen ponies tied there. Someone had the same idea for acquiring meat, and that someone was a step ahead of them.

  Uncertain now as to whether or not they had been spotted, they quickly backed away from the brow of the hill to discuss their possibilities. The first thing to do was to try to find out who was down there, for judging by the number of ponies, they could fairly well figure they were outnumbered. But if they were friends, they might still share in the meat. “We’re gonna have to get a lot closer,” Johnny said. Then he glanced at Jim. “Those two boys ain’t got nothin’ but bows,” he pointed out, nodding toward their two companions.

  “So if these folks aren’t friends, and there’s more’n you and me can handle, we might have to run for it.”

  Not ready to give up without seeing what the odds were, Jim replied, “Let’s get a closer look. I told Morning Flower I’d bring her some hides to pay for my new clothes.”

  Johnny grinned. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”

  Crossing over to the next ridge, they left the horses halfway up the slope and continued on foot. The situation was what they had assumed. Below, where the narrow valley closed in between the hills to form a passage only about thirty yards wide at the tightest point, half a dozen Indians were hurriedly building a fence with branches and brush. The four hunters on the ridge watched in silence for a few minutes before Deer Foot muttered, “Cheyenne!”