Son of the Hawk Page 5

  “Maybe you can tell me why you’re smiling, sir, so I can enjoy it, too.”

  Lost in thought, Luke had not heard Sergeant Grady Post behind him until he spoke. He glanced up as Post kicked a cottonwood limb aside and sat down beside him. “Why, I was just mulling over this patrol, Sergeant.”

  Grady Post did not have to be told what prompted the ironic grin on the lieutenant’s face. The one solid element in an otherwise shaky detachment, Grady knew the score full well. “It’s a ragged bunch, all right. I expect the guardhouse will be a lonely place until we get back.”

  * * *

  Buck Ransom rode out about a mile ahead of the column as the morning sun spilled over the dry prairie. Glancing out toward the east, he watched for a moment as the Sioux scout disappeared beyond a rise. Buck hadn’t made up his mind about Bull Hump. The Indian seemed a bit standoffish. Buck wasn’t sure if he would trust him or not. We’ll wait a bit on that one, he thought.

  Turning in the saddle to look back at the double line of soldiers trailing him, Buck wondered if he shouldn’t have turned this job down. More and more lately, he was feeling the rigors of long hours in the saddle. His kidneys hurt and his joints were stiff, and for the first time in his life, he had begun to miss the warm comfort of his cabin in Promise Valley. Buck detested the thought of old age, but it had gotten to the point where he was unable to deny it. I shoulda took me a squaw a long time ago. “Shahh,” he spat, and nudged his horse hard. Thoughts of aging depressed him.

  Some eight hours later, Buck sat in the saddle and gazed ahead toward the mountains before him while his horse drank from the waters of the south fork of the Cheyenne River. He would wait there for the lieutenant to catch up. Off to his right, Bull Hump was cutting across a low ridge on a course to intercept the column. The Sioux scout showed a tendency to range a little far ahead, sometimes Buck didn’t see him for hours. I hope to hell he’s keepin’ his eyes peeled. Buck turned his attention back to the hills ahead. If the Injuns find out we’re in these parts, they ain’t gonna like it too much. It was not the first time the thought had entered his head that day.

  While he waited for the others to catch up, he worked away at an upper tooth that had been aching for the past two days. With his fingers, he wiggled it back and forth, trying to loosen it to the point where he might rid himself of it. He knew he should have let the doctor in Laramie pull it, but it had not been so painful while he was there. Half of his teeth were gone already, and he kind of hated losing this one—it was on the side he chewed his plug of tobacco. This keeps up, I ain’t gonna be able to eat nothin’ but corn mush.

  “Where in hell would a man start lookin’ for four greenhorn prospectors?” he wondered aloud. Then he took hold of the offending tooth again and launched a vigorous wiggling assault upon it. The tooth refused to yield. “Damn!” Buck gasped in exasperation, giving up for the moment. Back to his previous thought, he tried to remember the various game trails he had followed through these mountains many years ago. It had been a while since he had risked his neck in these sacred grounds. That damn Injun oughta know where to look; he’s a Sioux, and the Sioux seem to think the Black Hills belong to them. Hell, them four fellers could be anywhere, and most likely their bones is already bleaching in the sun.

  When the column caught up to Buck, Luke decided to follow the river upstream for a few miles before selecting a campsite. After Sergeant Post assigned pickets for the night, he saw to the placement of Annie Farrior’s tent to insure the lady the maximum amount of privacy. While she watched two troopers assemble her tent, Annie gazed longingly at the inviting river, wanting desperately to be able to clean some of the trail dust from her body. But she hesitated to suggest something that might be a little too awkward, given the company she traveled in. Lieutenant Austen, proving himself to be the gentleman that his commission as an officer stated, read the lady’s thoughts and suggested that she might desire a bath.

  “Oh, I most certainly would,” Annie replied, “but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very comfortable taking one under the circumstances.”

  “Well, I think we can manage to protect your privacy long enough for you to clean up a bit,” Luke said, then turned to look for his sergeant. “Sergeant Post,” he called.

  When Grady Post responded, Luke told him to set up a camp schedule with the men. Any man who wanted to bathe in the river would be required to go downstream one hundred yards. The lady would go upstream one hundred yards or so. To further insure the lady’s privacy, she would be provided an escort. When Post turned to pass on the lieutenant’s orders, Luke turned to Annie again. “I will escort you myself, Mrs. Farrior. You have my word that no one will bother you.”

  Annie was still hesitant, but she so wanted to rid herself of the day’s grime. “It would be nice, but perhaps I should wait until after dark.”

  “As you wish, ma’am, but it’ll be a little chilly after dark.” Seeing her indecision, he smiled and said, “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Farrior, I’ll make sure nobody sees you—including myself.”

  She immediately blushed. “I’m sure you would be the perfect gentleman,” she hastened to assure him. “I think I would like that bath.” She fished around in her saddlepack for a towel. “And, Lieutenant, please call me Annie.”

  “Yes, ma’am . . . Annie.”

  Luke walked with Annie, following the river upstream until reaching a bend that afforded her respectable privacy from the soldiers’ camp. Luke suggested a spot for her bath where he could stand watch on the bank above. “I’ll stand right up here with my back turned.” He smiled and added, “You can take my pistol if you want. Then if I turn to look, you can shoot me.”

  Annie blushed again. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She strode off down the bank to the water’s edge. Luke took a position at a high point on the bank some twenty or so yards downstream. With his back toward her, he stood watching in the direction of the camp. As quickly as she could manage, Annie removed her army trousers and waded out from the bank, splashing the chilly water over her arms and legs, and scrubbing her face with her hands. Although she was shivering all over when she waded back to shore, the refreshing effect of her bath seemed to take the weariness from her body that riding horseback all day had caused. While she stood there, drying her legs and arms, she found herself gazing at the young lieutenant, standing straight and tall, his broad back to her. She wondered if he was married—he had made no mention of a wife. She hoped that he wasn’t. Suddenly realizing the direction her thoughts were leading her, she silently scolded herself, and reminded herself why she was out in the middle of hostile country with a cavalry patrol. Forgive me, Tom, she thought, feeling ashamed for her speculations regarding the young officer.

  “You can turn around now,” Annie said, and walked back up the bank where he awaited her.

  Back in camp, Buck and Grady Post were discussing the different possible directions to start a search for the four prospectors. When Luke and Annie returned from the river, Luke invited Annie to join the discussion, hoping she might remember something her husband might have said that would give them a clue. She sat down with them by the fire but could offer very little information to help. The problem, as she pointed out, was that none of the four knew anything about the Black Hills. The only lead they had was a creek the old trapper had told Ned Turner about. After Ned bought the old man a second drink, the trapper told him that a good place to start looking was a place the Indians called Bitter Water.

  “Well, I reckon I know where that is,” Buck commented, his face twisted in a frown caused by his toothache. “But I’d be the most surprised one of us if there’s any gold in that little crick.”

  Bull Hump joined the little group around the fire, having just returned from scouting the area north of their camp. When Grady looked at him, his eyes questioning, Bull Hump reported, “No Injuns anywhere.” Like Buck, the Sioux scout was familiar with Bitter Water. He was adamant in seconding Buck’s opinion that there was no gold ther
e. “I know best place to look for yellow dirt,” he said, “much yellow dirt in valley, one day’s ride.”

  Luke looked at Buck, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Maybe the Indian knew what he was talking about, maybe he didn’t, but starting the search in one place was as good as another. So Luke decided to let Bull Hump lead them to this valley he spoke of. The lieutenant was less than enthusiastic about the possible success of such a random search—as was Buck Ransom—but he didn’t know any better plan. Annie’s husband and his three partners might just have stumbled upon this valley Bull Hump was so sure about.

  Annie studied the old scout’s face while the discussion was going on. Finally she asked, “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Ransom?”

  Buck was surprised by her question. “Well, I reckon I’ve felt a heap better, ma’am. I’ve got a tooth that’s painin’ me some. I’ve been tryin’ to pull it all day, but I reckon it ain’t done tormentin’ me yet.”

  Annie got to her feet. “Here, let me take a look at it. I’ve pulled a couple of teeth for my pa.”

  Buck situated himself in a position to try to get some light from the fire. It wasn’t enough so Annie produced a candle from her bag, along with some thread, which she always carried, and she was ready to examine her patient. Buck, grimacing, demonstrated the degree of looseness in the offending tooth with one hand while holding the candle up to his face with the other. Annie tested the resistance of the tooth, but like Buck, she found she could not get enough grip to apply a forceful enough pull. Annie suggested tying a band of thread around the molar to provide a grip that wouldn’t slip. Buck agreed, so she carefully wound strand after strand of thread around the tooth until she had a sizable wrap.

  With a grip that offered more friction so her fingers wouldn’t slip, Annie tried to extract the tooth. She was not strong enough to do it. By this time, several of the men had gathered, fascinated by the project to separate Buck from his tooth. Soon there were many volunteers who wanted to take a stab at pulling the tooth. Buck held up under the assault admirably while one after another pulled and strained, pulling his head this way and that until he finally called, “Enough!”

  An interested spectator to the exercise was the Sioux scout, Bull Hump. A solidly built man with short stubby fingers, he waited until Buck had called a recess in the contest before he stepped forward and stated, “I can pull.”

  Buck was not anxious to continue the torture. In fact, he was at the point where he had just about decided to live with the constant toothache. But Bull Hump’s stoic announcement was delivered more as a fact, and not simply a wish to try his luck. So Buck agreed to submit to one more assault. But Bull Hump had conditions that Buck had to agree to first.

  “I pull tooth, tooth mine,” the stoic Sioux stated.

  “You want the tooth?” Buck asked, amazed. “What in tarnation for?” When Bull Hump made no reply, his face as void of expression as a stone, Buck shrugged and said, “All right, you can have the blame tooth. I sure as hell warn’t planning to keep it.”

  That settled, Bull Hump planted his feet solidly before the old scout and prepared to perform the extraction. Buck opened his mouth wide and squeezed his eyes closed. Bull Hump clamped his stubby fingers around the threaded tooth, and with his other hand on Buck’s forehead for leverage, administered a slow but powerful pull. Buck could not contain a long yelp of pain as the roots of the tooth steadily gave way to the overpowering force, finally parting from Buck’s gum.

  Buck backed away, staggering as he scrambled to his feet, spitting blood and shaking his head violently. “Goddamn! ‘Scuse me, ma’am—I ain’t ever gonna do that again! If I have another tooth go bad, I’d druther shoot the blame thing out than go through that again.”

  Bull Hump, his expression the same blank facade as before, turned the tooth from side to side, examining his token. Satisfied, he placed it in the pocket of his buckskin shirt and returned to his own cookfire, pausing briefly to gaze at Robert Dimeron, who was writing furiously in an attempt to record the entire operation.

  When Bull Hump had moved out of earshot, Grady Post chuckled silently, shaking his head. “That is one spooky Injun.” He turned back to Buck, who was probing his empty socket with his finger, and periodically spitting blood. “He’s got your tooth now, maybe he’s planning on getting your scalp next.”

  Buck took his finger from his mouth long enough to answer the sergeant’s tease. “I reckon this old, thin, gray straw on top of my head don’t appeal to him that much. I think he’s been admirin’ that fine head of black hair on that reporter feller. Did you see how he give it a look just now?”

  “I did notice that,” Grady returned, grinning broadly.

  Robert Dimeron looked up from his notebook, a forced smile upon his face. “I’m sure I don’t have to worry about that with a whole troop of soldiers to protect me,” he said, perfectly aware of their attempt to tease him. Still, it made him uncomfortable—the Sioux was a sinister-looking man who appeared to have little use for a pleasant expression.

  By the time Buck turned in for the night, the throbbing in his gum had stopped. Spreading his blanket close to his horse, he sat down and propped his rifle against a bush, where he could get to it in a hurry. Satisfied that all was well in the camp, he glanced across the clearing and was met by a steady gaze from the Sioux scout. When their eyes met, Bull Hump broke it off, and lay down, turning his back to Buck. Buck gave it no more than a moment’s thought before going to sleep himself. Damn Injun—probably thinks he oughta be the number one scout.

  Annie pulled her army blanket up around her shoulders. Already the snores of the soldiers outside her tent provided an assortment of low rasping notes, like a chorus of oversized katydids. She wondered if Tom was nearby in the mountains that loomed before them, perhaps listening to the snoring of his three companions. Then her mind drifted to the image of Luke Austen, standing guard over her bath. The picture was still in her mind when she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  The scouts were out early the next morning—Buck to the east, along the river—Bull Hump to the west. By the time the troop was ready to move out, both scouts had returned to camp to report no sign of any Indian activity anywhere. When Lieutenant Austen gave the order, “To horse!” Buck indicated the line of march, pointing toward a line of low hills to the northwest. Since Buck didn’t know what valley Bull Hump had in mind where all this gold was supposed to be just laying around waiting to be picked up, it was decided that Buck would lead the troop as far as Bitter Water. It was Bull Hump’s suggestion. Explaining that he had been to the valley only once himself, Bull Hump preferred to be free to scout on ahead of the troops to make sure he could find the landmarks that would take him to the right valley.

  “That sounds all right to me,” Luke said, upon hearing the scout’s proposal. “What do you think, Mr. Ransom?”

  “Hell, it don’t make no difference to me,” Buck replied. “I can sure take you to Bitter Water. If he don’t git lost, we’ll meet him there.” The hint of sarcasm was not lost on Luke, but in case it was, Buck added, “I can’t wait to see that valley with the gold laying all over the ground. We can all go back rich men.”

  Bull Hump sat on his horse, waiting. If Buck’s comments bothered him, it didn’t show on his expressionless face. When Luke nodded to him, he immediately wheeled his pony and galloped away. They watched him for a few moments, then Luke put the column in motion with a wave of his hand. Buck backed his horse a few yards and watched the troops start out before moving out in front.

  “Good morning, Mr. Ransom,” Annie Farrior called out as Buck rode by. “How’s the toothache this morning?”

  “It don’t hurt a’tall, ma’am. I’m much obliged.” He tipped his hat, then nodded to Robert Dimeron, who was riding beside Annie.

  It took most of the day to reach Bitter Water due to the roughness of the terrain and the ridges that had to be crossed. When they reached the little creek in the middle of the afternoon, Luke saw at once
why Buck had doubted the existence of any gold in the dark, slowly moving water. Unlike most of the mountain streams, Bitter Water flowed from an opening in the side of a hill, making its way leisurely down through a belt of pine trees. The bed of the stream was almost black, no doubt caused by the minerals that washed out of the hill. The resulting odor of the water was probably the origin of the stream’s name.

  When the column pulled up, Buck was sitting there waiting for them. After Luke gave the order to dismount, Buck motioned him over to where he stood. “Damned if them fellers weren’t here,” he said, pointing to the remains of a campfire. “I didn’t really expect them to even find this place.”

  “How do you know it was them, and not an Indian hunting party?” Luke questioned.

  “Tracks,” Buck said, his attitude suggesting that the answer to Luke’s question was fairly obvious. He swung his arm around from side to side. “Look around you. Them’s shod horses and mules, about a dozen or more of ’em, I expect.”

  Luke nodded, realizing he should have noticed that himself. It was a good sign, however, for it meant that they were at least on the trail of the four white men. Then a thought crossed his mind, and looking around him, he asked, “Where’s Bull Hump?”

  Buck shook his head. “Ain’t seen him all day, not since he rode out this morning.”

  Luke pushed his hat back and scratched his head thoughtfully. “Well, we’ve still got some daylight left, but I expect we’d better wait here for him. You think he can find that valley he was talking about?”

  Buck shrugged. “I don’t know—maybe.” Buck had his doubts. It had been a while since Buck had ridden this part of the country, but old age had not dimmed his memory of places he had been. And he had no idea what valley Bull Hump might be thinking of. Buck had explored every valley and canyon in the Black Hills, from the Cheyenne River to the Belle Fourche, and he had never seen a valley with gold all over the ground like the one Bull Hump had described.