Luke's Gold

Trying to follow tracks that had long since grown cold, Cade gave up after a while and followed the river back toward Bozeman. With nothing to go on, he decided he had no choice but to cover every town he could find, hoping to strike a trail. It was a reasonable conclusion that Snider had not tried to follow the river south through wild rocky passes that led deeper into the rugged mountains. Snider had to assume that everyone who knew about the gold was dead, so he was most likely heading for places where he could spend his fortune.

“I was just fixin’ to go get me some supper,” the owner of the stable said when Cade rode up. “If you’re wantin’ to leave your horses, you can unsaddle ’em and turn ’em out in the corral. I’ll take care of ’em when I get back.”

“I ain’t seen him. I doubt it, though. He seemed in kind of a hurry. Go ask Tim Hardy in the saloon yonder. That was where you’d most likely find Lem Snider and his friends if you were lookin’ for him—which most folks weren’t.” He hesitated for a moment, watching Cade’s reaction. When there was none, he squinted his eyes in an effort to scrutinize Lucky more closely. “That horse has got a bullet hole in him.”

“Well, like I said, he was in here—didn’t have his usual riffraff with him this time.” The bartender eyed the young stranger up and down, wondering what business he had with Lem Snider. “He walked in like he’d just robbed a bank or somethin’,” Hardy went on. “Bought drinks for everybody in the saloon.” He smiled and grunted when recalling it. “Damned if I’ve ever seen him do that before. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did rob a bank.” He cocked a curious eye at Cade then. “That ain’t why you’re lookin’ for him, is it?”

Cade acknowledged the warning with a simple wave of his hand as he walked out the door. Outside, he stopped to study the night sky for a few minutes. It was going to be a cool evening. When the sun came up in the morning, he could go east, back toward Coulson where he and Luke had run into Snider, or he could ride west. Where would a man like Snider likely gravitate? Away from law and order, Cade speculated, and decided to gamble on west. With that settled, he stepped up in the saddle and headed back to the river to make camp for the night.

A full day’s ride brought him to Three Forks, where three rivers converged to make up the headwaters of the Missouri. There at a trading post, a man named Lewis remembered someone of Snider’s description stopping there to buy some supplies. He didn’t recall the name, but Cade felt sure it was Snider. It was enough to encourage him that he had lucked onto the right trail. Snider was definitely riding west. With no further sign of the man, Cade was forced to gamble again. He could have followed the Madison River south to Virginia City, or gone north along the Gallatin to connect with the Missouri River. From what Luke had told him about Lem Snider, Cade guessed he was the kind of man who would head for the most wide-open town he could find. Cade’s first thought was Virginia City, even though its heyday was long past. Lewis had told him that the hot spot now was Butte, a day and a half’s ride from Three Forks. Left with choices between Butte and Virginia City, Cade decided on Butte.

Lewis had not exaggerated when he said that Butte was a bustling town. First starting as a gold mining camp in 1864, it continued to attract miners with the discovery of silver, which contributed to the town’s influx of people in the seventies. The most recent addition to Butte’s wealth was the appearance of copper. According to a bartender named Zeke in the first saloon Cade visited, some folks thought copper might be the gold of the future. Cade had little interest in prospecting for the treasure lying underneath Butte’s soil. His thoughts were on finding one man, Lem Snider. The bartender could not recall hearing of a man by that name, nor seeing a man of his description. There were many other saloons, stores, and stables in the town in which to inquire. All brought the same results. No one knew anything about Lem Snider, and Cade had to finally conclude that Snider had not come this way. After three days spent in Butte, Cade was ready to leave, after having seen enough of the rowdy boom-town and searching out every corner he could find.

Frustrated, but still maintaining his patience, he sat by his campfire a few miles west of town trying to decide what to do. Butte was the kind of place that should attract the likes of Lem Snider. His last stop in Butte had been to pay a return visit to Zeke at the first saloon. The bartender seemed to know more about what was going on in the town than any of the others. Zeke suggested that he should try Helena, a town that four men from Georgia had struck gold in about the same time it was found in Butte. Cade thanked him and determined to set out for Helena the next day.

Half a day out of Butte, Cade was in the process of checking his cinch after having stopped to rest the horses. Standing by a wide stream that meandered along the eastern side of a narrow valley, he was startled when suddenly a horse emerged from the thick firs that bordered the creek. Splashing through the water at a lope, it had scarcely passed by the surprised man when it was followed by two more. Their hooves spraying water almost to the toes of his boots as he stood there astonished, they loped off after the first horse. A few seconds later, another horse appeared, this one with a rider. A small fellow, Cade thought at first, but as the rider approached, he saw that it was a boy of ten or twelve.

Cade sized up the situation in a second, and concluded that the youngster wasn’t making much headway in turning the horses around, as it appeared he was desperately trying to do. Without giving it another thought, Cade jumped in the saddle and gave Loco his heels. Angling across the stream, Loco hit the opposite bank at a gallop. An experienced cow pony, the horse knew exactly what was required of him, and soon headed off the three fleeing horses. Cade slowed the lead horse and turned it, pulling all three back to a walk. By the time the boy caught up to them, the three horses were standing peacefully with Cade’s horses.

There was a strained look of uncertainty on the youngster’s face as he rode up to confront the stranger who had suddenly appeared to take control of the horses. “Those are my pa’s horses,” he managed with as much authority as he could summon.

Cade couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, Ben,” he said, “maybe you’d best get these horses back to your pa. Come on, I’ll help you drive ’em back.” Knowing horses as well as he did, Cade figured the boy probably caused the animals to stray by chasing after them, possibly getting between them and the herd. If left alone, a horse will naturally try to return to the herd. A horse is a scary animal, and when frightened, his instincts tell him to run. He feels safest when he’s close in the herd.

Hank Persons pulled his horse to a stop when he saw the three strays coming up from a treeless ravine to rejoin the herd. Starting up again, he immediately reined back hard when he saw his son followed by another rider leading a packhorse. At once concerned, he dropped his hand to rest on the rifle strapped to his saddle. He hailed his elder son riding the other side of the herd. “Johnny! Keep ’em movin’ on down the valley.” He then rode out to meet Ben and the stranger.

“Your son didn’t need much help. I just mostly followed him back,” Cade said. He looked over the herd, noting another youngster on the far side of the slowly moving horses. “You look like you got your hands full, just you and the two boys.”

“I reckon we can handle it,” Hank said, still wondering if the stranger had any funny business on his mind, like rustling a herd of horses. Shifting his gaze back and forth along the tree line, he searched the edge of the valley half expecting other riders to appear.

“Well,” Cade said, “I’ll be movin’ along. I just wanted to make sure the boy got back all right.” He turned Loco’s head toward the opposite side of the valley and touched the horse lightly with his heels. “Good day to you,” he called back over his shoulder.

The stranger had ridden no more than a dozen yards when Hank made a quick decision. “Hold on, there, Mister,” he called out and rode up to catch Cade. “I ain’t bein’ very neighborly, am I?” He reached over and extended his hand. “My name’s Hank Persons, and I wanna thank you for givin’ my boy a hand.”

“We’re fixin’ to stop for some chuck pretty soon. There’s a stream at the north end of this valley. You’re welcome to join us for a little coffee and beans if you ain’t in a hurry to get someplace.” Hank told himself he might be making a big mistake. Lord knows I’ve sure misjudged some folks before. But he thought Cade Hunter looked like a decent man. And the truth be told, he had lied when he said he and his sons could handle the horses. He wasn’t sure of that at all.

At the end of the valley, Cade helped herd the horses down to the stream to drink. When they were drinking and grazing peacefully, the small family of wranglers gathered to start some coffee to boil. “Well, you already know Ben,” Hank said. “This here’s my older boy, Johnny.”

Cade shook hands with each boy, noting that Johnny couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. It was a considerable undertaking for a man and two boys that age to drive a herd that size anywhere at all, and he expressed as much to Hank.

“Well, I had a hired hand to help me,” Hank confessed, “but he run off with my wife a week ago Tuesday, and left me a little shorthanded.” When Cade blinked hard in surprise, Hank continued. “I wouldn’ta minded so much if they’d just waited till I got these horses delivered to Coyote Creek.” At a loss for what to say, Cade glanced at the two young boys busily fixing the noon meal. Noticing his concern, Hank said, “They know what it’s all about. It don’t bother them none.”

It was an awkward moment for Cade, but Hank didn’t seem overly concerned about it. He pulled a coffeepot from one of the boys’ saddlebags and knelt down by the stream to fill it. Cade studied the lean features of his host while he waited for the pot to fill. Hank Persons wore a forlorn expression that Cade at first thought was for the loss of his wife. After talking to the man for a while, however, he decided that forlorn was Hank’s natural state. As thin as he was, Cade figured his wife had not been much of a cook.

As if reading Cade’s thoughts, Hank blurted, “Ted Randell, that was my hired hand’s name. He was pretty good with horses.” He shook his head while he thought about it. “Left me and the boys in a bind.” He laughed then. “Wait till he finds out what a she-cat he run off with.” Cade didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so he just nodded. Hank went on. “I noticed when we brung ’em down to water you looked like you ain’t no stranger to workin’ with horses.”

“How’d you like to earn a few dollars doin’ a little wranglin’?” Hank’s sad features took on an even more serious expression as he looked Cade in the eye. “I’ll tell you what’s the truth, Cade. I could sure as God use some help. I ain’t got but two days’ drive from here to Coyote Creek where I’m supposed to deliver these horses to Mr. Carlton Kramer’s foreman, but I’m afeared it might be a little too much for my young’uns to move ’em through the mountain passes between here and the prairie. Make it a lot easier if I had one more experienced man to help out.” He paused, waiting for Cade’s reply. “Whaddaya say, Cade?”

Cade took a moment to weigh his priorities. He had a mission to complete, and he wanted that to be over and done with, but Hank did need some help. “I suppose I could lend a hand,” he finally said. “Although it looks to me like that boss-mare over there has a pretty tight control on the herd.” He motioned toward a white mare standing a few yards away from the other horses. Cade had picked her out as soon as they had reached the stream and the other horses waited to drink until after she’d had her fill. Looking at her now as she grazed peacefully on the other side of the stream, Cade knew without looking that the other horses were relaxed and peaceful as well. “Seems to me if you can get her to go where you want, the rest of ’em will go with her.”

“If you was from around here, you’d know who Mr. Kramer was,” Hank replied. “He’s got a butcher shop in every minin’ town and gold camp in the territory.” Hank flashed a quick grin when Cade looked concerned and glanced at the horses grazing peacefully. “He needs horses to tend the cattle he raises for the butcher shops. I expect he’s the biggest cattle rancher in the territory, too.”

For the next couple of days, Cade found peace again doing what he loved best: working with horses. Lem Snider was not forgotten, but the bushwhacking murderer was pushed to the back of Cade’s mind as he helped Hank and his sons deliver the herd to Coyote Creek. It was late morning when they drove the horses through a narrow pass that led to a wide expanse of bunchgrass prairie. A creek ran along the base of the hills they had just left. On the other side of the creek, Cade saw a small shack and a series of rough corrals. Hank had explained that Kramer used the place to train the wild horses he bought to herd his cattle out on the free range. A couple of men rode out to meet them as they herded the horses toward the creek. One sat ramrod straight in the saddle, and he rode with his elbows sticking out like wings. He looked to be older than Hank, with gray sideburns. The man beside him appeared to be Indian.

“He lit out for parts unknown,” Hank replied. “Reckon he got the itch to wander.” He didn’t bother to mention the baggage his hired hand had taken with him. “This here’s Cade Hunter.” Cade nodded.

“I’m Jack Walker,” the foreman said. Tilting his head toward the rider next to him, he added, “This here’s Jim Big Tree.” Walker looked Cade over before asking, “That a ’73 Winchester you carrying there?” He didn’t wait for Cade to answer. “I hope you know how to use it. You might need it.” Looking back at Hank, he explained, “We’ve been havin’ a little trouble with Injuns. There’s been a couple of raidin’ parties hit us durin’ the past two weeks. Jim says they’re Blackfoot. We didn’t have no horses the last time they hit, so they just snooped around and left. Time before that, they run off fifteen head, so if they’ve still got scouts watchin’ us, we might get a visit from ’em again.” He gazed at Cade. “So I hope you’re handy with that Winchester, young feller.”

When Walker’s expression showed a trace of disappointment, Hank spoke up. “That’s right, Jack, Cade just said he’d help us as far as Coyote Creek.” He glanced at Cade then. “I owe you some pay, too.”

Jack Walker listened to the exchange between the two, thinking that with the threat of Blackfoot raiding parties about, he’d feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if they’d all stay around for a while. “Listen, fellers,” he said, “Mr. Kramer is sendin’ a crew over here from Deer Lodge to break these horses. I expect they’ll show up any day now, but in the meantime, me and Jim are gonna have our hands full holdin’ on to ’em if we get hit by Injuns again. I can guarantee you wages—the boys, too—if you’ll stick around till they show up.”

“I appreciate it,” Walker said. “If it’s the same bunch that comes back, there ain’t but about twelve of ’em, and they know there was only Jim Big Tree and me to take care of the horses. By God, we can give ’em more’n they bargained for if they make a try for these horses.” He paused, then asked Hank, “Those boys know how to use a rifle, I reckon?”

Walker suggested that they should pair off and guard the herd after nightfall. “Might not have to do it but one or two nights. The crew from Deer Lodge oughta be here by then.” He looked at the two young sons of Hank and said, “We can split the boys up—maybe one with me and the little feller with you, Hank.”

Walker smiled as well. “All right, whaddaya say Cade and Ben take the first watch? Hank, you got any preference?” When Hank volunteered to take the second watch with Johnny, Jack said, “Me and Jim’ll take over till sunup, then.”

With that settled, they moved the herd farther out in the prairie to keep the grass from being overgrazed near the camp. When the sun started sinking low on the horizon, Jack and Jim Big Tree rode back to start supper, leaving the others to bring the horses back close to camp. “Come on, Ben,” Cade said, “we’ll show ’em how to move those horses where we want ’em.”

“Nope,” Ben replied confidently and pulled his horse up beside Loco while Hank and Ben’s brother held back to watch. When Ben was close to Cade, he leaned forward in the stirrups and quietly asked, “How you wanna do it?”

“Let’s do it the easy way,” Cade said as he started Loco forward with Ben keeping pace beside him. Holding Loco to an easy walk, he headed toward the white mare grazing near a blue roan stallion that was obviously the leader of the greatest part of the herd. Ben, knowing the roan to be the leader, started for him. Cade held him back. “Never mind about ol’ stud there,” Cade said. “You go on up and turn that white mare. She’s the boss-mare. The others will follow her, even the stallions.” He held his horse back while Ben approached the mare. “Let her know you’re the boss,” Cade called after him.

A curious audience of Hank and Johnny watched in openmouthed surprise as little Ben rode brazenly up to the mare and effectively turned her toward the camp. As soon as she lifted her head and loped away, she was followed by the rest of the horses, the blue roan stallion right behind her with a group of bachelor stallions bringing up the rear. “Look at that,” Hank chuckled.

When the horses were back in close to the camp, everybody helped drive them into the two largest corrals. That taken care of, all hands took a little time to eat supper. As the sun gradually sank behind the mountains behind them, Cade and Ben prepared to take their turn as nighthawks. “Ben, you keep your eyes open,” Hank couldn’t resist cautioning his younger son.

Cade was careful not to show the smile the ten-year-old’s remark caused. Ben was a rambunctious kid, eager to fill a man’s role. Cade understood that. It was reminiscent of another kid he remembered: young Cade Hunter. That youngster had taken on the role of executioner of the men who killed his father. It was something Cade tried not to think about too often. Looking now at young Ben Persons, he hoped the child would never know the burden of living with something like that on his conscience. Realizing he had permitted his mind to wander to unpleasant places, he shrugged and blinked away the dark memories. “Come on, partner,” he said to Ben. “We’d better get on the job.”

According to what Jack Walker had told them, the Blackfoot raiding party had come down from the mountains to the north, probably following the river. Walker had figured that, if it was the same bunch of Indians, they would be discouraged by the sight of more men in the camp, and might decide it was not worth the risk. Cade was inclined to agree, but he felt the responsibility of taking care of Ben. So he stationed Ben at the back corner of the upper corral, the one closest to the shack. He didn’t tell Ben that they had decided to give him and Cade the first watch out of concern for the boy’s safety. Jim Big Tree and Walker figured if they were raided, it would most likely come in the hours before dawn, just as before.

As hard dark set in, the two lookouts took a wide tour around the corrals to make sure everything was peaceful. Then Cade sent Ben back to his post with instructions to fire his rifle in the air if he saw anyone approaching the corral. “And everybody’ll come a’runnin’. You see that stand of pines over there?” he said, pointing toward a spot near the base of the hills north of the camp. “That’s where I’ll be, so make sure you don’t shoot me if you see me comin’.” Seeing a questioning look on the boy’s face, he was quick to assure him. “I’ll be comin’ over to check on you every half hour or so. If you need me, just whistle like a whip-poor-will three times. You can do that, can’t you?” He demonstrated, and Ben immediately imitated his whistle. “Right,” Cade said. “You do it better’n I do.”

“We have been away from our village a long time. I think it is time we returned home.” Running Fox tore another strip of meat from the portion of deer haunch roasting over the fire. It was the same conclusion that his friend Bear Track had come to. The Blackfoot raiding party had been away for more than two weeks, and their village was a long way from this valley where so many white men now lived. Starting out with twelve warriors, they had been successful in running off fifteen horses from the white man’s camp at the edge of the hills. Half of their raiding party returned with the stolen horses, but Bloody Feathers, Running Fox, and four others elected to stay and plan for a second raid on the camp. When they scouted the camp a week later, there were no horses in the pens the white men had erected, only a couple of horses the two men rode—and these were kept too close to the hut to chance stealing.

Running Fox had been in favor of going home when their second attempt brought no results, but the others, especially his wife’s brother, Bloody Feathers, argued that there was no honor in returning to the village with nothing to show for their lengthy absence. Consequently, they had spent the past seven days scouting the valleys beyond these mountains, only to find that the white man had arrived in too many numbers, building villages and digging the dirt they found so precious from the hills and streams. Now, ready to leave for home, they waited while Bear Track made one last scout on the camp at the foot of the hills. “We have taken their horses,” Running Fox had insisted. “They do not have any more horses. They are probably gone from that camp.” Bloody Feathers had argued that Bear Track might as well make sure. So they sat by the fire and waited for his return.

“Someone comes!” one of the warriors whispered, and the others grabbed their weapons and quickly moved away from the fire. The warning was followed a few seconds later by the confirmation that it was Bear Track returning.

While his friends rejoiced over an opportunity to steal more horses, Running Fox considered the news that Bear Track had brought. The two white men who were living in the hut had the rifles that shoot many times. Maybe their friends had the same weapons. It would be unwise to try to make a surprise raid on the herd of horses. He, Bloody Feathers, and Bear Track had single-shot rifles. The other three had only bows. When the warriors’ initial excitement settled down, Running Fox counseled on the folly of matching weapons with the white men. “We will go after these horses, but we will have to wait until darkness so that we can surprise them. Their guns are too strong.”

There was no disagreement with his advice, for they all knew about the repeating rifles. It did not dampen their enthusiasm for the raid, however. “Maybe we can kill some of them and take their guns that shoot many times,” Bear Track said. He smiled at Bloody Feathers. “I could kill many enemies with a gun like that.”

It was a long time coming, but night finally descended upon the mountains, and the small raiding party quietly made their way down a wooded ravine toward the valley. Much to their disappointment, the horses were no longer grazing free on the open prairie. They had been driven back to be penned in the large corrals near the hut. This called for a new plan of attack. Heading back toward the white men’s camp, they trotted along in single file, hugging the base of the hills and the cover the trees afforded. When within fifty yards of the corrals, Running Fox halted the party and looked the situation over.

Running Fox was not so sure. “They wouldn’t leave all those horses unguarded,” he said. “I think maybe there are guards hiding where we cannot see them.” He studied the scene a few moments longer. “I think they would see us if we try to cross all this open space between here and the pens. I think it would be better to climb up this hill and come down near their hut. Then we can climb over the fence and take out the rails, and drive the horses out the back of the pen.” He paused then and looked around him at his fellow warriors. “That is just what I think. What does someone else say?” The plan seemed good to the others, so they started up through the trees.

Young Ben Persons watched Cade Hunter’s back until the rangy man from Colorado was enveloped in the darkness and had faded from sight. Then he settled himself again with his back against a sizable boulder near a rear corner of the corral. Though only ten, he was certain that he could handle himself as well as the adults, so he was a little disappointed that Cade had chosen to station him in a safe place close to the cabin. Clutching his 1864 model Spencer carbine, he felt confident and unafraid, proud that Cade had welcomed him as a partner. He had heard the men talking, so he knew they expected no trouble until the hours preceding dawn. But if the Blackfoot raiders showed up sooner than expected, he would give them something to think about. He was a good shot with the surplus army rifle, and he told himself he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the sneaky horse thieves.

The night wore on, and Ben shifted his body several times when the hard ground began to become uncomfortable. From his position, he could see the back rails of the two big corrals as well as the sides of one of them. After what seemed an eternity, he heard a soft whistle. He immediately answered it, and a few seconds later, Cade emerged from the darkness, leading his horse.

Ben watched his partner again until he disappeared around the corner of the corral; then he settled down against the boulder once more. The time began to drag as before, but a short time later he heard a bird call. He answered immediately, smiling to himself. It didn’t sound much like a whip-poor-will, he thought, and waited for Cade to reappear. No more than a couple of seconds passed when he heard another bird call, this one like the first he had heard, but behind him. Maybe it was a real bird he had heard and not Cade. He got up and moved cautiously toward the fence corner, peering into the darkness. The actions of the next few seconds happened so fast that Ben was helpless to even struggle. The powerful arm that trapped him pinned his rifle to him, holding him captive while a hand clamped over his mouth so tightly that he couldn’t make a sound.

Bear Track had been unaware of the boy’s presence on the other side of the boulder until Ben unwittingly answered Bloody Feathers’ signal. Surprised to find the sentinel was a mere child, Bear Track quickly sprang upon him, but found the boy to be a handful. Ben struggled to free himself, causing Bear Track to hold him even tighter. He intended to silence the boy permanently, but he found he could not free a hand to draw his knife without chancing a shout from Ben to alert those sleeping in the hut. Seeing no alternative, he carried Ben back up the hill into the firs, seeking a place where the child could not be heard.

Terrified now that he found himself helpless against the strength of the savage arms that bound him, Ben continued to struggle, but to no avail. He was transported back up into the forest as easily as if he were a sack of flour, his attempts to call for help no more than muffled murmurs.

Moving as fast as he could, for he knew the others waited for him to remove the rails in the corral, Bear Track slammed the boy down under the limbs of a fir tree. With one hand holding Ben down by his throat, he released the other hand and snatched his knife from his belt. One forceful strike through the youngster’s chest should finish him quickly. He raised the knife high over his head, then thrust downward only to meet with a steel grip that caught his wrist—at the same time feeling a pistol barrel against his side, a split second before the revolver fired. Bear Track stiffened as the bullet tore into his insides, causing him to release his hold on the boy’s throat. In desperation, he tried to turn to face his assailant. With one wrist still entrapped, he clawed at Cade with his other hand until the pistol fired again, ending his struggles.

Below them, at the foot of the hill, Cade could hear the sounds of alarm from the cabin as the others clamored to fend off the attack. He shoved Bear Track’s body over, freeing the stunned ten-year-old. “Are you all right?” he asked, as Ben gasped for air. Still too frightened to speak, Ben nodded his head frantically. “Come on, then,” Cade said, and started back down through the trees. “Stay close,” he added.

By the time they reached the spot at the bottom of the hill where Cade had tied Loco, they could hear the rapid gunfire and shouts of the men now running to stop the raiders. Running Fox had managed to withdraw the top pole in the corral gate. When the pistol shots alerted the white men in the cabin, the raiders had to abandon plans to open the gate and drive all the horses out. Running Fox and Bloody Feathers, now inside the corral, made a desperate attempt to escape. They each jumped upon the back of a horse, and guiding the animal by grasping its ears, charged out of the corral, holding on with knees and hands as the horses jumped the lower rails of the gate. Running Fox hoped that other horses would follow, but Jim Big Tree and Jack Walker got to the gate quickly and drove the rest of the horses back. Right behind them, Hank turned to send a couple of rifle shots after the fleeing Indians. Seeing the raid hopeless, the remaining members of the party fled after Running Fox and Bloody Feathers.

Emerging from the trees in time to see the two Indians gallop away with two horses, Cade shouted to Ben, “Go over there with your pa and Johnny, and be careful who you aim that damn rifle at.” Then he jumped up in the saddle and urged Loco after the retreating Indians in an effort not to lose them in the dark.

Racing across the grassy plain, he could barely make out the two shadowy images ahead of him as they galloped toward the pass north of the camp. He urged Loco onward and the horse responded eagerly, slowly cutting the distance between him and the Indians. Just before reaching the pass, one of the horses veered off to his left, heading back toward the hills behind the camp. Quickly deciding he had to follow in case the Indian was going back to make another attempt at the horses, Cade let the other raider go.

With the horses rapidly tiring, Cade followed the Blackfoot up through the trees on the hillside. Once in the midst of the firs that covered the west side of the hill, Cade pulled up and dismounted, lest he run headlong into an ambush. The darkness was heavy and still in the forest, but he could hear the Indian moving some forty yards ahead of him. Looking around to orient himself, he realized the Blackfoot warrior was making his way back toward the spot where Cade had killed the first raider.

He could see him now, a lone Blackfoot warrior, leading the horse back downhill, having fashioned a hasty bridle with a rope. Cade looped Loco’s reins over a fir bough and followed. He could have shot the Indian on the spot, but he decided that the warrior was only intent upon recovering the body of his friend. Convinced that the raid was over, Cade saw no reason to kill the man.

A few yards farther down through the trees and Cade’s speculation proved to be accurate. With his rifle slung on his back, Running Fox was bending over the slain warrior. He grasped him under the arms and started to lift him up when he suddenly froze. Cade looked beyond him to see Ben stepping out from a low bush, his rifle pointed at the Indian.

In the darkened forest, Cade could not see Ben’s eyes wide with indecision, his hand trembling on the trigger guard, as man and boy stood immobile in a brief vacuum of time. The momentary image of another ten-year-old flashed across Cade’s mind, and he called out, “Ben! Don’t shoot! Let him go. Let him take his dead and go.” Ben hesitated, and Cade emerged from the brush behind Running Fox. Startled by Cade’s sudden appearance, Running Fox dropped Bear Track’s body and started to reach for his knife. Cade quickly leveled his Winchester and aimed it at Running Fox’s belly, discouraging the Indian’s desperate attempt. Moving between the raider and the boy, Cade said calmly, “Put it down, Ben. We’ll let him take his dead home. No need for any more killin’.”

Caught in total confusion now, Running Fox waited for the rifle shot that would send him to the spirit world, knowing he could not get his own rifle off his back in time to save his life. Cade stood squarely before him and motioned with his rifle. “Go ahead and take your friend,” he said, but Running Fox knew no English. Finally, after Cade motioned several times more, the Blackfoot warrior understood. Nodding slowly, he reached down and grasped Bear Track again. Pulling him upright, he let the body fall across his shoulder. Cade offered no help. With the rifle still leveled at the Indian, he watched as Running Fox struggled to heft Bear Track’s body up on the horse. Once the body was settled and secure, Running Fox turned back to look at the man watching him. He nodded solemnly, then turned and led the horse back the way he had come.

“I know you were, but there wasn’t no use to shoot him. He was just tryin’ to carry that other feller back home. He didn’t have it in his mind to cause no more trouble.” He knew from bitter experience that ten was too tender an age to carry an image of a man dead by your hand. “Let me get Loco, and let’s get back before your pa starts worrying about you.” He started toward the brush where Loco was tied. “What were you doin’ here, anyway? I thought I told you to go with your pa.”

“Lost two horses,” Jack Walker announced as he and Jim Big Tree joined them. “I reckon that ain’t as bad as it coulda been. At least nobody got shot.” Although everyone agreed that the Blackfoot raiding party would not likely try again after they found out how much firepower the camp could deliver, they didn’t chance leaving the herd unguarded through the rest of the night.