The full moon had drifted downward and would soon be behind the high mountain to the south and west of Medicine Creek. Little Wolf sat on a ridge north of the settlement, looking at the dark buildings, trying to remember the layout of the town. He had been to the town a half dozen times before the two nights when he came in to kill the mayor and the sheriff. But on those occasions, before all the trouble started, he went only to the general store on the south end of town to trade with the proprietor, Gilbert. Always, as soon as his trading was completed, he retraced his steps back into the mountains. Now he must familiarize himself with the various buildings in order to determine where Rain Song was being held.
He got to his feet and led his horses down the ridge to a closer position, feeling secure in the knowledge that it was too dark to be concerned with being seen. He reminded himself that he was not even sure Rain Song was here. The big scout may have taken her to some other place. But, one thing for certain, he brought her through Medicine Creek. Whether he stopped here or not would be Little Wolf’s task to find out.
The town was quiet. Even the saloon in the middle of town was closed. He would come back in the morning and set up a vigilance, watching the town until, sooner or later, he would see something or somebody who might indicate where Rain Song was being held. There being nothing more he could do that night, he got on his pony and, leading his packhorse, rode off into the low hills behind him to make his camp.
* * *
Rain Song lay still on the straw pallet provided for her bed. It was late, but she was not asleep. Someone had come for Tobin earlier in the evening, and he had gone with them for a while. When he came back, he said nothing to her and went straight to bed. She tried to sleep but could not. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Little Wolf and Canada, thoughts that settled heavily on her heart, causing her to weep silent tears. Several hours passed and still she did not sleep. The moon made its way to a position over the pines behind the jail and shone its light through the tiny window of her cell. She got up from her pallet and, on tiptoes, tried to look out the window. The town was silent now, the only sound was the mournful song of a lonely night bird. It was like the call Little Wolf used to make in order to signal her when he was near. Suddenly, she felt a sense of calmness. She could not explain why. It was almost as if he actually were near. Maybe it was the golden light of the full moon that painted the cold bars of her prison. Maybe it was the assuring sound of the night bird’s call. She couldn’t say, but her mind was eased of some of its sadness. She returned to her bed and finally drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When the sun’s first rays found their way over the hills to the east of the little town, Little Wolf was already in position on the eastern slope. From the narrow gulch he had selected, he could observe the entire length of the one street through the town. Content now to wait until the citizens of Medicine Creek began to rouse themselves to the business of the day, he chewed on a strip of dried elk meat. It wasn’t long before the first early risers began to appear to open the few commercial establishments that lined the muddy thoroughfare.
A squat little man appeared in the open door of the stable at the north end of the street. He stood there for a few minutes, scratching his belly and looking around as if appraising the new day. Little Wolf watched him for only a few moments before shifting his gaze to the postmaster fumbling with a ring of keys, eventually yielding the one that opened the front door. Further down toward the south end of town, he recognized the one man he knew, Arvin Gilbert, sweeping the board walkway in front of the general store. Though only weeks had passed, it seemed like many months since Little Wolf had walked into the store to trade for supplies. Dressed as much like a white man as possible in his brother’s coat, with his long dark hair stuffed up under a hat, he had made his trade as quietly and as rapidly as he could. Now he sat looking at the little storekeeper the bitter bile of contempt rising in his spleen as he pictured the once friendly merchant riding down amid the bloodthirsty posse to murder Sleeps Standing and his women. Little Wolf had exacted his revenge on four of that posse and, after Rain Song had pleaded with him, he had been content to let those four be the end of it. Now he wished he had killed every man who rode down on his valley that day.
From his position on the hill east of the town, he could not see the front of the saloon, as it faced west. So he did not notice the young boy carrying a tin plate of food until he emerged from the cover of the saloon and crossed the street, angling toward the jail where Little Wolf had waited to settle his score with the late Sheriff Bowers.
He watched as the young man stepped up from the street, stopping to stomp some of the mud from his boots before rapping on the door of the jail. Little Wolf knew the plate was probably for a prisoner. Medicine Creek must have gotten a new sheriff. The door opened, but Little Wolf could not see who was inside. The boy entered and reappeared seconds later with an empty plate. He returned to the saloon. Within a quarter of an hour, the door of the jail opened again, and Little Wolf’s spine stiffened. He had found what he was seeking. The man was so huge, his shoulders so wide, that he had to turn slightly on an angle when he passed through the door. There was no mistaking him, even at that distance. It was the big tracker that had trailed him. Now he knew who the prisoner was. He had found Rain Song.
Having come up on one knee when he first sighted Tobin, Little Wolf settled back on his heels and watched, fighting the impulse to jump on his pony and charge down on the little town. No, he counciled himself silently, I must be patient and see how difficult my task will be. He watched Tobin pull the heavy door shut and fix a padlock on it. Then the huge man made his way across the street to the saloon.
He wondered how securely the jail was locked, but was unable to determine at that distance. He would have to get a closer look at the building. This was not possible in the bright light of day. He entertained thoughts of attacking the saloon and killing the tracker, but only for a moment. He was confident he could kill the big man, and maybe several others. But there was a very good chance someone else in the saloon might shoot him. And that would do no good for Rain Song. No, he must find a way to get to Rain Song without anyone seeing him. He must wait until nightfall and then make his way down to the jail. The river flowed barely fifty or so yards behind the buildings on the west side of the street. It would be best to approach the rear of the jail from the river. That decided, he settled back to watch the little town.
In a short while, Little Wolf saw Tobin leave the saloon and return to the jail. It was apparent the man was staying close to his prisoner, and Little Wolf realized that the wild-looking tracker was waiting for him, hoping he would attempt to rescue Rain Song. There would be no element of surprise. The man had baited a trap and was content to sit on it, knowing Little Wolf had to come for his wife. While this fact prompted Little Wolf to be more cautious, it had no bearing on his determination to free Rain Song. He waited for nightfall.
Hours later the gentle breeze was chilly on the Cheyenne’s wet shoulders, although the river water had felt warm when he crossed. Oblivious to the chill, he crouched low in the darkness, his eyes shifting back and forth, making sure he was alone behind the buildings. It was no more than a hundred feet from the spot where he now stood that he had killed Puddin Rooks. He did not think of that now as he watched the rear of the jail. There had been a light in the building for only a short time after sundown. It was out now. Little Wolf pictured the man waiting inside for him. Was he sleeping? Or waiting—alert and ready? He thought back to what had happened while he watched the building all day. The tracker had come out of the jail a total of three times, to get his meals Little Wolf assumed. The rest of the day he did not show himself. It was even more curious that not one soul had gone near the jail all day either, except the boy who brought food. In some instances, he observed some men crossing to the opposite side of the street when passing the jail. The whole town seemed intent on avoiding the man completely.
Like the night before, there was an almost full moon shining down on the peaceful settlement between the river and the hills. From the riverbank, Little Wolf made his way carefully through the low bushes that ringed the shallow crossing to a stand of trees some twenty yards from the rear of the building. From the many hoofprints he had seen in the sandy riverbank, Little Wolf figured that the ford was used by most folks who rode from the homesteads on that side of the river. He had avoided the narrow footbridge that crossed the water a dozen or so yards downstream, seeing no need to chance an encounter with one of the local citizens on his way home from the saloon. It had been on that same path, leading to the footbridge, that he had settled with Puddin Rooks. On this night, his only intention was to confirm his suspicion that Rain Song was being held in the jail.
Rain Song lay awake on her straw pallet. There was no sound outside her cell door. Tobin had been asleep for hours, but she had been unable to sleep and had tossed and turned since first closing her eyes. The days were long this time of year, and Tobin often went to his cot while there was still light outside. She always waited for the sound of his heavy snoring before she performed her toilet. The huge brute was true to his word—he never laid a hand on her. But he was not above leering at her on the few occasions he had caught her washing herself, or using her bucket.
Nighttime was the only time she felt at peace, even though her respite was of short duration, lasting only until the sun came up again. So it was often she lay awake on nights like this, her thoughts going out to her husband and praying that he might somehow find her. And then she would think of the savage brute asleep in the next room and feel guilty for wishing Little Wolf would come.
She did not realize she had been crying until she felt the tear drops on her arm as she lay on her side, cradling her head. From outside her tiny window, she heard the lonely call of a night bird—probably the same one she had heard the night before. He was pining for his mate. She listened as it called again. But there was no answer from his mate. Sad, she thought, he is alone like I. Still the forlorn little male called out, although his calls were in vain.
After a few minutes, his persistence puzzled Rain Song and she suddenly sat up, listening now with added concentration. There it was again. Fully alert now, she got quickly to her feet and pulled herself up to the window. Knowing in her heart that it was nothing more than a melancholy bird, she still strained to lift herself high enough to see out, unable to explain the tingle of excitement that coursed through her body. She peered out at the moonlit patch of bare ground behind the jail. There was nothing.
It’s a bird, she thought, nothing more, and started to lower herself back down to the floor. But she hesitated—there was a movement in the shadows under the trees across the narrow clearing. Had she really seen something? Or were her eyes simply playing tricks on her in the middle of the night? She stared hard at the spot where she thought she had seen movement. Again, she thought she saw something move in the shadows. Then she felt her heart quicken as if it would burst from her bosom. He was there! As she watched, scarcely believing her eyes, he rose to his feet. Standing tall and straight, it could be no other, even though she could not see his face. It was Little Wolf, but spirit or man, she could not be sure. She feared her grief had been so intense that her eyes were seeing a phantom image of her husband.
Although her arms were trembling from the strain of supporting her body, she refused to drop to the floor, continuing to stare at the figure under the trees. In the next instant she forgot the pain in her arms. The figure suddenly stepped to the edge of the shadows, the moonlight falling on his face. It was no phantom. “Little Wolf!” she gasped. At almost the same instant, the still night air was ripped apart by the explosion of a rifle.
Rain Song screamed. The shot seemed to come from directly behind her. Little Wolf fell backward, rolling over and over, disappearing into the shadows. His sharp senses had detected the barrel of the rifle a split second before he saw the muzzle flash. It came from the other small cell window next to Rain Song’s. Had it not been for the glint of moonlight on the metal of the rifle barrel, Tobin’s bullet might have found its mark. As it was, the lead was embedded in a tree trunk and the massive tracker cursed his luck, unsure if he had hit flesh or not.
“Little Wolf!” Rain Song called out, her voice almost a scream. “Little Wolf!” But there was no answer from the shadowy trees on the other side of the little clearing. Tears filled her eyes as she began to lose her grip on the iron bars of the window. She had seen him fall, but she could not be sure if he had been hit or not.
“Git away from there!” In her anxiety, she had not heard the rattle of the key when Tobin opened her cell. He grabbed her roughly by the neck and pulled her away from the window, shoving her out of his way and onto the floor behind him. He upended the bucket in the corner and stood on it in an effort to sight his rifle out the window, hoping to get a better angle to shoot from. It was no use—the shadows were too dark. He emptied his rifle into the clump of trees anyway, hoping for a lucky shot. He stood there for a few moments, listening. There was nothing but utter silence. “Damn!” he swore and stepped down from his makeshift stool.
During the few seconds while Tobin fired into the trees, Rain Song lay stunned in the corner of her cell. Her wits about her now, she scrambled to her feet and ran through the open door from her cell. Tobin saw her run but made no move to chase her. Instead he casually walked to the front of the jail where Rain Song was frantically trying to open the heavy door. He stood and watched her frustrated attempts to escape for a moment before telling her she could yank on that lock all week and still wouldn’t be able to break it.
Rain Song shrieked in agony and turned to attack the smirking giant, flying at him with flailing arms. Her frustrated assault seemed to amuse him and he stood solidly before her like a stout oak, absorbing her harmless blows on his massive chest. When he tired of the game, he flattened her with one quick backhand. It was enough to calm her venom, and she sat on the floor, quietly whimpering.
“Why, if I didn’t know no better, I’d think you didn’t appreciate my hospitality—wantin’ to run off with the first buck that come along.” He laughed at his own humor. “I had a suspicion that husband of yourn would be showin’ up pretty soon. I mighta put some lead in his tail, can’t say for sure. Reckon we’ll have to wait for daylight to find out.” He reached down and pulled the stricken woman to her feet and gave her a shove, the force of which drove her back into her cell. “’Course I could go outside and find out right now, I reckon. But I know you don’t want me to git shot.” He laughed again, thoroughly enjoying her dismay.
When Rain Song sank down on her straw pallet, still silently sobbing, Tobin stood there and studied the tiny window above her head. After a moment, he turned and went into the front room of the jail. He returned with a flat stool. After breaking the legs off, he took the flat board seat and jammed it up into the window, blocking it completely. “Now, ain’t that better? Now you can sleep without no nightbirds bothering you.” This brought forth another throaty chuckle as he locked her door once more and retired to his cell.
There was no more sleep that night for either of them. She could hear him moving around all through the night, checking the door and window. She knew he was watching for Little Wolf. She had been puzzled at first when Tobin did not rush outside in an attempt to catch her husband before he could escape to the river. As she thought more on it during the sleepless night, it became apparent to her why he did not. He thought he might have hit Little Wolf, but he wasn’t sure, and wounded or not, Little Wolf was far too dangerous out in the open. On the other hand, the jail was built like a little fortress, with boards of solid pine four inches thick. The only windows were the ones in each cell, and one more over the front door, and they were no larger than a large baking sheet. Tobin knew the building was impenetrable. He could simply stay put and be safe from attack. Little Wolf would have to burn him out, and he knew he couldn’t risk that with his wife inside. So he could afford to wait until sunup when he could see anyone lying in ambush.
Dawn came, and Tobin studied the trees behind the building for a long time until he was certain there was no one there. Only then did he leave the building to investigate the area behind it. With rifle in hand, he scanned the expanse between the buildings and the river. When he was sure Little Wolf was no longer there, he turned his attention to the tracks around the trees and in the clearing. He smiled when he sighted a small string of blood droplets near the largest of the pines. There wasn’t much. He might have easily missed them, drying on the pine needles, had he not been scouting the ground so thoroughly. “By God, I nicked him,” he muttered, pleased that he had drawn first blood. “Well, the game’s on now. He knows where she is. It’s up to him to come and get her.”
Back inside again, he propped his rifle against the wall and lit a fire in the small stove. When Blanton’s boy came with Rain Song’s breakfast, he would send him to the river to fetch water for coffee. He was not concerned about Little Wolf now that the sun was up. There was no cover close enough to town to afford concealment for anyone with a notion to take a shot at him. This didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep a sharp eye anytime he left the jail, though.
As for his prisoner, she remained huddled in a corner of the cell, her head down, pining for her man, he figured. She didn’t even look up when he informed her that he had caught Little Wolf with at least one shot. She still did not respond when Blanton’s boy brought her breakfast. Tobin sent the boy to the river for water. He usually had him empty Rain Song’s toilet bucket as well, a chore the boy despised but was too afraid of the sinister tracker to refuse. On this morning, the contents of the bucket were on the floor, since Tobin had upended it to use as a stool the night before. Tobin stood staring at the Indian girl for a few moments before leaving to walk down the street to Blanton’s for his own breakfast. She did not move from her position in the corner. He knew that as soon as he locked the front door and left, she would wash herself and eat her breakfast, and no doubt clean up the mess he had made on her floor.
Blanton looked up from the table when Tobin walked in. He took another sip from the coffee cup in his hand, saying nothing as he watched the huge man pull out a chair and settle himself heavily. As always during this daily routine, Blanton’s face wore an expression of extreme irritation. He may not have been aware of the obvious display of his feelings, but it did not go unnoticed by Tobin. It was a source of mild amusement for Blanton’s unwelcome guest—it always pleased Tobin to irritate people.
“Where the hell’s my breakfast?” Tobin growled.
Blanton did not answer him, but got up and walked to the back door. Opening it, he called out, “Frances, he’s here—wants his breakfast.” Blanton, along with his wife and son, lived in a small house behind the saloon, no more than ten or twelve steps from the back door of the barroom. He came back and sat down at the table again. “She’ll bring it,” was all he said to Tobin.
“I’ll have some of that coffee,” Tobin said and studied the saloon keeper as he reluctantly, but obediently, got up to get it. He’s getting a little too sassy, Tobin thought, I might have to put a little fear of the devil in him. It had been a few days since Tobin had damn near beaten Johnny Blevins to death, and the big scout suspected Blanton was getting too secure in his relationship with him, just because he was feeding him. Tobin decided he didn’t feel like expending the energy to soften Blanton’s head up a little. Maybe tomorrow.
“What was all the shooting last night?” Blanton asked as he watched Tobin gulp down his breakfast.
Tobin looked up from his plate and hesitated a second. “Varmint,” he said and returned his attention to his food.
“Varmint?” Blanton grunted. “Shore sounded like a heap of shooting. What kind of varmint was it?”
Tobin paused again, gravy dripping from his whiskers. “The kind that ain’t none of your business.” He glared at Blanton.
Blanton blanched. “I was just making conversation,” he stammered.
“Well, don’t. When I feel like making conversation, I’ll let you know.”
* * *
Blanton stood inside the saloon door and watched as Tobin stepped off the walkway and headed back toward the jail. He halfway wished he had the guts to take his shotgun and shoot the huge scout in the back. He had a feeling Medicine Creek was not going to be rid of Tobin after he caught that Cheyenne renegade. Hearing a footstep on the walk behind him, he turned to see Arvin Gilbert approaching. Blanton smirked. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the rats scurried out of their holes now that the cat was gone. No doubt Ike Frieze would also be along any minute now, as soon as Tobin was inside and Ike could safely pass the jail without having to confront the brute.
“Morning, Henry,” Arvin greeted the saloon keeper. “What was all the shooting about last night? Did Tobin say?”
Blanton held the door for Arvin. “No, he didn’t say.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“I asked him—said it wasn’t none of my damn business.”
Arvin looked worried. “There were an awful lot of shots, seven or eight at least. He was damn sure shooting at something.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that damn Injun mighta showed up.” Blanton poured a cup of coffee for Arvin. “You know, I don’t feel any too stout about that crazy son of a bitch using our town for a trap. A lot of innocent folks could get hurt before he catches that Cheyenne.”
Arvin nodded solemnly. “We should have held off until that damn Injun came back to his shack. We shoulda killed them all. That was a big mistake. I’m blaming Bowers for that.”
Blanton only snorted in reply. Arvin could blame Bowers if he wanted to, but Bowers wasn’t the only one who had been reluctant to sit around in the hills that day, waiting for the white Cheyenne to show up. The blood was up that day and most of the posse was eager to burn the rat’s nest and get on back to the comfort of their own hearths. If Arvin wanted to dwell on what they should have done, as far as Blanton was concerned, they should have just left the Injuns to hell alone. Then they wouldn’t be in this mess.
Arvin was dead right about one thing, though—Medicine Creek was just beginning to get a taste of the trouble coming their way from Mister Tobin, who was getting more demanding and sullen with each passing day.