Under the cover of a thick clump of young willows close by the bank of the river, Little Wolf sat on his pony. He watched as the group of citizens that had assembled in the general store filed out of the building and went their separate ways into the night. He waited while the storekeeper doused the lamps and locked the door, then hurried the few hundred yards down the road to his house.
“I am returning the kerosene and cloth I borrowed from you,” he murmured softly and nudged his horse forward. When he approached within seventy-five yards of the building, he reined his pony up and dismounted. Soon, a flaming arrow bored its way through the deep night sky and found its mark in the roof of the general store. More arrows followed. When he was satisfied that the fire was spreading, he unhurriedly climbed on his horse and rode back to the willows to watch.
For the second time in as many nights, the citizens of Medicine Creek were summoned from their beds to fight a fire—some after having barely settled in their blankets. As before, an attempt was made to hand water from the river, but the results were much the same as had befallen Blanton. Arvin managed to save some of his merchandise before the flames became too hot and drove him out. He was unable to rescue his little iron box under the back counter, the flames having caused burning beams to fall directly down from the roof at that point. Reluctant to tell his neighbors of his main concern, he could only hope that the metal of the box would protect its contents.
Little Wolf watched the chaotic scene from a safe point across the river, after having to leave the willows when the bucket brigade formed. He gazed impassionately at the frantic attempts of the men of Medicine Creek, intent upon assessing the effectiveness of his attack—although it was impossible not to be reminded of what Sleeps Standing and his wife had suffered at the hands of these same men. “Now we will see,” he said softly and turned his pony toward the hills.
Sleep did not come easily for Little Wolf that night. He worried about Rain Song’s safety, although his common sense told him the big tracker would be served best by keeping his hostage alive. It was no use telling himself that he must rest. There were deeper thoughts that troubled him. As he lay there, looking up into a black sky sprinkled with tiny points of light, he thought about the path he had traveled to come to this point in his life. His had been a life of war and violence, and always the threat of massacre rode with his people. Yet he did not regret having been found by Spotted Pony. Looking back, he would have chosen no other path.
Now his thoughts returned to the people of Medicine Creek and the crimes they had committed against his family and friends. It was time to make new medicine and call on the power and spirit of the grizzly again. He would rest now and prepare himself for battle.
* * *
Dawn found a troubled group of townfolk still milling around the burned-out shell of Arvin Gilbert’s General Mercantile. There was no thought of sleep for the heartsick mayor of Medicine Creek. He had been effectively wiped out. He had managed to save the contents of his precious iron box from the ashes, but the gold there would not be enough to replace all of the stock he had lost. Morgan Sewell laid a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy, and Arvin just shook his head, fighting the urge to cry.
No one had even suggested sending for their sheriff this time. And no one was surprised that he again did not bother himself to offer assistance. As the sky began to brighten, Arvin became more and more angry. Damn Sam Tolbert! Damn Lonnie Jacobs! He wished with all his heart that the two had never stirred up the town over the discovery of the Cheyenne warrior. “He wasn’t doing anybody any harm out there anyway.” He didn’t realize he had spoken the thought aloud until Sewell said, “What?”
“What?” Arvin echoed. Then, pulling his thoughts back to the group of men around him, he said, “We’ve got to get that bastard half-breed out of our town now! Let the damn woman go before that Injun burns us all out.”
His words were met with unified accord. It was time for action, time to take their town back. All six of the selected Vigilance Committee were present and all were ready to get to their task. Jake Bannister stepped forward to check that every man was armed. Those who weren’t borrowed a gun from one of the other men on the street. It resembled a lynch mob in preparation, causing Reverend Norsworthy to raise his hands in caution.
“We mustn’t lose sight of the decision made last night, my friends. The purpose of the committee is to rid our town of this evil man. He must be allowed to get on his horse and go peacefully.”
“The preacher’s right,” Arvin admitted reluctantly. “We’re not murderers here. We’re just gonna run him out of town.”
“But if he wants to put up a fight,” Jake interrupted, “we’ll by God give it to him.”
* * *
Rain Song waited for the baleful Tobin to leave as he always did each morning. She did not understand why he lingered this morning. After stepping outside the jail door to urinate off the walkway, as was his custom, he stood there for a long time, watching the crowd of people at the far end of the street. She could not see them, but she had heard them mulling about in loud voices all during the night, and she knew that the crowd must still be in the street. After a few moments more, Tobin came back inside and picked up his rifle. Looking it over to make sure it was loaded, he propped it up by the door while he checked his pistol. She had no notion as to what was about to occur, but the usually dour giant of a man seemed to be amused by something he had seen in the street. He even paused to look into her cell, a hint of a grin on his face.
“Looks like you might have to go without your breakfast this morning,” he said, chuckling to himself. Then he moved to the front door and cracked it enough to see the street outside.
The committee of six strode purposefully down the middle of the street, a cloud of dust kicking up from their boots. Leading them was Arvin Gilbert, Jake Bannister close at his elbow, the blacksmith, Jacob Schuyler, on the other side. Behind them, Blanton and two others followed. All were armed with pistols. At a safe distance, the rest of the crowd milled about in the dusty street, waiting to see the eviction.
Seeing no sign of the ominous half-breed but noticing the cracked door, Arvin halted his posse short of the step up to the walk. “Tobin,” he called out, “step outside, we have something to say to you.” He glanced quickly to his right and left to make sure the other five were still behind him.
Tobin did not answer at once, causing Arvin to call out again. Just before he called for a third time, Tobin spoke, his voice a low rumble from the dark interior of the jail. “Well now, ain’t this a nice little visit? Which one of you is bringing my breakfast?”
“They ain’t gonna be no more breakfasts,” Blanton blurted, before Arvin held up his hand to silence him.
“Step outside please,” Arvin said. “We’re here representing the people of Medicine Creek and we’ve got something to say to you.”
To a man, all six backed up a step when the door opened and Tobin came out, his rifle hanging down at his side. He smirked as his ominous gaze passed slowly from man to man, then came to rest on the mayor. “The people of Medicine Creek’s got somethin’ to say to you,” he mocked. “Well, they damn sure better say it quick. I ain’t got time to fool with the likes of you.”
Arvin was shaken by the mere presence of the malefic brute, but, bolstered by the support he felt he had behind him, he was determined to issue his stern mandate. “It is my responsibility as mayor to inform you that you are no longer acting sheriff.” When Tobin simply stared at him and made no reply, Arvin was encouraged to expound. “You’ve brought nothing but destruction to this town, and we’re ordering you to vacate these premises at once.” He paused, feeling the uneasy shuffling of the committee behind him. Still Tobin was silent. “And take that Injun woman with you.” Satisfied that he had delivered his message with stern authority, he stood, feet shoulder-width apart, arms folded across his chest in a no-nonsense manner, and waited.
There was not a sound except that of a horsefly that had flitted over to investigate the confrontation. Tobin shifted his penetrating gaze to each man—measuring, evaluating.
Jake Bannister was at Arvin’s ear. “I told you he ain’t gonna listen,” he whispered. “Tell him if he don’t go peaceful, we’re gonna run him out.”
Tobin could not hear Jake’s words, but he answered him anyway. “Well now…I reckon it’ll be for me to say who leaves town and who don’t. I don’t plan to leave till I’m good and ready, so I reckon you boys is gonna have to kill me.” He paused to let his words sink in. Pleased with the nervous shuffling they caused, he demanded, “Who’s man enough to do the job?” He pointed his rifle at Arvin. “You? You little dried-up weasel. You?” he suddenly shifted his rifle to Blanton. He snapped his gaze back to Arvin. “Now I’ll tell you something, Mr. Mayor. I’m telling you to get out of my town. If you ain’t out of here by sundown, I’m gonna come looking for you. Is that clear?”
Arvin was frozen with the shock of Tobin’s ultimatum. Blanton stood open-mouthed and confused. The three men behind Arvin stepped back nervously, unsure what to do. Of the six, Tobin had kept his eye on Jake Bannister. And, when Jake suddenly reached for his pistol, Tobin’s rifle cut him down before he had a chance to level his arm.
In the chaos that followed in the next few minutes, things happened so fast that Arvin would find it impossible to recall exactly what had happened. All he could say for sure was that it sounded like a small war. Tobin did most of the shooting. When his rifle split the morning stillness, Jake Bannister went down, his pistol firing harmlessly into the dirt at his feet. Terrified, Blanton stepped backward and stumbled over Jake’s body. This was all that saved the saloon keeper. Had he not gone over backward, Tobin’s next two shots would have found their mark in his chest.
Cocking and firing as rapidly as he could, Tobin could not be sure of the damage himself, holding his rifle hip high and pumping one bullet after another at the scattering committee. He turned back quickly, looking for Arvin, for he had an intense desire to do in the irritating little mayor. But Arvin was already down, lying beside Jake Bannister’s body, so Tobin shifted his rifle back to bear on the others, now running frantically toward the cover of the buildings. Blanton, seeing his chance to escape, gave not a thought toward firing his weapon. Instead, he scrambled to his feet and ran between the buildings, not stopping until he reached the river. Out of the corner of his eye, Tobin detected Blanton’s movements and whirled back around. Taking careful aim with the rifle, he pulled the trigger only to hear the metallic click of the firing pin on an empty chamber. Cursing, he dropped the rifle and pulled the pistol from his belt, but it was too late. His .45 slugs dug into the corner of the jail, ripping splinters out of the corner post.
Jacob Schuyler, who had fled as soon as the shooting started, peeked around the corner of the post office and fired a couple of wild shots at the enraged scout. Since Jacob was reluctant to expose much of his body, the shots landed harmlessly in the gable above the door of the jail. He received a .45 caliber slug in his shoulder for his trouble. Yelping in pain, he disappeared behind the building.
In a matter of minutes, it was over. Still impassioned to spill blood, Tobin strode after the fleeing vigilantes, throwing shots randomly at any piece of target he could spot. At the end of the street, near the still-smoldering ruins of the general store, the crowd of spectators dispersed like so many chickens at the sight of a fox. Soon, Tobin was alone in the street. He turned around in a circle, looking for a target. There was nothing more to shoot at, so he sent a couple of bullets through the window of the barbershop.
Satisfied that he quelled the attempted coup, he walked to Henry Blanton’s little house and kicked the door open. There, huddled in a corner, he found Blanton’s wife. Breakfast was still on the table untouched. Fixing Mrs. Blanton with a scorching gaze that dared her to make a sound, he scooped up the entire setting, using the tablecloth as a sack, and strode out the door with it over his shoulder.
Out in the street again, he started back toward the jail and the two bodies left lying in the street. As he approached, one of the bodies stirred. Tobin stopped and took a hard look. It was Arvin Gilbert. As he watched, Arvin suddenly scrambled to his feet and ran toward the stables at the end of the street.
“Why, that little skunk,” Tobin mumbled and pulled his pistol once more. He fired three shots at the panic-stricken little mayor, but Arvin was too far away for Tobin’s pistol to find the mark.
Tobin was sorely disappointed to see that the mayor was not dead. He remembered seeing him go down when he started spraying the street with rifle fire. In truth, the mayor was not wounded at all. Faint heart had saved his bacon that day—for Arvin had actually fainted when the shooting exploded around him. His explanation later that day, when the committee reconvened, was somewhat different, however, saying that he had dived for cover in an attempt to get off a shot.
Afraid and confused, Rain Song pressed her body as tightly as she could manage against the corner of her cell. She did not know what the shooting outside the jail meant, only that it was loud and accompanied by a great deal of shouting. She could not see outside since Tobin had blocked the window. Tobin had exchanged words with some men of the town just before the shooting started. She could not understand the words spoken, but she feared the gunfire might have involved Little Wolf. Now she ached for some word that he had not been part of the shooting. It hadn’t lasted for very long. And soon after it stopped, Tobin came back.
“Looks like your man burned another building down last night,” he said as he shoved the door shut and locked it.
He seemed to be in a good mood, pleased with himself. She had not seen him in such high spirits before. He carried a sack made of checkered cloth that he dumped in the middle of the floor, chuckling as he did so. She was surprised to see that it contained food—boiled meat and beans, plates and all, and panbread still in the skillet. His mood was such that he broke off a piece of the panbread and shoved it through the window in the heavy cell door. She scurried over at once and picked it up from the floor where it had fallen. She went back to her corner to eat. She could hear him chortle to himself in the other room and she knew for certain that he must be touched in the head. How long, she wondered, before he would take a notion to kill her?
On the south end of the settlement, close by the banks of the river, a gathering of some seven members of the Medicine Creek Vigilance Committee—all that could be found of the crowd that had gathered earlier—stood talking under the trees. In light of what had occurred earlier that day, it was not felt to be safe to hold a meeting in town. Not even the church was considered to be sanctuary from the evil presence in the jailhouse. All seven present lived in or close by the town, otherwise some of them might have scattered with the others to escape the wrath of Tobin.
It had been a dreadfully misfortunate day for the citizens of Medicine Creek. After Tobin’s assault with his rifle, the toll was one dead and one badly wounded. And every man there marveled that the casualties had been that light.
“It’s a wonder he didn’t kill us all.” Morgan Sewell said.
“He may yet,” Blanton answered. “I know I thought I was dead meat. I heard two shots go right over my head. Damn!” He shook his head and looked at Arvin. “I thought you was dead, the way you was just laying there.”
“I know, I know,” Arvin quickly replied, avoiding Blanton’s eyes. “I reckon I just outsmarted him. I do wish I could have gotten a clear shot at him though.”
“A clear shot?” Morgan looked up surprised. “The man’s as big as a barn and he was standing in the middle of the street!”
Arvin looked uncomfortable. “There was a lot of lead flying around out there. Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. We’ve got to decide what we’re gonna do.”
“I’ll tell you what we better do.” This was Blanton. “The only thing we can do. We can’t go up against that man—I reckon we damn sure proved that this morning. We better send somebody over to Lapwai and get some help from the army. Hell, that’s what they’re supposed to be here for.”
This was met with immediate nods and grunts of approval. There were some disgruntled complaints that this idea was a mite late in coming. It should have been acted upon to begin with, when Tobin first took over their jail.
The question to be decided next was who should ride to the fort to seek help. Arvin immediately said it was his responsibility to go since he was mayor. When Blanton reminded him that Tobin had ordered him out of town before sundown, Arvin vehemently denied this had any influence upon his actions one way or the other.
“Well, it would mine,” Morgan Sewell commented. “I ain’t no damn hero. Arvin, you better go, all right. And you’d best send your wife and boy over to my place.”
“All right then, who’s going to ride with me?” Arvin said. “I’d like two more men, so the army won’t think it’s just one man complaining.” When there were no immediate volunteers, he turned to Blanton. “How about you, Henry?”
Blanton shook his head. “I reckon I’d best stay close to home. He’s liable to come lookin’ for his victuals, and I can’t leave my wife alone to deal with him.”
In the end, it was Arvin and two young single men who had no families to worry about. They saddled up and left immediately after their little meeting was over. Lapwai was little more than a half day’s ride from Medicine Creek and, even though it was now afternoon, the days were long enough to allow them to reach the fort before nightfall if they didn’t tarry.