Chapter 5

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Mary Beth wondered aloud when she saw Luke Sunday approaching their wagon.

David paused to look accusingly at his wife. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now,” he said. “We talked this thing over a hundred times, and you said you wanted to push on to Montana. I wouldn’t have said anything to the man if I thought you were gonna change your mind.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she replied quickly. “I was just wondering, that’s all. I hope we’ve put our trust in a dependable man. He just looks so wild, he scares me a little.”

“I don’t think Ben Clarke would have recommended him if he wasn’t trustworthy,” David said. “At any rate, I’ll be keeping an eye on him.” His comments were intended to assure his wife. In reality, he was a little intimidated himself by the solemn-looking scout.

“Still, if he’s so trustworthy, a person has to wonder why he isn’t scouting for the soldiers anymore,” Mary Beth said.

“We don’t know the whole story on that,” David replied. “Could be any number of reasons. Like I said, Ben Clarke said he was a good scout, and it’s lucky for us that he’s available to help us. That’s the main thing.” There was no more time for comment, for the object of their discussion was approaching to within earshot. David put the piece of harness he had been mending on the tailgate of his wagon and walked out to meet Luke.

“You ain’t changed your mind yet?” Luke asked in greeting.

“No, sir!” David replied with enthusiasm. “We’re ready to go to Montana.” He waited for Luke to dismount before introducing Mary Beth. “I know we talked briefly on the trip from Medicine Bow when you led us across that river, but we never introduced ourselves. This is my wife, Mary Beth. Honey, shake hands with our partner, Mr. Sunday.”

“It’s just plain Luke,” he said, embarrassed by David’s formal introduction. He took the hand offered to him as if afraid he might break it, then quickly released it. Pointing toward the river then, he said, “I’ll make my camp down below the bluff a ways, and we’ll start out in the mornin’.”

“You can camp here with us,” David said. “I thought you might want to make your bed under the wagon, in case we get a little snow shower during the night.”

“’Preciate it, but I’ll be all right,” Luke said, glancing up at the sky. “It don’t look much like snow tonight.”

“Well, suit yourself, but you’re welcome to share our fire,” David said. “What about supper?”

“I’ve got somethin’ to eat. I’ll be fine,” Luke assured them, then stepped back up in the saddle to discourage David’s offering more. “See you folks in the mornin’.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Mary Beth said when Luke had ridden out of earshot. “I don’t know about you, but I’m just as happy not to have him sleeping under me. I almost kicked you in the shins when you suggested it.” She followed their strange new partner with her eyes until he dropped out of sight below the bluff. “Come on, supper’s almost ready. You’d best wash up.” She glanced again at the bluffs. “I expect he just eats his meat raw, like a caveman.” For a few moments she paused to consider the situation in which she found herself. Minnesota seemed an eternity away. Even Cheyenne seemed a hundred years ago. She and David had been so young when they decided to buy a wagon and accompany a group of people starting out for Wyoming Territory. Thinking back, she realized it had really been only a little over a year and a half, and they had been filled with the optimism of youth. They had their health and ambition; what could go wrong? It didn’t take long before the harsh reality of trying to build a home on the bleak Wyoming prairie killed the bloom on their dream, and she realized that David lacked the skills and drive of his older brother, John. But she placed no blame for that on David. He tried as hard as any man, and he loved her. As long as the two of them kept trying, she felt sure they would eventually establish a home somewhere in this vast country of wild Indians and men like Luke Sunday. The latter caused her to think, If he doesn’t decide to kill us and steal all our possessions.

* * *

The next morning Luke waited until he saw David’s fire freshen up before he led his horse over to the wagon. Sounds of an army preparing to move out had awakened David and Mary Beth, even though General Crook’s column would not actually get under way before twelve or one o’clock that afternoon. Glancing up to see their guide approaching, David called out, “Good morning,” loud enough to alert Mary Beth, who was still inside the wagon. “We can have a little breakfast here in a few minutes,” David offered.

“’Preciate it,” Luke responded, “but I already ate.” His breakfast had consisted of nothing more than a few strips of deer jerky, and the only thing he needed now was a cup of coffee. He had just bought a supply of coffee beans from the sutler’s store the day before, but he was gambling on the strong possibility that the Freemans would offer theirs. He was not to be disappointed.

“You can at least have a cup of coffee,” Mary Beth said as she stepped down from the wagon.

“Yes, ma’am,” Luke replied. “That’d be mighty kind of you.” He dropped the paint’s reins to the ground, got his cup from the parfleche secured behind his saddle, and moved up to kneel by the fire while David filled the cup.

David poured a cup for himself, then sat down to drink it while Mary Beth cut strips of bacon to fry. Feeling somewhat awkward and at a loss for conversation with the solemn man he had hired to take him to Coulson, he made a show of concentrating on sipping his coffee. Sitting across the fire from Luke, he couldn’t help making a judgment on the strange man’s earthly possessions. Obviously, everything Luke Sunday owned was on that one paint pony—or the man himself. Dressed in animal skins, like an Indian, he carried a skinning knife on his belt and a bow on his back. In addition to the parfleche, his horse carried a buffalo robe behind the saddle, rolled to possibly contain a blanket and maybe some cooking utensils. The parfleche, with a hatchet strapped to it, was balanced by an ammunition bag and a quiver of arrows on the other side of the saddle. This, then, was the sum total of the man’s wealth—no home base, no family, nothing stored for the future, probably no thoughts beyond finding food for himself and his horse each day. It’s a strange partnership you’ve made, David Freeman, he told himself. I hope to hell it was a wise one.

When Mary Beth could stand the awkward silence no longer, she questioned Luke, “How long do you think it will take us to get to Coulson, Mr. Sunday?”

“Luke, ma’am. My name’s Luke. There ain’t no Mr. Sunday. I can’t say exactly. It’ll depend on how far you can drive your team in a day without wearin’ ’em out. I figure it’s best for us to head straight north from here for most of the way, before cuttin’ over to strike the Powder. If what I hear is true, that big bunch of Sioux and Cheyenne the army’s goin’ after is on the Rosebud, so we need to steer plenty wide of ’em. It’s longer than headin’ straight across the Tongue and the Bighorn, but I figured you folks wanted to get there with your scalps still on. I expect it’ll take us eleven or twelve days to get to the Yellowstone, then maybe another five to seven days from there to this town you’re lookin’ for, dependin’ on how far west it is.”

Mary Beth cast an uncertain glance in her husband’s direction. Luke’s estimate seemed much longer than they had speculated on. “We didn’t think it was that far,” she said, wondering if David was going to question Luke, but David remained silent.

Reading the doubt in their eyes, Luke said, “Well, like I said, I’d have to see how your wagon travels. This time of year you can’t count on the weather. I figure we can make twenty miles a day if we don’t run into any trouble. You might wanna ask Ben Clarke, or one of the other scouts, how far they think it is—give you a little peace of mind.”

David was quick to respond, afraid that Mary Beth might have offended him. “Oh no, we don’t have to do that. We don’t doubt your word on it. It’s just that it’s farther than we thought it was.”

“It ain’t too late to change your mind if you’re havin’ doubts about goin’,” Luke said. “I couldn’t say I blamed you.”

David looked to Mary Beth for confirmation before stating, “No, we’ve made up our minds. We’re going.”

Luke nodded in reply, then looked at Mary Beth. She looked as if still uncertain, but made no comment. He could not read complete trust in either of their eyes, but he figured that it was their problem, not his. “Well, if we’ve still got a deal, then I reckon you’d best hitch up your horses, and we’ll get a start before we burn any more daylight.” He got up to rinse out his cup, and David went to fetch his horses.

It was half an hour past sunup when they finally broke camp and headed north across a treeless landscape of rolling prairie that stretched ahead of them in a patchwork of brown grass and scattered patches of snow. In the beginning, Mary Beth rode on the wagon seat beside her husband, the uncertainty of their decision still fresh in her mind. “What’s to stop him from leading us off in this wilderness and murdering us for our money?” she whispered in spite of the fact that Luke was some fifty yards out in front of them.

“Well, I guess that would be my responsibility,” David answered.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t take care of me,” she quickly assured him, fearing she had hurt his feelings. “I know you will always protect me. I guess I’m just saying that we had better always be on our guard around him and give him no opportunity to take advantage of us.” She would not for the world belittle her husband’s protective potential, but she would not care to see him in a confrontation with a man who moved with the lethal grace of a puma, whose very demeanor spoke of a capacity for violence. “I’m just saying that it would be a good idea for you to wear your pistol belt. You never know when you might need it.” She didn’t voice it, but she also intended to get her father’s old pistol from the trunk and keep it by her bed at night. “Don’t forget, Ben Clarke told you that man was raised by Indians.”

Behind them, General Crook’s column of cavalry, infantry, and supply wagons moved out of Fort Fetterman at approximately one o’clock. Near the head of the column, Lieutenant James Findley rode with two of his scouts, Bill Bogart and George Wylie. “What happened to that feller and his wife that came with you from Medicine Bow?” Bogart asked. “They turn around and head back?” His interest in the couple was inspired solely by the glimpse he had gotten of David Freeman’s comely young wife and the wishful thinking it had created.

“No,” Findley replied. “They’re bound and determined to make it to someplace on the Yellowstone River. I heard his brother struck it rich up in Helena and they’re planning to join him.” He paused, then continued with a faint grin. “Your friend Luke Sunday went with them as a guide.”

“That son of a bitch,” Bogart blurted. “Well, I feel sorry for them folks, ’cause I wouldn’t give ’em much chance to make the Yellowstone.” He allowed himself to fume for a few moments over the mention of Luke’s name, and then another thought entered his mind. “You say they had folks that struck it rich?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Mighty interestin’,” Bogart muttered to Wylie, “and Luke Sunday’s gone with ’em. I wouldn’t mind headin’ out through Powder River country with that pretty little woman. There’s a lot of things could happen on a trip like that—some of ’em bad.” He winked at Wylie and grinned. “And some of ’em damn good.” The grin remained on his face as he brought to mind the trim figure of Mary Beth Freeman.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, Mary Beth became tired of riding in the wagon, and got off to walk beside it. At the rate of about two miles an hour, it wasn’t difficult for her to keep up. She had always prided herself in her stamina and her capacity for physical activity. As she walked, she became aware of the endless sameness of the prairie. In all directions, the scene was identical, with no trees other than a lone pine here and there that caused her to wonder how even that happened to be. The most prominent growth seemed to be scattered clumps of sagebrush. I surely hope this is not what the country around Coulson looks like, she thought. Noticing an increase in the number of clouds, she was struck by the thought that a person could easily lose her sense of direction if the sky was overcast. She concentrated her gaze on the broad back of their guide then, while thinking of the discussion she had had with David earlier. Maybe her fears about the man were unfounded, she allowed. She had to admit that he had seemed genuinely indifferent to their commitment to make the journey, and had not pressed them to go.

Unaware of the state of uneasiness he had caused, Luke rode on ahead of the wagon, alert for anything in their path that might cause a problem. There was no road to follow, not even a trail, but the terrain was not so difficult as to cause delay. While he rocked gently with the paint’s easy motion, his mind wandered back to the couple behind him. There was no doubt that the woman was the decision maker in that union, and Luke was not convinced that her husband really knew it. This country would eat up a man like David Freeman. He needed a woman as spunky and determined as Mary Beth appeared to be.

By early afternoon, Luke estimated they had probably covered more than ten miles, and figured it time to stop to rest the horses, so he signaled David when he came upon a small stream, bordered by sagebrush and one lone cottonwood tree. “I expect this is about as good a place as any to rest the horses,” he said to David when he caught up. “Might be the best time to eat somethin’ while we’re here.” Glancing up at the sky, he continued. “We might be in for a little snow, the way those clouds are lookin’. If we’re lucky, maybe it won’t be much more than a light shower—be a good idea to feed your horses some of that grain, too. They might have to work a little harder—in case we ain’t lucky.”

Old ashes near the edge of the stream served as evidence that others before them had picked this place to camp. The lack of available firewood was of major concern, but Luke assured them that a small fire, enough to boil a quick pot of coffee, could be built with sagebrush roots and branches. “I’ve still got plenty of deer jerky to keep you from starvin’ till suppertime. I figure we can make it to a little creek about halfway between here and the Cheyenne River. There’s firewood there and grass for the horses, if it ain’t snowed under by the time we get there.”

While David went about the business of unhitching his team, Luke guided his horse under the solitary cottonwood. Standing on his saddle, he was just tall enough to reach the lower limbs of the tree. With his hatchet, he chopped off as many of the branches as he could manage. Watching him, Mary Beth realized that this was the reason the tree was pruned so high up the trunk. Others before him had done the same. She assumed he was after wood for the fire and wondered if the green branches would burn well enough to serve their purpose. She learned that he had other intentions, however, when he took his knife and began skinning the bark from the branches, after which, he fed the shavings to his horse.

They rested there for an hour before hitching up and starting out again. They had driven for a couple of hours when the wind picked up and heavier, dark clouds began to roll in from the northwest, signaling an end to the fair weather. Mary Beth climbed back into the wagon and spread a blanket over her and David’s knees. “If this keeps up, I’m going to have to get our heavy coats out again,” she said as she pressed close to her husband.

“He doesn’t seem to mind it,” David said, nodding toward the lone figure sitting relaxed in the saddle some fifty or sixty yards ahead.

Contrary to their thoughts, Luke was perturbed by the sudden blast of wintry air blowing out of the mountains, but not because it was cold. He was as eager to complete this journey as the couple he was leading, and he was disappointed to see any weather that might lengthen it.

Another hour passed before the first flakes began to fall, so he was confident that they would reach the creek he had planned on with no trouble. By the time he caught sight of the little cluster of trees along the bank of the creek, the snow had begun to accumulate upon the prairie. So it was with a welcome sigh that David wheeled his wagon between the trees to park it as close to cover as he could manage. Mary Beth didn’t wait for the men to build a fire, but started gathering dead limbs while David and Luke took care of the horses. She was cold and hungry, so she gathered enough for a large fire. Then a thought entered her mind as she was about to light it. Turning to Luke, who was carrying his saddle back to throw under the wagon, she asked, “Is this too big? Should we be worried about our fire being spotted by Indians?”

Amused by her question, he showed no sign of it, however, when he answered, “No, ma’am. Make it as big as you want. I wouldn’t expect to find any Injuns in this part of the country, except maybe a Crow huntin’ party, and they’d just wanna get warm. We don’t have to worry about runnin’ across any hostiles till we get beyond the Cheyenne River and the Belle Fourche.”

“What’s the name of this creek?” David asked.

“I don’t know if it’s got a name,” Luke replied. “At least I ain’t ever heard one. I expect the Crows call it somethin’.”

“We’ll name it, then,” David said, cheered by the news that he had worried about hostile Indians needlessly. “We’ll call it Freeman’s Creek. Whaddaya think, Mary Beth?” He chuckled playfully.

When Mary Beth replied with only a look of mock impatience for her husband, Luke said, “As good a name as any, I reckon.” He started to withdraw then to set up his own camp, but was stopped by Mary Beth.

“There’s really no need for you to go off by yourself,” she said. “You might as well eat with us. For goodness’ sake, we’re going to be traveling for quite a long time and I can cook for all of us.” She said it because it was the thing to do, although she was still uncomfortable in his presence. Then she chided herself and admitted to being uncomfortable when he was not around as well, and she had to wonder what he might be up to.

As stoic as ever, Luke nodded thoughtfully before replying, “I reckon it makes more sense at that, instead of makin’ two fires and two camps every day. If you’re offerin’ to do the cookin’, then I reckon I can volunteer to provide the meat, so we don’t cook up all the salt pork you’ve got. Is that all right with you folks?”

“That’s a fair arrangement,” David said. So the partnership was struck, although David still wore his pistol belt and Mary Beth kept her late father’s revolver close to her, even while cooking the supper. The only one not wearing a weapon while they were camped was the one the other two sought to defend themselves against. It did not go unnoticed by Luke, but it failed to concern him. In fact, he couldn’t say that he really blamed them.

After a supper of boiled beans, bacon, and coffee, Mary Beth was relieved to hear Luke turn down David’s suggestion that he should sleep under the wagon to give him some protection from the snow, which had shown no sign of stopping. “’Preciate it,” Luke said, “but I think it’d be a good idea if I slept over on the other side of the creek where I can spot anythin’ movin’ on the prairie behind us. I can make a half shelter with my buffalo robe to keep the snow off.” He figured that was as good a reason as any, although it could have occurred to David to point out that something might come upon them from the other direction. His real reason was having no desire to sleep under the young couple. During supper, David had remarked that he and Mary Beth had only been married for less than two years. Luke didn’t want to hear them struggling over his head all night, in case the bloom had not faded in their lovemaking yet. When there was no comment from either of them questioning his reasoning, he finished his coffee and said good night.

Thank you, Mary Beth thought as she watched him depart, for she unknowingly shared similar feelings. David was still inclined to seek intimacy at what she considered inappropriate times, and she did not care to share them with their sinister guide. She never denied her husband’s advances, even though her mood might not match his. David was not a confident man, having never really succeeded in any important endeavor, and she was careful not to discourage his ardor, lest he feel rejected. Her mind returned to the circumstances of their marriage. The only daughter, raised in a household with four brothers, she was eager to accept the first decent opportunity to escape the madhouse of her family. Being the eldest, she was more like a second mother to her brothers, and burdened with the responsibility of cooking, washing clothes, and cleaning up after the rowdy boys.

David’s family owned the farm next to her father’s in Minnesota. The youngest of the Freeman boys, David soon came to call on Mary Beth. She was a little ashamed to admit it, but when he proposed to her, she said yes, primarily to escape her family. The fact that David had dreams of making it on his own in the free country of the West, as his older brother had done, suited her even better. So they bade farewell to family and friends and set out for a plot of land near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, a piece of land that David had bought sight unseen. The land turned out to be one hundred and twenty-five acres of arid soil, incapable of sustaining crops. Mary Beth did not complain during the long, hard months they worked to bring life to a land that refused to support it. She worked just as hard to build her marriage and strengthen a love for her husband that she had to admit was not fully there in their beginning. When they received word from David’s brother inviting them to join him in Montana, they were both ready to go. Now it appeared that, after some discouraging setbacks, they had found a way to continue their quest—even if it was with a half-civilized guide. She could not consider herself a brave woman, but she was determined as hell at this point.

* * *

David and Mary Beth were awakened the next morning by the sound of distant gunfire from the north. Alarmed, they scrambled out of the wagon to discover Luke standing on the opposite bank, his ear to the wind, listening. Seeing that the couple was awake, he crossed over to their side, carrying an armload of dead limbs for the fire.

“Whaddaya think it is?” David asked. “You think we’re in trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Luke replied calmly. “Sounds to me like somebody’s run up on some buffalo, most likely a Crow huntin’ party. I was just fixin’ to go take a look. I was waitin’ for you folks to wake up—didn’t want you to think I’d run off and left you. I’ll get a fire started.” About a four-inch blanket of snow had fallen during the night, ending an hour or so before sunup. Luke raked it away to uncover the charred remains of their fire from the night before. In short order he had a healthy blaze glowing, and when he was sure of its promise, he got to his feet. “I won’t be gone long,” he said as he started toward his horse.

“How long should we wait here?” David asked.

“You go ahead and fix your breakfast and get ready to break camp. If I ain’t back by then, start out without me.” Before David could form words to voice the alarm at once reflected in his eyes, Luke turned and pointed toward the northern skyline. “See that line of hills with what looks like a chimney at one end of it? You just start your horses on that line, and I’ll meet you before you get there.”

“Don’t you want to wait and get some coffee before you go?” Mary Beth asked.

“No, ma’am,” Luke replied. “You folks ought not take too much time gettin’ started. I wanna make camp tonight at the Cheyenne River. That’s about twenty miles from here, and this snow ain’t gonna make it any easier.”

“What if you aren’t there by the time we reach that rock?” David asked.

“I’ll be there,” Luke assured him. “That rock’s the best part of ten miles away.” He stepped up in the saddle and guided the paint along the north bank of the creek.

Mary Beth moved up to stand beside her husband, and they both watched him until he faded into the early morning mist hovering over the creek. There was no need to express the feeling of emptiness that descended upon them at that moment. Their wagon, a pinpoint in a vast ocean of stark white prairie that extended on all sides to a distant horizon, left them with the realism that without their guide, they were truly lost. “You don’t suppose—” Mary Beth started.

“He’ll be back,” David interrupted her. “He said he’ll be back, so don’t start worrying your mind about it.” Another thought occurred to him then. “He ain’t gonna leave before he gets his money, so let’s just get some coffee boiling and get ready to go.”

Breakfast was a hurried affair on this morning, with no lingering over coffee afterward. Mary Beth was washing her dishes and the frying pan before David had a chance to finish his bacon. Gone for the moment were her feelings of suspicion and discomfort she had harbored for the tall scout whenever he was around. They were replaced by a need for reassurance from his quiet confidence and indifferent manner.

* * *

After a ride of approximately five miles, Luke approached a low ridge that appeared to be one side of a wide, grassy draw. The sound of random gunfire from the other side of the ridge, and the rumble of many hooves, told him that what he had suspected was probably true, that someone was killing buffalo. To make sure, however, and to determine if they were friend or foe, he left his horse when almost to the top of the ridge and climbed the rest of the way on foot.

Lying on his belly at the top of the ridge, he watched for only a minute or two before uttering, “Black Feather.” He had run up on the Crow scouts he had been sent to find several days before, led by his friend Black Feather. He watched for a few minutes as the small herd of perhaps one hundred buffalo swept through the draw with the Crow hunters darting in and out of the mass of bodies to kill what they needed, their nimble ponies quick to avoid the dangerous horns. With no further need for caution, Luke got to his feet and went back to get his horse.

Riding diagonally down the side of the ridge, he urged the paint to join the hunt. Having done it many times before, the fearless horse charged into the mob of thundering hooves. So intense was the chase that the Crow hunters were not aware of the addition to their hunt until the Henry rifle spoke and a young cow collapsed with a .44 slug placed neatly behind her left front leg to take a tumble in the snow-covered grass. Surprised, for there had been no rider to his left moments before, Black Feather jerked his head around to see Luke bearing down on another cow. “Hi-yi!” he cried out excitedly. “Dead Man!”

Luke raised his rifle overhead in greeting to his friend, then abruptly reined the paint back, veering away from the stampeding herd. The one buffalo cow was enough to supply the Freemans and himself for a good while, so there was no sense in killing more. The Crow hunters, most of whom were still unaware that he had joined them, continued their chase for a short while longer before breaking off to return to butcher the carcasses left behind. Upon seeing Luke, they quickly gathered around him.

“Have you come to join us?” Black Feather asked.

“No,” Luke answered in the Crow tongue. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you were going to meet General Crook.”

“We go to meet him at the Powder River near Dry Fork, where the army fort used to be,” Little Bear said.

“The soldiers left Fort Fetterman one sleep ago,” Luke said. “Maybe two more sleeps they’ll reach Fort Reno and think you’ll be there.”

Black Feather shrugged indifferently. “We had big hunt, killed plenty meat for our village. That was important before we left to fight Sioux.” He and the others went on to explain that they were on their way to meet General Crook when they happened upon a second herd of buffalo. They were fortunate to be able to take advantage of this smaller herd to make meat for their battle with the Sioux.

“Need strong meat,” Little Bear said. “Soldiers fight on coffee, beans, and tree bark. No iron in their food. Absaroka warrior need iron in food.”

Luke had to smile at Little Bear’s comparison of the army’s hardtack to tree bark. He shared the sentiment. “Crook expects to find you at Fort Reno when he gets there,” he repeated.

“We go,” Black Feather said, “when we butcher the meat.” Luke knew there was no use in trying to hurry him. The Indian tended to put things in proper priority, and having decent food was more important than being at a particular point on the Powder because the soldiers would be there at that time. “Soldier Chief send you to find us again?” Black Feather asked.

“No, I’m not goin’ with you,” Luke replied, switching back to English. “The general fired me. I’m taking a couple of white settlers to the Yellowstone. I thought you were long gone.” The Crows could not understand the reason for not using Luke as a scout, even after he tried to explain the events that led to his dismissal. Luke refrained from telling them that he was also a friend of Two Moons of the Cheyenne. That might have been a little difficult for Black Feather to understand. He went on to tell them about David and Mary Beth, and his promise to lead them to the Yellowstone.

“Maybe we don’t go to scout for Soldier Chief,” Little Bear said in support of Luke. His comment was followed with grunts of agreement among the warriors gathered around.

“No,” Luke insisted. “The general needs you, and he wants you to keep all the Sioux ponies you can capture.”

This served to remind the warriors of the main reason for volunteering to scout for the soldiers, the prospect of stealing many ponies, so the focus of their attention was returned to the business of butchering their kill. Luke knew they would be another day or two longer before arriving at Fort Reno. They would feast on the fresh meat today while drying out the rest. As for his cow, he would butcher it right away, using his knife and hatchet, wrap the portions he wanted to take in the buffalo’s hide, then ride to intercept David and Mary Beth. The weather was still cold enough to keep the meat until they reached the Cheyenne River, so he planned to camp there long enough to smoke the meat to preserve it. When his butchering was done, and the meat loaded on his horse, he wished his Crow friends good luck and bade them farewell.

* * *

Mindful of his pony’s heavy load, he slow-walked the paint on a course that would intercept the wagon before it reached the stone pillar he had pointed out to David. Random thoughts played upon his mind as he guided the paint through a series of deep gullies with frequent outcroppings of the unusual dark brown rock, prevalent in this broad prairie. The rock had always struck him as odd. It looked soft and had a lot of little holes in it as if a carpenter had taken an awl and drilled it, and he could think of no practical use for it.

It was well past noon while resting in the shadow of the stone pillar when he spotted the wagon in the distance. Assuming they would be ready to stop to rest the horses and eat something, he placed more sticks on the fire he had built, and cut some strips of fresh meat to roast. Firewood was scarce, since the only source were two dwarf trees that survived on the tiny trickle of water generated by the melting snow on the ridge above. For that reason, he had no thoughts of smoke-curing the buffalo meat until they reached the Cheyenne River.

“Well, looks like we made it to the rock, and where in hell is our guide?” David complained as they approached the tall stone pillar. Already starting to wonder what he would do if Luke failed to show, he was about to voice his concern when Mary Beth interrupted.

“Is that smoke I see?” She pointed to the thin column wafting up from the base of the pillar.

“I think you’re right,” David said, wary now that they might have encountered some Indians. His fears were alleviated at once, however, by the appearance of Luke Sunday when the rugged scout stepped up on a rock and waved them on. More than ready to stop for a while, David drove his wagon around the rock to discover a fire going and the aroma of roasting meat. It was a welcome sight, and Mary Beth wasted no time in getting out her coffeepot.

“I’ve got a pretty good supply of meat that I need to smoke before it starts to turn,” Luke told them. I need to load it on your wagon, if you’ve got room. Then if you folks ain’t in that big a hurry, we can lay over for a day to dry it out when we get to the Cheyenne.”

“We’ll make room for that,” Mary Beth replied. “It’ll save some of our supplies.” She glanced at David and he nodded in return.

There was still an invisible wall of caution between the young couple and their somber guide. Luke could sense it, and was becoming tired of it, so he thought it was time to comment on it. “Look, folks, you can stop worryin’ about me. I said I’d take you to this little town of yours, and that’s what I’ll do. I ain’t gonna rob you, or kill you, or leave you on your own out here on the prairie.”

David blanched, embarrassed by Luke’s accurate assessment of the situation. Mary Beth clearly blushed. “Why, Mr. Sunday, we didn’t worry about that at all,” she started, then paused before continuing. “Well, yes, we were a little worried about that, I’ll admit. I guess we owe you an apology, but we didn’t know anything about you, and you’re so . . .” She didn’t finish, unable to find a word that wouldn’t offend.

Luke had to smile. “It’s Luke, ma’am. There ain’t no Mr. Sunday.”

Mary Beth returned his smile. “All right, Luke.” She emphasized the name. “We won’t worry about you anymore, but you should smile more often, so you don’t look so fierce.” Obviously relieved of a heavy burden, she said, “If we’re going to stay an extra day when we get to the river, I might go into my flour barrel and bake us some bread to go with all this meat you’ve supplied.”