There was a definite threat of snow in the clouds that hovered over the stark wooden structures of Silver City, giving the dull gray buildings an even more forlorn appearance as the gray Indian pony loped along the one road through town. To Joel McAllister, the town looked less hospitable than it did when he had seen it before. He reminded himself that the people of Silver City had no knowledge of the murderous war waging between Ronald Beauchamp and the McAllisters. He didn’t expect much cooperation from the sheriff, but as he had told Boone, he thought it was in their best interest to let the law know their side of the story. This was just in case it became necessary for the law to become involved in the dispute.
Riley had bemoaned the fact that he was missing an opportunity to visit the saloon again, but he understood the necessity of staying behind to help guard the ranch. Joel assured him that he planned a short visit, so there wasn’t going to be any time wasted on drinking whiskey. This in spite of the contention Riley made that time spent drinking whiskey was never wasted time.
Toby Bryan looked up from his work and gave Joel a nod as he rode past the blacksmith’s shop, reminding him that he had to bring the horses in to be shod. Joel returned Toby’s nod with the touch of his finger to his hat brim.
Across from the Silver Dollar, a small building proclaimed itself to be the sheriff’s office. Joel wheeled the gray in by the hitching rail and dismounted. As on most occasions, Jim Crowder was seated at his desk, drinking coffee. He glanced up when Joel walked in the door, thinking he was probably one of the many prospectors with a claim somewhere who had come to complain about a claim jumper or some other bothersome problem. On second thought, on seeing that Joel was dressed in buckskins, he had the notion that he was one of the men Beauchamp had warned him about.
“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Joel said. “My name’s Joel McAllister. I thought I’d best come in and tell you about some cattle rustlin’ goin’ on at my brother’s place.”
“Oh, now,” Crowder replied, already with a hint of skepticism, “is that a fact? McAllister cattle?”
It seemed an odd question, but Joel answered, “Yeah, McAllister cattle, and it ain’t the first time it’s happened. This time, though, we were able to catch them in the act. There were three rustlers. We drove them off, except one, and he’s still lyin’ out behind a pile of rocks where we left him for the buzzards. I’m pretty sure one of the two that got away was hit once, maybe twice, but he stayed in the saddle. We thought you just might wanna know about it, since a man got killed.”
Crowder reacted at once. “You shot a man? Who was it?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Joel replied. “He didn’t have anything on him to identify him, but I suspect if you took him over to Blackjack Mountain, some of Beauchamp’s men could tell you who he was. You might even find the other one that got shot.” He paused to watch Crowder’s obviously confused reaction. “Matter of fact, if you’re inclined to do that, you might still beat the buzzards to the body, and you could take him over to Beauchamp’s.”
“Well, I ain’t inclined to do that,” Crowder retorted. Then he remembered Boss Beauchamp’s complaint that his cattle were being stolen and he suspected McAllister was the culprit. “These fellers you shot, were they on Mr. Beauchamp’s property?”
Joel was rapidly coming to appreciate Boone’s assessment of the bungling sheriff. “No. Like I just said, they were rustlin’ our cattle. We don’t keep our cattle on Beauchamp’s property.”
“Is that a fact?” Crowder replied. “How come I’m gettin’ reports that somebody’s been rustlin’ Beauchamp’s cattle?”
“I don’t know,” Joel answered. “Who reported it?”
“Different folks,” Crowder came back. “Never you mind. The fact of the matter is we didn’t start havin’ no trouble like that around here until your brother staked a claim on that mountain.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asked.
“It means that maybe you and your brother might be the ones I’d better be watchin’, instead of you comin’ in here tellin’ me somebody’s stealin’ your cows. That feller you killed, how the hell do I know you didn’t just murder some drifter that came on your land by mistake?”
Joel’s patience was already wearing thin, and he could already see that Boone had been right when he said it was a waste of time reporting to the sheriff. “’Cause I wouldn’t be stupid enough to come in and tell you I murdered a man. Maybe you oughta come out and take a look at him. If he’s one of Beauchamp’s men, there’s a good chance you might recognize him. While you’re at it, why don’t you check the doctor’s office, if you’ve got a doctor in this town? Might be he’s treated a man for gunshot wounds.”
Crowder was only getting more and more confounded. He knew what Beauchamp had told him, and he didn’t want to hear anything that would make him doubt it. He had made no mention of losing a man, and Crowder was pretty sure Doc Murphy hadn’t treated any gunshot patients recently. Doc would have told him if that had been the case. McAllister was a troublemaker. That much he had been convinced of, and the sheriff owed Beauchamp too much to question his word. Now he wasn’t sure if he should take some kind of action while one of the troublemakers was standing in his office.
“I’m thinkin’ it might be a good idea to lock you up till I find out the straight of things,” he finally said.
Joel’s expression turned stone cold. “That would be a mistake to even try,” he said evenly. “Of all the things possible to happen here today, that ain’t one of ’em. I reckon I found out you wouldn’t do anything about the cattle rustlin’. That was my mistake, but it’s the only one I’m plannin’ to make, so I’m fixin’ to walk outta here now and leave you to go back to drinkin’ your coffee.”
Crowder started to get up from his chair but thought better of it when the move caused Joel to swing his carbine up to grasp it with both hands, cocking it as he did.
“You’re ridin’ on rocky ground, mister,” Crowder warned. “I’m gonna be keepin’ my eye on you and all the rest of that bunch on that mountain.”
“You do that, Sheriff. You might find out what’s goin’ on outside your little town.”
He backed carefully to the door until he felt the doorknob. Then, never taking his eyes off Crowder, he opened the door and wasted no time climbing into the saddle. Backing the gray, while keeping his eye on the open door, he continued past the general store before wheeling his horse and galloping back to the north end of town. He halfway expected a rifle shot to ring out after him, but the sheriff was still too undecided to act.
• • •
When Joel got back to the ranch house, the men had already been fed and were gone, and the dishes were washed and put away. Only Ruthie was in the kitchen when he walked in.
“Elvira said you’d be getting back pretty soon,” she said. “We saved a plate for you. It’s warming in the oven. Sit down and I’ll get it for you.”
“I ’preciate it, Ruthie,” he responded, then walked over to the coffeepot sitting on the corner of the stove, shook it back and forth to see if there was anything in it, and picked up a cup and filled it. “Where are the women?”
“Out behind the barn,” Ruthie said. “Aunt Elvira is showing Blue Beads how to shoot that Henry your brother gave her.” To confirm it, a shot rang out from that direction, followed after a long pause by another. Joel started at once, but Ruthie laughed and assured him that it was Blue Beads. “She wants to be sure she knows how to shoot the rifle if she has to, and she keeps wanting to put the cartridges down the barrel like she did with that musket.”
The comment caused Joel to chuckle, as he pictured Elvira giving shooting lessons to the Shoshoni woman. “I’m surprised Elvira has the patience to teach anybody,” he said. “But seems like she knows something about everything—more’n a lot of men.” He went to work on the plate of food then.
“Riley said to tell you that he went with your brother to the mine, so you should go on over to the north side and help Red Shirt with the stock,” Ruthie told him.
“Right,” Joel replied. “I’ll be leavin’ as soon as I finish this fine supper you and the women fixed.”
Ruthie blushed. “I didn’t fix much of it. Aunt Elvira and Blue Beads did most of it.”
“Well, it’s mighty good,” he said. “You all did a good job.”
He watched the young girl as she poured herself a cup from the pot and sat down at the other end of the table. He hadn’t allowed himself much time to think about the child’s welfare, so he thought to ask how she was doing. She never mentioned her late family, at least not around him, but he knew that she had taken to Elvira, and he supposed the gregarious woman was taking care of the girl’s needs.
“You and Elvira ever talk about what you wanna do,” he asked, “I mean, whether you’re gonna try to make it on out to Oregon in the summer?”
“Sometimes we talk about different things we might be able to do,” she replied, then paused to make a face after she took a sip of the coffee. “Ugh,” she grunted. “This coffee is strong enough to take the hair off a porcupine.” He laughed. No doubt her words came directly from Elvira. She continued. “I think Aunt Elvira would just as soon stay right here with you and Riley and Blue Beads, but I’m not sure that’s what everybody wants.”
He took a long sip of the strong coffee. The girl was right, it did have a helluva bite. While he sipped, he thought about the commitment he was about to make. Hell, it’s the right thing to do, he thought, and proceeded.
“Well, let me tell you this, young lady. You and Elvira are welcome to stay with me for as long as you want—for the rest of your life if you want.”
Her face broke out with a wide smile. “I know that’s what Aunt Elvira wants.”
“What about you?”
“Me, too,” she said with a delighted giggle. On an impulse then, she jumped up and scurried over to give him a huge hug. “We’re like your family, then,” she said.
“I reckon so,” he admitted. When he had time alone to think about it, he would almost become choked up when recalling the young girl’s delight. He wasn’t sure what Boone and Riley might think of his generous offer to take on the woman and girl. Maybe he should have asked them first, but he figured they weren’t likely to want to set the two of them off on their own.
“I guess I’d better get my horse and head out for the north side of the mountain before it gets any later. I wanna see Boone before I head up to the pasture. If I show up there after dark, Red Shirt might think I’m a rustler and shoot me.”
• • •
Boone took another look at the clouds that were almost sitting on the tops of the mountains. They looked even more like snow clouds, and he felt sure they couldn’t hold their heavy load for much longer. The afternoon light was already fading by the time he reached the mine. Having watched his brother’s approach up the trail, Boone came out from the large boulder he and Riley had taken cover behind.
“How’d it go with the sheriff?” he asked when Joel rode up to them.
“Pretty much like you said it would,” Joel answered. “I tried to get him to come out and take a look at that rustler we shot to see if he recognized him. He wasn’t interested. In fact, he acted like he wanted to arrest me. Beauchamp told him we were rustlin’ his cattle.”
“I figured that would be the way of it,” Boone said. “The son of a bitch has got the whole town by the testicles. Even folks like Toby Bryan and Jake Tully believe what he tells ’em. They know better, but they’re too damn scared of him not to believe him. That goes for the bank, the hotel, and Marvin Thompson, who owns the general store.” He paused to look up at the sky when the first snowflakes suddenly began to fall softly on the brim of his hat. “Looks like we might get more than a couple of flurries outta this one,” he said.
“Looks like it,” Joel agreed. “I expect I’d best get on over to Red Shirt before we get enough snow to leave tracks.” He looked at Riley then and joked, “How come you’re teamin’ up with Boone tonight? Wouldn’t Red Shirt let you get a word in edgewise?” He grinned at Boone then and said what they all knew to be true. “Riley talks all the time, but he needs somebody to answer once in a while. Red Shirt doesn’t do anything but shrug his shoulders. Ain’t that right, Riley?”
“Huh,” Riley grunted. “I just figured it wasn’t fair to deprive Boone of some of the knowledge I’ve been collectin’ all my life—things he ain’t likely to learn from young fellers like you.”
“I’m glad we came out from behind that rock,” Boone said. “The horse shit’s likely to get too deep to stand in if you two keep talkin’.”
“All right,” Joel said with a chuckle. “I’ll get along over to my post. Red Shirt’s probably gettin’ lonely over there by himself.”
He nudged the gray with a touch of his heels and was off, leaving them to take up their position behind the boulder again.
• • •
As he had speculated, a steady snowfall continued on into the night, causing Joel and Red Shirt to drape a large deer hide over the pine branches that served as their lookout post.
“I’d be surprised if we get any visitors tonight,” Joel commented as the snow began to accumulate to form a blanket.
It was a dry snow and the horses and cattle were still content to graze in the meadow, showing no signs of seeking shelter in the stand of pine trees at the lower end of the meadow. Along about midnight, the snow stopped, leaving a blanket about four inches thick to cloak the mountainside. An hour later, they heard the first shots.
“Oh, hell!” Joel uttered, immediately alarmed because the initial shots soon became a volley, and he knew Riley and Boone were under attack from more than the usual two or three men.
“Many men,” Red Shirt confirmed. It was apparent to them both that Beauchamp had decided on all-out war, and had sent his entire gang to seek vengeance for the killing of one of his men.
Frantic to come to the aid of Boone and Riley, Joel and Red Shirt scrambled out from under their deer-hide shelter and ran back up into the band of spruce trees where their horses were tied. Suddenly they were met by three simultaneous muzzle flashes that erupted in the darkness of the trees. Joel instinctively dived to the ground. Red Shirt was not so fortunate, as he was knocked off his feet by a shot that hit him high in his chest.
After the volley, the three men waiting in ambush ran out to confirm their kills, thinking they had hit both targets. The first two fell when Joel fired at almost point-blank range, and Red Shirt, straining from the pain of his wound, managed to get off a shot. The unexpected return fire was enough to cause the remaining assailant to try to run back to cover, but it also gave Joel time to eject the spent cartridge and put a round in the middle of the man’s back.
Lying still in the snow-covered needles, Joel listened for signs of life from their attackers. The only sounds he could hear were the continuing reports of gunfire from the direction of the mine. When he felt certain the three were dead, he whispered to Red Shirt, “Are you shot?” He wasn’t sure if his friend had been hit or not.
“I’m shot,” Red Shirt replied, breathing hard. “I don’t know how bad. Hurt like hell.”
“Let me make damn sure they’re dead. Then I’ll see if I can help you,” Joel said, and got to his feet.
When no shots came to greet him, he went quickly to confirm the deaths. He found one already dead, and the other two evidently mortally wounded. One of them looked somehow familiar to him, and it occurred to him that it was the man he had left lying on the floor of the Silver Dollar Saloon. The nasty cut on the side of his face confirmed it. Seeing no reason not to, he quickly dispatched them to hell along with their partner in ambush.
Hurrying back to Red Shirt then, he tried to determine how badly he was hurt. It was hard to tell. The Bannock warrior was obviously in great pain, but there was some hope for him since the bullet had struck him high in the chest. Although he was breathing very hard, there was no sign of blood in his mouth, so Joel hoped that meant his lung had not been hit.
The question before him now was what to do about the apparent attack still going on at the mine. From the sound of the shooting, Boone and Riley were badly outnumbered. He had to help them, but he was reluctant to leave Red Shirt. Guessing as much, Red Shirt said, “Go to help brother.”
“I can’t leave you like this,” Joel protested.
“I wait for you. You help brother.” When Joel still hesitated, the warrior insisted. “I make it all right. Go.”
Joel didn’t hesitate further. “I’ve gotta go help them and the women,” he said, “but I’ll be back to get you.”
He went back to their lookout post and got the deer hide they had used for shelter. Spreading it over the wounded Indian, he tucked it in about him to help keep him warm. As an added precaution, he scattered some snow over the hide. “I’ll be back for you,” he assured him once more. He hurried back up into the trees then, past the three bodies, to find his and Red Shirt’s horses tied where they had left them. In a few seconds, he was on his way around the mountain, aware that he no longer heard any gunshots coming from the direction of the mine.
He was not halfway there when he realized the gunfire now seemed farther away, and in a horrible instant, he knew that what he was now hearing was the ranch house and the women under attack. His brain was spinning insanely as he pictured the scene at the house, and he kicked the gray frantically, demanding extra speed. Not sure of anything in his panic, he thought he could distinguish the sound of the Sharps carbine that Elvira now used.
I’m coming, he said to himself. Hold on. I’m coming.
When he reached the mine, there was no one in sight under the dark sky, so he charged straight up toward the boulder where he had last seen Boone and Riley. Seeing the bodies lying behind the rock, he jumped from the saddle, his weapon at the ready, but there was no one but the dead, a grim picture of the battle that had occurred there. Almost choking on a sob, he rolled his brother’s body over. Like Riley’s next to him, Boone’s body was riddled with bullet holes, and also like Riley, he had been scalped.
Joel cried out in anguish too painful to contain. His brother was covered with blood, his cold, nonseeing eyes staring up at him. Lost for a moment in his grief, he was suddenly jerked back to the present by more gunshots ringing out at the house.
The women, he thought. Maybe it was not too late to save them. He had to caution himself to make sure there was no longer any threat at this position, so he took a few moments to search the trees just above the boulder where their horses had been tied. He found evidence of Boone’s and Riley’s fight to defend themselves in the form of two bodies lying near the tree line. That was as much time as he would spend before climbing on his horse and galloping over the snow-covered path to his brother’s house.
When he approached the gap in the trees where the trail cut through to the house, he saw the smoke at the same time he became aware that he no longer heard the shooting. Moments later, he found himself flying through the air to land heavily on the ground, rolling over and over before he could stop. Thinking at first that he had been shot, he then realized that his horse had tumbled, throwing him from the saddle. Farther down the hill, he was relieved to see the gray getting to its feet and shaking off the snow. His next thought was to find his rifle, so he scrambled to his feet and looked quickly around him until he spotted it lying several yards above him in the snow. Not sure how many his enemies were, he picked up his carbine and hurried down the slope to his horse. Taking the tired horse’s reins, he left the trail that cut through the gap and led the gray into the band of pines above the house.
His intention was to approach the house from behind, so as to have the opportunity to see where the raiders were before they saw him. By the time he reached the edge of the trees behind the barn, however, he could see flames from the house reaching far up into the cold night air, and he knew he was too late. It was a deep, sickening feeling that churned in his stomach. Leaving his horse there in the trees, he made his way down behind the barn and climbed through the rails of the empty corral. From the front corner post, he paused to look over the yard. There was no one in sight near the house or barn. They had done their evil business and gone—and he was too late.
He ran across the brightly lit yard, which was pockmarked with hundreds of hoofprints in the snow, evidence of the murdering mob of gunmen circling the house, shooting at the windows, terrorizing the three women left to defend it. Looking for an entry into the burning house, he found the kitchen door was the only way, so he plunged through the flames lapping at the doorjambs into the smoke-filled room. With little time to spare before the roof gave way, he moved frantically from room to room. He found them in the living room, each of the three shot more than a dozen times, their bodies lying side by side. Ruthie’s body had been partially stripped of her clothes, and all three had been scalped. Unable to control it, he howled out his grief, to ring out over the sound of the crackling flames and the burning timbers, penetrating the uncaring night like the howl of a wolf.
He stood motionless, drowned in his despair, until his lungs began to choke in the smoke-filled room, and he thought again of Red Shirt lying helplessly waiting higher up on the mountain. His emotions turned from despair to rage as he pictured the wanton massacre of the women and the girl. In a hurry now to go to the aid of the wounded Indian, he plunged back through the burning door into the cold night air.
Beauchamp intended to disguise his murderous attack as an Indian raid. The scalping was testimony to that, but the three men he and Red Shirt had killed, and the two killed by Boone and Riley, were not Indians, so there was no doubt in his mind where to place the blame. How, he wondered, was Beauchamp going to explain the five dead men who were members of his ranch crew? Five bodies were all Joel could account for. There might have been more of his men killed. It was unlikely that Elvira had not fought like the she-lion he had come to know.
The thought of the tough, fearless woman caused him to grimace as he recalled his last image of her, lying beside the mutilated body of the young girl. He thought that he would never be able to forgive himself for not being there to protect them, no matter how many ways he tried to justify the circumstances. Neither he nor Boone nor Riley had anticipated the depth of evil Beauchamp was capable of, thinking he would not target the women. Shaking his head in an effort to dispel the image of the slaughtered women and the girl, he reminded himself that Red Shirt waited helplessly for his return.
Nothing more I can do for the dead, he thought. I’ve got to tend to the living. He headed back across the barnyard to the trees where he had left his horse.
• • •
Mike Strong led the remaining members of his raiding party along the trail that curved back around the mountain to the entrance of Boone McAllister’s mine. They had done the job they had set out to do, but at a cost in lives he had not anticipated. Two of his men were killed in the attack on McAllister and the man with him at the mine. And Jim Corbett’s body was riding across his saddle, as he’d been shot by one of the women at the house.
Strong was on his way now to retrieve the two bodies at the mine with only six of his original crew riding behind him. Of considerable concern to him now was the fate of the three men he had sent to kill anyone they found guarding the stock in the north meadow. He had heard shots from that part of the mountain, but his three men had not caught up with him yet. He considered the possibility that they had ridden to the mine and were waiting for him there.
Maybe I should have sent a couple more of the men with them, he thought. He was anxious to get off McAllister’s property, but he knew there could be none of Boss Beauchamp’s men left anywhere on that mountain, since it was designed to look like an Indian attack.
When the outlaws rode up to the boulder above the mine entrance, there was no one there, only the two bodies he had left there before.
“Damn!” Strong spat. “Where the hell is Hadley and the other two?” Not expecting an answer, he issued his orders. “Fetch those two horses.” He pointed toward the trees where they had left them. “And load their bodies. We’re wastin’ too much time. I wanna get the hell off this mountain.”
They hustled to obey his orders. There was nothing left to do now but ride over to the meadow to see what had happened to the missing three men, so they started out again, their dead lying across their saddles, following behind them.
• • •
After climbing straight up the south side of the mountain, Joel crossed over the top, leading his horse down the steep slope toward the stand of trees above the stock pasture. Halfway through the trees, he came to a sudden stop. Below him, he saw the raiders who had brought this murderous hell down upon his brother and his friends. His initial reaction was to attack, but he managed to hold his temper in check while he attempted to think before acting recklessly.
Where is Red Shirt? Beauchamp’s men were loading the three men he and the Bannock warrior had killed onto their horses, but there was no sign of the Indian.
He tied his horse to a tree limb and moved carefully down to a position behind a stunted pine near the edge of the meadow where he could see more clearly. So far, no one seemed to take notice of his movements, busy as they were in loading the three bodies of their companions onto their horses. Joel cocked his rifle and brought his sights to bear on the man directing the actions of the others, but he hesitated to pull the trigger while his eyes followed the slope up into the trees where he had carried his wounded partner. It struck him then that the party of raiders had taken no notice of the figure lying motionless under the snow-covered deer hide just inside the tree line. Dead or alive? There was no way he could tell.
The burning desire to open fire on the murdering rabble was almost overpowering, but he could not risk exposing his wounded friend. For if he opened fire, the natural instinct of the outlaws would be to scurry for cover in the trees, and that would lead them right to Red Shirt. Aching to retaliate for the evil they had inflicted upon his brother and his adopted family, Joel watched helplessly as the raiders loaded the bodies and prepared to ride. All he could do was keep his rifle aimed at the leader of the pack, waiting in case one of the men discovered the Bannock warrior lying no more than sixty feet from where they were working.
It seemed an eternity to the man with the carbine aimed and cocked, but in reality, it was only a matter of minutes before the bodies of the would-be assassins were loaded on the horses and the intruders were in the saddle. Finally they turned and rode back down the mountain. Joel got up from his position on the ground and stood watching them until they disappeared in the trees below the meadow.
It struck him hard then, the magnitude of the evil that had changed his life so suddenly, and so drastically. Nothing experienced in the savage battles he had survived in the war just ended could match the wanton and senseless murders of these innocent people. He was not conscious of thinking it, but his life was changed from that moment forward. Lost from his world were all traces of joy and celebration, to be replaced by one relentless crusade to exact the vengeance demanded by the innocent dead.
Finally he brought his tormented mind back to the business at hand and went back for his horse, then hurried down through the trees to the tangle of bushes where he had left Red Shirt. Even though he had carried the Bannock there himself, still he had to look twice before he spotted the deer hide. There was nothing to indicate a living being under the snow-covered hide, no movement, and no signs that there had been. It appeared that once again he was too late in returning. He started to pull the hide aside to make certain, but something cautioned him to be careful.
“Red Shirt,” he said, “it’s me, Joel.” Then he reached down and pulled the hide back to be confronted with the muzzle of a Sharps carbine aimed at his chest.
“Joel,” Red Shirt said with obvious effort. “I wait. I know you come.”
It was with a great feeling of relief when Joel found his friend still among the living. His one thought now was to get the wounded warrior someplace where he could find help. There was a doctor in Silver City, but Joel felt it was a risk to take him there. Based upon the reception he had received from the sheriff, and the general feeling that Beauchamp owned the whole town, it didn’t seem like a safe place for him or Red Shirt. The second option was to try to tend to Red Shirt’s wound himself. He had seen many men in the war with bullet wounds, but he was not confident in his skills as a doctor.
Thinking he had little choice, he said, “I reckon I can try to see if I can dig that bullet outta you.” Red Shirt nodded his understanding. “First, I think I’d better move you to a better place where I can build a fire to keep you from freezin’ to death before I get it out. Are you up to bein’ moved?” Again, Red Shirt nodded. “All right,” Joel said. “I’ll try to be as easy as I can on you.”
He left his patient for a little longer while he moved up the slope, looking for a better place. About thirty-five yards higher up in the band of trees that extended halfway around the mountain, he found a tiny clearing that would be suitable. Shelter with room for a fire was important, but he also was wary of the possible return of the raiders, even though it had seemed apparent to him that they were in a hurry to retreat from the mountain.
It was with a great deal of effort that Joel managed to carry Red Shirt up to the campsite he had selected. Although the Indian made few sounds of suffering, Joel could see the pain he was feeling by the determined grimace in his expression. If he could have, he would have used his horse to carry the injured man up the slope, but it would have been difficult to lead the horse through the thick forest without Red Shirt getting bumped off on the ground. Joel was strong, but Red Shirt was a sizable man, so it would have taken no small measure of strength to lift him up onto the horse anyway. So once he got him up piggyback, he decided to forget the horse, and just climb on up the slope with him.
When finally he had made Red Shirt as comfortable as he could, and had a fire built, he set about taking care of the wound. Upon close examination, he was dismayed to find it an ugly wound where the bullet had entered his chest. It looked as though the angle of the shot sent the slug deep in the muscle of his shoulder, where it was not readily seen. With total trust in his doctor, Red Shirt made no protests of pain—in fact, no sound at all—as Joel probed deeper and deeper with his knife. At last, he felt the tick of the knife point against the rifle slug, which led to a lengthy, torturous procedure of loosening the bullet until it was finally free enough to be extracted. Only then did the tormented warrior comment.
“Gott damn,” he muttered when Joel held the slug up for him to see.
“I’m afraid I made a mess of that wound,” Joel told him. “I’ll try to clean it up as best I can.”
In the absence of a stream nearby, it was necessary to melt snow in a coffee cup for water to clean the wound. He took a close look at his patient then and decided that he didn’t look too well. He needed a better place to recover. Joel couldn’t think of a place where that might be, but he also knew they couldn’t stay there. It was not a suitable campsite for any lengthy stay, and they needed to be close to a stream. To add to their problems, they had only one horse. Beauchamp’s men had evidently driven the stock down the mountain when they left, for there wasn’t one horse in the meadow.
The raiders had gone for now. That much was true, but Joel also knew they would be sent back when Beauchamp found out that he and Red Shirt had somehow escaped the massacre. It was his assumption that they would most likely return before daylight in an attempt to silence the only two witnesses to the cowardly attack. With that in mind, he told Red Shirt what he was going to do.
“We can’t stay here. We’ve got to find a place to give you a chance to recover, somewhere I can defend if they come after us. So I’m afraid you’re gonna be in for a rough ride, but I’ve got to put you on my horse. I don’t see hide nor hair of your horse. I reckon they musta drove him off with the rest of our horses.”
“You right,” Red Shirt replied painfully. “Can’t stay here.”