Shell Green’s breath caught in his throat as he reined in his horse. The realization he’d been in this canyon before hit him like being kicked by a mule. If he remembered right, it was about twenty years before.
Stone Knife, the Kiowa, stopped and turned his horse, waiting for Shell to catch up with him. It looked like he had a smile on his face, but that could be the heat waves coming off the high canyon walls.
The thought that something wasn’t quite right about the direction they had been traveling had been stuck in the back of Shell’s mind for a few days. I didn’t like this damn redskin when we met at the border, and I trust him even less now, he thought to himself.
Shell squeezed his horse lightly with his knees and the animal started walking up the canyon. Past the Kiowa and around a bend in the canyon was where the village should be. Twenty years, was it really that long ago? That’s over and done with, and I’ve got other things that are more important to think about right now.
“Mighty hot today, how much farther to the water?” asked Shell as he stopped beside Stone Knife. “I’m out, and my horse could use some.” Wiping his brow with a bandanna he put his hat back on.
“Just ahead is water.” Stone Knife nodded to his right up the canyon and started his horse in that direction. Shell moved along behind him with butterflies whirling around in his stomach. By resting the right one on the grip of his Colt and holding the reins tight in his left, he kept his hands from shaking.
Shell and his hired hands had brought the herd of mares across the Rio Grande out of Mexico west of the Pecos River. Shell and the cook had ridden into the whiskey trader’s place to pick up supplies and found the Indian waiting for them. He was dressed in white man’s clothes except for moccasins that Shell noticed were Kiowa, and a buckskin vest with some bead work on it. He gave Shell a letter from Quinn McVey, Shell’s boss, turned around and mounted his horse.
The country was in a drought and McVey had hired Stone Knife to find the water holes that hadn’t dried up yet. Water was always a problem, and with two hundred head of horses in the hottest months of the year, McVey wasn’t taking any chances. They were blooded mares from good breeding stock down in Mexico and a lot of money had been paid for them. So Stone Knife was to be the guide for Shell Green and the herd of horses till they reached McVey’s ranch.
Shell looked up from reading the letter to the cook and raised his eyebrows, then turned to the Indian.
He hadn’t said a word till Shell spoke, and then he spoke very plain but correct English, which surprised everyone.
“What’s your name?” Shell looked up at him after reading the letter.
“Stone Knife.” His voice was clear and distinct.
“What tribe?” Shell asked.
“Kiowa,” he answered.
Shell nodded and swung up on his horse.
“What way should we be headed?”
“That way.” The Kiowa pointed a bit west of north. “I’ll leave trail markers for you.” He started his horse moving, “First water is about ten miles. I’ll be there.”
“Nice meeting you.” Shell’s words were heavy with sarcasm but Stone Knife was out of hearing range.
Giving him a guide just sure as hell rubbed Shell the wrong way. “Damn it! I’m a leader not a follower and have been most of my life.” Shell was talking to himself again, just like every day since Stone Knife had become their point man. “Why I remember when…, NO! I don’t want to remember. Enough! Right now I have to get these horses to water, that’s all.” Shell gave a gruff half laugh, shook his head, and kicked his horse into a trot, heading back to the herd. He’d start them north, again, then he’d head up the trail looking for the markers Stone Knife would have left to show the way.
It was already seventy degrees at sunup and the two hundred Mexican horses started to mill around in the meadow. As the sun broke over the low foothills, the night guard came in to eat and change horses for today’s move up the trail.
As they rode up to the wagon where the rest of the wranglers were finishing their coffee, Green asked the night guard. “Any sign of that no good redskin?”
“Nope,” said the lead man swinging down. He dropped his reins and walked to the fire, shaking his head as he picked up a cup and filled it from the coffeepot. “I think yer Buck scooted back to the rez to impress the squaws with his newfound wealth.”
“Soon as you eat, I want to get movin’.” Shell spoke over his shoulder while walking to his horse. “Next water’s about five miles I think. Next after is ’bout twelve.” Shell swung up into his saddle. “Damn long day if we have to go twelve, so eat quick.”
“Everything with you is quick,” the lead man replied. “Eat quick, piss quick, ride quick. Hell, Shell, slow down, you’re an old man.”
“Just talked yerself out a eating, Mister. Dump out the coffee, Cookie, and pack it up, we’re moving, now!” Shell spun his horse around and loped off to the herd and started to yell at the cowboys to move out. The ones by the fire just shook their heads and cussed at the lead man for losing them what little breakfast they were going to get. Not so much as a cup of bad coffee. It was going to be a long day.
Shell rode ahead of the horses and wranglers looking for signs from the Kiowa showing him which direction to take the herd for water. Today he rode quite a few miles before he found the sign and then it was not what he had hoped for. The main trail through another canyon to the next water was blocked by a rock slide, so Stone Knife pointed them through this side canyon. The only other route would have been around the foothills region, and ten extra miles of travel. Shell took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the shirt sleeve of his right arm.
No use going back and telling the men we’re going farther. They’ll read the sign just like I did and keep moving, Shell thought as he headed his horse in the direction the rock sign pointed. Why does that damn Indian make me so nervous? There’s something about him and this trip since he’s hooked up with us that keeps me on edge all the time. I want to keep looking over my shoulder, behind every thicket, and jump at any loud sound. Sorry I didn’t get some whiskey back at the trader’s because I sure could use a shot or two to keep the thoughts of calamity from running around in my head.
Coming into the foothills from this direction hadn’t registered with Shell until he reached this point and saw the landmarks on the walls of the canyon. Shell recognized the petroglyphs, or ancient drawings carved into the stone, that were on the canyon walls. People had been coming to this spring for centuries and had left their mark with the stone carvings.
This had been the site of one of Shell’s early Indian fights after he returned from the Civil War, and his first against a village. He’d been nervous that day, and he was just as nervous today, rounding the bend in the canyon.
On the ground he had to look closely to see that a village had once been here. Only by carefully peering through the grass did you finally see the stone tipi rings. These were the stones that held down the outside edge of the tipi, and in the middle of them he then could make out, in a few places, the fire rings. An occasional piece of charred wood, looking like part of a tipi pole, was scattered around the area, but nothing else was visible to show that this place was once home to men, women, and children.
Shell stopped, but Stone Knife continued riding into what had been the village. In his mind Shell heard the sounds from twenty years ago and a sweat broke out on his forehead and under his arms. The children and women were screaming as Shell and the militia he was with rode through the village, firing at anything that moved and riding down anything that ran. They had been told “No Prisoners!” The Kiowa of fighting age were all away, raiding in Mexico or somewhere with the Comanche. Old people, children, and women didn’t offer much resistance, and were soon killed or had escaped into the many small canyons and washes that made up this country.
Riding back through the burning village, Shell saw the men laughing and setting fire to the tipis after taking anything they wanted out of them. Others were scalping the dead, even the babies, because a reward was paid for scalps regardless of size.
As Shell stopped to look over the scene he could hear occasional shots in the canyons around the village that meant some of the villagers had been tracked down. More scalps. Turning to ride back the way he and the other Indian fighters had come, he realized he hadn’t fired the pistol in his hand. Quickly holstering the pistol Shell kicked his horse into a lope hoping no one had seen him, but had to rein his horse quickly out of the way. Coming toward him was Louis, an old Indian fighter who had taken him under his wing.
“Damn, Shell. I was just bring’n you a special present. No call to run me down!” Louis was holding something bloody in his outstretched hand.
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested! Now get out of my way or I will run you down.” Shell was afraid his stomach was going to come up any minute. He wanted to be out of sight of these men if it did.
“That’s all right, Shell. I’ll fix it up for ya. I’ve made these many times,” Louis called after Shell.
Shell was brought back to the present by his horse stamping his hooves and tossing its head up and down. The horse then began to dance around, snorting, twitching its ears, and swishing his tail. Stone Knife had ridden through the village site and was waiting for Shell about a hundred feet away.
Reining his horse’s head around, Shell tapped him with his spurs and they started along the tracks left by Stone Knife. When they reached the edge of where the village had been, his horse spooked and shied to the left. Shell barely stayed in the saddle. After getting his horse turned around he started to look over the area to see what had caused the horse to act like that.
Looking at Stone Knife, Shell saw that he still sat waiting for him, as if nothing had happened. Shaking his head Shell brought his horse around and began to follow Stone Knife’s tracks again. This time Shell was paying more attention. At just about the same place his horse tried again to turn away from the village site, but Shell was ready this time and stopped him. For the next ten minutes, Shell tried every trick he could think of to get him to walk through the village site. All this time Stone Knife sat on his horse and watched, not saying a word.
Shell was damned if he was going to dismount and lead his horse in front of an Indian.
“Go check the spring.” Shell yelled, “I’ll be back with the herd.”
Shell spun his horse around. Mad because the horse was not obeying him, he gave him both spurs full force and yelled,
“Get-up, get-up!”
Whipping him with the ends of his reins as they raced back to the herd.
Shell had ridden out to check the first of the night guards and was now off by himself building a smoke. He’d licked the paper, twisted the ends, and was about to strike a match when the Indian’s voice floated out of the near darkness.
“Water at the spring is good.” The voice was calm and clear.
“Good.” Shell answered, hoping the Indian didn’t see him jump at his voice. Maybe he’ll think I always strike a match that quick, Shell hoped.
Stone Knife rode up beside Shell and took out a small pipe from his vest pocket, filled it, lit it, and sat smoking with Shell. As they looked over the herd in the dying light Shell finished his cigarette and turned to Stone Knife.
“How were you able to ride through that village today and I wasn’t?”
Stone Knife was quiet for a few moments, then he reached inside his shirt and drew out a small leather bag on a braided leather thong that went around his neck.
“My medicine keeps me safe from many things.”
“Does it protect your horse too?” Shell asked quietly.
Stone Knife pointed to a small leather bag hanging from the brow band of the bridle on the Kiowa’s horse.
“He also has medicine,” Stone Knife answered.
“Could you make medicine for me, my men, and our horses? I don’t know how the hell I’ll get this herd to the water unless we have something like that.” Stone Knife could hear the desperation in Shell’s voice.
“Maybe.” The Indian turned his horse and started to ride away. He quickly became part of the night, but his voice came back to Shell.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Dawn was a ways off when Shell rode out the next morning. He didn’t want the men to find out about the medicine bags ’til he had a chance to ask some more questions about them. Shell just couldn’t figure out why his horse refused to go into the village site. No one was there and no animals were in sight. He hadn’t seen anything that should have spooked a horse or made it afraid to enter the place. It was all a mystery to Shell and he hoped the Indian would answer some of his questions.
Taking out his bag of tobacco and folding a paper, Shell started to build a smoke. Just as he was about to strike a match to light it, Stone Knife appeared beside him.
“I have your medicine bags,” Stone Knife spoke.
“Will you explain what they are to the men so they know why they are wearing them and help put the ones for the horses on the men’s bridles?” Shell asked.
“I only have two and they’re for horses, not men,” Stone Knife said.
“How am I going to get the herd to water with only two medicine bags?” Shell’s voice started to climb. “I’ll be here a month if I can only take one horse at a time to the water!”
“I’ll be at the spring.” Stone knife tossed Shell something as he turned his horse to leave.
Shell caught the wad of leather that the Indian had thrown. The two medicine bags had been tied together with their drawstrings. Looking at them he tried to think how they were going to help him. He was so mad that his mind wouldn’t work.
Jamming the bags inside his shirt, he rode back to the cook’s fire.
After a couple cups of coffee Shell’s mind started to clear enough that he could start putting a plan together. With only two medicine bags all the work was going to fall on him. He would have to take the herd across the village site without the help of the hired hands.
Shell mounted his horse and rode out to where the herd had been held for the night. It was just getting light and the day riders were relieving the last of the night guard. He rode up to one of the day riders and stopped to look over the herd.
“I’m looking for the Bell Mare,” Shell told the rider.
“She’s lying down on the other side where that buckskin is standing.” The rider was pointing across the herd to a couple horses along the outer edge.
Shell rode around the herd to the Bell Mare’s location. By the time he got there she had gotten up and was pacing around with some of the other horses, looking for water or graze. The herd, or most of it, would have to be moved today because the grass in the area was about used up.
Taking down his rope, Shell tossed a loop over the Bell Mare’s head and led her out of the herd a ways to a cedar thicket. Dismounting, he tied her to one of the cedars and pulled the medicine bags out of his shirt. Untangling one, he tied it to the bell strap that went around the mare’s neck. Turning around he tied the other bag to his horse’s bridle. Leaving the Bell Mare tied he rode to the village site. Shell stopped before he got to the place where his horse had acted up yesterday, dismounting as he dropped his reins. He picked up a couple rocks and laid them on both sides of the tracks the Indian had made going into the village site. Stepping back to make sure the rocks could be seen from a distance, Shell mounted his horse and headed back to the fire.
Getting a cup of coffee, Shell called the men not watching the herd over to the cook fire to listen to him.
“Yesterday, I tried to follow the Kiowa to the spring up ahead, but my horse wouldn’t go through where an old Indian village was. Damn spirits, or ghosts, or, hell, I don’t know.” Shell looked around at the men’s expressions to see if any were doubting his word.
“This morning Stone Knife brought me a couple medicine bags that he says will keep the ghosts or spirits away. They’re only for a couple horses, and I don’t know how well they’ll work.” Shell took a sip of coffee. He didn’t see any questioning looks, so he went on.
“I’m going to have you cut out about twenty head from the herd and I’ll try to take them across with the Bell Mare. I put one medicine bag on her and the other on my horse.” He was still working out the plan in his head as he went. “If we get a running start from back here a ways maybe we can run the bunch through the village to the water before they can turn back or scatter. At least that’s what I think we might be able to do.” Shell looked at the quiet men staring at him.
“Well shit, let’s see if this works.” He threw the rest of the coffee from his cup into the fire and walked to his horse and swung up into the saddle.
“Cut me out a bunch, boys, and some of you ride along on each side of them. I want to get the bunch moving fast and straight into the place where the Indian went.” Shell was taking down his rope again to use it to haze the mares along.
“Get the Bell Mare out front so the others will follow her. Johnny, get a short piece of rope from the cook wagon to snub the Bell Mare up close to you.” Shell had men moving in every direction and his nerves were calming down.
“Just before you get to the markers turn her loose and get out of the way.” With his hands Shell was showing Johnny how he wanted things to work.
Riding up to the cook wagon Shell dismounted, unbuckled his gun belt, and put it in the wagon. Next he pulled his Winchester from its scabbard and laid it in the wagon also.
Anything to help me go faster, Shell thought, anything at all will help. Taking a minute to catch his breath, Shell would have said a prayer, if he had been a praying kind of man.
Johnny had the Bell Mare snubbed up to his horse and the other men had cut out about twenty head. They had worked them over to where Shell wanted to get a start from. The area of the village wasn’t in sight from where they all were but Shell wasn’t worried about the horses getting away from them because there was no place to go but ahead to the water, or back to them.
“Johnny, you get moving!” Shell shouted from the back of the small herd.
“I’m gone!” He and the Bell Mare took off at a lope.
“Bunch ’em up behind her!” Shell was waving his hat and yelling at the other hands to move the horses in behind Johnny.
“Get-up! Get-up! Yip! Yip!” Shell and the men urged the horses into a gallop around the bend in the canyon.
When they were almost to the markers, Johnny turned the Bell Mare loose and swung off to the left. With Shell pushing from behind and the rest of the men yelling and hollering, the horses headed for the spring on the other side of the village site.
Shell could see from the back of the small herd that they were all running straight and not shying or dodging or acting like anything was bothering them. Then he got to the edge of the village site and his world came apart.
Suddenly, he was surrounded by wailing and crying ghosts. They were hitting him and throwing sticks and rocks at him. He could feel every one that struck him. His horse was acting like it was deaf and blind, giving no indication anything was going on. As he moved through the village site more and more ghosts screamed and assaulted Shell. The dust cleared for a moment and Shell recognized that these were the ghosts of the people who had lived in this village and had died here twenty years ago. They stayed with Shell the whole time he was in the village area but left him at its edge.
Finally leaving the village and reaching the spring Shell again heard loud voices. He spun around, and saw his men yelling and waving their hats on the other side of the village. They were excited he’d made it, but had no idea what he’d gone through.
Now Shell had two new problems. He had to get some of the men over here to watch the horses he had brought over. He also had to get back to the other side of the village. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his hands were shaking. He didn’t know if his legs would hold him upright if he dismounted, but he needed a drink of water.
“You did well,” Stone Knife’s voice scared Shell and he jumped and almost fell down as he was walking to the spring.
“Damn it! Don’t you ever give a person a warning you’re close?” Shell snapped.
“Guess you couldn’t see me in all the dust you kicked up.” Stone Knife answered.
Shell just shook his head and continued to a pool of water fed by the spring. He knelt and lifted a cupped handful of water to his dry lips.
Now, what do I do next, Shell’s mind was racing. Send some hands over, or keep bringing horses and hope they stay by the spring? I’ll need the cook wagon sometime, maybe bring it next in with a bunch of horses. Just slow down and catch your breath, then get the Bell Mare and ride back to the herd. Damn, but I hurt everywhere those ghosts hit me. I don’t know how much of this I’m going to be able to take. It’s looking like a long day.
Every time Shell went through the village site, from either direction, he was attacked by the ghosts of the villagers. They screamed, they yelled, and they threw things that hit Shell on the arms, chest, back, and face. He was white as a ghost himself and hollow eyed by the time he had made four trips.
The cook wagon and two of the wranglers went with the second bunch of horses. He sent them in the middle of the bunch and they didn’t seem to be bothered during the crossing. Two of the horses from his string along with most of the wranglers’ horses went over next.
The Bell Mare was about winded and Shell thought he’d try using one of the saddle horses from the wranglers’ horses as a lead horse. The saddle horses were used to being together and one by itself would try to find its buddies. Back and forth, back and forth, he’d lost track of how many times he’d made the trip.
The last time he changed horses Shell’s arms hurt so bad he could hardly lift them so one of the men saddled it for him. He couldn’t pick the saddle up off the ground after he’d removed it from the horse he’d been riding.
We’ll be done before dark, he kept telling himself, we’ll be done before dark.
Shell had noticed that when he came back through the village with the Bell Mare snubbed to his horse the ghosts couldn’t get to him very well on that side. The next time he came back he put the mare on his other side and the same thing happened. Moving her from side to side helped him keep the ghosts from hurting one side more than the other. Two horses would keep them away, he thought, but got busy getting another bunch ready to go and forgot about it.
Going back through the village for the next to the last bunch of horses, Stone Knife rode up alongside Shell. With the lead horse on one side of him and the Indian on the other, Shell was not bothered much by the ghosts.
When they reached the horses that still had to be driven through the village Shell dismounted and walked into the brush to catch his breath and calm down. When he came back to his horse the Indian was still sitting where he was when Shell left. As Shell swung into the saddle and turned his horse to ride off, Stone Knife stopped him.
“How old were you when you were here before?”
“How do you know I was here?” Shell was looking at the Kiowa with disbelief.
“The ghosts have told me,” Stone Knife replied.
“Too young to know what I was doing,” Shell snapped and rode off to get another bunch ready to take across.
When Shell returned for the last bunch Stone Knife was still in the same place waiting for him.
“Give me your tobacco pouch, Shell Green,” Stone Knife had his hand out.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Shell growled. “Go find the next water hole.”
“Those ghosts are from when you were here before. Give me the pouch.” Stone Knife’s voice was quiet and calm.
“What’s that have to do with me?” Shell was about burned out and this was not anything he felt like listening to.
“Those ghosts are from the people killed here and scalped. They can’t cross over to the other side unless they are whole so they have to stay here and suffer.” Stone Knife was looking Shell in the eyes. “We can hear the pouch crying.”
“I didn’t kill anyone here that day,” Shell answered with a tired voice, “Why are you bothering me?”
“Because your tobacco pouch was made from one of these women’s breasts and it needs to be buried so one more part of her is returned.” Stone Knife’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper.
Shell sat for a couple moments, then dismounted. He unbuckled the strap on his saddlebag and took out a folded piece of cloth. Turning around he walked to Stone Knife and handed him the folded cloth.
“Louis, one of the older fighters back then, gave this to me a few weeks after we were here. He was always laughing about how his pouches would keep you warm at night,” Shell said. “I didn’t feel right about what happened here. That’s why I never used it, and I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“I’ll bury it where some of the people are buried.” Stone Knife turned and rode back down the canyon.
Shell took the last bunch of horses through the village site at a walk. Nothing was thrown at him, no yelling, no screaming. From the corners of his eyes he could see things moving around. Quiet ghosts.