Ride the High Range

Johnny Hawk was right, the raid on the antelope hunt was the beginning of the legend of Rider Twelve Horses. A dance was held to celebrate the triumphant return of the hunting party, and Rider was looked upon with smiles of admiration as Deer Foot repeated many times the story of how Rider stole the Cheyenne ponies right out from under the hunters’ noses. Morning Flower and Owl Woman swelled with pride because he was living in their tipi, and several mothers made it a point to parade their daughters before the astonished young man. Unnoticed by the joyous crowd, a young Crow maiden looked upon the white warrior with eyes reflecting thoughts beyond simple admiration.

The major difference to Jim was a feeling that he was accepted by the people, not only as a friend of Little Thunder, but as a member of the village. All through the winter of 1866, he enjoyed the closest thing to a family that he could remember, hunting with Deer Foot and White Fox, as well as other men of the village. It was not enough, however, to dim his desire to see the high mountains, and as winter faded into spring, the urge to see beyond the horizon began to pull at him.

Feelings and emotions were not the only changes in the tall white man, for this winter proved to be a year of physical maturity as well. In a few short months’ time, he shot up in height another two inches, so that Morning Flower had to look up to him. He wasn’t sure her cooking had anything to do with it, but he also began to fill out his towering frame. By the end of spring, the lanky boy had completed his metamorphosis into manhood. As a final touch, he shaved his mustache and beard, and let his hair grow longer to be more like the young Crow men. Morning Flower complained that she had to alter all the clothes she had sewn for him, but she also took credit for the change in his development.

None noticed the change in Rider Twelve Horses more than the young Crow girl Yellow Bird, Deer Foot’s young sister, though she told no one of her approval. Realizing that she was little more than a child in Rider′s eyes, she continued to admire him from afar.

Jim’s natural ability as a marksman soon earned him a reputation among the Crow hunters, but he was always envious of Johnny Hawk’s Henry rifle. Nothing Jim owned could tempt Johnny to trade with him for Jim’s Sharps carbine. The price tag on a new Henry was a steep forty-two dollars, and Jim had not one dollar to his name. If he was ever to obtain one of the lever-action rifles with the shiny brass receiver, it would have to be in a trade. His opportunity came that winter when an ex-soldier, down on his luck, sold his 1860 model Henry rifle to Seth Ward for a grubstake on his way to Virginia City. Seth, with no use for another rifle, decided to sell it. Resolved to own the rifle, Jim was determined to trade for it, for the final cost of the rifle and a ten-dollar box of cartridges was three horses and his Sharps carbine and ammunition. Johnny maintained that he could have gotten the weapon cheaper, but Jim didn’t care. He had the rifle he had craved, and that was enough for him.

Because of the cost of the rifle and the expense to keep it supplied with cartridges, he knew that he was going to have to conserve his use of the Henry whenever possible. The solution to this problem was provided by Deer Foot. Jim had admired the Crow hunter′s skill with a bow, and expressed a desire to try his hand with one. Eager to assist him, Deer Foot went with him to find a suitable piece of cedar, which was Deer Foot’s preference. He then showed Jim how to shape it into a three-foot length, telling him that anything longer would be too difficult to handle on horseback. To strengthen it, he applied strips of buffalo sinew backing and made the bowstring also from sinew. After learning the proper method for making his arrows, Jim had a practical weapon to supplement his rifle. It did not take him long to become proficient with it when hunting, much to Deer Foot’s delight, for he took credit for teaching Rider Twelve Horses how to shoot.

Like Jim, Johnny had not forgotten his plans to return to the mountains of Montana with which he had enticed Jim when they had first formed their partnership. Whereas his love for the mountains was real, an underlying attraction to the area were the gold mines of Virginia City. In conversation with William Bullock at the sutler′s store in Fort Laramie, Johnny Hawk learned that the principal chiefs of the Sioux and Cheyenne had agreed to come into the fort on the first of June to discuss peaceful passage of white men on the Bozeman Trail. Bullock’s boss, Seth Ward, was not confident that the peace talks would be successful since he had learned that Colonel Maynadier was expecting a large expedition force commanded by Colonel Henry Carrington to arrive sometime in early June, their mission being to build forts along the Bozeman. Johnny persuaded Jim to wait until after the peace talks, figuring it might make the trip on the Bozeman Trail less hazardous.

June first came, and with it the Sioux and Cheyenne, with an estimated three thousand in all. Two Bulls was not at all comfortable with the huge number of enemies camped around Fort Laramie, and had great concern that the soldiers might not be able to defend against them if the talks turned ugly. It was time to move from the winter camp, anyway, so Two Bulls decided to leave the North Laramie for another camp down the Laramie. Since they had already talked about going to Montana, Rider Twelve Horses and Little Thunder said farewell to their adopted family.

“You go along now, honey,” Johnny bade a tearful Morning Flower. “You take care of your mama, and I’ll be back.” Still, she was reluctant to leave him. “Don’t I always come back?” He tried to reassure her. “Maybe I’ll find some gold to buy you some fine things.”

The peace talks started well enough, but before they could be concluded, a case of bad timing wrecked the entire procedure. Colonel Carrington arrived at the fort with two thousand heavily armed troops and equipment to build forts on the Bozeman Trail. Red Cloud, leader of the Sioux, was infuriated when he saw the army’s intention to establish forts through land that the Sioux considered sacred whether he agreed to a treaty or not. It was the end of the negotiations, for the other Indians followed him when he promptly withdrew. “I will fight any soldiers who try to invade Sioux lands,” he informed the commission.

With stocking up on supplies in mind, Jim and Johnny rode into Fort Laramie to trade some of the winter hides they had collected. With the departure of the Sioux and Cheyenne, they figured they might as well start west and rely on their skills and instincts to keep out of harm’s way. Just as they started to enter the sutler′s store, they heard a voice behind them. “I’ll be damned if it ain’t Johnny Hawk.”

They both turned to see a lean, muscular man striding up to them with a wide smile on his face. Johnny grinned back and replied, “Hello, Jim, how the hell are you?” He turned to Rider then and said, “Rider, this here’s Jim Bridger. He’s the chief scout here.” Turning back to Bridger, he said, “Or should I call you Major Bridger?”

Bridger shook his head and chuckled. “It was a mighty short treaty, all right. Red Cloud told Colonel Maynadier and those boys from Washington to go to hell when Colonel Carrington showed up with the Eighteenth Infantry and a couple companies of cavalry.”

Bridger took a closer look at the tall young man, noting that he had to look up at him—and Bridger stood a shade over six feet. “Well,” he said, “looks like he’s big enough to take care of himself, and he sure ain’t too noisy, is he? He does talk, don’t he?”

“All right, then. I’ll put you on the payroll. Maynadier knows you well enough, Johnny. I reckon you can vouch for your partner.” He paused to scratch his chin as he thought about it. “God knows Colonel Carrington brought some sorry-lookin’ scouts with him. I could use some men I can count on. The colonel ain’t gonna be ready to start out before a week or two, so you got plenty of time to do whatever you need to do.”

Bridger shook hands with both of them before continuing on his way toward the post headquarters building. “I wonder if that Colonel Carrington is any kin to the lieutenant that arrested me on the Solomon,” Jim said after Bridger had gone. “Wasn’t that his name?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Johnny replied, then thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know much about the lieutenant. He was just sent to Fort Riley about the middle of last summer. That patrol on the Solomon was the first time I ever rode with him. He seemed all right, except he was too much by the book to suit me.” He paused to chuckle then. “He was sure gonna take you back to Riley to hang, though, wasn’t he?”

“I know the country up that way,” Johnny said, “almost as good as Bridger, I expect. You just stick close to me. Besides, Bridger will be leadin’ the column. We’ll most likely be sent out to scout ahead and make sure there ain’t no Injuns about to hit ’em.”

Jim was satisfied with that—as long as he wasn’t asked to tell anyone the best way to get to Fort Reno or some other specific spot. Left on his own, he was confident that he could find just about any place, just not the quickest route to it. He had always felt at home in the forest and on the plains, and the past winter and spring he had spent with Two Bulls’ village had taught him even more. Johnny Hawk was always eager to teach him on any given facet of living off the land, but he knew that he learned more about the spirit of the earth and the animals from Deer Foot. He was more at home with Rider Twelve Horses than he had ever been with the boy Jim Moran. He could feel his strength, and he feared nothing that might lie in his path. He would miss Deer Foot and White Fox, as well as Morning Flower and Owl Woman, but he might see them again one day. Who could say? For now, his thoughts were for the trail west and the mountains beyond.

They started out from Bridger′s Ferry on the Platte early one morning late in June with Colonel Carrington’s headquarters marching in advance, followed by the infantry command and the battalion trains, supply wagons, and mounted troops bringing up the rear. Rider and Johnny Hawk were sent out ahead with the other scouts to act as the eyes of the column. None of the scouts reported seeing any sign of Indians during the first two days of the march, nor were any expected so close to Fort Laramie. The trip to Fort Reno took over a week since the column could only move at the pace set by the wagons. After crossing the Lightning River, there were almost daily reports of Indian sightings, usually small parties that were obviously watching the progress of the column from afar. It was close to midnight when the command finally reached Fort Reno, located on a high plateau on the banks of the Powder River, near the mouth of Dry Fork. The garrison at the fort consisted of two companies of the Fifth Regiment of Volunteers, which Carrington relieved from duty to return to their regiment and replaced them with an officer and men from his command. Upon reaching Reno, he discovered several wagon trains waiting for the protection promised them to continue their journey over the Bozeman Trail.

Lieutenant Jared Carrington, nephew of Colonel Henry Carrington, walked his horse slowly around the encampment on a routine inspection of the guard posts. It was the first time he had drawn officer of the day since his transfer to his uncle’s command. He stopped to accept a cup of coffee at the campfire of F Company, near that of the scouts’ encampment. Sipping the hot black liquid from the equally hot metal cup, he stood contemplating his luck at having been able to transfer out of Fort Riley to participate in this grand expedition into the Powder River country. As he cast an eye toward the scouts’ camp several dozen yards away, his attention was caught by a tall man dressed in animal skins, standing next to the fire. There was something about the man that seemed familiar, but at that distance, he could not place where he might have seen him before. “Sergeant,” he asked the soldier who had offered the coffee, “do you know who that man is?” He pointed toward the camp. “The tall one close to the fire, you know him?”

“Johnny Hawk?” Carrington replied, surprised. Assigned to one of the cavalry companies, and always riding in the rear of the column, he had very little contact with any of the civilian scouts. Consequently, he was not even aware that Johnny Hawk was with the column. His first thought upon hearing the news was one of amusement, thinking of Johnny’s declaration that he was through with riding scout for the army. I just might go over and say hello, he thought, and ask him what happened to his plans to go to Montana. The smile on his face turned quickly to a concerned frown when he glanced at the dark figure now turning away from the fire. It struck him then that it was a strange coincidence that Johnny Hawk had reappeared with a friend that Carrington felt sure he had seen somewhere before. Moran, he recalled after a moment’s recall, Jim Moran. Could it be? he wondered. The man he had just been looking at was maybe a bit taller than the boy, and much more filled out, but there was something about the way he carried himself that certainly resembled Moran. I’ve got to satisfy my curiosity, he decided.

There was no mistaking the officer approaching their campsite as far as Jim was concerned. He was stopped abruptly when he recognized the lieutenant leading his horse toward him. Lieutenant Carrington was the last person he had expected to see on this campaign. In an effort to appear casual, he slowly turned away and walked over to the temporary rope corral to check on his horse. Seated on the ground a few yards from the fire, using his saddle as a backrest, Johnny Hawk glanced up to see where Jim was going. When he did, he also noticed Carrington striding toward their campfire. He immediately scrambled to his feet to intercept the lieutenant. “Well, lookee here,” he said, “if it ain’t Lieutenant Carrington.”

“Ah, well,” Johnny scoffed, “I was just feelin’ sorry for him. You know, being young as he was and all. But you was probably right in arrestin’ him.” Attempting then to change the subject, he blurted, “So, the colonel is your uncle—I wondered if there was any kin there.”

“Who, him?” Johnny replied, trying to maintain an indifferent air. “He’s just one of the scouts—name’s Rider. He was livin’ with Two Bulls’ village. That’s where I met him. My wife lives in that village. I think he was some big medicine with the Crows. They call him Rider Twelve Horses. That’s all I know about him.”

Carrington considered Johnny’s comments for a few moments. He was still not satisfied. If he could believe the grizzled little scout, he was just imagining a strong resemblance between the boy he had captured and the man at whom he now continued to stare. But something else told him that Johnny Hawk could lie with the best of liars. “I think I’d like to talk to him,” he decided. Johnny shrugged as if it was immaterial to him, but he watched with great concern as the lieutenant walked over to the corral.

“Evening,” Carrington said as he walked up to Jim. Jim turned to face him and nodded, looking him straight in the eye. “That’s a fine-looking buckskin,” the lieutenant continued. “Yours?” Again Jim nodded. Carrington searched the face and the cold expressionless eyes as he tried to recall the horse that Henry Butcher′s body had been loaded upon, but he could not be sure if it happened to be a buckskin or not. Looking at the powerful shoulders that filled the antelope-skin shirt, he wondered if it was even possible for the lanky boy he remembered to grow into a man in that short time. “Johnny Hawk said your name is Rider.” There was no response, not even a nod. Carrington began to get flustered; it was like talking to an Indian who had no knowledge of the English language. “You don’t talk a helluva lot, do you?” Again, there was no response, so he attempted a question that could not be answered with a simple nod. “How long have you known Johnny Hawk?”

“You didn’t have to tell me that,” Johnny quipped. “I think he smells somethin’ funny, but I don’t believe he’s sure a’tall. You have changed a helluva lot since that day.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully while he speculated upon it. “I expect he’ll just go on about his business and forget about it.”

“Don’t go gettin’ edgy now, partner. If Carrington looks like he’s gonna cause you any trouble, we’ll just take off and get on up to Montana. This damn column is gonna take the whole summer, anyway, and we’ll find ourselves up there trying to camp in the snow.”

Johnny had been wrong when he predicted that Carrington would forget the whole matter. While he had not suffered even a reprimand for the mysterious escape of his prisoner and the loss of one of his patrol after the action at Thompson’s farm on the Solomon, it had been the source of some embarrassment for him among his fellow officers. A man killed in a skirmish was to be expected, but to permit a wounded prisoner to escape showed negligence on the officer’s part. The thought of the possibility of further embarrassment if it turned out that the boy who had escaped him had actually ridden to the Yellowstone with him was enough to cause him to pursue his suspicions. The problem facing him was the fact that there was no way he could prove that the man Rider was the boy Jim Moran—other than a confession from Rider, himself, or confirmation from Johnny Hawk. It was a frustrating situation to a young officer who liked all i′s dotted and all t′s crossed. He promised himself that he would not permit the possibility of a hoax at his professional expense. He decided to take his suspicions to his uncle.

It was not a good time to bother the colonel with suspicions that he could not prove and accusations based on nothing more than a slight resemblance to a fugitive. Added to all the preparations to be made upon arriving at the post, Colonel Carrington was concerned with a report that Indians had run off the stock of the sutler, a man named Leighton, that very morning. On another day, the colonel would most likely have been receptive to his nephew’s problem, but on this occasion he suggested that the young officer should talk to Jim Bridger, since Rider was one of his scouts. Feeling that he was being rather rudely handed off to the chief scout, Carrington decided to let the matter drop for the time being and return to his duties. There would be time later, he decided, after the column had settled in at the post.

It was welcome news to Jim. He was not comfortable sitting around the fort in the presence of so many Yankee soldiers. He had accepted the fact that the war was over, but there was still a lingering loyalty to the South. He had been more at ease at Fort Laramie when he and Johnny had actually lived with the Crows. There was little time wasted in saddling the buckskin and checking his new Henry rifle.

The detachment of ninety mounted infantry was commanded by Captain Howard Marks with three lieutenants as adjutants and four civilian scouts. Since the troops did not leave the fort until early afternoon, Johnny didn’t see much hope for success. “Hell,” he said, “they’ve had time to eat a couple of them mules and ride to hell and gone with the rest of ’em.” There was no problem following the trail left by the raiders until reaching Crazy Woman Creek just before dark. While the detachment went into camp, Johnny Hawk and Rider crossed over to the other side of the creek to see if they could pick up the trail where the Sioux came out. The other two scouts seemed to show no interest in anything beyond the cook fires. Even in the growing twilight, it was easy enough to find. “I was wonderin’ when this was gonna happen,” Johnny said as they stood on the creek bank, for the raiders had scattered in at least three different directions. From what they could determine in the fading light, it appeared that each of the three parties had driven some of Leighton’s stock with them. “We might as well go tell Captain Marks he’s got a decision to make,” Johnny said.

As they expected, Marks was not happy to hear Johnny’s report. He had already ridden close to thirty miles chasing the Indians. Now he must decide whether or not to split his command and continue the hunt in the morning. Marks was not new to Indian warfare and was consequently reluctant to divide his troops into three patrols, aware as he was of the Sioux penchant for setting up ambushes. “I’ll have a look in the morning,” he said. “Then I’ll decide whether it’s feasible to continue.”

Johnny and Jim took their horses to water, then fed them oats supplied by the army. “You’re gonna get spoiled,” Jim told the buckskin. “I don’t want you to get too used to eatin’ these oats.” Like the Crow ponies in Two Bulls’ camp, the horse had learned to live off grass, and Jim hoped to keep him that way.

When the horses had been taken care of, they led them back to the bivouac and hobbled them. Then they went about finding wood for a fire and having a little supper. Johnny put a pot of coffee on to boil; then they dined mainly on some deer jerky they had brought with them. This they supplemented with some hard bread the army issued, although it was of poor quality with considerable mold. It was enough to satisfy, however, and they relaxed by the fire to finish the coffee. Their leisure was to be disturbed, however, in the form of visitors.

The other two civilian scouts were two prime examples of the “sorry-looking” scouts that Jim Bridger had spoken of. It didn’t take long to see the two were hardly earning their pay and would never voluntarily venture far from the column of soldiers. Jim and Johnny had no patience for the two and that was the reason they made their camp apart from them. They had very little else in common and preferred to leave them to their own. It was plain to the other two scouts that they were being avoided by the stumpy little man and his tall friend, and it was a cause of resentment on their part. “Looks like we got visitors,” Johnny muttered when he saw them approaching.

Jim glanced up to see the two men as they swaggered over to the fire. In the lead, a big surly brute of a man called Bodine grinned maliciously as he came to stand over Johnny Hawk. “Well, we thought we’d make a social call on you two birds,” he said. He looked over at his partner, Billy Hyde, a thin, weasel-faced half-breed. “Lookee here, Billy, two birds, a hawk and a raven. Maybe you’d better make that a half a hawk,” he added with a contemptuous chuckle.

“That’s a fact,” Billy replied. He had been trying to think of some clever insult to add to Bodine’s remark about birds, and when Rider casually got to his feet, it occurred to him. “Maybe they ain’t two birds—more like a tree and a stump,” he said, grinning at his partner.

Bodine was clearly irritated then; his contemptuous grin turned into an undisguised sneer as he continued to study the obstinate little man, still lolling against his saddle. He glanced briefly at Rider, standing quietly close to the fire, and made the mistake of reading his failure to speak as a sign that he chose not to be involved. Encouraged, he turned his attention back to the man on the ground. “You know somethin’, you little runt. It’s time somebody taught you some manners, so you can start out by sayin’ ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Bodine.’ ”

“Have it your way, you sawed-off little son of a bitch. I gave you a chance. Now you’re gonna get a lesson the hard way.” He bent down, reaching for Johnny’s ankle, fully unprepared for what happened in the next instant. The flaming limb that struck him beside his head caught him off balance, causing him to stagger several feet, trying to keep from crashing to the ground. Still stunned, he tried to regain his stability, but was knocked to his knees by a second blow, this one a solid strike to the back of his head. Still without having uttered a word, Rider stood waiting to see if the bully was going to retaliate, but Bodine was too dazed to offer combat. Rider glanced at Billy Hyde, whose hand was lingering over his revolver.

“Pull it and you’re dead, Billy,” Johnny Hawk warned, his .44 aimed at Bodine’s hesitant sidekick. Billy immediately put his hands out to the side, away from his weapon. “Now, you get that piece of horseshit on back to your own camp and mind your own business.”

Billy did as he was told, helping Bodine to his feet. Still dazed, the lumbering brute made no effort to resist when his partner led him away from the resolute man holding the smoking limb in his hand. The altercation did not go unnoticed as several nearby soldiers witnessed the brief explosion of fury by the silent scout. The word reached Captain Marks and resulted in a personal investigation of the incident that very night. Calling an assembly of the four, he laid down the law that he would not tolerate fighting among his scouts. Bodine, his head and one side of his face bleeding and covered with smut, had regained his bluster and threatened to avenge his blindsided attack. Marks threatened to put him in chains if he did not stay away from Rider and Johnny Hawk. Bodine grudgingly agreed to let the matter drop, but his eyes conveyed an unmistakable message that told this would not be forgotten.

Johnny laughed. “Hell, he wouldn’ta drug me very far. I’da shot him. I pulled my pistol out as soon as I saw them two buzzards comin’ our way and stuck it under my leg. But I ’preciate it, partner. That’s the second time you’ve watched my back.”