Lawless Prairie

Just as Billy Turnipseed had said, they came to the fork of the Little Powder and the Powder in the afternoon of the second day. There were plenty of signs that a fairly large village of Indians had recently camped there. They were obviously moving fast because there were no signs of tipi rings, but many cook fires.

“It wasn’t too long ago,” Clint commented after examining the ashes in one of the cook fires. “I expect if we’d gotten here day before yesterday, we mighta been invited for supper.”

Clint glanced at Joanna. Her tight frown told him that she was not ready to joke about anything to do with the Sioux. He quickly changed the subject, thinking that she would be a lot more comfortable away from the abandoned Sioux camp. “There’s still a lot of daylight left. Maybe we could keep moving, and hope to strike that creek he told us about before dark.” Joanna quickly agreed, and Karl was willing to ride on.

Lying flat on his belly on the grass-covered crest of a long mesa, Clint watched the procession of Lakota men, women, and children on the opposite bank of the creek. At a distance of approximately three hundred yards, he could count twenty-two horses with eight male riders, and maybe five female. Walking along with the rest of the pony herd were a number of women and children.

“Are they still heading off to the northeast?” Karl asked as he crawled up beside Clint. That was the general direction of most of the Indian trails they had crossed during the past two days.

“Nope,” Clint answered. “They started followin’ the creek.” He looked up at the fading afternoon light. “I expect they’re gettin’ ready to make camp.” He turned back to Karl. “We’d best cut around this mesa and strike the creek a mile or two north of their camp.”

They continued north, following the creek until darkness threatened to overtake them. Finally selecting a spot where a stand of willows and berry bushes provided a suitable screen from any chance riders that happened by, Clint said, “This’ll have to do, I reckon. I’ll build a fire in that gully after I see to the horses.”

Supper was the same as every night before since leaving the cabin, beans boiled with some of the deer jerky. Clint would have killed fresh meat but for the presence of so much Indian sign. In fact, they continued to come upon so many recent trails of Indians on the move that Joanna approached Clint with a request before they went to sleep that night. “I want you to let me have that pistol you left with me when the savages attacked us in the ravine,” she said.

“Why, sure,” he replied. “I’da given it to you before if I knew you wanted to tote a gun.” He went at once to get it from his saddlebag. Upon returning with the weapon, he checked the cylinder. “It’s loaded with five cartridges. It’s settin’ on an empty cylinder. Just cock it and she’s ready.”

He gazed into her eyes as she took the revolver, reading the deep determination registered there, and immediately felt the hurt in her heart. She did not request the weapon for the sole purpose of helping to ward off an Indian attack. He wished that he could promise her that he would let nothing happen to her, but he knew that she wanted the pistol to ensure that she would never be taken alive by hostiles again. “I’ll get you to your folks,” he said softly.

She nodded, then withdrew to her blanket. If any man would defend her, she was confident that Clint would be the one man who could. But even Clint could not prevail against an attack by a group as large as the camp they had seen that afternoon. I will never be taken by savages again, she vowed as she tucked the revolver up under her blanket.

The night passed without incident, and respecting Billy Turnipseed’s advice, they continued north along the creek for another day before striking due west to find the Tongue River. Once it was found, they followed the winding river through seemingly endless stretches of open prairie for two days before sighting what could be nothing but the Yellowstone in the distance. They discovered a rough shack on the south bank just before dusk, providing an immense sense of relief to see some sign of white men, even though a hand-painted sign nailed over the door proclaimed the building to be a saloon. The next order of business was to find Karl’s brother.

There were a couple of men drinking at the rough plank bar when Clint walked in, and they paused to listen to the conversation. One of them, a coarse-looking man with a face full of whiskers, wearing two six-guns with the handles facing forward, spoke up then. “You might be lookin’ for that group of German folks that moved onto some land east of Wolf Creek.”

“I can tell you how to get there. Just follow the river east,” the stranger said, “past the tradin’ post, I’d say a good four or five miles. The first house is just the other side of Wolf Creek. I think there’re three houses all told, if I remember correctly. I ain’t been over that way in about six months.”

Outside, Clint repeated the directions to Karl and Karl nodded slowly. “Sounds like the place,” he said. “Frederick said there were three families that started out from Omaha.”

“Accordin’ to what that fellow said,” Clint recalled, “it’s four or five miles to the first house, and we don’t have any idea which house is your brother’s. You wanna try to find him tonight, or wait till daylight?”

Karl paused to give it consideration. “It is getting pretty late. Might be best to make camp one more night and look for Frederick in the morning.” He turned to his daughter then. “How about it, Joanna, think you can stand one more night on the trail?”

“I think it would be a lot better than rousting everybody out in the middle of the night, since Uncle Frederick doesn’t even know we’re coming. Besides, we don’t even know how to find his house. It could be any one of the three.”

Leading the way, and picking his path carefully in the moonless night, Clint guided the buckskin downstream, holding close to the banks of the Yellowstone. After a mile or so, he came upon a clump of cottonwood trees that formed a screen around a grassy knoll. “This looks like as good a place as any,” he announced.

They dismounted, and while the men took care of the horses, Joanna built a fire. Soon venison strips were sizzling over the fire and coffee was boiling in the pot. The conversation was light on this last night on the trail. The dangerous passage through the Powder River country was behind them and spirits were high. “What are your plans now that we’re almost there, Clint?” It was Joanna who asked the question.

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not really sure. Like I’ve said from the beginning, I wanna see the territory, maybe ride on to the mountains west of here.” He preferred not to mention that he felt it necessary to locate a place where he didn’t have to worry about being found by a lawman.

Watching Clint’s reaction closely, Joanna commented. “I think Clint still hears the call of the wild hawk. He wants to raise his horses and live the free life with no crops to look after or hold him in one spot.” Even though she believed it to be true, she wished it were not so. She felt safe when Clint was around.

“Maybe,” Clint replied. “I’ve got a long way to go before I can be thinkin’ about raising horses. All I’ve got is Rowdy and those three Indian ponies, and Rowdy can’t do much to make a herd. He’s a geldin’, so he don’t even glance at that little mare. I think I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me before I can call myself a wrangler.”

The conversation changed to speculation about the morning when they would find Frederick’s place, and after a while, Karl announced that he was turning in. “Tomorrow’s a big day,” he said, and moved a little away from the fire to make his bed. Joanna and Clint remained to talk for a short while before deciding they should follow Karl’s lead.

Moving off to the opposite side of the fire from the woman and her father, Clint rolled up in his blanket. Soon the camp was quiet except for the steady rhythm of Karl’s snoring, but Clint could not fall asleep. His senses told him all was not right, and he kept thinking about the two men at the saloon, especially the one who did all the talking. He had the look of a predator about him, and although he had been friendly enough, Clint didn’t trust him. After a while, when the sense of alertness would not leave him, he crawled out of his blanket, pulled his rifle from his saddle sling, and walked back in the trees to check on the horses.

Rowdy lowered his head and rubbed his muzzle against Clint’s chest, and received a scratching behind his ears in return. While Clint was stroking his horse’s neck, Rowdy’s ears suddenly pricked up and the Indian horses whinnied softly. Always alert to the horses’ warning signals, Clint quickly looked around him in the darkened grove of trees. He saw nothing at first glance. Then a slight motion off to his left, like a fleeting shadow, caught his attention and he dropped to one knee. Peering into the dark shadows, he could not detect any movement, but he was sure that his eyes had not been playing tricks on him. Continuing to stare into the inky void, he began to inch toward the spot where he thought he had detected movement. He quickly dropped to one knee again when suddenly two shadows separated from the black tree trunks and moved toward the camp. He didn’t have to guess who the visitors were.

Moving as quickly as he could through the brush while making as little noise as possible, he hurried to overtake them, but they had already reached the sleeping figures by the fire before he cleared the trees.

The sudden report of a pistol split the still night air, bringing Karl and Joanna bolting up from their slumber. “Time to get up!” the man with the shaggy beard shouted. He fired another shot into the ground beside Karl. “Let’s have a look in them packs. You might as well save us the trouble of goin’ through ’em. Tell us where the money is and maybe you’ll live a little longer.”

His partner, a tall thin man, had set eyes upon Joanna. His lips parted in an evil grin and he said, “You might live a little longer at that, sweetheart.” Joanna cringed and pulled her blanket up close to her neck. Then it occurred to him. “Where’s the other one?”

The thin man made a fatal miscalculation when he attempted to raise his pistol to beat a rifle slug already on the way. He took a couple of steps backward before dropping to the ground, shot through the heart. His partner, quicker of wit, immediately grabbed Joanna, pulled her to her feet, and held her before him with the barrel of his pistol pressed against her throat. “Now, damn you,” he spat, “me and the little missy here is gonna back outta here real slow. This here .44 has got a hair trigger, so I wouldn’t advise you to try nothin’ fancy.”

Clint said nothing, but put the rifle butt against his shoulder and took dead aim. He walked slowly forward, following his prey while the bearded one dragged Joanna away from the fire. The rifle never wavered as Clint stalked the man, who held Joanna tightly before him, keeping the gun pressed against her neck while trying to keep his head almost hidden behind hers. Clint continued to stalk, waiting, his rifle aimed, until the man looked quickly behind him to see where he was going. It was only for an instant, but when he jerked his head back to watch Clint, he was met with a bullet that put a neat hole in the middle of his forehead.

Joanna screamed when the rifle suddenly barked and the bullet thudded against her abductor’s brow. She felt the pistol drop from her throat, and the man sagged to the ground, killed instantly. Her nerves shattered, she screamed out in relief, but also in anger. As Clint walked up to make sure the second outlaw was dead, Joanna ran to him and threw her arms around him, screaming, “Damn you! You could have killed me!” Still trying to control her emotions, she pressed her face against his chest, not sure whether to thank him or curse him for risking her life.

Karl, still in a mild state of shock over the sudden chaos that interrupted his sleep, could do little more than gape at his daughter clinging to Clint so desperately. When he finally found his voice, it was only to utter, “What . . . ? Where did they . . . ?”

Suddenly aware as well, Joanna released him and quickly backed away. “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed to have surrendered to her emotions. “I thought I was shot. I felt the bullet right next to my face.”

“I knew I wouldn’t miss,” Clint repeated earnestly. “I couldn’t let him back outta here with Joanna. They weren’t plannin’ on leavin’ any of us alive. They didn’t wear masks or anythin’ to keep us from seein’ their faces.”

“He’s right, Papa,” Joanna said. “They planned to kill us all.” And something worse for me before they killed me, she thought. Only then did she remember the loaded revolver tucked under the edge of her blanket, and chided herself for lacking the presence of mind to have used it.

With Karl’s help, Clint dragged the bodies away from their camp and deposited them in a deep gully near the river. Then Clint walked back along the river until he found their horses tied in a clump of berry bushes. Well, it ain’t the way I planned to build a herd, he thought, but there ain’t no use in leaving them.

In spite of the fact that there was no more danger, there was not much chance of deep sleep for the rest of the night. The morning sun was greeted with a general sense of relief as Joanna rustled up some breakfast while Clint and Karl loaded packs and saddled horses. Clint checked on the bodies again, ridding them of weapons and ammunition before breaking camp and leaving the tragic scene behind them. A clear day before them, and the anticipation of reuniting with brother and uncle, served to lighten the atmosphere for the travelers, but Karl would never forget the machinelike reactions of his young friend in the execution of the two men. He would also remember his daughter’s clinging to Clint instead of running to her father. That could signal trouble ahead.

“So, you’re Frederick Steiner’s brother,” Peter Weber exclaimed, amazed by the visitors at his door. “I should have known without you telling me. You favor him.” He turned to call back in the house, “Martha, come out here and say hello to Frederick’s brother and his daughter.”

Clint stood by the horses and watched the introductions. Martha Weber made a big fuss over Joanna, and in a few minutes the Webers’ two teenage sons joined the meeting. Then Clint was drawn into the mix, and Karl tried to explain that he was not Joanna’s husband, Robert. The Webers tried to persuade them to come inside so Martha could fix a meal, but understood when Karl insisted that he was anxious to find his brother.

“Well, you can’t miss Frederick’s place,” Weber said. “Just follow that wagon track along the river. His is the next house you’ll come to.” The whole Weber family stood in the yard and waved them good-bye.

They rode about three-quarters of a mile before they spotted a sturdy log house where a creek emptied into the river. There was a large garden in front of the house with a man and a boy cleaning out a couple of rows of dead vines. Karl started chuckling as he kicked his horse into a fast lope and headed toward the two. Frederick looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of a man on horseback. He stood up then, seeing two more riders, leading horses, coming along behind. “Hey-yo! Freddy!” Karl sang out as he drove the horse into the corner of the garden.

“Karl!” Frederick exclaimed, hardly able to believe his eyes. He turned quickly to his son. “As I live and breathe, it’s your uncle Karl!” Dropping his hoe, he ran to meet his brother. Karl jumped out of the saddle and the two brothers embraced with an abundance of back-slapping and bear hugs. “I swear, I never thought you’d come out here. What happened to the gold mining?” Before Karl could answer, he exclaimed, “And you brought Joanna and Robert with you! Where’s Sarah?”

Karl paused but a moment to shake hands with his nephew, John, before replying, “Well, truth is, I brought Joanna. Robert went back east.” He paused and swallowed hard before going further. “Sarah’s dead, killed by Sioux Indians.”

Karl explained as quickly as he could before Clint and Joanna rode up to join them. In summary he said, “His name’s Clint Conner, but the truth be told, he’s an angel sent down to bring Joanna and me safely here.” There was no time to offer explanation in answer to Frederick’s look of astonishment.

As he had at the Webers’ place, Clint held back and watched the reunion, smiling for the obvious happy occasion while he tried to keep his little herd of horses out of Frederick’s garden. Within minutes, the party was joined by Frederick’s wife when she realized what was taking place in the garden, and the round of hugs was started again. After Frederick told Bertha about the death of her sister-in-law, Karl beckoned for Clint to come forward to be introduced.

While Clint and John took care of the horses, Karl explained Clint’s presence and the absence of Robert. He told them about the futile attempts to pan gold in the Black Hills, the subsequent attacks by Indians, and the latest attempt upon their lives by outlaws. “But thanks to Clint’s help, we finally made it here.”

“I’d take it as a godsend if you’d think about staying here with us,” Frederick said. “To tell you the truth, I took on a bigger piece of land than I can handle. With just John and me, it’s more than I can keep up with. I could sure use some help. Whaddaya say, Karl? We can build onto the back of the house so you and Joanna could have your own space, and we’ll run this place together.”

“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Frederick said. “I’ve got a field full of oats that are just about ready to harvest. John and I were gonna ask Weber next door if he could give us a hand. Now we won’t have to.”

Feeling a strong need to clean up before sitting down at the supper table, Clint borrowed a bar of soap from Bertha, picked up his saddlebags from the barn, and walked up the creek until he was out of sight of the house. After stripping down to his underwear and applying the soap liberally to his body, he rinsed in the cool water and returned to the bank to dry off. Thinking it had been too long between shaves, he rummaged through his belongings until he found the razor he had brought from his father’s house. With no strap to sharpen the instrument, it produced a pretty rough shave, necessitating a second pass across his face. Although it left his face feeling raw and sensitive, he felt clean for the first time in a while. Changing into his cleanest dirty shirt, he pronounced himself fit to dine in genteel company.

Conversation in the kitchen stopped when he walked in, and he immediately felt a sudden flush of embarrassment as he witnessed the startled expressions on the faces of the women. “I thought I’d best clean up a little bit,” he explained apologetically.

Bertha glanced at Joanna and grinned before turning back to behold the minor transformation of their guest. Joanna’s look of astonishment slowly turned to a pleased smile. “Sit yourself down at the table—we’re about ready to eat.”

When he was told of the plans for the two brothers to go into partnership on the land, Clint felt that his obligation to Karl and Joanna was completed. His main concern was for Joanna, and now he felt she was safe and with people who cared for her. “I reckon I’ll be movin’ on in the mornin’,” he told them as they sat around the supper table.

Joanna tried to hide the look of distress that suddenly registered upon her face. No one noticed it except Bertha, who smiled her understanding. Flushing slightly, Joanna quickly looked away before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“I expect I’ll look around this part of the country for a little bit, and then head west. I’ve got a strong notion to see the Rocky Mountains, maybe find me a spot on top of a mountain someplace where there’s plenty of game for food and hides.”

“I reckon,” was all he replied. He could not tell her that he felt he had no choice. The image of Zach Clayton entered his mind when the deputy marshal vowed to come after him. Then it suddenly hit him, like a punch in the solar plexus. For the first time since his escape from prison he wished with all his heart that he had served his sentence, that he was free to do whatever he wanted without fear of running into a lawman. He looked up then to discover Joanna’s gaze fixed upon him. “Maybe it ain’t the way I want it,” he offered in lame defense.

“Don’t feel like you have to go right away,” Frederick said. “You’re welcome to stay on awhile until you get rested up and maybe get a few good meals in you. Bertha’s a pretty good cook.” He didn’t express it, but from what Karl had told him about the young man’s skill with a rifle, he might be handy to have around for a while. Ever since the news of the Custer massacre on the Little Big Horn, there had been reports of stray bands of Indians moving through the Yellowstone Valley.

Joanna said nothing, but watched Clint’s reactions closely, waiting for his response. When he allowed that he might stay on for a couple of days if Bertha was sure he wouldn’t be a burden, she quickly turned and busied herself with the supper dishes, afraid they might read the relief in her face.

When it was time for bed, Bertha suggested that Clint could sleep in the kitchen by the stove since the cabin was lacking in enough rooms for everyone. Clint graciously declined, saying he would be fine in the barn with his horses. Being an astute woman, as well as an observant one, Bertha said, “Joanna, why don’t you take a lantern and go out with Clint so he can see to spread his bedroll?”

“Come on,” Joanna interrupted. Taking the lantern Bertha offered, she started for the door. “You don’t wanna spread your bedroll over something one of the horses left on the floor.”

She held the lantern for him while he untied his bedroll from his saddle and spread it on some hay in a corner of the last stall. “Well, I reckon that’ll do just fine,” he said. “I appreciate the help.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you how much I owe you—we owe you, Papa and I—for coming with us.” When he started to protest that it wasn’t necessary, she stopped him. “Clint, I owe you my life. I will always be grateful. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

“So am I,” she said. He looked up to meet her gaze. She whispered, “Thank you,” and quickly reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, then spun around and left him standing confused in the dark.

He went to bed, but he did not sleep for some time, his mind laboring now with thoughts new to him, the memory still lingering of her lips on his. He could not deny that he had come to look upon the woman fondly, but he had attributed his feelings to compassion for her misfortunes. He tried to recreate the incident in his mind. Her kiss had been quick, and maybe really only on the corner of his lips. She might have intended to kiss him on the cheek, as a sister would kiss her brother, and accidentally came too close to his lips. Perplexed, he told himself to forget about it. She was just grateful to him for saving her life.