As Cutler rode up to the Edwards’ sod house, he heard a woman crying behind it. He heard the little girl screaming, “Mommy! Mommy!” He had his Colt drawn and was off his horse in a split second. He crouched low and ran fast around the side of the sod roof. Red needed no instructions when Cutler crouched and ran in this way. The Airedale ran with its master, staying close to Cutler’s heels.
Coming around back, he saw Mrs. Edwards huddled over her husband who lay on the ground. The little girl Sarah held on to her mother’s skirt and wept. The boy Jason stood back from them, clutching his hands behind his back, unable to understand what was happening. When he saw Red, he let out a yell. The sound made Mrs. Edwards stiffen, then she reeled around and pointed the rifle at Cutler. The trigger clicked. It was empty. But Cutler had gone flat on the ground already and, if there had been a shot, it would have gone over him. Big Red didn’t have time to consider the difference. He was already streaking toward the gun.
“Red! Stay!” Cutler stopped him, and the dog stopped just short of taking the gun or Mrs. Edwards’ arm in his teeth. He stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t look back to Cutler on the command. He kept his eyes riveted on Mrs. Edwards and the gun.
“Oh!” Mrs. Edwards wailed in dismay as the gun fell from her hands and she realized what she had done. “Oh, oh, oh,” she continued to cry into her hands held tightly against her face.
Cutler kept his gun out as he came close to her and looked around, then he holstered it and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
He got a look at Edwards lying flat on the ground. He was unconscious or dead. He was bleeding at the side of the head, and the blood trickled down to a small rock near him, sending streaks of crimson across its dusty surface. There was more blood on his shirt front which had been ripped open in three gashes.
Gently but firmly, Cutler pushed Mrs. Edwards aside and put his ear down to Edwards’ bloody chest. His ear had blood on it when he lifted up his head, but he thought he’d heard a heartbeat. He took out his gun.
“I’m not gonna hurt him,” he reassured the woman. He placed the gun barrel under Edwards’ nose and saw it cloud from the man’s breathing. “He’s alive. Get hot water, if you got it ready. Get bandages, or rip up your skirt. Hurry.”
Mrs. Edwards forgot her natural shyness and modesty. She reached under her skirt, pulled off a petticoat and gave it to Cutler. As Cutler ripped it up and used part of it to mop up the blood, Mrs. Edwards ran inside the house.
Red had gone over to the little girl and nuzzled her hand with his cool nose. She patted him automatically. Jason came over to join her.
“Will my daddy live?” she asked.
“Probably will, but you better take Red and your brother off to the side there so’s I can work on him without your gettin’ in the light.”
She did as she was told and went off at a distance with her brother and the dog. The three of them sat, no longer making a sound. The children fondled the dog and stared ahead at Cutler and their father.
Mrs. Edwards returned with a kettle of hot water, and Cutler used it to wash the wounds. The gashes in the shirt went through to the skin, but they weren’t deep enough to kill the man. He was in more danger from the wound to his head.
“What happened?” he asked Mrs. Edwards as he continued to work on her husband.
“I don’t really know. I was workin’ in the house and the kids were off playin’. I think Matt was back here makin’ sure all the sod was in place. Then I heard him yell, just once, then nothin’. I grabbed the rifle he always kept loaded and run out of the house. Just over the roof I saw a flash of somethin’, like a knife or somethin’... and feathers. I thought I saw feathers. That’s what I aimed at and shot. Then I come racin’ around the house and found Matt like you did, all ripped open and bleedin’ like that.”
“Didn’t you see anybody else?”
“When I saw Matt lyin’ on the ground and bleedin’, every other thought went outta my head. Could’ve been an army here and I wouldn’t’ve noticed.”
Cutler smiled grimly. “Well, lady, you saved his life, I’d say. Whatever it was, you scared it off when you fired that gun. How long ago did this all happen?”
“Don’t know that, either. I lost all sense of time, Mr. Cutler. Didn’t know that any more’n I knew whether or not somebody or somethin’ else was runnin’ away.”
Cutler was torn between tending to the wounded settler and going off after his prey. He didn’t see any tracks, but he did see two other things. One was an eagle feather. The other was a single leaf from a Cottonwood tree. There were no eagles in sight and no trees nearby. Neither was there any wind that could have blown these objects here. That alone was enough to tell him the story.
He whistled softly, and Apache came up to him from the spot where he’d been standing on the other side of the house. From a saddle bag, Cutler took a small bottle of alcohol and poured it over the wounds, most of it on the chest. “Good thing he ain’t awake to feel that.” Then he finished bandaging the wounds. “Okay, let’s get him in out of the sun.” He picked the man up in his arms and carried him inside.
Returning to the spot where he had found Edwards, he examined the ground more closely. It was barely detectable, and no one would’ve seen it if he didn’t know what to look for, but there it was, the absence of a track. Instead there were the sweeping motions on the dust of a cottonwood branch rubbed across the earth. It was well done, and there were places where even Cutler couldn’t see it.
“Red!” The dog came bounding over with the children following behind.
“You can go in and see your daddy if you want to,” he told them.
“He gonna be alright?” the little girl asked.
“Yes, honey. He’s gonna live. Go on in now.”
The girl went inside with her brother.
“Red!” Cutler pointed to the ground. “Trail.”
Without anything more than that to go on, the dog was confused for a moment, but then it picked up the scent that didn’t belong to the Edwards or Cutler, and he took off following the swept earth. Cutler ran behind him. Some distance away he found where a horse had stood and waited, maybe ten minutes or so judging by the depth of the prints. He could see someone had mounted the horse and rode off toward the north. Red was already ahead on the trail. Cutler called him back.
“Easy, Red.” He scratched the dog behind its ears. “We’ll go after him alright. But first we better find out everything we can about him. This is a new kind of animal for us, one we don’t know well enough to go huntin’.”
He went back to the house and looked inside. Edwards had his eyes open and his wife was working at the stove. He almost jumped up from the bed when he saw the man in the doorway.
“Easy, Matt. It’s me, John Cutler.”
The man sank back onto his cot and sighed.
“I’m fixin’ him some broth,” said Mrs. Edwards.
“That’ll do him fine.” Cutler examined Edwards professionally, looking at the eyes for clarity. “You come around fast. Can you talk?”
Edwards’ face took on a pleading look and his eyes darted to the side, toward his wife and children.
Cutler got the message. “You kids mind goin’ outside for a while and playin? No need to worry about your papa anymore.”
Mrs. Edwards looked around from the fire. “Yes, you kids go outside and find the dog. But you stay right outside the door there, you hear?”
When the children were gone, Edwards glanced toward his wife, then back to Cutler.
“She’s your partner, Matt. You can’t ask her to leave. She’s gotta know. She’s got a right to know.”
Edwards closed his eyes a moment and Mrs. Edwards came over to listen. She was there when his eyes opened. “You really want to hear?” he asked her.
“Yes, Matt. What I don’t know scares me more than what I do know.”
Cutler sat on the edge of the cot and folded his arms. “Let’s have it, then.”
Edwards cleared his throat.
“Got some water?” Cutler asked.
Mrs. Edwards brought a dipper to the cot and Cutler held it for Edwards to drink. When he’d had enough, he pushed the dipper aside. “Alright. I’ll tell what I can.”
“Take it slow,” said Cutler. “Don’t leave nothin’ out.”
“I was workin’ out behind the house, bendin’ over to fix some sod at the base of the roof. I didn’t hear anythin’. But sudden like there was this shadow, like a bird fly in’ by. I turned and looked up, and there was this Indian, dressed like the pictures you see, just a thing around his vitals, and moccasins with leggins, and this great feathered headdress. He had some paint on his face, I guess. And he was holdin’ up this contraption like I’d never seen before, kind of like a big giant fork with the tines bent and real sharp points. Well, I started to get up, and he started to lower that fork thing toward me. When I tried to veer off to get away from it, I lost my balance.” He paused and closed his eyes a moment, his forehead wrinkling in thought.
“Then what?” asked Cutler.
“I can’t remember anymore until I woke up in here. Did you get him? Is he dead?”
“Your wife scared him off and maybe shot one of the feathers out of his headdress. Saved your life, I figure. When you lost your balance, you hit your head against a rock out there, and that knocked you out. Then as the Indian was lowerin’ that fork thing, your wife shot. That threw him enough so the weapon couldn’t go deep enough to do any real damage. ‘Course, if he knew that rifle was just one and had to be reloaded, you might not’ve got off so easy. But the Comanche ain’t too proud to run away and save his skin if it means he gets to live and fight some more.”
Edwards’ eyes widened in fear. “Good God, is it a Comanche we’re dealin’ with? Is that what’s been causin’ all the killin’s?”
“Afraid so, Matt.”
“Why, I’ve heard stories about them, that they’re the savagest, blood-thirstiest type that ever lived.”
Cutler looked to Mrs. Edwards. She had gone pale.
“You gotta know,” he said. “It’s a Comanche alright. The Comanches ain’t so savage anymore, but this one’s different. His wife was murdered and he went loco. At least, that’s what we’d call it.”
Mrs. Edwards’s voice trembled. “What else could you call it?”
“You could call it instinct, sort of. He was tryin’ to live peaceable like the other Indians on the reservation. But he couldn’t forget how the buffalo got killed off after white folks started settlin’, and when the railroad come through. He maybe learned how to handle that until his wife was murdered. Then he smelled blood, just like an animal that’s been tamed, and he went wild.”
She looked toward the doorway and the sound of the children playing. “Will he come back?”
“I don’t hardly think so, but you can never tell.”
Edwards struggled to his feet. “That settles it.”
“Matt, lie back down,” said his wife.
“No, I won’t.” He swayed dizzily for a moment, then got his balance. “I’m a little wobbly, but I’m alive and I can walk. Lady, you get everything together you want to take. We’re gonna load it up and leave. If that Indian’s a Comanche and he wants his land back, well, he can have it. The life of me or you or the kids is too dear a price for a hundred-sixty acres.”
Mrs. Edwards looked to Cutler. “Mr. Cutler?”
“I can’t tell you nothin’, ma’am. I certainly ain’t gonna try to stop a man what’s made his mind up. For all I know, he’s doin’ the right thing.”
“Would you do what he’s doin’? Would you leave?”
“Ain’t got an answer for that ’cause I wouldn’t’ve been here in the first place.”
“Alright, Matt. We’ll go then.”
Edwards was already throwing things into a gunny sack. “It’s been a mistake from the word go anyway.”
Cutler moved toward the door. “I’ve got to be goin’, too, while the trail’s fresh.”
Edwards stopped what he was doing. “You’re goin’ after him?”
“That’s what I’m bein’ paid to do.”
Can you kill him?”
Can’t say. One of us’ll get killed, that’s for sure. Is there anything else you remember about the Indian? Anything at all you can tell me that might help?”
“No, I told you all I remember.”
“Guess that’ll have to do then. Good luck, folks.” He turned and went out the door and whistled for Apache. Whatever was going to happen, he knew he was getting closer and closer to it. He thought he smelled death.
The campfire still flickered, and the camp was quiet, as two men with rifles moved quietly into the firelight. They paused and looked about. Apache returned their gaze but didn’t make a sound.
They were both dressed in cowboy gear. One man was short and pudgy and grinning like an evil frog. He had a habit of licking his lips from time to time. The other man was tall and muscular. His expression was grim, the look of a man with a mission in life, one he wasn’t going to be easily turned away from. In other words, he was a dangerous man to anyone who might have a contrary opinion.
The tall man pointed with his six-shooter toward Cutler’s bedroll. The fat one grinned and nodded. Together they crept up on the bedroll. The tall man knelt and poked it with his gun. “Time to get up, you sonofabitch,” he said. The fat man laughed.
“Freeze!” The order came from behind them. It cut through both men like an icy sword, and they did freeze, not so much from the meaning of the order, but from the effect of the sound of it. If it had been less of a surprise, they might have turned and shot blindly.
“Now, be very careful what you do,” said the voice behind them. “This ain’t a bluff.”
“Easy,” said the fat man. “This man here’s a murderer.” He nodded slightly toward the bedroll. “You protectin’ the likes of him?”
“He sleeps mighty peaceful for a murderer, don’t he?” The voice kept its cutting edge. “Now drop ’em right there.”
The men obeyed.
“Next thing I want you to do is back away from that bedroll. Now.”
The men obeyed.
“Now turn around slow like, real slow.”
They turned as they’d been told and faced the shadow of another man holding a rifle. He walked toward them and into the firelight. A giant Airedale came beside him, its teeth flashing from the fire.
“Now tell me about that murderer,” said Cutler. “Since there’s nothin’ in the bedroll but a blanket and a saddle bag, I expect it’s me you’re callin’ a murderer, ain’t it? So tell me about me. Tell it slow and plain. And tell it soft so you don’t upset my dog too much. Tell it like you wanted to stay alive.”
“Guess we coulda made a mistake,” said the fat man.
“In a pig’s eye,” said the tall man. “Holdin’ a gun on us don’t make him innocent.”
Cutler lifted the muzzle of his Krag to point between the eyes of the tall man. “I’m gettin’ impatient.”
The tall man dropped to the ground and slithered like a snake toward his gun.
“Red! Take him!”
The Airedale leapt forward onto the back of the man and gripped his neck in the strong teeth. “Stay!” Cutler ordered. The dog froze, its mouth still around the man’s neck.
“How about you?” Cutler pointed his rifle toward the fat man who had not moved.
“I don’t want no trouble,” he said.
“Neither do I, friend. Neither do I.” His gun still on the man, Cutler walked over and picked up the guns and stuck them in his belt. “Red! Off!” The dog backed away off the man who turned on his back and looked up, rubbing his neck.
“No blood,” said Cutler. “Not yet, anyway. But is it necessary for me to explain the situation to you two gentlemen?”
“Not to me,” said the fat man.
“How about you?” Cutler asked the other one.
“You got the upper hand right now.”
“That’s certain. Get up.”
The man rose and joined his companion.
“Now,” Cutler sighed, “I don’t like to chew my cabbage twice, but this once I’ll make an exception. I asked you to tell me about your murderer. I ain’t askin’ again.”
“I’ll tell yuh,” the fat man said quickly. “We come by a claim back yonder. Nobody was around, but it looked like the place’d been robbed, with nothin’ valuable around, and what was there was tossed about like somebody’d been in a hurry.”
“So far,” said Cutler, “you’re describin’ a robber, not a murderer.”
“Well, there was this blood around back, so we figured the robber’d killed whoever lived there, then took off. We saw wagon tracks, like maybe the man’s missus put him on a wagon, or the other way around, and went off, maybe lookin’ for a doctor. So we followed the other trail and it led us here, to you.”
“A couple of vigilantes, huh?”
“What do you expect us to do?” The tall man spoke up. “Just sit by and let these murders go on the way they have been?”
“Don’t expect anyone to let murders go on, but I’d take it kindly if you would sit by and let a professional do his job. My names John Cutler, and I’m commissioned to get the murderer you think you’re after.”
“Aw hell, I’m sorry.” The tall man shook his head. “Sorry, Cutler.” He turned to his companion. “Bob, this is the man who brought in the Thomas boys several years back. Cutler, I’m Montana Mitchell, and this here’s Bob Cumberland.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Stay back,” Cutler said. “Maybe you’ve had a change of heart and maybe you haven’t, but I ain’t stayed alive by takin’ chances like that. You want some coffee, squat down there by the fire and help yourselves, but don’t expect out-and-out friendliness towards somebody who’d go off half cocked like you did. If I didn’t hear you comin’ toward my camp and didn’t have Red here to warn me, that could be a dead man lyin’ in the bedroll, all over a long string of maybes. Maybe somebody robbed the house. Maybe the blood meant somebody was killed. Maybe the body’d been taken to a doctor.”
“Said I was sorry.”
“Sorry’ll get you a cup of coffee, not a handshake.”
Bob and Montana sat down by the fire and helped themselves to coffee.
“When you’ve finished that,” said Cutler, “we’ll go to your horses. Once I’ve relieved them of their hardware, you can be on your way. But understand this, the man you’re after is mine. And I don’t want no help, especially from two cowpokes who have a mind to shoot first and ask questions later.”
After the two men had finished their coffee, they led Cutler to their horses nearby. Cutler took the rifles from the saddle boots. “Mount up.”
They got on their horses.
“You expect us to ride off without our guns?” Montana asked.
“That’s exactly right. And don’t come back till mornin’. You’ll find them lyin’ over there where the fire is. But don’t ride into this camp unless I’m out of it. I don’t want to see hide nor hair of either of you. Understand? Now git.”
They rode off into the darkness.
Cutler returned to the campfire and sat on his bedroll. Red lay down beside him and put his head on Cutler’s leg.
Things were getting desperate. The folks in Guthrie hadn’t given Cutler an actual time limit, but there was one just the same. If those two cowboys were willing to go off and maybe kill the man at the end of any available trail, there must be lots of others like them. People would do crazy things if they were angry or scared. And hardly anyone who’d learned to live the hard life in the West was used to sitting around when faced with a threatening situation. They’d rather do the wrong thing than nothing at all. That was why so many men had been hanged for horse thieves in the past, some of them innocent. That was what was behind George Eustis’ fear that if one Indian was known to be a murderer, people might try to take it out on all Indians, especially if the guilty one couldn’t be found.
He lay the cowboys’ rifles close to his bedroll and crawled into it. Their pistols he put inside the roll, his own Colt near his hand. Then he lay back, his head against his saddle.
“Red! Guard!” He said, and then he went to sleep.
In the night, as the fire died down to embers, Cutler was awakened by Red growling savagely. He bolted upright, his gun aimed into the darkness. He put his hand in Red’s collar and held the dog. He didn’t want the Airedale going off after something he himself couldn’t see.
He heard a soft rustling sound, the sound of someone retreating away from the camp. Then he heard a horse riding off into the distance. Then there was silence.
He stoked up the fire and added more wood. He knew he wouldn’t sleep the rest of the night.
As soon as there was a redness in the east and morning lit the great sky, Cutler was up and looking for tracks around the camp. There was no trouble finding those of the cowboys in their high-heeled boots, the shorter deeper tracks left by the stout Bob Cumberland, the others left by Montana Mitchell. He saw where there tracks led to their horses and the horses’ tracks going off. They didn’t return. He scanned the horizon for sign of them, but they apparently had taken Cutler at his word and weren’t going to come back until they were sure he’d left the camp.
But he also found another set of tracks that didn’t belong to the two cowboys. These were harder to spot because they had been made by moccasins. They approached the camp with something dragging in the dirt beside them, like a Comanche lance. They approached within a few yards of where Cutler had been sleeping, close enough for the person to get a look at Cutler, and then they retreated, almost retracing the same trail to where a horse had been standing. Lying there was a cottonwood branch, a long rawhide thong tied around one end of it. Without this to hide the trail, the horse’s tracks were easy to see. It could only be done on purpose. The Indian was leaving a trail that Cutler could follow.
Cutler decided that this would be the day of battle. He would eat no breakfast, just as a Comanche would not eat when preparing for war. It kept the mind clearer.
Cutler went back to break up camp and start off. But before he did, he looked once more at the moccasin imprints near his camp. Cutler began to wonder who was the hunter and who the hunted.