Frontier America

Following the battle with the outlaws who had attacked the wagon train, Preacher and Hawk had returned to the village the next day. They were lucky enough along the way to run into a small herd of deer, so they brought quite a bit of fresh meat back with them. The Crow ate well that night, well enough that it seemed like a celebration of sorts.

Preacher and Hawk also sat down with Broken Pine and the other leading warriors, including Many Pelts, and told them everything that had happened.

“Those settlers won’t cause any trouble for you,” Preacher assured the warriors sitting around the fire in Broken Pine’s lodge. “They’ve turned around and headed back down to the Sweetwater, and from there they’ll go on through South Pass. They won’t come anywhere close to your village.”

“But other white men will come,” Many Pelts insisted. “You said they all believe there is a good way up here to cross the mountains with their wagons.”

Disdain practically dripped from Many Pelts’ voice. Several men nodded in agreement with him. As so often happened, these Indians couldn’t even begin to comprehend how white men thought and felt about things. Of course, Preacher told himself, the same thing was true when it was turned around and pointed back the other direction.

“Over time, folks will realize that fella who wrote the book didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. When that happens, the wagon trains will stop driftin’ in this direction and you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“How long?” Many Pelts demanded. “And how much will they ruin our hunting grounds before this thing you promise happens?”

“Your huntin’ grounds will be fine,” Preacher said, trying to restrain the impatience he felt at Many Pelts’ stubborn attitude, an attitude obviously shared by several more of the Crow warriors. “As long as it starts rainin’ again, like it’s bound to, the game will come back and be as plentiful as ever.”

Broken Pine said, “There is no way to be sure this will happen, Preacher. If it does not, our people will starve.”

“I guess we can never be sure somethin’s gonna happen until it does,” Preacher said.

“Another thing worries me,” Broken Pine went on. “These men who raided the wagon train . . . what are the chances they will come here and attack our people?”

Preacher shook his head and said, “I don’t see any reason why they would. There were some renegade Indians among ’em, but most of’em were white, from what I could tell, and that means they were after loot. The Crow lead happy, peaceful lives here, but no offense, Broken Pine, you folks don’t have anything that’d interest a bunch of greedy, no-account varmints like that.”

“Preacher is right,” said Hawk. “Those evil white men are no threat to us.”

Many Pelts scoffed and said, “Of course you agree with your white father. I say the best way, the only way, for our people to be safe is to fight any white men we see and make them want to stay far away from here.”

“You talk like a Blackfoot,” Hawk snapped back at him.

Many Pelts snarled, leaned forward, and reached for the knife at his waist.

“We do not fight each other,” Broken Pine said sharply. “Especially in my lodge.”

“You heard what he said!” Many Pelts exclaimed.

“My apologies, Many Pelts,” said Hawk. “My words were unwise. But I do not want our people to seek trouble when it is not necessary.”

Broken Pine said, “There is wisdom to be found in those words. We will not fight among ourselves, and we will not go to war against the whites. Perhaps the spirits will smile upon us and no more wagon trains will come near our hunting grounds.”

“That’s a good thing to hope for,” Preacher agreed with a nod.

For the next week, it appeared that those spirits were smiling, just as Broken Pine suggested. Hunting parties found more game, which led Preacher to hope that animals were already starting to return to the area in greater numbers. No more wagon trains were spotted out on the plains.

Preacher spent his days with Hawk, Butterfly, Eagle Feather, and Bright Moon. This was probably the longest stretch he had ever visited with his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren. He thoroughly enjoyed this time.

But even while he was doing that, he began to feel restlessness growing stronger inside him. Going to sleep and waking up in the same place, day after day, was something to which he had never become accustomed. Pretty soon now, he was going to have to be on the move again.

Before that happened, though, he wanted to spend time with his other friends in the village, so he suggested to Hawk that they go hunting again, but on this occasion, they would take Broken Pine, Big Thunder, and several other warriors Preacher had befriended with them.

“This is good!” Big Thunder enthused when Preacher told him about the hunting trip. “And when we get back, we will fight again?”

“Why is it you’re so bound and determined to tussle with me?” asked Preacher. “I’m gettin’ old, son. I can’t be much competition anymore.”

Big Thunder shook his head and said, “Preacher will never be too old to fight! That is what you do.”

“Sometimes, it seems like that’s all too true. It ain’t like I go lookin’ for trouble, though. Somehow it just finds me.”

There were ten men in their party when they set out from the village. They planned to be out for two or possibly even three days but took the bare minimum of provisions needed for a trip like that. They were counting on finding game to feed them.

Dog ranged far ahead of them, but Preacher didn’t worry about the big cur scaring off any deer or antelope. If Dog spotted any worthwhile game, he would come back and lead them to it. The only things he would go after for himself were rabbits and grouse.

The men took their time, not pushing the ponies they rode. As they loafed along, they talked about many things, from women they had known to great battles they had fought in the past to their hopes for what they would find in the world beyond this one. Preacher reflected that there wasn’t much difference between a hunting trip with this bunch of fellas and one he might have taken with a group of white friends. When you got right down to it, folks were folks . . . mostly.

They didn’t find any game the first day, so they pushed out farther into the foothills the second day. A lone deer provided enough meat for the hunters to have a good meal, but not enough to make traveling back to the village worthwhile. On the third day, one of the warriors suggested that they venture out onto the plains, where they might find a herd of buffalo.

The others were willing to go along with that, especially Big Thunder, who said that he needed a new buffalo robe.

“You are so large, it may take two buffalo to make a robe for your lodge,” one of the other men joked.

Big Thunder crossed his arms over his massive chest, scowled, and said solemnly, “You should not make sport with Big Thunder, Swift Water.”

“I mean no insult,” Swift Water assured him, grinning. “But they call you Big Thunder for a reason, my friend.”

The hunting party moved on, leaving the foothills and riding out onto the grassy plains. They scared up some prairie chickens, which took awkward flight and fled, but no buffalo. When the middle of the day had passed, Broken Pine brought his pony to a halt and the others did likewise. The Crow chief said, “We should start thinking about turning back.”

“But we have found hardly any game!” a warrior protested.

“We have enjoyed our friendship,” Broken Pine said with a shrug. He looked over at the mountain man and added, “I believe this is what Preacher really sought to find.”

“You’re right about that, Broken Pine,” Preacher said, nodding. “But I’ve got a hunch we might find something else after all.” He raised a hand and pointed. “Look over yonder.”

A yellow haze hung in the air in the direction Preacher indicated.

“Dust,” Hawk said, recognizing the sign.

“Yep. Somethin’s on the move over there, and to kick up that much dust, it must be a mess of buffalo.”

“We will go and see,” Broken Pine decided. He heeled his pony into motion again, and the others followed suit as they all rode toward the rising dust.

* * *

Several days had passed, and there had been no sign of the Pawnee or any other hostiles as the party of U.S. army dragoons continued their journey toward the mountains. The weather had been good, and the sun shining brightly each day had dried the ground and made it easy for the wagons to travel along in the wake of the riders.

If anybody thought about Private Clarence Hodgson, lying now beneath the sod in a lonely grave miles behind them, they kept those musings to themselves.

Jamie rode at least half a mile ahead of the troop most of the time and avoided Lieutenant Edgar Davidson except to report to him a couple of times a day. Jamie took advantage of any opportunity to talk to Hayden Tyler, though. The young second lieutenant impressed Jamie with his intelligence and levelheadedness. Tyler had the makings of an excellent officer. He just needed experience, and he was getting that on this trip.

One evening at supper, Jamie was hunkered on his heels, drinking coffee and chatting with Lieutenant Tyler, when Corporal Mackey came over to him and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. MacCallister?”

“Sure, Corporal. Is there a problem?”

“No, sir, not really. It’s just that we haven’t had any fresh meat for several days, and I was thinking the men might really like some.”

Jamie smiled and said, “I reckon they would. Nothing perks up a fella quite like a good steak.”

“I know. That’s why I asked Lieutenant Davidson if he could send out a hunting party tomorrow.”

“And you figured maybe I ought to take charge of that hunting party,” Jamie guessed.

Mackey grinned and said, “You’re the famous frontiersman, sir, not any of us. You’d know what you were doing.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Corporal. I think it’s a good idea, and I’ll be ranging out away from the wagons, anyway. I don’t mind taking a few fellas along with me so they can haul back some meat if we run across any game.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir, and I have just one more question for you.” Mackey paused. “Is it all right if I come along with you?”

Tyler spoke up for the first time, saying, “I didn’t think anybody could pry you away from that wagon, Mackey.”

“That’s just it, sir. My rear end’s spent every day for a week planted on that hard wagon seat. It’s getting a little tired!”

Tyler laughed and said, “All right, Corporal. If Mr. MacCallister is agreeable, I don’t see why you couldn’t go. One of the other men can drive that wagon for a day.”

“It’s fine with me, Corporal,” Jamie said. “I’ll be happy to have you along.”

“Should I ask Lieutenant Davidson, too, sir?” Mackey asked Tyler.

“B Troop is still my troop,” Tyler responded, his voice hardening slightly. “I think I can make decisions as to who should handle which job. If Lieutenant Davidson doesn’t agree, I’m sure he’ll let me know about it.”

“I reckon you can count on that,” Jamie drawled.

* * *

The next morning, as Jamie was getting his horse ready to ride, Lieutenant Davidson came over to him and said, “I know that you’re taking several men with you today to form a hunting party, MacCallister.”

“That’s right.”

“It was my idea, you know. Something to improve the men’s morale.”

That absolutely wasn’t true—the hunting party had been Corporal Mackey’s suggestion—but Jamie didn’t point out that he knew better. If Davidson wanted to be that petty, he could go right ahead.

Davidson continued, “I’m sending along Sergeant O’Connor as well.”

Jamie straightened from tightening the cinch on his saddle and frowned as he turned to face Davidson. He said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lieutenant.”

“I can’t order men under my command away from the column and into potential danger without at least a noncommissioned officer along to take charge of the detail.”

“What about Corporal Mackey?”

“A cook and a wagon driver.” Davidson’s dismissive wave of his hand matched the tone of his voice. “He has no command experience.”

“Anyway, I sort of figured the troopers would do what I told them.”

“You’re not an officer.” Davidson’s voice made it sound like Jamie was a lunatic for even suggesting such a thing. “You’re not even a soldier.”

“But I know what I’m doing out here. I reckon that ought to count for something.”

“Nevertheless, my decision is that Sergeant O’Connor is going along,” Davidson insisted, “and I expect that you’ll treat him with the appropriate respect a civilian should display to a noncommissioned officer.”

“The fella’s tried more than once to stove my head in,” Jamie said tightly.

“According to the sergeant, he was simply protecting himself from your aggressive actions.”

“And you believe him.”

Jamie’s words weren’t a question, but Davidson responded to it as one, anyway, saying, “That’s right. I’ll take the word of a soldier over that of a civilian any day.”

Jamie didn’t like the idea, not one little bit, but he could tell by the expression on Davidson’s face that the lieutenant was going to be stubborn about it. So he nodded and said, “All right. But if O’Connor does something foolish and gets himself in trouble, I’m not going to be responsible for it.”

“Just do your job,” Davidson snapped. He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Jamie scowled but finished getting his horse ready. When he was done, he led the mount over to where Corporal Mackey and three more troopers stood waiting with their horses.

“I saw you talking to the lieutenant, Mr. MacCallister,” said Mackey. “Is there some problem?”

“You could say that,” Jamie muttered, but before he could explain, Sergeant Liam O’Connor strode up with the usual sneer on his rugged face. He was leading a horse of his own.

“Mount up,” O’Conner snapped at the men. Their faces fell as they realized what this development meant.

“You’re coming with us, Sergeant?” asked Mackey.

“That’s right. Lieutenant Davidson knows he can’t trust a bunch of numbskulls like you to do what you’re supposed to. Hell, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you get anywhere near a rifle, Mackey. You’re not fit for any job that doesn’t involve jackasses or pots and pans!”

Mackey looked like he wanted to take a swing at O’Connor. Jamie caught the corporal’s eye and gave a little shake of his head to let Mackey know he shouldn’t lose his temper. That wouldn’t accomplish anything and would just get Mackey in trouble.

Anyway, O’Connor had moved on to another target for his wrath. He swung toward Jamie and said, “As for you, MacCallister, don’t try giving me any orders out there. As a matter of fact, I’m in command of this hunting party. The lieutenant said so. So you’ll do what I tell you, not the other way around, understand?”

“Don’t push your luck, O’Connor,” Jamie said in a flat, hard voice. “Let’s just go out there and see if we can find some game.”

“You didn’t agree to obey my orders.”

“That’s right,” Jamie said. “I didn’t.”

O’Connor glared at him for a moment longer, then swung up into his saddle and jerked his horse around.

“Come on,” he barked at Mackey and the other troopers. “MacCallister, you can come with us or go to hell, I don’t care either way.”

As O’Connor rode off, Corporal Mackey said quietly, but with a note of desperation in his voice, “Mr. MacCallister, you’re still coming with us, aren’t you?”

“I reckon I’d better,” Jamie said.

Otherwise, he thought, this hunting party might not ever come back.