CHAPTER 29
The rest of the night dragged by without any more fighting. Jamie figured Lieutenant Davidson was using the time to assess his losses, secure any prisoners who had been taken during the battle, and plan his next step.
Inside the canyon, the Crow and their three white allies did much the same thing, except they didn’t have any prisoners.
As the sun rose and flooded the mouth of the canyon with light, Jamie, Preacher, Lieutenant Hayden Tyler, Hawk, Broken Pine, and several other experienced warriors met in a council of war.
Jamie asked the young officer, “Just how confident are you that enough of those soldiers will follow your orders if you take over for Davidson?”
“I’m confident that some of them will,” Tyler replied. “Corporal Mackey, for one, and I believe Corporal Briggs will, as well. They wield some influence among the men. And don’t forget, this is my troop. They’ve been used to taking orders from me.”
“O’Connor will never cooperate. You’re going to have to relieve him of command, too. And he’ll fight it.”
Tyler nodded and said grimly, “I know that. We’ll do whatever is . . . necessary.”
“You’d better be mighty sure about actually wantin’ to take this step before you do,” Preacher advised. “Once you do, there won’t be no comin’ back from it. If you make it back alive, Davidson’s gonna insist you be court-martialed.”
“I’ll take my chances if that happens. I have to think that a board of inquiry will see I had no choice but to take command. If they decide otherwise . . .” Tyler shrugged. “I’ll spend years behind bars, assuming I’m not taken out and shot. But I’d rather risk that than have this useless killing on both sides go on for any longer than it already has.”
“This is an honorable thing you say,” Broken Pine put in. “But it will accomplish nothing unless the soldiers do as you say.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Preacher. “We’ve got to get our hands on Davidson and O’Connor.” He looked at Jamie. “That sounds like a job for you and me.”
“And me,” Hawk added.
“And I’ll have to be there to take command,” Tyler said. “Otherwise, it’s all for nothing.”
Before they could discuss the situation further, one of the sentries gave a birdcall that served as a warning signal. When they hurried over, the warrior slid down from the top of the boulder where he had been perched and dropped to the ground beside them.
He pointed and said in Crow, “Soldiers come.”
Nature had cut the canyon into the eastern side of a long ridge that ran roughly north and south. In front of the entrance, stretching several hundred yards to a thick growth of trees that marked the course of the river, lay an area of open, mostly level ground. The dragoons had emerged from those trees and sat their horses just out in the open.
Preacher peered across at them and said, “They’re too far away to get an accurate count, but I’d say there are about sixty of the varmints.”
“They’re not varmints,” snapped Jamie. “They’re members of the United States Army. And they’re not to blame for Davidson and O’Connor being such bastards.”
“You can talk all you want about’em just followin’ orders,” Preacher said with anger grating in his voice, “but that don’t change the fact that they attacked my friends and family for no good reason.”
Lieutenant Tyler said, “This whole thing has been a tragedy of misunderstandings from the first. My God, does it always have to be like this? Can’t people of good faith on both sides find a way to get along?”
“You won’t find any good faith in Davidson or O’Connor,” Preacher said. “They don’t care who gets hurt as long as they get what they want. What they feel like they’re entitled to.”
Jamie couldn’t disagree with what Preacher said. He knew the mountain man was right.
“Riders,” Hawk said. “They bear a white flag.” He looked at Preacher. “That means they wish to talk without fighting?”
“That’s what it means, all right. But it sure as hell don’t mean we can trust ’em.”
Four men on horseback had pushed out ahead of the main body of soldiers. One rode slightly ahead of the other three, and he held a staff with a white flag attached to it. Not much wind was blowing this morning, and as a result, the signal for truce hung limply, only flapping a little now and then.
“I’ll go see what they want,” Jamie said.
“Not by yourself,” Preacher said. He whistled, and Dog came bounding from deeper in the canyon. The big cur had been absent during the battle the night before, out wandering and hunting somewhere, and he had seemed pretty sheepish when he showed up in the canyon at dawn, as if he were ashamed that he had missed all the action.
Broken Pine said, “I am the chief of the Crow. If there are decisions to be made for my people, I should be the one to make them.”
“I will come as well,” Hawk declared. “There are four of them. We should be four.”
“Come on, then,” Preacher told his son.
“What about me?” Tyler asked. “I think I should go—”
“Probably a better idea for you to stay here out of sight, Lieutenant,” Jamie interrupted him. “That way Davidson won’t find out just yet that you’ve changed sides. If he sees you now, he’ll go back and drum the idea that you’ve turned traitor into everybody’s head.”
With obvious reluctance, Tyler nodded and said, “I suppose you’re right. But be careful out there. You can’t trust him.”
“Reckon we figured that out a long time ago,” Preacher said as he moved his guns a little in their holsters, checking to see that they slid smoothly in the leather in case he needed them.
No horses had been brought to the canyon when the Crow fled from the attack, so the four men started out onto the flats on foot. They met the army delegation about a third of the way across the open stretch, with everyone coming to a halt when about thirty feet separated the two groups.
The rider in front holding the white flag—and looking extremely nervous about it—was Corporal Mackey. Behind him was Lieutenant Edgar Davidson, with a trooper flanking him on both sides. Davidson had left Sergeant O’Connor back with the other men, Jamie noted. Either that, or O’Connor hadn’t survived the fighting the night before.
Mackey moved his horse aside so that Davidson could nudge his mount ahead and take position front and center. The strap of the lieutenant’s cap was tight under his chin. He glared out from under the cap’s black bill.
“I’ll give you credit, Lieutenant,” Preacher said. “Most commanders would’a sent somebody in their place after stirrin’ up as much trouble as you have. If I was to pull these hoglegs, I don’t reckon anybody could stop me from blowin’ you outta the saddle.”
“Perhaps not,” Davidson said, “but that would be a dishonorable thing to do. And despite the fact that for some ungodly reason you prefer the company of these squalid heathens, your reputation says that you’re an honorable man.” He sniffed. “Besides, I am the commander of this expedition. It’s my responsibility to deliver the terms of surrender.”
“Oh?” Preacher said with a grin. “You’re surrenderin’?”
“You know very well what I meant,” Davidson snapped. “Turn over to me the savages responsible for the deaths of my men, and I promise safe passage back to the village for the others, especially the women and children.”
“It was a battle, Lieutenant,” Jamie pointed out. “A lot of men were shooting on both sides. We don’t have any way of knowing who did what. You can’t blame those deaths on anyone in particular.” Jamie paused, then added meaningfully, “Except maybe one man.”
The rage that made Davidson’s face turn a mottled red showed that he understood perfectly well what Jamie meant. He controlled his anger with a visible effort and went on, “Nevertheless, those are my terms. I require, shall we say, a dozen of the savages to be put on trial for the murder of United States Army dragoons. I don’t particularly care which ones are turned over to me.”
“Put on trial and then executed?” asked Preacher.
“The proceedings will be fair and just. You have my word on that.” Davidson smirked. “But given the circumstances, there is little doubt of the outcome.”
Broken Pine slowly shook his head and said, “This evil thing you speak of will never happen. The only way to stop more killing is for you and your men to leave and never come back.”
Davidson’s chin jutted out arrogantly. He said, “You have my terms. I assure you, if you refuse them, I will continue to engage you and your people as the enemy until all of them have been wiped out.”
“Including a bunch of innocent folks,” Jamie said.
“As has been pointed out on more than one occasion. . . there are no innocents among hostiles.” Davidson lifted his reins. “I’ll give you one hour to comply with my terms. That’s all.”
He turned his horse and rode back toward the trees. The two privates followed him, casting uneasy glances over their shoulders as they did so, as if they thought the truce might not hold. Corporal Mackey, still holding the white flag, hesitated.
“It’s a shame Lieutenant Davidson’s the one giving the orders, Corporal,” Jamie said.
“Maybe. But he’s the only officer we have, Mr. MacCallister, so we don’t have much choice except to follow his commands.”
Mackey turned and rode slowly after the others. Jamie watched him go, then said quietly, “He was trying to tell us something.”
“Maybe,” said Preacher.
“If we can get our hands on Davidson, and Lieutenant Tyler officially relieves him of command, we can put an end to this.”
“Problem is, Davidson made it pretty plain that he’s attackin’ again in an hour. That means more men are gonna die on both sides unless we can figure out a way of sneakin’ into their camp and gettin’ our hands on Davidson in broad daylight. To do that, we’re gonna need a mighty big distraction.”
Jamie said, “You sound like you’ve got an idea brewing in that head of yours, Preacher.”
The mountain man looked back at the canyon, nodded his head, and said, “Maybe I do. Just maybe I do . . .”
* * *
“You want Big Thunder to fight?” The massive warrior raised both fists and shook them in front of him. “Big Thunder is always ready to fight!”
“It’ll be dangerous,” Preacher told him. “You’ll be runnin’ quite a risk. But if you stay back outta good rifle range, I think it’ll work.”
Broken Pine laid a hand on Big Thunder’s arm and said, “You do not have to do this.”
Big Thunder shook his head. “That white man . . . that O’Connor . . . he thinks he beat Big Thunder. Not this time! This time Big Thunder will win!”
Preacher hoped that was true, but the actual outcome of the fight wasn’t the most important thing. They needed to keep the soldiers watching something else, and a second showdown between those two titans ought to do it.
“All right, you know what to do,” Preacher said. He looked at Broken Pine. “Give me and Jamie and Hawk and Tyler time to get where we need to be, then send Big Thunder out there. Even if O’Connor don’t take up the challenge, just havin’ the big fella out there hollerin’ ought to garner a lot of attention.”
“Like Goliath shouting at the Israelites,” Lieutenant Tyler said with a smile. “Only in this case, it’ll be more like Goliath versus Goliath.”
Hawk had already said good-bye to Butterfly and their children. He and the three white men went to the far end of the canyon and began climbing out of it. Preacher told Dog to stay with the Crow, and while the big cur didn’t like it and whined a little in complaint, he followed Preacher’s command, sitting there and watching the four men ascending the rough stone wall. The sides of the canyon were steep but not sheer, and there were plenty of footholds and handholds to make climbing easy.
When they reached the top, the four men stayed low to decrease the chances of being spotted and began working their way south along the ridge. They traveled well out of sight of the area along the river where the soldiers were gathered before they descended from the ridge and headed for the stream. They waded across it and started back up the other side.
Preacher had told Broken Pine to allow an hour for them to get in position. Broken Pine didn’t have a watch, of course, but he had a good sense of how much time was passing.
When that hour was up, Big Thunder would walk out of the canyon, stride boldly toward the troops, and start yelling for Sergeant O’Connor to come out and fight him. If O’Connor took up the challenge, that would be a battle for the ages, thought Preacher. He had tussled enough with Big Thunder himself to know that the huge warrior was actually a smart fighter. He learned from every clash, and the next time it was harder to defeat him. O’Connor probably wouldn’t be expecting that.
Preacher, Jamie, Hawk, and Tyler used all the cover they could find as they approached their destination. Every tree, rock, and clump of brush came in handy.
Quietly, Jamie asked Tyler, “Do you believe Davidson will think of posting guards on the troop’s rear?”
“There’s a good chance he has. I’ve known Edgar a long time. I never liked his attitude, but he did well in his classes at West Point and has a good grasp of tactics and procedures.”
“We’ll keep our eyes and ears open, then,” Preacher said. “We need to spot those guards before they spot us.”
Jamie said, “I don’t want them killed if we can avoid it. We’re trying to stop the killing, not pile the bodies up higher.”
“I didn’t plan on killin’ ’em,” Preacher replied in a slightly exasperated tone. “There are other ways to put ’em out of action.”
“Just so we understand each other.”
A few minutes later, Preacher motioned for them to stop. He signaled silently toward some trees up ahead, then pointed at Hawk and indicated the warrior should go to the left. Preacher tapped his own chest and gestured toward the right. He made a patting gesture with both hands to indicate that Jamie and Tyler should stay where they were.
Jamie nodded. Preacher and Hawk faded off into the brush, moving with almost supernatural stealth.
Even though morning light washed over the landscape, sneaking up on a couple of inexperienced young soldiers wasn’t nearly as difficult as slipping into a Blackfoot village. Preacher had done that many times as a younger man, enough so that the Blackfeet had dubbed him the Ghost Killer and halfway believed that he was some sort of phantom and not quite human.
A few moments later, Preacher found himself behind a uniformed dragoon who stood with his rifle butt resting on the ground at his feet. The trooper never had a chance to lift the weapon. Preacher looped his left arm around the soldier’s neck and closed it hard enough to stifle any outcry. At the same time, he tapped the butt of his right-hand Colt against the man’s head. The soldier’s knees buckled, and Preacher lowered him to the ground.
It was the work of less than two minutes to cut several strips from the man’s uniform shirt and use them to tie him securely, hand and foot. Preacher wadded up another strip of cloth and shoved it into the trooper’s mouth, then tied it in place as a gag. The mountain man left him lying there facedown, confident that the soldier wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm or cause any other trouble.
While he was doing that, he’d heard a faint rustling in the brush and wasn’t surprised to see Hawk emerge and nod curtly to indicate that the other guard was taken care of, as well. The two of them went back to join Jamie and Tyler.
“There may be some more guards scattered around,” Preacher whispered, “but we’ve got a gap in their defenses now. Let’s get down in the brush right along the river’s edge and have a look-see.”
As they advanced, Tyler watched his companions so he could try to imitate them and move as quietly as they did. For the most part, he was successful. He stepped on a few branches, but Preacher didn’t think the cracks when those branches broke were loud enough to warn the inexperienced troopers.
They crouched in the thick growth beside the river and parted it enough to study the other bank. The mounted dragoons were visible through the trees as they waited for Lieutenant Davidson’s order to attack the Crow holed up in the canyon. Preacher could tell that most of the young soldiers were nervous about going into battle again. They fidgeted with their rifles, turned their heads this way and that, spoke to each other in low tones. He spotted Sergeant O’Connor stalking around and knew that the burly noncom had survived the previous night’s action. Preacher had had a hunch that was the case, and the sight of O’Connor now confirmed it.
He saw Davidson as well, sitting calmly on a rock and writing in a small notebook he had propped on his knees. An inkwell was on the rock beside him.
Preacher nudged Jamie, nodded toward Davidson, and whispered, “He’s gettin’ all the details down so he can put’em in his report and make himself look like a big hero.”
“With any luck, he’ll never get a chance to do that,” replied Jamie. “I know the truth about him, and I have some friends in the army. Everything that’s happened here will come out, all right, but not the way Davidson wants it to.”
Hawk tapped Preacher’s arm and pointed upstream. About fifty yards away, a tree had fallen so that it formed a bridge across the river, which narrowed down at that point. Preacher nodded. That would be the easiest, fastest way for them to get across and into the temporary army camp.
Suddenly, a shout came to their ears. “O’Connor!” the deep voice bellowed. “White man! Sergeant O’Connor! Come out and fight Big Thunder, you coward!”
Jamie smiled and said, “That old boy’s got a pair of lungs on him, doesn’t he? I can make out every word he’s saying.”
“So can the troopers,” Preacher said. “Look.”
On the other side of the river, O’Connor, who had paused to talk to Davidson, swung around sharply to glare toward the open ground between the river and the canyon. The mounted dragoons edged their horses forward a step or two. Davidson stood up quickly, snapped shut the book he had been writing in, and stowed it away inside his uniform jacket. He left the pen and inkwell on the rock as he strode forward.
O’Connor hurried along beside him, talking fast. Preacher could tell how angry the sergeant was. O’Connor waved his arms and rumbled something Preacher couldn’t make out. Davidson spoke to him, and O’Conner gestured emphatically again.
All the while, Big Thunder continued shouting his challenge, spicing it with insults. Not obscenities, since Indians seldom if ever indulged in such things, but Big Thunder’s descriptions of O’Connor’s cowardice were certainly colorful.
Abruptly, O’Connor yanked off his cap and tossed it aside, then peeled out of his jacket. Davidson cried, “Sergeant, I forbid you to—”
O’Connor ignored him, stalked through the line of mounted men, and made his way across the prairie toward the spot where Big Thunder waited, flexing his arms and bellowing and all but pawing the ground like a maddened bull.
O’Connor was the one who was maddened. He had reached the breaking point, and as he let out an incoherent shout of rage, he broke into a run and charged toward Big Thunder. Yells of encouragement went up from the watching soldiers.
“That’s it,” Preacher said. “Let’s go!”