CHAPTER 8
The body of Kills Two Bears was discovered by Crooked Leg in the early morning light when the young Lakota warrior decided to search for chokecherries in the thick bushes along the bank. At once alarmed, he cried out to warn the others while looking quickly around him ready to defend himself, but there was no sign of enemy warriors. Looking more closely at Kills Two Bears, he realized that he had been dead for some time by then. He said as much to the other warriors when they came running to see for themselves. The first ones to arrive at the scene agreed with Crooked Leg that Kills Two Bears had been dead for several hours. They all turned to meet Spotted Pony, the dead warrior’s brother, when he approached. “It’s Kills Two Bears,” Crooked Leg said.
“What?” Spotted Pony responded, confused. Then he saw the body of his brother and sank to his knees beside it. His face twisted in agony, he moaned in his grief, lowly at first, but building until he could no longer hold it inside him and he wailed out like a wolf howling. The others spread out at once, searching for sign of an enemy war party, thinking that the Blackfoot village they had been following must have somehow discovered them.
After a short time, they came back to Spotted Pony, who was still kneeling beside his dead brother, moaning in his despair. “It was only one man,” Running Bird said. “There is plenty of sign here where they fought. It was not a Blackfoot. This man wore white man’s boots. We found his tracks leading that way.” He pointed toward the south. “There are other tracks. We think he took the woman, for her tracks follow his.”
“I should have known something was wrong,” Spotted Pony lamented. “When he complained that his belly was too full and went to relieve himself, he took the woman with him. He didn’t come back for a long time. I thought he was with the woman and I went to sleep.”
“You could not know,” Crooked Leg said. “Someone of her people must have followed our trail and sneaked into our camp to take her. He would not have been able to take the woman if she had not been away from the camp.”
Spotted Pony heard the words, but he was not listening, consumed as he was with the growing flame of anger in his veins. He rose to his feet and looked in the direction Running Bird had pointed out. “I must kill this white man,” he vowed. “I will tear his heart out with my bare hands.” He turned at once to return to his blanket for the rest of his weapons.
“We will help you find him,” Crooked Leg said. “Him and the white bitch.”
“What about the Blackfoot camp and the horses we were going to steal?” This reminder of the purpose of their war party came from Running Bird. His question brought forth a scowl on Spotted Pony’s face. “I am grieved by the loss of your brother, just as every man here,” Running Bird went on. “I’m only asking if we should abandon our plans to kill our enemies and capture their horses now that we have come so far into their territory.” Seeing that he had caused the others to pause and consider the question, he suggested, “Since it is only one man, maybe only one or two of us need go with Spotted Pony. That is all I am saying.”
“Do as you wish,” Spotted Pony said. “I don’t need any help to kill one white man. I will go alone.”
“I will go with you,” Crooked Leg volunteered.
“And I, too,” Running Bird spoke up.
* * *
After wrapping Kills Two Bears’s body in his blankets, Spotted Pony fashioned a hasty burial for him in the branches of a large cottonwood. Then the three Lakota warriors were off at once, following the tracks that held close to the slopes of the mountains. The tracks led to the mouth of a ravine and sign that told them the white man had a partner waiting there with their horses. From there, the trail led toward the southern base of the mountain range and was clearly headed toward the trading post on the river. This caused a feeling of caution in the resolve of Crooked Leg and Running Bird, for this was close to the soldier camp.
As they had suspected, the trail led them to the Clark Fork River, so they continued on to the trading post, moving in close enough to watch the goings and comings to Rubin Fagan’s store. The four horses, two of them with saddles, tied up there gave them confidence that they belonged to the men they chased. “We are lucky to have caught up with them this soon,” Running Bird said, thinking they must have spent a lot of time visiting with the man, Fagan, to still be there.
Shortly thereafter, they saw the men they chased when they finally came out of Fagan’s store. There was no doubt when they saw the woman that Kills Two Bears had captured. Close enough to see clearly, Spotted Pony uttered an oath when he saw the feather in the hatband of one of the men. “It is the man with the feather, the man who led the soldiers down upon us when we were ready to attack the settlers on the river.” Suddenly, the magnitude of their hunt took on new importance. This had to be the one called Hawk. He was well-known among the Lakota Sioux. A warrior who killed Hawk would have big medicine and be honored by all his tribe. “I will kill Feather In His Hat, this Hawk,” Spotted Pony announced once again.
“We must be very careful,” Crooked Leg cautioned. “He has powerful medicine.”
“We’ll follow him and wait for them to make camp,” Spotted Pony said. “Then when it is dark, we’ll see how powerful his medicine is. We will kill all three.”
* * *
“John Hawk!” Rubin Fagan had announced loudly when the three travelers rode up to the front porch of his trading establishment. He grunted with the effort required to lift his considerable bulk out of the rocking chair. “If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. I thought you musta been shot, or scalped, or both.”
“How do, Rubin?” Hawk replied. “I was thinkin’ the same thing about you. I thought Minnie Red Shirt mighta done the job after wastin’ the best years of her life on you.”
“Ha!” Fagan snorted in pretended contempt. “Minnie thanks Man Above every night for sendin’ her an outstandin’ man like myself to travel with her on her life path.”
“Looks like she’s still feedin’ you pretty good,” Hawk said. “Either that, or that rockin’ chair’s startin’ to shrink up.”
“Huh!” Fagan grunted. “A man’s gotta eat if he’s gonna do a day’s work.” Grinning then, he walked out to shake hands with Hawk. “Who’s this you brung with you?”
“This is Monroe Pratt and his sister-in-law, Rachel,” Hawk replied. “They’re fixin’ to head out toward Missoula and they might need a few things.”
“Well, you folks are welcome to my little store, here, even if you are travelin’ in some mighty poor company.” He nodded politely to Rachel and shook Monroe’s hand. “Come on inside and I’ll be glad to help you with anythin’ I can. I’ve got most staples a man could need, and a few things for ladies,” he said, taking notice of the tattered dress Rachel wore. He waited then for the explanation.
“Rachel, here, has had enough misfortune to last most folks a lifetime,” Hawk said. He went on to tell Fagan about the circumstances that caused him to bring them to his store.
“Lord have mercy,” Fagan exclaimed. “That’s mighty sorry news, all right,” he said to Rachel. “You come on inside and I’ll get my missus. She’ll fix you up with somethin’ to wear. We don’t do no business in ladies’ dresses, but Minnie can most likely find some deerskin skirts for you to wear.”
“That would surely be appreciated,” Rachel said. “I would really like to wash this filthy thing I’ve got on.” She glanced at Monroe since she had no money of her own. He nodded his approval.
“Minnie!” Fagan called out as he led them into the store. A few moments later, Minnie Red Shirt appeared at the door to Fagan’s residence behind the trading post. Seeing Hawk, she immediately smiled and came to greet him. An ageless Blackfoot woman, Minnie never seemed to have changed in the seven-odd years Hawk had known her and Fagan, while her husband continued to expand on her cooking. Happy to help any friend of Hawk’s, she graciously took Rachel by the hand and led her through the door to the house.
With the women gone, Hawk turned to more serious questions. “Do you know Roy Nestor? You seen him around here lately?”
“Roy Nestor,” Fagan repeated. “Not for a long while, at least not in the past year. I’ve seen him a time or two when he was ridin’ with an army patrol.” He paused to recall the man. “As I recollect, I never had much use for that man. Are you lookin’ for him?”
That answered Hawk’s question as to whether or not Nestor had come this way when he fled from the ambush on the Missouri River. “Yeah, we’re lookin’ for Nestor. He’s the reason that young woman you just met is a widow.”
Fagan looked immediately at Monroe. “Your brother? Well, I’m right sorry to hear that.” Hawk went on to tell him about the run-in they had just had with Nestor and the fact that he had managed to escape. And they didn’t learn about his killing of Monroe’s brother until after Nestor was gone. Hawk next asked about any reported Sioux raiding parties along the Clark Fork and was told that all had been quiet for most of the summer so far. “I expect Lieutenant Conner would be interested to hear about that party you had a run-in with, though,” Fagan said.
“Conner,” Hawk exclaimed. “Is he in command of that camp?” It would be good to see Lieutenant Conner again.
“Yep,” Fagan replied. “He set himself up in a little camp with one company of soldiers.”
“Well, I’ll let him know he’s got a Sioux raidin’ party on his hands now. What worries me is they were trailing after Walkin’ Owl’s village when we found ’em on the eastern edge of the Garnet Mountains. I’d surely like to warn Walkin’ Owl if I knew where he was headin’.” He glanced over to see that Monroe was looking at something on the counter across the room before lowering his voice. “But I’m bound to take Monroe and Rachel to Missoula.”
“Your friend Bloody Hand was in here to trade some pelts a couple of weeks ago,” Fagan said. “He told me his village was fixin’ to move across to the western slopes of the mountains. I’ll send my boy, Robert, to find the village and tell ’em about the Sioux war party.”
“That would ease my mind quite a bit,” Hawk said. “But I don’t want Robert to take any chances and get himself in trouble.”
“You don’t have to worry about Robert,” Fagan crowed. “He got more of his mother’s blood than he did mine. He’ll watch his scalp. He knows his mother will whup him good if he loses it.”
* * *
With their trading all done, Hawk wanted to ride to the small army encampment three quarters of a mile up the river, but Fagan and Minnie insisted on feeding them before they departed. Dressed in a soft doeskin dress, Rachel looked much the Indian maiden as she consented to one quick spin to let them all admire her new clothes. It was not lost on Hawk that it was the first real smile he had seen on her. He couldn’t help wondering how long her mourning for Jamie would last, considering the fact that she had known her late husband for only a short time. He hoped it wouldn’t be for too long a time, because she was a comely woman and looking to be close to the age when most women start to worry if they’re not married. He glanced over at Monroe across the table from him. Looks about the right age for him, he thought.
After the meal was finished, Hawk and Monroe shifted the packs around on the horses to provide a little more room for Rachel to ride on Monroe’s packhorse. There was not a great deal of adjustment required due to Rachel’s diminutive size. Some of the smaller packs were transferred to Hawk’s buckskin and Monroe’s roan. To make her ride even more comfortable, Fagan made Monroe a fair price on a child’s saddle he had bought for Robert when he was ten years old. It fit Rachel’s tiny behind just fine. She was delighted. Although the mood was light when they set out for the soldiers’ encampment, Hawk knew there was a heavy cloud of vengeance hanging over Monroe’s head. It was something that demanded a reckoning and he knew riding away to leave Roy Nestor running free was hammering on Monroe’s conscience. In the short time Hawk had ridden with Monroe Pratt, he had judged him to be a generous and honorable man. So when they made a short stop on their way to the army camp to allow Rachel to seek the privacy of the laurel bushes that lined the bank of the river, Hawk spoke his peace.
“We ain’t talked much about our business arrangement, what with all that’s happened,” Hawk said. “When we started out, you just wanted me to help you find your brother, dead or alive.” Monroe nodded and started to speak, but Hawk continued. “Well, we found him, so I reckon that takes care of what we agreed on. We’re done with that. Now I figure it’s time to decide what we’re gonna do next. It’s still a good day’s ride to Missoula and I don’t recall you sayin’ how far down the Bitterroot Valley your ranch is from there. I don’t know if you want me to ride with you to take Rachel home, or not. But I oughta tell you I’m no longer on your payroll. I’ll go with you to Missoula if you want me to, but I won’t be expecting any pay for doin’ it. Once we get Rachel settled, we can come back and see if we can pick up Roy Nestor’s trail, if you wanna do that.” He paused a moment while Monroe thought about it. When he continued, he said, “If you don’t need me to go to Missoula, I expect I’ll go ahead and see if I can pick up Nestor’s trail now.”
Hawk’s offer was not anticipated by Monroe, so he took a moment to digest it. Seeing Rachel emerging from the laurel bushes at that point, he made his decision quickly. “That’s damn decent of you to offer to go after that murderer on your own, and I appreciate it. But I’ve got a bigger stake in this than you have, so it’s important to me and my family to punish Nestor by my own hand. That said, I could sure use your help in finding that son of a bitch. Whaddaya say you ride with us to the Bitterroot Valley, then we’ll hunt Nestor together?”
“If that’s what you want, then hell, fine by me.”
Monroe reached over to shake on it. “Good,” he said. “I’m a fair man, so I’ll see that you get something out of the deal.” He walked over to give Rachel a boost up on her horse. “Hawk’s gonna keep us company on the way home,” he said to her.
“Good,” she said, relieved to hear it.
* * *
Lieutenant Mathew Conner looked up from his reading when the corporal stuck his head in the tent that served as his headquarters. “Somebody wants to see you, sir. It’s somebody you might wanna see and he’s got some people with him.”
Seeing the generous grin spread across Johnson’s face, the lieutenant was puzzled for a moment. “Well, send him in, Corporal . . . No, wait, I’ll come outside. It’s too damn hot in this tent.” He got to his feet and went outside, where he found Hawk with a man and a woman waiting outside the small ring of tents. “Hawk!” Conner exclaimed, grinning while Johnson chuckled. “What are you doing up this way? You must be lost.”
“How do, Lieutenant?” Hawk replied, accustomed to Conner’s japing. “When I heard it was you the army sent out here in the woods, I figured you musta got in trouble with the major again.”
“Not me,” Conner pretended to protest. “I’m striving to be the best officer in the regiment.” He laughed at the absurdity of his remark. Hawk laughed with him. He was well aware of the lieutenant’s penchant for trouble due to his lack of respect for military protocol and his fondness for a practical joke. He was certain it was the reason Conner had been passed over for promotion so many times. “I hope the colonel sent you up here to scout for me. I see you’ve got someone with you.” The sight of Rachel in her doeskin outfit prodded his curiosity.
“This is Monroe Pratt and his sister-in-law, Rachel,” Hawk said. “We’re on our way to the Bitterroot Valley. They’ve had a heapin’ portion of hard luck and we’re tryin’ to take the lady home.” He quickly told Conner about the murder of Rachel’s young husband and her subsequent capture by the war party of Lakota Sioux.
Conner was stunned by the news that Nestor had reappeared. “Are you sure it was him who killed her husband?”
“That’s what the lady says,” Hawk answered. “Shot him in the back, then finished him off with a knife.”
“I always knew Nestor was a worthless piece of trash,” Conner said, a deep frown etched across his brow. “But I guess I never suspected how evil he really was. I know he sure had it in for you.”
“Reckon so,” Hawk said.
Thinking himself remiss in properly greeting his visitors, Conner introduced himself to Monroe and Rachel. “I’m truly sorry for the loss of your husband, ma’am. Can I offer you some water or something to eat? Why don’t you have a seat back there under my tent flap?” He turned to the corporal, who was standing by the tent watching. “Johnson, get my camp chair out of the tent for Mrs. Pratt.” While Rachel reluctantly followed the corporal down the bank to the tent, Conner returned his attention to Hawk. “If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes. Tell me about that Sioux war party. Our scouts haven’t turned up any sign of hostile activity north of this river for the entire three months we’ve been patrolling this area. How many?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Hawk answered. “I can only guess there aren’t many more than twenty or so, just from what I could tell by their tracks.” When Conner raised an eyebrow at this, Hawk reminded him that their tracks were mixed up with the tracks left by Walking Owl’s village. Then he explained that he didn’t have a chance to get in close enough to see because of the sudden discovery of Rachel hiding in the bushes. “It was just luck that I didn’t sit down on her when I went into those bushes,” he said. “I killed the buck that was lookin’ for her. I reckon I coulda asked him how many they were, but he didn’t seem to be very talkative at the time.”
“Up in the Garnet Range, huh?” Conner asked, ignoring Hawk’s attempt to joke. “I’ll get a patrol up that way in the morning. We’ve been concentrating on the Mullan Road, concerned about any attacks on freight trains or traders traveling on it. So now we’d better be watching for a new party of hostiles to show up. Are you sure you’ve gotta go to Missoula? I could sure use your help in finding that war party.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble findin’ ’em,” Hawk assured him. “Who have you got scoutin’ for you?” When told he had two, Ben Mullins and Raymond Red Coyote, a Crow, Hawk commented, “Both of those men are good scouts and I don’t reckon anybody knows the mountains north of the river any better than Ben Mullins. You don’t need me. I can tell you where to start lookin’, though.”
After telling Conner what Rubin Fagan had told him, that the Blackfoot village was moving to the western slopes of the Garnet Mountain Range, Hawk decided it was time to get started toward Missoula. The sooner they could see Rachel safely to the Triple-P, the sooner he and Monroe could get started after Nestor. In all honesty, Hawk had doubts about ever tracking Nestor down. He could go in any direction and he was experienced enough to know how to hide his trail. It would be Hawk’s guess that Nestor would surely leave the territory, never to leave a trace again. He had expressed these thoughts to Monroe, but Monroe was adamant about his desire to search for Nestor, so Hawk assured him that he would do the best he could to pick up Nestor’s trail. So their call on the cavalry camp completed, the three travelers prepared to leave.
Lieutenant Conner stood by as Monroe helped Rachel up into her miniature saddle before climbing aboard his horse. Hawk, already in the saddle, turned the buckskin’s head toward the river trail. Before he touched his heels to the willing gelding, Conner said to him, “You shouldn’t run into any trouble between here and the Bitterroot River. Our patrols haven’t reported any sign of any Indian activity, hostile or friendly, between here and there. And you’re not likely to, anyway, with the presence of so many soldiers. Not just my company, two companies of the Seventh Infantry were sent up to Missoula this month to build a permanent fort, so any raiding parties would be damn fools to be anywhere near there. As a matter of fact, I’ve got a patrol that is probably on their way back from up that way. Maybe you’ll run into them.”
“Good,” Hawk responded while thinking to himself, It’ll still be a healthy idea to keep a sharp eye. Having just run up on a party of Sioux that he didn’t expect to find in Blackfoot, Salish, and Kootenai country, he was not willing to become too careless. He gave Rascal a nudge and the big horse sprang immediately into a trot, leading his packhorse with Rachel, then Monroe following.
“Why don’t you come on back to work for me when you’re done with that?” Conner called out after him. “They don’t need you down at Ellis as bad as I need you here.” He received no more than a wave of the hand in acknowledgment. Hawk had committed his services to Monroe for as long as it took to run Roy Nestor to ground. When he left Fort Ellis he had promised Major Brisbin that he would return, so he would keep that promise, even if it would be a longer time than the major expected. Already, they had spent more time at Fagan’s and the army camp than he had planned. More likely than not, Conner’s small temporary camp would have been called back to Fort Ellis by then, or maybe even sent up to Missoula to reinforce the two companies there.
* * *
As best he could remember, it was about fifty miles to Missoula and the easiest way to travel was to use the Mullan Road that the army had built. It followed the Clark Fork all the way. They were getting a late start in the day due to the visit with Lieutenant Conner, but Hawk had planned to make it a day-and-a-half trip, anyway, with the intention of making the trip a little easier on Rachel. By her own admission, she had never spent much time in a saddle. When looking back from time to time, he thought he saw signs of discomfort on her face and wondered if the small saddle was already causing her grief. She never complained, however, but when they stopped to rest the horses, she appeared unable to stand up straight. He couldn’t resist the urge to comment on the matter.
“Are you doin’ all right, Rachel?” Hawk asked.
“Oh yes,” she replied at once, “I’m doing fine.”
“You look kinda like you’re walkin’ on eggshells,” he said. “Maybe that little saddle wasn’t a good idea after all. You mighta been more comfortable just ridin’ on a blanket.”
“Oh no,” she insisted. “I’m fine, maybe just a little stiff. That’s all.” She tried to keep a straight face, but the doubting expressions she saw on both his and Monroe’s faces caused her to giggle instead. “My bottom feels sore as a boil,” she finally confessed. “And my back might be broken.” She shook her head and giggled harder, causing a chuckle from both of them. “I thought my poor bottom was going to have calluses on it after riding on a wagon seat all the way from Minnesota, but this is a different kind of sore.”
“I reckon,” Hawk said. “I swear, though, I thought you’d be more comfortable on a saddle with your feet in the stirrups.”
“So did I,” Monroe said. “Maybe it’ll help if we put a blanket on the saddle—give you a little cushion. If that doesn’t work, you can try it with no saddle at all.” They all agreed on that, so when the horses were rested, they continued on along the road, with Rachel sitting high in the saddle atop a folded blanket.
“If that ain’t better for you,” Hawk suggested, “we can just let you ride in Monroe’s saddlebag, as small as you are.”
She responded with a grimace for his attempt at humor. Although she made no more complaints, she was extremely grateful when Hawk declared it was time to make camp while there was still daylight left.
When they came to a small stream that emptied into the river, Hawk entered it, then turned his horse to follow it upstream, cautioning Rachel and Monroe to keep their horses in the water. “I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about,” he explained. “Conner’s most likely right about there bein’ no Indians in the area, but there’s no use in bein’ careless.” They had advanced no farther than a hundred yards when Hawk abruptly pulled his horse to a stop. He looked back at Monroe and Rachel and motioned for them to be quiet. The faint smoke from a fire had been the reason for his sudden stop, so he dismounted on the bank of the stream and moved forward on foot until reaching a place where he could see what he had almost blundered into. He smiled to himself when he recognized a cavalry patrol in bivouac beside the stream. No doubt it was the patrol Conner had mentioned. He couldn’t help wondering if Monroe might question the ability of the scout he had hired if he thought about how close he had come to riding into the camp before he knew it was there.
“I reckon we couldn’t find a better place to camp,” he told Monroe when he returned to the horses. “We’ll camp close to a cavalry patrol tonight.” To the surprise of the soldiers, they rode on into the camp and informed them that they’d like to camp a short distance upstream from them if they didn’t object. A totally astonished second lieutenant on his way back from a patrol could think of no reason to. In respect to Rachel, he politely introduced himself as Lieutenant Peter Wallace. Aside to Hawk and Monroe, he assured them that his men would confine their individual calls of nature a respectful distance downstream. Hawk thanked him for his consideration, then picked a spot to camp about fifty yards upstream and prepared to spend the night.
Eager to pull her weight on the trip, Rachel was quick to gather wood and soon had a healthy fire burning. Although the blanket on her saddle was easier on her than the bare saddle had been before, she was still stiff and sore from the day’s trip. Determined not to show it, she filled the coffeepot and sliced bacon to be fried in the two small frying pans they had with them. She sorely missed her pots and pans, as well as the supplies to cook with, all having been taken from the wagon by the Sioux. She especially regretted the loss of her Dutch oven and expressed as much to her two fellow travelers. “I wish I could bake you some biscuits to go with this salty meat but I don’t have anything to bake with.”
“You’ll have everything you need once we get home to the Triple-P,” Monroe said. It was one of the few times he had mentioned the ranch in the Bitterroot Valley, named for the three Pratt brothers. “We’ll make it on venison and sowbelly and coffee till we get there. That’s about all we’ve had to eat since Hawk and I teamed up.”
“I could make you some slapjack,” Hawk volunteered. When his offer was met with two quizzical faces, he explained. “Slapjack,” he repeated. “Kinda like biscuits.” Their expressions were still blank, so he told them the recipe. When his suggestion was still met with no enthusiasm, he said, “Well, I’ll make some up, anyway. I’ve got some flour and we bought some sugar back at Fagan’s. You can try ’em if you wanna.” An interested observer, Rachel watched him as he mixed flour with a little sugar and water until he had formed a paste. “They’re better with some yeast, but you don’t have to have it,” he informed her as he patted the paste into little cakes, then dropped them in to fry in the bacon grease. When they were done, he plopped them on a piece of cloth to let them cool.
Making a face like a chipmunk, Rachel bit off a tiny bite after watching Hawk tear into one with apparent gusto. “Well,” she allowed, “they’re not as bad as I thought they would be.” She took another bite, this one a little bigger than the first, but still ladylike. It was enough to give Monroe the incentive to join in. “When we get home,” Rachel declared, “I will make us some real biscuits.” Her reference to the Triple-P as home didn’t escape Monroe’s notice. He saw it as a positive sign.
* * *
For the better part of the afternoon the three warriors had followed the two white men and the white woman, always staying far enough back to avoid being spotted. All the while, Spotted Pony repeated his medicine words, preparing himself for the attack he planned. When Hawk had left the trading post, there had been no opportunity to plan an ambush because he stopped a short distance later to visit the soldier camp. Afraid to get too close to the encampment of soldiers, the warriors had watched from a distance until Hawk finally led his two companions on the road again. Thinking that at last he would get his chance to avenge his brother, Spotted Pony was eager to ambush them, but his two companions urged him to wait until they were farther away from the soldiers. He reluctantly gave in to their caution and agreed to follow Hawk until he made camp. Then they would surprise them and kill them, even the woman.
“I think we are far enough from the soldiers now,” Spotted Pony said, his patience at an end. “I say we should catch up with them now and kill them.”
“Maybe so,” Crooked Leg said. “But it is getting late now. They surely will be making camp soon. I think this man has big medicine. It would be wise to attack when he is eating his food and is not alert to danger.”
Spotted Pony was not totally satisfied with that plan and insisted on picking up the pace to get closer to the three. His impatience was lessened, however, when they came to a stream where the tracks stopped. Upon closer inspection, they discovered a careless print at the edge of the stream that told them Hawk had turned off the road to find a place to camp. Excited, Spotted Pony was ready to use Crooked Leg’s suggestion to attack when Hawk had relaxed his caution by the campfire. The warriors rode a wide arc through the trees, parallel to the course of the stream, seeking to spot the campsite. Spotted Pony stopped suddenly, holding up his hand for silence. “Listen,” he whispered. Crooked Leg and Running Bird stopped at once, having heard what he had.
“Voices,” Running Bird said. “It sounds like many people talking.”
Confused by the unexpected sounds, they tied their ponies in the trees and proceeded to make their way through the heavy forest between them and the stream. When they came to a place where they could see the banks of the stream, they were stunned to discover a party of soldiers camped. There near the center of the camp, they saw Hawk, Monroe, and Rachel talking to the soldiers.
“He came here to join the soldiers,” Running Bird whispered.
“It would be foolish to try to kill him now,” Crooked Leg said, immediately discouraged. “There are too many soldiers.”
“I must avenge my brother,” Spotted Pony insisted, almost crushed with his disappointment. “I cannot turn back now.”
“There are too many,” Crooked Leg repeated. “I won’t fight when there is no chance to win. I’m going back to the others.”
“Crooked Leg is right,” Running Bird said. “It is foolish to try to fight so many. I will go back with him. You must come with us. If it is meant to be, you will have another chance to seek your vengeance. But if you try now, you will only be dead like your brother, by Feather In His Hat’s hand, or that of a soldier. Come with us now, live to fight another day.”
Spotted Pony did not move for a long moment, staring in the direction of the camp by the stream, but seeing nothing, his eyes glazed by the infuriating frustration that possessed him. His initial reaction to their refusal to support him in his determination to seek his redemption was one of anger. But after a moment, he finally surrendered to the common sense his companions had tried to make him see. He turned and walked with them back to their horses, but with resolve that the day would come when he would face this man and take his vengeance. He felt in his heart that Man Above would not deny him the vengeance he deserved.