CHAPTER 6
“Only one man?” Gray Wolf questioned. “When we spotted them on the road, they were too far away to tell. Are you sure the other two are women?”
“I saw them when they went to the bushes,” Walking Man insisted. “I know the difference between a man and a woman,” he added sarcastically.
“Are you sure?” Cripple Horse couldn’t resist joking. “We have been away from the village a long time, now.” When Walking Man ignored him, he asked, “Are you sure they have only one rifle?”
“I can’t be sure,” Walking Man said. “But the saddles were all easy to see, and there was only one that had a rifle showing in the strap where they usually carry them.” He went on to tell them that the only problem would be if one of them remained alert while the others slept. “The creek is wide where they camped, and we would have to cross it to attack them. If we were discovered before we got across, it would be bad for us.” He gave them a few moments to consider that before continuing. “If we were interested only in stealing their horses, it would be an easy thing to sneak in and take them, because they are not far from the road.”
“But that does not give us what we need,” Cripple Horse said. “They will still have their guns.”
“If the horses are as easy to take as you say,” Gray Wolf said, “maybe we should steal them first and leave the white devils on foot. Then, they could never run very far from us, and we could watch them for a chance to get close enough for our bows to be effective.” He looked at Walking Man and repeated, “If their horses are as easy as you say.”
“There is a high ridge on the north side of the trail,” Walking Man replied. “Now that it is almost dark, we can ride up the back of that ridge and see the camp. After they have gone to sleep, it will be easy to go down and take the horses.”
Cripple Horse looked at Gray Wolf and nodded. It seemed the safest way to attack the camp. If, afterward, they had failed to kill their prey, at least the warriors would have three fine horses. So, they jumped upon their ponies and rode east far enough to cross over the road and circle around to the back of the ridge.
* * *
Unaware of the danger threatening them, the occupants of the camp took their time to wash the frying pan and spoons. The women, apparently free of worry over who might be chasing them from Ogallala, were enjoying the last of the coffee. There was no thought in Perley’s mind concerning the threat of an Indian attack. It had been a fairly long time since there were reports of any hostile activity in the area, most all of the surviving holdouts against the reservations having been captured.
Luckily for the women, their bedrolls were tied behind their saddles, so they didn’t lose them when Kenny Lamb rode off with all their other supplies. Using the saddles for pillows, they turned in for the night, planning to get an early start in the morning. As a matter of practice, Perley kept his Winchester handy, plus he counted a lot on Buck’s senses to alert him in the event of an emergency. It wasn’t long, however, before all three were surrendering to the music of the crickets and other creatures that dwelt along the creek bank.
At some point late that night, Perley was awakened. He did not realize at once that he had been alerted by the faithful gelding, hearing only the low mumbling of Liz, apparently in a deep dream. He lay there listening for only a moment more before he heard the unmistakable sounds of alarm from Buck.
He reacted immediately. Grabbing his rifle and rolling away from the fire, he scrambled up to his feet and ran to the horses. What he discovered in the darkness of a moonless night might be considered humorous later on when retelling it. But at the time, it was a desperate attempt to save the horses from being stolen.
In the moments before, Walking Man had leaped upon the back of the bay gelding he admired, while Gray Wolf and Cripple Horse had jumped onto the other two horses. Buck promptly screamed his defiance and launched a stiff-legged dance of the devil, making short work of the would-be thief’s ride. The surprised Indian was thrown head over heels, to land on his back, while the bay ran toward the camp and his master.
While Walking Man was being introduced to Buck, Gray Wolf and Cripple Horse, not having noticed that their mounts were hobbled, began flailing and kicking them frantically when they refused to gallop. When the first shot from Perley’s rifle cracked over their heads, it was incentive enough for them to come off the horses. Perley’s second shot inspired them to run for their lives and their own horses, waiting at the foot of the ridge. Walking Man followed close behind, in spite of extreme difficulty in getting his breath, a result of landing solidly on his back.
Perley followed for a little way until convinced the thieves were not stopping in their escape. To encourage them, he fired one more shot over their heads, then he gathered the horses and led them back closer to the camp and tied them there.
“Thanks, partner,” he said to Buck as he rubbed the big bay’s neck. Then he prepared to give an accounting to the two women, who were both lying flat on their stomachs, their pistols out, and using their saddles for cover.
Not waiting for his explanation, Liz blurted, “What the hell was that? Was it Kenny?”
“No,” Perley answered. “It was just some Indians, doing what Indians do. They were figurin’ on stealin’ our horses, but they didn’t know Buck was on duty. I reckon I shoulda been on the lookout for somebody tryin’ to take the horses, but I didn’t figure on any trouble with Indians. I’ll try to be a little more careful from now on. Sorry it spoiled your sleep, but I think you can go on back to it—you won’t be bothered the rest of the night. I’ll stay awake, just in case.”
“The hell you say,” Stella immediately responded. “There ain’t no way I’m gonna go back to sleep with those bastards sneakin’ around in the dark.”
“The same goes for me,” Liz declared. “I’m up for good. I’ve heard some tales about what those savages do to white women.” She held her pistol up. “And this ain’t goin’ back in the holster till daylight and I can see a mile around me.”
“Well, I reckon I might as well liven up this fire a little and we’ll make another pot of coffee,” Perley said. “Might be a good idea to set back a ways from the fire, though—don’t wanna give ’em too good a target, just in case.” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “They didn’t put up any fight at all. I figure they don’t have any guns, and all they had in mind was stealin’ the horses.”
* * *
While the victims of their attack prepared to wait out the night, the vanquished raiders pulled their ponies to a halt after galloping to the north side of the ridge, where they stopped to review their ill fortune.
“This was a foolish plan,” Cripple Horse complained. “We are lucky one of us is not dead. We should have attacked the camp. They were all asleep. We could have killed them all while they slept.”
“I don’t think so,” Gray Wolf disagreed. “The one with the rifle rolled out of his blanket immediately. We would have all been killed if we had rushed in.” He looked to Walking Man for confirmation. “You saw him grab his rifle, didn’t you?”
“No,” Walking Man answered. “I was watching the horses.” This was true. Because he was so eager to get to the bay gelding first, he wasn’t watching the camp at all.
“I think we would have gotten away with the horses if Walking Man had not caused that bay horse to buck and make the noise that gave us away,” Cripple Horse said. “Maybe Gray Wolf or I should have ridden that horse.”
“I ride as well as any man,” Walking Man retorted in anger. “That horse is crazy. You and Gray Wolf could not even make those other two horses run.”
“Their legs were tied!” Gray Wolf exclaimed in their defense. “They could not run.”
“Anyone knows a horse can’t run if his legs are tied,” Walking Man replied. “You should have untied them before you tried to ride them.”
“It was too dark to see that they were tied,” Cripple Horse replied. “There was no time, anyway, with all the noise when that horse threw you off.”
“It is done,” Gray Wolf asserted. “Our plan didn’t go well, and it does no good to argue among ourselves. We must talk about what we will do now.”
“Gray Wolf is right,” Walking Man said. “Let’s make our plans to kill those three whites and take their horses and guns. I want to teach that crazy horse to obey.”
They talked it over for a short time, and all three agreed that there would be no honor in abandoning their original plan to kill the whites. And they desperately needed their guns and ammunition. Since there was very little time left before sunrise, they decided to ride farther up the trail to get ahead of the white party. Then, when it became light enough to see, they could find a good spot to ambush them. All agreed, so they rode along the back of the ridge to the end of it before returning to the wagon road and continuing west.
* * *
When the first rays of the sun began to melt the shadows near the creek, Perley saddled Buck and told Liz and Stella that he wanted to make sure the Indians were not still hanging around.
“You didn’t get much sleep last night, so you might wanna go ahead and have a little breakfast before we start out this mornin’,” he said. His suggestion was well met by both women. “I think our visitors from last night have decided we’re not worth the risk, but I’d like to see some sign of that. I won’t be gone long, but keep your pistols handy anyway. I’ve been wrong a heap of times before.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” Liz said, “as long as it’s daylight and we can see.”
Stella nodded in agreement and patted her .44 on the grip.
“I figured,” he said, then gave Buck a little nudge and loped off through the grassy area toward the road. He had no trouble following the trail the three raiders left after they crossed the road and ran through the tall grass toward the eastern edge of the ridge.
On the north side of the ridge, Perley found the spot where they had left their horses, and a trail leading west after they left. He was immediately concerned with the possibility that they might have in mind moving on ahead of him to set up an ambush somewhere along the trail.
Faced now with the same problem the three Indians had when they first started trailing him, he decided to take the same precaution they had taken. It was easy to spot someone from a great distance away on the gently rolling prairie. So, when the horses were saddled and his packs loaded on the packhorse, Perley led his group across to the south side of the creek and set out for Cheyenne, using the trees along Lodgepole Creek to keep from being seen by anyone looking for them. He didn’t see that as much of a loss of time, since the creek ran almost straight east and west. There were no objections from the women when he explained his reasons for leaving the plainly marked road.
It was after the first stop to rest the horses, and they had been under way again for only about half an hour, when Perley signaled with his hand and reined Buck to a stop.
“I got a funny feelin’ about that clump of trees up ahead,” he told the women. He pointed to what looked to be a thick grove of trees that stood out like a sore thumb when compared to the almost treeless prairie. “It’s hard to tell from here, but I think there’s a stream flowin’ down the middle of a shallow draw, and it empties into this creek. And there are trees and bushes along it, just like this creek. And what’s got me thinkin’ is, what a good place to wait to ambush two nice ladies and a fine-lookin’ gentleman like me.”
The women were at once alarmed.
“Whadda we gonna do?” Stella asked. “Do you think they’ve seen us comin’?”
“I don’t know,” Perley said. “Maybe, but if they ain’t got nothin’ but bows, they can’t do nothin’ about it if we take a wide swing around that spot and keep outta range of their arrows.”
With that in mind, he led them south toward a line of low hills a couple hundred yards distant, until they reached a shallow draw. It offered enough cover to allow them to pass on westward without being seen by anyone who happened to be in the grove of trees by the creek.
When Perley estimated that they had ridden far enough to have passed the area he suspected, he dismounted and went to the top of the hill to take a look back. Kneeling in the grass, he watched for a few minutes, but there was no sign of anyone that he could see. He descended again to report to the women.
“Can’t say if I was right or wrong,” he said. “If they are in that bunch of trees, they must have their eyes on the road.”
His report was at first reassuring to Liz and Stella, but it did nothing to dispel the sense of danger awaiting them at every point in the trail that looked suitable for an ambush.
No choice but to keep moving. The farther they rode, the more Perley’s curiosity worked on his mind. There was nothing to base his suspicion of an ambush on other than the notion that the spot was a perfect setup for one. Finally, he couldn’t deny his curiosity any longer. He pulled Buck up and waited for the women to come along beside him.
“I’m gonna go back and take a look at that place,” he said. Seeing immediate concern register on both faces, he tried to reassure them. “I don’t wanna have to worry about playin’ leapfrog with those three Indians all the way to Cheyenne. You keep on ridin’.” He turned and picked out a round slope in the distance. Pointing toward it, he said, “Just keep your nose on that point, and I’ll catch up with you.”
“Damn it, Perley,” Liz replied. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Well, no,” he said. “But if they are hidin’ in those trees, I might find a way to stop ’em from comin’ after us.”
“You might find a way to get your scalp lifted, too,” Stella commented. “You’ll be a helluva lot of good to us then.”
“There is that to consider, I reckon,” he replied. “But I’ve always been kinda lucky.” Unless you ask my brothers about it, he thought. “And I’ll be careful.”
“You be damn careful,” Liz ordered.
“I aim to be,” he said and handed her the lead rope on his packhorse. Then he wheeled Buck and headed off to intercept the creek west of the area he suspected, thinking to himself, Hope I ain’t getting ready to step in another cow pie.
Once he reached the creek again, he looked back the way he had come and felt pretty confident that he would not have been seen by the Indians if they were at the fork where the stream emptied into Lodgepole Creek. He estimated he was a hundred and fifty yards above that spot. He walked Buck slowly back toward the fork, holding him close to the trees that lined the banks until within about fifty yards of the potential ambush. Dismounting then, he dropped Buck’s reins to the ground instead of tying him to a tree branch as he might ordinarily have done. In the event he did find trouble and got himself scalped, he wanted Buck to be free to escape.
Straining to be as alert as possible, he made his way cautiously along the creek on foot, stopping every few yards to look and listen. There was no sound, save that of a lonely hawk circling above, no doubt curious as to what purpose the man in the bushes had in mind. He was inching closer now to the potential ambush spot, with still nothing in sight to indicate there was anyone there but himself. About to rise from his kneeling position again, he stopped halfway up when he heard a horse whinny.
He froze at once, his rifle ready to fire, but there was no other sound. Kneeling again, he scanned the trees and bushes ahead of him, searching for the horse. He was about to dismiss it as a sound he had imagined when a movement of branches in a clump across the creek caught his eye. When he moved a few feet to get a better angle, he got a glimpse of a horse beyond the bushes. He was sure then that he had been right about the ambush. They were waiting. It occurred to him that they might have purposely left their horses far enough behind them that the animals wouldn’t nicker when he and the women approached.
Knowing now that the three Indians were still farther along the creek, he moved even more cautiously through the clumps of laurel bushes and cottonwoods, his finger resting on the trigger guard of his Winchester. Finally, he reached a point where he could see the road where it passed through the trees. This would be the place, he thought, but he saw no one on either bank of the creek.
Then he glanced up. There, lying in the fork of a cottonwood tree limb, he made out the form of one of the Indians. Having discovered him, Perley looked toward the trees on the far side of the trail and soon spotted another one. A further scan turned up the third warrior. All three had their eyes on the road, watching for the arrival of the man with the two women. Well, I’ll be . . . he thought. They’re in the trees.
He had found them, but the question now was what to do about them. The advantage was definitely his. He was sure he could easily pick off two of them before they had time to react, and maybe get a shot in the third one if he had any trouble getting down from the tree. Perley drew the Winchester up to his shoulder and lined the sights up on the first warrior he had seen.
He hesitated, not sure he was set on killing them. He should be satisfied just to stop them. He fretted over the question until the front sight on his rifle began to waver. Relaxing his arms, he let the rifle lower slowly to his side. Ah, to hell with it, he told himself. I’ve got a better idea.
He moved carefully back from his position and backtracked the way he had come. When he reached the point where he had seen the horse, he waded across the creek. Behind the clump of laurel bushes, he found three horses tied to the branches. Each horse had a deerskin sack tied around its neck. He figured each sack probably contained a warrior’s personal property, and was what an Indian called his war bag. He started to untie the sacks, then decided he’d take the sacks with him. Working quickly, he untied each horse and gathered their reins up, then led them back to the spot where Buck was waiting. The big bay greeted the three ponies with a soft nicker.
“Look here, Buck,” Perley said, “you got company.” He climbed up into the saddle and started out after Liz and Stella at a lope. Thinking about the three Indian raiders he left behind, he allowed, It might not stop you, but it’ll damn sure slow you down.
After a short time, Stella looked back to discover a group of horses catching up with them.
“I’ll be doggoned,” she uttered. “He stole their horses.”
She and Liz pulled up then to wait for him, still some three hundred yards behind.
“I didn’t hear any shots,” Liz said. “So, I reckon he didn’t shoot ’em.” She threw her head back to release a hearty chuckle. “Damned if he ain’t somethin’! Turned the tables on ’em—stole the horse thieves’ horses.”
When he caught up with them, Stella said, “Looks like you’ve been shoppin’. I don’t reckon we have to worry about those Indians anymore.”
“Maybe not,” he answered. “’Course, I don’t know how fast those boys can run, so I expect we’d best put some ground between us and them. At least we can cut back on the road again.”
“Doesn’t look like you had any trouble,” Liz commented as he was fixing lead ropes for his newly gained horses.
“Got my feet wet when I had to wade across the creek,” he complained.
“Why do they have those hide sacks tied around their necks?” Stella asked.
“Those are what they call their war bags, where a warrior keeps all his personal stuff—same as our saddlebags,” he answered.
They set out again, with Perley leading the three captured horses, Liz and Stella still riding double, and Perley’s packhorse trailing behind their horse. As Perley had said, the object was to get far away from the three hostiles. Their horses were fresh, since they had traveled only a few miles before reaching the ambush. Stella was a bit wary when Perley said she would no longer have to ride behind Liz’s saddle, but he assured her he would check the horses over before she tried one out.
“We’ll wait till we stop to rest ’em,” he said. “They won’t be too spunky then.”
Easing Buck up to a comfortable lope, a pace the horses could maintain for a while, he intended to gain a little on the hostiles. To keep from tiring their mounts too soon, he would then pull them back to a fast walk and an occasional trot. He was only guessing, but he figured a man in good condition could walk as fast as a horse’s normal walk, and he wasn’t sure how fast an angry Indian could trot, or how long he could keep it up.
* * *
Walking Man climbed down from his perch in the tree and walked across the road to where his friends were hiding. “Where are they?” he complained. “Are they still sleeping? They could have walked this far by now. My bottom was starting to grow to that tree.”
Feeling much the same as he, Cripple Horse said, “There is still no one in sight. Maybe they have turned around and gone the other way.”
Gray Wolf had other thoughts. He climbed down from his perch to join Walking Man. “I think they have outsmarted us,” he said. “While we sat here in the trees like birds, I think maybe the white man led his women off the road and rode around us. There are hills on either side of this place in the trail. We would not see them.”
“I think you’re right,” Walking Man said. “If they were going to continue on this trail, they would have been here long ago. Let’s get the horses and split up to scout the hills on both sides of this creek. Maybe we can pick up their tracks where they went around us.”
“To be cautious,” Gray Wolf said, “I’ll stay here to watch the road, just in case they have lolled in their beds. You and Cripple Horse go and get our ponies.”
Cripple Horse dropped down from the tree and went with Walking Man to bring the horses.
They had not been gone but a couple of minutes when Gray Wolf heard Walking Man’s screeching outburst. Thinking his friends had been attacked, he notched an arrow on his bowstring and ran to their assistance. When he got to the spot where they had tied the horses, he found the men both scouting the tiny clearing for tracks, but there were no horses.
“They stole our horses!” Cripple Horse exclaimed when he saw Gray Wolf. “While we were waiting to ambush them, they stole our horses.”
“This cannot be true,” Gray Wolf replied. “The horses must have pulled loose from the branches and wandered off.”
“He stole them,” Cripple Horse insisted. “See for yourself. Here are tracks from a white man’s boot where he untied the horses, and the tracks here show where he led them across the creek.”
All three ran splashing across the creek then to look for the tracks on the other side.
“Here!” Walking Man exclaimed, and followed the hoofprints for a few yards before stopping to take a line of sight. “He led them away in that direction,” he said, pointing toward the southwest.
His two friends ran up to stand beside him, and all three peered out in the direction he had pointed, desperately hoping to catch sight of the horse thief in spite of knowing there had been too long a lapse of time.
The loss of their horses was devastating, and when the humiliation of having been so outfoxed by a white man compounded it, the occurrence was unbearable. Along with their horses, they also lost their blankets and the war bags each one carried, with most of the things essential for cooking food. They had but one choice, so they set out to follow the tracks, running at a trot, setting as fast a pace as they could maintain for any length of time.
The tracks led them to the spot where Perley had caught up with the women. From that point, they saw the tracks lead again to the west. There was yet another problem to consider, and Gray Wolf reminded them of it.
“We must overtake them before they reach the place the white man calls Duck Bend,” Gray Wolf said. “It is no more than a day’s ride from here, so we have to move quickly.”
Duck Bend was a wide place in the creek where it became a small pond, formed when the creek almost doubled back upon itself. A man named Lou Temple had built a trading post beside the pond, and a few settlers had staked out acreage for farms close by. Hostile Sioux raiders avoided Duck Bend because Lou Temple and his three grown sons were heavily armed.
“They will probably stop to rest their horses when they are about halfway there. That is when we must catch them,” Gray Wolf continued. “If we don’t, we will be walking from now on.”
There was no need for further encouragement. Already far behind, they wasted no more time in starting out again, with Walking Man setting the pace.
* * *
Back on the common wagon road to Cheyenne again, Perley and his two female traveling companions held their horses to a steady pace. Reduced now to a fast walk, Perley’s bay showed no undue strain; however, Perley saw signs of fatigue in Liz’s gray as well as in his packhorse.
“I reckon we’d best rest these horses for a while,” he told the women, and he turned off the road at the next suitable place to water and graze them.
If there had been time to spare, he would have liked to work with the three Indian ponies so they could alternate mounts and cover more ground at a faster rate. But he had a notion that there were three irate Sioux warriors wearing their feet out in an effort to rescue those horses. Perley felt confident that the pace he had set would gain his group some time to rest, and he planned to at least try to pick out a horse for Stella to ride. He knew that she didn’t think much of the fact that there were blankets but no saddles on the horses, so he would have to see if one of the ponies would tolerate the heavy single-rigged saddle she had ridden before her old sorrel cashed in.
“Have we got time for coffee?” Liz asked when they dismounted beside Lodgepole Creek.
“I reckon,” Perley replied. “We ain’t gonna be here as long as we usually would, though.” He looked at Stella. “Which one of those fine-lookin’ horses has caught your eye?”
“None of them,” she answered at once. “They all look wild as coyotes. And why don’t they have any bridles?”
“These fellows didn’t use saddles,” Perley said, “but they’ve got bridles.” He held up a piece of rope for her to see. “They call ’em war bridles. They just loop a rope around the horse’s lower jaw and guide the horse by turning his head one way or the other.” When Stella looked skeptical, he said, “The horse works fine that way, especially if he ain’t ever heard of a bridle.”
She shook her head. “I think I’m gonna need a bridle, and I know damn well I can’t ride bareback.”
“Well, that might be a problem,” Perley said, scratching his head. “We can try throwin’ your saddle on one of ’em, but I ain’t got the time to saddle-break a horse right now.”
In the face of imminent danger trailing them, Liz still found humor in Stella’s predicament. “You oughta give bareback ridin’ a try,” she said. “Hell, you’ve been ridin’ bareback behind my saddle. You just had me to hold on to, is the only difference.”
“Yeah, but there’s nothin’ but a rope to hold on to,” Stella came back. “Why don’t you ride with nothing but a rope to hang on to?”
“’Cause I ain’t the one walkin’,” Liz said, grinning.
“I’ll try a bridle on one of ’em,” Perley said. “Which one do you like?”
“Like I said, none of ’em, but if you’re gonna try it, try that one.” She pointed to a paint that was a little smaller than the other two.
“Let me borrow your bandana, there,” he said, so she took it from around her neck and handed it to him.
Then she watched with a great deal of apprehension as Perley walked up to the horse, talking softly in an effort to keep from making the horse nervous. Naturally wary, for the man smelled strange to it, the paint started to shuffle its feet slightly as if about to rear up. Perley held its head and gently rubbed the horse’s neck and face with Stella’s bandana. In a little while, and to Perley’s surprise, the horse settled down.
After the paint seemed content to tolerate the strange smell of the bandana, Perley draped the bridle across its neck. When it appeared to tolerate that as well, Perley slipped the bit into the horse’s mouth and pulled the bridle on and fastened it. The horse showed no sign of rejecting it. Liz and Stella watched with fascination and newfound admiration for Perley and his apparent ability to charm the wild horse.
It was spoiled a moment later when he stated, “That horse has been rode with a bridle before the Indian stole him. Might as well throw the saddle on him. He’s had one of them on his back, too, I reckon.” He handed Stella’s bandana back to her as he walked past to fetch the saddle, giving Liz a puzzled glance when she started laughing again.
Stella sniffed her bandana and made a face. “I’m not puttin’ that around my neck after you rubbed it all over that horse,” she complained, bringing another hearty chuckle from Liz.
As Perley suspected, the horse had been saddle-broken before. It stood calmly while the saddle was placed on its back and the girth was drawn up tight.
“You feel like you’re back home again, now, don’t you?” Perley asked the paint.
When he was finished with the horse, he took the cup of coffee Liz handed him and walked back to the road, where he stood sipping it while gazing back the way they had come.
There was no question in his mind that they had created a lot of space between themselves and the hostiles they had left behind. But he also knew that if it was him who had been left on the prairie on foot, he would run-trot as fast as he could to catch the people who had stolen his horse. A man can walk alongside a horse when the horse is walking, and he can walk-trot a little faster when he has to. Although he wouldn’t be as fast as the horse, the horse would have to be rested after about twenty miles, while a man with the right motivation can walk straight through the day and night without stopping. For that reason, Perley was not willing to rest the horses as long as he usually would have.
He was also thinking that he had better take more care when he selected a place to camp that night. I reckon I should have just shot the damn Indians and not had to worry about them catching up. He walked back to ready his little party for the trail again. While Liz washed the cups and pot, he untied the deerskin war bags from each horse and left them in a neat stack by the ashes of their fire.
“Are you ready to try your new horse?” Perley asked Stella when it was time to go.
She gave Liz a doubtful glance before walking over to the paint pony with him.
“Say hello to him,” Perley said. “He ain’t gonna bite you.”
Not so sure, Stella kept her hands well away from the horse’s mouth as she gave it a couple of pats.
“Up you go,” Perley said and put his hands together to make a step for her.
When she put a foot in his hands, he popped her straight up in the air, leaving her no choice but to throw her other leg over to land in the saddle. The horse took a couple of quick steps in surprise, but then stood patiently waiting for commands. Stella grinned, relieved that she was not flying through the air like on her last ride with the old sorrel.
Perley turned and pointed. “That way,” he said and gave the paint a little slap on the rump.
* * *
It was late in the afternoon when three weary Lakota braves came to the place where those they pursued had stopped to rest their horses. There was no doubt the man and two women they followed had stopped there, for waiting in a neat stack by the ashes of a fire, they found their deerskin war bags.
The sight infuriated Gray Wolf. He felt as if the bags were left there to taunt them. “He seeks to shame us,” he said. “I will find this white devil and kill him, and I will kill the crazy horse he rides.”
Equally frustrated, Cripple Horse and Walking Man were glad to see their war bags, however, and immediately looked into them to see if their possessions were still there. When they found that the contents were undisturbed, Walking Man said, “Now at least we can make a fire and cook something to eat.”
“First, we must find something to cook,” Cripple Horse reminded him.
“Forget about filling your bellies,” Gray Wolf snapped. “This white man has stolen our ponies, and left our war bags to show us how little he thinks of our belongings.”
“I think we have lost this race with him,” Cripple Horse said. “I am tired. I can’t walk another step until I have rested. We are already close to the place the white men call Duck Bend, and there are too many guns there.” He stirred the ashes of the fire with his finger. “These ashes are almost cold. They have been gone from this place a long time, so they will surely get to Duck Bend before we could catch them, even if we were not tired.”
“What Cripple Horse says is true,” Walking Man said. “What we must do now is find some horses. There are white farmers that have settled not far from here. Perhaps they will have horses.”
Gray Wolf knew they were right. He was as tired as they were, but he was still reluctant to admit they had been defeated, outsmarted by the white man riding the crazy horse.
“We will rest for a little while, but then we must keep going. They have our horses!” he exclaimed, as if to remind them. “They will probably stop at the trading post for only a little while. We will strike them when they leave, kill the white man, and take the women, if we want them.”
Walking Man looked at Cripple Horse and shrugged. He was met with the same gesture from Cripple Horse, so they both nodded, and Walking Man said, “We will do as you wish.”