Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (18 page)

Slocum looked through the window, taking note of the increased amount of activity throughout the rest of the camp. From the cabin, he could see a good portion of the settlement, including a growing number of women in attire similar to Namid's, scurrying among the waist-high posts topped with large wooden bowls and dented brass lanterns. “Where is Hevo being kept?”

“Straight across from here in one of the small teepees near the edge of camp.”

“Never mind,” Slocum said. “Already found him.” Hevo emerged from one of the teepees and crept toward the trees, moving like another one of the shadows. Because the others in the camp were so busy with their own tasks, they did not notice him.

“Spirit Bear will be singing soon,” she told Slocum. “And when he does, the warriors will gather to fight the war he has put in front of them.”

“They won't want to fight once things swing too far in the wrong direction,” Slocum replied.

“You do not know that.”

“I may not have seen every last one of these men, but the ones I have seen are no fanatics. That one back there,” he said while nodding toward the unconscious guard, “was more concerned with saving his own skin than putting me down. That's the sign of a common, greedy brute. If that man was truly sworn to Spirit Bear like the crazed killers they're supposed to be, he would have come at me a lot harder whether there was a gun pointed at him or not. Trust me. I've looked into the eyes of crazy men and I've fought fanatics. That man down there wasn't either one of those.”

“But there are plenty who would follow Spirit Bear to the grave,” Namid swore.

“I'll grant you that much. But that makes it even easier for me to put an end to this.”

“Just you?”

“So far, that's about all I got.”

Namid's head hung low. “And what about Hevo?” she asked. “He trusts you. Otherwise he would not have brought you here to stand with him against Spirit Bear. You should trust him as well. It will be hard enough for you two to get away from here together. Apart, you would stand no chance.”

“I intend on doing a hell of a lot more than just get away from here,” Slocum said.

19

Activity within the camp built to a furor. More and more warriors visited a large tent at the other end of the clearing and emerged carrying rifles, spears, knives, or bows. Other men prepared horses to be ridden, and women furiously worked to apply a fresh coat of leaves to cloaks that were given to the Dirt Swimmers. Food was handed out and drums began to sound, all while Hevo worked his way toward the cabin.

Slocum watched intently from his window. He kept the shotgun ready so he could fire at the guard if he should stir, and he kept his muscles tensed in case he needed to lunge for the woman, who grew more impatient with every second that passed. But Namid didn't seem to be interested in running. She barely made a sound as she stood in the doorway, nodding to the occasional Indian who would look in her direction. Slocum watched for a hint that she might be passing some sort of signal to the others, even though he wasn't sure what he could do to stop her or what options he might have if she did call for help. Even those few who nodded back to Namid were too busy to do much else.

After what couldn't have been more than a few minutes, Hevo crept around the perimeter of the camp to the back of the cabin. First chance he got, he darted to the cabin's only door and rushed inside, where Namid greeted him with open arms.

“I should have stayed with you,” she said. “I should never have left you.”

“You did plenty,” Hevo replied. As he stroked her hair, he looked over at Slocum.

Still pointing the shotgun toward the door, Slocum said, “You two sure seem a lot friendlier.”

“She has turned against Spirit Bear as I have,” Hevo told him. “She just could not get away when I did.”

“Now there's a cryin' shame.”

“This is a tangled mess, John,” Hevo sighed. “All I can offer you is my word that she can be trusted.”

Slocum maintained a solid poker face as he thought a few things over. First of all, Hevo had proven himself more often than not. More than anything else, Slocum preferred to judge another man based on his actions. Hevo had stood tall when things had gotten rough. He'd waded into battle when the wagons were being attacked, and when he had the opportunity to run now, he'd come back to the cabin for Namid. Mistakes may have been made, but Slocum could relate to making much worse mistakes where women were concerned.

As far as that woman was concerned, Slocum knew even less. Since he was going to be discovered sooner or later if he stayed in one spot, it didn't seem bad to risk it now. A mess was a mess, and he was already in this one up to his ears.

“So you want out of here?” Slocum asked her.

Namid looked at Hevo, who offered her nothing in the way of any hint as to how he wanted her to answer. She looked at Slocum and nodded. “I am only here because I cannot leave. If I was to slip away in the night, I would be found. What they would do to me after that would be worse than death.”

“So that was all an act before?”

“I had to get Hevo alone,” she explained.

“She will come with us, John,” Hevo said. “If you will not allow her to come with us, then I will take her on my own.”

“She can come with us,” Slocum sighed while taking another gander out the window. “In fact, I think she can be a big help in getting us away from this madhouse.”

“I cannot get to your weapons,” she insisted.

“I'm not worried about that anymore. There's more than enough weapons out there for us to shoot our way out of this place, into another place, into a fort, and out of there as well. My concern is getting the ball rolling and I think there might be a real easy way to get that part done.”

Hevo had taken a spot near the window and was now looking outside with one eye so he only exposed a sliver of himself to the rest of the camp. “I forgot what it was like to be here,” he said almost to himself. “There is no rest. No time for meals. Everyone works on Spirit Bear's schedule and that man does not even let the sun or moon tell him when to lay his head down.”

“Spirit Bear rarely sleeps anymore,” Namid said. “He meditates and chants, all while smoking his own dust or drinking his potions.”

Turning to her, Slocum said, “He can't be the only one who mixes that stuff. Considering how much dust gets burned, thrown around, and mixed into food or water, he wouldn't have time for much else.”

She lowered her head and crossed her arms as if to cocoon herself. “I have helped with the mixtures. All of the women have. It is what we do to survive. One of the many things for which I am ashamed.”

Hevo went to her right away and said, “You should not be ashamed.”

“It is because of the Dreaming Dust that Spirit Bear turns his prisoners into workers and killers. It is the dust that allows the hunts to go on. I was even here for some time because of it. That dust has robbed me of memories and put nightmares in their place.”

“That is over,” Hevo said while shaking her as if to snap her out of those nightmares and make certain he was heard. In his own language, he added,
“From this day onward, that nightmare is over. Do you understand me?”

She took comfort by responding in her native tongue.
“I understand. I will never be able to make up for what I did to you.”
Looking toward Slocum, she added,
“What I did to others who were innocent.”

“We can start by putting an end to this. That is why John and I are here
.”

“I know,”
she said while nodding. Drawing a deep breath, she nodded again with more conviction.

“You two done sweet talking over there?” Slocum asked.

“We have talked enough,” Hevo replied. “There is no more time for it.”

“I agree. Will you be ready to help?”

“I want to help also,” Namid said.

“Good,” Slocum replied. “Because I was talking to you in the first place. What can you tell me about that Dreaming Dust?”

“It is similar to peyote and other medicines used by my tribe's shaman. Many tribes use something like it as well. But Spirit Bear's mixture is more potent. It is more like the opium used in parlors where men pay to dream their days away.”

“I guessed as much,” Slocum said. “But I've smelled opium and I've smelled peyote. This is something else. Do you know how to mix it up so it's something more?”

Namid made a face that reflected how badly that notion sat within her. “What do you mean . . . more?”

As Slocum explained what he had in mind, Namid's expression shifted to something much brighter. When he finished and asked, “So do you think you could pull that off?” she was already nodding.

“We won't have much time,” he said.

Namid rushed past both men and glanced outside. “I will not need much time, but I must go now before it is too late to do what you ask.”

“How long before we know you got it right?”

“Maybe a minute or two. Not much longer than that. You must be prepared for when my job is done. Even you,” she said to Hevo. “I fear this may be too much for your friend, but I wouldn't want to risk you as well.”

Slocum rolled his eyes at suddenly being talked about like he was some stray dog that just happened to be standing in the corner.

“I will be fine,” Hevo assured her. “Do not think about us while doing your part. Just do what you must so that we may put an end to this. When we are through, we will be free.” Turning to Slocum as a last-ditch effort to make him feel like he was still a part of the conversation, he added, “All of us.”

“No need to convince me,” Slocum said as he approached Namid so he could gently usher her toward the door before she and Hevo got sentimental again. “It was my idea, remember?”

“Of course,” she said before taking a deep breath. Apart from steeling her for what was to come, that breath set off a change that brought Namid right back to the cold-hearted exterior she'd worn when Slocum had first laid eyes on her. The mask slid into place and she was careful not to look at either of the men when she strode out of the cabin.

Watching her through the window, Slocum had to duck out of sight as some of the preparing warriors outside took notice of her and looked toward the cabin. Plastering his back against the wall beside the window, he whispered, “You think she can pull this off?”

“She has convinced them she is still following Spirit Bear.”

“No, I mean what I asked her to do. Do you think she can get that done? Because if it doesn't go off just right, we could be in a whole world of hurt.”

Hevo stood away from the window with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were pointed straight ahead as if he could see straight through the cabin wall. “She will do her part. We must do ours.”

“Yeah, and that brings us to a whole new set of problems.” Slocum peeled his shirt off and took it to a corner so he could have his back to a wall and get a good view of the rest of the cabin without being too close to the door or window. “We've got a shotgun and some shells, but that's about it.”

“You said we could get weapons. Spirit Bear may have an addled mind, but his men know how to arm themselves.”

Slocum trapped his shirt under the heel of one boot and pulled a sleeve until it ripped off. “Which is another thing. I haven't even met this Spirit Bear fellow.”

“You have seen what he does,” Hevo said through a heavy scowl. “Isn't that enough to judge him?”

“Not if I'm dropping a death sentence onto him.” He shifted his shirt so the other sleeve was under his boot.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Hevo asked.

“No, I'm just mulling over the thoughts I do have. What I said before is true. We're in this too deep to get out quietly now. And even if we could get away from here, Ed and the others in those wagons would still be in danger. Nope,” he grunted while ripping another strip of thick cotton from his shirt, “we go forward just as planned.”

When Hevo grinned, it was an odd sight. Considering their circumstances, having something else strike Slocum as odd was saying quite a bit. “This is a good plan, John. Otherwise, I would not have allowed my Star Dancer to be a part of it.”

“Only problem with this plan is that if it goes wrong, it'll go wrong in a real big way.”

“Then it must not go wrong.”

Slocum didn't have anything to say to that. The sound of his ripping shirt tore through the cabin as the drums outside grew louder.

20

Slocum and Hevo didn't have much else to do by way of preparation. Now was the time when Namid proved herself, and if she failed or decided she truly did belong with Spirit Bear, the drums that were now pounding in a rhythmic frenzy would most likely be the last music that Slocum heard. He had faith in his plan. He only wished he'd had more than a few minutes to put the plan together.

“You seem nervous, John,” Hevo said. While Slocum had been making his preparations and mulling things over, the Cheyenne had been dipping his fingers into mud from the floor mixed with blood from his wounds to make war paint, which he used to trace lines on his cheeks, forearms, and chest.

Slocum finished knotting a few strips of his shirt together, sniffed it, and winced. “And you don't look nervous. That means you might be even crazier than those men outside.”

“I have faith in our cause. Even if we fall in this fight, we will have died in a righteous manner.”

“Yeah, well, let's try not to die at all,” Slocum said while tossing over the strips he'd knotted together. “That way we can tell folks personally how righteous we are.”

Hevo chuckled and caught the shredded pieces of shirt. “You are no boasting rooster like the man Josiah, who stays behind to squawk to the women and children within those wagons.”

“Josiah. I damn near forgot about him.” Picking up another couple strips of fabric that had been knotted and soaked with as much water as he could sop up from the floor and windowsill, Slocum tied the strips together. Like the piece he'd made for Hevo, his strip was the length of a shirtsleeve with several other strips of cotton in layers. He smelled the fabric and winced at the pungent mixture of mold, dirt, and even dung that had been left behind by something that had lived up in the cabin's rafters. “I hope that loudmouthed old man is doing all right.”

“Have faith, John Slocum.” Lifting his head, Hevo nodded at the subtle shift in drumbeats.

“Is Spirit Bear about to make his speech?” Slocum asked.

Hevo nodded.

“About damn time.” With that, Slocum placed the foul-smelling rags across the lower portion of his face and tied the ends tightly in back of his head.

Hevo did the same with his own makeshift mask, chanting a song in a low, growling voice while the Indians in the camp struck up a tune of their own.

Slocum could barely smell the cotton through the mess he'd smeared into the fabric. When the odor of the animal dung washed down his throat, he longed for the pungent stench of body odor or any number of things that could have been in the shirt before. Cold air blew through the cabin, stinging his chest like a set of icy nails dragging through his flesh.

Outside, the drums played and women made their rounds to the bowls and lanterns to add a granular mixture from bags they carried. One of those women was Namid and she went about her task without casting more than half a sideways glance at the cabin where Hevo and Slocum were hiding. Seconds after the mixture was added to the bowls, it was lit by torches. Lanterns flared as dust was added to the kerosene within them and the remaining dust carried by the women was cast into a large fire that had been built in the middle of camp. As soon as dark green smoke billowed from the flames, Spirit Bear emerged from the largest tent.

Decked out in his skins and wearing a headpiece made from the hollowed skull of his namesake, Spirit Bear looked more like a shape-shifting animal from Indian legend than any sort of man. He shook his staff, extended both arms toward the growing cloud of smoke, and began to speak in a powerful, wavering voice.

“What's he saying?” Slocum asked.

Hevo watched intently, translating as if he was speaking from memory. “Tonight, we hunt!” he said. “Tonight we slaughter the white travelers who would disgrace our lands with their boots.”

At first, the answers from the warriors and Dirt Swimmers gathered around the fire were given as if they'd been well rehearsed. As Spirit Bear continued, the responses became wilder.

“Tonight we slaughter demons dressed in the skins of men!” Hevo translated.

The men near the fire threw their hands up and howled as if they fully intended to shred their throats with the effort. Spirit Bear went on, trembling with emotion.

“Do not see them as anything but the demons they are!” Spirit Bear continued. “Some may be small and some may have fairer skin, but they are all foul demons!”

Now the men on the periphery of the camp started shouting. They were closest to the wooden bowls that burned with the Dreaming Dust. Some fired their guns in the air while others began flailing so powerfully that they knocked into each other. Random fights broke out among them and a few looked around in a panic before running toward the hills, leaving the camp behind altogether.

Spirit Bear chanted, but none of the others chanted back. He shook his staff and chanted louder, which only seemed to create more of a panic among the men, who now ran in a frenzy of flailing arms and thrashing legs.

“Looks like a good time to join the dance,” Slocum said. He ran through the door and exploded from the cabin with Hevo following closely behind. The first time Slocum passed through a cloud of the acrid smoke, he held his breath beneath the mask he'd created. The smoke sung his eyes, causing tears to flow and a painful ache to take root at his temples. Whatever he was feeling, however, the men who breathed it in directly were feeling a whole lot worse.

Three men closest to the cabin saw Slocum and Hevo charge out and immediately turned their backs to them. Slocum had been expecting resistance right away, but hadn't expected to see such well-armed braves scamper away like children who'd just seen a strange shadow in the corner of their bedroom. Hevo shifted his focus to a bare-chested warrior holding a tomahawk in one hand and a rifle in the other. Although the warrior held his ground, he cowered when Hevo hunched over and snarled like a wolf that had been raised in the lowest regions of hell.

The warrior tried to turn tail, but Hevo was already upon him. He snatched the tomahawk away and swung it viciously across the warrior's throat. Even when the warrior dropped, his arms and legs thrashed wildly as if he was still trying to run away. Hevo knocked him out with a swift kick to the chin and then scooped up the warrior's rifle.

Slocum emptied both barrels of his shotgun at a pair of warriors who rushed at him. Although his mask was doing a good job of filtering out the Dreaming Dust, it was making his hands shake so hard that he dropped the spare shells he meant to use to reload the shotgun. He found time to reload, simply because the warriors in his vicinity were too busy either fighting each other or bolting into the hills surrounding the camp to worry about him. When the shotgun shells were spent, Slocum found a few rifles that had been cast away by warriors too intent on escaping whatever visions they were seeing. He took one rifle and slung it across his back before picking up a Spencer model that had been decorated with tribal charms and feathers.

All this time, Spirit Bear continued to chant. He stood his ground in the thick of the smoke, wailing to the sky above and stomping the ground in steps that became heavier and faster with each second that passed.

Some of the warriors that Slocum and Hevo found next still had some fight left in them. Whatever Namid had done to the Dreaming Dust made it difficult even for the most focused warriors to concentrate long enough to use their weapons. The ones who bore firearms couldn't see straight enough to hit the broad side of a barn. Any shots they fired either hissed several yards over Slocum's head or clipped one of the other painted braves and spun them around like broken marionettes.

Slocum kept his breaths shallow whenever possible. He focused on the putrid tastes and smells of the mask he'd crafted, hoping that some of the tangy scents he detected weren't from wisps of the modified dust seeping through the protective layers. Taking in some of the smoke was unavoidable, however. Slocum's vision began to blur and shadows started writhing as if they had lives of their own. Noises became a slurred mess within his ears until his own footsteps sounded like a snarling voice. By the time he'd fought his way to Spirit Bear, Slocum pitied the crazed wretches who'd gotten a real taste of the altered smoke.

“You . . . are . . .
demons!”
Spirit Bear hollered in slurred English. His eyes were wide beneath the bear skin hood, and his muscles trembled beneath his cloak. “White demons come to . . . eat my
soul!”

“Just one white man,” Slocum replied.

Hevo yelped like a coyote as he shoved aside a pair of staggering warriors and hurdled a group of Dirt Swimmers who clawed at the ground in an effort to live up to their name. His eyes were so wide and his voice so powerful that Slocum wondered if too much of the poisoned dust had gotten into his lungs. Spirit Bear looked at the Cheyenne warrior and dropped to his knees to chant crazily as Hevo rushed toward him. When he arrived, Hevo grabbed hold of Spirit Bear's headdress, raised his tomahawk, and then swung it with a mighty war cry. Although he stopped short of burying the blade into Spirit Bear's neck, he lifted the headdress up and wailed as if he'd just slain the most fearsome beast the prairie had ever seen. He continued to shout as he kicked Spirit Bear over and held him down with that foot.

Many of the Indians in the immediate vicinity didn't notice the performance right away. But when one of the warriors caught sight of Hevo standing over Spirit Bear, the man screamed. His voice caught the ear of others and silence worked its way through the camp like ripples in water.

Hevo stood with his prize in hand, glaring at any eye that dared to look in his direction.

Sensing a fear that was powerful enough to make the air feel like a taut bowstring, Slocum fired his rifle and shouted his own string of nonsense words. Any other time, the display may have been laughable. To the men who'd been affected by the smoke Namid had poisoned, Slocum may as well have been the devil himself.

More warriors ran away.

The ones who attempted to fire at Slocum and Hevo didn't come anywhere close to hitting them. All Slocum had to do was fire a shot in their general direction to send that group running like scalded dogs.

Dirt Swimmers cast their netted cloaks aside and bolted from the camp.

Before long, Slocum, Hevo, and less than half a dozen others were all that remained. Those others were either sprawled unconscious on the ground or babbling like lunatics in an asylum.

The smoke was clearing. Hevo kicked Spirit Bear aside and walked toward the largest tent. A woman cried inside and he could not get to her fast enough.

Slocum stooped down to prop Spirit Bear up to a seated position. Once his skins were off and his ceremonial trappings had been stripped, Spirit Bear was nothing more than an old man with wide, clouded eyes. His cracked lips moved to form words that could not be heard. His hands trembled and panicked breaths caused his sunken chest to quake beneath filthy undergarments that most likely hadn't been washed for months.

“Whatever you were trying to do,” Slocum told him, “it's over. You're through with your damn war. You hear me?”

Spirit Bear kept babbling his silent chant. Without an army to follow him and without anyone to listen to his big talk, he was exposed for what he truly was: a feeble, yammering old man. Slocum brought him to his feet and shoved him toward the livery that had been set up beneath a makeshift shelter.

By the time Spirit Bear was tied up and tossed over the back of a horse, Hevo was escorting Namid from the big tent. She was sobbing and rubbing her eyes. Hevo comforted her in their native language, but wouldn't be heard for some time. Even so, he continued to try and calm her down as they rode into the hills.

* * *

They retraced their steps across the prairie. Along the way, they crossed paths with a few crazed Indians who were still feeling the effects of the Dreaming Dust. The ones that weren't easily knocked out and tied up were convinced to run away by a few loud noises.

The following day, as they continued to ride, a few more Indians tracked them down. Slocum and Hevo had been watching for stubborn ones like that and managed to gun them down before they got close enough to do any damage. The fights were as short as they were one-sided.

“They are just animals,” Namid said. “Without Spirit Bear to guide them or bring them together, those men are nothing but wild dogs.”

“Looks that way,” Slocum said. “Soon as I get to an Army post or even a town with a telegraph, I can send word out to keep a lookout for them.”

“Considering all the suffering Spirit Bear has caused,” Hevo said while looking at the old man still tied up and draped across a saddle, “there will be plenty of white men who are more than willing to begin a hunt of their own. For once, I cannot blame them. Men like these make all tribes look like savages.”

“Well, there are plenty of palefaces out and about who make handsome fellas like me look just as bad,” Slocum said. “I'm just glad we were able to come out of that camp in one piece. Speaking of which,” he added while looking over to Namid, “what on earth did you do to that dust?”

Namid had recovered from her dose of the smoke, but had been withdrawn ever since. “I did as you asked. I made it . . . more.”

“What was the ingredient that caused all of that insanity?” Slocum asked.

“I do not know and I do not want to know. Spirit Bear showed the women how to mix the Dreaming Dust and he gave us the ingredients. He showed us the powders we needed to handle most carefully and those are what I put into the smoke when I mixed it for the last time. I put more than we should have used for three doses. Maybe more.”

“You convinced all the women to help you?”

She nodded. “All of us were in our own nightmares at the hands of those killers. When it came time for it to end, I knew the others would want to help.”