Cheyenne Saturday - Empty-Grave Extended Edition (13 page)

* * *

Liza Reeves had ignored medical aid and fought alongside the men during the attack. And when a doctor insisted on looking at her wound, he announced that the cauterizing had effectively sealed the fleshy hole, and, considering the amount of bleeding, was probably clean and would heal with no after-effects.

Liza had turned to the grief-stricken women and children after Goose Face had been driven off. She had helped locate lost children, re-united husbands and wives, helped the prostrate victims of arrow wounds. She had worked without stopping, talking softly, harshly, soothingly, with authority. And underneath all of it, she had wondered if she would see the tall Texan again. Often during that long and hectic night, she had glanced to the south and west for signs of a rider.

* * *

 At midnight Kelly had seen the last of the scattered equipment sorted and counted. The salvaged wheels of the Jehus' carts were waiting for frames of new wagons to replace those crushed by the stampede. Rails and cross ties, tools and railroad gear of every sort had been collected, replaced and laid in readiness for the Monday morning push. A special train had been dispatched back to the east with the critically wounded and a message sent ahead to have a supply train loaded and ready to leave on the return trip at daybreak on Sunday morning.

Kelly whipped and bucked, threatened and pleaded, and got the dead-tired men to work cleaning up the railroad gear. A very tired army of Johnny-Jacks would not be paid, Liam Kelly told them, until he was satisfied.

At midnight the men lined up before the general's caboose to collect their money and then dropped into a dead sleep at the first protected spot they could find. Many of them said to hell with sleep and headed for the grog tents.

At midnight the men and women of the Union Pacific Railroad advance camp were emerging from the nightmare.

* * *

Kelly stood still in the middle of a burned-out clearing. He looked around him, his eyes hollow. There must be something else to be done, he thought. Then he stared out to the southwest, wondering if he would ever see Nathan Ellis again, wondering if the big man, who was not an employee of the U.P. and had drifted into the camp lookin for a man and a fair fight, was now stretched out in the plains grass with a Cheyenne arrow in his back.

He looked around him again. The men had been paid and had dispersed, and even the sudden shrieks of women in pain had ceased to split the air. There was nothing else to be done.

He started for his tent, not at all sure if it had been burned or if his crippled Jehu was still alive, when someone crossed his path and stopped him.

“How do, Kelly.” 

“Simpson,” Kelly growled. “What do you want?” 

“I been lookin' for that big cowboy—the one come lookin' for Lefty,” replied Watson's man. “Lefty just rode in from Green River with some of the boys. He sent me lookin' for the Texan. Lefty's waitin' at the big tent. That is, if the big’un ain't dead yet—or ain't run out.” Simpson snickered.

Kelly replied with a perfectly-timed right hand that sent the man sprawling. Simpson slapped at his Colt. “You shoot me,” Kelly growled, “and every Johnny-Jack in this camp will fight to string you up.” 

Simpson pulled his gun and cocked it. “They won't know who done it, Kelly. I've had enough of you—” 

Liza Reeves stepped out of the darkness and chopped the gunman on the back of the head with a tent stake. Simpson rolled over without a sound.

“He wouldn't have shot,” Kelly growled, walking over and kicking the gun away.

“You don't know a hell of a lot about gunfighters, Mr. Kelly,” Liza said. “You look more tired that I feel. I got your Jehu to cookin' some coffee.” 

Kelly followed Liza Reeves through the scramble of half-burned tenting and erupting luggage. Liza was still wearing the Indian breeches and vest. Her hair was wilder than ever and she had tied a bandanna around here forehead. She looked like a small lithe brave in the darkness. 

Over coffee that was thick and hot and sticky-sweet, they sat on the hard ground and stared into the cook fire. The Jehu had lost a good friend in raid. The two of them had come out of New Mexico to work on the railroad and hoped to return with a enough of a stake to buy a spread. Now the boy fought back tears as the dreams vanished.

None of them spoke for a long while. Finally Kelly turned to look in the direction of the laughter coming from Watson's tent. “You think the big fellow will come back, miss?”

“I sure hope he does Mr. Kelly.”

“You like the lad, miss?”

 “I reckon,” Liza said quietly. “He is a pretty good-type fellow.”

“I hope,” Kelly said, meaning it more than he had meant anything in his life. “I pray, miss, that he’ll come back. And if he does, don’t let him go after Lefty.”

Liza’s eyes flashed. “After what we went through today?” She shook her head. “If that man comes back, Mr. Kelly,” she said staring into the southwest, “I ain’t never goin’ to let him out of my sight again. You think I’d let some lowlife gun him down? If I have to hog-tie him and strap him blindfolded to a pony and lead him clear to Yellowstone, hand-feedin’ him every step of the way, I wouldn’t let him fight no shoot-out.”

“He’s a head-strong lad, miss.”

“That’s all right. I reckon I can handle him. Let’s just see—” She stopped. “Let’s just see if he gets back from chasin’ that Injun all over yonder.”

“Beans is all we got, Mr. Kelly,” the Jehu said apologetically. “I got some hot if you and the lady would like some.”

“Bring ‘em on, lad,” Kelly said. “I’ll eat what the young lass can’t handle.”

“I reckon I could eat a bite or two,” Liza said, her eyes on the southwest where it was dark and the south wind blew softly, bringing on its breath the scent of prairie flowers from Texas and Oklahoma.

* * *

At midnight the glow on the horizon grew brighter and Nathan Ellis began to distinguish the flickering of camp fires. His pony was near exhaustion. “Keep goin', hoss,” he breathed to the animal and patted its neck. “Both of us goin' to rest soon.”

The ride for Nathan Ellis had been a time of reflection. He had faced death many times. As a child he and his infant brother were left with his mother on the banks of the Colorado after his father had been killed by Apaches. Later, as a growing boy, he had fought the southwest Indians himself, and began to range north in search of blood stock for his cattle. Death had been a daily diet during the war when he had snaked the wagon trains up the Santa Fe trail with guns and ammunition brought overland from the Pacific coast. Raids by Indians, white renegades and Union detachments had been common during the drives. He had even gone to the front lines with the Grays to get a taste of real war for six months before he was ordered back to the supply trains.

He had no idea how many men he had killed in his life. Certainly there had been more Indians than white men. But Goose Face had been the first the tall Texan had scalped. It was a savage gesture, and an honor only to the Indian.

He glanced down at the blood-caked hair of Goose face, a little white at the edges with war paint, and was glad that he had lifted the hair of the renegade brave. It was a small act indeed by comparison to the devastation Goose Face had brought to the men and women at the camp, but, for what it was worth, his scalp belonged to them.

He guided his pony into the outer edges of the camp, unmindful of the stares and comments of the Johnny-Jacks who began to follow him. The figure of Slocum, with the Cheyenne arrow still imbedded in his skull, and the grimy rider with the raw-red hand and the long black hair of an Indian scalp trailing the dust at his stirrup brought increasing murmurs.

“Is that Goose Face's hair, mister?” one of the Johnny-Jacks asked.

“It sure is,” Ellis said.

The news rippled through the crowd. “He got the Injun!”

“There's his hair to prove it!”

“Gimme a drink! Hot damn his red soul to hell!”

Ellis pulled his pony to a stop before Kelly's tent. The big Irishman and Liza Reeves looked up at him from the fire and put the beans to one side.

“Hail Mary, full of grace—” Kelly crossed himself.

Liza Reeves stood up. She pursed her lips and fought back tears. “Well, I see you got your Injun,” she managed without breaking down.

“How'd you do it, mister?” The Johnny-Jacks crowded around, examining the scalp Ellis now held in his hand. Others had removed Slocum's body and laid it to rest beneath a blanket.

“I didn't do it,” Ellis said. “He done it.” He pointed to Slocum. “He killed six of 'em with six bullets.”

“And that really is that chile's hair?” a man inquired, standing close to Ellis and looking at the bloody scalp.

“Goose Face is dead,” Ellis said. “Only one of his men is still alive.”

“But close to a dozen of 'em got away!” somebody shouted.

“Didn't you hear what the man said!” somebody shouted back angrily. “Only one of 'em got away!”

“For sure, it's Goose Face's hair. You can see the smudges of white from the paint he had all over his face.” a big Johnny-Jack said loudly.

Kelly got to his feet and, before all of them, embraced Nathan Ellis warmly. “Lad,” he said. “I'm glad to see you.”

“Goddam, we gotta celebrate!” someone shouted. “Get out the fiddles—”

“But ain't you got no reverence for the dead?” someone else asked.

“Dead, hell I'm glad to be alive!”

The crowd moved away from the tent. Suddenly there came the squeaks of a violin, and then the groans of a concertina filled the air. The men began to form up and stamp the ground and clap their hands, squraing off for the dance. Big, rough Johnny-Jacks, their women and their children joined in the sudden wild release that the death of Goose Face had triggered.

Ellis sat cross-legged on the ground and accepted the coffee the grinning Jehu offered him. Liza Reeves sat at his side.

“How's your leg?” he asked.

“Fair to passin'.”

“And your shoulder?”

“Nothin' to trouble about. Here, lemme see that hand of yours.” She examined the palm carefully. “Don't reckon you'll be grabbin' at anythin' for a while.” She turned to the Jehu. “Gimme some pure grease fat, boy, and one of Mr. Kelly's shirts.”

“Ain’t no use in doin' that now,” Ellis said uncomfortably.

“You just keep your mouth shut,” she said tartly. “I reckon if I want to put grease fat on your hand and tie it up in a rag, you ain't goin' to say nothin' about it!” Her eyes flashed at him.

Ellis looked at Kelly.

The big Irishman was busy eating his beans.

* * * 

At one-thirty in the morning, his hand bound in the tail of Kelly's nightshirt, Nathan Ellis put coffee down on top of beans and bacon and told them of his man-to-man duel with Goose Face on the plains.

“You rest, lad,” Kelly said. “When I tell the general all you've done for his railroad today, he'll show his appreciation in hard money. That's the kind of man the general is. And as soon as you feel able to straddle a horse, you're number-one scout for the Union Pacific Railroad.”

“I don't want no job, Kelly,” Ellis said. “And I don't want no pay for what I did today. Soon as Lefty shows his face I'll have my showdown and afterwards I'll just cut on back south to the Colorado.”

“You ain't gettin' into no gunfight with Lefty, or nobody,” Liza said. “So you might just as well get that right clear out of your mind.”

“Who said?”

“I said.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Well, you ain't exactly ast me to marry you yet, but you will sometime or other, so I'm just settin' out my fences right now in advance a little bit. You ain't fightin' no professional gun-toter.”

“Marry you!”

“Don't act like you don't want to, 'cause it won't get you no place. You ain't goin' to do no more shootin'—leastways not around this camp at Lefty Whatever-his-name-is.”

“It wouldn't be wise, lad,” Kelly said softly. “Even if you did manage to kill him, I'm sure Watson's men wouldn't let you get away with it.”

Ellis sipped his coffee. “As soon as Lefty shows his face, that's when it's goin' to happen.”

Liza and Kelly looked at each other quickly, and then were silent. Ellis watched their faces.

“He's in camp, ain't he?”

Liza jumped up. “God damn it! I ain't goin' to let you go!”

Ellis shook his head. “Woman, just stay the hell out of my way.”

Liza jerked Kelly's Colt out and aimed it at Ellis. “I'll break both of your arms, mister,” she said coldly. “You won't be able to lift a gun for six months. If you don't believe me, just try and walk away.”

“How come you so interested?” Ellis demanded angrily.

“'Cause I love you, you hard-headed, stubborn Texan!” Liza yelled at him. “I been waitin' a long time for somethin' like you to come along and I ain't goin' to stand by and see you drop in front of the gun of a no-good—”

“Now you listen to me a minute, woman,” Ellis said, his voice hard and edged with determination. “I do wantta marry you. And under the circumstances, I guess you'd be right to keep me outa a fight—if it was an ordinary shoot-out—but it ain't.”

“What makes this one so different?” Liza demanded.

Ellis pulled out his Colt and began to load it, examining it carefully. He did not look at Kelly or Liza as he spoke. “I got a place down on the Colorado, near Center city, Texas. My paw staked it out forty years ago with my maw. I was born there and worked cattle with my paw. Then my brother was born in the same room as me, six years later.

“Paw was killed in a runnin' fight with some Apaches when they tried to raid the range one night back in fifty-four. The Apaches got our cattle.”

Ellis examined each cartridge as he slipped it into the chamber. “Buster, my brother, and me worked the cattle for Maw. We worked up a nice little herd and when beef prices went sky-high back in sixty-one because of the war, we sold off everything except the breed stock. Buster and I came home from the drive that took us halfway across the country—up to Oklahoma so the herd could eat high on the good grass and then on through to the buyers in Missouri—fightin' Indians and raiders, stampedes and cold and rain and heat and drought every step of the way. But we got our price and we went home. Maw said the money was for us—half 'n' half—sixty-eight thousand dollars.”