Sidewinder (15 page)

When forming his plan, Sidewinder counted on the soldiers being armed with the usual Springfield carbines. Instead, his men ran into the rapid-shooting Spencers and broke before the repeated fire. Whirling their horses, they retired the way they had come. Scooping up fallen, wounded companions, or men who had ridden up behind companions before fighting on foot, the Indians withdrew.

Not all though. The braves who took the barn and forge remained in their positions and most of them held firearms. A bullet ripped the air over the Kid’s head and he dived into the corral. Swiftly he fed ammunition through the Winchester’s loading slot until its magazine was full once more.

‘We’re in trouble,’ stated the soldier at the Kid’s right side, a grizzled veteran with long experience to guide his summing up of the situation.

‘Looks that way,’ the Kid agreed as a bullet from the forge sent splinters of wood flying. ‘I don’t reckon we can hold out here.’

While their position in the corral had been reasonably safe before, the loss of the barn and forge changed all that. Instead of having friends giving covering fire from the two buildings, the Kid’s party now found themselves in inadequate shelter and being fired on,

‘Looks that way,’ admitted the soldier.

‘Hey, Jeff!’yelled the Kid.

‘Yes?’ came Manners’ reply from the house.

‘We’ll have to come over there and chance losing the hosses. They’ve got the barn and forge.’

‘Hold hard until I can organize covering fire.’

‘Yo!’ answered the Kid and looked at the so1dier. ‘Go bring in the men from the other side.’

Even as he spoke, the Kid knew just how little time they had. Already the
Waw’ai
formed up once more. Another rush, backed by the men at the forge, would see the corral guard wiped out and the horses freed. Then the
Waw’ai
could withdraw without loss of face, having gathered up loot and counted coup. Bitter disappointment filled the Kid as he scanned the enemy ranks in the hope of seeing Sidewinder. The chief still did not make an appearance and the Kid cursed. It seemed that he would either die, or be driven into the house, without having a chance to kill his old enemy.

The old soldier brought the other men forward and they lay in what cover they could find. All understood the gravity of the situation and their set faces told the Kid he did not need to emphasize it.

‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘As soon as the folks at the house start shooting we’ll run. Go like hell — and go shooting.’

Before anybody could reply, a
Waw’ai
let out a wild yell and the whole bunch came racing forward in a rush that sought to crush the Kid’s party by sheer weight of numbers.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SOMETHING hissed through the air over the Kid’s head and exploded above the charging
Waw’ai
. An. instant later a different hissing sounded and he saw a strange, smoke-trailing object curve from behind him to strike the ground ahead of the attackers and erupt in a cloud of flame. Men and horses had gone down under the first mid-air explosion and the
Waw’ai
tried to rein their mounts to a halt. Rearing, sliding, emitting screams of fear, the horses slammed into each other and only superb riding kept the Indians astride.

On a rim nine hundred yards away, Dusty Fog watched through his borrowed field glasses. To one side of him a soldier slid another Hale Spin-Stabilized rocket into the launcher, checked his aim and fired it. Not quite so quick to reload, the Mountain howitzer to Dusty’s other side bellowed out as the rocket streaked its eerie way through the air. Using spherical case shells, which exploded in mid-air by means of a time-fuse, the howitzer gunner showed his skill. Again his charge exploded right where it did most good, just over the heads of the disrupted
Waw’ai
. With only a light bursting charge in the case, the shell lacked power, yet its moral effect was great and it did put down a couple of men and a horse or so each time.

Far more effective, for once, proved the rockets. Using an incendiary charge which threw up a sheet of flame on impact, the Hale rocket served to throw the already disrupted Indians into a panic.

‘We only just came in time,’ Dusty said to Mark Counter who stood at his side. ‘Here comes the cavalry.’

Across to the left of the
Waw’ai
, a troop of cavalry came into sight and launched a charge. After their repulses at the station, followed by the howitzer and rocket bombardment, the
Waw’ai
needed only to see the arrival of the cavalry to conclude their medicine had gone completely bad. Long before contact could be made with them, they burst into fast-riding fragments, tiny groups of men speeding away at full speed and with only one aim in mind, to save their necks.

At the corral the Kid saw what happened and rose, ducking through the rails. ‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘We’ve got to clear those yahoos out of the barn.’

Already the
Waw’ai
in the barn and forge knew their danger. True to their Comanche upbringing, a party of braves tried to bring mounts to their friends. The Kid and his companions risked death to shoot at the riders, for he knew that no greater disgrace could befall a Comanche warrior than to leave living friends to fall into enemy hands.

Although not sure just how the help came to be on hand, Manners wasted no time in leading a rush of men from the main building, charging at the barn — half of the party making for the forge. Faced with such opposition, the
Waw’ai
broke and ran, to be picked off by the soldiers. Not one brave who left either place reached safety and none were taken prisoner. Sidewinder’s raid had ended. After such a crushing defeat he would need long days of medicine-making before he might hope to induce the braves to follow him.

‘Are you all right, Lon?’ asked Dusty, having come tearing upon his big paint stallion.

‘Sure,’ the Kid replied, seeing the relief on his two friends’ faces as they dropped from their horses and advanced on him. ‘You pair come just in time.’

‘It looked that way,’ drawled Mark.

‘How’d you get here just right?’ the Kid inquired.

‘That soldier you left with the wounded cowhand used his head,’ Dusty explained. ‘The two of them rode double, aiming to reach the Fort and had some luck. They picked up a hoss that’s been turned loose to range-graze and made good time. From what the cowhand told us, General Handiman figured you might need some help and we had a talk with Long Walker. It was him who told us where to come. Lord knows how he knew, but he was right.’

While Dusty and Mark stood talking with the Kid, soldiers entered the barn or forge. Soon the men came out once more, gathered in a group close to where the Texans stood. Anger showed on each soldiers’ face, for all had lost friends when the two positions were over-run.

‘Them damned Injuns!’ one of the soldiers spat out. ‘And to think we’re feeding ‘em at the Fort and’re ready to make peace with ‘em.’

‘I say we ought to go back and hand them the same as as they gave our boys,’ another went on.

‘Soldier!’ the word cracked from Dusty’s lips and drew every eye to him. ‘It was one of those Indians back at the Fort who told us where to find you. Then, so that we could get the howitzer and rockets here, some more of them loaned us their best pack horses. They did it even though they knew it would get some of their people killed, Some of them even guided us out here. We’d never’ve reached you in time without their help.’

‘So?’ asked the first speaker sullenly.

‘So this,’ Dusty answered. ‘I don’t know what you figure your life’s worth. But whatever you figure on it, that’s just what you owe to Long Walker and the other Comanche chiefs.’

Having been one of the Kid’s party at the corral, the soldier knew just how slight his chance of reaching safety had been. He looked at Dusty, then to Mark and the Kid. Something in the Texans’ eyes warned him not to take the matter further, even though he could not see the people Dusty claimed to have helped them.

One of the men from the main building, not appreciating the danger of the corral party, felt less inclined to accept the Texans’ words.

‘That bunch we’ve been after for the past two days sure had a strange way of wanting peace,’ he stated.

‘There’re good and bad in every race, soldier,’ Mark replied. ‘Those
Waw’ai
didn’t want peace. But there’re white men who feel the same way. Only they don’t go out and raid, they just supply the Indians with guns and let them do it.’

‘Why’d they do that?’ demanded the soldier.

‘To make folks feel like you do now,’ Dusty explained, ‘To make them hate all Indians, even the ones who want peace.’

While the Texans put a different complexion on the matter, the soldier did not feel entirely assured.

‘That bunch didn’t want peace,’ he repeated

‘They will after the mauling you handed them,’ Dusty answered. ‘And it was you here at the station who licked ‘em. Sure we helped chase them off. But you men held them here, kept them so busy that they didn’t see us coming. It’s you who’ve broken Sidewinder’s medicine. His men won’t follow him again.’

‘Which same I never saw Sidewinder,’ the Kid said bitterly. Looking across the range, he knew that there would be no chance of finding the chief’s tracks among the many which left the area. If he had known the tracks of Sidewinder’s horse the Kid might have accomplished something. Without that knowledge, he could only guess at which fleeing group included the chief. It seemed that once more
Ka-Dih
favoured Sidewinder and allowed the chief to slip through the Kid’s hands.

‘Hey. Look there!’ yelled one of the soldiers and pointed off across the range.

On turning, Dusty, Mark and the Kid saw a welcome sight. Colonel Goodnight rode towards them, accompanied by Long Walker, War Club and four other elderly Comanches, driving a large bunch of riderless horses.

‘Those’re your Indians who don’t want peace,’ Dusty told the soldier. ‘Long Walker and War Club, two chiefs of the
Pehnane
. The others are the chiefs of the Yap-Eaters, Liver-Eaters, Water Horse and Burnt Meat Bands. They’re the ones who told us about the raid,’ Dusty felt he could tell a small lie under the circumstances, ‘and who got us here in time to help you out.’

‘How’d they know about the raids?’ asked the soldiers.

‘Likely got the word from a medicine man,’ the Kid put in. ‘And don’t sell them short, soldier. They know things that no fancy Eastern professor can explain.’

‘No matter how they knew,’ Mark went on. ‘They got us here and it looks like they’ve brought in all the horses the
Waw’ai
picked up on the raids.’

‘That won’t bring back the folks those other Indians’ve killed,’ protested the soldier who had done most of the talking.

‘Look around, you, soldier!’ Dusty ordered. ‘There are fifty or more dead
Waw’ai
hereabouts, not counting any the others carried away. Just how many more lives do you want?’

No reply came from the soldiers and they stood in a silent group. Yet Dusty knew he had given them food for thought. Then Manners came out of the barn, face haggard and body drooping in tiredness. Slowly he walked over to the Texans.

‘You did it, Jeff?’ Dusty said.

‘I lost half of my patrol,’ Manners replied. ‘Was it worth it?’

‘You saw how those
Waw’ai
could fight,’ Dusty answered. ‘And they’re not the toughest Comanche band. It’s better to have peace with folk who fight that good.’

‘I’d best start work,’ Manners sighed, not commenting on Dusty’s remark.

‘Wait for Captain Connel’s troop to help you,’ Dusty suggested. ‘They’re coming back now.’

After following the scattering
Waw’ai
for a time, the second troop of soldiers came back to the relay station. At the same time Goodnight walked over from where he and the Comanche halted the recovered horses.

‘Long Walker and the others called it right on where we’d find the
Waw’ai
stock,’ he said. ‘And they sure haven’t forgotten how to handle themselves in a raid.’

‘Did you have any trouble, Uncle Charlie?’ asked Dusty.

‘Nope. Sidewinder only left four bucks guarding the horses and they never had a chance to make a fight.’

‘Then we’ve got all the loot back, except for maybe a few guns.’

‘Sure, Dusty.’

Manners stood with Captain Connel and the soldiers mingled in talking groups. It seemed that the second troop’s members praised the manner in which Long Walker and the other Comanche chiefs guided them across the range, for some of the hostility died away among the group which had held the relay station.

‘I’ve left men out on the range, gathering the lances that the
Waw’ai
are discarding, Dusty,’ Colonel said. ‘Why’d they take them from Przewlocki’s men in the first place, if they aimed to throw them away?’

‘Took them to show they’d whipped the white soldier lance carriers,’ the Kid explained. ‘And threw them away to save weight on the hosses’ backs — and because they figured those lances brought bad luck.’

‘They could be right at that,’ Connel grunted. ‘They sure didn’t do Przewlocki’s men any good at all. I’ve told Jeff Manners to rest his men and mine’ll start the cleaning up here. Unless you figure on following the
Waw’ai
up, Dusty.’

‘How about it, Lon?’ asked Dusty.

‘You could try,’ drawled the Kid. ‘But they’ll not gather together again for days and won’t stop running until they’re back with the rest of the band. I’d bet that the
Waw’ai
come in after this. Or would if we could get Sidewinder. While he’s out, if he can get his medicine back, they’ll never settle down.’

‘Then we’d best try to get him,’ Dusty said.

‘We can try,’ agreed the Kid doubtfully. ‘Tell me which set of tracks to follow and I’ll make a go at it.’

‘Maybe he’s gone back to the camp aiming to collect his mother,’ Dusty guessed, ‘From what you told me about him, he always stuck pretty close to her.’

‘It’s worth trying,’ the Kid admitted. ‘Let’s get our hosses and go see.’

‘Is that all right with you, Tom?’ Dusty asked, looking at Connel.

‘Go to it, Dusty. Do you want any men?’

‘We’ll handle it ourselves,’ Dusty replied, glancing at his two friends and Goodnight. ‘Coming, Uncle Charlie?’

‘I figured to take those horses to their owners and make sure that the owners know who got them back,’ Goodnight replied.

Knowing the respect in which most Texans held Goodnight, Dusty could see that his uncle’s decision was the correct one. If anybody could smooth down the hostility caused by Sidewinder’s raids, or ensure that it went to the right source, Goodnight stood the best chance of doing it.

‘You might run into some of the
Waw’ai
,’ Connel warned.

‘They’ll likely not be wanting to fight any more,’ Dusty answered. ‘But in case they do, we’ll ask the chiefs to come with us. Maybe they’ll be able to talk any
Waw’ai
we meet out of fighting.’

‘Or help us with the fighting if talk doesn’t work,’ drawled Mark.

On having Dusty’s suggestion put to them, the chiefs agreed with considerable enthusiasm to going along. In fact, judging by the way they fingered their weapons, Dusty reckoned that the chiefs hoped for a meeting if it gave them a chance at one final fight before going on to the reservation to live a boring, peaceful life.

The ride proved uneventful, with no sign of
Waw’ai
and nothing of interest happening. At noon the following day, the men arrived at the site of the village and found that only one tipi remained. Recognizing the tipi, a cold, hard smile twisted the Kid’s lips and he could have made, a mighty good guess at what lay ahead of them, even before his keen nostrils caught the unmistakable smell of death which came from Sidewinder’s home.

Drawing up his bandana over his nose, Dusty slipped from the paint and approached the tipi. He lifted the flap and stepped inside, peering through the gloom and not liking what he saw. In the centre of the tipi a well-dressed elderly woman’s body sprawled twisted and contorted, its face a hideous mask of pain and horror. Close by the body lay a medicine bag, its contents scattered around as if the woman up-ended it in an effort to find something that might help her.

‘It’s Fire Dancer,’ said the Kid from the tipi door.

‘She looks like she’s been poisoned,’ Dusty replied, having twice seen poison victims and knowing the signs.

‘Must have been something she ate,’ answered the Kid.

Dusty turned and studied his friend’s face. When the Kid’s voice took on that innocent note and he looked as saintly as a choirboy trying to win a good-conduct prize, he knew more than he admitted about the subject in question. Long experience had taught Dusty that questioning the Kid at such a time was a waste of time and so he did not bother.

‘What about the rest of them?’ Dusty asked, walking from the tipi and nodding towards the deserted camp-site. ‘Where’ve they gone?’

‘Back to their people most likely,’ the Kid replied, glancing at his grandfather who went to the tipi and looked inside. ‘When the women saw Fire Dancer dying the same way that folks who she cursed went under, they’d figure that her medicine had gone right back on her and pulled out afore it got them too.’

‘You came here,
Cuchilo
?’ asked Long Walker.

‘Yes,
tawk
,’ admitted the Kid. ‘I found how she killed and laid a trap.’