The Circuit Rider (18 page)

T
ower
did not like the situation. He recognized the people around him for what they
were: Settlers. Greenhorns. Not fighters.

He
had been able to correctly identify the Paiutes for a good reason: he had known
one, a scout, who had helped him track down a man many years ago. Tower knew
firsthand how tough and violent the Paiute warriors could be.

It
was true that the braves he had seen were part of a war party, but he also knew
that times had changed. Indians were not as agreeable to talking, to making at
least an attempt at peaceful resolutions. Now they were much quicker to take up
arms. They had grown completely distrustful of anything a white man had to say,
and Tower knew it was for good reason.

Still,
he glanced at the children now getting ready to hide should fighting break out.

Their
chances weren’t good.

He
hadn’t wanted to take the risk of initiating a discussion with the Paiute back
when it had been just him and Bird.

But
now it was different.

They
couldn’t outrun anyone, and Tower had serious doubts about how well they could
defend themselves against a war party, no matter how good Bird was with a gun. And
she was good, the best he’d ever seen.

Tower
spotted her pouring herself a whiskey near one of the wagons belonging to
Wilson.

“I’m
going to go talk to them,” he said.

“Who?”

“The
Paiute.”

Bird
shook her head.

“My
job is to protect you, so I’m not sure I should let you go out and have a
powwow with a Paiute war party,” she said. “For some reason, that just seems
like a very bad idea.”

“They
won’t kill me. I’ll go unarmed.”

“Hate
to break it to you, Preacher, but they don’t believe in your god. Which means
they won’t think anything special of you. Hell, they might even enjoy killing
you more.”

“It’s
a chance I have to take,” Tower said. “I don’t see us outfighting that war
party. Not with this bunch.”

Bird
took a long drink of whiskey, then went over to her Appaloosa, slid the bottle
into a saddlebag, and stepped into the saddle.

“Think
I’ll go with you for this discussion,” she said. “You know how much I enjoy a
good conversation.”

Tower
climbed up on his horse, and they started out of the oasis.

A
white handkerchief tied to a stick served as Tower’s symbol for a peace talk.

He
and Bird rode straight out of the oasis, through the narrow ledge of trail
between the lava rock walls, and emerged back into the wide desert.

Within
minutes, they had raised the attention of a Paiute scout, and soon the near
horizon was lined with the war party.

Tower
rode forward, unarmed, with Bird at his side. He glanced over at her, saw her
body relaxed and at ease, as always. She looked at him, her eyes showing
nothing.

When
they were fifty yards from the Indians, Tower brought his horse to a stop, rose
up in the stirrups, and waved the white flag. A small group of Paiutes crowded
together, then four of them rode forward.

As
they got closer, Tower could make out the leader of the group, an older man
with a row of eagle feathers attached to the shoulder of his leather shirt.

The
Paiute stopped a few feet from Tower.

“We
wish to speak in peace,” Tower said.

A
younger brave to the right of the chief spoke in faltering English.

“Who
do you call yourself?”

“My
name is Tower, and this is Bird. We have women and children who mean you no
harm,” Tower said, gesturing back toward the oasis. He knew that the Paiute
already knew about the others, but he wanted to show that he was being honest. “We
are friends of the Paiute and only wish to travel through your land, harming no
one.”

The
brave translated Tower’s message to the leader. The older man spoke, and the
young Paiute translated.

“Chief
Wumaga say that all white men say they are friend to Paiute. They do not speak
the truth.”

The
chief spoke again to the brave.

“Why
do you wish to speak?”

“Because
you are following us,” Tower said. “And we don’t wish to fight. We would rather
talk.”

“How
you think we following you?” the brave answered, after translating for the
older man.

“If
you’re not following us, then why are you riding this way?” Tower said. “You do
not live out here in the lava fields.”

“We
go where we want to go. You white man. You think you say where Paiute can go. And
only go there.”

Tower
shook his head, held his hands out wide.

“We
do not wish to tell you where to go or not to go. We only want to go in peace.”

The
young brave spoke to the older man, and a brief conversation occurred between
the entire group, with two braves gesturing vehemently at Tower and then at
Bird.

At
last, the young brave spoke to Tower.

“No,
we are following someone, but it is not you. We will not make war with you.”

Tower
could sense the tension in the group slowly subside.

And
then Bird spoke.

“Are
the people you are following white men or Indians?” she asked. Tower glanced at
Bird, wondering why she was asking this now. But then, just as quickly, he
understood.

“They
are white men. Three. They are not far ahead of us.”

Tower
hesitated, but Bird did not.

“Why
are you following them?” she said.

“They
are from the place you call Platteville. We looked for them there, but they
would not fight. Instead, they ran. They are what you call cowards.”

“Why
do the Paiute chase them?” Bird said.

“They
steal young Paiute women.” He held up three fingers. “Two
they take with them.”

“What
about the other one?” Bird said.

“They
kill her. But first, they take knife and cut her here, like this.”

The
brave used his finger to trace a pattern on his chest.

A
pentagram.

T
he
Wilson group was more than happy to move on as quickly as possible. In less
than an hour, they had their wagon loaded, horses mounted, and were about to
take leave of the oasis.

“I
want to thank you kindly, Mr. Tower and Ms. Hitchcock,” Wilson said to them. “Not
sure what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in and negotiated our
release.”

Tower
shook his head. “Don’t thank us. The Paiutes are after someone else.”

“Unlucky
for them, whoever they are,” Wilson said.

“I
wanted to ask you a question, Mr. Wilson,” Bird said.

Wilson
looked back at his group, already in a single-file line, ready to get out with
their permission to do so from the Paiute intact.

“Shoot,”
Wilson said.

“You
told us that when you were riding into Platteville, someone was riding out,
away from the town, hard. You said they warned you to turn around.”

“That’s
right,” Wilson said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. He
looked at Bird with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“Who
were they? The people that warned you. What did they look like?” she said.

“I
couldn’t really say too clearly,” Wilson said. “They didn’t stop. They just
rode by, hollering.”

“Do
you at least know how many of them there were?”

Wilson
tipped his hat back on his head and glanced at the sky, as if he were about to
embark on a complicated arithmetic problem.

“I’d
say there were about five or six of them altogether. Maybe three men and two
women. The women were riding on the men’s horses. Looked like they barely made
it out of that town alive.”

“Were
they white men or Indians?” Tower said.

“The
men were white, but I think the women were Indians. Which now strikes me as
kind of odd.”

A
brief silence followed, until Wilson’s face seemed to light up.

“Dear
God, is that why the Paiute attacked Platteville? Did some white men make off
with a couple of squaws?”

“Something
like that,” Tower said.

Wilson
shook his head. “Knew something really bad had happened. I wouldn’t be
surprised if the army sends some soldiers out this way to put down the
uprising.”

“And
they probably won’t trouble themselves with the actual guilty parties,” Bird
said.

“No,
I expect not,” Wilson said. “It don’t pay to be an Indian these days.”

Bird
pulled a whiskey bottle from her saddlebag and took a long drink. She offered a
drink to Wilson, who took a long pull from the bottle, thanked Bird, and then
circled back, rounded up his people, and led them out of the oasis.

Bird
and Tower followed.

As
the group ventured out onto the lava field, the Paiute war party watched from a
distance.

Bird
stopped her horse.

Tower
glanced at her.

“I
don’t suppose you’d want to go back with them?” he said, lifting his chin
toward the wagon party heading back toward Platteville. “Let the law handle
things.”

“Hell
no,” she answered.

Tower
glanced over at the Paiute war party.

“Didn’t
think so,” Tower said. “A preacher joining a Paiute war party, probably not
what the church had in mind for me.”

Bird
swung the Appaloosa away from Wilson’s group and dug her heels into the horse’s
side.

“Life
is chock-full of goddamned surprises,” she said.

T
he
Paiute had moved off as well. Bird and Tower approached them as they descended
into a deeper ravine, of even more dangerous and fragile-looking lava rock.

As
they followed, the young brave who had done the translating approached them
with one of the older Paiute men, but not the chief.

They
stopped in front of Bird and Tower.

“Now
it is you who are following,” the young brave said.

“We
are looking for the same men,” Bird said. “The men who took your young women
also did bad things to other women. We want to help you find them.”

“How
do you know they are the same men?” the brave said.

Bird
shifted in her saddle. “Well, we’ve been following a very bad white man who has
done the same thing to other women that he did to yours.  And we know he was
heading west.”

The
young brave looked at the older Paiute next to him, then spoke to Bird.

“Stay.
We talk to Wumaga.”

“We
can help,” Bird said. “I’m pretty good with these.” She patted her pistols and
the rifle in its scabbard. Then she pointed a thumb at Tower. “He can’t do a
whole lot but make coffee.”

Bird
smiled at Tower.

“We’ll
wait here,” Tower said.

The
Paiute rode off.

“You’re
just jealous my coffee is so much better than yours,” Tower said.

“I
just want you to believe that so you keep making it,” Bird replied.

After
a short discussion, the young Paiute rode back alone.

“My
name is Yenata,” he said. “You ride with us. But cause no problems.”

“Yes,
we will cause no problems. I will make sure the preacher here is on his best
behavior,” Bird said, nodding toward Tower.

Yenata
turned and rode back toward the group.

Tower
and Bird put their horses at a trot.

“You
have no problem inviting yourself to a party, do you?” Tower pointed out.

Bird
pulled the whiskey bottle from her saddlebag.

“When
are you going to understand?” she said. She took a satisfying drink of whiskey.
“I
am
the party, Mr. Tower.”