The Savage Trail (12 page)

John understood. He knew how much Ben thought of Dynamite,about all horses and critters. He was softhearted. And to have to kill his own horse, that must have galled him beyondmeasure. Every man had his breaking point, he reckoned,and he had just seen Ben's.

Roscoe Bender was lucky to be alive.

Ben stripped Dynamite of his saddle, bridle, saddlebags, and bedroll. He tried not to look at his horse, but that was impossible.He stacked the gear behind the jumble of rocks.

“Ready?” John asked.

Ben nodded.

“Lead out, Bender. You so much as twitch, and you'll wind up like your friends. Take us to those horses you staked out for your bushwhack.”

John walked alongside Ben, leading Gent.

“You want to ride, Ben? I don't mind walking.”

“No. Them horses can't be far. Probably just out of sight of the road.”

Bender didn't volunteer any information, but kept silent.

He led them to the horses, which all whickered when the three men hove into view.

“There they be,” Bender said.

“You go on up and show me which horse is yours,” John said.

Ben said nothing, but John could see that he was sizing up the three horses, perhaps choosing one that would suit him best.

“That four-year-old sorrel's my horse,” Bender said. “Kerriganrode that big chestnut gelding and Dooley's is the bay mare.”

“Take your pick, Ben,” John said.

“That chestnut looks pretty good,” Ben said. He walked up to the horse, felt its chest, its legs, opened its mouth, and looked at its teeth. “He looks to be about five years old and sound. I reckon I'll ride him.”

“The sorrel looks pretty good, too,” John said.

“He'd wear out, I'm thinkin',” Ben said. “And the mare, she's been rode hard and put away wet more'n once, I reckon.”

“Those horses have names?” John asked.

“I don't know about Kerrigan's or Dooley's horses. I called mine Doofus.”

Ben snorted.

“That's a hell of a name for a horse,” Ben said.

“I don't ride him much,” Bender said. “Bought him a year ago. He's tender-footed, I admit.”

“Well, he ain't as tender-footed as you're going to be,” Ben said. “Come on, John. Let's leave this bastard to the sun, the lizards, and the rattlesnakes.”

“Hold Gent, will you, Ben?” John said. “I'll get those hobblesoff and we can ride back and pick up your saddle. You want to switch, don't you?”

“Sure as hell,” Ben said, glaring at Bender. Bender just stood there, a rueful look on his face.

John watched as Ben pulled himself into the saddle of the chestnut gelding. Ben rode him around in circles for a few minutes and then nodded to John.

John climbed onto Gent's back while holding the reins of the other two horses.

He looked at Bender.

“Don't bother walking back to those rocks. You won't find any weapons there. You can keep that holster and the cartridgesin your belt.”

“You just going to leave me out here? It's a long walk back to Cheyenne.”

“Call it mercy, Bender,” John said.

He and Ben rode back toward the rocks. Neither of them looked back.

“I feel sorry for Bender,” John said. “He could die of thirst before he reaches town on foot.”

“That would suit me just fine,” Ben gruffed. “The no-account bastard.”

“You're a hard man, Ben,” John said, a quirk of a smile on his face. “A lot harder than most.”

“I learnt it from you, John Savage. Ain't no harder man than you, I reckon.”

“I got my soft spots.”

“Not so's you'd notice none. What you think is a splinter in your own eye looks like a big old log to me.”

They gathered up the pistols and rifles, turned out the pockets of the dead men. Each kept the twenty dollars they found on Dooley and Kerrigan. Ben switched saddles, bridle, and saddlebags to the chestnut gelding and tied his bedroll on over the horse's rump.

“What're you going to call him, Ben?” John asked when they had returned to the road and were heading north to Cheyenne.

“Haven't made my mind up, yet. I'm thinkin' on it. He steps out right lively, don't he?”

“The horse seems to suit you,” John said.

“We'll see, Johnny. We'll see.”

John knew one thing. Ben would never call the horse Dynamite, or anything close to it. He could see that Ben took the death of his horse hard. It was not an easy thing to get over, he knew.

It seemed to him that they rode with Death.

And all because of a man named Ollie Hobart.

Bender got off easy. He would show no such mercy to Hobart when he caught up with him.

He pictured Hobart dying real slow and real painful.

Maybe Ben was right, he thought. He was hard now. Whateversoft spot he had was slowly turning to rock.

16

Rosa delgado was surprised when ollie turned off the trail within spitting distance of Fort Laramie. She had fifty miles of dust on her face and clothes and longed for a hot bath and a soft bed.

“Where do we go?” she asked.

“See all those trees on that hill, off to our right?”

“I see them. But I do not see Fort Laramie.”

“I'm meetin' Army and the boys up here, and maybe a scalper or two.”

“A scalper?”

“Northern Cheyenne, maybe a Sioux.”

“What do you do, Ollie?” There was a note of irritation in her voice. The sun was dropping in the west, daubing the clouds with soft pastels, plunging shadows into the recesses of the mountains. A pair of prairie swifts sliced through the air like feathered darts, winging their way to the thick stands of pines atop the high knoll where they were beaded.

“It is always the business first with you, eh, Ollie?”

“Always. The boys have a camp on the other side of that hill there. We won't stay long. I just want to see how things are going.”

“What is it that you do with these men? You never did tell me.”

“Maybe you'll find out when we meet up with them, Rosa. Just be patient.”

“Ay de mi, platica de paciencia, este hombre, pero anda de prisa todo el tiempo. 'Sus Mari . . .
I have the patience, Ollie. It is you who is always in the hurry.”

Ollie laughed.

They circled the hill, then rode into shadow on the other side. Rosa could smell the scent of burning meat, the aroma of coffee. Yet she saw no smoke. Nor did she see any signs of a camp. Beyond, there was only prairie, desolate, forbidding.

Then she saw a man step from behind a tree. He was carryinga rifle. He raised an arm and waved to Ollie.

“There's Dick Tanner,” Ollie said, waving back at the man.

“How do you find this place?” she asked. “And do the soldiersnot know you have made the camp?”

“Now, Rosa. You ask too many questions. Just wait.”

Dick Tanner stepped back into the trees. A moment later, Rosa heard a whistle that sounded almost like a prairie dog. They rode on until they were almost at the center of the hill when another man stepped into view. He beckoned to Ollie. Ollie turned his horse toward him. Rosa followed, her horse a half step behind his.

“Who is that?” she asked. “He does not look familiar to me. He looks
Indio
.”

“He is an Indian.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes. He's helping me on this business deal.”

“What is this business deal?”

“Rosa, you jabber too much. Like a damned magpie. You'll find out soon enough.”

She muttered a Mexican curse under her breath. His behaviorhad to do with his ancestry and the way he was conceived,she thought.

Blue Snake was from the Wind River Cheyenne tribe. He had been an army scout, but he had been fired because he drank too much, and on patrol he had been accused of leading troops in the wrong direction all too often. He was in his thirties,but the braided scar on his cheek, the broken nose, and the missing teeth made him look fifty. He was lean and wiry under his ill-fitting clothes and battered old cavalry hat. He wore a converted Colt Dragoon and carried a new Spencer carbine stolen from the armory at Fort Laramie.

“You come,” he told Ollie.

Hobart and Rosa followed the ex-scout into the trees and along a game trail that encircled the hill. Rosa sniffed the heady scent of pines and listened to the soft pad of her horse's hoofs on brown pine needles. Blue Snake walked slowly and never looked back at them. His back was straight and his boot moccasins made no sound on the trail.

The outlaw camp was in a concealed clearing, midway up the small mountain. Trails led out in all directions, including one that led to a lookout atop the hill. When Ollie rode in, severalarmed men got to their feet. They curbed their enthusiasm,but Rosa had the feeling that they all wanted to cheer their leader.

“Howdy, boys,” Ollie said, and swung down from his horse. “This here's Rosa and she's one of us. But she's not yours, she's mine, so keep your hands in your pockets and your peckers in your pants.”

Army laughed, and so did the other white men. The three Indians showed no sign of emotion. But it was plain to Rosa that they recognized Ollie. Their black eyes flashed with recognition and she thought she detected a measure of respect.

“You took your sweet time getting here, Ollie,” Army said. “We liked to have give up on you. Figured that pistolero with the fancy gun might have done you in.”

“You don't have to worry about that little bastard no more,” Ollie said.

“You rubbed him out?”

“I paid Roscoe to scratch him off my list when I hit Cheyenne.”

Army grinned wide.

Ollie ignored him and walked over to one of the Indians. He and the two others wore white men's pants and shirts, moccasins, or scuffed work boots. A single braid snaked down from under his gray felt hat that was stained with grease and ground-in dirt. Both of the other Indians carried pistols in flapped army holsters and had new Spencer carbines lying close at hand next to them.

Ollie spoke, but also used his hands to make sign.

“Red Eagle. My heart is full to see you.”

“How cola,”
Red Eagle said. He signed with his hands and grunted low in his throat. “Make heap talk,” he said in English.Then he looked at Rosa. “No squaw,” he said.

Ollie turned to Rosa. “Red Eagle doesn't want you here, Rosa. Can you take a little walk?”

“Where?”

“Just someplace far enough away so's you can't hear none of us talkin'. Out of sight. Go sit under a tree or something.”

“You let an
Indio
tell you what to do, Ollie? I will ride into Fort Laramie. I do not like you to treat me this way.”

“You're not going into Fort Laramie. Now, just go sit someplace until this powwow is over.”

Rosa's anger burned into her until her neck and cheeks turned vermilion. Her dark eyes blazed with fury. She balled up her fists.

“I take woman,” Blue Snake said. He had been watching Ollie and Rosa and knew there was anger between them. “She sit. Me smoke.”

“Rosa,” Ollie said.

She looked at Blue Snake. He was a handsome man for an
Indio
, and he did not smell bad like most of them did. She nodded to him.

“I will go with Blue Snake,” she said. “Maybe I will give him some whiskey.”

“No whiskey,” Red Eagle said, signing as well.

“I was making the joke. Maybe I will see what color is his snake.”

Red Eagle looked puzzled. Blue Snake translated for him. His signing hands left no doubt as to Rosa's meaning.

Red Eagle and the other Indian both laughed.

Ollie scowled.

“You suit yourself, bitch,” he said.

Rosa flashed him a savage look and took Blue Snake by the arm. Leading her horse, she walked off down one of the trails with him. The Lakota watched them and made obscene comments in their language, while Ollie tied his horse to a thin tree and sat down, glowering, his face dark as a thunder-cloud.

Army sat down, facing Ollie, a foot or two from Red Eagle.

“You better tell me what you know for sure, Army,” Ollie said. “Not what you guess.”

“You got a real tactful way of startin' up a palaver, Ollie. Downright heartwarmin'.”

“I don't need your smart mouth, Mandrake. I just come off a long ride and my butt's sore as a neck boil. Red Eagle looks like he's been chewing ten-penny nails and I don't see no sacks of gold lyin' about.”

“Well, we got the rifles,” Mandrake said. “Enough for Red Eagle's band. Tanner's keepin' a close eye on them miners up in the Medicine Bows. They outnumber the redskins. We're supposed to get more cartridges in a day or two.”

“A day or two? How come?” Ollie speared Mandrake with a look sharp enough to draw blood.

“Quartermaster wants more money, Dick says.”

“What about Fry?” Ollie asked.

Captain Jubal Fry was in charge of the armory. He had seen that the Winchesters were smuggled out of the fort. The quartermaster, Lieutenant Chester Newgate, was on Ollie's payroll, too. They all stood to make a great deal of money. But they were all nervous, as well.

“Jubal's a-workin' on it,” Army said. “Chet's a damned peckerhead. He's featherin' his nest, holdin' up the whole deal.”

“When can I see Fry?” Ollie asked.

“Later. This evening.”

“What about the redskins? They still game?”