Son of the Hawk (9 page)

The three on the ledge needed no further incentive, and turned at once to scramble up toward the trees. A half-dozen shots rang out from the sides of the canyon, and Logan and one of his friends tumbled back down the steep slope, landing at the foot of the stone cliff, both dead. The third trooper, hit in the heel and spun around, nevertheless regained his balance and, using his hands and feet, clawed his way into the trees before a lucky shot split his head like a melon.

Buck looked around him, considering the four of them left to hold off what he estimated to be close to two hundred Sioux warriors. “Well, we sure coulda used them three guns,” he said. “But they wouldn’t have made a whole lot of difference at that, I reckon.”

With no options before them, they sat back and waited. Their fate was in the hands of the Indians now, because there was no way the four of them could hold the hostiles off if the Sioux decided to rush them. Buck felt that the reason there was now a lull in the attack was because the Sioux were having a powwow to decide whether it was worth the losses they were sure to have. As it now stood, they had won a great victory with very little loss of life. They had horses and plunder—why risk even one more warrior’s life?

Buck was partially right in his speculation. After talking the matter over, the main body of warriors decided to withdraw, but a small party of twelve decided to stay behind, not willing to let any of the white men escape. They planned to climb the ridge and work around behind the trapped soldiers.

“Uh-oh,” Buck suddenly uttered and sat up, “lookee here.” Luke and Grady cocked their heads to see. “Looks like they’re pullin’ out,” Buck said, scarcely believing it himself.

It may be some kind of trick to get us to come out,” Luke suggested. Buck nodded his agreement.

“I believe they just got tired of waiting,” Grady said. No one offered anything else for a while as they watched the Indians jump on their ponies amid a chorus of war whoops and shrill yelling. Several of the young braves charged their ponies straight at the four white souls laying low in the gully, pulling up only fifty yards away to hurl insults and taunts at the survivors before turning to race back to their brothers. Buck was sorely tempted to dust one of them off his
pony, but decided it might rile them enough to attack again.

When the large band of hostiles disappeared around the bend of the canyon, Grady stood up. “Hell, they’re gone. Looks like we made it.”

“Grady!” was all Buck managed to shout before a rifle ball ripped into the sergeant’s chest. Grady staggered backward a step, staring in disbelief at the hole in his chest. No more than a moment later, another slug thudded into his stomach, and he dropped to his knees. Buck and Luke quickly grabbed him by the arms and pulled him back into the gully, but it was too late. Already dazed and weakening as blood soaked his blouse, Grady’s eyes were wild and he was mumbling something so rapidly that the others could not understand. Luke tried to calm him, but Grady knew he was dying.

Horrified, Annie kept asking herself why she had been so stupid as to insist upon accompanying this patrol. Buck had advised against it, Luke had advised against it—but she had insisted that she had to personally search for her husband. Now, as she shrank back against the stone wall—not wanting to watch the dying gasps of Sergeant Grady Post, but unable to look away—she realized that Tom had not crossed her mind during these last horrible hours. Terrified for her own safety, she found herself praying that it would all go away. Whatever her life span beyond these terrible moments, she would never forget the look of horror on Grady’s face as the slugs plowed into his body. So innocent looking at first, just two little puffs of dust from the sergeant’s shirt, and then his very life flowed out of him in agonizing seconds. She looked down at the rifle she still held but had not yet fired. Suddenly she flung it from her, as if that might make the nightmare go away.

“Annie,” she heard Luke Austen call softly, and she realized that she had been in a near trance. He crawled over to where she sat against the wall and put his arm gently around her shoulders. Without hesitating, she pressed her body close against his and lay her head on his shoulder. He held her there for a while before speaking again, letting her take what small comfort she could. Finally he made himself tell her what he felt he must, but had dreaded to impart. “Annie,” he began, “we may get out of this yet . . .” He hesitated. “But if worse comes to worse, I want you to take this.” He pulled his pistol from his holster and pressed it into her hand. “Save this for yourself just in case we don’t make it. It’ll be easier than letting the savages capture you.”

The reality of what he was telling her jolted her brain and her mind suddenly became clear and lucid. Her eyes wide, she gazed directly into his and a calmness began to settle over her. Taking the pistol, she nodded that she understood and sat up again. “I’m all right,” she assured him. “Maybe I won’t have to use this,” she added, knowing the odds were against it.

Buck glanced briefly at the lieutenant when Luke crawled back to the rim of the gully where the old scout was keeping watch. He had heard Luke trying to comfort Annie while he gave her his pistol, and he knew it wasn’t easy for the lieutenant to do. Indians often took women prisoners, and most of the time they were treated kindly—sometimes even taken as wives. But he had a feeling the lieutenant was of the same mind he was—this bunch wasn’t looking for prisoners.

Buck had been in many a hot spot in his long years in the mountains. But this time, he couldn’t see any possible escape from the hole they were now in. The main body of Sioux had pulled out, but some had
stayed behind. The Indians would keep them pinned down while some of their brothers worked their way up on the slope behind them. There was no way out. Buck’s only hope was that he and Luke could make it so costly for the Sioux that they might eventually decide the cost was too dear. Still, glancing up behind him at the sheer face of the rock wall, he had to admit that, once the Indians reached that ledge above them, this little party was over. The girl might have to use that pistol after all.

The afternoon wore on, and now the sun was almost resting on the western side of the canyon. Buck and Luke sat watching in opposite directions—Luke with his back against the rim of the gully, watching the ledge above them—Buck trying to pinpoint the warriors positioned in the canyon before them. They had gathered as many rifles as they could safely recover and loaded them, preparing for an all-out assault if one came. Grady Post had collected enough canteens so they had enough water to last for a couple of days, maybe longer if they used it sparingly. Buck was not concerned about the water supply. He was pretty sure that they wouldn’t be there that long.
This boil’s gonna come to a head before then
, he thought.
Injuns ain’t got that much patience.

They discussed the possibility of trying to sneak out of their trap after dark. It might be their only chance. But they would be on foot, since their horses—those that weren’t lying dead on the canyon floor—had all wandered toward the mouth of the canyon into the waiting arms of the Sioux. If they were successful in slipping by the Indians, then it would be a dangerous game of hide-and-seek—and with a woman it would be that much more difficult to escape the Sioux on their ponies. After some discussion, it was decided to try to make a run for it, feeling it was better than waiting
where they were. So they settled back and waited for darkness, not knowing how many warriors might be on the slope above them when nighttime came.

This was a terrible time for Annie Farrior. While she had come to terms with her desperate situation, and accepted the fact that her life would probably not extend beyond this night, still she could not control the shivering that had taken over her body. For the most part, all was quiet now in the canyon, the quiet interrupted only now and then by a rifle shot or two ricocheting off of the stones behind them—just to let them know the Indians were still there, according to Buck. Then all would be quiet again.

The quiet was the worst. Annie thought about Grace Turner, waiting back in Fort Laramie. What would Grace think when she failed to return? What would Grace do without her? She had become so dependent upon Annie since their husbands had been away—and what about Tom and the others? Annie wondered if, even as she lay waiting for the slaughter that seemed inevitable now, Tom might actually be on his way back to Laramie, thinking her safe and waiting for him there.

A flicker of a smile creased the layer of grime upon her face as she realized the irony of it. As quickly as it had struck her, the spark of amusement faded away to return her to the blackness of reality. The sun was sinking. Soon it would be dark in the narrow canyon. Already the shadows had closed over the floor of the canyon, although she could still see spots of sunshine, illuminating the needles of the pines on the slopes high above them.

Buck, embarrassed, asked her to excuse him while he crawled to the end of the tiny gully to urinate. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t hold it as long as I use’ta.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll watch the canyon for you.” She wondered why he would even care if she
saw him or not—in a matter of hours, maybe less, they would all be dead. She made a point of turning her back toward that end of the gully to satisfy him, however. She gazed for a few moments at Luke Austen, his eyes constantly focused on the dark line of pines above the ledge. He was a handsome man, she decided as she studied his profile. Then she quickly admonished herself for thinking such thoughts, and forced herself to picture her husband instead.
Tom, my Tom—I could have loved you, given time. I know I could.

Along about dusk, the sound of a drum began, soon followed by the singsong chanting of several warriors. “Won’t be long now,” Buck offered, “they’re callin’ on their medicine to help ’em fight brave.”

Luke shifted his position to ease a stiff back, and listened to the singing for a few moments. “When I first came out here, I was told that Indians never fought at night.”

“Who in tarnation ever told you that?” Buck snorted, not waiting for an answer. “I ain’t ever seen an Injun git slowed one bit by darkness. They’ll be comin’, all right, and I expect we’d best git ourselves ready to climb this here wall if we don’t wanna be here to meet ’em.”

They readied themselves as best they could, each of them—Annie included—hauling two rifles and two canteens plus all the ammunition they thought they could carry. When the last remnants of sunlight had disappeared, Buck placed his hat on his rifle barrel and held it up over the rim of the gully. After a few minutes, he stood up, knowing it was too dark for the Indians to see him. He stepped out of the shallow slash in the ground that had been their fortress most of the day, being careful to avoid Grady Post’s body lying stone-cold before him. He peered into the growing gloom of the narrow passage they had ridden down
hours before, wishing his eyes were as sharp as they were when he was young. “Damn,” he uttered, looking up at the sky.

“What is it?” Luke whispered.

“There’s gonna be a moon tonight,” Buck answered. “That ain’t gonna help.”

The singing and drumbeat suddenly stopped, leaving the valley as quiet as a tomb. The suddenness of it caused Annie to gasp audibly, and without thinking, she pressed close against Luke. He put his arm around her and held her for a moment. “We’ve got to get going,” he said, and gently turned her toward the rock wall behind them.

Their plan was the same as Private Logan and his two friends had attempted earlier. The flaw, however, was the fact that Luke was not as tall as the strapping Logan, and Buck was not as tall as either of the other two troopers. To remedy this, it was necessary to build a platform for Luke to stand on. The only materials available to them were the bodies of their own comrades, but Luke and Buck didn’t hesitate a moment before building their macabre platform, stacking one body on top of another until the proper height was attained.

“Listen!” Buck whispered. After a few moments when no sound was heard, a nightbird called out, answered a few seconds later by another on the far side of the canyon. “We’ve got to git the hell outta here!”

Luke offered a silent apology as he stepped up on the back of a young trooper. As soon as he was steady, Buck climbed up behind him and struggled up to a standing position on Luke’s shoulders. Throwing his rifles up before him, he strained to pull himself up over the edge. Once on top, he took a few moments to quickly look around him, then whispered for Annie to come up. With Luke’s help, she climbed up to his
shoulders and stretched her arms up toward Buck. With Buck pulling, and Luke pushing, she was lifted to the ledge. As soon as she disappeared over the top, Luke got down to retrieve the rest of their gear. One by one, he threw the rifles and canteens up to them.

Annie, frantic now for Luke to join them, whispered loudly, “Hurry!”

He climbed back upon the grisly platform and reached up to them when suddenly the darkness was split by the flash of a muzzle and a slug ricocheted from the rock beside Luke. Immediately, another rifle flashed, sending another bullet glancing off the rock wall. Buck and Annie grabbed Luke’s arms and hauled him scrambling over the edge to safety—if only for a moment.

“They know we’re up here now!” Buck panted. “We got no choice but to git to them trees above, and hope to hell there ain’t too many of ’em.”

The ledge they had gained turned out to be narrow and hazardous, consisting of a thick layer of loose shale and gravel that shifted with each step. Annie, struggling to carry her two rifles, and weighed down by the canteens and ammunition, lost her footing. Had Luke not been behind her to stop her slide, she would have certainly gone over the edge. Luke and Buck each took one of her rifles, leaving her hands free to grasp the occasional scrawny sappling or imbedded rock and pull herself up the steep slope.

“Stay with it, honey,” Buck panted, his breath coming short and labored. “If you can make it another twenty yards, we’ll be in the trees.”
I hope to hell
I
can make it
, he thought, feeling the toll being taken on his old bones, his heart pounding from the exertion. He took a sideways glance at Luke Austen, young and strong, and knew it was time to give up the mountains to the younger men—go back to Promise Valley and sit
by the fire in a rocking chair. Then it struck him how ludicrous the thought was—
You old coot, if them Sioux gits to them trees before we do, there won’t be no worry ’bout gittin’ any older.