Beneath a Dakota Cross (25 page)

“Who did he shoot at?”

“I can't tell.”

Another shot blasted from the cliff, and two men sprinted out from the brush beside the mine opening towards the picketed horses.

“Where's Kabyo? I don't see a one-legged man,” Big River hollered.

Several shots were fired from the brush across the creek. A man tumbled off the cliff and crashed into the rocks a hundred feet below. Both men on the ground dashed inside the mine shaft.

“Who shot him?” Big River asked, as he and Brazos cautiously rode towards a cluster of twelve-foot cottonwood trees. “Grass and the Jims are still behind us. Someone else has ambushed Kabyo,” Big River declared.

“I reckon he has plenty of enemies.”

“That means someone else is in this canyon!”

Brazos kept his eyes on the mine. “Go signal Grass and the Jims to come back and wait here. I'll go get Tiny. Let's just wait it out and see who's shootin' who.”

Several more shots were fired. The gunsmoke reply filtered out of the mine shaft. Brazos tied Coco next to Tiny Martinez's mare and crawled through the brush toward the canyon wall.

Gunshots continued sporadically until he reached a cluster of aspens and a crouching Martinez.

“Who's shooting?” Martinez quizzed.

“Don't know. What can you see from here?”

“The top of the air vent is right up there in that ledge of boulders.”

“Have you seen any action?”

“Just the man falling off the cliff,” Martinez reported.

“Is he one of the ones you saw with Kabyo?”

“Yes.”

“Let's sit this out and see what we have when it's over. I've gathered the others down at the creek.”

“Think I'll stay here,” Tiny offered. “I don't want them coming up that air vent and escaping. I owe Juan that much.”

“Keep yourself out of sight,” Brazos cautioned, then pointed twenty feet up the side of the canyon wall. “Think I'll sneak up the cliff to those boulders and see if I can figure it out.”

“The last man on the cliff didn't fare well.”

“I'll stay behind those boulders. I don't reckon anyone will be lookin' over here in the shadows.”

To keep hidden from the canyon floor, Brazos had to crawl hand over fist, lying flat against the rocks. Within minutes his hands and knees were raw, and his forehead was streaming with sweat. From his perch he peered downstream towards the north.

With his spectacles steamed, the trees seemed to dart to and fro. He wiped off the lenses and reset them on his nose.

The trees didn't dart any more.

But a number of men did.

Buckskin-dressed, dark-skinned men with long, black hair.

Sioux!

Dozens of 'em.

Maybe hundreds!

Lord, I believe that's a sign to get out of this canyon.

Quick.

Brazos slid on his rear end down the boulders and crashed into the brush next to a startled Tiny Martinez.

“Tiny, there's a hundred Sioux swarmin' up the canyon.”

The Mexican's brown eyes widened. “They're really doing it! They've been threatening to clean out this canyon all spring!”

“Maybe Kabyo and the others will get what they deserve. Come on.”

“I want to make sure they don't escape.”

“You don't want to be sittin' up here when the Sioux show up.”

Tiny pointed to a narrow trail along the base of the cliff. “This foot trail joins the road about a half-mile south of here. We made it for an escape route. It's the one I used last night. Bring my horse there, and I'll meet you. That way I can make sure none escape.”

“We'll wait for you there.”

Tiny waved his bandaged arm. “If I'm not there, just tie up my horse and get yourselves on out.”

Several shots rang out from the mouth of the mine shaft.

Brazos stooped and sprinted from bush to tree to boulder until he reached the others clustered in Spearfish Creek.

Yapper Jim rode straight up to him. “What's goin' on?”

“The Sioux are swarmin' up the canyon, ready for war,” Brazos reported. “We've got to get out of here.”

“Where's Martinez?”

“He's goin' to meet us down the road. Wants to make sure Kabyo and the others face the music right here.”

“Under the Dakota cross?” Big River mused.

“How we goin' out?” Grass Edwards pressed.

“You and the Jims head up a hundred feet, then cover me and Big River. We'll leapfrog back and forth. Try not to fire a shot. The longer we can go without them spotting us, the better.”

Gunfire continued behind them as they retreated up the creek. No one spoke until they reached the foot trail and paused for Tiny.

“You think these Sioux will ride right into Deadwood?” Yapper Jim questioned.

“It's possible,” Brazos mused. “Maybe this is what they've been plannin'. We always figured they would come in from the east.”

“If they bring another war party from the Badlands, they could attack both ends of the gulch,” Grass reported.

Quiet Jim stood in the stirrup and stared off in the direction of the sporadic gunfire. “We've got to get back and warn them.”

“How long can we wait for Martinez?” Grass questioned.

“I'll go up and check on him,” Brazos replied. “Keep yourselves out of sight.”

Big River Frank pulled off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead, then stared at the trail. “It looks like mule tracks.”

“Tiny said this is the way he came out last night.”

“Looks like two sets to me.”

“He said Juan's mule ran off at the same time.” Carrying the carbine, Brazos sprinted up the narrow, shady trail. Hugging the bottom of the cliff, the path was almost invisible from the creekbed and beyond. He leaped over the rocks that had toppled off the cliff.

His legs stiffened. His knees ached. Just ahead near a fork in the trail, he spotted two crumbled bodies in the shadows. He ignored the stiff body of Juan Tejunga and searched for a pulse on Tiny Martinez.

Tiny's dead. Looks like he was tryin' to carry Juan out and got himself shot.

I didn't hear a shot. But then, there are lots of things I don't hear.
Brazos leaned over the bodies. “Boys, I promise you I'll be back and see that you're buried proper.”

Gunfire hailed from the creek behind him as he hunkered down and sprinted back up the trail. Still mounted, but hidden behind a stand of willows, Big River Frank waited for him, holding both Fortune's and Martinez's horses.

“Tiny's dead!” he called out as he swung into the saddle.

Big River's eyes tightened. His voice even lower than usual. “That's what we figured.”

“Were they shootin' at you?” Brazos asked.

“Grass and the Jims surmised they could distract them enough for us to make a run for those boulders. Then we could do the same for them.”

Brazos checked the lever of his Sharps and studied the casing of the .50-caliber bullet. “Did anyone get shot?”

“Oh . . . I got nicked, but it's . . .”

“Where?”

“My right leg,” Big River said.

Brazos rode around to the right side of Big River Frank. “Whoa, partner, we've got to stop that bleeding.”

“Later . . .” Big River leaned low in the saddle and spurred his horse to a gallop.

Brazos, leading Martinez's mare, raced along behind him amid several scattered gunshots. When they reached the boulders, both men leaped to the ground. Big River Frank took a step and tumbled to the dirt.

“Pull that belt off and tourniquet that leg!” Brazos demanded. With a handful of shells, he began to barrage the creekbed with the impact of .50-caliber bullets.

Big River began working the action on his '73 carbine. He emptied fourteen shots in the same time Brazos had shot six.

“Either bandage that leg now,” Brazos yelled, “or I'll coldcock you and bandage it myself.”

Big River Frank glared at Brazos and shoved the breech loading magazine full of .44-40 cartridges.

Brazos shook his head. “If I don't look after you, who will?”

Big River Frank sighed. “That's what life's all about, ain't it?”

“Lookin' after each other? I reckon so.”

“You'll never hold them back with that single shot.” He tossed Brazos his Winchester carbine.

As Big River Frank tied a tourniquet and then a flour sack bandage on his leg, Brazos emptied another fourteen shots into the Sioux stronghold at the creek. Yapper Jim led the way as he, Quiet Jim, and Grass Edwards charged up the trail to the safety of the boulders.

Within minutes they were deep down the trail towards Deadwood. The gunfire ceased the minute they romped behind the boulders. After five minutes of hard riding, Brazos reined up and gathered the others. “Anyone take a bullet besides Big River?”

“We're clean,” Grass reported.

“You think they'll follow us?” Yapper Jim quizzed.

“Can't say. It might depend on how many others they still have to clear out of Spearfish Canyon,” Brazos mused.

“They could follow us right into Deadwood,” Yapper groaned.

“That's a fact,” Brazos concurred. “A couple of you need to race into town and sound a warning. Tell them to blockade both ends of Main Street and post guards. They should call ever'one out of the gulches and station them in town. The other three of us will drop back and slow them down.”

“I'll stay back,” Big River offered. “This leg don't feel like ridin' hard.”

“That's exactly the reason you're goin' to town,” Brazos demanded.

“He's right,” Yapper Jim insisted. “The wounded are moved to the rear of the battle. That's common knowledge. That's one thing I did learn in the war.”

“I think Brazos should go with Big River,” Quiet Jim interrupted.

“That's out of the question. I got you boys into this, and I'll get you out. Besides, I can outshoot ever'one of you.”

“When there's several hundred Sioux on the warpath, it don't matter how good a shot you are,” Grass added. “I agree with Quiet Jim. You've got a family to look after. Go on.”

“I'm not goin', and that's final!”

“Well, someone ought to go, or we'll all be ambushed while we argue,” Yapper Jim insisted.

“You need to go, Brazos,” Big River echoed. “You're the only one who might be able to rally the town.”

“Besides,” Quiet Jim added, “ever'one of us would rather die than have to ride back to town and tell Dacee June her daddy's dead.”

Yapper Jim reached over and slapped Coco's rump just as Big River Frank spurred his own horse. Both men galloped up the trail.

CHAPTER NINE

The trail east to Deadwood was easier to traverse under the light of a bright June sun.

But not a lot easier.

Downed trees and rock slides from the previous winter lay where they fell. Everyone in the Black Hills seemed consumed with trying to find their bonanza. None had time to stop and clear the roadway. Big River Frank halted and waited for Brazos at a rock slide that blocked fifty feet of trail with a three-foot-deep blanket of fist-sized boulders.

“Is this where we walked the horses across last night?” Brazos asked.

Big River hesitated. “I reckon so. But it all looks different in daylight.”

“How you doin', partner? You look pale.”

“I, eh . . .” Big River took a deep breath and laid back against his cantle and bedroll. His hat slipped off his head and dangled by the stampede string. “Reckon I lost a little blood.”

“Let's get you in the shade and give the horses a break,” Brazos insisted.

“We've got to go warn them in town,” Big River muttered. “I'll be all right . . .”

“I'm going to make sure of that.” Brazos shoved his carbine into the scabbard, then slipped down to the rocky trail. Big River Frank sat back up but didn't protest when Brazos yanked the reins out of his hands. Brazos walked both horses slowly across the slippery rock slide. He was just leading them back down to the dirt trail when a blast from Big River's carbine caused him to drop the reins and dive for cover.

Coco bolted up the path. Big River Frank's horse reared, but the wounded cowboy spun him to the right and regained control. Brazos peered out from behind a pine stump.

“What in the world did you do that for?” Brazos hollered.

Big River's head and shoulders slumped as if he were about to nod off or fall off. He pointed the barrel of his carbine to a spot a few feet from where Brazos stood. The now headless rattlesnake looked to be about five feet long and as big around as a man's wrist.

“I decided one of us wounded was enough,” Big River drawled. “Didn't want to see you snakebit.”

“Where did he come from?”

“Didn't you hear him signal?”

“He rattled?” Brazos reached up and poked at his ears.

“Like a señorita's castanet in one of them border town cantinas.”

“I seem to be missing some sounds.”

“It's your advanced years. You'd better go catch your pony.”

“I'm going to get you in the shade first.”

“I'm fine right here.”

“You're not even close to being fine, Big River. Now don't argue with your elder.”

Brazos led Big River's horse down past several scrub willows to the creek no more than five feet across. The crystal-clear water gurgled over rocks and logs. He went around to help Big River.

“I ain't never had a day I needed help to dismount,” he grumbled. He slid to the ground. His feet gave out, and he crumpled on his chest in the rocks beside the stream.

Brazos rushed to help him turn over and sit up.

“See,” Big River announced, “I made it down, didn't I?”

“I've seen cleaner dismounts.”

“But I made it. Think I'll lay a spell right here.”

“Let me get you a canteen of fresh water,” Brazos said.

“You don't need to fuss over me. You ride on and warn 'em in town. I'll ride in with Grass and the Jims. They should be along directly.”

“That's the dumbest thing I ever heard of. No man leaves a partner wounded. You'd do the very same thing if the roles were reversed.”

“Yep. But you'd gripe and complain with me ever' inch of the way.”

Brazos tied Big River's horse to a twelve-foot pine. Within a few minutes he had fetched a canteen of creek water, retied Big River's bandage and tourniquet, and retrieved his horse.

Big River Frank, his foot propped up on a rock, and his head resting on the leather-cased canteen, kept his eyes closed. “Time to get back on the trail?” he asked.

“If we give those horses five more minutes, we can sprint all the way to town. It's the quickest to Deadwood and you know it.” Brazos stood up and surveyed the trail in both directions. He spotted no movement at all.
Don't know if Big River bought that, but he needs more rest or he won't make it to town at all.

“We park here much longer, Grass and the Jims will catch up with us,” Big River mumbled.

“That wouldn't hurt anything.”

“Or maybe the Sioux will catch up.”

Brazos let out a fairly flat, half-hearted laugh. “Now that could hurt a whole bunch.”

A mule brayed. Big River Frank reared up on his elbow. Brazos snatched up his Sharps carbine.

“Whose mule is that?” Big River quizzed.

Brazos pointed to the northern ridge. “There he is. He looks lost. Probably the one that belonged to Juan Tejunga. Tiny figured the mule ran off when the gunfire began.”

Big River closed one eye and squinted with the other. “You reckon we ought to try to loop him?”

“I couldn't care two bits for a lost mule. Let the Sioux have him.”

Big River laid back down. “They don't need any more animals. I think you better check it out.”

Is this a way Big River can ask for a few more minutes rest? I got to get to town . . . but I can't go any faster than Big River.
“I reckon you ought to lay back down and rest a minute. I'll go get the mule,” Brazos insisted. “There's never been a mule I couldn't rope by myself.”

Big River Frank lay back down and pulled his hat over his eyes. “How about that one on the Trinity River?”

“OK . . . that's the only one.”

“And that gray one down near Fort Phantom Hill?”

“Be quiet, Big River. I don't need a litany of my roping failures.”

“Watch out for snakes,” Big River Frank mumbled.

His carbine cocked back to safety and flopped over his shoulder, Brazos hiked up the hillside towards the stationary animal.
Watch out for snakes . . . joshin' about my ropin'. The tease is all a bluff. He's too proud to admit that he can't ride any further, and I'm stallin', just so I won't have to force his hand. Lord, I've got to get to town, and I can't leave him here.

This is bad.

Real bad.

The climb was jagged. His boots slipped with each step.
This is too steep for a horse. Maybe a mule could make it, especially if he's scared. Obviously one mule made it.

Brazos studied the mule who peered back down at him from a wide, dirt shelf twenty feet higher. “What in the world are you doin' up there?” he mumbled mostly to himself.
Tiny said they kept the mules saddled in case they had to ride off in a hurry.
“Did your saddle fall off?”

Brazos carried his carbine in front of him as he slowly climbed the treeless stretch of the mountain. When he crested the plateau he could see the mule picketed near the rim of the mesa, a small fire circle of dead ashes a few feet behind it. Back near a cluster of small aspens a black horse was tethered.

This is someone's camp! What am I doin' up here?

The report of gunfire popped his ears. Granite splattered just right of his feet. He threw the carbine to his shoulder. Frantically, Brazos searched the rocks and trees for the assailant. There was nowhere to hide.

“Throw down your gun!” a scratchy voice shouted from large boulders near the aspens.

Finally, he spotted a rifle barrel but couldn't see who was holding it. Brazos left the Sharps at his shoulder, aimed at the protruding rifle barrel. “I hate to lower it until I know who's trying to kill me.”

“Kill you? If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have shot at the rocks near your feet. Lay the Sharps down and step away from it.”

“Afraid I can't do that. Look, I'm sorry about bustin' into your camp. I thought there was a stranded mule. There's Indians ridin' up the trail from the west, so I'll just back on out of here.”

“Fortune, I could kill you.”

“Mister, you already explained that you didn't want me dead. Do I know you?” Brazos called out.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten about Doc Kabyo? Anyway, you ought to be worried about more than yourself.”

“What are you talkin' about, Kabyo?”

“Lay the gun down.”

Brazos tightened his finger against the smooth, cold trigger of the Sharps. “We've already gone around that bush. There is no way I'm lowerin' this gun. So make your play.”

“Oh, I think you'll toss it down,” the deep voice shouted. A girl's round straw hat with white lace ribbon sailed out from the cluster of stunted trees and landed halfway towards Brazos. “Does that look familiar?”

Brazos's gun dropped from his shoulder to his chest. A sharp pain hit both sides of his stomach at the same time. His shoulders sagged. “Where did you get that?” he yelled.

“I yanked it off a cute young lady's head. Put down the carbine!”

“Where is she?”

“She's safe, so far. Put down the carbine, and I'll tell you an interesting story.”

“You're a dead man,” Brazos screamed.

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” an unseen Dacee June sobbed. “I'm sorry! I should have stayed at home. I just wanted to help you. I'm always getting in trouble. Don't let him shoot me!”

“Kabyo!” Brazos screamed.

“Drop it!”

“Dacee June!”

“She's chewing on a bandanna right at the moment, but she's not injured.”

Brazos tossed the carbine to the dirt. He could feel his face and neck flaming like fire.

“Turn around and sit down,” Kabyo instructed.

“If you're goin' to kill me,” Brazos hollered, “you'll have to look me in the eye to do it.”

“If I was going to shoot you, you'd be dead. Turn around and sit down.”

Brazos turned his back to the aspens. He faced the edge of the cliff, then squatted down on his haunches. He heard noises in the grove behind him, then scuffling on the rocks. Glancing back, he saw Doc Kabyo limp his way forward with a crude crutch under one arm and a short-barreled rifle in his right hand. Protruding from his right pant leg was a wooden peg.

“Don't turn around!”

Brazos stared back out across the gulch to the mountain on the other side. From where he was squatting, he could not see Big River Frank or the horses tethered on the trail below.

“You did this to me. You took my leg, Fortune.”

“You got accidently shot by your own man,” Brazos retorted.

“It was your fault.”

“Let Dacee June go, then you can deal with me. She has no part in this.”

“That's where you're wrong. She has an important part.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's sixty thousand dollars that I've laid claim to, and you repeatedly keep getting in my way.”

“Kabyo, you're welcome to ride back into Spearfish Canyon and look for it. But I surmise your compadres are carrying Sioux bullets by now. So I imagine you'll be on your own.”

“Fortune, some days turn out better than expected. Some worse. You'll have to admit this has turned into a lousy day for you. But it's ended up being a good one for me.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I know where the sixty thousand is,” Kabyo hollered.

“Where?”

“Halfway up the cliff behind the Mexicans' diggin's. Dell tossed me down a coin right before the Sioux showed up. We were just tryin' to figure how to get it down when the shootin' started.”

“And you hopped on Juan's mule and ran away?”

Rocks flew to Brazos's right and shavings sprayed his arm like birdshot as Kabyo fired a bullet next to him. “I don't hop on any animal, thanks to you. I'm lucky to mount up at all. We were all tryin' to escape. It just so happens I made it, and they didn't.”

“Did your escape include shootin' Tiny Martinez in the back?”

“He went for his gun. He was too slow.”

“Undoubtedly carrying a dead friend over his shoulder slowed him down.”

“The point is, one minute I'm tryin' to outdistance half the Sioux nation, and the next minute up rides a young girl all alone. I'll admit she wasn't too glad to see me, but I was certainly glad to see her.” It was a sickening laugh. “I made her nightmares come true. You ought to teach your kid to stay at home, Fortune.”

“So help me, Kabyo . . .”

A bullet ricocheted off the rocks to his left. Brazos shut up.

“I figured to just wait up here until sooner or later you came out from town lookin' for her. But she said you were already out this way. I thought it could take some time, but, what a pleasant surprise, here you are.”

“What do you want from me, Kabyo?”

“Sixty thousand dollars.”

“What?”

“Actually, I only want $59,980. I've got the one gold eagle. I want you to ride back into Spearfish Canyon, climb that cliff, and bring that money to me.”