Black Hat Jack (6 page)

That was it for what has come to be called the Second Battle of Adobe Walls, but it wasn’t over for me and Black Hat Jack, or for that matter Millie.

After the battle, what bodies the Indians didn’t collect, some of the men hacked up or pissed on or did pretty much the same thing to the bodies the Comanche and their partners had done to the whites. Neither me nor Jack took part in that, though Millie did so to avenge her brother, though when she was finished doing what she did with a hatchet, her brother was still dead, and the Indian she had chopped on hadn’t been taught any sort of lesson that I could understand. Anyway, they did that, and the bodies of our men killed was buried, including them in the wagon, along with Millie’s brother. They took the Indians out away from Adobe Walls for the crows and vultures and ants to have them.

Mrs. Olds they loaded up in the back of a buffalo wagon with the body of her husband. She didn’t never make a move, still being under the influence. She may still be passed out at this very moment, even though some years have passed; that woman was drunk.

During all these goings on, I looked up and saw out on the same ridge where the Indians had been, my horse Satan. He had turned back up and was looking down on us with the same contempt that Quanah had. He could be like that. I told you how he would come to my whistle when he was in the mood. Well, thing was he wasn’t in the mood right then, cause I wore myself out trying to whistle him up. He just stood there looking, like he had no idea what I was doing, or who I was.

I found my saddle and started out after him, and Jack decided he’d come along and help. He’d found his horse easy enough, saddled it. He loaded up my spare saddle bags full of ammunition, flapped them across his horse, over his own bullet-filled bags, and rode along with me as I walked, that heavy saddle on my back.

I guess because I was the one who rescued her, Millie decided she’d go along with us, ending up on the back of Jack’s horse.

Carrying a saddle like that is hot and heavy work, and about the time I got to the creek, I put the saddle under a tree. And then, just carrying the bridle, decided I’d go on after Satan and ride him back to the saddle bareback.

I gave my Winchester to Jack to strap on his horse, and I just wore my handguns. The Indians did appear to be gone, but you couldn’t be sure, and my damn horse seemed to be heading out toward the way they went. I decided if he went too far, I was just going to have to let him go and see if he might send me a letter as to his location later in the year.

After a bit, we seen Satan, and he was moving away from us, prancing like he was a wild pony, and in some ways he was.

Finally I decided I’d have to go after him Indian style, which meant I would take hold of Jack’s stirrup, and he would get his horse up to a mild run, and I would run along beside the horse, letting its body carry me forward, just being alert enough to get my feet up and make with leaping motions. You could run quite a ways like this if you had the stamina, and I did.

We come to another rise, higher than the one we had gone over. We stopped there to let me get my wind. From that vantage point we could see far in the distance the Indians riding away slowly, going home without some of their dead, their tails between their legs, having been whipped by believing in White Eagle’s horseshit. I didn’t have a mind to be sad about their circumstances, just then. I still had my hair and was grateful of it. It was that Adobe Walls battle, their loss there, that some said was when the Comanche decided they was finished. That the buffalo wasn’t coming back, no matter if they did the Cheyenne Sundance, believed in medicine men, or force of numbers. Their way of life was pretty much over, as far as Texas went. On up north there was still to come the Battle of Little Big Horn, and that would do in the Sioux and the rest of the Cheyenne, but that was still two years off. What we now call the Wild West was winding down like a worn-out clock.

Those Indians decided us on turning back, letting Satan go his own way. It was while we was going back down that ridge, me clinging to Jack’s stirrup, jumping along like a jack rabbit beside his horse, that we come by some buffalo wallows. We paused at the wallow to let me blow and get my breath back. It was at the same time about twenty Indians, mostly Kiowa, come out of what seemed like a straight run of prairie, but was instead a low spot that the grass covered unless you was right on it. They just come riding up as if out of coming up from the center of the earth. We was all surprised. They looked at us, and we looked at them. You could almost see them thinking: Why here are some of those that run us off, and we are twenty and they are three, and one of them is a woman. We are in good shape here.

Thing that worked against them, though, wasn’t but two of them was armed with rifles, the rest had bows and arrows. I should point out that those are weapons serious enough. A good bow shooter can set a dozen arrows in flight faster than a man can cock a regular set-up Winchester. I, of course, had a different sort of Winchester, and could fire rounds as fast as I could jack, which gave me a slight edge.

I think them Kiowa decided that the day was going to end on a happier note than they had anticipated. They took to yelling, and as we knew what was coming next, Jack rode his horse down into the buffalo wallow, dismounted, jerked Millie off its back, shot his horse in the head faster than them Indians could figure to ride down on us.

It was the right thing to do. Wasn’t no use trying to outrun them Kiowa, not with Millie clinging to the back, and me running alongside. They’d have been on us quick and things would have been over for the three of us before we could have gone a hundred yards.

The horse tumbled back and kicked once, but Jack had pulled it in such a way that its legs was pointing into the wallow, and the depression of its body there gave us something to hide behind, as long as they came from one side. Another thing we had going was the wallow was deep, and there was a deeper depression on the far side, and therefore the rim of the wallow served as a kind of fortification. It wasn’t the best you could ask for, but it was more than you could hope to get, all things considered. Of course, we was also hoping all our shooting would bring some of the men still at Adobe Walls on the run, but it also occurred to me that shooting might be just the thing not to bring them. We hadn’t told anyone of our plans to chase my horse, and there wasn’t any reason they might not think it was the Indians firing off shots in anger. I was more concerned that some of the other Indians, having broken off from the others, like these, would hear the firing and come to the aid of their companions, making short work of us.

I won’t bore you with all the shooting we done, as you’ve already been told how it was at Adobe Walls, and this was more of the same, but with less Indians, though our situation was no less dire. We was three and they was twenty, and we was in a hole in the ground with a dead horse for cover. Before nightfall, that horse was littered with arrows and holes from bullets that had missed their mark. We had killed one of them and two of their horses, to put them afoot, but far as we knew, no stray bullets had put anybody down under. They pulled the rest of their mounts back down the hill out of shooting range, as killing their horses and putting them on foot was a good strategy anytime.

Them Kiowa lying out there in the grass would pop up from time to time and take pot shots at us, but they didn’t keep their heads up long. They knew we could shoot.

Why they hadn’t tried to crawl around behind us, I can’t say. Maybe they wasn’t fully committed after being defeated the way they was. They might even have seen some sport in it.

It was a bright night and we could see good, and we was keeping our eyes peeled in a serious manner. I have heard that Indians do not like to fight at night, and that’s true of some of them, and to be honest, it’s not my first pick neither. You’re just as liable to shoot one of your own as one of theirs, getting all worked up by the battle. But again, it wasn’t a thought we was holding to, as plenty of Indians have put the sneak on folks at night, and did them in before they knew there was something to be worried about.

Way we was arranged was we was all behind the horse. Jack had pulled the saddle bags with the ammo free, and with it I could load both rifle and pistols. Millie had only a pistol, but she looked determined there in the starlight, and I will admit that her bravery gave me a feeling that might have seemed odd for the moment. There are white men who will cringe to hear this, but I had a mighty strong taste for her right then. I’m not saying even had she been of the same mind at that moment, or that it would have been a smart move for us to drop our drawers and take advantage of romance right then. That would have most certainly led to us having as many arrows in us as that dead horse. But she was mighty fetching there in the starlight, her black hair dangling, her lying on her back, looking away from the horse, watching for any of them Kiowa, coming around behind us.

After awhile, Jack said, “Nat,” and he said it in such a way, I knew he was trying to draw me near to him. I inched up, and soon as I did, Millie said, “You might as well tell the both of us outright. It’s not like I haven’t grown accustomed to bad news, and am fully aware we are in a tight spot, so don’t hold the horses.”

“If only we had one,” Jack said. “I think I did the right thing then with this old nag. She could hardly outrun me. But there’s one that might serve to do better, provided there was a distraction. On that rise beyond.”

Jack pointed. I turned and seen it was Satan. The bastard was about a quarter mile away, just standing there looking, and in that moment I told myself I caught up with him and was able to ride him out, I was going to shoot him and eat him and have a pair of boots made out of him just on general principle.

“We don’t want to draw attention that he’s there to them Indians,” said Jack. “They may already have seen him, but then again, they have a strong eyeball on us, waiting for us to make a mistake. Another bit of news is I didn’t fill my canteen at the creek before we went after Satan. I thought it would be less of a journey. I hoped for water in this wallow, but damn if it don’t seem to be dry.”

“So we got a possible horse,” I said, “but no water. I don’t see how a horse would do us good, other than shooting him to hide behind.”

“Hell, Nat. Satan, that one is a runner and you know it. There ain’t nothing on four feet can catch him.”

“Probably true enough,” I said.

“Now, there’s actually a worse bit of news,” Jack said.

“What could be worse?” Millie said.

“Well, they want you, little lady, you know that much,” he said.

“I do,” Millie said. “There is nothing better to satisfy their taste than the rape and tortured murder of a white woman.”

“It is similar to what we have done to their own, so they are even more spiteful about it,” Jack said. “And Nat here will tell you about how white folks have treated black slave women, but this ain’t the spot for politics, since I ain’t running for any kind of office. But considering I may not get to speak on it at another date, I thought I’d toss a loop on it. The other problem I’d like to mention, and this is a personal problem. I caught a bullet a short time back. One of those times they threw a few rounds in this direction. It come over the top of this dead cayuse and caught me in the gut.”

“Damn, Jack,” I said.

“Bad?” Millie asked.

“I’d say so, yes,” Jack said, “which is why I call it bad news. And I didn’t even know it right at first. I mean, the pain set in pretty quick, but not right at first. I didn’t know for sure what it was. Felt like I’d been stung. I been shot before, but not like this; them was all nothing more than a case of sun burn. Now that the sting has passed, the wolf is here, chewing at my guts. I thought I’d save the information until it became important. As I can feel me draining out, I thought it was time to mention it.”

I put my hand on the ground next to Jack. It was dark and the ground was damp and sticky.

“Kept my jacket closed up, even hot as it was, holding in things. Now I’m feeling a might more comfortable, there being a snap in the air, and me being pretty near out of blood.”

“We got to get you out of here right away,” I said. “I’m not sure how yet, but we got to. You and Millie, you got to take Satan and ride out and let me give them the business for awhile.”

“No, Nat, that is right manful of you, but I couldn’t ride nowhere. This coat is keeping my guts inside. Not all of what we been smelling is dead horse. My innards are raising quite an aroma.”

“Tell me what you want,” I said, “and I will try and move heaven and earth, and piss hell’s fires out for you.”

“I know that, Nat. And I’m going to tell you what you both got to do, and I can’t really measure much of an argument from you. You got to listen to me.”

“We’re listening,” Millie said.

Jack looked out over the horse and checked on the Indians. We couldn’t see them. For all we knew they were finally sneaking up behind us, or some of them was.

“I don’t want to die in a wallow behind a dead horse, leaking out the last of me. I want to die fighting, and I’m going to do that. I don’t think I can stand till morning. But there’s one small chance, and it depends on the disposition of that goddamn horse of yours, Nat. He looks to me like he may have had his fun and would like to be caught up and taken to some grain, so we’ll play it that way. It don’t work like that, then it’s going to be the same for me either way, and I advise the two of you if there’s no fight really left, to do what you got to do; that whole last bullet business.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” Millie said.

“Good,” Jack said. “I got my rifle here, a pistol and a knife. And what I’m going to do is rise up out of here, if I got the strength to do it, and I’m going to them. Going right at them like a derailed train. I am going to fire the shot in my Sharps and toss it, then go in on them with pistol and knife. I won’t live long enough to be tortured, but I just might take a few of them down and give you time to catch that contrary horse. You can bet though I’ll keep them busy till Old Man Death comes to collect me up in his croker sack.”