Kiowa Vengeance (13 page)

They rode through the opening in a
barricade, which quickly closed up behind them. Benteen and Quick
dismounted and joined the vanguard on the barricade—along with the
members of C Troop—firing at the charging Kiowa. Eventually, the
Indians turned and rode away from town, having taken a few
casualties.

Satterlee yelled, “Stop firing!” He turned
to face Sergeant Nagy. “Sergeant, where’s your Captain?”

“He’s ridin’ for Fort Braxton, sir, along
with Charley Blackfeather.”

“What for?”

“They’re thinkin’ they can get Old Mountain
to stop Stone Knife before he goes completely on the warpath.”

“I think he’s a little late, don’t you?” the
lawman asked. “Why didn’t you go with him?”

“He ordered me and the troop to escort these
people to town.”

“What people?” Satterlee asked.

“It’s me, Sheriff,” Hix said, stepping
forward. “John Hix.”

“Hix,” Satterlee said. “Weren’t you on the
stage?”

“I sure was, Sheriff, but we was hit. Me and
these folks here got left on foot.”

“Dave Benteen, Sheriff,” Benteen said. “I’m
the new gunsmith. This is Cora Sloane the new schoolteacher.”

“And who’s this?” Satterlee said.

“That’s Weatherby,” Benteen said. “He’s a
drummer.”

“James Reginald De Courcey,” Sampson Quick
said. “I established an art studio here a few weeks ago.”

“The stage got hit,” Hix said, “driver and
shotgun killed. Also the Manning place.”

“All of ‘em?” Saterlee asked. “The kids,
too?”

“Yeah,” Hix said.

“Charley’s okay, though?” Em Charleston
asked.

“Yeah, Charley’s fine,” Hix said.

“Well,” Satterlee said, “if they’re gonna
get back here with Old Mountain, they better do it soon. Was that
Stone Knife chasin’ you?”

“No way to tell,” Nagy said, “but we were
outnumbered. And it probably wasn’t the main Kiowa force.”

“They’ve got a lot of raiding parties out
there,” Benteen said. “Once they all join together—“

“They’ll overrun us,” Satterlee said. “Well,
Sergeant, we’re glad to have your guns with us. Do a roll call and
let me know how many men you have.”

“Yes, sir.”

C Troop had lost six troopers, including the
veteran Cash, leaving them with fourteen men. Satterlee had Nagy
spread them out along the barricade, and on the rooftops. Benteen,
Hix and Quick also joined the men on the barricade. Weatherby found
a corner to hide in. Cora Sloane was shown to the Wolf Creek
Community Church, where the women and children were. The Methodist
church was much larger, but it was located right at the edge of
town, on First Street, and was too vulnerable.

The defenders of Wolf Creek braced
themselves for an assault.

***

Every bounce of his ass on the McClellan
saddle made Captain Tom Dent want to scream in pain. His piles were
a discomfort on a normal ride; pushing their horses to get to Fort
Braxton was making his affliction unbearable. Dent hated to even
think what it would’ve been like without Charley’s poultice, which
did help some. The captain supposed he was going to have to go
under the surgeon’s knife—he was dangerously close to the point of
being unfit for duty, and he shuddered to think of receiving a
medical discharge for such a reason. Imagine explaining
that
to the grandkids someday.

Assuming, of course, he lived to see
grandchildren. Dent knew there was little chance of encountering
any hostile Kiowa on their current course—Charley Blackfeather was
confident of that, and Dent trusted him implicitly—but he still
half-expected to feel an arrow between his shoulder blades at any
moment.

Dent was damned happy to finally see Fort
Braxton on the horizon. The sentries were a little apprehensive
when they saw one of their junior officers and their chief scout
approaching the palisades hell-bent-for-leather, but quickly
realized there was no sign of pursuit so they opened the gates wide
and let them inside. Old Mountain’s party was already there—several
Kiowa men, most of them seasoned veterans and some with white or
steel gray hair, milled around on the parade grounds. They, too,
grew anxious when Dent and Charley entered with lathered horses,
and their worried murmurs were audible from a distance.

Colonel Vine, apprised of the new arrivals,
walked out of his command quarters. Two aides, a translator, and an
elderly Indian trailed behind him. Dent assumed the Indian was Old
Mountain, though he had never seen the man personally; Charley and
the Kiowa greeted one another respectfully.

“Good God, man,” Colonel Vine sputtered.
“What the hell is going on here? I’m pretty sure you had a full
company with you when I sent you out!”

Dent saluted—he knew he should dismount at
once, but was putting that painful action off for as long as
possible.

“I did, sir,” Dent said. “I sent them to
Wolf Creek to help defend against the raiders.”

“Raiders?”

“Yes, Colonel. Stone Knife—at least I assume
he’s leading them—he has a sizable force of renegades. They’ve hit
several ranches, and were headed for the town.”

The translator whispered Dent’s news to the
old chief, and he shook his head sadly.

“Charley and I were hoping Old Mountain
would come back to Wolf Creek with us, and try to convince his son
to call this off and go back to the reservation before more people
get hurt.”

Vine’s eyes narrowed. “My ass,” he said.
“I’ll lead this whole regiment there, and give those traitorous
savages some convincing they’ll never forget!”

Charley spoke up. “You right, Colonel,” he
said. “Smart thing to do is send a big enough force at ‘em. But it
couldn’t hurt nothin’ to let us go a little ways ahead, with the
chief here, and see if we can’t prevent a full-scale engagement.
If’n he’s willin’.”

Vine scowled. “I generally don’t seek
tactical advice from my scouts, just intelligence. But I trust you,
Charley, you haven’t steered me wrong yet. If the chief here can
convince those hotheads to stand down, it might go a long way
toward reassuring the local folks, not to mention Washington, that
this whole parley today wasn’t just a planned distraction. Not that
it does those poor ranch families any good.” The colonel chewed on
the end of his mustache for a moment. “All right Captain, if the
chief is agreeable we’ll do it your way—he can ride out with you
right now, and I’ll have the regiment fall in and be close behind.”
He turned to one of the aides. “Thompson, get these men some fresh
horses.”

A worried look crossed Charley’s face, and
he cast a glance at Dent. The captain knew his friend was concerned
about his ability to make another hard ride in his delicate
condition. Dent answered the look with a curt shake of his head,
silently imploring the scout not to mention his apprehension before
the colonel. Vine had turned away and missed the exchange.

Old Mountain stepped away from his
interpreter and spoke directly to Charley Blackfeather, who nodded
at his words.

“What’s he saying?” the colonel
demanded.

“He says, him and his council come here to
parley with you in good faith. He told his son to keep the young
men under control and not fly off and do somethin’ foolish—but now
they done it anyways, and made Old Mountain look like a weak
leader, and a liar, and he’s been shamed. He’ll make that boy mind,
or else he’ll knock the little sumbitch in the head.”

Vine’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead, and
Charley shrugged.

“Not in them exact words,” the scout
explained, “I’m just givin’ you the gist of it.”

Thompson arrived with the horses, and one of
Old Mountain’s men brought his pony. At a word from the angry
chief, all his companions mounted up as well.

“Good luck, Dent,” Vine called out as they
rode away. “We’ll be no more than half an hour behind you! I just
hope there’s a town left when we all get there!”

So do I,
Dent thought.
Or there’s
going to be hell to pay.

***

The men of Wolf Creek spent the next couple
of days spelling each other on the line, and on the rooftops. Emory
Charleston’s boss at the forge, Angus Sweeney, stood double shifts
on the blacksmith shop’s roof, his .fifty caliber Austrian at the
ready. He was joined on his long watches by Marshal Sam Gardner;
the town marshal had received a serious leg injury in the recent
Danby bank raid and was unable to stand, so a chair was hoisted up
to him. Logan Munro was on hand tirelessly, medical bag always
within reach—and the Beaumont-Adams revolver the Scottish doctor
had carried through three wars tucked into his waistband.

Benteen had not had much time to talk with
Sheriff Satterlee, but on the third day he found himself
side-by-side with the lawman.

“I didn’t really get a chance to welcome you
to Wolf Creek, Mister Benteen,” Satterlee said, coming up next to
him. “You’re probably gettin’ a lot more than you bargained
for.”

“Didn’t expect a party, Sheriff,” Benteen
said.

“Wanna fill me in on Mister De Courcey?”

Benteen looked at Satterlee.

“Why ask me? I’m as much of a stranger to
you as he is. More, maybe, since he’s been here before and claims
to be one of your citizens. You talk to Hix?”

“I did. He has nothing to say about Mister
De Courcey. He does, however, seem to trust you.”

“You don’t say.”

“He says it was your idea to ambush a Kiowa
raiding party and take their horses,” Satterlee said. “Says you
saved their lives.”

“Didn’t do it alone.”

“That may be,” Satterlee said, “but what’s
your take on De Courcey?”

“He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who
would stop to help four people on foot.”

”And yet, he did.”

“Yep.”

“What else?”

“He tries way too hard to be a Southern
gentleman,” Benteen said. “Or maybe a Southern English gentleman,
from that accent.”

“You think he’s fakin’?”

“I think we all got secrets, Sheriff,”
Benteen said. “He’s no different.”

Satterlee looked further down the line,
where De Courcey was standing.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. Look, why don’t
you get somethin’ to eat over to the saloon and then come back in,
say, half an hour.”

“Much obliged, Sheriff.”

“Right down the street. Some of the women
are servin’.”

***

Benteen entered the Lucky Break Saloon,
which had been pressed into service as a sort of soup kitchen. Men
were seated at tables, eating, while women served them.

“Mister Benteen.”

Benteen turned and saw Cora Sloane coming
toward him.

“Seems like we both got kind of involved
right away, huh?” he asked.

“I’m doing what I can,” she said. “Would you
like something to eat?”

“Yeah, I would. Thanks.”

“Have a seat. I’ll bring you some coffee and
food. I’m afraid you won’t have the luxury of ordering what you
want.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“I’ll bring it right over.”

Benteen took a seat. In moment Cora returned
with a bowl of beef stew, a hunk of bread and a beer.

“Do you mind if I sit with you while you
eat?” she asked.

Benteen took a moment to look at the pretty
schoolteacher. He actually preferred to eat alone, but he said,
“Sure, why not? I don’t mind.”

She sat across from him and said, “I wanted
to tell you that you made me feel safe out there, when you took
control.”

“I just made some suggestions.”

“Well, I wanted to thank you, anyway,” she
said. “However, now that we’re in town I’m not sure I feel any
safer. Would the Kiowa really attack an entire town?”

“They would,” Benteen said.

“Can the town be defended?”

“It can, but not easily. The Sheriff has the
main street barricaded, and has sentries on rooftops in case they
try to come in from another direction, but a town this size, it’d
be very hard to keep them out if they really wanted to come in.
Luckily—” He stopped.

“What were you going to say?”

“Stone Knife is a renegade who wants to show
his strength. I don’t think he’ll sneak into town. I think he’ll
come in the front door.”

She shivered, rubbed her arms. “Some of the
women are worried, talking about what Indians do to white
women.”

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that,” he said.
He cleaned the bowl out with the last of his bread, washed it all
down with the beer. “Much obliged—” he started, but was
interrupted.

A man burst through the batwing doors and
said, “They’re comin’ in! Sheriff wants everybody on the
barricade!”

Benteen got to his feet and told Cora, “Get
back to the church and stay there.”

“Be careful!” she called after him.

***

Benteen took his place on the line and
stared out into the distance—the near distance. The Kiowa had lined
up in preparation to charging. There were more of them than anyone
had suspected. To his right stood De Courcey, and on his left was
John Hix.

“If they decide to hit us hard, they’ll
overrun us,” Hix said.

“Nothing we can do but fight,” De Courcey
pointed out.

“Sure are a lot of them,” Hix said.

Benteen looked at the two men, still feeling
there was something going on between them. But like he’d told the
sheriff, everybody had secrets. He himself was no different.

“Have you decided if you’re going to stay in
Wolf Creek permanent when this is over, Mister De Courcey?”

“Seems to me, Mister Benteen,” Sampson Quick
replied, looking out at the Kiowa, “that might not be a decision
I’ll have to make.”

Benteen seemed puzzled, and Quick nodded in
the Indians’ direction.

“The savages,” he announced calmly. “They’re
charging.”

“Holy shit,” Hix said softly.

“I said they’d come in the front door,”
Benteen said. “I wish I’d be wrong once in awhile.”