Silver City Massacre (3 page)

“Is he a chief?” Joel asked, aware of the sound of Indian ponies crossing the river behind him now.

“No,” Black Otter replied. “He is a medicine man. He leads this war party. We will take your guns and your horses.”

“That would be a mistake,” Joel told him. “We have heard of Little Hawk of the Comanche. We have come many miles to find him.” Riley looked at him quickly, questioning. Joel continued. “If you try to take our guns and horses, many of your warriors will die, for we have the medicine rifles that shoot many times.” Little Hawk's eyes blazed in anger as Black Otter translated. Joel went on. “We heard that Little Hawk is a wise man, so we have come to show him the army guns that load from the breech. We bring two of these guns as gifts. If you like them, we can bring many more.” He turned to Riley then. “Get a couple of those Sharps out of the packs and some cartridges.” He waited then for Black Otter to finish translating before continuing. “My partner will demonstrate.”

“These white men lie, like all white men,” Bloody Hand, a warrior who commanded respect among his band, spoke up. “I think they didn't come to find us. They didn't know we were even here before we surprised them. They have two horses with packs, maybe more of these guns. I say we should kill them and take all their guns.”

His words brought forth several comments from the others, some in support of his position, but most in favor of following Little Hawk's advice.

“Bloody Hand is angry because the soldiers killed his brother,” Little Hawk responded. “I think it is right that he should feel this anger. Maybe what he says is the right thing for us to do. But these soldiers wear the clothes of the Gray Soldiers, so they are the enemies of the Blue Soldiers who attacked Bloody Hand's hunting party. I think these white men tell the truth, and if that is so, we have a chance to trade for many more guns than what they can carry on two horses. That is all I say.” His words were enough to quell the small wave of disagreement.

Aware of the discussion taking place among the warriors, but with no way of knowing what it was about, Joel and Riley hesitated, wondering if it was something that should worry them.

When the Indians appeared calm again, Riley pulled two carbines out of the pack, being as careful as he could to avoid exposing the others they had brought. He approached Little Hawk and handed one of the empty rifles to him so he could examine it. Then he loaded one of the paper cartridges in the other carbine and turned to aim at a tree across the river. As rapidly as he could, he fired, reloaded, and fired again, leaving a reasonable-sized pattern of three bullet holes in the tree trunk. His demonstration brought a wave of excited murmuring among the warriors surrounding the white men. The few rifles they carried were old muzzleloaders. Little Hawk was outwardly impressed with the speed with which Riley reloaded.

“Tell Little Hawk that we have many more of these guns at our fort in Colorado, and we will bring a wagonload back to trade for animal skins,” Joel said.

“Little Hawk wants to know if he can trust you to do as you promise,” Black Otter said.

“We want to be friends with the Comanche,” Joel assured him. “He knows he can trust our word because we give these two rifles as gifts.”

Little Hawk spoke again through Black Otter, saying he would like to shoot the rifle himself. “Certainly,” Joel responded. “The sergeant will show him how.”

Little Hawk slid off his pony and handed the carbine to Riley. Riley showed him how to load the cartridge; then the medicine man aimed at the same tree Riley had peppered and fired the first round. It was a solid hit, in the center of the trunk. Riley showed him how to eject the spent cartridge and reload the next shot. He fired, hitting the tree once again. No longer trying to maintain his stern countenance, he smiled broadly, pleased with his marksmanship with the weapon. He spoke to Black Otter, and Black Otter translated.

“How many skins do you want for a gun such as this?”

Joel glanced at Riley, who shrugged in response, so Joel continued with his hoax. “One buffalo or three deer hides,” he said, having no notion what a rifle should trade for if he really was bartering.

Black Otter agreed immediately without consulting Little Hawk, which led Joel to believe his price had been a lot less than the Indians were expecting. “Little Hawk wants to know when you will bring these guns,” he asked.

“One month,” Joel replied. “Tell him one moon, and we'll be back with a wagonload of guns and ammunition.”

Black Otter looked at Little Hawk, who nodded when told of Joel's promise. “Go in peace,” he said. “We return to our village now. In one moon's time, we will return to this place with many skins to trade.”

“Good,” Joel said. “We will come back to this place.”

Riley got a box of the paper combustible cartridges from the packs and handed them to Black Otter. “You're gonna need these,” he said.

The Indians turned their horses back toward the south, preparing to leave. Little Hawk nodded solemnly to each white man, then made one more comment to Black Otter before nudging his pony to step smartly away, his new carbine in one hand, held high over his head. Joel looked at Black Otter, questioning.

Black Otter shrugged. “He said you'd better build a fire to dry your clothes.”

“I expect that's so,” Riley said, standing beside Joel as the Indians departed the grove of trees. After the Comanche disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived, he turned to face Joel. “Damned if you ain't the best liar I've ever met, and I've known some good ones, myself included.” He chuckled at the thought of having been at the mercy of a party of Comanche warriors, yet still standing with their scalps intact. “We'd best saddle up and get the hell away from here while we got a chance. That one feller looked like he'd just as soon shoot us and be done with it.”

Joel hesitated and thought about it. “I don't know,” he said then. “I think if they were gonna jump us, they would have done it while we were standin' in the middle of all of 'em. If they start to think about whether or not they got skunked, they might sneak back to see if we skedaddled. I think we'll be all right to stay right here and leave in the mornin'.” He turned away then and started back toward the packs. “Besides,” he added, “I'm wet as hell, and I need some coffee. There ain't but about a couple of hours of daylight left, anyway.” He started again, then halted to say one more thing. “I'll tell you one thing, though. We've got to be a helluva lot more careful about lettin' anybody sneak up on us like that.”

“Why?” Riley joked. “You can just make up another story to tell 'em.” Another thought occurred. “Damned if we weren't lucky as hell there was one Injun in that bunch that could talk American.”

•   •   •

After a supper of beans and bacon, Joel and Riley sat on their bedrolls, drinking coffee, completely naked except for their boots, which they had had the sense to take off before jumping in the river a few hours before. Their clothes, including the underwear, were hung on crude screens fashioned from willow branches and drying on the other side of a healthy campfire. Both men had an extra shirt and underwear, but they figured they had to wait for their pants to dry anyway, so they decided to save the extra clothing. Riley got up to test the progress of the drying uniforms.

“That evenin' breeze is starting to feel a little bit nippy on this old hide,” he said. “Maybe I oughta move these clothes a little closer to the fire.”

“If you move 'em any closer, you're likely to set 'em on fire,” Joel said, although he, too, was beginning to feel the nip in the air.

•   •   •

The two Comanche warriors who had moved silently up to a small clearing a hundred yards from the camp by the water slid off their horses and tied them to a small tree. With their bows ready, they moved a little closer before pausing to consider the two naked white men by the fire.

“They must be crazy,” Bloody Hand said softly, his words filled with contempt. “They have no shame to show their nakedness. Little Hawk was fooled by their promises of many guns. They are clearly insane.”

“He will be angry with us for killing the white men,” Lone Bear said.

“Little Hawk is getting old,” Bloody Hand spat. “The others will see we were right when we come back with the guns the white men carry, the medicine guns that shoot many times. They are better than the guns they promised to trade for skins.”

“We must get a little closer, so we don't miss,” Lone Bear said.

Bloody Hand nodded, and the two warriors left the clearing behind to make their way through the trees bordering the river. Intent upon drawing close enough to ensure their accuracy, they worked their way within thirty yards of the fire before their presence was detected by the horses.

At the first whinny from Dandy, Riley dropped to his knee just as an arrow whistled by over his head. Also instantly alert, Joel rolled away from the fire, grabbing his rifle from the blanket as a second arrow glanced off the sandy riverbank just beyond his bedroll. Cursing the horses for alerting the white men, the warriors nocked another arrow and charged the camp.

Caught on the opposite side of the fire from his bedroll and his rifle, Riley crawled as fast as he could to get to the carbine. Bloody Hand was upon him before he was halfway around the fire, his bow fully drawn. Before he could release the arrow, the sharp snap of Joel's Spencer rang out, slamming him in the chest and causing the arrow to be released harmlessly into the fire as he sank to his knees.

Seeing the muzzle flash, Lone Bear reacted quickly, but not quickly enough to loose his arrow before Joel's second shot ripped into his belly. The impact of the.54-caliber slug caused the startled warrior to stagger a few steps backward before sitting down hard on the bank. Stunned, he sat there, staring at the man crawling to his bedroll until another shot from Joel's carbine tore into his chest.

Still in a panic to get to his weapon, Riley reached it only seconds before a fourth shot from Joel's carbine knocked Bloody Hand over on his side. Riley scrambled to his feet, weapon ready at last, to stand over the Comanche warrior and make sure he was dead.

“Glory be!” Riley gasped. “That was too damn close for comfort!”

Joel did not respond. He was already moving cautiously toward the horses in case the two warriors were not alone. Finding the horses undisturbed, he searched the trees beyond the clearing before returning to the fire.

“Looks like these two were on their own,” he told Riley. “They left two horses tied back there on the other side of the trees.” He was a little more than peeved to have been surprised by the attack. “That's the second time we let those damn Indians slip up on us. Maybe now we'll get serious about keepin' a sharper eye. If it wasn't for that horse of yours, we'd most likely be lyin' there on the ground while those two were goin' through our packs.”

“Yeah, but we ain't,” Riley said, “so somebody must be lookin' out for us, even if it ain't nobody but Dandy.” He was still in awe of the lightning-fast reactions of his partner when there really had been no time to react. “You move pretty damn fast when you're naked as a jaybird.”

As if just remembering then, Joel looked down at himself. He was wearing a coating of sand from having rolled off his bedroll.

“Damn,” he swore, “I'm gonna have to go in the river again.”

“I don't know about you, partner,” Riley stated. “But I'm thinkin' I'd like to get my clothes back on and get the hell outta here, even if it is in the middle of the night. I swear, this damn spot is bad luck.”

“I won't argue with you this time,” Joel declared, thinking that he should have gone along with Riley's suggestion to leave the camp before. “Those two might not be the only ones thinkin' about payin' us a visit.”

Their uniforms were still not totally dry, but they put them on just the same, packed up their camp, and put out the fire. Then they went back beyond the trees to collect the two ponies left there by the Comanche, stripped the Indian saddles off, and left them on the ground. The two extra horses might prove to be an additional bother, but they decided they might as well take them since they could be used to trade for supplies or ammunition. The horses, one a paint, the other a gray, weren't particularly anxious to go with the white men, and tried to pull away when Riley approached with a rope. He figured it was most likely the strange smell of the white men, so Joel threw one of the Indian saddle blankets over the paint's head, rubbing it gently on the horse's face until it calmed down. The same treatment worked on the gray as well, at least well enough to enable them to fashion a lead rope to be tied to each of the packhorses. All this was done as quickly as possible, with each man frequently pausing to scan the stand of cottonwoods behind them. When all was ready, they left the river, heading out across the dark prairie in the same direction they had followed for the last several days.

Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, they reached another river winding through the almost flat terrain. It was a rough guess, but they estimated that they had ridden about twenty miles from the Canadian, so they decided to make camp and rest the horses. The spot where they struck the river offered little in the way of firewood, since the banks were crowded with berry thickets but no trees. Concerned more with catching a little sleep, however, they chose to roll up in their blankets and worry about a fire in the morning.

Daylight brought a clear sky and the sun peeking up across a prairie that appeared as wide and flat as a gigantic skillet. But as far as Joel could see, and that seemed like forever, there was no sign of any other being.

“I don't reckon there was any more of them Injuns that decided to come after us,” Riley announced when he returned from the bushes with an armload of dead branches. “Good thing, 'cause there ain't a helluva lot of places to hide.”