Silver City Massacre (9 page)

“Do we need to cross over at all?” Elvira asked.

“Well, most trains did,” Riley replied. “It's a sight easier travelin' on the north side of the river—better water, grass, and game, too. The south side's the dry side.” He glanced at Joel. “You're most likely thinkin' we could just swim the horses across, but it would be easier on them at Three Island after we pass the falls.”

“Well, that ain't exactly what I was thinkin',” Joel said. “I don't think we need to cross the river a'tall. Best I remember, Boone said Silver City was back in the mountains, south of the Snake. And we'll be sayin' good-bye to the trail to Oregon when it crosses over to the other side. So we might as well head the horses on up this side till maybe we find somebody who can tell us how to get to Silver City.”

Riley's talk about the spectacular waterfalls farther along their path was sufficient to generate a genuine craving on the part of all four to sample the salmon he bragged about. The weather had been especially cooperative as far as snow was concerned, although the temperatures were dipping lower as each day passed. Since they could now anticipate the end of their journey coming up soon—they were surely no more than a week or more from Silver City—all agreed that they could afford to delay their journey a day to fish.

They drove the horses along the cliffs that formed the bluffs for the river below them, following a road driven many times before by settlers and their wagons. It was late in the afternoon when they made camp near Shoshoni Falls in a grassy glen with a strong stream running through it. The girls, and Riley as well, were in a festive mood, eager to see the falls. While just as much interested to see them, Joel could not forget that there were still Indians to be concerned with, so he told the others to go on; he would stay and tend to the horses.

Circumstances had resulted in providing him with a small string of horses, and driving them the past couple of days had started him thinking about possibilities other than gold mining. Knowing Boone as well as he did, he wouldn't be surprised to find his brother thinking along the same lines. That thought caused him to picture Boone the last time he had seen him. Cheerful, as if riding off to the county fair, he joked that he would have the war won before Joel got around to enlisting. Joel was with General Shelby in Louisiana when Boone came home from the war with a shattered leg. He wondered how much of the boyish spirit remained.

The war was hard on everybody,
he thought,
but nobody can hold the McAllisters down for long.
He smiled at the thought. It would be good to see Boone again.
I wonder what he'll think when I show up with a woman and child
. That caused him to chuckle.

Joel had a fire going and coffee in Elvira's gray coffeepot sitting in the coals when his little
family
returned, carrying two of the largest fish he had ever seen.

“Hope you're hungry for some fish!” Riley called out when they walked into the camp.

Joel was amazed. “What in the world did you catch 'em with?”

“Caught 'em with a stick,” Riley replied, grinning from ear to ear.

“The Indian caught them,” Ruthie said.

Elvira explained. “There was this feller down there fishin',” she said. “He said he was a Bannock. They've got a village not far from here. He showed us how to catch fish. There are so many of them in that river, and he got 'em with a spear. So he obliged us by spearin' a couple of big ones for our supper.”

“Bannock, huh?” Joel responded. He thought he recalled hearing somewhere that both the Shoshoni and the Bannock in this area had typically been friendly to the wagon trains that passed through. “Well, that was mighty neighborly of him. Was he the only one you saw?”

“There were some others on the other side,” Ruthie volunteered, “but they were too far away to talk to. They didn't seem as friendly as Red Shirt.” She looked up sadly at Joel and said, “He asked us where our wagon was.”

“Red Shirt, huh?” Joel responded. “He spoke pretty good American, did he?”

“Real good,” Ruthie said. “He wanted to know if Aunt Elvira was my mother.”

“Well, let's get busy cleaning this fish,” Elvira sang out cheerfully, hoping to prevent the young girl's mind from revisiting the loss of her parents and brothers.

Realizing Elvira's intent, Joel said, “What are we waitin' for? Let me build that fire up a little. I can't think of a better way to celebrate striking the mighty Snake River than to have a feast of Snake River salmon—if that's what it is.”

Riley gave him a puzzled look. “I reckon that's what it is. That Injun didn't say.”

•   •   •

It was a pleasant evening. The two large salmon provided meat enough for everyone to have their fill, and then some. The big coffeepot was refilled with fresh spring water from the little stream and charged up again with the strong ground beans that were recovered from Elvira's wagon. Joel imagined it to be very much like a settler's family on their trek west.

“Well, I expect I'd best turn in,” Riley finally announced. “We'll be on our way again come sunup.” Elvira and Ruthie were soon to follow.

“I'll take a look at the horses,” Joel said when the two females returned from a visit to the serviceberry bushes on the other side of the stream.

He picked up his bedroll and walked downstream where the horses were gathered peacefully near the water. Instead of returning to sleep by the fire with the others, he spread his bedroll and settled in for the night near a little stand of pines.

As darkness spread her cloak across the peaceful valley, he could hear the sound of the falls, nearly a quarter of a mile away, crashing down from cliffs standing more than two hundred feet high. Ordinarily, a night such as this would bring him peace, but sometimes he had a feeling everything wasn't exactly as it should be. He didn't know why, but he had one of those feelings tonight, even after the pleasant afternoon and evening. He thought back about the conversation around the campfire, and the generous Bannock fisherman.

Hell,
he thought,
these ain't Comanche or Cheyenne. They're Bannock, friendly Indians
.

It had been more than two years since the last trouble between the U.S. Army and the combined Shoshoni and Bannock Indians had occurred, a winter campaign known as the Bear River Massacre. More than four hundred members of Chief Bear Hunter's band of Shoshoni were killed. Relations were reported to be peaceful now, although Joel could well understand a reluctance on the Indians' part to forgive and forget. He reminded himself that he and Riley had been surprised by Indian raiders twice before, simply because they hadn't expected to be attacked.

But even Riley said this Bannock they met down by the falls showed no signs of anything other than friendship and courtesy
. Still he had that feeling.
You worry too much,
he told himself, pulled his blanket up closer under his neck, and drifted off to sleep.

•   •   •

He wasn't sure what had wakened him—a sound from the horses, the call of a night bird, or the sounds of the falls. Lying comfortably in his bedroll, he did not move, but opened his eyes to peer up at a three-quarter moon peeking through a break in the clouds overhead. He was about to close his eyes again when he was startled by a shadow moving slowly along the young pine trees that stood between his bed and the horses. He felt the muscles in his forearms tense as he forced himself to remain still, even as his natural reflexes told him to react. His visitor was on the other side of the pines, and had evidently not detected Joel's presence as yet.

Careful not to make a sound, Joel moved his hand down to rest on his carbine, wrapping his fingers around the trigger guard. Before taking action of any kind, he decided to find out just what he was dealing with—a bear, or mountain lion, or was he about to shoot one of the horses that might have strayed away from the others?

As quietly and as slowly as he could manage, he rose on one elbow and looked toward the clearing. The shadow was past the stand of pines and Joel could clearly see that the visitor was neither bear nor cat. It was a man, crouching low as he approached the horses. It appeared that he was alone, but Joel had to be sure. He strained to turn his head as far as he could in both directions, but there was no one else to be seen.

Our friendly Bannock,
Joel thought ambiguously as he slowly rolled out of his bedroll and got up on one knee.
Gave us enough fish to fill our bellies so we could go to sleep while he steals our horses.

He pushed on up to his feet and walked quietly after the unsuspecting horse thief, not sure what he was going to do about him. He could not say he was honestly angry at the intruder for attempting to steal the horses, at least not angry enough to kill him.

Hell, that's what Indians do,
he told himself.
To them, it's something that brings them honor
.
Well, he can look for his honor someplace else, with somebody else's horses
.

The thief's attention was focused entirely on the horses, which were beginning to move about at the sight of the approaching figure. Joel left the cover of the trees and walked quietly behind the Indian, his rifle up before him, ready to fire. The Indian was not aware of the white man moving with him, step for step. His interest was concentrated upon the paint pony that Riley had been riding. Joel watched him as he moved up to the horse and stroked its neck and face. Joel figured that was about as far as he was willing to let it go. He was about to say as much when the thief took the paint by the bridle and started to lead it away from the stream. He turned to find himself facing Joel and a Spencer carbine aimed at his belly.

Both men froze, but one, clearly at a disadvantage, searched frantically for his options for escape. There were none. His only weapon, his bow, was strung on his back, even had there been time to nock an arrow before the .54 slug tore into his belly.

“Gott damn,” he finally muttered in halting English as he assessed his awkward situation and waited for the impact of the bullet.

But the bullet never came. Joel wasn't sure why. Maybe it was simply because the Indian did not react with a violent attack when surprised, seeming instead to brace himself for the penalty he must pay for having been caught. The Bannock had not come with killing in mind, evidently. To the contrary, he appeared to have the theft of only one horse in mind. What to do with him? These were the thoughts that swirled through Joel's mind in that span of a couple of moments.

Joel finally broke the tense silence. “Why do you steal our horses?”

“Because you have horses,” Red Shirt replied, speaking slowly as he thought about his answer.

“That ain't no reason to steal ours,” Joel said. “I didn't come lookin' to steal your horses.”

Red Shirt shrugged. “I got no horses.”

“Not even one?” Joel asked, and Red Shirt shook his head, still waiting for the bullet to come. Still perplexed over what to do with the thief, Joel said, “I oughta shoot you down right now.” He raised his carbine, threatening, but the man looked so helpless he couldn't bring himself to execute him just for trying to steal a horse. “Why should I let you live?”

“Because I not steal horse,” Red Shirt said solemnly, “I trade fish for horse.”

“Ha!” Joel snorted. “A horse is worth a helluva lot more than two damn fish.”

Red Shirt had to think about that for a moment. He had nothing more to offer. And then an idea occurred to him. His eyes brightened with hope as he offered, “I know where to find Silver City. I take you there.”

His offer caused Joel to pause to consider. He was confident that Silver City would not be hard to find, not with news of a gold strike. But for a fact, he didn't really know exactly where in the rugged mountains to even start looking, or for that matter, how far away it was. It would be handy if they could be led straight to the town without having to follow the Oregon Trail along the Snake any longer. But it made little sense to trust a thieving Indian.

“Huh,” he grunted softly to himself when he recalled that he and Riley had started this journey as a couple of horse thieves.
Maybe this damn Indian belongs with us,
he thought. “Why should I trust you? Hell, I just caught you tryin' to steal our horses.”

“One horse,” Red Shirt immediately corrected him.

“That still don't mean I can trust you,” Joel said.

“I make promise,” Red Shirt insisted. “I swear on rock.”

“You swear on a rock?” Joel responded, his weapon no longer raised, ready to fire. “What the hell good is that?”

“Rock sacred, big medicine.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a polished hunk of quartz that was hanging around his neck. “I, Red Shirt, swear on medicine rock, no steal.”

The Indian seemed so sincere in his oath that Joel was inclined to believe that he meant it. But he was not ready to accept his word completely. The man was still caught with the paint's bridle in his hand. Not only that, but Joel was responsible for the lives of Riley, Elvira, and Ruthie. He couldn't afford to be careless. On the other hand, an Indian guide would be a mighty handy addition to the party, and they could afford to give him a horse for his services.

Lord help me if I'm a fool,
he thought. “I'm gonna trust you, Red Shirt. I'll give you a horse if you'll guide us to Silver City. Is that a deal?”

“That's a deal,” Red Shirt replied happily.

“Swear it on that rock,” Joel insisted.

“I swear, it's a deal,” Red Shirt said solemnly while holding the piece of quartz firmly between his hands.

“All right, then,” Joel said. “You go on back to wherever you're camped and come back here at sunup. Then we'll get started to Silver City. And just so you know, I don't ever go to sleep at night. All right?”