Demon's Pass (20 page)

Finally, exhausted and emotionally drained, Elizabeth dropped the stick and sat on the ground beside Bloody Axe's body.

It was several moments before her breathing returned to normal. When she recovered, she took his knife from his belt and began sawing at the rawhide thongs. Because of the way she had to hold the knife, it was much more difficult to free herself than she thought it would be but, finally, she was able to cut through them.

Her wrists were abscessed and bloody from the several days of tight binding, and as she pulled the rawhide strips away, she began to gently rub the festering sores. Then, with some degree of circulation restored, she climbed onto Bloody Axe's horse and rode away. Not once did she look back at the body of the man who had been her captor.

 

 

When Tobin came back to report that he had seen a buffalo herd, everyone's spirits lifted.

“If we could kill a buffalo, we'd have enough meat to last us a month,” Clay suggested.

“Yeah, well, who are you going to send to kill one?” Tobin asked. “ 'Cause I don't want nothin' to do with 'em. They're mean-tempered sons of bitches.”

“Me neither. They're as big as a house,” Pecorino said.

Marcus laughed. “They're nothin' but oversized squirrels,” he said.

“I'd like to go,” Parker volunteered.

“Me too,” Jason added.

Parker, Jason, and Marcus were selected to make the hunt, and Parker was excited as he rode out with the others. But he was a little frightened too. Suppose they failed? Suppose the buffalo got away from them, and they had to return to the camp empty-handed? It would be awfully embarrassing to disappoint everyone like that. Parker made a vow to himself that he would not fail. He would kill a buffalo, no matter what it took.

They approached the herd from downwind with Marcus in the lead. They could smell the herd before they heard it, and heard the animals bellowing before they came into view. They had a wild, tangy smell, which filled the nostrils and excited the senses of the hunters as they approached.

As they got nearer, they could hear all of the bawling and coughing, grunting and squeaking, rumbling and clacking as the herd moved.

Finally they saw them.

When the three hunters crested the last little hill, they saw thousands of buffalo stretching in an unbroken carpet of brown from horizon to horizon.

Parker felt his heart in his throat, for never in his life had he seen a sight so magnificent.

“All right,” Marcus said. “We'll ride toward them. If they start to run, pick one of them out and stay with him. Watch out for yourselves, though—don't get unseated. If you do, their hooves will ground you up like sausage meat.”

“I'm ready,” Parker said. Despite his assurances, however, the palms of his hands were sweating and he wiped them on the leg of his trousers to dry them before he pulled his pistol.

“Let's go,” Marcus ordered and started toward the herd. Parker and Jason followed.

As they approached the herd they began to spread out so that by the time they reached the buffalo they were separated from each other by several yards. At first the buffalo just stood there. Then one of them saw the hunters approaching and started running. That started the others, so that the entire heard was quickly set in motion. From Parker's perspective, it looked like the flowing of a great, thundering brown river.

Parker locked on to a buffalo that he wanted, and holding the reins in his left hand, guided his horse toward the creature. He spurred the horse into a full gallop but the buffalo was much faster than he thought it would be. It was taking some effort to catch up with it.

One of the bulls suddenly thrust his great shaggy-maned head toward Parker, trying to hook Parker's horse with a horn, but Parker managed to pull away at the last minute. His horse seemed to show no particular fear of the creatures, drawing its courage from its rider's steady, guiding hand.

Finally Parker managed to close up on the buffalo, and raising his pistol, he put the barrel right behind the bull's ear, no more than six inches away. When he pulled the trigger he saw the flash of fire, then the impact of the bullet as hair and a little spray of blood flew up from the point of entry.

The buffalo continued to run for a few more steps as if it hadn't even been hit. After a minute, Parker saw it jerk its head, wobble slightly, then fall. The stampeding buffalo behind it veered to the right, opening up a little space around it. Parker stopped his horse, jerked it around sharply, then approached the fallen bull, ready, if need be, to finish him off.

No final coup was required, however. The buffalo lay dead.

 

Clay and his men were not the only ones who knew about the buffalo. A band of Shoshoni had tracked the herd from the south. When they saw that a group of white men had taken a buffalo, some of them became very angry and they held a brief council to determine what they should do about it. Many wanted to attack the white men and steal whatever they might have in the wagons.

Black Crow was the leader of the wandering band of Shoshoni, assuming that position by virtue of his age and experience. That night, around the council fire, he spoke to the others, urging restraint.

“These white men are not like those who hunt buffalo for the hides. They took only one, not many, and they did not leave the meat rotting on the plains, as do those who hunt for the hide only. The buffalo has been placed here by the Great Spirit to feed all his people, red and white. If we attack the white men for killing one buffalo and eating it, then we will anger the Great Spirit.”

Black Crow sat down to be immediately replaced by Yellow Hand. Yellow Hand, who wore his name in the form of a yellow handprint on his face, was young and ambitious. He had not fought in as many battles as Black Crow, and he was hungry for the opportunity to prove himself before the others. He believed this to be a chance to do just that, and he didn't want to let it slip through his fingers.

“I have listened to Black Crow,” Yellow Hand said. “I know that he is a man of many fights, and so when he counsels us against war, I know it is not because he is frightened, but because he is tired, like an old man.”

There were a few grunts of displeasure, but no one spoke out directly, because to do so could have brought a challenge to fight from Yellow Hand. Also, though Yellow Hand dismissed Black Crow's precautions as those of a tired, old man, he did so in such a way as to continue to pay respect for Black Crow's past accomplishments.

“The white men are few,” Black Crow said. “We are many. What honor would there be in making war against so few?”

Black Crow won several converts to his position with this approach, and Yellow Hand saw his opportunity to lead men in battle beginning to slip away from him. He played his strongest hand.

“Have you seen the wagons of the white men?” he asked the others. “These are not the wagons of the men and women who come to settler on the land and make farms. There are no women with these wagons. These wagons are loaded with many wonderful things that they will use for trading.”

“What sort of things?” one of the warriors asked.

Yellow Hand saw that a couple other young men were interested as well, and he knew that he was beginning win some to his side.

“Such wagons carry many things that are of great value,” Yellow Hand said. “They will have guns and knives, sugar and warm blankets. They will have hatchets and gunpowder, and lead for making bullets.”

“Will they have whiskey?”

Yellow Hand had no way of knowing that the wagons were carrying trade goods for the Mormons, and thus had no whiskey, coffee, or tobacco. He did know, however, that the prospect of whiskey was an appealing one.

“They will have much whiskey,” he declared resolutely.

“Then I will come with you to attack them.”

“And I!”

“And I!”

Several more warriors declared their intention to join with Yellow Hand in his attack. For a while, it looked as if the entire band would join him, and Yellow Hand smiled broadly, victoriously, as the men got up from the council fire and moved toward him to make their positions known.

When all was finished, nearly fifty had agreed to come with him. Fifty, out of a band of just over two hundred, including women, children, and the elderly. To assemble such a large war party from such a small group was quite an accomplishment, and Yellow Hand looked on with pride as the warriors lined up behind him.

“Yellow Hand,” Black Crow said, “if you attack the white men, you will bring trouble upon all of us. You have taken all the young warriors with you. Only those who are old and sick have remained behind. If we are attacked, we cannot mount a proper fight. Stay with us. We will have a good buffalo hunt, then we will find a place to make our winter camp.”

“No!” Yellow Hand said. “Those who joined me are brave of heart. They are not like the cowards who will stay in the village and warm themselves in lodges built for them by their women, filling their bellies with food cooked for them. Come, brave hearts, if you would be men. Come with me now!”

Yellow Hand started toward the remuda where the village kept their horses. He made no effort to look back until he climbed on his horse. Only then did he see that every man who had joined him initially was still with him. Black Crow's entreaty to them to stay had failed. Yellow Hand felt a tremendous pride inside, for he knew that when he and the warriors returned, he would be the new chief.

When all were mounted, Yellow Hand held his rifle over his head, let out a loud yell, then slapped his legs against the sides of his horse. His horse leaped forward, reaching full gallop in a couple of strides. Those who chose to ride with him urged their own horses forward as well, and the warriors made a grand show as they left the camp, splashing through the stream that ran by the encampment. A shower of silver was kicked up as the horses flew through the stream, and a fine rain was churned by the horses' hooves. It was a magnificent sight, and several of the very young boys crowded to the edge of the village to watch in awe as the warriors left to make war.

Chapter 14

Elizabeth stood in the swift-running stream, the cold water numbing her legs from the knees down.

Spotting a trout working hard to fight the swift current, Elizabeth raised her hand and held it, palm open, just above the surface. Exercising a patience she wouldn't have had a few months earlier, she waited. Finally the trout came closer toward her outstretched hand.

“Hold still, little fish,” Elizabeth said under her breath. “You are going to be my breakfast.”

She watched as the fish slowly fought the current toward her, then as quick as a striking snake, her hand flashed down into the water just ahead of the fish, just as it reached her.

She felt the fish's firm, scaly body under her hand and jerked her arm up and out of the water, catapulting the fish onto the bank. It was exactly as Moon Cow Woman had taught her.

The fish lay alongside the stream, flopping about frantically, trying to propel itself back into the water. Elizabeth quickly climbed out of the water then fell on the fish, trapping it under her body. She lay there, holding it down until it quit fighting. After the trout died, she gutted and cleaned it with Bloody Axe's knife. Spitting it on a green willow limb, she started a fire with the flint and steel she had taken from her captor. Moments later the aroma of broiling fish assailed her senses.

 

As the sun rose over the mountain range, Yellow Hand and his men stood just below the crest of a ridge, looking down on the ranch below. They had happened across the ranch on their way to locate the wagons of the men who had taken the buffalo. Yellow Hand made the decision to attack the ranch first.

They saw three men come out of the house and begin their morning chores, and they smelled the smoke of their breakfast fire, hearing the woman inside the house call to the children. One of the men outside walked toward the outhouse, and it was while he was in there that the two braves Yellow Hand had sent as decoys made their false attack. They fired their rifles and let out bloodcurdling screams as they rode at the house. Yellow Hand smiled, for his warriors made as much noise as three war parties.

“My God! Where the hell did they come from?” one of the other men shouted, and started running for the house. “Edith! Injuns! Injun attack!”

The man's call was shut off by the sharp whistle and thud of an arrow. It was a shot of nearly one hundred yards, and when the bowman saw he had hit his mark, he let out a victory whoop.

The man who had been in the outhouse stumbled out with his pants down around his ankles. He hopped around, trying to pull them up, but he was hit with perhaps a half-dozen arrows. The third man tried to run away, but at a signal from Yellow Hand, two warriors chased him down, then dispatched him with brutal blows from their war club.

With the three men dead, the warriors began moving toward the ranch with less fear now, for only the woman and children remained.

Suddenly a series of shots rang out, and Yellow Hand and his men all dove for cover. They looked toward the house to try and determine from which window the shots had come. They couldn't tell, so one of the warriors stood up in a show of courage and ran from one window to another. He shouted to attract the woman's attention, hoping to draw her fire.

But no more shots were fired.

Another warrior tried the same tactic, but he, too, was unsuccessful. The one inside the house with the rifle simply did not fire.

Finally, moving one at a time, the entire war party advanced to the house; then Yellow Hand kicked in the door and leaped into the house. What he saw there made him stop short, for there, sitting up against the wall were two little girls and a grown woman, all dead. It didn't take that long for Yellow Hand to realize what had happened. The woman had shot the two children, and then had taken her own life. She was sitting there with her eyes still open, but with her head twisted grotesquely on her neck. There was a blackened hole in her temple, and a stream of blood and brain tissue ran down the side of her head, soaking the shoulder of her dress.