A Man Called Sunday (13 page)

* * *

Some fifty yards above the camp, David sat propped up against a cottonwood and looked back where the river turned back on itself to form a U-shaped bend, the banks already fading in the approaching darkness. Rising low on the distant horizon, a full moon began its journey across the prairie sky. Mary Beth had been right; it was going to be another clear night to travel. David felt useful at last, knowing that he was standing guard while their invincible guide slept. He didn't even realize that he was still sleepy himself, and he was unaware that he had fallen asleep until he awoke for the fraction of an instant when a hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth and he felt the cold steel blade on his throat.

Roused abruptly from his slumber by the sudden sound of gunshots, Luke was instantly alert. Rolling out of his blanket while cocking his rifle, he discovered Mary Beth standing by the fire, her father's revolver in her hand, aimed at two Sioux warriors bearing down on her. She had missed with both shots, and the heavy pistol was wavering in her hand as she tried to steady herself to fire again. With very little time to react, Luke took dead aim at the foremost warrior. Mary Beth was between him and the savage, so he had to be sure of his aim. He squeezed the trigger when Angry Bull was no more than ten yards away from her. His shot, in the center of the Indian's chest, dropped him at once, his momentum causing him to roll dead at her feet. Broken Glass, running several yards behind Angry Bull, veered from his path, trying to react to the muzzle blast of Luke's rifle in time to return fire. He was too late, for Luke's second shot knocked him over backward, shattering his breastbone.

Mary Beth stood screaming for a long moment before unconsciously firing the pistol one last time, then dropping it on the ground and running to David's side, where she sank to her knees beside his still body. Luke, his rifle cocked, peered into the shadows of the trees, prepared to shoot again. When all was quiet, with no sign of any more than the two Indians, he went to Mary Beth. He didn't have to be told that her husband was dead, for she was sobbing uncontrollably. With no thought as to how he should try to console her, he sat beside her while she cried. After a few minutes with no end to her tears, he spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage. “I'm gonna take you back to the wagon while I take care of your husband.” She started to protest, but offered no resistance when he lifted her to her feet. Once on her feet, she started to collapse, so he picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the wagon. “I won't be long,” he told her as he placed her gently on her bedding.

He was not concerned about there being more warriors lying in ambush for him. He was pretty sure that, had there been others, he would have known it by now. He was pretty sure why David had been surprised as he stood guard. He must have fallen asleep. Looking at him now, lying beside the tree, his throat gaping open and several deep wounds in his torso, Luke re-created the killing in his mind. It was unfortunate that Mary Beth had to see her husband like that. At least he had not been scalped. The Indians had no doubt planned to collect all three scalps after they had killed everyone. At the moment, Luke gave no thought toward the complications to follow with David's death. His only concern was to do what he could to soften the shock of Mary Beth having seen her husband this way, so he went back to the wagon to get a blanket to wrap him in.

Mary Beth had stopped crying, but she was still curled up on her blankets, rocking gently as if calming a baby. Luke paused to look at the bodies of the two Lakota braves. With evidence still fresh of the many knife slashes on their arms and legs, he knew that the four he had killed before were heavily mourned. There was still some reason to concern himself with future attacks by other members of the village, but he figured the odds were against it. These two must have been close to the deceased. He turned when he heard Mary Beth climb down from the wagon.

“David,” she cried, and started to go to her husband.

Luke caught her elbow to restrain her. “Better you don't go back to him just yet,” he urged. “Best wait till I can clean him up a little.”

“David never did anything to harm those people,” she exclaimed. “Why would God let this happen?”

“It'll be better if I wrap him in a blanket before we bury him. I can tell by his wounds that he most likely didn't feel no pain.” That was a lie, but he saw no sense in making it worse for her. “Give me a blanket to bury him in.” He helped her up in the wagon again and she selected a proper blanket for her husband's burial shroud. “You wait right here, and I'll bring him so you can see him,” he said. Too drained to protest, she did as he said. “Have you got somethin' I can use—?”

Knowing what he wanted, she got him a towel before he finished his request. Then she sat down on the tailgate to contemplate the end of her life, staring vacantly at the two Lakota corpses.

He did the best he could to clean most of the blood away from David's face, then wrapped him tightly in the blanket Mary Beth had given him. When he carried the body back, Mary Beth got off the tailgate so he could lay David across it. She could not suppress a gasp of pain when seeing the gaping slit across his throat again. Luke had tried to wrap the blanket up close under David's chin, but it had loosened as he carried the body. “My poor darling,” she sobbed, repeating it over and over as she stroked his cold face. Luke left her to say her final farewell in private.

While Mary Beth spent her last moments with her husband, Luke took a rope from the wagon and tied it around the ankles of both Sioux warriors. Then he climbed on his horse and dragged the bodies out of the camp and up through the bluffs, where he left them for the buzzards to find. Returning to the wagon, he took a pick and shovel from the side and turned again to the grieving woman. “Ma,am,” he said, “I don't mean to be disrespectful, but it's best to get your husband in the ground. I'm thinkin' about that spot up there under the trees.” He pointed to the spot. “Is that to your likin'?” She nodded vacantly. He went to work then, digging David's grave.

The ceremony was brief after Luke lowered the body into the grave. Mary Beth removed a heart on a chain that David had given her on their first anniversary and placed it inside the blanket. “I bury my heart with you forever,” she whispered, then turned away while Luke filled in the grave.

When he was finished, he scattered brush and limbs over the grave in an effort to disguise it against predators. He took a moment to lean on the shovel while he speculated on the tragic turn of events, and what he might expect to happen. Looking toward the wagon, he could see Mary Beth trying to busy herself around the fire, trying, he guessed, to keep from collapsing into a paralyzing fit of grief. He supposed it was his fault that David had been killed. He should never have let them talk him into taking a nap.
But, hell,
he thought, it was obvious that David had fallen asleep. “Damn greenhorn settlers,” he mumbled under his breath, irritated that he should even share the blame. But he could not help feeling sympathy for the woman. He wished that he could do something to ease her pain, but he was at a loss as to what that might be.
She'll get over it as soon as she cries herself out,
he thought. The next question to be answered was, what would she decide to do now that her husband was gone?

Chapter 7

By the time Luke had finished with the burial and taken care of the horses, there were barely a couple of hours left before daylight. He decided to start out as soon as they could break camp, thinking it best to get Mary Beth away from the scene of her husband's death as soon as possible. As they had already planned to travel at night before the attack occurred, most of the camp had been packed away on the wagon. With very little left to do, Mary Beth attempted to occupy her mind with cleaning the coffeepot and washing cups that had already been washed. Try as she might, however, she was unsuccessful in blocking dreadful images of David's face in death. In the beginning, when David first began to woo her, she had not been sure that she loved him enough to marry him, but she was certain now. She had loved him with all her heart. The thought caused her to break down in tears once again, even as she was aware of the half-savage guide standing helpless as to what he should do.

Finally he spoke. “I expect we'd best move away from here. There's a couple of Sioux ponies back yonder in the brush. I'll fetch 'em, and then I'll hook up your horses for you. Can you drive your wagon?” She answered with a nod. He hesitated, reluctant to ask the question, but he figured he needed to know now. “Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but what are you figurin' on doin'?”

“I don't know,” she answered truthfully, for she had been unable to think beyond the fact that David was gone.

“You want me to take you back to Fort Fetterman, or Medicine Bow maybe? Or are you still figurin' on goin' on to the Yellowstone?”

“I don't know,” she repeated, then shook her head several times, as if to clear her mind of sorrow. “Can you give me a minute to think?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered. “I'll go round up those Indian ponies while you decide.”

Both ponies submitted peacefully to him as he took their reins in hand and led them back to the wagon. “I guess I smell enough like an Indian to you,” he said to the spotted gray. Mary Beth was laying out the harnesses when he brought the ponies back, put them on a lead rope, and tied it to the wagon. “Here, ma'am, I'll do that for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and let him take over. “I could do it, though.” She watched as he harnessed the team and looped the reins around the side of the seat. “We'll go on to Coulson,” she announced, and climbed up to the wagon seat.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, and climbed up on the paint. “We'll follow the river for a while as long as it's still headin' straight north. The river takes a big swing to the east before it works its way back on the line we've been followin', so we can save a fair amount of time if we cut straight across and strike it again in about a day and a half.”

So they started out under a clear sky with the moon settling upon the distant hills as day approached. Behind them, a lonely grave and the bodies of two Lakota warriors lay as testimony to the savagery of the harsh prairie. And a tentative partnership between a grieving widow and an uncertain guide continued on its way. It was not the first time Mary Beth had driven the horses, but they seemed to know it was not David's hands holding the reins and they seemed a bit balkier than usual—so much so, in fact, that Luke came back and took hold of the bridle of one of the horses and led them until they picked up the pace. They seemed better after that, but Mary Beth really wasn't aware of the change. Her mind was laden with guilt and worry, guilt over encouraging David to stand guard when there was a danger of Indians coming after them—and worry over the decision she had made to continue on to Coulson. No matter which choice was for the best, leaving David behind was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. And how could she explain David's death to his brother? John and Doris would certainly take her in, but what would she do for the rest of her life? She couldn't live with them forever.

Then her thoughts centered on the broad back of the man on the paint pony, and her original fears about him came back now to concern her. Would his manner change now that she was a woman alone? It would be so easy for him to murder her and ride off with all her possessions. He had said in the beginning that he would guide them only because he needed the money. With David gone, would he now be thinking about taking all of her money? In the middle of this godforsaken prairie, no one would ever know what had happened to her. Or would he simply rob her and ride off to leave her to the Indians and the lonely prairie? She reached down for David's shotgun and propped it up close beside her.

Up ahead, Luke was turning over concerns of his own in his mind. He was wondering if he would come to regret the decision to lead the couple to the Yellowstone now that he had a grieving widow on his hands. He was now more anxious than ever to find Mary Beth's people as quickly as possible. He had to assume that her late husband's brother would take her in, but what if he found this place they had talked about and the brother was not there? He had agreed to take them to Coulson, and that was all. He had no obligation beyond that.
But, damn it,
he thought,
I can't leave her alone if her in-laws ain't there
. She seemed to be so vulnerable and helpless since David was killed. It might have been a wiser decision for her to return to the place they started from. Who could say what was best for the woman?
What will be will be,
he decided with a sigh of resignation and gave the paint a nudge with his heels to quicken the pace a little.

Sometime around noon, he reined back to let Mary Beth catch up to him. When she pulled the horses to a stop beside him, he took a moment to study her face. She looked tired and haggard as the sunshine reflected off freshly formed trails left by her tears. He made a decision to stop for the rest of the day to let her rest. “The next little patch of trees we come to, we'll make camp and go on in the morning. We'll most likely leave the Powder after that and figure on strikin' it again in about a day's travel, and maybe we'll be far enough north by then that we won't have to worry about that band of Sioux anymore.”

“Whatever you think best,” she replied.

* * *

Once Luke settled on their campsite, Mary Beth dutifully began gathering wood for a fire while he took care of the horses. He took a few minutes to give the two Indian ponies a closer inspection. Both horses seemed docile enough, considering the new experience of trailing behind a wagon. Neither horse had a saddle; both were haltered with a cord made of woven strands of buffalo hair about the size of Luke's little finger. Of the two, he preferred the spotted gray, although the sorrel appeared to be the younger horse. He hobbled all but his paint and left them by the water to graze. When he returned to the wagon, Mary Beth had her fire started and was filling the coffeepot. He noticed that she was again wearing her father's pistol belt around her waist. He really couldn't blame her for being cautious, and he knew there was no way he could reassure her that she was safe with him.

“I'm gonna ride back to that low ridge we passed a while back and take a look behind us,” he told her. “I won't be gone long.” She nodded solemnly and continued grinding the coffee beans.

He didn't expect to see anyone along their back trail, but he thought it wouldn't hurt to check. It was difficult to hide a trail left by wagon wheels, but he figured the odds were in their favor. The paint loped along comfortably as he neared the ridge until Luke reined him back to climb up to the top. He paused there for a few moments while he scanned the horizon. Bringing his gaze back to the south along the river, he was startled to detect movement beyond a clump of bushes on the bank. He immediately backed his horse below the crown of the ridge while he scrambled back to determine if he had caught sight of antelope, or deer—or man. Kneeling at the top of the ridge, he waited, staring at the bushes that now blocked his view. If it was a herd of deer that caught his eye, they might have gone down to the water's edge to drink. He waited and watched.

“Damn,” he swore when he saw them emerge from the screen of berry bushes. There were six of them—no doubt Lakota; he couldn't tell at that distance. “Damn wagon,” he cursed as the Indians followed the obvious tracks of the wagon's wheels. The tracks presented a clear picture to the scouting party following them—a single wagon, settlers probably, and little means to protect themselves from six armed warriors. If the trackers were keen enough, they could determine that it was indeed a farm wagon, and not a heavily loaded freighter, probably meaning a weaker defense. “Damn the luck,” he swore for the third time, for he had hoped not to run into any more Sioux parties, even though they had continued to come upon many trails heading west. Judging from the distance, and the evident pace of their pursuit, he figured he had about half an hour before the six warriors would reach the stand of trees and the wagon. He returned to his horse at once and hurried back to Mary Beth.

She paused when she saw him racing back to their camp at a gallop, knowing that the reason for his haste could not be good. Without thinking, she emptied the coffeepot full of water on the fire, anticipating his call to pack up. “No time to waste,” he called out as he pulled the paint to a sliding halt. “We've got to get outta here! There's an Indian war party on our trail.” He slid off his horse and ran to bring the others up from the river. Mary Beth tossed the coffeepot and her cooking utensils into the wagon, then ran to help him with the horses.

With no thought toward running, he followed the river with his eyes, searching for a better spot to defend. “There,” he said, pointing to a deep gully on the other side of the river a few hundred yards distant. “We'll pull your wagon up in the mouth of that gully and park it. It'll give us some protection from the front.” He could have hoped for a better place to stand off an Indian attack, but there wasn't time to be choosy. He glanced at Mary Beth as she helped him hitch up the horses. She might have wondered why he had chosen a place out in the open where there was no place to hide and little cover beyond shoulder-high brush along one side of the gully, but she did not question him. In fact, she displayed little emotion of any kind, going about fastening the harness as if in a trance. Misinterpreting her expression, he hoped she wasn't about to go loco on him.

In truth, Mary Beth had resigned herself to the same destiny that had befallen her husband. Friends back in Minnesota had advised against her and David's decision to strike out for a future in the undeveloped West. Now David was gone, and she was convinced that she would soon be joining him. She had cried herself out over David's death. There were no tears left in her, certainly none for herself. She was now resigned to wait patiently for her fate, and possibly making it costly for the Indians bent upon killing her. As for Luke Sunday, there might no longer be a reason to fear what his ultimate designs might be on her meager possessions, or her body. They would never make it to the Yellowstone. The Indians would see to that.

When the three Indian ponies had been tied to the tailgate, Luke climbed up on the wagon beside Mary Beth and took the reins. Giving the team a sharp pop of the lines, he started them off at a fast walk, heading out through the cottonwoods toward the bend in the river. Once across the river, he drove the wagon as far up into the mouth of the gully as the horses could pull it, causing Mary Beth to wonder how they would be able to pull it out again. Wasting no time, he looked back inside the wagon. “Pile everything you can up against the side of the wagon,” he instructed. “That mattress and the beddin', stuff it against the sideboards—and that trunk.” She responded immediately, preparing their fortifications while he jumped down to unhitch the horses and lead them, along with the others, to the back of the gully. When he saw her start to move their store of smoked meat out of harm's way, he said, “Leave it. It'll stop a bullet.”

When the horses were safe and they had done all they could to prepare their battlements, there was nothing to do but wait. Luke picked up David's shotgun and checked it to make sure both barrels were loaded. “You might have better luck usin' this shotgun instead of one of these carbines those two Sioux had back at the forks.” He placed the box of shells next to the trunk she had pushed against the side of the wagon. “This is a good spot for you to sit and shoot from.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “I didn't ask you if you know how to shoot that thing.”

“I know how,” she replied calmly.

“Good,” he said, for he remembered that she was none too accurate with a pistol. “Might be a good idea to eat a little somethin' while we've got a chance, 'cause we're liable to be a little busy before long. Matter of fact, a cup of coffee would go a long way.” He looked around at the shrubs beyond the wagon. “I believe I can find enough branches in those bushes to make a fire.”

Having said no more than a few words since leaving their previous camping spot, she picked up her coffeepot and started toward the water's edge to fill it. “I'd better get water before they show up,” she said. “We're so out in the open, we might not be able to get to the water when they find us.”

“I know it ain't shady in this gully,” Luke replied. “But we've got a helluva lot better chance of keepin' our scalps here where we can see 'em comin' after us. They can hide back there in the trees, but they're gonna have to cross a wide space of open bluffs, or swim across the river, if they're plannin' on attackin' us. And if they do, I hope I can make it so hot for 'em that they'll change their minds about jumpin' us.” He didn't say it, but he also knew there was the possibility of a long siege, depending on what the Indians had in mind and how patient they were. If they mounted an all-out attack, he hoped he could inflict enough damage to discourage them, and possibly cause them to give up before incurring too many casualties. On the other hand, if they were patient, they could wait him out, hanging back far enough to minimize the range of his rifle until he and Mary Beth had to make an attempt to run.