War on the Cimarron (20 page)

“They got him in a stone guardhouse with five sentries around it. Tonight at midnight they're sneakin' him out of the garrison and makin' a dash to Kansas with him.”

“Kansas?” Luvie asked. “Why?”

“For trial, I reckon, and to keep him away from the Indians,” Otey said. “They'll slap a dozen more charges on him now.”

Luvie turned back to the stove, but not before Red saw that her face was pale and her lips were trembling. She had changed into a light summer dress now and outwardly seemed the most cool and unworried of anyone in the room. Red knew she wasn't, though.

Barnes suddenly shoved his plate away from him in disgust. “When I think,” he said bitterly, “that if it wasn't for me wantin' to save that herd Frank would be free now, I feel like cuttin' my throat.”

Red, gloomily smoking on the other side of the round kitchen table, said nothing. Otey looked bleakly at him, and for once there was no rancor in his glance. Frank's capture had succeeded in bringing them a tolerance of each other that no good fortune could have affected.

Luvie, at the stove, suddenly wheeled and said in a low, bitter voice, “Why don't we do something, then? We sit around here and do nothing!”

“Do what?” her father asked gloomily.

“I don't know!” Luvie cried. “But look at us! Dad, if it hadn't been for Frank, you'd have lost a herd! Red, if it wasn't for Frank, you'd still be a saddle bum. Otey, if Frank hadn't hit you over the head and got you out of the house during the fight, you'd be dead. And so would I.” Her eyes were flashing. “And still we can't do anything now he's in trouble.”

“But you can't take a man away from the army!” Barnes exclaimed.

“Why can't you?” Luvie cried.

Nobody spoke for a second, and then Red's eyes came alight for a moment, then died.

Barnes said patiently, “Talk sense, girl. You just can't.”

But Luvie had seen Red's eyes. Presently Red got up and walked out to the back porch. He sat on the top step, looking off toward the town.

Luvie came out and sat beside him, not speaking immediately. Then she said, “Red.”

Red looked at her.

“I saw your face when I said that.”

“Said what?”

“Don't try to hide it, Red. It gave you an idea, didn't it?”

Red nodded slowly. “A loco one.”

“Tell me,” Luvie said. When Red didn't speak Luvie put a hand on his arm. “Oh, Red, let me help. Can't you see I've got to!”

“I reckon I can,” Red said. “You wait here.”

Red went back into the kitchen, and Luvie heard him speaking to Otey. Otey came out presently, mounted and rode off in the direction of town.

Red came out and said to Luvie, “Come along.”

They got their horses and rode in to Darlington and through the town until they came to the shaded street where Edith Fairing lived. As they approached Edith's house they saw her out in the small corral saddling her horse.

When she saw them she dropped the bridle and called to Red, “Is it true they've caught Frank?”

Red nodded. Edith looked at him a long moment, then said hello to Luvie. Red folded his arms and leaned on the saddle horn. “You ridin' out?”

“I was saddling up to ride over to the Barnes's to ask if it was true about Frank,” Edith answered, and then she added, “Is there anything I can do, Red?”

Red didn't answer directly. He asked, “You figure there's anything to this talk about an Indian uprising?”

“I don't know, Red. Why?”

Red looked at her gravely. She was wearing a blue divided skirt and red blouse, and Red noticed for the first time that they were Indian colors, worn the way an Indian would wear them. It encouraged him to go on.

“You reckon anything would happen to a white who rode out to the Cheyenne camp?”

Edith frowned and looked at Luvie, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.

“It would depend on who it was,” Edith said.

“You, for instance.”

Edith laughed. It was the first time Red had heard her laugh, and he liked it. “Anything happen to me? Red, I was raised with a good many of those Cheyenne and Arapaho bucks. I used to play in their lodges, and when I got tired I would go in and talk to the old warriors about the days when they were moved into the Nations. They were friends with my father, Red. Nothing would happen to me. Why?”

Red's hunch was borne out. Again he didn't answer Edith directly. “Is Stone Bull a good chief, Edith?”

“The best.”

Red lapsed into silence, and Edith made an impatient gesture with her hand. “For heaven's sake, Red! What is it?”

“Do you reckon Stone Bull would come with you to the Barnes place tonight if you rode out and asked him?”

“I'm sure he would if I could tell him what it's all about.”

“It's about Frank,” Red said. He grinned suddenly. “I'd go to the chief, only I reckon they'd lift my hair out there.”

“It won't make more trouble, will it, Red?” Edith asked.

“We'll see what Stone Bull says,” Red answered. He slipped to the ground, took the bridle from the corral pole and finished saddling Edith's horse while she and Luvie talked.

When Luvie and Red left Edith on the way back to the Barnes place Red was silent. Luvie tried to pry out of Red what it was all about, but Red only shook his head. “Tonight, when Stone Bull comes, you have a two-gallon bucket of tea ready and just listen,” Red said. He left her at the house and disappeared toward Darlington.

Both Otey and Red were late for supper, and Barnes was not there at all, for the army was receiving his herd that afternoon and evening and he was busy with the quartermaster. There was an air of suppressed excitement about Red that made Luvie so curious she wanted to shake it out of him, but all she could do was wait.

A little while after dark, when Red and Otey were sitting impatiently around the kitchen table, a knock came on the back door, and Luvie went to answer it. She held the door wide open, and an Indian stepped into the room, Edith following him.

He was an old man, heavy but not fat, and at first glance his face seemed fierce and stern. But there was a quiet unsmiling dignity about him that transcended his dirty collar-less shirt and wrinkled pants. Edith introduced him, and he gravely shook hands with Otey and Red. Luvie, Indian fashion, was ignored.

The three men and Edith sat at the table, and the talk began. Red knew Indian ways well enough to know that half the evening must pass before it would be polite to bring up the main subject of conversation, and he was resigned to it. For more than an hour, while Luvie filled and refilled their cups with tea, Red and Otey and Stone Bull talked and Edith translated. She spoke Cheyenne well, and several times Stone Bull watched her translate and his stern lips almost smiled.

It was easy for Red to see that the old chief, whose black braids were just beginning to streak with gray, was fond of her. They talked slowly, Red pacing the conversation to the pitch of Indian talk, of cattle and hunting and horses and finally of whisky, which Stone Bull said was going to kill his people.

It was the time and the place then for Red to bring up his business. Red said to Edith, “Tell him it is not the fault of his people, but of ours. The fault of one man.”

Stone Bull nodded gravely at that, and Red went on to enumerate the sins of Corb. Among them was his persecution of Frank, the friend of Morg Wheelon, who had been Stone Bull's friend. Today Corb had betrayed the Indian people and the whites by setting bad Indians on the trail herd. And now it seemed as if all the Indians and all the whites would fight. Stone Bull said the old ones wouldn't but the young ones wanted to. They were dancing tonight. Perhaps in two or three days, when their blood was hot with the throb of the drums, they would fight. Perhaps not.

“Ask him if he wants that,” Red said.

Stone Bull said he didn't.

“Ask him if he wants to stop it.” Stone Bull said he did.

Red leaned forward excitedly and looked at Stone Bull while he talked to Edith, “Tell him careful, Edith.” And he began to really talk.

At midnight Frank was wakened by the rattle of a heavy key in the lock of his cell. Then the door opened and he was blinded by the light of a lantern.

“Roll out, Christian,” a quiet voice said. “We're ridin'.”

“Where?”

“Kansas.”

Frank bent down to get his boots and swung his feet to the floor. So they were taking him to Kansas. He wondered what additional crimes he was charged with, for this afternoon he had heard his guards gossiping about tie coming Indian trouble. Whatever it was, he could not expect leniency from the government, who had first put a reward for him as an escaped whisky peddler, later as a murderer, and now could add the crimes of violence against an officer, horse stealing and inciting the Indians to rebellion, not to mention complicity in the death of seven government wards, the Cheyennes. It was a nice list, he thought grimly.

He was prodded out the door by the officer and saw a dozen uniformed troopers standing in loose formation.

The officer said to the sentry, “Remember, you're to lock this door and carry on exactly as if you had a prisoner inside. No Indians allowed closer than fifty paces, and no callers. Have you got that?”

“Yes sir.”

The lantern was extinguished, and with only a beam of light from a small bull's-eye lantern Frank was led to the horses. He was mounted, and they rode out of the post, past the dark stables, onto the prairie. Unless a man knew of it, their departure was unobtrusive and secret. Once clear of the garrison buildings they halted, and a halter rope was tied to the bridle of Frank's horse.

The captain in charge rode up beside him and said, “You make one break, Christian, and you're dead. We'll save the courts the cost of hanging you.”

Frank didn't say anything, and the officer gave the command to move. It was a quiet ride and a fast one. They kept clear of any used trails and headed north. Once or twice the Cheyenne half-breed scout spoke to the officer, who changed directions, but there was little talk.

Frank thought it must be close to dawn when the officer called a halt, struck a match and looked at his watch.

“Find a camping spot in half an hour,” he told the scout. “I want plenty of shelter. I'm allowing enough time so we'll be fed and hidden by daylight.”

The scout grunted assent and presently changed his course and brought the detail into a stand of timber. He seemed to know his way, for he called a halt, and Frank heard the scout's horse drinking.

“Dismount,” the officer called. “Remember, no fire. Break out your rations, eat and then turn in. Reilly, you and More-house are on the first watch.” He was coming closer as he talked. He stopped and ordered Frank to dismount. Frank did, and then he was handcuffed and leg-ironed and his horse was taken away. His blankets were spread on the ground and he sat down, and presently someone loomed up before him and gave him dry rations and a canteen to drink from. Over beyond the water someone was making the picket line, and presently he heard the horses champing their corn. It was a strange camp, and Frank wondered at the precautions. When he was finished eating the sentries were posted and the blankets spread out. The troopers, usually friendly to everyone including prisoners, did not talk to him unless they had to, and then with bare civility. He had one on either side of him, and one of the sentries was posted at his head. The camp quieted, and Frank guessed that tins trip would be a series of night marches, with layovers in the daytime, until they got to Kansas.

Slowly the camp went to sleep, and he could hear the even breathing of the troopers. Dawn was still not here, and he was not sleepy. Presently he heard the sentry behind him move. Then the muffled flare of a match bloomed and was quickly hidden, and he smelt the rank smoke of a sour pipe.

The sentry leaned over him and said, “A word out of you about this smoke, and ye'll rue it, me lad.”

Frank didn't reply. He was beating his brain for some plan of escape, but this was foolproof. He made a movement, and his stiff ground sheet telegraphed it to the sentry, who stirred and murmured, “Quiet.”

Then silence again. Off across the camp there was a slight stirring. Frank listened to it die out. That must have been the other sentry, he thought.

Then, from behind him, there was a whisper of movement. The ground trembled a little and a leaf rustled, and then the sentry's pipe fell beside his head. Frank looked up and could see nothing. There was no sound. Maybe the man had gone to sleep.

Off across the way there was a stirring among the horses. It was low and steady, and he heard the soft hoof falls faintly. There was an uneasiness over there and it lasted about fifteen minutes, after which there was a strange and complete silence. Frank listened until the blood beat in his ears, and suddenly it came to him. The horses had moved!

He lay there, his heart hammering. What was going on here? Abruptly he caught a whiff of strange odor, the odor of smoked hide. It was faint and then it vanished, and again there was a trembling of the ground. But he could see nothing and heard only the slow breathing of the sleeping troopers on either side of him.

He was lying there with his eyes open, listening, when a hand settled over his mouth. His instinct was to cry out, and as his throat tightened the hand firmed on his lips. But when he relaxed it lessened and presently drew away. Then he felt something fumbling with his leg irons. Eva so gently they were unlocked and removed. Now he could smell smoked hide plainly. Then the hands came to his wrists and his handcuffs were unlocked. Gently his feet were lifted off the noisy ground sheet and placed carefully on the ground. Then hands caught both of his and he was silently hauled to his feet and steadied. His hand was taken and he was led into the trees, and the only sound he heard was the sound he himself was making in walking. He might have been led by a ghost, it was so quiet.