Under the Sweetwater Rim (1971) Read online

  "Loot," Cahill said, and with one finger he indicated a gold signet ring. "That belonged to Johnny Shaw."

  Shaw had been a trooper of the 7th Iowa Cavalry, invalided to California after losing a leg in the service. He had been riding with the wagon train. "Plunkett has been in touch with them, then." Devereaux was thinking aloud. "He has seen them since the massacre."

  He thought back to attacks on other wagon trains. How many had Plunkett spotted for the renegades? For Plunkett was often off the post scouting for Indians, and he could easily have reported the movements of both troops and pioneers to whoever he worked with.

  Gogarty had said they were not Indians, and until there was further evidence, Major Devereaux decided he would think of it that way. If they were renegade white men or Confederates sent west to stir up the Indians, the chances were they had been or would be coming into Julesburg. Men of that stripe would want to spend their money, and Julesburg was the closest place. They might be easier to trace than Indians.

  "Request puhmission, suh?"

  "What is it, Turpenning?"

  "I'd like to take Plunkett's horse an' look about, suh."

  "Go ahead. Report directly to me when you come in. Plunkett and Gogarty had been buried, and break fast was finished when Turpenning rode back into camp. "Back-trailed Gogarty," he said, "an' found where Plunkett cut his sign.

  Plunkett rode up an' joined him, waited his chance, an' hit him over the head. I seen where Gogarty fell, seen the mark left by a bloody gun-butt. Seen where Plunkett wiped blood from his knife on the grass after stabbin' the Sarge.

  "After Plunkett rode off, the Sarge, he dragged hisself maybe a hundred and fifty feet, grabbed a stirrup, pulled himself up an' got into the saddle. Plunkett, he must've heard him, come back an' took after him."

  "You found wagon tracks?"

  "I did, suh. Lieutenant Brian is with the wagon, suh. Seen the tracks of that big gray of his'n."

  So . . . it was true, then.

  "Suh, I got me a bad feelin' about that outfit. I mean those murderin' men. That's a bad bunch."

  Devereaux was listening with only half his attention.

  He was thinking of Mary-of Mary and Tenadore Brian.

  "Suh, they's maybe forty men in that outfit, well found and well mounted." He gestured toward the north. "They camped two, three days. Had grub to waste, because they wasted some. Stacked arms, an""

  "Stacked arms?"

  "Yes, suh"

  A military command, then. Or a man who could enforce such discipline on rabble, and therefore a dangerous antagonist.

  Forty seasoned men, and he himself had only sixty, most of them raw recruits who had never, so far as he knew, been under fire. And he could ill afford the loss of Sergeant Gogarty.

  "What about those with the ambulance, Turpenning7 Would you say they had knowledge of what happened to the wagon train?"

  "I'd say so, suh. I don't know how that could be, seein" when they left the train, but that Ten Brian, suh beggin' your pardon, suh, Lieutenant Brian-he don't miss no tricks. He was holdin' that ambulance to low ground an' plenty of cover. I seen where he cut their trail . . . the one they made two, three days ago ridin' into the camp where they waited. He cut their trail an' he knows about them. He knows all about them"

  The thought came to him then, came and was quickly dismissed as unworthy. But it returned, nagging for attention.

  "Turpenning"-he spoke carefully-"could you identify the track of the leader's horse? I mean, could you tell which animal he rode?" Turpenning hesitated only a moment, his eyes flickering to the Major's, then away. "No, suh. I surely couldn't."

  Tom Cahill's head had come up, and Devereaux was conscious of his stare. "You said the ambulance had gone west, didn't you? Not back toward the post?"

  "West it was."

  Mark Devereaux was silent, but his mind was piecing it together, fighting what common sense seemed to indicate. He was worried for fear his opinion was shaped by dislike. Was he allowing himself to be influenced by his conviction that a drifting man was an unreliable man?

  "Lieutenant Brian," Devereaux said, "has overstayed his leave." There was a moment of silence while they absorbed this fact and its ramifications.

  He had not only overstayed his leave, but the wagon in which Mary Devereaux and Belle Renick rode was being directed away from the post. Brian had left the post before the wagons departed, and had been seen around Julesburg, a hangout for all the riffraff in the country around.

  The ambulance was rolling westward. By keeping to low ground and under cover, it could not move as rapidly as its occupants might wish, and by a forced march it might be overtaken.

  Major Devereaux mentally retraced the route back to Fort Laramie. By stretching a march here and there an extra day might be saved. A day saved and two days' extra rations meant three days in which to find his daughter and punish the renegades.

  "Lieutenant Cahill, can you think of any reason other than the supposed understanding with my daughter why Lieutenant Brian should have joined the wagon train?"

  "No, sir."

  "Can you think of any reason why he should overstay his leave? Or why he should continue toward the west?"

  "No, sir. Only-was "Only what?"

  "Fort Bridger, sir. He might be trying to reach Fort Bridger. It is closer than Laramie now, sir."

  Of course. Major Devereaux was irritated that he had not considered that. It was the result of being so anxious to find Brian in the wrong. Nevertheless, a lot was left that needed explanation. Why had Ten Brian gone to Julesburg when he should have gone to St. Louis? "Corporal Harrison, you are acting sergeant. Cahill, if you will mount the command, we will move out. Turpenning, you will act as scout.

  Fiend the trail of the ambulance. I want to overtake it within twenty-four hours. When you find the tracks of the ambulance, the renegades, or anyone else, notify me at once. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, suh. It is, suh"

  As the command was formed, Devereaux reviewed the situation and found nothing good about it.

  The grass was turning green, which meant there was feed for the Indian horses. The Cheyennes and the Arapahoes would be riding the war trail.

  Collins would need every man at Fort Laramie, and every day, even every hour that he remained away from the post was a risk. His orders allowed little room for deviation, but if he could recover the ambulance and return within the allotted time all would be well. As to the renegades, it was unlikely they would attack an army command, unlikely they would even show themselves, for their success in raiding depended on their not being known for what they were. Indians had been blamed, and they planned for the blame to continue to be placed on the Indians. Nevertheless, if opportunity offered . .

  .

  A fight with the renegades, even if he won, would seriously cripple his patrol, a fact they could not conceal from the Indians. Roman Nose and Black Kettle could assemble two thousand warriors if need be, and there was much anger in the lodges.

  The terrain as it opened before them was a succession of valleys divided by long ridges crested with pines, their slopes sometimes dotted with clumps of aspen.

  To the northwest, far beyond the ridges, loomed mountains heavily forested, still white with the winter's snow.

  There was danger of ambush. From Plunkett, the renegades knew of Devereaux's force and its make-up. However, they were interested in loot and his command offered nothing but its horses, and horses might be obtained in easier ways.

  Turpenning rode back. "Right through the trees there, suh. That's where the wagon trail lies."

  "Turpenning," Major Devereaux said, "be careful. And if you come upon their camp, keep your eyes open for a man on watch. They will have pickets out, and I want a prisoner. If you find their camp, report to me at once."

  To Major Mark Devereaux, the Army way was his life, but the frontier had a way of making light of the rule book, and he was wise enough to temper the rules with judgment. While his discipline was st
rict, his care for the health of his men and the condition of their horses and equipment was painstaking and thorough.

  Privations there would be, but most of them could be avoided by care in planning.

  The same was true of military action. The ideal situation-and he had attained it twice-was where no battle need be fought. To put the opposing force in such a position that effective resistance was impossible that was the ideal, and the two occasions when he had attained it were small actions, and his prisoners few in number.

  As the column advanced he considered the situation.

  Ordinarily a renegade force would try to avoid battle with a military unit, but they might risk it. It was too bad, he reflected, that so much of a recruit's time was wasted on close-order drill, of use only for parade formations and in moving a command in an organized area. Such training was useless in combat; a recruit was taught everything except how to fight. The only way the army offered training in combat was by survival. If one survived in combat one was wiser and a better fighter next time.

  When the command had been moving for two hours, Major Devereaux dismounted them under the edge of some trees for a short breather. He wanted both men and horses fresh if they came up with the enemy. He walked among them, checking the appearance of the men and their horses. Cahill was waiting for him when he returned to the head of the column. "Sir, is it possible that you believe Lieutenant Brian to be in command of those renegades?"

  "I have suggested no such thing, Lieutenant.

  However, there are questions to be answered. Brian was in Julesburg when he was believed to be elsewhere.

  He is now with the ambulance in which my daughter is riding. There is no explanation for his presence there. It alone evaded the massacre. One might believe that he had led the ambulance away deliberately before the massacre took place. That would imply prior knowl- edge.

  "Furthermore, he is proceeding westward, he has overstayed his leave, and is making no effort to return to duty. That could imply intent to desert."

  "But thafs all supposition, sir," Cahill protested. "There could be other explanations"

  "Of course. I shall be prepared to hear them. I believe you will admit that other explanations would be doubtful, to say the least."

  He glanced at the sun. "Give them five minutes more, Lieutenant, then move them out."

  "Ten Brian is my friend, sir. I cannot believe he would do anything dishonorable."

  "Your loyalty does you credit. I hope he is worthy of it. Nonetheless, Lieutenant, if we come upon Lieutenant Brian he is to be put under arrest." "Yes, sir. Is it necessary, sir?"

  "It will be necessary. You will obey orders."

  Cahill flushed. "Of course."

  Devereaux watched Cahill walk away.

  Whatever else might be said of Brian, he thought, he inspired a unique kind of loyalty.

  There probably was not a man in the command who would not speak for him, or fight for him if necessary.

  Mark Devereaux was not a man who took much for granted, not even with himself. Stern he might be, and a stickler for the letter of the law, but he was always questioning himself, and he wondered now how much of his suspicion was justified. Was he jealous?

  Deliberately, he avoided thoughts of Mary.

  He must be clear-headed, and be in a position to judge fairly. Doubt, fear, and emotion could cloud his judgment.

  He led off at a fast walk, and after half a mile, to a trot. There was so little time.

  When the ambulance was hi. In within the mouth of the gully, and the horses returned from water, Ten Brian went out to do what he could to obliterate the tracks.

  He had no illusions of escaping from the renegades or Indians. He knew his enemies too well to underrate their skill. What he did hope to do was keep from being discovered or captured until Major Devereaux's command came within marching distance.

  At the same time he knew their chances were best to strike for Fort Bridger and safety. There was a limit beyond which Devereaux could not go, and the ambulance had nearly reached that limit now. So they must find a position from which they could observe the trail to the south and east, and if after a reasonable time they did not sight Devereaux's troops, they must make a run for it for Fort Bridger, roughly a hundred miles to the west. Day had just come when Brian returned to the ambulance. Belle Renick was waiting for him.

  "Is it all right to make coffee? The men are worn out, Lieu- tenant."

  "By all means. Ironhide will make you a fire. Nothing must go into the flames that will cause smoke, and the fire must be put out as soon as breakfast is over."

  It was a risk, he knew, but coffee and a hot meal were a morale factor he dared not omit.

  Ironhide was a Cherokee, and he could be depended on as to the fire.

  He started to turn away but her voice stopped him. "Lieutenant, I don't understand this at all.

  Why, if there was danger, did you take us away from the safety of the wagon train?"

  "There was no safety there, Mrs. Renick. As I have said, you must trust me."

  "But where are you taking us?"

  Corporal West had come up with an armful of dry wood, and now he stood listening.

  "I am trying to save your lives. The wagon train is gone . . . wiped out." "You mean ... all those people? They've been killed? Oh, no!"

  "Mrs. Renick, I am as sure of it as if I had been there. I tried to warn them. I asked them to stop, to take up a strong position and wait for Major Devereaux's patrol. They wouldn't listen to me, so I used my rank to pull you people out of the train."

  Her eyes searched his face. "I don't know what to think, Lieutenant, and I'm frightened"

  "West, will you ask the other men to step over here?

  And Mrs. Renick, if you would ask Mary to come out."

  "I am out."

  Mary was standing at the back of the ambulance, a slender, strong girl with grave, serious eyes, watching him. He looked at her, and for a moment their eyes held, but he said nothing more, waiting for the men.

  The air was crisp. Overhead the sky was cloudless blue. He could smell spring in the air, the earth coming alive.

  Above on the left was a knoll. The gully was a short one, invisible until one was right upon it. A buffalo wallow had probably began it, and water running from the knoll, had over the years cut the gully deeper with every rain. Trees had grown up around it until in the hollow a wagon and horses could be concealed, allowing for a camp hidden from all eyes. The nearest water was a hundred yards off. There was nothing about this knoll to distinguish it from any other, and it seemed to offer no possible hiding place. Schwartz was the teamster, a stocky, bull-headed German who had served in the old country. He was a good man, strong, unimaginative, dependable as the sunrise.

  Ironhide, the Cherokee, born in eastern Oklahoma, was a veteran of six years in the cavalry. He was a tall man, slightly stooped; at twenty-three he looked thirty, and at sixty would probably still look thirty. He was a tough, tireless man, and a dead shot.

  George Dorsey was a drifter, at various times a track-layer, a steamboat hand, a cattle drover. He had served two years in the 7th Iowa, and Brian suspected he had served elsewhere before that. Many of the Indian-fighting army had deserted at one time or another, then re-enlisted. They went over the hill, prospected or hunted buffalo for a time, got hungry, and enlisted again.

  Dorsey had been on watch on top of the knoll.

  "Did you see anything up there?" Brian asked.

  "Nothing.. . not even an antelope."

  Brian glanced at them briefly, then explained. "When I ordered you to leave the wagon train with me you may have believed me to be crazy, but I knew it was the only way I could save any of you.

  "I had occasion to visit Julesburg, and as some of you may know, I grew up in this country. There was a man there I knew, and he passed the word to me that the wagon train would never reach South Pass. By the time I caught up with you the wagonmaster was sure you were out of danger. You will remember
that I tried to persuade him to fort up and wait, but he refused to consider it. I had no authority over him, but you were Army personnel."

  Corporal West said, "I heard you tell Miss Devereaux the wagon train had been destroyed. How can you know that?"

  "I cannot be sure, but yesterday we saw smoke rising from where the wagons should have been."

  "They'd have been hard to take, Lieutenant.

  There were some good men in that outfit."

  "My information was there would be forty or more seasoned fighters in the attacking party. Not Indians, but renegade white men who have been in this business for quite a while, possibly for years. The attackers could choose their own time, and catch the train in the open or when it was crossing a stream"

  "You seem mighty sure, Lieutenant. Odd you should know all about this before ever it happened."

  Ten Brian was cool. "I am almighty sure of one thing, Corporal West, that had I not come along you would now be lying among the dead. And let me say this. If anything happens to me you will be in command.

  I hope when you are you will recall what I am saying now. There is no more dangerous man alive than the one who leads that group, and we have not escaped them yet" "You want to try for Fort Bridger?"

  "Their headquarters is behind us, and they are now somewhere near. Their hunting ground is the country we have passed through, and if we wait they may turn back."

  "Do they know about us?"

  Brian shrugged. "If they do, they will come after us.

  They daren't let anybody escape. Also, they'll be wanting women."

  Belle Renick interrupted. "The coffee is ready, and rve broiled some steaks."

  After Dorsey had returned to the lookout on the knoll, Brian turned again to West.

  "Corporal, I want you and Schwartz with the wagon and the women at all times. One of you must be awake always. "Dorsey, Ironhide, and I will take turn about watching from the knoll." When the others had moved off he sat again by the dying fire and filled his cup from the blackened pot.

  "I am not sure I like this, Ten," Mary said.

  "You are not alone-I like nothing about it"

  "If we are off the trail like this, how will father ever find us?" "He may be in so much trouble he won't have time to look. If you recall, your father has only a few veterans in that group. Most of the men have never heard a gun fired, as far as we know."