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 | | The Long Way Home Part 1 by Inside Outlaw | |
Starring
Pete Duel as Hannibal Heyes and Ben Murphy as Kid Curry
 
Co-Starring James Drury as Lom Trevors  Dakota Fanning as Callie Monroe  Gil Birmingham as Running Wolf  John Cusack as Paul Monroe  Tilda Swinton as Mildred Monroe  The Long Way Home - Part 1
by Inside Outlaw
Kid Curry sat on a hard-wooden bench in the middle of a dusty town square. He held one boot in his hands, shaking it until a small pebble dropped out. He stared at the hole in the sole, sighed, and slipped his boot back on before settling back to look at the entrance to a one-story building across the street. Traffic streamed by him and busy pedestrians went about their business. He could see Heyes through a plate glass window bearing the name Bladesburg Telegraph Office and, a moment later, his partner emerged holding a piece of paper.
Heyes stepped off the sidewalk and crossed to the small, weedy square of soil that served as the center of town. He plopped down onto the bench.
“What’s it say?”
“Not much.” Heyes read the words aloud. “Smith and Jones (stop) meet me morning 9th (stop) Jack’s cabin (stop) important (stop) Lom (stop).”
“The ninth? That’s the day after tomorrow. We’d have to leave now to get there on time,” groaned Curry.
“Don’t have much choice. Lom says it’s important and you know what that means.”
“Yeah, it means he has somethin’ dangerous he wants us to handle and he ain’t tellin’ us what before we get there.”
Wearily, Heyes stood. “Let’s go.”
“Hold on. What about breakfast?”
“No time. We’ll pick something up and eat in the saddle.”
Curry stood and scowled. “I knew you were gonna say that.”
#
“See anything?” asked the Kid.
Heyes was lying on his belly at the top of a small rise. Behind and below him, his partner held both horses concealed in a small copse of scrubby trees. The landscape was mostly flat and open with trees few and far between. A small, obviously abandoned, log cabin was situated several hundred yards away in a meadow of scraggly grass. A saddled horse was tied to the broken-down corral fence and an old windmill behind the house creaked out a rusty tune giving the whole place a forlorn feeling.
Heyes scrambled down from his vantage point and took the reins to his horse from the Kid. “Lom’s already there.” He swung up onto his bay gelding.
Curry mounted and settled into his saddle. “You sure it’s Lom?”
“Yeah, he’s still got that old roan of his.”
The two men rode slowly towards the dilapidated cabin. A small plume of smoke drifted from the crumbling chimney, but there were no other signs of life. The Kid took both his reins in his left hand casually dangling his gun hand next to his Colt.
Heyes glanced at him and smiled. “You ain’t planning on shooting ol’ Lom before he tells us what the governor wants, are you?”
“Pays to be careful.”
“I like it when you’re careful, but I’m not sure he will.”
The front door to the cabin eased open and their tall, dark-haired friend stepped out. The sun glinted off the brass star pinned to his duck vest. “Kid, Heyes, good to see you.”
“Lom.” Heyes reined up without dismounting and leaned his forearm on the saddle horn. “What’s up? You didn’t give us much time to get here.”
“Why don’t you come inside and I’ll tell you. I brought some grub and there’s coffee brewing.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” The Kid stepped down and tied his sorrel next to the roan. He was already up on the porch before Heyes was out of his saddle.
#
“More coffee?” Lom picked up a blue speckleware pot from the coals smoldering in the fireplace and carried it back to the table where the two ex-outlaws were finishing sandwiches.
Heyes put a hand over his cup preventing it from being refilled. “You’ve buttered us up just fine, Lom, now tell us why we’re here.” His tone was friendly but his eyes were suspicious. s
Curry wiped crumbs from his mouth with his sleeve and sat back, patting his stomach with one hand and holding out his mug. “I’ll have some more.”
Having filled the mug, Lom set the pot on the table and sat down. “The governor has a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor?” snorted Heyes. “What’s it been, almost two years of favors, right? But no amnesty. What is it this time? Steal some art or maybe con a competitor? Or is he on to bigger and better things? Maybe he wants us to knock over the Denver Mint; finance his next campaign.”
The Kid sipped his coffee and watched his two friends with a smirk on his face.
Lom held up his hands. “Now, Heyes, settle down and give me a chance to spit it out. It’s hard enough for me to ask this.”
“If it’s hard for you to ask, I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna want to hear it.” Heyes started to stand up, but Curry’s gloved hand gripped his arm stopping him from rising.
“Hear ‘im out. I wanna know what the governor’s got planned.”
“The governor’s not asking for himself.” Lom stood up and began walking back and forth in front of the fireplace. “You remember the battle of Prairie Dog Creek back in ‘76?”
“Yeah, we heard something about it,” said Heyes. “It was at the confluence of the Tongue, right? The Cheyenne tried a surprise attack on General Crook but the cavalry drove them off.”
The Kid was frowning. “That’s old news, what’s it got to do with us?”
“I’m getting to that. The cavalry ran off the Cheyenne, but some folks got in their way during the retreat. A couple of homesteads were raided, stock stolen, families killed.”
The two ex-outlaws glanced at each other meaningfully. The Kid swallowed hard, and asked quietly, “Anyone survive?”
“The Cheyenne took a captive. A little girl. Callie Monroe. She was three at the time, she’d be almost eleven now.”
“If she’s still alive,” said Heyes flatly.
“Yes, if she’s alive. The army tried hard to find her but she disappeared along with the tribe. Her relatives searched for years but gave up after the trail went cold. Last month, a trapper from Gardiner named Tompkins said he saw a young white girl with a rogue band of Crow in the valley along the East Fork of the Yellowstone.”
The Kid frowned. “There aren’t any Indians in Yellowstone anymore.”
“Apparently there are. Tompkins traded some furs for information about her. Seems the Crows bought her from some Cheyenne in exchange for ponies. He tried to trade for her, but the chief refused. She’s been promised in marriage when she, er, matures and that could be soon.”
“Marry! She’s a baby!” Curry looked scandalized.
Heyes picked up the coffee pot to pour himself another mugful, but paused. “Rogue Crow? I thought they were all on the reservation.”
“They were, but there’s been a lot of anger over the railroad’s plan to build a spur line to Red Lodge not to mention the government seizing control of their grazing rights. Seems the local ranchers wanted to run cattle on Crow land and they weren’t happy with the Indians choosing who can and can’t get leases so the state stepped in. It’s caused a lot of trouble with the more traditional members of the tribe. Quite a few of them took their ponies and up and disappeared,” explained Lom. “Rumor has it they’ve gone back to the old ways.”
“So how come the army doesn’t go out and round them up?” asked Curry.
“They tried. Fort Washakie sent in a company and searched the area for a month but found nothing. The Crow must’ve gotten word they were coming. It’s a little hard to hide that many soldiers in open country and finding a handful of Indians is like finding a needle in the haystack.”
“So, send in more men,” said Heyes.
“Things are a little touchy right now. The railroad and the cattlemen don’t want to stir up any more trouble before they get what they want from the tribe. That’s why our governor wants you two to get her back. He figures two men can get the job done without attracting attention,” finished Lom in a hurry. He looked sheepishly at his friends. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but he wants to keep this very quiet and he’s getting a lot pressure to find her. The girl’s relatives are well-off and well-connected and they don’t want anyone to know what’s happened to her. That’s why he’s coming to you.”
Heyes stared angrily at his former gang mate. “So, he wants us to ride into Crow territory and steal one of their tribe members out from under their noses then, if we’re still alive, we nursemaid a little girl across Wyoming territory and turn her over to what, to her, are a bunch of strangers.”
“The family’s offering a two-thousand-dollar reward for her safe return.”
“We’ll do it.” The Kid was nodding his head emphatically.
Heyes turned to him, glaring.
“We can’t let her get married off, Heyes, she’s still a child. Besides, I’ve never been to a national park, could be fun. Kind of like a vacation.”
A strangled noise, but no words, escaped from Heyes.
#
“I’m glad the governor sprang for train tickets.” Kid Curry gazed out of the nearly empty railcar watching miles of high desert slide by. They were seated towards the front of the car. The only other passenger was by the rear door, stretched out on a bench, and snoring loudly.
“It’s the least he could do,” grumbled Heyes sitting in the opposite bench.
“I wonder where the heck Monida Pass is.”
“Hmpf, you’re gonna find out real soon.” Heyes pulled his hat down over his brow and crossed his arms.
“Lighten up, will you? Don’t make this trip longer than it has to be.”
Using one finger to poke up his hat brim, Heyes glared at his partner. “It’s already long enough for me. I don’t want this job.”
“Not even for two grand? That kind of money could go a long way. Get a nice little spot to hole up in for a year or two and wait for the amnesty to come through.”
“Like that’s gonna happen.”
It was the Kid’s turn to glare. “What’s got into you? You’re usually the one talkin’ me into every lamebrain idea the governor comes up with.”
“Maybe I just like breathing more than money. Have you thought of that?”
“Far as I know, there ain’t nothin’ you like better’n money.”
“It’s no joke. Did you miss the part where Lom said angry, renegade Indians?”
“You’re workin’ yourself up over nothin’, partner. We’ll take some good-lookin’ horses with us and your silver-tongue can work us a deal.”
“My silver tongue doesn’t speak Crow.”
“Don’t matter; those ponies’ll speak for us. It’ll be a piece of cake. We’ll get the girl and the cash.”
“Those last few words will look real fine on your tombstone.” Heyes slumped back and pulled his hat back over his eyes.
#
The train depot was a simple shack with a crudely-painted sign tacked over the doorway declaring they had arrived in Monida. A small step stool was placed next to the tracks but the station was deserted. Alighting, Curry swung his saddle up over his shoulder and took the saddlebags Heyes held out. No sooner had the dark-haired man stepped foot on solid ground than the engine whistled and a long plume of steam announced the locomotive’s departure.
“What’s their hurry?” grumbled the Kid. His partner was looking around at the desolate, windswept, high-altitude countryside. Several brick buildings in various stages of construction and a few rickety wooden homes marred the otherwise barren mountaintop view. Heyes’ gaze shifted to a tall barn outside of town surrounded by fencing and populated by a handful of horses sporting heavy winter coats. Long wagons with bench seating sat idly by. Detritus blew about their boots as they walked towards the livery and stagecoach terminal. No one was outdoors.
“Don’t look much like a tourist town, does it?” said the Kid.
“Tourists won’t be here ‘til late June. Stages aren’t even running yet. It’s still winter in these parts.” Heyes pulled his gray jacket tightly closed with one hand, his other gripping the swell of his saddle.
“No kidding, I’m already freezin’. I vote for gettin’ our horses and gettin’ the heck outta Monida.”
“Reckon I’ll second that vote.”
As they neared the barn, one of the tall doors creaked open and a bearded man stepped out to greet them.
“You Smith and Jones?”
“We are,” said Heyes with a friendly smile. He dropped his heavy saddle.
The Kid dropped his, too, and held out his hand. “I’m Jones, he’s Smith.” The hand was ignored.
“Yeah, and I’m Santy Claws. I don’t care who the hell you are. The boss said you two were some kind of government agents and that’s more’n I need to know. Got two good saddle horses and some broncs ready for you. Follow me.” Leading them around the side of the barn, the man indicated two horses tied to a hitching rail, their manes and tails rippling in the unrelenting wind. “That’s Spike and Lulubelle. He’s a bit on the ornery side, but she’s a sweet little thing. Both of ‘em are good, solid mounts. See that you treat ‘em right.”
“We will,” agreed the Kid.
“Those other five in the corral are for tradin’. Finest horseflesh in these parts. Damn shame they’s bein’ wasted on those savages. They ain’t broke but to halter so don’t go swingin’ a leg over any of ‘em. Crow like ‘em best that way.”
With no further comment or farewell, he hurried down the street towards town clutching his old hat to his head as a vicious gust whipped up the dust around him.
“Folks sure are friendly ‘round these parts.” Heyes smirked.
“If that’s how he treats government agents, I’d sure hate to see what he’d do if he knew who we really are.”
“C’mon, I’ll flip you for the gelding.” Heyes fished a coin from his pocket and smiled mischievously.
“Just take him,” muttered Curry sullenly.
#
Scattered snowflakes whipped by the brutal wind peppered the bay gelding’s winter coat. He stood atop a rocky promontory with his head lowered against the weather as his rider lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the broad alpine valley below them. The flea-bitten gray mare next to him stamped her hoof impatiently while the other horses put their noses down to nibble the sparse weeds. Her rider had the collar of his thick sheepskin coat turned up, his brown concha hat pulled down low, and his gloved hand gripped the lead to the string of broncs.
“Sheesh, and I thought May was cold in the Hole.” Curry shivered. “Hey, y’see that smoke?” He pointed to several white plumes rising off the valley floor in the distance.
“It’s not smoke, Kid. I think those are geysers or maybe hot springs like in Saratoga.” Heyes tucked away the binoculars in his saddlebag and rubbed his cold hands together.
“Hot springs sound good.”
“Not these hot springs. I’ve read about Yellowstone. The pools here could melt the flesh from your bones in seconds flat.”
Curry gave him an exasperated look. “You know, I’m beginnin’ to re-think the whole vacation thing.”
“C’mon before we freeze to death.” Heyes nudged his horse, and the gelding heaved a great sigh before picking his way carefully down the rocky trail, the mare cautiously following his every step while the Kid tugged along the other horses strung out behind him.
Once they reached level ground, the train of horses followed a river upstream past several waterfalls and through meadows with elaborate river bends until they reached the broad, desolate valley they’d seen from above. Very few trees dotted the landscape and many of those were dead, skeletal remains. The eerie plumes they’d seen from above were everywhere, varying in size and intensity.
“Where in the blue blazes are we, Heyes? I’ve never seen anything like this!” Kid Curry twisted from side to side in his saddle, frowning at the gloomy landscape before him. A large cloud overhead had leached color from the day lending the scenery a lifeless grayness.
“I think that’s why it’s a park, Kid. There’s nothing else like it,” answered Heyes. “Follow me, but be careful. The ground will be crusty around those geysers.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice, partner. This place is a deathtrap.” Curry frowned. “How come you let me take this job?”
Heyes rolled his eyes. As they neared the steaming ground, the horses became skittish and balky. Both riders pulled their bandanas up over their noses and tightened their reins as their animals tossed their heads and pranced.
“Ugh, smells like rotten eggs,” groaned Curry.
“More like the Hole’s bunkhouse.” No sooner were the words out of Heyes’ mouth than he heard a soft rumble as a gushing spout of hot water shot into the sky causing his horse to sink its hips and spook away from the offending spectacle. The broncs pulled away from the Kid, burning the lead rope through his hand, and took off running in the opposite direction as his mare threw a bucking fit. Curses sliced the cold air until the two men regained control of their unruly mounts.
Curry reined his mare up and stroked her neck, speaking to her soothingly while her eyes rolled in her head. Once she settled, he turned to his partner. “The sooner we get outta here, the happier I’m gonna be.” Heyes was looking at a stagnant pool of steaming water a short distance away to his right as his horse pranced in place under him.
“What are you starin’ at?” asked the Kid, urging his hesitant horse next to the nervous gelding.
“Look at the colors. It’s amazing.” Following Heyes’ pointing finger, Curry saw the prismatic reds, oranges, greens, yellows, and blues that swirled within the bubbling waters.
“It’s pretty, but deadly—like an ornery rattler. Let’s get those nags rounded up and get outta here.”
Heyes noted the numerous small fissures issuing steam around them. “Hang on tight to Lulubelle. I’m thinking we’d be smart to retrace our steps getting out of here. From the looks of those vents, we could break through this crust real easy.” He carefully turned around the gelding and started following the clearly indented hoof prints. Silently, the two men worked their way back to solid ground and pulled up again.
Heyes removed his hat and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “Now I know what they mean by breaking out in a cold sweat.”
“Horses are over there. We’ll circle around to the left through the trees. Seems like the geysers are out in the open; there’s no plants near ‘em. Maybe they can’t survive around ‘em.” The Kid swung his horse around.
“Maybe the plants have more sense than we do.”
#
The two ex-outlaws finally managed to re-capture the broncos and continue on. Near dusk, they approached a large clearing barely visible through the trees. Across the clearing stood two canvas tents, buttoned tight. Smoke uncurled from a vent in the center of each roof.
“What d’you think, Kid?” Heyes’ breath streamed from his mouth as he spoke. His lips were chapped with the cold and his cheeks were rosy. The snow was falling softly, dusting both riders. The backs of the unsaddled horses had turned white.
“Could be soldiers, could be rangers. No way of tellin’.”
“I sure could go for a hot cup of coffee.”
“We’d better pass ‘em by. I’d hate to run into some army clerk who spent his free time readin’ wanted posters.” Curry glanced at his partner who was gazing longingly at the tents. “Let’s go, Heyes. It was your idea to bypass Camp Sheridan ‘cause of all the rangers. What’d you say? We’ll be a whole lot better off if no one knows we’re here or what we’re here for.”
“I hate it when you listen to me,” snapped Heyes.
“The trail heads off that way.” The Kid pointed to a cleft in the mountain beyond the meadow. “We’ll camp just below the summit on the other side. It’ll be cold, but we’ll be in good position to drop down into the next valley in the mornin’. Accordin’ to the governor’s man, we’ll follow that one north and we should be in the East Fork the day after. How’s that sound?”
“Cold.”
“We can build a small fire tonight since we’ll be out of sight of those tents. It’ll warm you up and keep the grizzlies away.”
“Cold as I am, a grizz would bust a tooth on me.”
Curry unbuttoned his heavy sheepskin coat, took it off, and held it out.
“What’re you doing?”
“Whatever it takes to stop your whinin’. Here,” the Kid shoved his coat towards Heyes. “We’ll trade. Once we get that fire goin’, you can give it back.”
Heyes took the offering. “Thanks, Kid.” He slipped off his gray cloth jacket and took the coat, putting it on and smiling. “I gotta get me one of these. All these years and I had no idea how warm you’ve been.” He dug his heels into the gelding and started up the trail while the Kid buttoned up the gray jacket.
“All of these years and I had no idea what a moron my genius partner could be,” muttered Curry.
#
The Kid reined up his mare and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Heyes had stopped a few yards back to take off his gray jacket and when he rode up next to his best friend, Curry was watching several huge herds of elk weaving in and out of the budding aspen trees blanketing the rolling hillsides. The meadow grasses were greening up as far as the eye could see.
“East Fork sure is something,” said the Kid. “Hard to believe all this good land is set aside just for a bunch of tourists.”
“I kind of like the idea of a national park. I didn’t expect it to be so big but, as fast as the cattlemen are stringing barbed wire across the west, it’s nice to know some places won’t ever change,” observed Heyes. He pointed to the river below them. “Let’s make camp along the banks. Maybe do a little fishing tonight.
#
The sun was directly overhead the next day when they scared up a mama grizzly and her three cubs decimating a bison carcass next to a rocky riverbed. Several wolves were lingering nearby taking turns dodging in and harassing the angry sow hoping to convince her to move on. Her silvered, humped shoulders shimmered in the sunlight as she swiped at the annoyances with a huge, impressively-clawed paw. One wolf yelped loudly and ran off to lick his wounds. Sitting atop Spike and Lulubelle on the other side of the broad watercourse, the two men observed the contest while eating a cold lunch of jerky and hardtack until the wolves began to show too much interest in the horses. Heyes and Curry stowed their food in a saddlebag and rode their animals away.
That evening, they camped alongside a creek in a stand of tall pines. The horses were high-lined and hobbled in the center and the Kid constructed several small fires around the circumference of the camp while Heyes unfurled two bedrolls away from their mounts’ stamping hooves. Lighting the last fire, Curry stood and stretched, rubbing his lower back. “That oughta keep the bears and wolves away.”
“Let’s hope so, but we better stick to hardtack and biscuits tonight. No use drawing the wildlife with the smell of cooking beans.”
“Or any other kind of smell.”
The two partners sat side by side, eating and watching night fall on the valley. As the darkness grew, their breaths became visible. Crazy, cackling yips split the night’s silence, making both men start.
“We aren’t the only ones eating,” said Heyes.
The Kid smiled grimly. “There’s something about a pack of coyote carryin’ on makes my blood run cold.”
“Yeah, me too. Let’s turn in. It’s getting cold again.” Heyes tossed the crumbs of their meal into the fire and picked up a stick. He stirred the embers until the flames went out. The Kid walked over to the creek and scooped up water in their old coffee pot then poured it over the coals until the sizzling stopped. The two, tired partners crawled into their beds and fell asleep.
The next morning, they set off following the river until the trail began to climb in elevation. Raging water roared down a narrow canyon skipping off boulders and careening against sheer walls of rock forcing them to ride away from the river and deeper into the forest. The further they went, the tighter the trees closed in, and the horses took up a nervous jigging like they had in the geyser basin.
“Must be more bears around. I don’t know about you, but the hairs on the back of my neck are standin’ up and salutin’,” said the Kid, once again reassuring his gray mare.
Heyes didn’t answer. Distracted, he was peering into the forest.
“I’d sure hate to meet up with that mama,” continued Curry.
“Shh. D’you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Heyes reined up the gelding until the Kid pulled up alongside him. “Don’t look, but I think we’ve got company and it ain’t bears,” he whispered.
“Indians?” Unlooping the rawhide keeper around his Colt as nonchalantly as possible, Curry looked around. “I don’t hear nothin’. Your nerves gettin’ the best of you?”
A flash of white preceded the emergence of a fierce-looking warrior. The man wore an old top hat adorned with straight-up eagle feathers and his greased hair was plaited down his back. Another man appeared on the left and, moments later, Heyes and the Kid were surrounded by six members of a hunting party. Each man was attired in soft buckskin tunics beautifully decorated with beads and quillwork. Each also carried a bow and nocked arrow or a hunting axe at the ready.
No one was smiling.
“How many you reckon there are?” whispered Heyes. “What’re our odds?”
One of the men, his hair in a bun and his headdress filled with feathers, frowned harshly and drew back on his bowstring.
Curry smiled weakly. “I get a real bad feelin’ that fellow speaks English.”
“Gentlemen, I’d suggest you drop your weapons,” the man said with perfect enunciation.
Carefully, the two ex-outlaws lifted their guns from their holsters slowly using only their fingertips and dropped them on the ground before raising their hands in submission. One of the braves swept them up and tucked them into his tunic.
“Dismount,” ordered the English-speaking man.
Heyes and the Kid alighted on the ground as the other men surged closer, surrounding them.
“Sir, we come in peace,” said Heyes with a friendly grin.
“We’ve heard that one before.” Despite his words, the man lowered his weapon and released the tension of the bowstring. “I am sure my friends will dissuade you from any sudden moves.”
The Kid stared at the vicious-looking weapons grasped by each man and said ruefully, “I ain’t movin’ a muscle.”
“Are you Crow?” asked Heyes.
“We are Apsáalooke, but the white man calls us Crow. Tell me why you are here and be honest. I know how hard it is for you people to speak the truth but a lie will cost you your lives.”
Heyes started to open his mouth again, but Curry interrupted before he could speak. “We want to trade these ponies for the little white gal you folks got from the Cheyenne.” He ignored the annoyed stare his partner was giving him and continued. “The Governor of Wyoming sent us. Her family wants her back real bad and they won’t stop tryin’ to get her now they know she’s here.”
“Perhaps if I send the governor your scalps, he might be persuaded to give up.”
Elbowing the Kid aside, Heyes quickly spoke up. “No sir, if you do that, he’ll send in enough soldiers to blanket this valley. He sent us, his very close and very trusted friends, because he doesn’t want to take the girl; he wants to trade for her; fair and square, everybody wins. You get some fine horseflesh and we get to take the girl back to her family.”
The man said something undecipherable and three of the other braves walked over to the unsaddled horses. They chattered excitedly as they ran their hands over the animals, examining them closely. Finished, they turned to their leader and nodded their approval.
“What will stop me from taking the horses and letting you two walk out of here? The bears are hungry after their long sleep.”
“This guy’s got an answer for everything,” mumbled Heyes under his breath. He cleared his throat. “You could do that, but then the governor will wonder what happened to us, his very dear friends, and send more men and they’ll be coming for your people. Is this little girl important enough to get you all killed?”
“She is promised to my son,” snapped the man angrily. “You are coming with us.” Speaking Crow once again, the man growled what sounded like a series of orders. The Kid and Heyes were seized by their arms and swiftly bound with rawhide. One of the braves pushed them to start walking and another led the way. A third man gathered up the horses as the others disappeared into the forest only to return a short time later with their own animals, several of which were laden with dead elk.
Heyes scowled at his partner as he walked. “I thought we were gonna stick to our story.”
Curry frowned. “You heard him, Heyes. He said the truth. Ain’t nothin’ you were gonna say wasn’t a lie.” The man behind them gave him a rough poke in his back. “Besides, Indians make me nervous.”
“It was your idea to take this job!”
“I didn’t say nervous enough to turn down two grand.”
Heyes turned his attention to the apparent leader, pasting a smile on his face. “I guess we ought to introduce ourselves. I’m Smith and he’s Jones. Who are you?”
“I am Running Wolf, son of Iron Elk, and brother to Fast Water, our chief.”
“How’d you learn to speak English so well, Runnin’ Wolf?” The Kid stumbled for a moment, but quickly regained his feet.
“The reservation school frowns upon us speaking our native language and its teachers delight in punishing children who dare to speak our tongue. I have many scars as well as many words.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Yes. We have left the reservation because your people not only took our land; you wish to turn our children into white men.”
“Not us, Running Wolf. Some of us believe in live and let live,” observed Heyes.
Casting a sidelong glance at the white man next to him, Running Wolf scoffed. “Then you are very rare, exceptional white men.”
“We like to think so,” replied the Kid rather smugly.
#
The shadows were growing longer by the time the small party arrived back at the Crow camp. It was situated in a broad clearing near the edge of the forest before the trees completely gave way to a vast, sagebrush-dominated valley. A small stream bubbled its way through the grassy meadow continuing its journey towards the valley floor and the large river that bisected it. Several very young children ran throughout the camp, weaving past hand-painted tepees, playing with a pack of scrawny dogs. Women were outside, too, some tending cooking fires while others sewed or softened hides as their older children gathered firewood or performed other chores. Elk skins were stretched on crude racks, drying in the sun. Horses wandered freely, ambling by, nibbling at the new grasses springing up out of the worn dirt.
When a cry went up from one of the children, attention turned to the hunting party’s arrival. People poured out of their tepees and clustered around the riders, talking excitedly, as the men dismounted. Everyone was surprised, and plainly concerned, by the captives. The horses carrying the elk carcasses were led away. Women reached out, pinching and prodding Heyes and the Kid until the men chastised them and chased them off.
“Come, I will take you to my brother. Fast Water’s English is not as good as mine, but he will understand you. I will speak for him.” Running Wolf grabbed Heyes’ elbow and dragged him along towards a larger, highly-decorated tepee near the center of the encampment. Brightly-painted hunting and battle scenes adorned the structure. The Kid was escorted by a tribal member who had a grisly scar running from his forehead to his chin. When they reached the open-door flap, Running Wolf halted and called out in his native tongue while Heyes and Curry studied the efficient home. Two flaps were open at the top, allowing billowing smoke to escape. A seam secured by bone skewers held the tanned bison hide around the lodge poles which were lashed together near the top, forming the skeleton. A response was uttered from inside and Running Wolf gestured for his two captives to enter.
Heyes ducked as he came through the entrance and saw daylight filtering down from the smoke hole illuminating the dirt floor. He blinked several times until his eyes grew accustomed to the interior light then he gazed around. A second, interior skin circled the tepee about a foot from the ground and stretched up another four feet. A bow and quiver of arrows hung from it as well as a war shield and several skin bags. A clay and beaded wooden pipe were suspended by a sinew strap. A small fire blazed in the ring of stones in the center dispelling the last of the day’s chill and a stack of wood sat nearby. Several pallets of furs were placed around the edges and a fierce-looking warrior sat upon the largest.
The man stared at him impassively and Heyes stared back, both men’s faces revealing nothing of their thoughts. The Kid’s escort shoved him roughly forward until he stood next to his partner. He, too, was silent. Running Wolf spoke in his own language to the chief for quite a while then turned to his prisoners. “Be seated and do not speak unless invited to do so. Fast Water has heard your story. He alone will decide your fate.”
Pushed to the floor and seated back to back, Heyes and the Kid were wary but immobile. Time passed slowly until the warrior before them finally spoke. His voice was deep and harsh and the words he used were clipped. The brave who’d accompanied Curry rushed from the tent.
“He is bringing the horses,” explained Running Wolf. “Fast Water wishes to see them.”
The chief spoke again.
“You may speak. He can understand you but he will not speak your language. He forbids it.”
Curry’s brows drew together. “But…”
“I am allowed to speak the white man’s language for the tribe. We find it useful at times like this.”
“Is he considering our trade?” asked Heyes hopefully, watching the chief. “You told him the governor won’t give up?”
“I did and he is. Much will rest on the quality of the horses, but he has not ordered you killed yet.”
“Great. I feel so much better.” Turning away from the chief, Curry asked, “What about you? Are you willin’ to let your son’s future wife go?”
A ripple of anger crossed Running Wolf’s visage. “It is not for me to say. If Fast Water agrees, so be it.” The warrior chief cackled as he listened to the men talking. He spoke again and broke into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” asked Heyes.
“Fast Water knows I do not approve of the girl becoming my daughter. She is white and, worse, she believes she is Tsitsistas.” Running Wolf spat. Seeing the blank looks on their faces he clarified, “Cheyenne. My son, who is too young to know the trouble he is asking for, wishes it and Fast Water wishes to cross me. He also knows I cannot object.” A look of repressed enmity passed between the two Crow men. “He is my chief. If he orders it, I must obey.”
“Sheesh, we’re in the middle of a family feud,” said the Kid in a soft whisper.
Approaching hooves could be heard and a moment later, another voice called out. The chief rose and gestured for Running Wolf to bring the two captives outside to see the animals. Heyes studied Fast Water as he exited the tepee. A glimmer of a pleased look passed across his face before the stoniness returned. Heyes smiled, too.
The chief wandered around the five horses eyeing them carefully. He had the brave jog each one some distance away and then run back towards them. Scrutinizing the two stallions in the group, Fast Water ran his hand down their legs and across their backs. He stood back and smiled, nodding his approval. Another flood of guttural words issued from him and the brave was sent away again. When he reappeared, he had a young blonde girl with him. The child was gaunt to the point of starvation and her hair was a matted tangle. She wore oversized buckskins, an obvious hand-me-down. The sounds of a woman howling with fury echoed throughout the camp.
Curry leaned into Heyes. “That’s her!”
The child stared at them with unabashed horror. Tears streamed down her face. She slowed her steps and tried to hide behind the brave but the man spoke harshly to her. She dropped her eyes to the ground and didn’t lift them again, walking reluctantly alongside him. When she reached the chief, she stood in front of him, silent.
Fast Water lifted her chin and turned her head, one way and then the other. When he released her, he spoke again.
Running Wolf nodded. “He accepts your trade. The girl is yours. Take her and go quickly.”
“That’s it?” The Kid looked stunned, but Heyes took the girl by her hand. She didn’t look at any of the men, but the tears were flowing freely now.
“Does she speak English?” Heyes held on tightly to the small hand engulfed by his. The girl fruitlessly tugged away.
“No, she barely speaks our language. She has been stubborn and willful. Despite punishment, she refuses to behave.” Running Wolf harshly spoke to the girl and the child nodded her understanding. He turned to the two ex-outlaws and smiled for the first time. “I have told her you are ignorant in our ways and she must be patient. She is not to bash your heads in while you sleep. She has agreed she will not.”
Curry’s mouth hung open for a second before he croaked, “Thank you, I think.”
“I have told her you are returning her to her people. She will give you no trouble. Now go. Do not return here. We will be gone.”
“Wait a second! What’s her name?” asked the Kid.
“We call her Mule Child.” Running Wolf left them standing alone in the center of the camp and went to join several of the men watching them from in front of Fast Water’s tepee. The women had disappeared into their homes, symbolically abandoning the girl to her fate.
“C’mon, sweetheart, we’re taking you home.” The child stared up at Heyes then listlessly allowed him to pull her along towards their horses tied outside of another tepee. They helped her onto Lulubelle, and the Kid mounted behind her.
“We better get her outta here before they change their minds,” whispered the Kid as they rode out of the encampment.
“I don’t want to give them a chance to catch up to us. I’m thinking we cut east to Cooke City. It’s pretty open land and we can get there faster than Monida.”
“That’s on the reservation! You wanna ride straight into Crow Territory?!”
“It’s not on the reservation anymore. They changed the boundaries for the miners a while ago. I’m pretty sure we can get a stage outta there.”
“Pretty sure? That ain’t good enough. Open land means we can be seen for miles. Why don’t we light out for Camp Sheridan? We can re-supply and catch the Northern Pacific at Cinnabar.”
“Why would we do that? The Northern Pacific doesn’t go anywhere near Wyoming.”
“So, we have a long ride this end or the other? Personally, I’d vote for ridin’ later when a bunch of hostiles won’t be on our tails.”
“Are you forgetting we’d be riding through Powder River Territory with a little girl who’s more Cheyenne than not?”
“Dang it, what’re we gonna do?!”
“We’re gonna stop arguing about it and get riding.” With that, Heyes spurred Spike. The big bay leapt into a gallop, bursting from the forest and eating up the sage-covered, high- altitude meadow with his long strides as the smaller, more heavily burdened, mare struggled to keep up.
After several hours of hard riding, Heyes reined up his heaving horse and slowed to a walk. When the Kid reached him, he had dismounted and was leading his tired animal.
“No sign of Running Wolf and his pals?” questioned Curry. The young girl was clutching the saddle horn with whitened knuckles, her pale face etched with strain.
“Not that I can tell. It’s going to be dark soon. I’m thinking we find a sheltered spot to camp and get to bed early. I’ll take first watch.”
“Works for me.”
Heyes pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his dusty jacket. “Skies are clear. It’s gonna be cold tonight, but we’d better forget the fire. It’d be too visible in these parts.”
The Kid scanned the broad valley. Buffalo herds dotted the grasslands and gentle, sloping forested hills led to towering mountains. The river they’d followed into the forest had broadened considerably and fed the lush land. “I’d feel a whole lot better if it weren’t so exposed here. Maybe we can hide ourselves in those hills, but it’s still awful open land.”
“It is, but there’s nothing much we can do. The route to Monida would’ve taken days through rugged country. We’ll make Cooke City by mid-day tomorrow.”
“I hope you’re right. Just ‘cause there’s no sign of Crow, don’t mean they’re not out there watchin’ us.” Curry dismounted, too, but left the girl on the horse. “Stay put, darlin’, no need for you to wear yourself out walkin’. You don’t weigh but a feather to this nag.” He smiled up at the child while stroking the mare’s sweaty neck. The girl ignored him but made no move to dismount. She continued to watch both men with a suspicious expression as they led the horses into a small fold in a hill and set up camp for the night.
Heyes and the Kid each stole glances at her while they tied the horses to a tree and fed them. Removing the bedrolls from both saddles, they unrolled them side by side. The girl stared down at Curry’s back as he picked the horses’ feet. Her perch was maintained while Heyes prepared dinner. Only when the food was laid out did she indicate a desire to get off the mare. The Kid walked over and held up his arms to her and she reluctantly slid into them before alighting to the ground. She quickly pushed him away and drew herself up regally, walking over and sitting next to the food. The men sat down on either side of her and started filling their plates. The child watched but made no move to take any food. Heyes looked at her curiously then picked up a biscuit and held it out to her. She snatched it from his hand and greedily stuffed it into her mouth whole, chewing it with difficulty. Finished, she gazed at the bowl of cold, canned stew but made no move to take any of it.
“I get the feeling our friend here has been taught she doesn’t eat unless she’s told to,” said Heyes gently. He picked up the bowl and gestured for her to take it. With an almost grateful expression, she took the bowl, but only stared at it. Heyes picked up his spoon in a fist and made a show of dipping it into the stew and putting the spoon into his mouth before withdrawing the empty utensil. The girl giggled at him but she took the spoon he offered and began shoveling the stew into her mouth deftly and enthusiastically.
“I think you’re makin’ a friend, Heyes.”
“Shh. We should use our aliases, partner. She could understand more than she lets on.”
“What should we call her? I’m not too fond of Mule Child.”
Putting his hand on his chest, Heyes said, “Joshua,” repeatedly until the girl looked at him. He then pointed at her and said, “Callie” over and over. As he spoke, she stopped eating and cocked her head.
“Do you think she knows her real name?”
Heyes indicated the Kid and said, “Thaddeus”, and the girl nodded her understanding, quickly gabbling unfamiliar words at him. Heyes looked at her blankly and she sighed, disappointed, but he continued his pantomime. By the time the meal was over, the girl was trying out her ‘new name’ and the names of her companions. The new names twisted her tongue but she kept repeating them like a mantra.
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