Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1) Page 16

  Twice, Matthew caught the eye of an old Indian man who stood behind some barrels at the back of the store. He seemed to be shopping for pots, pans and the like but he smiled politely at Matthew’s friendly expression. Twenty minutes later, he slipped out the door just as Matthew and his posse members were loading their purchases onto their horses, preparing to hit the road again.

  He smiled in relief. Redbird’s uncle, Swallow Feather, was still useful and, for that, he was proud. Although his old bones ached and he had lost the vision in his right eye, he had sharp hearing and even spoke some words of the white man’s language.

  As he stood in the mercantile, he had heard the sheriff’s posse members say they were heading back the way they came…from Coeur d’ Alene. That would most likely mean they would pass right by the place his foolish great-nephews had chosen to attack.

  Although he did not know what his nephew, Redbird, wanted to do to the sheriff and his deputies, Swallow Feather was sure that it was something the white lawmen would never forget…if they lived to remember it at all.

  Chapter 26

  The Enemy of My Enemy

  Matthew and his men made haste back down the wagon trail from which they came. They were able to travel much more quickly now that they were not carrying a dead man and, by afternoon of their second day out, they came to the valley in which they had earlier engaged the Indian boys.

  Matthew stopped their progress and, getting off his horse, he pulled his uncle’s powerful telescope out of his saddlebag and glassed the wide valley as thoroughly as possible. The sun cast shimmering heat waves into the air and some sort of pollen lifted up from the meadow grass and wildflowers like yellow smoke.

  “See anything?” Roy asked.

  “No. I think that tribe must be long gone by now,” Matthew murmured.

  “Well, I would like to get past this valley and into a more populated area before nightfall,” Travis said. “If’n you didn’t mind traveling in the dark, Sheriff, we could be in Coeur d’Alene by ten o’clock or so.”

  Remembering the chill premonition that had run its cold tongue up and down his back the last few days, Matthew nodded in agreement. “I like that plan, Travis. It’s about four miles through this valley. Let’s move quickly and keep our eyes peeled as we go.”

  Mounting their horses, the men heeled the animals into a trot. As before, the aspens and birch trees dazzled the eye and it felt as if the stony toes of the Bitterroot Mountains flexed toward them in the lazy summer haze.

  They had traveled about two miles when the posse’s worst fears came true; they spotted the first wave of braves approaching them from an angle on their left at about the same exact location the earlier altercation had taken place.

  Matthew and his deputies grabbed their weapons. No one spoke a word but they all knew that they were massively outnumbered and outgunned. It was rare to see such a well-armed band of fighting braves and Matthew wondered uneasily if the young boy he shot had somehow succumbed to what he thought was a minor flesh wound.

  “Damn…” he whispered with regret. “I’m sorry, boys, but I think we’re done for.”

  Suddenly, Roy said, “Jesus, would you look at that!”

  Matthew and his deputies turned around in their saddles and stared as another wave of braves approached from behind on their right. There were at least thirty more Indians in this new group and, as they watched, the warriors melded together as one, forming into a great moving circle around them.

  Strangely, they were silent. Watchful, yes, and armed to the teeth. But, in Matthew’s experience, when Indians were about to engage in battle they were vocal about it, using their war cries as a terror-tactic as much as their spears, clubs and arrows.

  “Put your weapons away, men…very slow and careful,” Matthew said. “I think these boys are here to parlay.”

  He could only hope he was right. The one thing he and his posse did have was firepower but he sensed that something else was at play here, something that depended deeply and fiercely on mutual respect and trust.

  As soon as Matthew and his men stowed their weapons, the circling Indians brought their ponies to a standstill, all of them facing the posse. They were festooned with war paint but their expressions were both peaceful and cautious, as though they knew very well they were interfering with powerful white men yet simply had no other choice.

  As Matthew watched, a small hole opened within the circle and three more Indians approached slowly. To his amazement, he recognized two of the ponies and their riders; one was the boy he had shot and he assumed the other was his older brother. Another Indian towered over the young braves and, although he was too far away to see clearly, it was plain that it was the tribe’s chief who approached.

  An attractive fellow with long braids and a high topknot decorated with beads and feathers, he wore an elaborate chest plate and a long, fur-lined cloak. Breathing easier, Matthew knew then that his instincts were correct; this was a peace talk—or parlay—not an attack.

  “Get down off your horses, men. I think that chief wants to talk,” he said softly.

  “Well”, Travis answered, “I sure hope he knows English or it’s going to be a short chat.”

  They slid off their horses and stood looking at the slowly approaching riders. Five Indian braves broke rank, following the chief and the two boys as they came to a halt in front of the sheriff and his men.

  Matthew stared up at the chief’s face and squinted against the blazing sun. There was something familiar about the man and, suddenly, his eyes grew wide with alarm. It’s Redbird! He thought in a panic, almost reaching for his revolver.

  He had lost track of the nightmares that came to visit him over the years since his first encounter with Redbird during the terrifying journey with Randall Penny’s band. Yet he understood that Top Hat had done something horrible to Redbird’s brother and the Indian had sought justice, as he himself was doing now. Still, Matthew remembered that fateful day in the driving snow when first Parker and then Tulu had died while he bled in terror.

  Swallowing the fear that threatened to overwhelm his good sense, he watched as the war chief climbed down from his pony, took two steps in his direction, and said, “Matthew. We need to talk.”

  Redbird had a secret. Something he admitted to no one, not even his beloved wife, Moon on Water…formerly known as Marie Dupre’. Ever since he had seen a small boy take out his weapon and, with one shot, put the big Negro out of his misery, Redbird had held a secret fascination with that boy’s progress through life.

  Of course, part of this was because Moon had spoken about the boy-child she called Mattie many, many times over the years. The great war chief might even have grown jealous over his wife’s memories but for the fact that she was good and beautiful beyond measure, and the mother of his two sons.

  Redbird understood that childhood friendships were very strong. He also knew there was a deep well of power within this particular young man; a potent medicine he had admired that day long ago and grew to appreciate more and more as the years flew by.

  He had sent out scouts over the years to bring news of Matthew’s recovery and his development as a white warrior. He knew about the wolf that had aligned itself with him…a wolf totem, just as his was. Redbird had heard about the young man’s appointment as sheriff almost before Matthew did and that he had assembled a posse to search for their shared enemy, Top Hat.

  Redbird also knew that Sheriff Wilcox had freed the small band of Nez Perce Indians who were trying to make their way to the tribe’s larger village and that Matthew’s namesake had tried to count coup on his mother’s childhood friend…a deed that earned his eldest son a whipping from both his parents.

  Now, as the mighty war chief studied the young sheriff, he realized he had been right about Matthew Wilcox. Those green eyes he remembered studied the world in cool appraisal and stunning intelligence. Redbird saw the sheriff’s reaction to threat—an almost instinctual move to grab the big gun resting on his right
hip—and saw how the man paused as if weighing the odds of his men’s survival against his own fear. If only half of my braves were as smart as this man…

  “Redbird.” Matthew struggled to keep his voice from shaking, even as his deputies stirred behind him and many of the braves who sat their ponies bent toward each other, whispering in astonishment. “What can my men and I do for you today?”

  The older Indian smiled. “Young Slingshot, how is your wolf?”

  Matthew wondered how Redbird knew about Bandit but now was not the time to ask questions or demand answers.

  “He is fine, sir,” he said.

  Redbird nodded and then spoke, “First, my sons owe you and your men an apology.” Turning around he spoke in his native tongue and the two boys slid off their ponies and approached.

  The younger boy, his arm in a leather sling, smiled bashfully but the older boy was as defiant as ever. He did, however, hand Matthew a piece of cloth and said, “Sorry…,” before he pulled his little brother behind their father.

  Matthew gazed at Redbird then opened the pale-colored cloth and saw a childish scrawl: Mattie, plez exuse moi boys and husband. I am so happy. Go wit God. Marie.

  Finally, it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Marie was alive with sons of her own and happy with the war chief. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that part of it but, nevertheless, his lungs heaved with relief.

  Redbird watched the young sheriff’s face and knew he had done the right thing. His people and Matthew’s people might be at war and forever at cross purposes. His own weyekin had said as much, many times.

  But there was a time in every man’s life when a perceived enemy must become a friend in order to appease the spirit world. For Redbird, that time was now. He had one gift to give the young man before he and the rest of his tribe traveled overland to Bear Paw Mountain…the gift of information.

  Glancing behind him, he signaled to his son and his warriors that it was almost time to go. Turning to Matthew, he said, “Slingshot, I have news I thought you should hear. The outlaw you and I both know—the man with the big hat—he is going to your home, your family.”

  He stared into Matthew’s shocked eyes and added, “Go now, young wolf, before it is too late!”

  Then Redbird and his sons were gone. The Indians circled their ponies again, voices raised high in a sound both plaintive and wild as Matthew and his posse watched them disappear into the trees.

  Chapter 27

  A Perilous Road

  Matthew stood still as the Indians rode away, his deputies unwilling to intrude upon the young man’s thoughts as none of them knew how he had come to be on speaking terms with the Nez Perce war chief or what they could expect from their boss at Redbird’s news.

  After a moment, Matthew said, “I have to leave you now. Redbird is many things but I don’t believe he is a liar. Roy, I expect you will follow me back home?”

  Roy answered, “Of course.”

  Matthew nodded and turned to the other deputies. “You two should make haste for home. I think your troubles are my fault—at least, in part—and this whole chase was a diversion engineered by Top Hat to divide and separate the law around here… to make us weaker.” He sighed. “If I could, I would go back with you and put those dogs down for good. But I need to go home and save my own people.”

  Travis was already mounting his horse. “Son, accompany us another five miles or so. I know of a route that cuts through the mountains and will put you in the flatlands about thirty miles from Spokane Falls.”

  Matthew tried to smile his thanks but his face was frozen with fear. Climbing up on own his horse, he said, “Let’s head out.”

  An hour later, Travis pulled up and the party stopped alongside as he pointed into the forest to his right. “See that trail, yonder? It ain’t much more ‘n a game trail but it cuts through a crotch in these high hills pretty easy. I haven’t been up this way for a few years but the trees have been cleared away and there is an old cabin about the halfway mark where you can rest up.”

  Matthew was ready to rowel his horse but he stopped long enough to thank Travis and Kevin for their help. “I hope you two will haul the mule back for me. I’ll send someone later to fetch him but, right now, we only need our horses and two spares.”

  Travis nodded. Staring into Matthew’s face, he could not help but wonder if he would be attending the young man’s funeral long before someone came to fetch a wayward mule. Still, he wished Matthew and Roy well, adding, “Just as soon as we get those crooks sorted out, I will come to your aid and bring as many able-bodied men as I can muster. I will also ask Sheriff O’Brian to wire the deputies in Spokane Falls.”

  The deputies then spurred their horses toward home as Matthew and Roy picked their way up a thin path of cleared rock and grass heading into the forested foothills. Night was falling rapidly and made gloomier by the tree cover. Yet a sliver of moonlight illuminated the trail enough that they traveled another sixteen miles before coming across a small hut.

  Matthew’s heart yearned to press on but they had been riding more than twenty hours and the horses were blown and footsore. He also knew that, if he and Roy didn’t get some rest, they would be useless in the upcoming conflict.

  Moving silently in the clearing, the two men walked up to the cabin door with their guns drawn. Knocking at the wooden shingle, they listened intently for signs of life but heard only the startled hoot of an owl in the dusky shadows.

  Matthew pushed the door open and saw that the place was indeed empty. Although he had cursed the summer heat a number of times over the last few days, he was thankful now; he did not want to start a fire and take a chance of alerting the bandits—or anyone else, for that matter—to their presence.

  They ate cold chuck, drank tepid water from their canteens, and spoke little before lying down on their saddle blankets to sleep. Roy wondered how much of a jump the outlaw known as Top Hat had on them and how Jon Wilcox was holding up. The two deputies he had met in Granville and had stayed behind did not seem much like fighters. But Roy knew Mr. Wilcox was an ex-soldier and, although he was getting on in years, the man was no weakling.

  Roy had also grown fond of young Bob Higgins. It seemed longer but only seven days had passed since Bob rode back home with Jon and Matthew’s wolf, Bandit. Remembering the bloody furrow in the boy’s shoulder, Roy worried if the kid was able to hoist a rifle in self-defense yet.

  Matthew lay as rigid as a board. He also tried to calculate Top Hat’s head start and wondered how many boys were riding in with him. Granville was small; only fifty-seven souls within the town limits and another forty or fifty citizens in the outlying area. If his enemy rode into town with a whole gang behind him, Jon and the deputies would be hard-pressed to keep the gang at bay.

  He tried to wipe his memory clear of Top Hat with little success; the man’s cold, black eyes stared at him through his closed eyelids and his high, girlish voice tittered in his ear. The last thing Matthew saw before slipping into a nightmare-ridden slumber was the sharp-edged gleam of Top Hat’s oversized bowie knife, causing him to awake with a startled gasp in the early gray light of dawn.

  Long before the sun cleared the treetops, Matthew and Roy rode swiftly out of the mountains, reaching the flatlands by noon. After about an hour, Matthew pulled up short, lifted his nose and muttered, “Do you smell that?”

  Roy looked around in confusion. “Smell what, Boss?” Then his eyes got big and he said, “I do! That’s smoke, isn’t it?”

  Matthew nodded. “The wind is following us but, every once in a while, I get a whiff. Something ahead of us is on fire! Let’s go!”

  The two men nudged their horses and took off at a slow canter. The wind had picked up and big, mushroom-shaped clouds were gathering to the west like a sullen band of hoodlums. To make matters worse, the day’s heat was succumbing to the moisture in the air, sweating the horse’s necks and causing the men’s clothes to stick to their bodies like wet shrouds.<
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  They saw a premonitory about a mile ahead and—squinting at the red and gray rocks—Matthew thought they were moving. Yet knowing that notion was loco did not stop the chill of fear that sizzled through his bloodstream.

  “You see that?” Roy asked, even as Matthew reined his horse to a stop and drew his uncle’s telescope out of the saddlebag.

  Staring at the rocks, he realized they were not moving but at least a hundred crows and buzzards perched on them were. As Matthew watched, a fight broke out and they could hear the bird’s carnivorous screeches.

  Knowing that birds like these usually congregated at a kill site, Matthew sighed and put the telescope away. “Looks like there’s something dead up ahead, Roy.”

  Roy nodded tersely and said, “Damn it…we’d better go see.”

  They approached quickly but cautiously. If the birds fought over a dead cow, they would ignore it and be on their way. However, if it was a dead person, the lawmen were obliged to stop and either bury the body or carry it into town for a proper Christian burial. Whatever awaited them was hidden by the rocks.

  The birds muttered and moaned but did not fly away as Matthew and Roy walked their horses around the stony outcropping.

  “Aw, Jesus…” Roy gagged, almost falling off his horse in shock at what met their eyes. Matthew felt nausea climb up in his throat as he counted the dead bodies piled by a smoking fire.

  A man, two women and four children lay naked in the sweltering sun. Their throats had been slashed and each victim wore a bloody bib crawling with flies. One of the women was elderly but the other was young; it was obvious to the lawmen that she and at least two of the children had been raped before the knife took their lives. Blood painted their thighs and stained the little boy’s bottom red in the garish sunlight. Feeling murderous rage fill his chest, Matthew breathed through his mouth to stifle the stench that filled the air.