be a part of the interview process, and nothing seemed more unappealing to him than to be around a lot of men who were drinking heavily when he wasn’t drinking at all, so he had no problem in avoiding the saloon.
Though he did not go into the saloon, it was nearly impossible to avoid it, as the laughter, shouts, hurrahs, and singing spilled out of the saloon to fill the streets of the little town.
“Hey! Hey! Hey!” a cowboy’s loud voice carried over all the others. “Did you boys see me ride that sumbitch? I stayed in that saddle liken as if I was glued to it.”
“Well, hell, Connie, that ole’ cayuse didn’t buck more ’n two or three times!” someone replied.
“Yeah, but on them times when he did buck, I stayed on,” Connie insisted, and his reply was met by a lot of a laughter.
“Hey, anyone know the song ‘Buffalo Gals’? What do you say we sing ‘Buffalo Gals’?”
“The piano player ain’t playin’ that.”
“That don’t make no never mind. He can play what he wants and we’ll sing what we want.”
Discordant singing followed, joined by other singers, but not the piano player who continued with his own tune.
At that moment, some one hundred miles away as the crow flies, Sam Davis, Lee Regret, and Sergeant Depro were waiting at Heart Mountain for their rendezvous with Mean to His Horses. The army wagon that Depro had used to transport the guns and ammunition up from Fort Keogh was pushed up into a ravine and covered with sage brush.
“Here they come,” Davis said.
“They?” Depro said. “What do you mean, they? I thought we were dealing with just Mean to His Horses.”
There’s five of them, and each one of them is leading a pack horse,” Davis said. “It makes sense when you think about it. There’s no way Mean to His Horses could get all those guns back by his ownself.”
“I reckon you are right,” Depro said. “But I don’t like it.”
“Bet you’ll like spending all that money though,” Regret said.
“Yeah, I’ll like that just fine,” Depro agreed.
“You have guns?” Mean to His Horses asked as he and the other Indians rode up.
“You have gold?” Davis replied.
Mean to His Horses threw down two bags. Davis opened the bags and dumped the contents out on the ground. They were all twenty-dollar gold pieces.
“Good Lord,” Regret said. “There must be two hundred of them.”
“Give me guns,” Mean to His Horses said.
“They are in the wagon,” Davis said, pointing to the ravine where the wagon lay, covered with sage.
“You’re going to need bullets for them guns, chief,” Depro said. “And that’s goin’ to cost you extry.”
“Already I give you more money than you ask,” Mean to His Horses said. “I will take bullets too.”
“Huh, uh. Not without payin’ extry, you ain’t,” Depro said.
Mean to His Horses was already armed, and he raised his rifle and pointed it at Depro.
“Give me bullets,” he said. “Or I will kill you and take the bullets.”
“Back off, Depro,” Davis shouted. “The chief is right. There is more money here than we asked for.”
“All right, all right!” Depro said, holding up his hands. “Take the bullets. Davis is right. I reckon you have already paid for ’em.”
All the Indians but Mean to His Horses had already gathered around the wagon and were jabbering excitedly among themselves as they broke open the boxes and began pulling out the guns. They started whooping and hollering and dancing around, holding the rifles over their heads.
“Boys, I think we would be smart to ease on out of here while they are busy with those guns,” Davis suggested.
“What about the wagon?” Depro said. “We can’t leave it here.”
“Why not?”
“It’s got army markings on it. Sixth Cavalry markings. If someone finds it here, they can trace it back to me. I ain’t leavin’ without that wagon.”
“Depro, take it from me,” Davis said. “If you don’t leave without the wagon, you won’t leave at all. I think them Injuns mean to kill us.”
“Davis is right,” Regret said. “We need to get out of here now.”
“Yeah,” Depro finally agreed. “Yeah, that’s probably a pretty good idea.”
The three men slipped off quietly, leading their horses until they were some distance away. Then, mounting, they rode off at a gallop.
One hour later, after the three divided the money, Depro started back to where he had left the wagon. It was his intention to burn it so that nobody would ever be able to recognize it and connect it to him. He had just gotten the fire started when two Indians came out of the brush and grabbed him.
Falcon had not gone far when he realized that he was being followed; but who it was, and for what purpose, he didn’t know. He altered his route, leaving the main street and choosing the new route, not only to see if he actually was being followed, but also because he saw ahead of him several open lots. One of the lots was filled with cut
