Sheriff Carson chuckled. “I’m not talkin’ about that,” he said. “I know all three of those boys and they probably will make you good hands. I’m talkin’ about this foolishness of trying to drive a herd that far north at this time of year.”
“You know Smoke as well as anyone, Sheriff,” Cal said. “If he says he can do it, I believe he can do it.”
“Well, I’ll give you this,” Sheriff Carson said. “If any man alive can take a herd of—how many cows did you say it was?”
“Three thousand head,” Cal answered.
Sheriff Carson gave a low whistle. “Three thousand head,” he repeated. “Well, like I was about to say, if any man alive can take a herd of three thousand head all the way to Wyoming this late in the season, Smoke Jensen is that man. But I certainly don’t envy any of you.”
“Hold it,” LeRoy said. “What are you talking about? What do you mean taking three thousand head of cattle to Wyoming? I thought you said we was comin’ to work at Sugarloaf.”
“That’s right,” Pearlie said. “And the work you’re goin’ to be doin’ is takin’ a herd to Wyoming.”
“When?”
“Now,” Pearlie said.
“Now! Are you crazy? It’s damn near winter.”
“Yes, that’s why we need to get started right away,” Pearlie said.
LeRoy shook his head. “Huh-uh,” he said. “You didn’t say nothin’ about drivin’ no herd north when you hired us. All you said was that you was lookin’ for some more hands.”
“If you don’t want to go, I’m sure we can arrange for you to stay here in jail,” Pearlie said. “I can always get someone else.”
“Yeah? Well, you just…” LeRoy began, but Hank interrupted him in mid-sentence.
“No!” he said. “You don’t need anyone else. Don’t pay my brother no never-mind. Me’n LeRoy will do it.”
The wagon was about half-loaded by the time Pearlie, Cal, Billy, Hank, and LeRoy arrived. Mike, Billy, and the Butrums already knew each other, but Andy and Dooley had to introduce themselves. Pearlie noticed that both former soldiers were now wearing new jeans and plaid shirts.
“Yeah,” Andy said. “Don’t they look nice? Miz Sally bought ’em for us. First time I’ve had ’nything other’n an army uniform on in four years.”
“Come on, boys,” Pearlie said, picking up a bundle. “Let’s get the wagon loaded so we can get back to the ranch in time for supper.”
Chapter Eight
The village was typical of all the villages of the Plains Indians. The tepees were erected in a series of concentric circles with the openings facing east. They were pitched alongside a fast-flowing stream, which provided not only water for drinking, cooking, and washing, but also fresh fish. Although there were no addresses as such, everyone knew where everyone else lived by their position within the circles.
Fall had already come and the bright yellow aspen trees stood out from the dark green conifers interspersed with a spattering of red and brown from the willow, oak, and maple that climbed the nearby mountainsides. Smoke curled from the tops of the lodges as the women prepared meals while the men watched over the herd of horses, or worked at cleaning their rifles or making bows and arrows. Children played beside the water.
The chief of the village was a man named Red Eagle. Red Eagle was once the great warrior chief of a proud people, but now he was a chief in name only. In compliance with a treaty signed with the soldiers, Red Eagle had moved his people onto a reservation.
The reservation guaranteed peace with the soldiers, but it stripped his people of all identity and pride. Now, they were totally dependent upon the white man for their very survival. They were not allowed to hunt buffalo, for to do so would require them to leave their designated area. But there were few buffalo anyway, the herds having been greatly diminished by the white men who had hunted to supply meat for the work crews that were building the railroads, or worse, the buffers who took only the hides and left the prairie strewn with rotting meat and bleaching bones.
Red Eagle’s people were dispirited. Without the buffalo, there was little to eat. They had been promised a ration of beef by the agency, but the promised beef had not materialized. Even if it had, it was a poor substitute for the buffalo. Red Eagle did not care much for beef, and he knew that his people felt as he did. But if it was a choice of beef or starvation, they would take beef.
Not everyone agreed with Red Eagle. There were some who wanted to leave the reservation, to be free to hunt what buffalo remained. But Red Eagle had no wish to see his village subjected to the kind of murderous attack he and his wife had lived through at White Antelope’s village at Sand Creek, so he counseled his people to stay on the reservation.
Sand Creek proved, however, that even obedience to the white man’s law would not always protect you. There, Colonel John M. Chivington and his Colorado militia had murdered men, women, and children, even as the terrified Indians were gathering around a tepee flying the American flag.
White Antelope, the head of the Sand Creek village, was Red Eagle’s very good friend. An old man of seventy- one, White Antelope was convinced that the soldiers were attacking because they didn’t understand that his people were a peaceful band. In order to prove that his village was friendly, he raised the American flag over his tepee. Then, in order to reinforce his declaration of peace, he started walking toward Colonel Chivington carrying a white flag.
Despite White Antelope’s efforts to show the soldiers that neither he nor his people represented a danger to the soldiers, he was shot down. Red Eagle had screamed out in anger and grief at seeing his friend murdered.
That had been many years ago, but sometimes Red Eagle still believed he could still hear the old chief singing the Cheyenne death song as he lay dying.
