“I don’t think so,” Cody argued, shaking his head. He was dressed in a dashing black outfit, tailored in the lines of a Mexican vaquero’s. “The road is off over there—more to the east. And those warriors are watching something coming in from the west.”
“Besides, no one would be using the Black Hills Road now,” Carr agreed with his scout. “They’ve been warned off of it because of the agency scare.”
“That can’t be the Black Hills Road,” King responded. “Off to the west—that’s the Sage Creek Road, on our backtrail.”
“The way those warriors’re keeping themselves hid from the west,” Cody explained, “I’ll lay a wager they’re keeping an eye on something coming from that direction.”
Merritt asked, “Then they have no idea we’re here?”
“Just look at all of them!” Carr marveled.
It was as if the light suddenly ballooned across the entire horizon at that very moment. Every ridge and hill screened from the west was now alive with warriors, all of them excitedly moving about.
Carr wagged his head, rubbing his gritty eyes with two fingertips as he muttered, “What in thunder are they laying for?”
“By glory—that’s it!” Cody bellowed. He pointed west now.
“There! Yes! I see them!” Merritt said.
“Is that—Oh, dear God!” Carr replied. “That’s got to be our own supply train.”
Better than four miles away the white tops of Lieutenant Hall’s company wagons began to pop up on the distant horizon as the light swelled around them. Hurrying his teams as fast as he dared push them, Hall was bringing along those two companies of infantry.
“By doggies!” Cody said, then chuckled. “Those Injuns think they’ve found ’em some easy pickings.”
“All alone on the Sage Creek Road,” Charlie White added.
“But those wagons aren’t filled with plunder,” Carr said with a smile.
Merritt couldn’t help himself, clapping in glee. “Great Jupiter—have we got a surprise in store for them when they ride down to jump those wagons!”
White cheered, “They’ll roll those covers back and let those red sonsabitches have it!”
“I don’t believe this! Hall’s made an all-night march of it,” Merritt announced.
“I, for one, General,” said Carr, “am glad he did.”
With a nod Merritt agreed. “I suppose he’s made himself the bait in our trap, without even knowing it.”
“Nothing those Injuns want better,” Garnier observed, “than a supply train loaded with plunder headed to the Black Hills settlements.”
“Instead,” Cody said, a big smile creasing his face, “those wagons are loaded for bear.”
King interrupted their celebration, pointing in another direction as he said, “Will you look at that, sirs?”
Off to the southeast they saw a bright-colored, plumed band of warriors separate from the hundreds and kick their ponies into motion. At a gallop they rode down into the bottoms and at the base of the hills, staying out of sight from the oncoming wagons. Unknowingly, the nine or ten horsemen were closing the gap between them and the soldiers’ lookout post.
“They spotted us?”
“Naw,” Cody said. “If they knew soldiers were here, there’d be more than just that little bunch coming.”
“What do you suppose they’re about?” Merritt wondered.
“Them,” Cody said gravely.
Every man on that hill now trained his glasses to the southwest. A pair of riders broke into view, riding well ahead of the bow-topped wagons.
“Couriers?” Carr asked.
“I’d bet money on it,” Cody said. “General, Colonel … appears that Hall is sending you word he’s coming in.”
“But those two don’t realize they’re about to get chopped up!” King said. “That band of warriors is going to butcher those couriers before they even know what surprise the rest of the red bastards have in store for the train.”
“Dear Lord—those men are riding to their death,” Merritt muttered.
“Look, General!” Cody said. “There—see that ravine where that war party is riding?”
“Yes.”
“Down there—see—where the ravine’s mouth opens onto the road,” Cody said confidently. “That’s where they’ll likely jump those couriers.”
“I can’t allow that to happen,” Merritt grumbled.
Carr wagged his head and said, “But if we fire on them now, we’ll scare off the rest of the warriors before we can engage them.”
“By Jove, General,” Cody cheered as he got to his feet, dusting off the resplendent braided vaquero costume he wore that day. “Now’s our chance. We can ride out and cut those red hellions off!”
“Yes!” Merritt rose, gripping Cody’s arm. “It’s up to you, Cody. Cut them off!”
The scout turned on his heel and sprinted downslope as Merritt whirled on King, gripping the lieutenant’s arm. “Stay here, Mr. King. It’s your call: watch till that war party is close under you—then give the word! The rest of you come down, every other man of you.”
“Yes … sir!” King saluted and watched the others start their hurried race down the slope to their mounts.
Again the hair on the back of his sunburned neck prickled with anticipation. Two hundred yards behind him to the north he watched as the first of the six companies of mounted troopers moved into line and halted—brought up by their company commanders as soon as Private Madsen had carried word to camp: Indians had been spotted. Now the Fighting Fifth was fronting out in a thin blue line against the green and brown of those rolling hills, horses colored by troops, carbines glittering with a dull blue sheen in that first light of day.
King’s heart was thundering now, and his mouth had gone dry. He tried licking his lips with a pasty tongue as he turned back to the south. In the distance a hundred lances stood out against the summer sky, feathers and scalp locks fluttering on the renewed breeze. The horsemen watched their own ride on down that ravine, ready to cut off the two unsuspecting couriers.
Again Charles glanced over his shoulder. Cody, White, the half-breed Tait, and a half-dozen men from his own Company K waited in the saddle atop anxious animals— tightening gunbelts, straightening clothing, tugging hats down on their brows. All of them with their eyes trained intently on King above them on the hill. Halfway down the slope Merritt, Carr, and their aides waited out of sight.
King was the only man left at the top now that the enemy was drawing dangerously near. Stretched out flat on his belly, he swallowed hard, wishing he had brought his canteen along. Instantly knowing there was no amount of water that would ever wet a man’s mouth when it had gone dry with the anticipation of battle.
He could not give the word too soon, or the warriors would escape. And he could not wait too long—the couriers would be swallowed up before rescue could race round the hill.
Now he could hear the hoofbeats. Or was it the pounding of his heart? No, it was the hoofbeats of those war ponies.
No longer did he need his field glasses to watch the oncoming collision. Everything seemed to loom closer and closer, ever closer.
He turned and flung his voice downhill. “All ready, General?”
Merritt answered, “All ready, King. Give the word when you like.”
That thunder had to be his heart.
No, it was the hammering of those hooves as the warriors reached the last hundred yards of ravine.
Ten seconds.
God—but they were beautiful men: their dark skin made golden in the coming light.
Eight.
The new light reflected off the bright war paint, brass arm bands and bracelets, the silver gorgets.
Six seconds.
The way the wind whipped their hair, the scalp locks tied to fringed leggings and shields, fluttering beneath the jaws of the onrushing ponies.
