if we don’t bring them back.”
Titus could tell the man was turning that over in his head, what with the way his brow suddenly furrowed in deep thought.
“Warriors from the other tribe told us they do not want to kill white men, but said they will kill white men because these white men stole from them.”
The war chief turned to gaze at Thompson.
“If you help these bad white men,” Scratch pressed on, “if you kill us and take some of these horses for yourselves, one day the other tribe will learn that you helped the thieves kill the men who came here to help them.”
Now the war chief gazed up at Bass standing at the top of the wall.
“The other tribe will be angry with the Ute—for helping the men who took horses from them, and for taking their horses as a reward for killing us,” Titus explained.
“How will they know about us?” the chief demanded haughtily.
“They know about you, because they told us the bad white men had come here.”
“They know we are camped here?”
“Yes. So they will come to this place … and rub out the Ute who helped the white men steal their horses.”
With a whirl of fringe and feathers and unbraided hair, the war chief turned to stomp away, grumbling at a handful of warriors to join him. For long minutes they huddled together, conversed in low, angry tones, until the war chief turned back to Bass.
“We go!”
“You do right,” Scratch congratulated.
The moment the war chief and the others leaped atop their ponies, Thompson and the rest set up a pained, furious howl, darting among the forty-some warriors, gesturing at the fort, yelling, patting the Indian horses as if to emphasize that they would earn a booty for their assistance in killing the men holed up inside the walls.
Leaning down from the top of the palisades, Bass announced to Walker, “The Injuns—they’re riding off!”
Those men in the compound among the frightened, milling horses set up a wild cheer.
“You sonsabitches!” Thompson roared in anger, hammering the side of his fist against the outside of the gate as Bass, Carson, and Sweete clambered down the narrow ladder to the courtyard.
On the other side of the palisades the horse thieves argued for a long time. It was many minutes before a familiar voice suddenly called out.
“Scratch? Was that you at the top palaverin’ with them Yutas, Titus Bass?”
He recognized the voice, but scrambled to put a face with it. Titus asked, “Who’s calling?”
“Solitaire, Scratch. You ’member me, don’cha?”
Solitaire, he ruminated on it. “Bill?
“That’s me—thought it was you I see’d up there palaverin’ with them Yutas,” Williams explained. “You done spoil’t Thompson’s big plan, Scratch.”
“To hell with him,” Bass snapped. “I’ll gut him sure as I’m standing here.”
“May get your chance to try, nigger!” Thompson hollered.
Ignoring the turncoat, Bass inquired, “You throwed in with them, Bill?”
Williams’s voice came closer to the gate. “I was here when Thompson’s outfit rode in with them horses. That’s when I tol’t ’em the Bent brothers need horses over there on the Arkansas.”
Walker asked, “Need horses?”
“Them Bents and Savary sell ’em, or trade ’em off,” Williams declared. “So Thompson was fixing to start over to the Arkansas with them horses next day or two … ’cept you come breaking things up.”
“How’s your stick float, Bill?” Titus asked. “You gonna jump in the middle of this?”
For a moment Williams didn’t answer. Then he said, “I figger there’s ’nough bean-bellies and red niggers for this child to raise hell with. I don’t need to kill me no white men.”
“You ain’t gonna come to Bents’ with us?” Peg-Leg squealed.
“Nawww,” Williams confessed. “You ain’t got no horses now, so I’ll have to go off to get me some in Californy.”
“I hear them Mex got a passel of horses out there, Bill,” Peg-Leg cried. “I’ll throw in with you, and we’ll steal us some Mex horses we can bring back to the Arkansas.”
Outside the walls there arose some disgruntled murmuring, then the noise of footsteps moving away from the walls.
“You still there, Thompson?” Walker yelled.
“I’m here—just figgering a way to kill you, Walker.”
“It’s over,” Walker said. “You ain’t got no Injuns to do your killing for you. And from the sounds of it, you’re losing some of your own white men too. Why don’t you just step off to the side and we’ll just ride on out of here with the horses—nobody getting hurt.”
“Damn you to hell, Walker!”
Now Bass shouted, “What made you go bad, Thompson? You was partners with Craig and Sinclair—had yourselves a nice post there in Brown’s Hole. What went wrong?”
“Beaver’s done!” Thompson hollered, his voice cracking with deep regret. “Ain’t no future in hunting plews no more. Last year or so, I could see there weren’t no future in supplying you trappers neither. Prices too high on goods I brung out, dollar too low on beaver … I could see trappers like you fellers wasn’t gonna make it, what with the world turn’t upside down on us the way it is.”
“Maybeso you can make your fortune on horses,” Scratch declared.
“Just what I figgered I was doing,” the trader snorted. “English horses. Injun horses too.”
Walker said, “Go to Californy with Bill Williams and get you some Mexican horses.”
“Craig!” Thompson yelled.
“I’m here, Phil.”
“S’pose you figgered it out: when I took off to steal some horses, you knowed our partnership was done.”
“I thought as much,” William Craig responded. “Just me and Sinclair now.”
Thompson said, “I wish you boys best of luck.”
Craig looked at Walker in wonder. “What you fixing to do about these horses now?”
“I reckon me and the fellas here aim to let you boys ride on by with them horses you can take back to the Snakes,” Thompson admitted. “Ain’t got no more heart to fight you.”
Walker and Meek dragged back the monstrous rough-hewn log some six inches square, withdrawing it from the cast-iron hasps to crack open the gate.
Peering out carefully, Walker said, “You fellas step aside, we’ll come on out now and this whole thing be over.”
“Awright,” Thompson agreed. “You boys come on out and we’ll make no trouble. Just see we get our own horses from that bunch you got in there first. We’ll need ’em for that long ride to Californy.”
“For sure that’s a long trail,” Scratch said with nothing less than admiration. “You boys will need good horses under you.”
By that time the winter sun was sinking and dark was coming on. Walker stepped back and ordered Meek and Sweete to throw open the gate. In shuffled some angry and a few shamefaced horse thieves to reclaim their own horses from the herd. One by one the riding horses and pack animals were broken out until Walker’s men were left with thirty-five horses. Thompson reluctantly shook hands with his old partner before Craig mounted up with the others and started wrangling their stock out the gate.
Lean, angular Bill Williams was standing in the long shadows of the fort wall that afternoon as Sweete and Bass brought up the rear of the herd. Titus reined around and came to a halt.
Williams asked, “You gonna hunt flat-tails?”
“Yep. Figure I ought’n till the plews ain’t wuth a damn.”
“If’n a man can find beaver.”
“Yep,” Bass said dolefully. “If a man can find beaver.”
“Ever you thort of coming to Californy with us?”
