“Are we sure this is what needs to happen?” A lawyer named Thomas Crowder asks.
“We are called upon to make hard choices, Thomas. Your own father, a member of the Senate, agreed. Hundreds of lives to save thousands. It seems harsh and it is, but we can be part of bringing security to the mass of people moving into the West.”
Thomas nods, “When you put it like that, it does make sense.”
“With this last shipment of supplies, we will have enough to make sure no one escapes?” Wallace asks.
“Yes, Fort Conner was a supply base until it was abandoned after the peace treaty. It is the perfect spot to store all the weapons. It’s only a days ride to Fort Steele. Any questions?” Barclay asks.
“Okay, lets’ go over the battle strategy. Tell me Captain, how do you plan on ensuring no one escapes except the ones we want to.” Barclay looks at Captain Ganic.
“Gather round.” He points to the map on the desk. “The Indians will attack in the middle of the night, while most people are sleeping in their beds. We have eight Gatlin Guns placed around the town which is basically a few simple single-story structures here,” he points to the map which they all are standing around.
“The town is surrounded by a stone fence and is mostly used by ranchers and wagon trains, traveling through,” General Barclay places silver coins on the map around the city to represent the Gatling guns.
“You know, you could simply poison the water supply. It would ensure that no one escapes, and we could stage the attack better,” Thomas suggests.
“Not a bad idea, Thomas. I will talk to Dr. Ellis before I leave and see what he can do. Either way, no one will escape. Look at the last battle. We only had two Gatlin Guns and killed over two hundred Shoshone. In a few weeks, this will all be over with. We will exterminate them one tribe at a time.”
Chapter 12
Harris rides fast for half the night, knowing time is essential. Even if Kimani manages to escape the trackers, there are other dangers to worry about. Bears are coming out of hibernation, coyote, wolf, and even cougars will be prowling for their next meal, and they will be drawn to her blood. Just thinking about it has him pushing his horse even harder.
Simon told her to go south. If she was injured with a gunshot wound and taking a swim in the freezing water of the river her body would be hypothermic. The blood loss alone would slow her down. The past few years he’d lost track of all the times he’s had to treat Kimani’s injuries. Broken arms, cuts, bruises, sprained ankles and more. It was way past time that she found someone to help look after her, which he had told her and her Father the last time he was in their village.
After she rejected his marriage offer, he went to the Chief. It was not an easy conversation, but the Chief agreed that she would come live on the ranch after the spring tribal. Guilt rips through his heart. “I should have made her listen to reason!” but he pushes it aside, “Focus on finding Kimani.”
A gunshot echoes across the dark field, startling Harris from his thoughts. He draws up short and leans low over his horse while trying to determine the direction it came from. Wyoming is not flat open plains. It has hills and valleys, which he’s thankful for when the next round of shots reverberates from close by. The full moon allows for him to see. Harris rides for the high side of the hill where he can use trees for cover and jumps from his horse, digging in his saddlebag he pulls out a pair of binoculars.
After a moment of disbelief, he discovers where the noise is coming from. He sees a large campfire in a small clearing below the ridge. The large flames act as a beacon, signaling across the grassy sea of snow.
“Damn Fools!” He hisses and watches four soldiers shooting guns, laughing and drinking. They will draw any predators in the area, but it’s not the animal kind to worry about. Anyone with brains knows you travel light and fast through these fields or risk being robbed, shot or killed by Indians.
He’s about to mount his horse and go warn them when one man lifts a scalp and waves it in the air. Harris is horrified. “Oh, God,” his stomach rolls and when another soldier lifts a bag usually reserved for carrying supplies, Harris freezes.
“That’s nothing, check out my loot!” The soldier unties his drawstring bag and dumps it on the ground to which the other three start cheering. Noses, Ears, lips and worse spill on the snow-covered ground.
Harris drops his head to the ground and wills himself to breath, not vomit. He’s seen worse as a doctor. “No,” he whispers and closes his eyes, trying to still the trembling in his body.
His heart and mind fill with memories of the children he’s delivered, the sick he’s tended too and the brotherhood of years with Chief Nashoba and his tribe. Pony races, as children, swimming, camping, fishing and learning how to use a bow. Tears fall, and he’s not ashamed of them. When the rage comes, he welcomes it. As a doctor, he knows how to heal, but he’s also a soldier and a rancher.
Striding quickly to his horse he unstraps his Winchester rifle from the leather scabbard on the saddle. With a flick of his hand, he racks a bullet into the chamber and moves back to the ridge. Killing them would be a blessing. Harris lays down on his stomach at the top of the knoll, being sure to keep to shadows the moon throws on the ground. Using the iron site,
