Beneath a Dakota Cross Page 21

“Was he one of the train robbers?”

  “No, he won the map in a poker game with the last surviving train robber.”

  “You really think there’s treasure buried up there?”

  “He did. And so did the ones who killed him.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Doc Kabyo. The same one who killed Juan.”

  “I think the man is a demon.”

  “You might be close to right, Tiny. What do they know about the cross?”

  “They knew that it fell off the mountain. Juan told that story to any who would listen. But they acted like we knew more than we were tellin’. Which we didn’t. Juan died not knowin’ a thing about those gold coins.”

  “I suppose they might be digging around on their own.”

  “That could be. But it would be extremely hard work to climb the cliff. You could not do that with one leg.”

  “Kabyo wouldn’t do that with two legs. But he might have one of the others try. Is there any way to approach your claim undetected?”

  “The best would be to ride straight down the creek. The brush could hide us for a while.”

  Big River Frank nodded agreement.

  They walked the horses slowly down Spearfish Creek, pausing often in thickets, scouting the canyon ahead of them. The water gurgled and sprayed just loud enough to cover the splash of the hooves. Tiny Martinez pointed out a pile of rocks that signaled the beginning of his claim.

  Big River Frank rode up beside Brazos.

  “Looks like all four horses up there.” He pointed his carbine towards the base of the cliff. “They must be in the shaft.”

  “Or in the brush near the base of the cliff,” Tiny replied.

  Brazos pulled out his spectacles and shoved them on his nose. “Where’s Juan’s mule?”

  “I think he ran off when I rode away last night.”

  “If we start shootin’ and they try to escape, which way will they go?” Brazos asked.

  “If we come in from this direction, they’ll cross the creek and ride north,” Martinez suggested.

  Brazos waved his hand to the south. “Big River, ride back and tell Grass and the Jims to circle around and cut off the trail north. We’ll wait here and keep a eye on things. I’d rather wait until they come out of that shaft. If they’re holed up back in there, it might take days to flush them out.”

  “Unless they crawl out the air vent like Tiny did,” Big River Frank proposed.

  Brazos turned to Martinez. “Can you sneak around and guard that air vent?”

  “On foot, yes.”

  “I’ll stay here until Big River returns, and we’ll just wait them out.”

  Tiny Martinez tied off his horse in the brush and disappeared in the cluster of willows that lined the bank of the creek. Big River Frank rode back upstream as Brazos studied the opening of the five-by-five-foot shaft that disappeared into the darkness at the base of the limestone cliff. He aimed his carbine at the opening and gauged it to be two hundred yards away.

  Lord, I’ve spent almost a year wanting Kabyo dead. He tests my theology. I do not know why people like him should still be alive. He’s forfeited his right to exist. He is like Satan himself: a stealer, a destroyer, a killer … continuing to torment the innocent.

  There was no movement and Brazos lowered his carbine.

  A Dakota cross was up there? This isn’t what I’ve been thinkin’ it would be. There is no room against that cliff for a decent house, let alone a ranch. This can’t be where you were leadin’ me, can it?

  Where was that cross before some train robbers used it for a marker? Maybe it was out on the plains. Maybe it was in some nice Black Hills meadow … maybe it was in Wyoming … or Colorado … or Arizona. Hook won that map in Arizona. If this is the right cross, how will I find the right place? This doesn’t make things clearer. It’s more complicated.

  The blast of a rifle report echoed down the canyon wall. Brazos threw his carbine to his shoulder. A white puff of gunsmoke drifted from halfway up the cliff above the open mine shaft.

  Big River Frank splashed his way up the creek. “Where did that shot come from?”

  “On the cliff!”

  “Who did he shoot at?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  Another shot blasted from the cliff, and two men sprinted out from the brush beside the mine opening towards the picketed horses.

  “Where’s Kabyo? I don’t see a one-legged man,” Big River hollered.

  Several shots were fired from the brush across the creek. A man tumbled off the cliff and crashed into the rocks a hundred feet below. Both men on the ground dashed inside the mine shaft.

  “Who shot him?” Big River asked, as he and Brazos cautiously rode towards a cluster of twelve-foot cottonwood trees. “Grass and the Jims are still behind us. Someone else has ambushed Kabyo,” Big River declared.

  “I reckon he has plenty of enemies.”

  “That means someone else is in this canyon!”

  Brazos kept his eyes on the mine. “Go signal Grass and the Jims to come back and wait here. I’ll go get Tiny. Let’s just wait it out and see who’s shootin’ who.”

  Several more shots were fired. The gunsmoke reply filtered out of the mine shaft. Brazos tied Coco next to Tiny Martinez’s mare and crawled through the brush toward the canyon wall.

  Gunshots continued sporadically until he reached a cluster of aspens and a crouching Martinez.

  “Who’s shooting?” Martinez quizzed.

  “Don’t know. What can you see from here?”

  “The top of the air vent is right up there in that ledge of boulders.”

  “Have you seen any action?”

  “Just the man falling off the cliff,” Martinez reported.

  “Is he one of the ones you saw with Kabyo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s sit this out and see what we have when it’s over. I’ve gathered the others down at the creek.”

  “Think I’ll stay here,” Tiny offered. “I don’t want them coming up that air vent and escaping. I owe Juan that much.”

  “Keep yourself out of sight,” Brazos cautioned, then pointed twenty feet up the side of the canyon wall. “Think I’ll sneak up the cliff to those boulders and see if I can figure it out.”

  “The last man on the cliff didn’t fare well.”

  “I’ll stay behind those boulders. I don’t reckon anyone will be lookin’ over here in the shadows.”

  To keep hidden from the canyon floor, Brazos had to crawl hand over fist, lying flat against the rocks. Within minutes his hands and knees were raw, and his forehead was streaming with sweat. From his perch he peered downstream towards the north.

  With his spectacles steamed, the trees seemed to dart to and fro. He wiped off the lenses and reset them on his nose.

  The trees didn’t dart any more.

  But a number of men did.

  Buckskin-dressed, dark-skinned men with long, black hair.

  Sioux!

  Dozens of ’em.

  Maybe hundreds!

  Lord, I believe that’s a sign to get out of this canyon.

  Quick.

  Brazos slid on his rear end down the boulders and crashed into the brush next to a startled Tiny Martinez.

  “Tiny, there’s a hundred Sioux swarmin’ up the canyon.”

  The Mexican’s brown eyes widened. “They’re really doing it! They’ve been threatening to clean out this canyon all spring!”

  “Maybe Kabyo and the others will get what they deserve. Come on.”

  “I want to make sure they don’t escape.”

  “You don’t want to be sittin’ up here when the Sioux show up.”

  Tiny pointed to a narrow trail along the base of the cliff. “This foot trail joins the road about a half-mile south of here. We made it for an escape route. It’s the one I used last night. Bring my horse there, and I’ll meet you. That way I can make sure none escape.”

  “We’ll wait for you there.”

  Ti
ny waved his bandaged arm. “If I’m not there, just tie up my horse and get yourselves on out.”

  Several shots rang out from the mouth of the mine shaft.

  Brazos stooped and sprinted from bush to tree to boulder until he reached the others clustered in Spearfish Creek.

  Yapper Jim rode straight up to him. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “The Sioux are swarmin’ up the canyon, ready for war,” Brazos reported. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Where’s Martinez?”

  “He’s goin’ to meet us down the road. Wants to make sure Kabyo and the others face the music right here.”

  “Under the Dakota cross?” Big River mused.

  “How we goin’ out?” Grass Edwards pressed.

  “You and the Jims head up a hundred feet, then cover me and Big River. We’ll leapfrog back and forth. Try not to fire a shot. The longer we can go without them spotting us, the better.”

  Gunfire continued behind them as they retreated up the creek. No one spoke until they reached the foot trail and paused for Tiny.

  “You think these Sioux will ride right into Deadwood?” Yapper Jim questioned.

  “It’s possible,” Brazos mused. “Maybe this is what they’ve been plannin’. We always figured they would come in from the east.”

  “If they bring another war party from the Badlands, they could attack both ends of the gulch,” Grass reported.

  Quiet Jim stood in the stirrup and stared off in the direction of the sporadic gunfire. “We’ve got to get back and warn them.”

  “How long can we wait for Martinez?” Grass questioned.

  “I’ll go up and check on him,” Brazos replied. “Keep yourselves out of sight.”

  Big River Frank pulled off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead, then stared at the trail. “It looks like mule tracks.”

  “Tiny said this is the way he came out last night.”

  “Looks like two sets to me.”

  “He said Juan’s mule ran off at the same time.” Carrying the carbine, Brazos sprinted up the narrow, shady trail. Hugging the bottom of the cliff, the path was almost invisible from the creekbed and beyond. He leaped over the rocks that had toppled off the cliff.

  His legs stiffened. His knees ached. Just ahead near a fork in the trail, he spotted two crumbled bodies in the shadows. He ignored the stiff body of Juan Tejunga and searched for a pulse on Tiny Martinez.

  Tiny’s dead. Looks like he was tryin’ to carry Juan out and got himself shot.

  I didn’t hear a shot. But then, there are lots of things I don’t hear. Brazos leaned over the bodies. “Boys, I promise you I’ll be back and see that you’re buried proper.”

  Gunfire hailed from the creek behind him as he hunkered down and sprinted back up the trail. Still mounted, but hidden behind a stand of willows, Big River Frank waited for him, holding both Fortune’s and Martinez’s horses.

  “Tiny’s dead!” he called out as he swung into the saddle.

  Big River’s eyes tightened. His voice even lower than usual. “That’s what we figured.”

  “Were they shootin’ at you?” Brazos asked.

  “Grass and the Jims surmised they could distract them enough for us to make a run for those boulders. Then we could do the same for them.”

  Brazos checked the lever of his Sharps and studied the casing of the .50-caliber bullet. “Did anyone get shot?”

  “Oh … I got nicked, but it’s …”

  “Where?”

  “My right leg,” Big River said.

  Brazos rode around to the right side of Big River Frank. “Whoa, partner, we’ve got to stop that bleeding.”

  “Later …” Big River leaned low in the saddle and spurred his horse to a gallop.

  Brazos, leading Martinez’s mare, raced along behind him amid several scattered gunshots. When they reached the boulders, both men leaped to the ground. Big River Frank took a step and tumbled to the dirt.

  “Pull that belt off and tourniquet that leg!” Brazos demanded. With a handful of shells, he began to barrage the creekbed with the impact of .50-caliber bullets.

  Big River began working the action on his ’73 carbine. He emptied fourteen shots in the same time Brazos had shot six.

  “Either bandage that leg now,” Brazos yelled, “or I’ll coldcock you and bandage it myself.”

  Big River Frank glared at Brazos and shoved the breech loading magazine full of .44-40 cartridges.

  Brazos shook his head. “If I don’t look after you, who will?”

  Big River Frank sighed. “That’s what life’s all about, ain’t it?”

  “Lookin’ after each other? I reckon so.”

  “You’ll never hold them back with that single shot.” He tossed Brazos his Winchester carbine.

  As Big River Frank tied a tourniquet and then a flour sack bandage on his leg, Brazos emptied another fourteen shots into the Sioux stronghold at the creek. Yapper Jim led the way as he, Quiet Jim, and Grass Edwards charged up the trail to the safety of the boulders.

  Within minutes they were deep down the trail towards Deadwood. The gunfire ceased the minute they romped behind the boulders. After five minutes of hard riding, Brazos reined up and gathered the others. “Anyone take a bullet besides Big River?”

  “We’re clean,” Grass reported.

  “You think they’ll follow us?” Yapper Jim quizzed.

  “Can’t say. It might depend on how many others they still have to clear out of Spearfish Canyon,” Brazos mused.

  “They could follow us right into Deadwood,” Yapper groaned.

  “That’s a fact,” Brazos concurred. “A couple of you need to race into town and sound a warning. Tell them to blockade both ends of Main Street and post guards. They should call ever’one out of the gulches and station them in town. The other three of us will drop back and slow them down.”

  “I’ll stay back,” Big River offered. “This leg don’t feel like ridin’ hard.”

  “That’s exactly the reason you’re goin’ to town,” Brazos demanded.

  “He’s right,” Yapper Jim insisted. “The wounded are moved to the rear of the battle. That’s common knowledge. That’s one thing I did learn in the war.”

  “I think Brazos should go with Big River,” Quiet Jim interrupted.

  “That’s out of the question. I got you boys into this, and I’ll get you out. Besides, I can outshoot ever’one of you.”

  “When there’s several hundred Sioux on the warpath, it don’t matter how good a shot you are,” Grass added. “I agree with Quiet Jim. You’ve got a family to look after. Go on.”

  “I’m not goin’, and that’s final!”

  “Well, someone ought to go, or we’ll all be ambushed while we argue,” Yapper Jim insisted.

  “You need to go, Brazos,” Big River echoed. “You’re the only one who might be able to rally the town.”

  “Besides,” Quiet Jim added, “ever’one of us would rather die than have to ride back to town and tell Dacee June her daddy’s dead.”

  Yapper Jim reached over and slapped Coco’s rump just as Big River Frank spurred his own horse. Both men galloped up the trail.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The trail east to Deadwood was easier to traverse under the light of a bright June sun.

  But not a lot easier.

  Downed trees and rock slides from the previous winter lay where they fell. Everyone in the Black Hills seemed consumed with trying to find their bonanza. None had time to stop and clear the roadway. Big River Frank halted and waited for Brazos at a rock slide that blocked fifty feet of trail with a three-foot-deep blanket of fist-sized boulders.

  “Is this where we walked the horses across last night?” Brazos asked.

  Big River hesitated. “I reckon so. But it all looks different in daylight.”

  “How you doin’, partner? You look pale.”

  “I, eh …” Big River took a deep breath and laid back against his cantle and bedroll. His hat slipped off his
head and dangled by the stampede string. “Reckon I lost a little blood.”

  “Let’s get you in the shade and give the horses a break,” Brazos insisted.

  “We’ve got to go warn them in town,” Big River muttered. “I’ll be all right …”

  “I’m going to make sure of that.” Brazos shoved his carbine into the scabbard, then slipped down to the rocky trail. Big River Frank sat back up but didn’t protest when Brazos yanked the reins out of his hands. Brazos walked both horses slowly across the slippery rock slide. He was just leading them back down to the dirt trail when a blast from Big River’s carbine caused him to drop the reins and dive for cover.

  Coco bolted up the path. Big River Frank’s horse reared, but the wounded cowboy spun him to the right and regained control. Brazos peered out from behind a pine stump.

  “What in the world did you do that for?” Brazos hollered.

  Big River’s head and shoulders slumped as if he were about to nod off or fall off. He pointed the barrel of his carbine to a spot a few feet from where Brazos stood. The now headless rattlesnake looked to be about five feet long and as big around as a man’s wrist.

  “I decided one of us wounded was enough,” Big River drawled. “Didn’t want to see you snakebit.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “Didn’t you hear him signal?”

  “He rattled?” Brazos reached up and poked at his ears.

  “Like a señorita’s castanet in one of them border town cantinas.”

  “I seem to be missing some sounds.”

  “It’s your advanced years. You’d better go catch your pony.”

  “I’m going to get you in the shade first.”

  “I’m fine right here.”

  “You’re not even close to being fine, Big River. Now don’t argue with your elder.”

  Brazos led Big River’s horse down past several scrub willows to the creek no more than five feet across. The crystal-clear water gurgled over rocks and logs. He went around to help Big River.

  “I ain’t never had a day I needed help to dismount,” he grumbled. He slid to the ground. His feet gave out, and he crumpled on his chest in the rocks beside the stream.

  Brazos rushed to help him turn over and sit up.

  “See,” Big River announced, “I made it down, didn’t I?”