The Guns of Vedauwoo (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series Book 6) Page 7

  When he'd finished securing the dressing, Twisted Root paused and reached to gently touch the arrowhead that hung around Cash's neck. "I remember when your mother gave you this," he murmured.

  "On her death bed," said Cash.

  "I am pleased to see you still wear it. I am sure your mother also sees and is pleased."

  Cash nodded. "That's why I'm never without it. Just as you are never without your buffalo horn."

  Now Twisted Root's hand moved to rest on his own talisman. "It is the thing that reminds me how fortunate I am to have the Great Spirit in my life. It came from my first buffalo hunt. When the old bull turned to hook me and would have dragged me to the ground and trampled me, the Great Spirit reached down and caused the horn to break off and I was saved. It was a sign that told me and all who were present that day that my path from then on would always be closely aligned with the Great Spirit."

  "I have heard the story many times. Indeed the Great Spirit has continued to walk close to you and speak through you over the years."

  Twisted Root held out the second clay cup with the squeezings from his concoction still in it. "Now drink this," he said.

  Cash reluctantly took the cup and did as he was told. The juice tasted every bit as vile as he'd feared. With the expression on his face still puckered in distaste, Cash said, "So what's going to do me the most good—the gunk you put on the outside or the awful juice you made me pour on the inside?"

  "They work together."

  "Good. Let's hope if the juice is as poisonous as it tasted, then the poultice on the outside will suck it back out again before it does any serious damage."

  "I see the years have done little to dull the sharpness of White Deer's tongue."

  Cash grinned. "Wouldn't you like to think so."

  "I thought many times of our paths crossing again," said Twisted Root. "In the event that it did, I expected nothing less."

  Cash's expression sobered. "Why have our paths crossed again, Grandfather? That is to say, what brings you back to Vedauwoo—what you call Bito' O' Wu—after all these years?"

  "The answer is simple, White Deer," replied the old man. "I came here to die."

  Cash didn't know how to respond to that so he said nothing, waited.

  Twisted Root continued, "I have always felt a strong spiritual tie to this place," he'd said. "Bito' O' Wu ... earth-born ... born of the earth we were in the beginning, and return to the earth we all shall in the end. I always knew that, given the strength and the choice, I would come back one day and make my return to the earth here."

  Cash nodded, beginning to understand.

  "On the reservation, it had been more than three moons since I had a vision. I knew then that my magic had left me, that the Great Spirit was calling me home. So I came here." From the folds of his shirt, Twisted Root took a long-stemmed clay pipe and a pouch of tobacco. With a gnarled thumb, he tamped tobacco into the bowl. "I began having visions again as soon as my feet were on the soil of Bito' O' Wu. First I saw you, White Deer. When I knew we would meet again, it made me happy."

  The medicine man produced a box of government-stamped lucifer matches and fired the pipe, puffing out clouds of aromatic smoke. "And then the darker visions began," Twisted Root went on. "The ones that warned me of the evil also massing here and the unsuspecting innocents in its path ... That was when I knew that, before my journey could end, you and I, together, had been chosen to do battle against these evils and to protect these innocents."

  "I think I understand about the evil. It is the man Vilo Creed," said Cash. "But what unsuspecting innocents do you speak of, Grandfather?"

  Twisted Root puffed more smoke. "I have had many visions since arriving here. Some have been very clear, others less so. That is often the way.

  "One such vision—one that has come to me more than once, yet never with complete clarity—involves many guns. Rifles. I see them being seized up by excited young warriors with faces painted for war. In my mind's ear I hear their war cries as they ride out for battle and then I hear the lamentations of their victims. But this is very brief. Next, as if from afar, I hear the thunder of many more guns and then, as the thunder grows closer, this time it is the painted young warriors who are lamenting and crying out in pain ...

  "It is like a bad memory, from the old times when we fought the Whites and had not yet accepted that their numbers were simply too great and our way of life was destined to end. But this vision is not from the old times. It is now. Or the very near future. And the innocents I speak of are those who will be foolish enough to once again get caught up in the false hope ... and those who will fall victim to them before it once more ends."

  Cash hesitated a moment before responding. It was obvious, of course, that Twisted Root was speaking of the guns hidden here in Vedauwoo and what was bound to happen if the Ghost Shirt hot bloods got their hands on them. When Cash spoke, he said, "You are familiar with the Ghost Dance movement that has become popular among many Indian Nation tribes?"

  "I know of it, yes ... Foolishness!"

  "And the Ghost Shirt belief that has sprung out of it?"

  "Even greater foolishness."

  "If the guns of your vision fell into the hands of some young, impressionable Ghost Shirt believers, that could bring about the fulfillment of the rest of your vision."

  "That would be the greatest ... and saddest ... foolishness of all."

  "If we were able to remove the core thing meant to fuel that false hope you speak of—the rifles, in other words—it would go a long way toward un-fulfilling the rest of your vision."

  Twisted Root puffed on his pipe, expression unchanging. "You know about the guns from my vision?"

  "Know about 'em, yeah. They're somewhere here in Bito' O' Wu." Cash made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "Trouble is, I don't know exactly where."

  Now Twisted Root's eyes narrowed. "But the evil one does."

  "I'm afraid so."

  "We must not let them fall into his hands."

  Cash nodded grimly. "That's the general idea."

  -EIGHT-

  William Hattner paced through the cold, gray pre-dawn and cursed himself. He was on watch, walking slowly back and forth in a crescent pattern before the wagon where the others slept—the two women up in the wagon bed, Jonathan and Cory on the ground underneath. As he paced, William carried Leonard Cory's Henry repeater braced over one shoulder.

  All of this, he kept telling himself, was his fault. No matter how it turned out, he was the reason they were here in this remote spot that had once seemed so peaceful and starkly beautiful but now seemed only ominous and threatening.

  Even if they were able to roll out at first light, as planned, and avoided any actual encounter with the shooters they'd heard blasting away the previous evening, there would be lasting hard feelings and recriminations aimed his way. And he would deserve them.

  It was he alone who had begged to make this trip after seeing Jonathan's photographs, pressuring Jonathan to crowd it in ahead of the wedding because William was scheduled to start his return trip for England immediately after and would have no other opportunity to climb these marvelous escarpments. Alice had hated the idea right from the beginning, naturally, and hadn't been shy in saying so. But somehow Jonathan had gotten her to agree as long as it could be a "gala outing" and she could come along and bring her bridesmaid-to-be.

  So now here they were ... Cowering in the dark and cold, tense, irritable, at odds with one another, on guard against an unseen threat that might never even materialize.

  Before sunset, Alice had announced in no uncertain terms her complete contempt for William. Jonathan was no longer speaking to him. Nor were Alice and her best friend Melanie presently on speaking terms.

  What a mess.

  And, providing they made it back to Denver without harm or further incident, there still would be the matter of the wedding. What of that? William had little doubt his best man role was gone. And possibly the lovely Melanie would be deprived
of her bridesmaid's turn as well. But, regrettable as either of those developments might be, they would mean little as long as everyone came away safe. In that case, what William would regret the most would be if his relationship with Jonathan—his cousin and best friend since childhood—was permanently damaged.

  A rustling sound interrupted William's thoughts, causing him to halt and turn abruptly toward the wagon. In the same motion he shrugged the Henry off his shoulder and brought it to a ready position. Poised in that manner, he watched a figure emerge from the rear of the wagon and drop lightly to the ground. The figure was shapeless and somewhat bulky in a long flannel nightgown but the way the silvery illumination of the waning starlight reflected off her spill of pale hair made Melanie Parsons readily identifiable. In addition to the heavy nightgown, she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She drew this tighter about herself as she stepped away from the wagon and moved toward William.

  "You can put away the rifle," she said in a calm voice. "It's only me."

  William lowered the Henry. "Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

  "Actually, I slept pretty well most of the night. I woke a little bit ago, though, and can't seem to doze back off. It must be nearly morning anyway, isn't it?"

  William tipped his head toward the eastern horizon, where the first hint of dawn was starting to brighten the sky. "Won't be long."

  "Have you been out here all night?"

  "Cory took the first watch. He woke me to take over sometime after midnight."

  "What about Jonathan?"

  "I left him sleep." William shrugged. "He's already angry enough at me, I didn't feel it necessary to add to it. Maybe the extra sleep will calm him down some."

  Melanie flashed a rueful smile. "I know what you mean. Alice gave me the silent treatment right up until we turned in. The way things stand, I'm pretty sure they're both equally annoyed with me."

  "And the fault for that," William sighed, "I'm afraid can be traced directly to me."

  "Nonsense. How are you the cause for our predicament any more so than the rest of us?"

  "I'm the one who insisted on coming here to pursue my silly rock-climbing aspirations, aren't I?"

  "And Alice was the one who insisted on coming along. When invited, I found the idea thoroughly exciting. I still do, if you want the truth. With you and Mr. Cory—and Jonathan, too, I suppose—I fully expect we'll come out of this just fine ... If it turns out we truly are in any danger to begin with."

  "You doubt that? Last night, when Cory suggested we take the precautions of a cold camp and the rest you spoke up favorably for the idea."

  "Because it only made good sense, like I said at the time. Still, it's not like I have some deep sense of dread over the whole thing. I'm confident we'll be okay ... except, perhaps, for some bruised friendships."

  "Do you get the feeling, as I do," William said wryly, "that the two of us may find ourselves out of demand as a bridesmaid and best man for a certain wedding once we make it back to Denver?"

  "I'd say that's a distinct possibility," Melanie allowed. "On the other hand, with Alice you never know. She and I have been friends for a long time. Her temperament is as changeable as the Denver weather. By the time we get back home and she starts gushing over the final touches on the wedding, I may find myself swept up in the mad whirl all over again. Like nothing happened."

  William's expression turned somber. "I'd like to think that could be the case with Jonathan and me. But, to tell the truth, I don't know what to expect. He and I have never had any kind of disagreement before. He's very mild mannered, as you've seen. Very slow to anger. Having now reached that point, however, I fear he may be equally slow to get over it."

  Melanie tilted her head and looked up at him. "This is a new side of you, William. It surprises me. Up until now, you've come across as supremely confident. Perhaps even a little cocky."

  "Up there," William said, gesturing toward the towering escarpment looming up behind the parked wagon, "I am confident and, yes, I guess a bit cocky. But in other ways, like for example wielding one of these" —he patted the stock of the Henry— "not so much."

  "You nevertheless look very competent with it."

  William smiled tolerantly. "I'm afraid appearances won't do much good if bullets actually start flying. Besides, either fortunately or unfortunately, this is the only firearm we have in camp. If it comes to having to use it, it will clearly belong back in the hands of its owner, Mr. Cory."

  * * *

  "There they are. Just like we told you," whispered Evert.

  "I see 'em," Elmer grunted in response. "I also see they're runnin' a cold camp and that they got a couple lookouts posted. Them're the signs of a bunch primed for trouble, not the way a happy-go-lucky picnic party would have it set up. Far as I'm concerned, that removes any doubt these are the sonsabitches behind the shootin' back at our camp."

  "Guess so," Evert had to admit.

  "Plain enough to me," Danton agreed.

  The three men were crouched in the shadows of a thick evergreen patch about forty yards from the climbers' camp. Elmer was centered between the other two.

  The gang leader rolled his head and glanced off toward the eastern sky. "Gonna be light before long," he said. "Expect the rest of 'em will be roustin' up about then. We figure three more—maybe four, at the most—in addition to these two lookouts we can see now. Right?"

  "One of those two out there now looks to me like one of the women," Evert pointed out. "I doubt she's posted as a lookout, probably just visiting with the fella holding the rifle."

  "What difference does that make?"

  "I'm just saying, that's all."

  "Well, what I'm sayin' is that we got five or six people to account for. We knew comin' in there was women in the mix. I ain't crazy about bustin' a cap on a woman—leastways not a white woman—either. But if that's the way it's got to be, then that's the way it's got to be. As soon as they're up and about and we got 'em all in our sights, we set to takin' 'em down. Understood?"

  "Yeah. That's what we came for," Evert allowed without enthusiasm.

  Elmer looked at Danton. "How about you? You holdin' up okay?"

  "I hurt like hell," the wounded man said through gritted teeth. "But I'll manage."

  "You can take a couple nips of whiskey, if need be."

  "I know. I have been."

  "You gonna be able to hit anything left-handed?"

  Danton frowned. "I don't know how I'd fare with a short gun. But with this" —he tapped the long-barreled shotgun resting on the ground beside his foot— "I can damn sure do some damage as long as they're in range." He rotated his right hand, which was sticking out from the bindings that held his arm tight and immobile against his body, adding, "And with this, I'm able to reload. I did some practicin'."

  "Good man. That's showin' some grit," Elmer said approvingly.

  "How you want us to get in position?" Evert asked.

  Elmer looked around a minute, studying. Then: "Evert, you're our best shot. You move on down a ways to that flat area. See where there's some high grass and a couple mossy boulders poking up? Me, I'll move off a ways to the left over here, up on that low hump where there's a stand of bushes. That'll put me close to where they've got their mules staked. That's how I'll start it off."

  "What do you mean?" said Evert.

  "I'm gonna kill the mules, that's what I mean. Put the notion of 'em havin' any chance to make a run for it clean out of those picnickers' heads right away. Then we work our way to the middle—you from the right, me from the left—choppin' down people as we go."

  "What about me?" Danton wanted to know.

  "You stay put, that way you won't have to move around any more. Cut loose right from where you're at. I know you're probably out of range, but it'll give 'em something else to think about, keep 'em distracted a little while me and Evert are blastin' away. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and get in a few stingers, too."

  "We better get where we need to be, then, w
hile it's still dark enough to keep from being spotted," said Evert.

  Elmer nodded. "Done and done. Just remember—wait for me to start it off."

  -NINE-

  "Wake, White Deer ... Evil walks Bito' O' Wu this morning. It is not the one you call Vilo Creed, but others. The ones who shot you, I think. My vision is not clear, but my sense of it is very strong. The stench of blood is in the air ... Innocents will die if you do not act quickly."

  Cash came fully awake in an instant. He had no recollection of falling asleep and no idea how long he'd been out. It was still dark, but the first whitish gray fingers of dawn were starting to reach above the eastern horizon.

  He sat up and a faint tugging sensation on his right side reminded him of the bullet gash there. When he touched it and pressed the heel of his hand gently against it, the wound issued only the faintest twinge of discomfort. Whatever Twisted Root had treated him with had not only worked fast but seemed to have been amazingly effective.

  The old medicine man sat across from him, on the same blanket-shrouded boulder where he'd perched the previous evening. As if he'd never moved. But the coals of the campfire glowed strong and red, obviously having been stoked at some point during the night.

  "Where is this thing about to take place, Grandfather?" Cash said. "Where is it that the innocents you speak of are under threat from the evil?"

  "I do not have a clear vision," Twisted Root said once again. "I only know that the ancient spirits who dwell in that direction" —he pointed to the south— "are signaling great unrest. You must go that way. Trust your own senses. The spirits will help guide you ... It is part of the reason we have been brought here, White Deer."

  "Are you coming with me, Grandfather?"

  "I am too slow. You must hurry. I will catch up."

  * * *

  Cash moved away from the Turtle at a steady trot. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gradually increasing light. He followed game trails through the brush and gullies, skirting the massive rock mounds and boulder spills, cutting across open meadows with his boots kicking the dew into puffs of fine mist.