Murder at Medicine Lodge (7 page)

The remaining two enlisted men were white, both of them wearing many stripes on their sleeves: Sergeant Hicks having six stripes, Sergeant Cullen having four. Sergeant Hicks was a stocky man with rough, weathered skin and, when he removed his broad black hat to wipe sweat from his brow, I was shocked to see that he had very little hair, the top of his bare skull quite shiny. He walked beside Hawwy as the latter tried to address a sullen Skywalker. During this less-than-productive exchange, I glanced from Sergeant Hicks to the other Striped Sleeve, Sergeant Cullen.

Now, there was a sight. The man was literally swollen with hostility, a to-the-bone meanness that manifested itself as he stood next to his horse, holding the reins too tightly, purposely hurting the animal that was trying to throw its head back, fighting the brutal hold. When the horse did a dancing step to the side, Sergeant Cullen kicked the horse in the ribs. The sound of that horse's scream caught everyone's attention, Hawwy and Sergeant Hicks quickly turning away from us. Sergeant Hicks yelled something, then Cullen, his upper lip curling back in a snarl, mounted up.

Thoroughly embarrassed—first by getting nowhere in the attempt at being civil with Skywalker, then by the brutal display of the soldier—Hawwy was practically babbling. Skywalker rounded off Hawwy's humiliation with a dismissive wave, turned his horse's head, and led the four of us away from the odd assortment of Blue Jackets.

*   *   *

We were two miles out and traveling northwest when Billy came riding out of a clump of scrub trees. As Hawwy had been the only means of communication between our two groups, and his abilities were somewhat sketchy, he was very glad to see the young frontiersman. With Billy now by his side, I could see an almost visible, burdensome weight lifting from Hawwy's shoulders. In all ruthless honesty, Hawwy was about as much a soldier as I was a warrior. He had been chosen for this expedition for precisely the same reasons I had—because the generals, on account of his impending marriage to Cherish and his friendship with me, believed he knew more about the Kiowa than he actually did. But unlike Hawwy, I had no rank whatsoever, so I was not afflicted with the responsibility of leadership. With the arrival of Billy, Hawwy eagerly shifted this responsibility, and with the shift came a lessening of tensions, for Skywalker quite readily spoke to Billy whereas he pointedly had had nothing to say to Hawwy.

The Cheyenne Robber and Hears The Wolf were two of the finest trackers in the Nation but they had a hard task. You must understand that there were thousands and thousands of horses in that valley. The ground was a mess, all churned up and, because of the arid heat, terribly dusty. The Cheyenne Robber and Hears The Wolf rode at the front. Skywalker—who for reasons I didn't understand, did not want to talk to me any more than he wanted to talk to Hawwy—chose to ride beside Billy. Hawwy, Lieutenant Danny, and I rode behind them. Behind us were the two sergeants, and behind them rode the two black men.

Gradually the ground smoothed out and tracks were found. For a long time it wasn't clear if we were following one horse or two, but when the ground became devoid of other traffic, it became apparent that we were following two horses wearing metal shoes.

Right away The Cheyenne Robber said that a soldier was chasing another soldier, but Lieutenant Danny said no. He said that he had counted a large number of mules belonging to the Indians. Mules with army markings. Well, that put The Cheyenne Robber's hair up. He fired back that any mules belonging to the Nations had been given in trade and that no Indian would accept a mule needing to wear iron shoes. Besides, he knew a mule print from a horse print whereas Snotty Nose didn't look as if he knew anything except how to blow his nose so he should just shut up. Lieutenant Danny finished blowing his nose and then shut right up.

In this spirit of mounting hostility, we continued following the tracks. Ten miles more, when buzzards were seen lazily circling the sky, we pushed our horses into a gallop.

The sight of the man known as Buug-lah and his equally dead horse was horrific. Swarms of flies fed on both bodies. The black soldier, William, walked off to the side and commenced to wretch loudly. Lieutenant Danny panicked, pulled his sidearm, turning the pistol on Hears The Wolf. The Cheyenne Robber, coming up behind him, used his locked-together hands like a battle-ax, knocking the young man on the side of his head and to the ground. Hawwy and Billy froze. Amazingly, so did Little Jonas and the two sergeants. Hears The Wolf quickly disarmed Billy and the Blue Jackets, then was forced to wait as, throughout all of this excitement, William kept right on vomiting. Finally able to take away this last soldier's sidearm, Hears The Wolf ordered the Blue Jackets to stand together.

As they moved to comply, Hears The Wolf tried to think what to do next. But the man was floundering. As White Bear was known to be in possession of the dead man's property, he would be blamed for his murder. To save his friend, Hears The Wolf could not allow the soldiers to ride back to their camp to report what we'd found. On the other hand, he was bound by his word to Lone Wolf that he would make certain that while he kept the soldiers honest, he would also keep them safe. Having sworn this so faithfully and in public, Hears The Wolf didn't feel completely free to kill them, but then neither could he just let them go.

Loath though as I am to admit this, in those crucial moments, I wasn't of much help. Life had taken on a dreamlike quality, a dream where the colors are too vibrant, the edges too hard. So there I was, trapped in this dreamstreaky state, standing next to Hawwy with my hands in the air too. I came crashing back into the actual moment when, with a cry issuing from his throat, Skywalker laid a hand on my vest jacket and yanked me away from Hawwy, physically reminding me just which side in this dilemma I was supposed to be on. With hard words and another rough shove, he propelled me toward the corpse.

Buug-lah lay on the ground, as dead as a doorknocker. From the look of him, someone had done him in with a sharp, heavy instrument, most probably a metal ax, splitting his once smug face in half. The body was in the advanced stages of decomposition. Even at twenty yards the stench was quite robust. I didn't want to get any nearer than that, but Skywalker was still physically insistent. As he forced me forward, I shoved bits of sage up my nose and tied a protective leather cloth across my face. Skywalker needed no such protection, for he did not have the ability to smell things. Not even really bad things, like a rotting corpse.

More than a year prior to Medicine Lodge, Skywalker had had an accident—a head-first fall from a running horse. The result of the fall left him with terrible headaches and the loss of his senses of smell and taste. The headaches, as terrible as they were, were treatable, but restoring these two vital senses went far beyond my capabilities. He liked to pretend that the loss didn't bother him, but as his doctor, as his friend, I knew the truth.

Before the accident he hadn't paid any attention to the fact that he could smell and taste. He can hardly be criticized for this, as all human beings walk around taking for granted the things they should actually be marveling, failing to appreciate even for a second just how wondrously we are made. The ability to smell, the ability to taste, are two things we simply expect to do. Privately, Skywalker's loss devastated him. Nothing he ate gave him enjoyment and he was frustrated that he could no longer enjoy simple things like the sweet perfume of pine trees after a spring rain or the aroma of a hearty stew on a cold winter's day. Yet there was a dangerous side to his loss.

The senses of smell and taste are primary warning devices. A bad taste instinctively tells a person to spit out whatever they happen to be chewing, that the bad taste means something is poisonous to the body. The sense of smell detects the acrid odor of smoke, a sense vital to those living in a country of grass where fires are known to flash start. Nothing can stop a prairie fire once it flares to life. Man and animals can only get out of its way, and they must do this long before the fire is seen, Skywalker's inability to smell such danger left him subtly dependent on others. Skywalker abhorred being dependent. Even subtly.

Then again, during that autumn when we were at Medicine Lodge, there were a lot of things Skywalker despised. By his surly manner, it was becoming more and more apparent that I was one of those things. Something was going on between us, something I didn't understand, and until he felt ready to share the problem, I was treated not like a friend, but as someone he didn't care to know. When he spoke to me, he snapped, he ordered.

Ordinarily this attitude would have hurt me deeply. On that day, it simply made me mad, for there I was, gagging on account of that putrefying body while he spoke in a demeaning manner, thoroughly unfazed by Buug-lah's whiffy remains. While we were thus engaged, The Cheyenne Robber was putting his tracking skills to good use, looking for any type of sign.

Skywalker looked back at him while I annoyingly brushed flies away from my eyes. “What do you see?”

The Cheyenne Robber circled the area, confusion marring his features. “I can't find anything in this grass.” Then he yelped. “Wait! Here's something.”

“What is it?”

The Cheyenne Robber stood to his full height, shook his head. “It looks like a deep cut.”

Skywalker rose and went to join his brother. Studying the mark, they remained unnaturally quiet. “It's the heel of a boot,” Skywalker said. Squatting down, he placed his hand just above the mark.

“Anything?” The Cheyenne Robber quizzed.

Skywalker's hand became a fist. “Nothing. Too much time has passed. No images are coming to me.” Raising his head he declared, “It would seem our one hope is Tay-bodal.”

Nervously I cleared my throat. “I—I need help. I ask for Hawwy.”

His eyes narrowing, Skywalker simply stared at me. I hated it when he got like that. His silences always made me feel defensive. Feeling a degree of malice in that stare, I felt extremely defensive.

“Hawwy is a doctor too,” I said, hating the nervous edge in my tone.

Skywalker still said not a word. His mouth slowly compressing into a tight line. All right, I thought, if he wants to be mad at me, then he should be that in a better time and place. Steeling my nerve, I said more forcibly, “Hawwy is a fair person. We are lucky to have him. And as we do have him, we should use him.”

“Tay-bodal's right,” Hears The Wolf said.

Skywalker turned his silent tactic on Hears The Wolf. I was glad to see that he responded to it no better than I, but as Hears The Wolf was Lone Wolf's chosen leader of this little expedition, he didn't have time to worry about Skywalker's apparent displeasure. Lifting his chin in Hawwy's direction, he shouted, “Hawwy wants to help. Look at his face!”

Skywalker's gaze traveled sluggishly toward Ha-we-sun. His hands still raised even with his head, Hawwy was looking at the body on the ground with a concentrated expression. Skywalker stood and went over to where Hawwy was, stood right in front of him but spoke to Billy, keeping his voice low and even.

“I know you understand the problem of our finding that man dead. Tay-bodal says he needs Hawwy's help. I think you should take time to explain to him just how important his complete cooperation will be.”

Even though his face was partially obscured by the wide brim of his hat, I saw Billy flinch. After a moment's deliberation, he nodded, then turned and addressed Hawwy.

Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber tied up the remaining Blue Jackets, having to grapple first with Sergeant Cullen. During the scuffle William had edged closer to Lieutenant Danny's side. William's face was streaked with tears that, in the strong sunlight, shone like silver lines on his dark face.

When Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber started after Little Jonas, they were expecting a huge fight, but the man, staring off at William, was oddly compliant. He made not one defensive gesture. Because he was so indulgent, Hears The Wolf and The Cheyenne Robber took their time deciding just which scrub tree wasn't likely to be uprooted by Little Jonas's use of brute force. Once the five Blue Jackets were settled and secure, Billy nodded to Hawwy. At last able to move without fear of being shot, Hawwy tied a cloth over his face and came to me.

He hunkered right down, his dark brown eyes above the mask, eager as he said excitedly, “This not man. Clothes no fit.”

He meant, of course, that this couldn't possibly be Buug-lah because the clothing looked too small. Hearing this, Skywalker ran to join us, coming to stand just behind Hawwy. Looking up at Skywalker, seeing the eagerness in his expression, I wanted to hit Haw-we-sun. His saying that was just like throwing mud clods into a perfectly clear waterhole. How was I suppose to convince the others that his help was necessary if he went on making idiot statements like that? All right, the dead man's face was split in half and I was having a hard time keeping the black cloud of flies stirred so that they wouldn't resettle and cover up the wound. But even in these appalling conditions I could tell that this man was once Buug-lah, for, having watched him for days and simply out of curiosity, I clearly remembered the dead man's face. Hawwy hadn't known him at all before coming to Medicine Lodge and to my knowledge, had only looked at him twice. But only once, on the day he picked him up and brushed him off, had he shown the living man any interest. Now he was basing his iffy identification on the way the body was clothed, giving no thought at all to the ruined facial structure.

Despite the malodorous air, I heaved a wearied sigh.

A decomposing human is an awful sight. Worse than any species of dead animal. With all things formerly living, death has distinct stages but these stages are more apparent in humans. There are other stages for bodies left to molder in deep water, but as the body I am telling you about was on dry land, I will be brief, horrifying your mind only with those details.