CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morning muster was over and Dusty Fog opened his mouth to yell an order for the day’s patrol to leave. With Gilbey and his men on their way Dusty would be free to investigate the murder of Corporal Dunbrowski. The order was never to be given.
‘Dust cloud on the west horizon, sir!’ yelled the sentry on the gate.
A moment later a corporal astride an unsaddled horse raced through the west gate, riding straight across the square and leaping down before Dusty to throw a salute. ‘Folks coming from Shacktown, sir. Tolerable amount of them, look in a hurry to get here.’
‘Mr. Gilbey, Cardon!’ Dusty barked. ‘Come with me. Hold the parade, Sergeant-major!’
Pausing only long enough to unsling the field glasses from his saddle, Gilbey followed Dusty on the run with Cardon hot on his heels. At the west gate they saw the dust and could tell from the way it rose a fair number of feet churned it up. Dusty was about to order Mark and the scouts who had arrived to go out and make sure what caused the dust cloud. He did not give the order for he knew the Kid to be in Shacktown, or in the area of the dust. So he could wait, allowing the Kid to come in and tell. Yet he could not wait for something else.
‘All the horses in the Fort, Mr. Cardon,’ he said. ‘Picket them across the parade square.’
‘Yo,’ answered the lieutenant and darted away.
It was a simple precaution, getting the horses inside the fence. If the cloud was caused by, what they all suspected then no time must be lost. If not the horse gathering could be classed as a drill and would be useful practise.
‘Have the alarm sounded, Mr. Gilbey. Hold your company; dismiss the remainder to their posts.’
Dusty gave the second order quietly and Gilbey went to carry it out. By now the Shacktown citizens were streaming along the road into sight of the Fort. They came on foot, some carrying a few belongings, but most just in what they wore when they heard the Kid’s warning shouts.
The horses were coming into the Fort fast. Dusty looked back on the times he had run the men through this drill and saw it paying off now in lack of confusion. He’d rehearsed the drill for defending against an Indian attack regularly and the men knew their duties. This time they had the stimulus of it being the real thing for none of them thought the dust to be caused by a herd of buffalo.
By the time the first of the men from Shacktown reached the gates all the horses were inside, being attended to by the handling party while the remainder of the men took their posts.
Joanna Lingley dashed across the square and the other families gathered in a group at the edge. The girl came straight to Dusty’s side.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Indian attack. Take the women and kids to the mess hall and barricade up.’
One thing he liked about Joanna was the fact that she obeyed orders without question. Dusty watched her hurry back and start to herd the families into the enlisted men’s mess hall, where they would have some protection.
‘Injuns!’ gasped the first man through the gates, pointing back to the town. ‘Thousands of ‘em.’
In actual fact the man had seen no Indians at all and could not say truthfully how many or few they were but fear makes for a lively imagination. He staggered by Dusty and more men were coming with the women. Madame Flora and her girls, the workers in Lewis’s saloon bringing up the rear, stumbling and staggering, for none were in any way used to exercise.
‘Magoon!’ Dusty roared. ‘Ten men to help in those women.’ Paddy Magoon sprang forward, ripping out orders and left the Fort on the run with the men hard on his heels. Dusty watched, then saw the smoke which crept into the air from shacktown. He could not see so much dust now but what he aw appeared to be very close to the town and he’d seen no sign of the Kid, Lewis or two of the saloon-keeper’s hired guns.
Even as Magoon and his party half carried, half dragged the exhausted women into the walls of the Fort, Dusty saw the Kid coming, riding fast. Then he saw Madame Flora puffing away from Magoon’s hands, trying to get to him.
‘I had to take them girls, Captain,’ she gasped. ‘Lewis made me take them.’
Dusty made a sign and Magoon allowed the woman to come towards him. Then the burly sergeant ordered the remainder of the women to go to the mess hall and keep from under foot.
‘What girls?’ asked Dusty.
‘Four Sioux girls. They got away and headed for home in the night.’
Before Dusty could ask more the Kid came racing into the Fort and dropped from his white stallion, throwing its reins to Mark.
‘It’s come, Dusty!’ he said. ‘Lewis and Cato’ve been trading guns for gold. Only last time Crazy Bear got smart and gave Cato four gals for the rifles. Then he must have spread the story that white men had taken them and the whole danged tribe’s coming down on us.’
‘Where’re they at, Cato and Lewis?’
‘I killed Cato out on the range.’
‘And Lewis?’
‘I don’t reckon he could run fast enough.’
The reply left a whole lot to be explained but Dusty knew the futility of questioning the Kid further. When Loncey Dalton Ysabel got that tone in his voice a man would have better results talking to a cottonwood tree. Whatever happened to Bruno Lewis was no more than he deserved. So wisely Dusty let the matter lie.
More smoke was rising above the town and Shacktown ceased to exist except as a bad memory. Yet few Indians had come towards the Fort, most of them were busy looting the stores. They’d found the saloon ablaze and so firewater did not come to them in any quantity. Luckily the storekeepers did not stock firearms and very little in the way of ammunition, so that did not come into Sioux hands.
Dusty stood at the west side with Gilbey standing just behind him, Mark and the Kid to his other side. They saw Sioux appear at the edge of the scrub land which closed in beyond the hundred yard wide cleared area surrounding the walls.
‘There’s around three hundred of them, Dusty,’ drawled the Kid.
‘They’ve got us well outnumbered,’ replied Dusty. ‘Bring your company to this wall, Mr. Gilbey, we’ll see if a bold front can hold them back.’
All around the walls, scattered along the length, stood groups of three soldiers, their carbines in their hands, pouches of ammunition on their belts. The quartermaster-sergeant and his assistants made the rounds, leaving more .45-70 cartridges by each group. The groups were spread out for the post was undermanned without Jarrow’s patrol. Cardon, running from point to point, took the Shacktown men and shoved them into places, doing his best to give the walls a fair share of the reinforcements. Still it was a pitifully small party and they would be hard pressed to hold back a determined attack by such numbers as the Sioux appeared to be.
‘If they attack, Mr. Gilbey,’ Dusty said, watching the Sioux numbers increased as brave after brave came from the blazing town. ‘One volley from your men, then scatter them to their posts.’
‘Yo!’ replied Gilbey, then headed to his men to give the orders.
Leaning his elbow on the wall old Sucataw, the scout, studied the Indians. He jerked a thumb towards the group of old man chiefs who sat their horses to one side. Dusty stood by the scout now and followed the direction indicated.
‘That there’s Eagle Catcher on the big black,’ said Sucataw and pointed to the main chief, a tall, straight old man with a decorated Henry rifle across his arm. Then the scout’s finger stabbed towards a tall war-bonnet chief in the centre of a group of young braves who wore the war medicine. ‘That’s Crazy Bear. Him and the bunch around him are lodge brothers and they’re the cause of this trouble. Give Eagle Catcher half a chance and he’d back out right now. Only Crazy Bear’s got too much pull. His war medicine’s good and folks allus listen to a success, Injun or white alike.’
Already Dusty was thinking. He knew his command had little chance in an open fight against the Sioux. They might defend the walls for a short time, then retreat to the buildings he’d selected for defence but the weight of numbers would crush them down. They’d be burned out, slaughtered and the flagging spirits of the hostile tribes would have a boost to keep them going.
Bitterly Dusty blamed himself for it all. If he’d had the sense to lock his desk Noreen could never have got the patrol reports. Then she could not have taken the men across the Belle Pourche to their death. Then the patrol need not have crossed the river and retreated before Crazy Bear’s men, giving his medicine the boost it needed. Taken any way Dusty looked at it this whole thing was his affair and it lay on his shoulders to try and put matters right.
‘Ask Eagle Catcher what he wants, Sucataw,’ Dusty said.
‘Allows somebody done took four gals of his people,’ replied the scout, after a shouted conversation with Eagle Catcher.
‘Tell him the gals went back and the men who took them are dead.’
This was relayed via Sucataw but Crazy Bear jumped his horse from the line, shook his rifle over his head and roared out angry words. Sucataw listened and spat into the dirt at his feet.
‘Says we’re liars, Cap’n. Allows his medicine says they can wipe us out.’
That was what Dusty wanted. The reason he’d started the conversation in the first place. He wanted mention of Crazy Bear’s medicine so that he could put his idea into play. He hitched up his matched gunbelt and spoke quietly, yet every man around heard what he said.
‘Tell them Crazy Bear’s medicine is bad. Tell Eagle Catcher to send twelve braves against me and I’ll prove to him the medicine is bad.’
For a moment Sucataw did not reply. Dusty’s words almost took his breath away and he realized what they meant. Mark Counter jumped forward, catching Dusty’s arm and turning him.
‘You can’t go through with a fool game like that, Dusty,’ he said.
‘I’ve got to, Mark,’ Dusty replied. ‘Don’t try and stop me or help me. Give Eagle Catcher my words, Sucataw. Mr. Gilbey, your sabre, please.’
Gulping down something which seemed to be blocking his throat Sucataw told the watching Sioux what Dusty said. Talk welled up among their ranks, fingers pointed down towards the gate. Twenty yards from the walls he halted, sinking the tip of the sabre into the ground to leave his hands free.
Eagle Catcher turned, looking towards Crazy Bear and snapping out a question. The young war-bonnet chief gave a yell and turned his horse to ride out before the others. Eleven more of his cronies followed, the hard core leadership of the white-hating faction were arrayed before their people to prove their leader’s words and medicine.
Dusty studied the men, only three had rifles for Crazy Bear bribed young warriors into joining his faction with the weapons gathered. The rest were armed with war lances or fighting axes and each had a knife in his belt. To kill with the lance, the axe or the knife was a greater coup than with rifle or arrow and they wanted to make a great coup to impress their people. With that small soldier-coat leader dead the whole Hunkpapa nation would stand behind Crazy Bear and listen no more to the words of the old men.
With the fate of the Fort and peace to the Dakotas hanging in his hands Dusty Fog faced the twelve men. He knew he must take Crazy Bear with him and see this through to the bitter end. His mistake brought it about and he must try to rectify it alone. He allowed to inflict enough damage on the attacking party before they got him to weaken the desire for war in the hearts of the other braves. Then he thought of something he must do.
‘Mr. Gilbey!’ he called, turning to face the Fort and seeing almost all of the defenders gathering to see what happened. ‘Turn your company about. If any man tries to fire on the Indians—shoot him!’
Giving his wild war cry Crazy Bear sent his horse leaping forward and the other braves followed, the whole mass sweeping forward. Twelve men against one. The remainder sat silent, watching. The hand of the Great Spirit lay on Crazy Bear, his medicine was at stake.
Joanna Lingley had somehow heard what was happening. She ran to Mark Counter’s side just as Dusty gave the order to Gilbey.
‘Stop him, Mark!’ she gasped.
‘It’s too late, gal,’ Mark answered, face grim and hard. ‘And I reckon Frank Gilbey’d shoot the man who tried.’
Dusty turned as soon as he’d given the order. His left hand crossed his body and the Colt left his right side. He did not hold it one-handed, but gripped the butt in both hands, raised his arms shoulder high, extended them while bending his head forward to take sight. Three-quarters of a second after his turn the Colt roared, but he’d fired an aimed shot.
A groan burst from the lips of the watching Sioux as Crazy Bear’s horse went down, hit in the head by Dusty’s first bullet. The young chief was taken completely by surprise for he’d never expected any man to be able to make a hit with a revolver at such a range. Pitching over his horse’s head Crazy Bear crashed to the ground. His rifle flew from his hand to bury its muzzle into the earth. The chief lay stunned and dazed for a few seconds while his men charged on.
Even before Crazy Bear got to his feet he saw he was in for a harder time than he’d expected. He sprang for and grabbed up the rifle but saw its barrel was plugged with dirt, so he hurled it aside. Snatching the Green River knife from his belt he bounded down the slope passing the members of his lodge who had fallen.
With six shots from his left-hand Colt, each taken fast but carefully aimed, before the Sioux were halfway towards him Dusty had done well. Crazy Bear’s horse and another were down. Three braves had dropped, the men with the rifles. A fourth, hit in the shoulder, wheeled his horse and rode back to the watching warriors.
Dusty holstered the left-hand Colt and drew the right in the same move. He threw the first shot and tumbled the nearest of the remaining warriors from his horse. Dusty showed the gun skill which made his name a legend the length of the cattle trails in the next few seconds. His six shots each took effect, although one only dropped a horse and another struck a brave in the thigh, making him drop his lance without unhorsing him. Every other bullet struck true, bringing down a man either dead or so badly injured that he was out of the fight.
The brave who lost his horse to Dusty’s second Colt lit down on his feet to charge forward, war lance held in both hands. Behind him the second brave also ran in, eager to help take coup. Bringing up the rear came Crazy Bear. The wounded man rode his horse by Dusty, unable to stop or control it. Getting control he turned the horse to get away from the fight but Crazy Bear yelled an order and he turned once more to the attack. It looked as if his aid might be needed.