the Ferguson Rifle (1973) Read online

  "Better get some sleep," Talley advised. "I'll stand watch." The advice was good and we accepted it, stretching out on the ground. It was thickly bedded with leaves from the fallen trees and those that leaned above us, and we were soon asleep.

  Just before I fell finally asleep, I heard Ebitt saying to Kemble, "I never knowed all that about treaties and such. I heard about the purchase ... that's why I left Illinois to come west.

  How'd he know all that?" "Comes of being a scholar," Kemble said.

  And we all went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  Awakening in the chill of the hour before dawn, I lay quite still looking up at the stars. At this hour, the sky seems unnaturally clear, and the stars close above. For a moment, lying there, I thought about all that I had seen and much that I had learned from the talk of the men with whom I traveled.

  The mind that is geared to learning, that is endlessly curious, cannot cease from contemplating and comparing.

  To many the grasslands over which we had been riding were simply that, but for me there was much to see, much to learn. No doubt the Indian knew all I was learning, and accepted it as a simple facet of his world.

  The tall grass we had left needed moisture, and no doubt during dry years it fell back toward the east with its rivers and its greater rainfall. Then the low-growing grasses invaded, took over, and retained a hold on the earth until once more the wet years brought back the tall bluestem and its companions of the soil.

  The buffalo grazed wherever there was grass, into Georgia, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, and Tennessee, but they seemed to like the open country best, out where the long wind blew and the sun was hot upon the low rolling hills.

  A whisper snapped me to attention. It was, Shanagan. "I believe we're to have comp'ny," he said softly.

  Rolling out, I swiftly brought my blankets together, tied them into a neat bundle, and took them to my saddle. My Ferguson was under my arm, but I hastily completed dressing by pulling on my boots and hitching my knife into xs proper place.

  Our fire had burned low. I could see the red glow of the coals lying just over there. Around me there were furtive stirrings as the others took their places.

  Yet when it came we were startled, for they came with a rush and wild warwhoops intended to frighten and demoralize. That such an attack out of the night would have that effect was beyond question, for ready as we were, it was a shock to hear them.

  They rushed into the camp, and as one man, we fired. At least two Indians dropped. I think there were more, but in the vague light and with surrounding trees and brush, it was difficult to see.

  My own rifle was almost instantly loaded, yet I held my fire a moment to give the others a start on reloading, not wanting all to be empty at once. Shanagan fired his pistol, and then I fired and instantly reloaded... and then there were no targets.

  The attackers had vanished as swiftly as they had come.

  A body or two lay sprawled near our fire, but that was all, and there was no sound.

  The sky was turning gray, with a faint touch of lemon light along the eastern horizon, and far above us a wisp of cloud blushed faintly.

  We waited behind our fallen timber, watching the light grow. Slowly the blackness took on shape and form, the shapes became trees, bushes, and rocks, and on the ground a dead Indian. From under the bushes, I saw the feet of another.

  Still we waited, and as the light grew, we could see the plain was empty of life. At last Degory Kemble came out from the redoubt and went to the nearest of the fallen Indians.

  "Ute," he said. "This is far north for them.

  Mostly they're mountain Indians." "From Spanish country?" I asked.

  "They claim it, but so did the French. I figure it for Louisiana Territory. The border should be south of there." "It will need some time to decide that," I said.

  "And meanwhile?" "We'll hunt there, and trap for beaver, although it would be better for all of us if we could establish relations with Santa Fe. They need the trade and so do we." "They're a long way from Mexico City," Talley agreed. "Saint Louis is closer." One by one we emerged and scouted our small patch of woods. No Indians were left. We found a spot of blood or two that seemed to indicate a wound, and a dropped rifle of Spanish make. One of the dead Indians had an old musket; the other had been armed with a bow and arrows.

  We wasted no time, but packed our horses and moved out, leaving the Indians as they were. Bob Sandy took the scalps for himself. Talley rode point, Kemble twenty yards to the left, and I an equal distance to the right. Ebitt and Sandy followed Kemble and me at about ten yards' distance, with Heath and Shanagan to bring up the rear.

  We presented no good target, yet had a chance to scout the country as we rode. We started at a walk, moving to a trot after a few hundred yards, holding it for some distance.

  Except for my own, our horses were prairie-bred mustangs and they held the pace easily. My horse was of better breed but lacked the staying quality of the once wild horses, and was accustomed to better feed.

  It was obvious that my horse must adjust to the

  hange in diet and traveling conditions or I must find another one. In time, if allowed to run free, he might fit himself to the country ... as I must do also.

  Physically my condition had never been bad, and my muscles and skin were hardening to the work. Mentally it was another story. I had fought when attacked, acquitting myself well, and I believe those with whom I traveled believed me adequate for the journey before us. Such was not the case.

  As a matter of fact, I had no stomach for killing. I considered myself a reasonably civilized man, and killing was wrong. Nor did I decide this by simple biblical standards, for the Bible, Hebrew scholars had assured me, did not say, "Thou shalt not kill," but strictly interpreted it says, "Thou shalt not commit murder," which is quite another thing.

  Yet it was not the Mosaic law that guided me, but my own intelligence. I had no right to deprive another human being of his life, nor had I the intention of adding to the violence that was around me. On the other hand, the Indians I had killed would surely have killed me had I not been more fortunate than they.

  Nevertheless, the destruction of the Indians did not please me, and I hoped to avoid it in the future.

  The problem was that I was a civilized man, but I now existed in an uncivilized world. The standards by which I thought were standards of the ordered world I had left behind. Much had been said in both England and our own eastern states about how we treated the "poor" Indian.

  The few I had seen on the plains did not look poor. They were strong, able men.

  warriors.

  Warriors.

  That was the key word. These men did not consider themselves poor. They were proud men, carrying their heads high, walking tall, the equal of any man. What they demanded was not pity, but respect.

  The problem was that two kinds of men had now come face-to-face, two kinds of men with two kinds of standards, different scruples, different responses.

  Being a civilized, cultured human being was all very well, but I must hedge my bets a little or I would be a dead civilized, cultured human being.

  It needs two to make a peace, but only one to make an attack.

  Humanity, I decided, must be tempered with reason, and reason with reality.

  I said as much to Solomon Talley. He glanced at me and I am afraid he was amused.

  "I'm no scholar, Chantry, and I've done no reasoning on the question. The first time an Indian notched an arrow at me, I shot him, and I'm almighty pleased that I hit him." And so it was they began calling me by the name that was to stick through many years. I was no longer Ronan Chantry except at intervals. I became known as Scholar.

  Part of it was gentle derision, but another part was, I think, respect.

  One thing I learned quickly, in those following weeks. The university of the wilderness that I now attended had simple tests but they came often.

  One lived if one passed the tests, but to get a failing gr
ade was to leave one's scalp on some brave's belt.

  On Talley's advice we deviated from our planned course and angled off to the north, taking us farther from the disputed territory, and we held to low ground, trying to keep our route unknown to the enemy. For we had no doubt that Captain Fernandez and his Indian allies would be observing us and planning another attack. Nor could we hope to be so successful again. The captain, although our enemy, was no fool. Any officer in his situation might easily have overrated his strength and our cunning. Both he and his Indian friends now knew us better.

  Where.were the mountains? They lay somewhere to the westward, but not one of us had seen them, and the endlessness of the plains was beyond belief. The land was higher now, and much drier. We had come into the shortgrass country, and the prickly pear we had originally come upon from time to time now were frequent.

  Water was scarce. Many of the streams were dry, the waterholes only trampled mud. Then suddenly we saw the buffalo.

  First there was the sound of them, a low, shuffling sound that we thought was the wind, yet a strange, muffled muttering as well. We topped the rise, and they were before us, thousands upon thousands of them, grazing and moving.

  "Hold your fire," I suggested to the others.

  "I can reload and we'll kill just two." "What about the hides? Ain't they worth something?" "A buffalo hide, at least the hide of a bull, will weigh nigh to fifty pounds. We're in no shape to pack them." While the others held their fire in the event our enemies were near, I rode forward, dismounted near a rock, and using a shoulder of it for a rest, killed two buffalo.

  The others seemed not to notice, yet when we rode down to cut up our kill, they moved off.

  And then I saw the Indians.

  They were several hundred yards off and had been approaching the buffalo from the other flank, the wind, light as it was, being due out of the north.

  I saw an Indian rise suddenly from the ground and throw off a buffalo robe. Using it as cover, he had been slowly creeping up to the herd to make a kill, and our moving up had caused him to lose his chance. His disgust was obvious.

  Heath and Sandy were on the ground, making the cuts to skin the buffalo and cut out the meat.

  "Somethin' odd here," Talley muttered.

  "There's ten to twelve women there, and a bunch of kids, but there don't seem to be more than one or two braves... and no ponies." "They've been raided," Shanagan said.

  "Bet my shirt on it. Somebody drove off their stock and either killed the menfolk or the braves are off tryin' to get back their horses." "What are they? Can you make them out?" "Cheyennes," Davy said positively.

  "I'd swear they were Cheyennes, some of the bravest and best fighters on the plains." "Talley," I said, "if we're going to live in this country, we'll need friends, and if we're going to have friends, now's a chance to meet them." "I can talk a little sign language," Shanagan said. "What's your idea?" "Give them the hides," I said, "and half the meat." "We can take our cuts," Talley said.

  "They'll eat everything but the horns." Hand high, palm outward, I rode toward them, with Davy beside me. The hunter had returned to the others, and as we drew near, they waited.

  There was only one warrior among them able to stand.

  Two young boys and an old man were all that was left aside from the women and children.

  "I come as a friend," I said, and Davy translated, using sign talk. "We are strong in war, and we have hunted. We would share our meat with our friends." Now that we were closer we could see the hunger among them. Another brave, whom we had not seen, was stretched on a travois, obviously badly wounded.

  Talley came riding up. "We've taken our meat," he said. "Let 'em have what's left." They followed us to the two buffalo and at once began butchering their remains. The one strong brave remained near us, watching but still wary.

  "Ask him what happened," I suggested.

  Davy went to work, and the warrior told the story swiftly and in sign talk. I marveled at the gracefulness of the gestures, the ease and poetry of the hand movements.

  "During the last full moon, some Utes hit them. Killed four braves and three women, drove off their horses, and would have killed them all, but they fought them to a standstill.

  "The Utes pulled off, taking their horses along. Eight of their braves left alive followed to try to steal the horses back. Since then, they've had one antelope, wild onions, and that's about all." "Last full moon?" Ebitt muttered.

  "That's close on to three weeks." Soon we had found a camping place in a hollow near a slough. Within minutes the Indians were roasting the meat; some of them eating it raw. They were an attractive people, with strongly cut, regular features and fine physiques.

  True to my nature I had taken the time to study what was known about the western Indians as well as the country itself. Much was supposition, but James Mooney had gathered for the Bureau of Ethnology estimates on the various tribes.

  In 1780 the Cheyennes numbered about thirtyfive hundred... which would figure out to some seven or eight hundred warriors, although it might be much less.

  I said as much to Talley. "That could be right," he commented, "although you rarely see many in a bunch.

  The country won't support them, so they split up into small bands like this.

  "That's why they keep moving. The game drifts away from their villages and soon they've collected all the roots, seeds, and berries there are to be had. We feed several hundred people on land that will support maybe one Indian family." "Talley," I suggested, "these Indians need help, and we can use the company. Why don't we stay with them if they're going our way?" "All right," Talley said. "I figure it was that same party who attacked us who stole their horses. There aren't apt to be two bands of Utes this far from their home country." The warrior had come over to where we sat our horses, Shanagan with him. "He's worried," Davy said. "His folks should have been back." "Tell him his people need meat. We will stay until his young men return if they move west with us." Davy's fingers grew busy, and the reply came quickly, on the brave's eloquent fingers.

  "They're going west, and he thanks you." What would my friend Timothy Dwight think of me now? Riding west with a band of Indians?

  Remembering the man, and what he knew of me, I smiled, for he would not have been surprised. The others, perhaps, but not Dwight.

  CHAPTER 6

  When we had come upon the Cheyennes, they hoped to kill a buffalo to relieve their hunger while on the march. Now with the fresh meat we provided, they were prepared to continue their move to the west.

  The travois that had been drawn by a squaw was now hitched to one of our packhorses.

  Davy Shanagan and the brave, whose name was Buffalo Dog, rode together, carrying on a conversation in sign talk with a word thrown in here or there. Listening to their conversation and to the other Indians, I soon picked up several words of the Cheyenne language.

  One of the old men knew of a camping place, and keeping scouts out to warn of danger, we moved toward it. After a while, Shanagan joined me at the point. "They're ridin' to join their people," he said. "There's a plenty of Cheyennes up yonder. These Injuns figure to take after the Utes. Get their ponies back." "Let's stay out of it. No use to make more enemies than we have." "Now that may not be just that easy," Shanagan said. "They'll be wanting our help." The Cheyennes preferred a camp on the open prairie but not too far from woods. The old man's choice was a good one, and just before sundown Cusbe Ebitt killed a buffalo cow. We gave most of the meat to the Indians.

  Shanagan explained that the Cheyennes were convinced by my clothing that I was a great chief.

  "Let 'em think it," he added. "It makes us big men in their eyes. Prestige... that's the key word with Injuns." We made our own camp closer to the woods than the Cheyennes, but within a hundred yards of them. Firewood was plentiful and the stand of trees offered some shelter from the increasing wind. Moreover we liked the background of trees against which our bodies merged and blended. Our fire we placed in a hol
low behind the stump of a broken-off tree where it was perfectly masked.

  After collecting sufficient fuel for the night to come and the preparation of supper and breakfast, I moved to the point of the woods overlooking the plains. The position provided an excellent view in all directions, and sitting down just inside the belt of trees, I gave some thought to the situation.

  The government of the Spanish colonies was a jealous one, permitting no trade with anyone but the Indians, and guarding against trespass. Captain Fernandez, as a diligent soldier, would have orders to resist any encroachment upon what was believed to be Spanish territory. From him, we could expect nothing but trouble.

  Since I'd joined the mountain men, no plan of action had been discussed. We were riding toward the western mountains for a season of trapping and exploration. If all went as we hoped, we would find a favorable location and build winter quarters before snow fell, and if our trapping was successful, we could expect to return to Saint Louis in the

  spring with a bundle of furs.

  Riding in company with the Cheyennes, who by virtue of our contribution of meat accepted us as part of their group, we could avoid trouble with at least one tribe of Indians. If a large party of Cheyennes were waiting ahead of us, we might easily have been ambushed because any unattached party was fair game, but now that we had joined this group, we would be accepted.

  Faint sounds from the camps behind me only served to emphasize the stillness of the plain before me. The sun was gone but light remained, and a sky shot with crimson arrows from beyond the horizon.

  Shadows gathered in the hollows among the low hills... a wind stirred the grass, then the trees... there had been a lull, a moment of stillness. In the east there was a mutter of thunder ... still far off.

  For the first time, I found myself wondering what I had done. Behind me lay the career I might have had, a career as a teacher, an author... perhaps even in politics, for my friends were well situated in all these areas.