The Savage Trail Read online

  “I see ’em,” Ben said. “They are riders, a whole passel of ’em. I count eight, no nine, no, maybe a dozen or so. Headin’ straight for us.”

  John saw them, too. They were fanned out, some on the road, some flanking either side of it. They rode in perfect formationas if they were after something he could not see. They were twenty or thirty yards apart. The horses were not running,but they were at a brisk walk, perhaps a trot, and they were kicking up dust.

  The sun glinted off metal until it appeared as if the riders were setting off silver sparks of light that winked like stars shining in the daylight.

  “Hell,” Ben said. “Them are soldiers. I can see their uniforms.Ever’ damn one of ’em is dressed the same. And look, one of ’em’s holding a flag of some sort.”

  “A guidon,” John murmured, recognizing the yellow-and-bluepennant that flapped like a broken wing.

  “I wonder what they’re after,” Ben said. “Injuns?”

  The troop of soldiers drew closer. John could see their hats and their faces. They were following a man with bars on his shoulders. They made a Vand were coming at him like a humanspear. He saw their gloves, then, the glistening hides of their horses, horses that were all the same color. The men all carried rifles, and he saw that they were wearing sidearms.

  “No, Ben, not Indians,” John said, slowing Gent to a halt. “Pull up.”

  “What? Why? What are they huntin’ all spread out like that?”

  John let out a breath as Gent stopped, held steady, his musclesquivering at the sight of all those horses.

  “From the looks of them, it’s a patrol. And it sure looks like they’re comin’ for us.”

  Ben stopped his horse alongside John.

  The soldiers were less than four hundred yards away. There was a flash of light as one of the soldiers, riding alongside the leader, pulled a pair of binoculars down from his eyes.

  “What makes you think they’re comin’ for us, John?” Ben asked.

  John looked at Ben.

  “Because we’re the only ones out here,” he said.

  And then he could smell the dust as the breeze changed direction.It smelled of horse sweat and man sweat, sage and chaparral. It smelled of ancient wars and warriors, and it clung to his nostrils like the cloying smell of death.

  20

  The lieutenant, who was leading the cavalry troop, drew his pistol and aimed it straight at John.

  “You hold up right there,” he shouted. “Get your hands up.”

  Ben’s hands went up first. John slowly raised his arms and waited.

  Soldiers swarmed around them, some with drawn pistols, others aiming Spencer rifles at Ben and John.

  The lieutenant hauled up on his reins and stopped his horse beside Gent, so that he was staring straight into John’s eyes.

  “Identify yourself,” the lieutenant snapped.

  Before John could answer, one of the troopers reached over and jerked John’s rifle from its scabbard. Another pulled his pistol from its holster. Soldiers did the same with Ben.

  Off in the distance, a hawk voiced its piping scree, scree as it sailed over the bronzed land.

  “I’m John Savage.”

  “And you,” the lieutenant said, shifting his gaze to Ben.

  “Benjamin Russell.”

  The lieutenant looked Ben and John over, his eyes as cold and pale blue as arctic ice at dusk. He was military trim, with no facial hair, his sideburns razor cut. His uniform was coveredwith a patina of dust, like those of the men under his command. There was dust on all their faces, as well, and their hands and faces were burnished dark from days in the sun and wind.

  “Where are you from?” the lieutenant asked.

  “That’s hard to say,” John said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mister, you answer and answer quick. I don’t have to give you a reason and I’m not going to.”

  “We come up from Coloraddy,” Ben said. “Before that . . .”

  “Ben, you don’t have to answer this man,” John said. “And, sir, you have no right to hold us at gunpoint and take our weapons. I demand that you give them back and leave us be. We’re civilians.”

  One of the troopers edged his rifle closer to John. There was no mistaking the threat.

  “This is a military district, mister,” the lieutenant said. “We have the right to detain you, and that’s just what we’re going to do. Sergeant Dillard, put these men in irons.”

  Sergeant Dillard nodded to two other men, who rode up and produced handcuffs.

  “Put your hands behind your backs,” Dillard ordered.

  Ben did as he was told.

  John reached out for the nearest trooper and grabbed him by the throat. Dillard rode up, pistol in hand, and clubbed John on the back of the head. Hard. John slumped in the saddle.One of the troopers wrestled John’s hands behind his back and slipped on handcuffs, tightened them until the rings bit into John’s skin.

  “Wake him up,” the lieutenant ordered. He saw that Ben was cuffed and nodded to Dillard.

  “Let’s move out. Back to the fort.”

  They rode into the sunset. Four troopers flanked John and Ben. Two others held the reins of their horses. They rode into the night, flankers out, scouts riding point under a starry sky, the Milky Way a carpet of strewn diamonds, the moon just a sliver above the horizon.

  John’s head hurt where the sergeant had clubbed him. The lump throbbed like a second beating heart. Each pulsing drum of it sent a shot of pain through his head, down his neck, and into his spine.

  THE CAVALRY DID NOT STOP FOR TWO HOURS. THEN THE LIEUTENANTcalled a halt so that the men could relieve themselves and the horses could rest.

  “I’m Lieutenant Herzog,” he said to John. “I will let you down to relieve yourself, but if you try to escape, one of my men will open up that goose egg on your pate. You got that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s ‘yes, sir,’ to you, Savage.”

  John did not reply.

  Herzog spoke to one of the troopers watching John.

  “Tim, you get him down out of the saddle and let him pee. Give him some water if he wants any.”

  “Yes, sir,” Trooper Tim Bullock said. He dismounted and helped John out of the saddle. He walked him out into the dark, away from the horses and other men.

  “Are you going to hold it for me, Tim?” John asked, a sarcasticedge to his voice.

  “No, sir, I’m going to loosen one cuff and you can hold it your damned self.”

  John saw Ben taking a leak a few yards away. Ben was tired, he knew, and probably cursing the soldiers under his breath. Probably me, too, he thought.

  When John was finished, Tim said to him, “Sir, I got to buckle you back up. Sorry.”

  “Do you know what this is all about? Why we’re being detained?” John asked.

  “No, sir. I think we were chasing some bad men. The colonel at the fort, he said to bring in anybody who looks suspicious.”

  “Do I look suspicious?”

  “No, sir, I reckon not. But we got orders.”

  THE PATROL REACHED THE FORT LATE THAT SAME EVENING. Pickets allowed them to pass onto the parade ground. John was surprised that there was no high fence around the fort. Instead,it sprawled over a wide area, looked more like a village than an army fort. He had expected there to be a stockade, riflemen walking the ramparts. For several moments he thought there must be some mistake, that the men he had ridden with were not really soldiers, and they were not at Fort Laramie but in some town where they might be tortured and killed. It was a strange thought, and he knew it, but he had the eerie feeling that he was hallucinating, that none of this was real.

  Lieutenant Rolf Herzog and four troopers took Ben and John to a large house. The lower part was brightly lit, lamps shining through every window. The upper story was dark.

  Two men stood guard, but it was plain to John that those insidehad already been notified of their arrival.

  “What now, Lieutenant Her
zog?” John asked.

  “Colonel Ward wants to see you. I’ll take you inside, under guard, of course.”

  “Colonel Ward?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  John looked at Ben. Ben shrugged, a puzzled look on his face.

  The guards removed their handcuffs, but John and Ben marched inside with pistols at their backs. They all waited outside while Herzog went inside. He was gone for about two minutes, then returned.

  “Come with me,” he said to his prisoners. “You men wait here,” he said to the guards. “At attention.”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the men said.

  Herzog opened the door and waved Ben and John inside.

  They entered a large, spacious room, but one end of it was set off from the rest. On the right, there was a divan, rug, comfortablechairs, bookcases, small tables, such as might be found in any living room owned by a well-to-do family. The other end was more austere, with heavy, dark brown drapes over the windows, a large cherrywood desk, a map table such as draftsmen or cartographers used, a large wall map of the territory, with adjoining states, territories, roads, and topographicalfeatures. A man stood behind the desk with colonel’s insignia on his shoulderboards. Two other men, a captain and a lieutenant, stood on either side of the desk. The colonel glanced at Ben and John and then down at three separate stacks of papers.

  He beckoned to the two men. Ben and John walked toward him, stopped in front of his desk. The colonel looked them both over, but his gaze lingered on John for several seconds, long enough for Savage to feel uncomfortable. John glared at the colonel, who looked to be a tough, hard-bitten man, more accustomed to the saddle than a chair behind a desk.

  The other two officers were equally tough looking, with square faces, sun-burnished skin, rock-hard muscles under their uniforms. Their boots were polished to a high sheen. All wore sidearms, flapped black holsters, ammunition pouches on their large belts with shoulder straps.

  “Gentlemen,” the colonel said, “I regret the inconvenience in detaining you. But some matters of importance have reached my desk, and we are facing a serious situation here. I’m ColonelLucius Ward, temporary commandant of this post. You are, I believe, John Savage?” Ward stared directly at John, his eyes radiating a steely light.

  “I am,” John said.

  “You bear some resemblance to your father, Dan, especiallyaround the eyes. But you have your mother Clare’s nose and mouth, as I remember them.”

  “You knew my father and mother?”

  The colonel did not break his stare.

  “Very well, in fact. I’m sorry for your loss, which I only heard about recently.” Ward glanced down at one of the stacks of papers, then lifted his gaze back to John. “My son Jesse was also killed at the same time your parents lost their lives.”

  “You’re Jesse’s father?” John said, a look of abject surprise on his face.

  “Damned if he ain’t,” Ben said. “Spittin’ image, Johnny.”

  John looked at the colonel more closely. Yes, he could see the strong resemblance. Jesse had been one of those who had joined his father and mother to work the mining claim. He recallednow that Jesse had mentioned that his father was in the military, serving in the army somewhere out West.

  “Yes. Jesse was a fine boy. I miss him. Ben, he wrote me seldom, but he always mentioned you and John as good friends. I’m grateful for that.”

  “Yes, sir, Jesse spoke fondly of you, too, Colonel,” Ben said. “But how come you brung us up here at gunpoint? We ain’t done nothin’.”

  “Lieutenant Herzog was not looking for you, Ben, or you, John, but for a man named Oliver Hobart, and one named Arm-steadMandrake. A man they call Army, ironically enough.”

  “Yes, sir, well, we was chasin’ the same two men.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that now, Ben. From the reports here on my desk, it seems you two have already dispatched some of Hobart’s men, those who were responsible for the massacre at Dan’s mining camp. Is that correct, John?”

  “Colonel, Ben and I were up in a mine when Hobart and his men attacked our camp. We had no weapons. There were a whole lot of them. They shot everybody they saw, including my little sister. Shot them dead. They showed no mercy.”

  “I did not know your sister. Alice, was it?”

  “Yes, sir,” John said.

  “I’m sorry, son. I share your grief.”

  “Where is Hobart?” John asked bluntly.

  “Ah, we don’t know at the moment. But we believe he’s somewhere near Fort Laramie. Mandrake, as well. Some other facts have come to my attention. I have patrols out scouring the country, and the village here, searching for those two men and their cohorts.”

  “How did you get wind of all this?” Ben asked. “Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel. We didn’t know the army was a-lookin’ for them.”

  “Perhaps you should both sit down, Ben,” Ward said. “I can’t tell you everything, of course, but some of what I do revealshould send shivers up your spines.”

  “Hobart hasn’t killed somebody up here at the fort, has he?” John said.

  “Please sit down, gentlemen. I think you deserve to know some things about Hobart before you continue chasing after him.”

  “Sir, I won’t give up until Hobart and Mandrake are both dead. Either by the gun, or hanging from ropes on the gallows.”

  Colonel Ward cleared his throat, nodded to Herzog. The lieutenant came up to the desk carrying John’s and Ben’s pistols.He laid them near the front edge of the desk and stepped back.

  John looked at his pistol, still in its holster. He watched as Ward removed it and examined the silver lettering, the scroll-work,with narrowed eyes.

  Outside, a horse snorted, and guards called out to one another,marking the hour. It grew quiet in the room as John and Ben settled in the chairs the colonel had indicated.

  “Dan made this,” Ward said, a pensive tone to his voice, as if he were talking only to himself. “He was a fine craftsman. A fine craftsman.”

  He set the pistol down next to its holster and came around the desk, sat on one edge.

  “I’m afraid, John,” Ward said, “that you can no longer take the law into your own hands regarding Hobart and Mandrake. When you hear what I have to say, you will know why.”

  John said nothing, but he could feel the anger rising in him, seething like a smoldering fire just beneath the surface of his temper, ready to explode and spit fire like a volcano. His mouth was closed tight and air blew through his nostrils as he breathed, clearly audible in the silence of the room.

  He sat there, his muscles bunched and coiled as if he were about to spring on the colonel like an enraged tiger and rip out his throat with his bare hands.

  21

  Colonel ward turned slightly and waved a hand over the stacks of documents on his desk. Then he looked at John Savage,cocking his head, as if wondering how much he dared confide in the young man.

  “There is a great deal at stake here, John,” Ward said. “I’m chasing a lot more than two murderers named Mandrake and Hobart. I’ve got Cheyenne strayed from the Wind River countryto God knows where. And somebody has been stealing ordnance from the armory—rifles, pistols, cartridges. Do you know what Hobart is up to, why he headed for Fort Laramie?”

  “No, sir, I do not. I only know what he did in the past.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “I mean, he knew where our mining camp was, and he rode up there with his men and just slaughtered every man, woman, and child he could see.”

  “He’s killed before that.” Ward said.

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “But why come here?” Ward asked.

  “Do you have any prospectors in those mountains?”

  “Why, yes, we do, as a matter of fact.” Ward leaned forward,listening attentively, watching John’s face.

  “Hobart seems to like gold,” John said. “He puts a higher price on it than he does human life.”

  “Granted,” Ward said.


  “All right. How many men are up there looking for gold, digging it out of the ground, panning it from the creek?”

  Ward looked at one of his aides. That man shrugged. He looked at the other one, a second lieutenant.

  “Last we counted, there were nearly a hundred miners up on Dead Horse Creek, sir,” he said.

  “A hundred, then, maybe more now,” Ward said. “What are you getting at?”

  “Hobart couldn’t kill that many men even if those who were with him the day he jumped us were still with him.”

  “All right.”

  “So maybe Hobart is behind the theft of all those firearms. And maybe he means to sic those Indians on those miners. How many Indians are missing?”

  “About twenty,” Ward said. “All young braves, plus a chief, Red Eagle. These are all dangerous men, with many white men’s scalps figuratively hanging from their belts.”

  “Injuns scare hell out of pilgrims,” Ben said. “Twenty would be enough for Hobart.”

  “I’m working in the dark here,” Ward said. “All I have are reports and suspicion. No proof. No Hobart. You two were following him, right, John?”

  “Yes. Hobart was headed this way.”

  “You know that for a fact?” Ward asked.

  “We do. If this is Fort Laramie, Hobart is already here. Somewhere. And, if I may, Colonel, you have no right to detainus. We’ve done nothing illegal and we’re civilians, not soldiers.”

  “If I allowed you to roam free, John, you could cause us to lose track of Hobart and never find those escaped Cheyenne, and dozens of lives could be lost.”

  “Or,” John said, “if I promised to let you know where Hobartis hiding and stop him from attacking those miners, you would be in my debt.”

  “That’s surely true,” Ward said. “But how can you and Ben here accomplish what this entire post has been unable to do?”

  “You don’t know what Hobart looks like. You don’t even know what Mandrake looks like. And I have an ace in the hole that you don’t even know about.”

  There was a silence in the room. Outside, the sounds of men’s boots echoed on the parade ground, and they could hear the whicker of a horse, the slap of leather, the ring of metal on metal. In another part of the fort, a dog barked, sounding far away and slightly distorted as if the animal was running betweenbuildings.