Chapter Twenty—Fireworks and Another Surprise

     Tuesday night I was sleeping on the mesa, one final observation of the natives before I headed back towards Fort Tyler the next day. As you may recall, Colonel Ratliff was going to lead his troops eastward, in the direction of the Indian encampment, and I was to meet him on the way with any last report I might have. Ratliff would then, as surreptitiously as possible, station about 100 troops at the top of either side that of the canyon to flush out the Indians, with the rest of his contingent at the mouth to bottle them up as they tried to get out. It promised to be a bloody affair, but Ratliff thought that a straight-up, head-on collision would be bloodier and less likely of success. I agreed with him on that, but I still wished some attempt at a diplomatic settlement would have been made. Not to be.
     A big concern was the 25 women who were still trapped in the Indian camp. What would happen to them? Nobody knew. But the unspoken fear and expectation was that probably none of them would survive the attack. I took one last look that Tuesday night of Robin entering her teepee, and with a heavy heart, figured I’d probably never see her again.
     Julie had returned to the fort that day at the express orders of her father, and this time she saw the wisdom of it and did not disagree, especially when I threatened to tie her to her horse again—no idle threat. She and I didn’t know when, or even if, we’d ever see each other again. I wasn’t quite sure what I intended to do once I made my final report to Colonel Ratliff. I had done my duty and it really wasn’t my affair any more. And with the hopes of ever seeing Robin again virtually non-existent, I was very tempted to simply ride north as I had intended to do from the beginning.
     Julie and I had some final words, and they weren’t easy. “I guess this is good-bye, huh,” she said to me.
     “I guess so.”
     “What are you going to do when this is all over?”
     I sighed. “What I had planned on doing all along—riding north and getting lost somewhere. I can’t stay around here.” Then I looked into her eyes. “And you can’t go with me.”
    She dropped her head. “I know. I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ll discuss with my father going to Denver. It’s a growing city, I think I could find a little more to…interest me there. And it wouldn’t be too far from here. I could visit my father occasionally.”
     Julie and I knew that our dreams simply didn’t mesh. She wanted the city, I wanted a ranch. She needed to find some rich, big city lawyer that could give her the kind of lifestyle she dreamed about. I needed…to get away and start over. The thought of going back to Rogersville and fighting for my land had entered my head, but if the law down there was still in the hands of the Brants, it would be very difficult indeed. And I wasn’t sure yet that I could go back—not with the memories still so fresh in my mind. Plus, if Robin were truly dead, then every last reason I had for staying around would vanish.
     I held Julie one last time before she left. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “Stop by the fort on your way north.”
     I smiled and said I would, but we both knew I wouldn’t. I’d had enough pain over the last six months and I didn’t want to add any more if I could help it. Prolonging a departure with Julie would only make things worse.

     It was pretty obvious to me, on the mesa that Tuesday night, that the Indians were probably not more than a week away from their attack. The making of weapons was slowing to a near standstill, and the stockpiling of the same was increasing. I could see paints being brewed and stirred—war paint—and bonnets and headdresses used in battle were being constructed. The army was moving not a moment too soon.
     I saw no sense in staying awake all night so I went to sleep before midnight. I figured I could take one more last, long look in the morning before I left to meet Ratliff and the army. But the fireworks woke me up.
     It was the ammo going off that brought me out of my slumber. I heard the shots and immediately grabbed for my gun, an instinctive reaction. But then I realized that I was in no immediate danger, the sound was coming from a significant distance from me—the Indian camp. I rolled and looked and my eyes almost fell out of my head.
     The chaos that Robin deigned to initiate had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. And probably more than she realized from her position. I saw teepees lighting up like chimneys, Indians running to and fro, diving for the ground as heated bullets exploded and zinged all around, and shouting, yelling, and cursing—well, I assumed it was cursing, most men do in circumstances like that. I had no idea how the pandemonium had begun; I hadn’t seen Robin and I never did see her, so I didn’t know she was behind it. I did see a couple of teepees burst into flames when one of her bottle-bombs hit it, but I couldn’t see the bottle and was completely nonplussed as to how those fires began. I saw Indians from the near side of the canyon (to me) running towards the fires, and then a couple of minutes later, I saw Indians from the far side of the canyon running away from them—and in a few seconds I understood why: 500+ terrified horses were streaming through the camp like a groundswell of buffalo. The earth literally trembled with the pounding of horses’ hooves. The Indians heading west (towards the fires) tried to stop and turn around, but they were swarmed and trampled by natives heading east and then by galloping horses. I winced at the screams of pain and terror, and it was only when the Indians grouped at the open end of the canyon began firing their rifles repeatedly in the air that the horses slowed and turned—that kept them from leaving the canyon entirely. That ran them headlong into other natives, but the steam was out of them now. Even many of the animals themselves were crushed in the massive wave of man and beast, and it took a good 15 minutes to quiet the horses down enough to begin roping and corralling them. I watched this, fascinated, wondering how it had all begun. I picked up my field glasses and anxiously scanned for the American women. A few of the teepees had been knocked over, but the horses had enough sense to zig and zag between them, thus the people who remained indoors were largely unhurt. The women had indeed come out of their teepees once the melee was over. I couldn’t tell if they were all there or not, but on a quick count, it appeared that they were.
     But the one face I was most anxious to see was the one face I didn’t.
     Though I didn’t know it, of course, by this time, Robin Morrow was at least two miles from the place.

     I hung around watching the Indian encampment until a little after dawn. It was a mess, but the natives were slowly cleaning it up. It appeared that perhaps 25 had been killed and maybe twice that many wounded. I saw the white women taking care of the injured, while the dead were being stacked against a canyon wall. There were some dead horses as well, but after a few hours things were returning to some semblance of normality. Except I could see that many of the natives were getting very, very restless, stomping about, angry, no doubt blaming the white man for a catastrophe that, in my mind, had probably been started when some drunken Indian staggered into the ammo tent and lit up a cigar. But that wasn’t the way it was being decided on the floor of the canyon, and it seemed fairly likely that the hotheads might prevail. I saw a gathering of what appeared to be chiefs having a conference, but again, I had no idea what was being said. Indians, from all the bands and tribes, began gathering up weapons, putting on war paint, feeding and watering horses—it looked for all the world like they were fixing to move out.
     Which very possibly could mean an attack on Whitewater that very day.
     Time for me to hoof it with that bit of news for Colonel Ratliff…

     …who had roused his troops before dawn so that they could get started at the first light. It wasn’t an easy thing the Army was doing here, and Ft. Tyler had spent the last two days getting wagons, mules, and provisions ready for about 1,000 men. This was a substantial force and the train of troops and wagons would stretch for miles.
     And when the first light of the sun appeared over the eastern horizon, Colonel Ratliff shouted, “Sergeant McCoy, are the men prepared to move out?”
     “All ready, sir.”
     “Then forward ho!” And Ratliff waved his pointed finger to the east, and the cavalry was ready to come save the day.
     If they weren’t too late.

     I knew those mountains well enough now to know the quickest way out. It wasn’t the shortest, distance-wise, to Ft. Tyler, but it was an easier gradient and could be traveled more quickly. So that’s the way I went.
     Right near the edge of the foothills, I reached a rocky outcropping. And then I thought I heard some shooting. I looked to my right—west—and saw a horse, with a man a woman on it—obviously white man and woman—being chased by three Indians, who were doing the shooting. I didn’t look closely enough to determine who the riders were, so I didn’t note that the woman was Robin. I did see the woman throw something, and then the fiery explosion a few seconds afterwards, and it fleetingly reminded me of the flare-ups I had seen the night before. But that could be determined later. At the moment, I could see that the man and woman were in serious trouble which multiplied exponentially when three more Indians bolted from the foothills and headed for the white couple. These last three natives would easily cut the man and woman off in a very short time. Unless somebody did something. Which I intended to do.
     I hopped off Ol’ Paint, grabbing my Winchester rifle in the process. I got behind a boulder and leveled my gun. It wouldn’t be easy shooting, but the Indians would be within 300 yards, and that wasn’t an outrageous shot, not for a marksman; the Winchester didn’t have the range a Sharps had, but it was a repeater and I couldn’t waste time reloading the Sharps after each shot. The Winchester could be effective at 200 yards, and a good shooter could hit targets beyond that. I aimed the rifle and waited until the attackers got within minimal range. I saw the lady toss a couple more bottles, one of which created a huge fireball and knocked an Indian out of the game. But the other five were closing fast.
     But there were also very close to my range now….
     Hang on a little longer, horsie…a little longer…a little more…I had the rifle to my shoulder, resting on a boulder, and my eye to the site…just a few seconds more…
     Both groups of Indians were within 20 yards of the white man and woman when I cut loose.
     My first shot downed the Indian to the farthest left—he would have intercepted the escapees first. His buddy glanced over and saw him companion fall. That startled him to where he slowed his horse just enough so that my second shot, which was at him, missed. But I found him with my third shot and he went flying from his horse, arms outstretched, dead before he hit the ground.
     The woman on the horse was now firing a gun and I continued to shoot, too, now at the three Indians trailing. They were getting awfully close and the range was getting a little farther. It took me four shots to down them, and one of them hit a horse. And actually one of my shots hit a horse at just the same time a bullet from the woman’s rifle struck the same animal….

     I gave a satisfied nod when the last Indian went down. I scanned the battlefield with my rifle, just in case any of the natives still had fight in them, but there was no movement. I turned my gaze to the white man and woman riding double on their horse and they had stopped and dismounted. I got a closer look at them, and especially her.
     I smiled ruefully. And sadly. Well, you’re still alive, aren’t you, angel…I backed down from the rocky knoll and went to my horse, out of sight of the white man—I didn’t know him, of course—and Robin. I circled back around where they couldn’t see me. I saw no use in making myself known to Robin…and having another gut-wrenching parting.
     At least it would have been gut-wrenching to me. Maybe awkward for her, I didn’t know. So I found another way out of the foothills and put Ol’ Paint into a canter in order to meet Colonel Ratliff and give him the intelligence that I had.