Still gripping McDonald’s arm and holding her knife to his neck, Melanie guided her captive to move forward in the direction of the ranch house. Josephine she told to lead the way, because she did not trust either of them and was not minded to allow any room for trickery. When they entered the kitchen, Melanie gave Andrew McDonald a shove that sent him flat on his face on the tiled floor. She said to Josephine, ‘You do what you will for him. You have any guns in the house? Don’t lie, I know you’re bound to have weaponry hid away somewhere.’

  ‘There’s a closet over yonder where my husband keeps his weapons. The key’s hanging there on the wall.’

  Josephine McDonald began looking to her husband’s wounds by removing his pants. Since this proceeding was of what one call a private nature, and since there seemed to be no sign of treachery on the part of either husband or wife, Melanie decided to leave them to it. She went over and collected the key to the walk-in closet and took a good look around. There were various muskets, which appeared to be evenly divided between fairly up-to-date rifles and scatterguns of the sort used for hunting. There were a few handguns too, as well as boxes of ammunition and a cask of powder. Melanie chose a shiny-looking new carbine and broke open a box of bright, brass cartridges for it, to check that they fitted and were the correct ammunition. Having done so, she loaded the rifle and went back into the kitchen, where Josephine McDonald was boiling up a pan of water with a view to washing her husband’s backside and cleaning the wound.

  Although her heart was pounding with fear about what might have happened to Elizabeth, Melanie knew that there would be no point in rushing off to hunt for her daughter. As long as Zachariah had been able to find the village, then her mother would ensure that he received assistance. With a little good fortune, aid should arrive in a couple of hours. There was little to be done until then. That being so, Melanie remembered that she had not yet eaten that day and so, with the carbine tucked under her arm, began to prowl around the kitchen, looking for food. She found some eggs and set a pan on the range. After scooping a knob of butter into it and allowing time for the fat to start sizzling, she cracked three eggs into the pan and fried them. Josephine muttered, as she sponged down her husband’s buttock, which had been fairly well sliced open by the arrow that Melanie had let fly, ‘Yes, make yourself at home, why not?’

  ‘You shut your mouth,’ responded Melanie at once. ‘I’ve consented to allow that worthless fellow to live and that’s much, considering what ruin he’s brought upon me and mine. I’d say that a few eggs isn’t too much to take in the way of recompense.’ This was undeniably so and Josephine said nothing further.

  In spite of all that had happened to him over the last few days, Zachariah was a healthy young fellow and could not help but find it exhilarating to be riding along with a company of Sioux warriors. It was the stuff of dime novels, every boy’s idea of adventure. He sneaked a sideways glance at the man next to him, who was some kind of cousin. Even after racking his brains, Zac was unable to calculate just exactly what the relationship was between the two of them. This young man was the grandson of Zachariah’s mother’s uncle. What that made him to Zac was a mystery. Still, he was companionable enough, if a mite condescending at times. Although only three or four years older than Zac, this boy had, from what he said, already taken part in a real war.

  The Santee Sioux had sent forces to join in the fighting against the soldiers who were, as it seemed to them, trying to help the prospectors desecrate the holy land of the Black Hills, but this had been done on a more or less unofficial basis. The Lakota and the Sioux tribes under Sitting Bull’s leadership were in open rebellion and had left the reservations to fight the army. Tamela Pashme’s tribe, on the other hand, had stayed put in Pine Ridge, but the chief had turned a blind eye to individuals who wanted to go and join the uprising. One of these hotheads had been his own grandson, who was now helping mount the mission to rescue Elizabeth Hogan.

  Zachariah had taken to Ochtheli, as he had given his name to be, because for one thing he spoke good enough English that it was possible to hold a conversation with him. As for most of the other braves, it was not easy to gauge just precisely how much they did and didn’t understand. Zachariah addressed remarks to some of them in an effort to be sociable, but they just smiled or said ‘Yes’ in response. He wondered if they were secretly annoyed to be sent off like this to help recover some little white girl they knew nothing about.

  It was a beautiful day though and in spite of all the misfortunes that had fallen upon him, Zachariah was a normal boy, which mean that even the worst tragedy was not likely to maintain its hold on him for all that long. The novelty of being in the company of a bunch of Indians was such that it served to drive from his mind all thoughts about the recent death of his father. It wasn’t that Zac was an especially heartless or callous youth, but it must be said that he had become mightily sick over the last year of digging, hoeing, watering and weeding for little or no return. Caleb Hogan might well have been, as his widow now asserted, the best man ever to walk the earth, but he was far from being an affectionate or demonstrative parent. He was a man who lived his life by the Good Book and expected no less of those around him, his own family included. This meant that both Zac and Betty were a deal closer to their mother than they had been to Caleb.

  Ochtheli said, ‘You are dreaming, cousin!’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was a long way from here, leastways in spirit. What did you say?’

  ‘I said we’ll go to the ford and then you can tell us which way from there.’

  ‘Surely. It’s real good of you fellows to help us, you know. I don’t know how to thank you.’

  The young man riding beside him gave Zachariah an odd look. He said, ‘In a manner of speaking, your family is of our tribe. We wouldn’t abandon one of our own, not ever.’

  ‘Well, I’m grateful all the same.’

  Then, to Zac’s surprise and embarrassment, Ochtheli asked, ‘What do you want us to do when we cross the Niobrara?’

  The idea that he was in some way in charge of the expedition was more than Zachariah could comprehend. He felt that he was more or less tagging along in the group and now this man was asking what they should do! He said, ‘My ma was sure that this big rancher, man called McDonald, has taken Betty. I should think we ought to head for his place first.’

  Ochtheli thought this over and then said, ‘You don’t mind fighting against your own people?’

  ‘I don’t rightly understand you,’ said Zac, ‘What do you mean by fighting against my own people?’

  Again, the other man shot him a strange look. Then he said, ‘If we ride down on this ranch and there are men there, white men, then we’ll have to fight them. They won’t let us come and search the place. Are you ready to fight white men along with us?’

  Strange to relate, Zachariah Hogan had not hitherto given any thought to the actual mechanics of taking back his baby sister from a powerful rancher. Somehow he had simply assumed that they would turn up at the ranch and that would be that. He said haltingly, ‘Well you know, family is family. If my little sister is at that ranch, why then I hope they’ll just hand her over, peaceable like. If not, then it’ll be on the heads of them as try to stop us, I reckon. I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, but if they want it then I guess I can oblige all right.’

  Ochtheli merely nodded soberly at this brief statement, but inwardly, he rejoiced. When first he had met this youngster, the boy had had the air of a beggar, seeking alms. Now though, he was growing before Ochtheli’s very eyes, into a young warrior. This was a marvellous thing to behold after only such a short length of time. Perhaps talking to the chief’s sister had effected this change or, more likely, it was the Sioux blood in him coming to the fore. Whatever the reason though, Ochtheli was greatly looking forward to seeing with his own eyes a boy turning into a man.

  It had passed midday, of that Melanie was sure. She said, ‘Is there a clock in this place?’

  ‘There’s one through there, in the other room,’ replied Josephine McAndrew. After cleaning the wound, she had pressed a clean rag over the cut on her husband’s buttock and bound it in place with a length of material obtained by ripping up an old shirt that was stowed in a drawer. Having done this, she had asked Melanie’s permission to fetch a clean pair of pants from another part of the house. It had been on the tip of Melanie Hogan’s tongue to say that the injured man could just make do with the sodden garment that he had been wearing, but then she felt that this was cruel and petty. She had let his wife go off, but not before reminding her that she was holding a loaded and cocked carbine and that if there was any funny business then she would not hesitate to open fire.

  After checking the clock, Melanie found that it still lacked a few minutes to noon. How time was dragging! She calculated that if her son had ridden straight to the village of the Santee Sioux and they had agreed with no further ado to send aid then they would most likely be here by around one, two at the latest. After cross-questioning Josephine McDonald, she had figured that Betty must have been taken at about eight in the morning. That meant that this Jackson, assuming that that was who had taken her, had a good four-hour start on any pursuers.

  Because she was restless and fidgety and for want of anything else to pass the time, Melanie said, ‘I should think that you two have pretty much all you could want here. Why’d you have to try and steal what we had as well?’

  Andrew McDonald, who now that he did not have a knife pressing against his throat seemed to have recovered some of his natural vigour, began explaining about their problems. His wife chipped in from time to time and within ten minutes the two of them had spelled out the whole circumstances surrounding the death of Melanie’s husband and the carrying off of her child. After hearing all that they had to say, Melanie did not speak for fully half a minute and then shook her head and opined, ‘That’s the hell of a tale. Assuming of course that it’s a true bill.’

  ‘It’s true enough,’ said Josephine. ‘You think I’d get up to such tricks if I weren’t desperate?’

  ‘Other folk get into such scrapes, without any killing and child-stealing,’ said Melanie. ‘Don’t even try and make out as you had no choice in the matter or was forced into it.’

  Neither Josephine nor her husband could think of an adequate reply to this and so remained silent.

  Elizabeth grasped the front of the saddle to balance herself, but from time to time she swayed and came close to falling from the horse. When this happened, Dave Jackson would take one hand from the reins and steady her. As they moved through the dark wood, Elizabeth asked suddenly, ‘How long will it take us to get where we’re going?’

  Jackson, who was by natural disposition a chatty and talkative man and had been finding the protracted silences wearisome, was pleased to have something to talk about. He said, ‘I guess that depends. If we go on at this pace, it could be four or five days. A little more fast riding and we might trim it down to three.’

  ‘Do you have a home?’

  ‘A home? You mean, like a house where I live or something? No, not at all. I go where I will.’

  ‘Don’t you get lonely?’

  ‘I’m not a perfect fool. Start feeling like that and afore you know it, you’re trapped.’

  The child’s question had touched something in Dave Jackson’s heart, for the fact was that he hadn’t had any sort of home, in the sense of a permanent base, since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. The little girl’s words worked within him, like yeast, and after a few minutes he began to feel a little sad. That passed soon enough though and he was possessed by a great and inarticulate irritation against Elizabeth for leading his thoughts in such a direction. He said, ‘You think you’re right smart, but you ain’t. You’ll see. Home, indeed!’

  Now the fact was that Dave Jackson was by this time fearfully tired and desired nothing so much as to snatch a few winks of sleep. This was making him even sharper than usual. They were, he thought, far enough from both the McDonalds’ ranch and the farmhouse that he had robbed to make pursuit a fairly unlikely eventuality and, all else being equal, he could afford a little rest before they continued journeying on until nightfall. The only thing was, what was he to do with this wretched child? Wouldn’t she try and flee while he slumbered?

  It does not seem possible that any human being would think of doing such a thing, but the idea that Jackson came up with was that he would hog-tie the little girl, as though she were an animal, and that he would then be able to sleep in peace, knowing that she was unable to escape. He had a length of rope in his saddle-bag that would be the very thing for such a job. They would have to get off the track though, so that no passing busybody should wonder why a young girl was trussed up in that way. Jackson guided his horse to the right and began weaving a way through the fir trees. Elizabeth said, ‘Why have we left the road?’

  ‘Because I’m dog-tired and need some sleep,’ replied Jackson shortly, ‘I guess you could do with a rest too after travelling like this for so long.’

  When they reached what Jackson conceived to be a convenient spot, a little clearing in the forest, he halted and dismounted. Then he rummaged around at the back of the saddle until he had found the rope. He said to Elizabeth, ‘I can’t take any chances with you, not since that performance back there when you nearly got me shot. I’m going to have to make sure that you don’t run away, you know.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ said the child, scared at the sight of the rope, ‘I’ll give you my oath.’

  ‘Well it ain’t what you’d call enough. Now turn round, so I can bind your hands.’

  After tying the girl’s hands behind her back, not tightly, but most efficiently, Jackson ran the rope down and lashed her ankles together with no more emotion than if he had been doing the same to a dumb animal. Then he checked the knots and said, ‘I reckon that’ll do. I’m going to rest now and I’d advise you to do the same.’

  After securing his horse, Dave Jackson lay down upon the ground and almost immediately fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. As for Elizabeth Hogan, she wriggled over to a tree and sat upright, leaning against it. How this was to be resolved, she had no ideas at all.

  Chapter 8

  When Zachariah first met up with the Indians, they had been armed only with the traditional weapons of their people: knives, clubs, bows and arrows and lances. Now though, they all seemed to be sporting various guns, including very up-to-date-looking cavalry carbines. It struck Zac that these might well have been looted from some battlefield such as Little Bighorn. This was a most alarming thought. It was while he was turning over in his mind how he felt about riding shoulder to shoulder with some of those who might have been involved in the massacre of Custer and his men that he realized that something was going on.

  Some of the men were looking across to their left and making terse, monosyllabic comments, which of course Zac did not understand. He stared beyond them and saw that there was another party of horsemen, keeping pace with them. He said to Ochtheli, ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘It is with those others to say,’ said the young man calmly, ‘We have our business and they have theirs. If they do not trouble us, all will be well.’

  But the other riders, a smaller party than their own, evidently did wish to trouble them, for they changed course and began heading in their direction. In fact, they were cowboys, employed by Andrew McDonald. Seeing a bunch of Indians who were not in their proper place, that is to say on the reservation, these fellows had taken it upon themselves to investigate and perhaps send the savages back to where they belonged. They were young men, braggarts and hotheads, who had persuaded themselves that it was their duty to tend to this incursion into their own district.

  To Zachariah’s consternation, some of those with whom he was riding began unslinging rifles and drawing pistols. They were seemingly quite prepared to give the seven or eight white men whatever they wished. Perhaps the cowboys didn’t grasp the significance of this or thought that they could bluff the others into turning aside, because they began whooping and shouting as though they were rounding up cattle. It was all a game to them and they were thinking about how they would be able to tell the patrons of the saloon in Benton’s Crossing the coming Saturday night how they had single-handedly prevented an Indian attack on their town. It was not to be.

  The cowboys rode slightly ahead of the other riders, presumably trying to head them off. When they were fifty yards away, a couple of the Sioux began shooting, without any warnings or other preliminary actions. Zac had vaguely thought that a confrontation of this kind would follow roughly the same course as a tussle between boys in the schoolyard. First would come threats and warlike cries, then first one party and then the other would withdraw and only after such a ritual would any fighting commence. This was not at all how the Indian warriors played it. These men were coming close enough to represent a danger and that was sufficient in itself to be the signal for bloodshed. As he watched, two of the white men tumbled from their horses. One fell clear, but the other had a foot tangled still in one stirrup and he was dragged and bounced along behind his panicking horse. It was a terrible thing to behold.

  In addition to the two men, a horse had also been hit and this stumbled along for a bit before collapsing into a heap and throwing its rider. All this was obviously a lot more than the group of young cowboys had bargained for. The response to their crowding had been so sudden and lethal that they must have seen that to continue along their present course would like enough end in the death of them all. They were tough enough when dealing with dumb beasts, but coming up against a band of determined and ruthless warriors was more dangerous than they could ever have imagined. The survivors veered off and withdrew to a safe distance, slowing down and then stopping. There were no casualties among the Sioux. Ochtheli gave a cry of sheer, exuberant delight and said in a loud voice to Zac, ‘They didn’t know who they were dealing with!’

 

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