Tell him we want to talk to Red Cloud, the great chief.” Gill complied, and there was still no sound. Rafe looked up at him. “I’m goin’ to go over into those willows,” he said softly. “Something’s wrong.” “You watch yourself!” Gill warned. “The Sioux are plenty smart.” Moving slowly, so as to excite no hostility, Rafe Caradec walked his horse across the stream and then swung down. There was neither sound nor movement from the willows. He walked back among the slender trees, glancing around.
Yet even then, close as he was, he might not have seen her had it not been for the red stripes. Her clothing blended perfectly with the willows and flowers along the stream bank.
She was a young squaw, slender and dark, with large intelligent eyes. One look told Rafe that she was frightened speechless, and knowing what had happened to squaws found by some of the white men, he could understand.
Her legs were outstretched, and from the marks on the grass and the bank of the stream, he could see she had been dragging herself. The reason was plain to see. One leg was broken just below the knee. “Johnny,” he said, not too loud, “here’s a young squaw. She’s got a busted leg.” “Better get away quick!” Gill advised.
“The Sioux are plenty mean where squaws are concerned.” “Not till I set that leg,” Rafe said.
“Boss,” Gill advised worriedly, “don’t do it. She’s liable to yell like blazes if you lay a hand on her. Our lives won’t be worth a nickel. We’ve got troubles enough without askin” for more.” Rafe walked a step nearer and smiled at the girl. “I want to fix your leg,” he said gently, motioning to it. “Don’t be afraid.” She said nothing, staring at him as he walked up and knelt down. She drew back from his touch, and he saw then she had a knife. He smiled and touched the break with gentle fingert.
“Better cut some splints, Gill,” he said.
“She’s got a bad break. Just a little jolt and it might pop right through the skin.” Working carefully, he set the leg. There was no sound from the girl, no sign of pain. Gill shook his head wonderingly. “Nervy, ain’t she?” Rafe suggested.
Taking the splints Gill had cut, he bound them on her leg. “Better take the pack off that paint and split it between the two of us and the other horse,” he said. “We’ll put her up on the horse.” When they had her on the paint’s back, Gill asked her, in Sioux: “How far to Indian camp?” She looked at him and then at Rafe. Then she spoke quickly to him. Gill grinned. “She says she talks to the chief. That means you. Her camp is about an hour south and west; in the hills.” “Tell her we’ll take her most of the way.” Rafe swung into the saddle, and they turned their horses back into the trail. Rafe rode ahead, the squaw and the packhorse following and Johnny Gill, rifle still across the saddle bows, bringing up the rear. They had gone no more than a mile when they heard voices. Then three riders swung around a bend in the trail, reining in sharply.
Tough-looking, bearded men, they stared from Rafe to the Indian girl. She gasped suddenly, and Rafe’s eyes narrowed a little.
“See you got our pigeon!” A red-bearded man rode toward them, grinning. “We been a-chasin’ her for a couple of hours. Pretty thing, ain’t she?” “Yeah.” A slim, wiry man with a hatchet face and a cigarette dangling from his lips was speaking. “Glad you found her. We’ll take her off your hands now.” “That’s all right,” Rafe said quietly.
“We’re taking her back to her village. She’s got a broken leg.” “Talon’ her back to the village?” Red exclaimed. “Why, we cut that squaw out for ourselves and we’re slappin’ our own brand on her. You get your own squaws.” He nodded toward the hatchet-faced man. “Get that lead rope, Boyne.” “Keep your hands off that rope!” Rafe’s voice was cold.
“You blasted fools will get us all killed! This girl’s tribe would be down on your ears before night!” “We’ll take care of that!” Red persisted.
“Get her, Boyne!” Rafe smiled suddenly.
“If you boys are lookin’ for trouble, I reckon you’ve found it. I don’t know how many of you want to die for this squaw, but any time you figger to take her away from us, some of you’d better start sizin’ up grave space.” Boyne’s eyes narrowed wickedly. “Why, he’s askin’ for a ruckus, Red! Which eye shall I shoot him through?” Rafe Caradec sat his horse calmly, smiling a little. “I reckon,” he said, “you boys ain’t any too battlewise. You’re bunched too much. Now, from where I sit, all three of you are dead in range and grouped nice for even one gun shootin’, a’ I’m f n igurin’ to use two.” He spoke to Gill.
“Johnny,” he said quietly, “suppose these hombres start smokin’ it, you take that fat one.
Leave the redhead and this Boyne for me.” The fat cowhand shifted in his saddle uncomfortably. He was unpleasantly aware that he had turned his horse so he was sideward to Gill, and while presenting a fair target himself, would have to turn half around in the saddle to fire.
Boyne’s eyes were hard and reckless. Rafe knew he was the one to watch. He wore his gun slung low, and that he fancied himself as a gunhand was obvious. Suddenly Rafe knew the man was going to draw. “Hold it!” The voice cut sharply across the air like the crack of a whip. “Boyne, keep your hand shoulder high! You, too, Red! Now turn your horses with your knees and start down the trail. If one of you even looks like you want to use a gun, I’ll open up with this Henry and cut you into little pieces.” Boyne cursed wickedly. “You’re gettin’ out of it easy this time!” he said viciously. “I’ll see you again!” Rafe smiled. “Why, sure, Boyne! Only next time you’d better take the rawhide lashin’ off the butt of your Colt. Mighty handy when ridin’ over rough country, but mighty unhandy when you need your gun in a hurry!”
With a startled gasp, Boyne glanced down. The rawhide thong was tied over his gun to hold it in place. His face two shades whiter than a snake’s belly, he turned his horse with his knees and started the trek down trail.
Bo Marsh stepped out of the brush with his rifle in his hands. He was grinning.
“Hey, Boss! If I’d known that six-gun was tied down, I’d have let you mow him down! That skunk needs it. That’s Lem Boyne. He’s a gunslinger for Dan Shute.” Gill laughed. “Man! Will our ears burn tonight!
Rafe’s run two of Shute’s boys into the ground today!” Marsh grinned. “Figgered you’d be headed home soon, and I was out after a deer.” He glanced at the squaw with the broken leg. “Got more trouble?” “No,” Rafe said. “Those hombres had been runnin’ this girl down. She busted her leg gettin’ away, so we fixed it up. Let’s ride.” The trail was smoother now and drifted casually from one canyon to another. Obviously it had been a game trail that had been found and used by Indians, trappers, and wandering buffalo hunters before the coming of the cowhands and trail drivers.
When they were still several miles from the cabin on the Crazy Man, the squaw spoke suddenly.
Gill looked over at Rafe. “Her camp’s just over that rise in a draw,” he said. Caradec nodded. Then he turned to the girl. She was looking at him, expecting him to speak.
“Tell her,” he said, “that we share the land Rodney bought from Red Cloud. That we share it with the daughter of Rodney. Get her to tell Red Cloud we will live on the Crazy Man, and we are a friend to the Sioux, that their women are safe with us, that their horses will not be stolen, and that we are a friend to the warriors of Red Cloud and the great chiefs of the Sioux people.” Gill spoke slowly, emphatically, and the girl nodded. Then she turned her horse and rode up through the trees.
“Boss,” Johnny said, “she’s got our best horse. That’s the one I give the most money for!” Rafe grinned. “Forget it. The girl was scared silly but wouldn’t show it for anything. It’s a cheap price to pay to get her home safe. Like I said, the Sioux make better friends than enemies.” When the three men rode up, Tex Brisco was carrying two buckets of water to the house. He grinned at them.
“That grub looks good!” he told them. “I’ve eaten so much antelope meat, the next thing you know I’ll be boundin’ along over the prairie myself!” While Marsh got busy with the grub, Johnny told Tex about the events of the trip.