Philip Dampier's Blog

Shootout at the Spring

Episode Nineteen

The two lawmen cleaned the campsite, and in minutes, everyone and everything was loaded up. The small caravan set out across the river. The water rose to the horses’ cinch straps when they reached the middle of the current. Luckily, Old Joe was tall enough to cross without having to swim except for a few yards right in the middle of the river. Once they were all across, Chad shifted course a bit to the northeast, hoping to come out of the valley near the spring where he had spent time recuperating from his gunshot wound.

All the animals had rested and been refreshed. It was time to push on, and they did. Each day, the weather had seemed cooler, and this day was no exception. The wind was blowing enough to bend the tops of the grasses, but it was from their backside and served to push them on. The sun was up, and the sky was clear of clouds, changing shades of blue as their eyes moved across the horizon.

The sun was just warm enough to keep the cooler wind from causing shivers on their backsides, and so their mackinaws were still tied behind their saddles. The horses seemed eager to move in the cooler temperature, and even Old Joe was in a good mood. Ben broke out in a whistle, and Chad recognized it as a tune he had heard in church in Zanesville as a boy. He had not been to a church service in a long time, but the sweet melody of the hymn brought memories back to him. Suddenly, the words to ‘Rock of Ages’ flooded his mind; he found himself singing them along with Ben’s whistled tune. It caused a strange feeling deep down inside him somewhere.

The whistling and singing, along with the gentle warmth of the sun, seemed to perk up the entire entourage, except Lance, of course. There was little for him to be happy about as each stride of his horse brought him closer to justice. They slowly climbed the rolling hills, each hill raising the overall elevation a few feet higher. Before the day was over, they would see the trees around the spring. Chad remembered how bitter the weather had been on his first trip to the spring, and he welcomed the difference. Obviously, fall was coming, showing in the yellow of the cottonwood trees they had left that morning. It would not be a long fall; it seldom was in the Dakotas.

A large-winged hawk circled ahead of them, its cry spreading fear across the prairie. Its mate soon joined it. Something must have moved, for the larger of the two birds dove to the ground, landing in the deep grass and disappearing. Then it rose again; a hare grasped within its talons. The burdened hawk set course in the direction of the spring while the other one continued to glide on its wings, its keen eyes searching for prey.

The sun was nearing its zenith when Chad reined Buck in on top of a small knoll. He and Ben helped Lance dismount and then untied his hands so he could take care of his personal business. Jerky and canteens were produced, and while the three men chewed and exercised their cramped legs, the animals grazed on the rich grass, which would soon be turning brown. Even then, it would be good food for livestock.

Chad paused between bites and spoke his thoughts out loud. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any buffalo making their way south. Maybe we missed them. I hope so.”

“Why’s that?” Lance asked, speaking for the first time that day.

“Because if they have already migrated, then the Sioux have too. I’d very much like to avoid the Lakota Sioux the rest of the way. Unfortunately, the spring we are headed for is one of their favorite watering holes because it is usually visited by roaming herds during the warm part of the year.”

“I don’t relish sharing a spring with Indians either,” Ben said.

“Well, we won’t get to the spring to share it with anybody if we don’t get going. Let’s get Lance on his horse.”

There was no map and no signs offering directions, but Chad was sure of his memory. Traveling in a vast country without the benefit of maps caused a careful observation of every kind of sign. There was also a kind of innate ability that many on the frontier had of knowing where they were and which way they needed to go. It was primarily that subconscious thought process that led Chad in an almost straight line to the spring.

The two law officers and their prisoner reached the large spring and its sheltering trees two hours ahead of sunset. Chad considered bypassing the spring and getting two hours closer to home, but in the end, the need for water for the horses and a change of diet for the humans won out. He had bragged on the fishing in the spring so much that Ben was eager to give it a try.

After the horses were taken care of and the prisoner settled against his tree, Ben took Chad’s line and hook and set off for the spring. Chad located the stone fire ring he and Luke had used on the trip west and started a fire. It was early to cook supper, but he wanted the evening meal finished before darkness came, as the firelight would be visible across the prairie. Chad was not eager for unwanted guests. They would broil the fish, eat, smother the fire, and turn in at dark.

After a few minutes, birds flew back into the trees. Chad searched for the hawks but could not spot them among the other visitors. The various species flitted from limb to limb, filling the air with all manner of chirps and tweets. Chad sat down and leaned back on his saddle and looked at Lance. What happened, he wondered, that caused a man to turn thief and killer rather than be a positive force in his community? He thought he might try Lance with some questions along that line.

The questioning ended before it could start. A sharp call came from down the slope and to the east.

“Hello, the camp?”

“Who calls the camp?”

“Sheriff Mann and a posse from Hipple City. We’re looking for a bank robber and murderer name of Lance Powell.”

“This is U.S. Marshal Chad Pennington and Deputy Marshal Ben McCabe. We have the suspect in custody.”

“You can turn him over to us, Marshal. We aim to hang him to a tree and save you a lot of trouble. Looks like you have both him and several trees to choose from.”

“There will be no hanging, Sheriff. You and your men are welcome to join us in peace, or you can ride back where you came from. Lance is my prisoner, and I intend to take him to Fort Pierre. Trust me; you don’t want to interfere with U.S. Marshals doing their job. It will not end well.”

“We mean you no harm, Marshal. Turn your prisoner over to us, and we’ll leave you be. That scoundrel murdered my wife when he held up the bank, and I’m going to see him hung, U.S. Marshals or no.”

Ben walked into camp bending low under the branches with a willow stick heavy with fish.

“Grab your rifle, Ben. We may have a gunfight on our hands if these fellows don’t back down.”

“Why don’t you turn him over to them, Chad? He’s going to hang anyway.”

“I swore an oath. The same one you did. The law is the law, or it’s nothing. The sheriff knows that. He’s letting his heart rule his head. I’m hoping it won’t come to gunplay.”

The sheriff motioned for his men to spread out and called out again. “There’s eight of us and two of you. The odds are in our favor.”

“Why would you risk the lives of your men for the privilege of putting a noose around Lance Powell when the judge is sure to do it for you?”

“They understand the risk, and we ain’t sure about your judge.”

“Don’t do this, Sheriff. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life, and so will your men. Lance is going to be tried and no doubt hung. You can watch it, but I won’t let you take the law into your own hands. We don’t want to harm any of you, but if you proceed, some of you will get hurt, maybe killed. We won’t take time to shoot to wound, and we won’t surrender the prisoner without a fight.”

“That’s your choice, Marshal.”