Philip Dampier's Blog

Shootout at the Spring

Episode Twenty

Nancy

Nancy washed the last dish from the previous two days and set it on a towel to drain. She had not eaten a big meal at supper time, and so there weren’t that many dishes to wash. She was mostly trying to find things to do that would keep her busy. The visit early that morning by a neighboring sheriff and his posse had greatly added to her feelings of uncertainty. They were apparently after the same man that Chad had taken off after over a week before. The sheriff had asked about her husband. He was sure they would encounter Chad returning with the robber, and they meant to intercept him.

“We’ll hang that murdering skunk of a bank robber from the first tree we come to,” the sheriff had said.

Nancy had responded, “My husband will never allow that. You should wait here and talk with the authorities at Fort Pierre.”

But they hadn’t. They rode out in a cloud of dust, bent on a lynching party, which meant they would have to physically take the prisoner away from her marshal. She had looked out the hotel door every chance she could during the day, but they did not return, and neither did Chad. Now, she was afraid to go to sleep. What if Chad were hurt in an altercation with the posse? Why couldn’t they just wait and let Chad do his job?

Chad

Chad watched the spread-out posse moving closer to the trees. He did not want to shoot a sheriff, but he could not let them act as vigilantes either. It was a terrible dilemma and one he had not anticipated. It was hard to think of another lawman as the enemy. In the war, he had fought the rebels who had made themselves enemies, but he hated it. This seemed even worse.

He thought back to his and Wyatt Brownlow’s confrontation with the Big Steve Long Gang in Laramie City. There had been no question of the morality of killing those outlaws, and there would have been none if he had to shoot Lance rather than taking him prisoner. This posse business was different, though, and he was having trouble getting his head around what he was about to do.

The sound of a rifle shot jarred him, but before he could bring his own gun to bear, a terrible cry rang across the open grassland. He swiveled his head to the west and caught sight of a large band of Sioux braves coming across the furthest hill. One of the posse members who was riding on the western flank had spotted the Indians and evidently had fired at them.

He was glad that the sheriff’s posse had not fired at him or Ben, but stirring up a mess of Indians was definitely not good either. One of the things he had learned from the soldiers at the fort, as well as a couple of old-timers in the area, was to leave Indians alone. Usually, that led to them leaving you alone. Shooting at Indians, or anyone else for that matter, was a good way to start a war. Chad was afraid he and Ben were about to be in the middle of one they didn’t need and didn’t start.

There was no way of knowing if the braves had been a war party or a hunting party, but now that they had been fired upon, they intended to bring war. The first arrows fell around the fleeing gunman, and before he could make thirty yards, two arrows struck him in the back. The wounded man fell across his horse’s neck and then slid off the saddle and bounced on the ground.

Chad could not take his eyes off the horrific scene. The wounded deputy made it to his hands and knees and was trying to crawl away from the oncoming Indians. A pursuing brave caught up with him and leaped off his horse. Chad saw the blade of a hunting knife flash in the sun and heard the awful scream. There was nothing he could do as the brave was out of range. The marshal gritted his teeth as the Indian waved the dying man’s hair before remounting his pony and joining his band.

As fast as the conflict started, Chad knew it would not end quickly. The posse had stirred up a hornet’s nest.

The posse went to a full run and entered the woods next to the spring ahead of the attacking Indians, making their way to the marshals’ position; the argument over Lance was forgotten in the urgent need to take cover from the oncoming Sioux.

One by one, the sheriff’s men left their horses and found a tree to use for cover. As the Indians drew near, a steady sound of rifle fire could be heard coming from the grove of trees. A foolish brave came close enough to fire his bow directly at a posse member and was knocked off his horse by several bullets striking him almost simultaneously. Another charging brave fell, and then another.

Arrows struck trees or buried themselves in the dirt. The grove was a din of noises as whining arrows flew through the trees and various rifles and pistols discharged. Chad heard one of the posse members cry out, but there was no time to see about him. There was just time to aim and fire. The Indians suffered the worst of the altercation, their arrows being no match for the accuracy and range of the rifles.

Suddenly, the Indians were gone. The noise of whooping braves and the thud of many hooves diminished. The sound of rifle fire died away as their targets veered back over the hill from whence they had come. The cheers broke the short silence of the men in the trees. Chad was not so sure. It was unlike the Sioux to give up so quickly, especially when they had the advantage of numbers.

“Who got hit?” he yelled out.

“Bill Pearson took an arrow in the shoulder. The sheriff’s going to cut it out. He’ll live if’n he don’t get poison in it.”

Chad stood up and surveyed their position. “You men better move up among the trees. I have an idea the Sioux will be coming at us from the front and the back. It’s not too far to the top of this hill, and we are exposed on this side of the trees. We need to be in the middle of the grove so we can defend both ways. Sheriff, you take three of your men down to the southern edge, and the others can join Deputy McCabe and me on this end. Don’t waste your ammunition. They’ll try to draw your fire from a distance before they close in.”

“Ben, grab the horses and your mule and get them deeper into the trees. I’ll get Lance to a more secure location. Away from all his enemies.

No one spoke; there was complete silence except the wind in the treetops. Unnoticed, the birds had fled when the first shot was fired. The sun moved, and shadows fell. The western horizon took on pink and orange hues, spreading like streaks along the place where the sun touched the ground. No one in the cottonwood grove took the time to admire the beauty of the sunset. The men were busy looking for coats or heavier shirts, a sure sign the temperature was dropping.

The Indians came over the hill just as they had the first time, but they did not draw as close as before. Chad noticed there weren’t near as many as in the first attack. The braves were yelling, and occasionally, one would weave in a few feet closer and let an arrow loose. One member of the posse took a long shot, the bullet striking wide of the target.

The sheriff barked out at him, “Hold it, Bart. They can’t do much harm way out there, and neither can you. If they’re serious, they’ll be closer before dark gets here.”

The braves circled and started back by the trees again, this time a few feet closer. At the same time, a second group topped the hill to the north, riding straight towards the marshals. Their yelling was a signal for the first attacking group to close up. The Sioux were now charging from the north and the south sides of the grove, seeking to surround the white men who had fired at them. Chad and his party were caught up in the attack.

The firing was heavy; rifles and the occasional pistol cracked and smoked while arrows zinged and thudded. Casualties among the Indians were heavy due to the power and accuracy of the various rifles used by the lawmen. The grass on both sides of the tree grove was littered with bodies of braves and ponies. After the third try, the Indians withdrew. This time, there was no energy or desire for cheers. Two more men had minor wounds that needed to be looked at. Everyone was tired, hungry and more than apprehensive.