Eyes Like Sky: Chapter Three
Jess Harper's first lucid realization was that he didn't know where he was. He opened gritty eyes to look out wonderingly at a completely unfamiliar place: a rough cabin with walls of untrimmed logs, a stone fireplace with flames dancing on the hearth, and near it a pile of blankets on the floor. He was lying on a low, hard bed covered with warm furs, and when he tried to lift his head to see more, it was far too heavy to raise, or maybe he was just that weak. Moaning, he licked his dry lips, desperately thirsty, and that's when she appeared.
She was an Indian and old, very old, her waist length braids gray all the way to their tips. Her face was weatherbeaten, creased and deeply lined with great age though her dark eyes were still lively. There was something else in them as well, something he couldn't identify –- part fear, part wonder, part sympathy, part wariness and distrust.
She said something, and at first, Jess thought there was something wrong with him, that his ears weren't working properly or his brain had been scrambled by whatever it was that had happened to him. All he could do was look at her dumbly, bewildered, because the sounds she made had no meaning for him. Then she spoke again and he realized the problem wasn't in his head - her words weren't English but rather an Indian language, and a dialect he didn't understand. Not that he spoke all that much Indian, Slim was better at langu….
Slim!
It all came back to him then, rushing in to overwhelm him like an avalanche crashing down off a mountainside.
Slim Sherman.
The ranch.
Daisy and Mike.
Laramie.
The knowledge that he was Jess Harper, formerly of Texas.
Jess Harper, who worked for Slim, partner in the Sherman Ranch, and the relay station for the Overland Stage Compan….
The stage!
Suddenly all the rest was there, all the memories flooding through him, explaining why his head hurt and his arm hurt and the rest of his body felt battered from head to toe….
He'd been on his way north to Montana to pick up horses. There were only two other passengers on the stage that day. One was a ruddy-faced, middle-aged cattle rancher from up near Bozeman, Bill Arnold, on his way home from a cattle sale. As the coach rocked its way north, he and Jess had talked a bit about ranching, about the price of cattle and horses, about range conditions and the possibility of making a profit this year. The other traveler was a soft-handed, pinch-faced, silent man in a rumpled dusty suit and a bowler hat, a banker, Jess figured, or maybe a lawyer or even a shopkeeper, though most shopkeepers were more talky than this stranger. The man looked at the cowboy's rough clothes with apparent distaste and tersely introduced himself as Mr. Barnes before turning pointedly away when Jess tried to make conversation, staring out the window or dozing, ignoring the other men's talk of cattle and grass.
They pulled in right on time at Rock River station, the switching point for the route north, pleased to see another stage and team already hitched and waiting beside the barn. Jess stepped down out of the coach, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs during the short stopover while the drivers swapped places. Mose would take the reins of the waiting coach, one that had just arrived from Casper and points north, and drive the southbound freight, mail, and passengers to Laramie.
Meanwhile the teams were being changed on the stage Jess had just exited, the tired horses led away for feed and rest. A fresh team was hooked into the traces within just a few minutes, and a new driver quickly climbed up onto the box for the remainder of the trip north. Jess barely had the time to get a cup of coffee before the station agent checked his watch, then called out, "All passengers goin' north to Casper, better find yerself a seat now. We're runnin' late."
Tired of the dusty ride inside, Jess decided to climb up and take a seat beside the driver, a gruff German immigrant with a hearty voice and a thick accent, who introduced himself as Karl.
"Didn't know I'd have me a shotgun a'ridin' along on dis trip, Jess," Karl smiled in welcome. "Wit you ridin' up here, ya, I feel mighty safe now."
"Not shotgun today, Karl, just another passenger," Jess grinned, "but I do prefer the scenery up here."
"Ja, me, too," agreed Karl. "Too stuffy in der. Und dusty."
"That's for sure," agreed Jess as he waved farewell to Mose, the old reinsman having already gathered up the lines of the team that would take the stage back south to Laramie.
Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie
They made good time heading north from Rock Creek, Karl a sure hand with the lines as the horses galloped along, the coach rocking to the rhythm of sixteen racing hooves, bouncing over ruts and rough patches in the road.
They were an hour out of the Elver Ranch station on their second change of horses when Jess saw the first sign of trouble. He caught only a quick glimpse of a rider on the ridgetop that paralleled the road, so brief he wasn't sure he'd really seen anything. Around the next curve, however, his suspicions were confirmed, this sighting leaving no doubt — three riders aboard spotted ponies, high up on the ridgeline to the west. The Indians weren't doing anything hostile, just watching them, but still, the sight sent a shiver of apprehension through him. Something about them, about the intense way they were watching, made him uneasy.
"We might have us some trouble brewin', Karl," Jess pointed out to the driver as he dug under the seat for the rifle stored there, one of the new Winchester 73 models. Jess checked that it was loaded, then gripped it tightly, cradling it across his lap as they rocketed down the road.
"Maybe dey is only curious about us," Karl's optimistic words didn't match the frown creasing his broad face.
"Maybe," Jess answered, not believing it. He kept watch, scanning the country on both sides. The braves were following, continuing to flank them and that had Jess worried now because the initial three had somehow grown to something closer to a dozen. Still, they'd done nothing more threatening than shadow the coach's path, and there was nothing wrong with that.
If that was all they continued to do.
The stage crossed Heyday Creek without incident, the horses splashing through the shallow stream, and then the road climbed to the crest of Redrock Hill.
That was where they found Ray Jeffries.
He was standing in the middle of the road, his saddle sitting in the dust at his feet as he flagged them down. He looked relieved to see them- a lean, middle-aged cowboy with a lined and windswept face. He was dressed in ordinary range garb of jeans, chaps, and a light blue work shirt, standing about Jess' own height, with dark hair and pale eyes. "Sure glad you folks came through. My horse come up lame last night," he pointed over into the trees where a long-legged roan, looking hard rode, stood three-legged in a patch of shade. "Thought I was gonna have to walk all the way to Buffalo."
"We got room, mister, but you may be steppin' from the fryin' pan into the fire," Jess warned him honestly.
The cowboy raised a questioning eyebrow.
"We've had Indians shadin' us for the past hour or so," Jess explained. "They ain't tried anything, leastways not yet."
"Don't reckon I've got much choice," the cowboy answered, tossing his saddle and bedroll up to Jess, who stowed them atop the coach.
Done, Jess nodded at the man's Colt, pleased at the prospect of another gun if it came to a fight. "Can you use that iron, mister?"
"I kin mostly hit what I'm aimin' at."
Jess nodded soberly. "Then you might want to keep it handy, mister… ?"
"I'm Ray Jeffries."
Jess leaned down and offered the man his hand and they shook. "I'm Jess Harper. Karl's our driver. Folks inside can make their own introductions. Reckon you ought to climb aboard, though, so we can get movin'. I'm thinkin' we don't want to be out on this road after dark."
"Can't argue with you there," the cowboy agreed, opening the coach door and climbing inside. Jess heard Ray introduce himself to the other passengers as Karl slapped the lines and set the stage back into motion.
For the next half hour, Jess and Karl rode in silence, the driver intent on his galloping horses and the road while Jess studied the ridges and hills above their route. They were crossing a wide valley and the first of the foothills of the Medicine Bow Mountains loomed just ahead. Jess tried to recall what he knew of their route- he'd been up in this country before but not often. The stage road, as he remembered, made several sweeping turns up ahead, avoiding the steepest climbs but, he worried, affording their pursuers the option of cutting cross country on their ponies, maybe even getting ahead of the coach on its longer route, if they were so inclined.
At the base of the hill, the driver hauled back on his lines and slowed the team to a hard trot, and as the slope increased the horses put their shoulders into the work of the long climb.
Jess' eyes roved from rock to sagebrush to trees and back again, scanning every possible hiding place, even the ones that seemed too small to conceal anything bigger than a jackrabbit.
His searching eyes found nothing.
They were halfway up the slope, the winded horses slowing to a jog, when Karl suddenly cried out and slumped over. Jess swung his gaze around to the far side of the road and spotted an Indian, his broad, impassive face smeared with zigzag stripes of war paint. He was rising up out of the grass, his bow raised and another arrow nocked and ready to fly. Jess snapped the Winchester to his shoulder and fired, his first shot knocking the brave back down into the grass. Spinning left, he flung lead at another warrior crouched behind a tree and, as fast as he could work the action, three more slugs snarled around a cluster of rocks where he'd seen movement.
Shots from inside the coach echoed his own, peppering the landscape around their attackers.
"Jess! I'm hit!"
He spun around at the agonized whisper. Even at first glance it was obvious that Karl was hurt bad. The driver was sagging, his face gray, and the feathered shaft of an arrow protruded from the left side of his ribcage.
With a visible effort, Karl sucked in a breath and whispered, "Da horses, Jess, you must… take da lines…."
He didn't have enough hands for both gun and reins, but Jess knew his first job was to keep the stage upright and under control. Reluctantly dropping the rifle at his feet, he grabbed the reins as they were slipping from the slumping driver's hands. As he adjusted the lines through his fingers, another arrow thumped into the side of the coach and a third zipped just over Jess' shoulder. "Hee-yah," he shouted at the horses, slapping them with the leathers. They lurched into a ragged trot, accelerating into a gallop as he urged them to greater speed, laboring as they climbed the steep hill, leaving the ambush behind.
They crested the hill and now on the downslope, Jess let the team run, needing all his strength and skill to hold them on the road as they raced down the rough track, the coach rattling and shaking until Jess thought it would break apart. He drove the horses hard up and over the next hill before finally pulling them up. They stopped readily, blowing and snorting, lathered sides heaving, welcoming the rest.
Jess set the brake, hastily wrapped the reins around the handle and turned to Karl as he heard the coach doors open and the babbling voices of the passengers. The driver was barely conscious, his breathing shallow, and way too much blood soaking his shirt. Jess had nothing for a bandage to staunch the flow and no time to waste asking the others for anything. Hastily he shucked out of his shirt, folding it over once before wrapping it around the man's chest as a makeshift binding. He knew they had no time to provide Karl with any real medical care — already Jess thought he could see movement back in the trees. Their gunfire had slowed their pursuers but not driven them off.
"Get him in the coach," Jess ordered as Jeffries and the rancher stepped to the side of the stage. Jess eased the unresponsive Karl down and the two men manhandled him inside.
"What are we gonna do?" the worried rancher asked, looking up at Jess.
"We'll make for Lodgepole Creek Station. It's on the other side of the pass," Jess answered gruffly. "I need you all to keep a good watch behind us. And if you're a prayin' man, right now might be a real good time to get busy." He handed the Winchester down to Arnold. "Whichever one of ya' is the best shot ought to take that."
"What about you?" the rancher asked, accepting the rifle. "Don't you want to keep this?"
"I'll have my hands full," Jess answered. As soon as he heard the doors close, he tugged his hat down tight, settling himself on the box with his boots braced on the foot rest. He adjusted the lines in his hands again and released the brake, shouting out to the team and sending the coach rattling into motion.
The brief stop had allowed the horses the opportunity to catch their wind, but Jess knew they were tired, and there were miles still to go with a raiding party hot on their heels. He settled the team into an easy trot as they started up the next hill.
Maybe the Indians wouldn't keep following, he told himself hopefully. He was sure he'd killed the one; maybe he or one of the passengers had gotten lucky and accounted for a few more, but Jess knew that wasn't likely. And Sioux on the warpath weren't likely to call it quits just because one or two of them were dead or injured. More likely, their losses would only make them madder. They'd regroup and come up with a new plan of attack, and the winding road ahead gave them plenty of opportunity.
The coach cleared the top of the hill. Jess could see far ahead now, down into the valley below, the line of green that marked the east branch of Lodgepole Creek and the road snaking its way up the switchbacks to the pass just ahead. He wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his undershirt and loosened the reins a bit, letting the horses have their heads and build up speed on the downhill run.
Just this one last barrier, these last couple of miles up and over the pass and they'd be within reach of the safety of the station. Jess spared a thought for Karl, wondering if the driver was still alive, but he knew there was nothing he could do for the man except get to their destination and hope that someone there could help him.
Jess' hands were steady on the lines as the horses reached the valley floor and hit the last level stretch of road, once more lengthening their strides into a full gallop. Jess adjusted the reins in his hand, knowing he'd need all his skill and experience to navigate the challenging road ahead. They crossed the creek without slowing and just beyond it, he felt the coach's angle change slightly and the team seemed to hesitate. The horses were no longer fresh, but they were still game, and he urged them on, building momentum for the climb.
It was a climb they would not complete.
Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie xx Laramie
Chapter Four to be posted soon
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