Son of the Hawk by Charles G. West Page B

on their ponies. After some discussion, it was decided to try to make a run for it, feeling it was better than waitingwhere they were. So they settled back and waited for darkness, not knowing how many warriors might be on the slope above them when nighttime came.
    This was a terrible time for Annie Farrior. While she had come to terms with her desperate situation, and accepted the fact that her life would probably not extend beyond this night, still she could not control the shivering that had taken over her body. For the most part, all was quiet now in the canyon, the quiet interrupted only now and then by a rifle shot or two ricocheting off of the stones behind them—just to let them know the Indians were still there, according to Buck. Then all would be quiet again.
    The quiet was the worst. Annie thought about Grace Turner, waiting back in Fort Laramie. What would Grace think when she failed to return? What would Grace do without her? She had become so dependent upon Annie since their husbands had been away—and what about Tom and the others? Annie wondered if, even as she lay waiting for the slaughter that seemed inevitable now, Tom might actually be on his way back to Laramie, thinking her safe and waiting for him there.
    A flicker of a smile creased the layer of grime upon her face as she realized the irony of it. As quickly as it had struck her, the spark of amusement faded away to return her to the blackness of reality. The sun was sinking. Soon it would be dark in the narrow canyon. Already the shadows had closed over the floor of the canyon, although she could still see spots of sunshine, illuminating the needles of the pines on the slopes high above them.
    Buck, embarrassed, asked her to excuse him while he crawled to the end of the tiny gully to urinate. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t hold it as long as I use’ta.”
    “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll watch the canyon for you.” She wondered why he would even care if shesaw him or not—in a matter of hours, maybe less, they would all be dead. She made a point of turning her back toward that end of the gully to satisfy him, however. She gazed for a few moments at Luke Austen, his eyes constantly focused on the dark line of pines above the ledge. He was a handsome man, she decided as she studied his profile. Then she quickly admonished herself for thinking such thoughts, and forced herself to picture her husband instead.
Tom, my Tom—I could have loved you, given time. I know I could.
    Along about dusk, the sound of a drum began, soon followed by the singsong chanting of several warriors. “Won’t be long now,” Buck offered, “they’re callin’ on their medicine to help ’em fight brave.”
    Luke shifted his position to ease a stiff back, and listened to the singing for a few moments. “When I first came out here, I was told that Indians never fought at night.”
    “Who in tarnation ever told you that?” Buck snorted, not waiting for an answer. “I ain’t ever seen an Injun git slowed one bit by darkness. They’ll be comin’, all right, and I expect we’d best git ourselves ready to climb this here wall if we don’t wanna be here to meet ’em.”
    They readied themselves as best they could, each of them—Annie included—hauling two rifles and two canteens plus all the ammunition they thought they could carry. When the last remnants of sunlight had disappeared, Buck placed his hat on his rifle barrel and held it up over the rim of the gully. After a few minutes, he stood up, knowing it was too dark for the Indians to see him. He stepped out of the shallow slash in the ground that had been their fortress most of the day, being careful to avoid Grady Post’s body lying stone-cold before him. He peered into the growing gloom of the narrow passage they had ridden downhours before, wishing his eyes were as sharp as they were when he was young. “Damn,” he uttered, looking up at the sky.
    “What is it?” Luke