Worse Than Death by James W. Marvin

Author:James W. Marvin [Marvin, James W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, Western, crow, wild west, cowboys, old west, us cavalry, james w marvin
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Nothing happened for the rest of the afternoon.

Except that it snowed viciously for nearly two hours, burying the bodies of the Shoshone and their ponies under a merciful shroud of clean whiteness, the wind banking up drifts against the frozen corpses.

Martha Hetherington finally rose from her bed in the wagon and reappeared among the rest of the party. Studiously ignoring Crow, who didn’t even notice her. And replying to the other ladies with a muffled whisper. Finding that the swelling to her lips and the blood from the broken teeth made any normal conversation too painful.

Crow posted two of the more responsible women to cover both sides of the plateau, warning them to shout out if they saw anything.

‘I mean anything at all, ladies, that seems not right to you. Don’t be afraid if’n it turns out a false alarm. False alarm never killed nobody. Missing the signs of an attack could kill us all. I’m dependin’ on the both of you.’

He favored them with a smile and they both came as close as possible to dropping him a curtsey until they recalled who he was. Both of them blushed at the embarrassment of the moment, but they both kept excellent watch for the Shoshone.

The rest of them were kept busy unloading the trunks and cases from the wagons and filling in all the gaps with them. Packing them under the rigs as well to stop any adventurous brave coming in close and crawling between the wheels to get at them. Martha Hetherington joined in this work in silence.

And Crow and the four soldiers spent the time walking cautiously around the plateau, keeping in close to their defenses in case the Shoshone tried a surprise raid. Not that any of them thought that the Indians would be in any condition to come again at them so soon after suffering such a devastating defeat. But equally none of them was under any illusions about having beaten them for good and all. Many Knives would be back. His honor as a leader of the tribe would demand it.

‘Last one was the easy one, Crow,’ said the taciturn Muir, banging his arms against his ribs to try and keep the blood flowing warmly.

‘Yeah. Next time they’ll be damned careful not to get caught out like that. Least there’s only the two ways they can come at us.’

The plateau was like a flattened saucer. The narrow sides were about a hundred and fifty paces from the sheer wall of rock to the toppling banks of scree that plummeted down to the icy Moorcock River.

The other way was nearer three hundred yards from end to end. They knew that any attempt to go back the way they’d come would lead them into a hopeless ambush. And to go on would put them in the maze of trails where Many Knives and his surviving bucks would cut them apart.

Crow considered trying to get them into the small box canyon on foot and then hope to scout a path up over the top of the last range of bills.

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