Badlands Bloodsport полностью

This was a serious matter, well argued, and every Cheyenne admired a good speaker. Swift Canoe mulled all this over for several minutes in silence.

“This should have been spoken at council,” he finally said. “Yellow Bear, River of Winds, and the other elders could have turned it over to examine all its faces. But, brother, you were there—the stones have spoken. Afterward, River of Winds threw the pointing bones, and they affirmed the vote. We are bound by Hunt Law and now by tribal council. What can you possibly propose?”

Touch the Clouds considered all this, his strong hawk nose and fierce dark eyes turned in profile as he watched another brave, Cries Yi-ee-a, lead in two more mustangs. They had enough to resume their fight, but with a smaller string.

“I thought perhaps,” he finally said, “that we might send in a messenger under a truce flag. We could privately tell Son of Light that we have no fight with him and allow him to ride off. The rest we kill as Hunt Law demands—they are the ones who violated it.”

Swift Canoe shook his head. “I, too, wish this could happen because clearly the tribe has no great appetite to kill Fargo. But, brother, you know what manner of man Son of Light is. He knew these people were fools when he agreed to join them, and he will never desert them any more than he would murder our women and children. He is bound by honor and his soul belongs to no one but himself and the Day Maker.”

Touch the Clouds knew that all this was true the moment it was spoken. He nodded agreement. “As you say. But it will not be my weapon that kills him unless I am forced to it.”

“Nor mine. But Smiling Wolf and some of the other hotheads are with us, and they are hungry for glory.”

Touch the Clouds knew his duty as a war leader, and now his face lost all doubt, etching itself in hard lines. “On the one side is my belief—only a belief—that Son of Light has big medicine. On the other side are two laws—Hunt Law and council decree—ordering that all must die. The elders have spoken, the stones have spoken. When Sister Sun first peeks into the sky, we will ride hard and fast, and we will overtake these whites and fulfill our bloody mission.”

 * * * 

Just after sunset Fargo called for the first real rest of the day.

“Two hours and only two hours,” he called out. “I calculate that our red friends will be mounting up at first light, and they’ll ride like the wind. Before you men grab some shut-eye, gather up some more rocks.”

Derek the Terrible stood up, stretched mightily, and clambered off the coach. “Fargo, are you off your noodle? All these blasted rocks are just weighing down the conveyances.”

“You’re right as rain,” Fargo agreed, swinging his trail-sore ass out of the saddle and landing stiffly. “But I was with a squad of soldiers during a Cheyenne raid on the Rosebud when the soldiers overheated their carbines and the copper-jacketed rounds started sticking in the ejector ports. We had plenty of rocks to hand, and all it took was a few good hits to the head to send those braves packing.”

Derek began watering the horses from a pail. “Fargo, you are a queer blighter. The ink slingers rate you aces high with that Henry of yours, and now we’re faced with a row and all you can suggest is gathering up rocks. P’r’aps we should just make sour faces and scare them away.”

Slappy had wandered forward. “Listen to London lips here! Happens you got a plan for firing weapons without loads, trot ’er out, blowhard. Ain’t Fargo’s fault that trading post was burnt down—nor that you clabber-lipped greenhorns laid in art doodads and fancy wine but no ammo.”

“Kibosh it, Slappy,” Fargo muttered. Out loud he said, “I was kinda counting on you, Derek, if it does come down to rocks. You’ve got a set of shoulders on you like a yoke, and lifting all them sandbags has put muscles on your muscles. I ’magine you could toss a rock hard enough to split an Indian skull like an eggshell.”

Derek straightened up to stare suspiciously at Fargo. “Sucking up to me, eh?”

“No. In fact, I still mean to kill you. It’s just plain truth. I assume you want to help the rest get through? National loyalty and all that?”

“For England, eh? All right, I’ll collect some bloody rocks. It might be a bit of sport, at that. But if we make it to this fort, Fargo, I expect you to knuckle up. And the last blow I deliver will stop your pump for good, I promise that.”

“Deal,” Fargo agreed. “The soldiers can wager on it. They’re starved for entertainment.”

“Oh, those blokes will get plenty. Fargo, a necklace from your teeth will earn credit at any pub in England.”

“I say, Fargo,” Blackford spoke up from the coach. “When would you suppose the savages might be upon us?”

“On that point I got nothing you can take to the bank, Earl. I’m hoping it took at least the better part of this day for them to round up enough mustangs.”

“If your surmise is correct, they shall set out tomorrow at sunrise?”