轻柔说话的风

轻柔说话的风

[1]

作者:弗雷德里克·福赛思/Frederick Forsyth

第一章

传闻一直在说,卡斯特将军统帅下的部队在1876年6月25日小比格霍恩的那次大屠杀中,没有一个战士存活下来。这话不对;其实有一位幸存者。他是一名边防侦察兵,年龄24岁,名叫本·克雷格。 [2]

这是关于他的故事。 [3]

是那位边防侦察兵灵敏的鼻子首先闻到了它:由草地上的微风吹来的炊烟的那股淡淡的香味。 [4]

他独自单骑走在前头,领先于10名边防骑兵巡逻队20码距离。他们在罗斯伯德溪谷的西岸行进着。 [5]

那侦察兵没有转身即提起他的右手把缰绳勒住了。在他的身后,那位中士和9名骑兵也跟着勒住了马缰。侦察兵跳下马,让它安详地去吃草,自己小步跑向骑兵们与溪流之间的一道低低的溪岸。在那里,他卧倒在地上并爬上岸顶去窥视前方,他的身体仍隐藏在漫长的野草丛中。 [6]

它们挤在山脊与溪岸之间的狭长地带里。这是一个营地,至多5间印第安式的棚屋,一个繁衍扩展的家庭。那种印第安人的圆锥形帐篷表明是北夏延人。这位侦察兵对印第安人的帐篷很了解。苏人圆锥形帐篷又高又窄;夏延人把他们的圆锥形帐篷的底部建得很宽大,更为矮胖,显示狩猎战利品的图画装饰在帐篷的侧面,这也是夏延人的风格。 [7] [8] [9]

侦察兵估算这个营地能容纳20至25个人,但10个男人外出打猎去了。他能够从矮种马的数量上猜测出来。它们只有7匹,在棚屋附近吃草。要搬迁这么一个营地,让男女老少骑上去,折叠起圆锥形帐篷连同其他行李一起装上皮绷子,应该需要20匹马。 [10]

他听到中士在他身后爬上了溪岸,于是朝身后做手势让那人趴下来。然后他身边出现了那只绣着三道人字形标志的蓝色制服袖子。 [11]

“你看见什么了?”中士用一种粗哑的耳语问他。 [12]

这时候是上午9点钟,已经热得使人喘不过气来了。他们已经骑行了3个小时。

卡斯特将军喜欢尽早拔营出发。但侦察兵已经能够闻到从他旁边那个人身上散发出来的威士忌的味道。这是一种劣质的边防威士忌,味道很难闻,比用野山梅、樱桃和长在罗斯伯德溪岸的漫山遍野的野玫瑰制成的香水的味道还浓。 [13]

“5座印第安人棚屋。夏延的。营地里只有妇女和儿童。男人们外出,去溪流对面打猎了。”

布兰多克中士没有询问侦察兵是怎么知道的,他只是接受了侦察兵的解释。他张开嘴打了一个哈欠,喷出一股酒气,露出了一口黄牙。侦察兵滑下堤岸站了起来。 [14]

“我们别去打扰他们。他们不是我们要寻找的人。”

但布兰多克已经随第七骑兵团在平原上当了3年兵,其间没有参加过什么行动。

林肯堡的一个漫长而无聊的冬天使他与一个洗衣女工和兼职妓女生下了一个私生子,但他来到平原上是真正想杀印第安人的,不想却被劝止。 [15]

这场屠杀只花了5分钟时间。10名骑兵从山脊上冲杀下去。侦察兵爬上山脊,从上面厌恶地观察着。 [16] [17]

其中一名骑兵刚入伍不久,他的骑术是如此之差,以致从马背上摔了下来。其他人实施了屠杀。所有的马刀都留在了林肯堡,于是他们使用了他们所佩带的柯尔特左轮枪或者新配发的斯普林菲尔德73型步枪。 [18]

听到马蹄声时,那些正在料理营火和炉灶的印第安女人们试图召集孩子们跑向河里,但她们太晚了。在她们抵达水边之前,骑兵们冲进了她们之中,然后折回去杀向棚屋,射倒任何移动的目标。当事情结束所有的老人、妇女和儿童都死去后,他们跳下马去袭击圆锥形帐篷,寻找能引起他们兴趣的战利品以便带回家去。当仍然活着的孩子被发现后,棚屋里又响起了几声枪声。 [19]

侦察兵拖着脚步从山脊穿过400码距离走到了营地来察看屠杀的情况。当骑兵们点火焚烧帐篷时,那里似乎没有什么东西也没有什么活人。其中一名骑兵,其实只是一个大男孩而且刚当兵不久,取出他携带着的当早饭的硬面包和扁豆,靠在马鞍边上,以免自己因恶心而呕吐。布兰多克中士得意洋洋。他已经获得了胜利。他已经找到了一顶插着羽毛的头盔,把它固定到了水壶边的马鞍上。 [20]

侦察兵数了数,共有14具尸体,横七竖八地躺在他们倒下的地方。当其中一名士兵递给他一件战利品时,他摇摇头,拖着脚步经过那些帐篷到溪岸边让他的战马去饮水。 [21]

她躺在那里,半隐藏在芦苇丛中,鲜血泊泊地顺着她的一条光腿流下来,刚才在她奔跑时一颗步枪子弹穿透了她的大腿。假如他的动作稍稍再快一点,他肯定会转过头去并回到正在燃烧着的帐篷旁边去。但正在注视着他的布兰多克看到了他的视线方向,于是策马跑过来了。 [22] [23]

“你发现了什么,小伙子?嗯,是不是又一条害虫?而且还活着?”

他从枪套里拔出他的柯尔特手枪并进行瞄准。芦苇里的那个姑娘转过脸来凝视着他们,那双空洞的眼睛里充满了恐惧。侦察兵伸出手紧紧抓住中士的手腕逼着持枪的那只手举向了空中。布兰多克那张粗糙的、被威士忌薰红了的脸面因为愤怒而变黑了。 [24] [25]

“别打死她。她也许知道一些事情。”侦察兵说。这是惟一的办法。布兰多克顿了顿,想了一想后点点头。 [26]

“好主意,小伙子。我们把她作为一件礼物带回去献给将军。”

他把手枪放进枪套,回去检查自己的人马了。侦察兵跳下马,走进芦苇丛中去照看那个姑娘。幸好她的伤口很干净。当她在逃跑时那颗子弹在短距离内射穿了她的大腿。枪洞有两个,一个进口,一个出口,都是又小又圆。侦察兵用他的手帕和清澈的溪水擦洗了伤口并进行了包扎以止住血流。 [27]

完成之后他去看她。她也回视着他。一头瀑布般的黑发松散地披在她的双肩上;一双黑色的大眼睛,笼罩着痛苦和恐惧。在白人的眼里,并不是所有的印第安女人都很漂亮,但在所有部落人中,夏延人最为俊美。芦苇丛中的那个姑娘大概有16岁,具有惊人的美貌。侦察兵今年24岁,是读《圣经》长大的,从来不曾知道《旧约全书》意义中的一个女人。他感觉到他的心在狂跳着,不得不去看别处。他把她搭上自己的肩膀,走回到被摧毁的营地去了。 [28]

“把她放到一匹矮种马上。”中士喊道。他又从他的驮袋里摸出酒瓶开始痛饮了。侦察兵摇摇头。 [29]

皮绷子,”他说,“不然她会死去。”

在正在化作一片焦土的圆锥形帐篷旁边的营地上,有几个皮绷子皮绷子由两根细长而富有弹性的松木杆组成,交叉扎紧后安放在一匹矮种马背上,叉开的两头分得很开,中间放上一张展开的牛皮用以载重。这是一种很舒适的旅行工具,对于一名伤员来说比白人使用的牛车更为安稳,因为牛车遇到路面不平时颠簸得很厉害。 [30]

侦察兵赶拢一匹正在迷走的矮种马。现在只剩下两匹矮种马了;5匹已经窜到了远处。那动物在被系上缰绳时胆怯地后退着。它已经闻到了白人的气息,这种气味可使一匹杂色矮种马发狂。反过来也同样:美国骑兵的战马如果闻出平原印第安人的气味,也会变得难以驾驭。 [31]

侦察兵朝那动物的鼻孔轻轻地吹了一口气,直至它安定下来接受了他。10分钟之后,他已经把那只皮绷子就位了,那位负伤的姑娘躺在野牛皮上,身上裹着一条毯子。巡逻队整装出发从原路折返去寻找卡斯特将军及其领导下的第七骑兵团主力部队了。这是1876年6月24日。 [32]

那年夏天在蒙大拿州南方平原上发生的战役,其火种可追溯到几年之前。

金矿终于在南达科他州神圣的黑山里被发现了,淘金者蜂拥而至。但黑山已经永久性地给予了苏人部族。对此,平原印第安人认为被出卖了,他们怒火万丈,以袭击淘金者和列车作为他们的报复。 [33]

对于这种暴力,白人们做出了狂怒的反应;暗底下的野蛮暴行传说,常常是虚构的和极度夸大的,更使事情火上加油,白人社区向华盛顿提起了申诉。政府做出的反应是随意取消拉拉米协定并把平原印第安人限制在一系列贫瘠的保留地上。这只是他们曾经得到过的庄严的承诺的一个零头。这些保留地在南、北达科他州的领土上。 [34]

但华盛顿也让给他们一块被称为未割让的领土。那是苏人传统的狩猎地,仍充满着野牛和鹿。该土地的东部界线是竖向垂直的、北达科他州的西部边界。其西部界线是一条想像中的南北向直线,在往西145英里处,是印第安人所无法想像出来的界线。未割让土地的北部边境是流经蒙大拿州进入南北达科他州黄石河;南部边境是怀俄明州境内的北普拉特河。在这片土地上,起初印第安人被允许可以打猎。

但白人的西行并没有停止。 [35] [36]

1875年,苏人开始走出达科他的保留地,向那块未割让的狩猎土地行进。那年下半年,印第安人事务局向他们发出最后通碟:限1月1日之前返回保留地。 In 1875 the Sioux began to drift off the Dakota reservations and head west into the Unceded hunting grounds. Late that year the Bureau of Indian Affairs gave them a deadline: move back to the reservations by 1 January.

苏人及其同盟并没有接受这个警告,他们简单地不予理睬。他们中的大多数人甚至根本没有听说过这个最后通牒。他们继续打猎,当冬天过去春天来临时,他们追寻着他们的传统猎物:大量的野牛、性情温和的鹿和羚羊。早春时候,印第安人事务局把这事交给了军方。其任务是:找到他们、赶拢他们并把他们押送回达科他保留地[37] [38]

军队有两件事情不知道:到底有多少人走出了保留地以及他们在什么地方。对于第一件事,军队受骗了。那些保留地是由印第安人的代理人所管理,他们都是白人,而且许多人是地痞恶棍。 [39]

这些代理人从华盛顿领到牲畜、玉米、面粉、毯子和钱,然后分发给他们所管理着的印第安人。许多人大肆骗取印第安人钱财,导致妇女和儿童挨饿,并由此使印第安人做出返回狩猎平原的决定。 [40] [41]

这些代理人之所以说谎还有一个原因。如果他们宣称那些应该留在保留地上的人百分之百地确实留在那里,他们能够领到百分之百的津贴。如果那些留守的印第安人的数量下降,那么分配下来的钱物也会随之下降,这样代理人的个人好处也会减少。在1876年春天,这些代理人告诉军队只有一小撮勇敢的印第安人消失了,越过边界去了未割让的土地上打猎。 [42]

至于他们具体在什么地方,只有一个方法可以找出来。必须派军队去蒙大拿把他们找到。所以制订了一份计划,要派遣由步兵和骑兵混编的三支大部队。 [43] [44]

达科他北部的林肯堡开始,阿尔弗雷德·特里将军将沿着黄石河西行,去那块狩猎地的北方边界。从蒙大拿莎堡约翰·吉本将军将南下去埃利斯堡,继之转向东方沿黄石河挺进直至与从另一个方向赶过来的特里将军的部队会合。 [45]

从南方怀俄明州内的菲特曼堡乔治·克鲁克将军将向北进军,跨过疯女溪源头,越过汤格河,朝比格霍恩峡谷行进,直至遇上另两支主力部队。他们推测,在他们之间的某个地方,他们中的一支部队将找到苏人的主体。他们都在3月份出发了。 [46]

6月初,吉本特里汤格河汇入黄石河的地方会师了。他们连一个印第安人的踪影也没见到。他们所知道的是至少平原印第安人在他们南方的某处。吉本特里商定,特里将继续西行,吉本在与他会合后,也返回西行。于是他们向西进发了。 [47]

6月20日,这支联合部队抵达了罗斯伯德溪流入黄石河的地点。在这里,他们决定万一那些印第安人逗留在罗斯伯德溪上游地区,从林肯堡起一直陪伴特里的第七骑兵团,应拉出去沿罗斯伯德溪而上直至抵达源头。卡斯特也许能找到那些印第安人,他也许能找到克鲁克将军。 [48]

没人知道在17日那天,克鲁克遭遇到由苏人夏延人混合组成的大批人马,并被打得落花流水。他已经折回南方去了。他没有派骑兵去北方找到和通知他的兄弟部队,所以,吉本特里都不知道将没有来自南方的接防部队。他们继续行进。 [49]

是在罗斯伯德溪谷中的第四天强行军时,前方的一支巡逻队回来报告了在夏延人小村庄的一次胜利以及一名俘虏的消息。 [50]

乔治·阿姆斯特朗·卡斯特将军自豪地骑行在他的骑兵大部队的前边。他为了急于赶路,不想为了一个俘虏而让整支部队停下来。他对布兰多克中士的到来点点头,并命令他去自己的连长那里报告。如那个印第安女人有任何情报,可以留待他们在晚上扎营以后再处理。 [51]

那天的剩余时间里,那个夏延姑娘被留在那张皮绷子上。侦察兵把那匹矮种马牵到后面,把它的缰绳系在了一辆行李车上。拖着皮绷子的这匹矮种马跟在行李车后面快步行走着。由于现在不需要去前方侦察,这位侦察兵留在了附近。刚加入骑兵七团不久,他就觉得不喜欢他在做的事情。他既不喜欢自己的连长也不喜欢连里的这个中士,而且他认为大名赫赫的卡斯特将军其实是一个杀人魔王。但这个想法他没有说出来,他把它留在了心底里。他的名字是本·克雷格。 [52]

他的父亲约翰·诺克斯·克雷格是一名苏格兰移民。在被一个贪财的地主从他的小农场赶出之后,这位硬汉于1842年移民到了美国。在东部的某个地方,他遇上并娶了像他自己那样有苏格兰长老会教徒血统的一个姑娘,在发现城市里发展机会不多时,西行去了边疆。到1850年时,他抵达蒙大拿南方,并决定在普赖尔山脉山脚附近的荒野里尝试淘金发财。 [53]

他是那时候的第一批淘金者之一。在森林的小河旁一座小木棚里,生活是艰难的,尤其是寒冷的冬天。只有夏天才会显露田园风光,森林里到处是野味猎物,溪流里漫游着鲑鱼,草地上开满了各种野花。1852年,珍妮生下了他们第一个也是惟一的儿子。两年后,一个小女儿在婴幼期不幸夭折。 [54]

本·克雷格10岁时,已长成了一个山林和边疆男孩,这一年,他的父母亲死于克劳人的一次交战中。两天后,一个名叫唐纳森的设陷阱捕兽者遇到了他,当时他坐在被烧成了灰烬的木屋旁,又是饥饿又悲伤。他们一起把约翰·克雷格和珍妮·克雷格埋在水边的两只十字架下。约翰·克雷格是否隐藏着一袋金粉将永远不得而知,因为如果克劳的勇士们发现它时,他们会把这袋黄粉扔掉,认为它只是沙土。 [55] [56]

唐纳森是一位年长的山人,他专门设置陷阱捉狼、河狸。熊和狐狸,每年把猎物带到附近的集贸市场去出售。出于对这个孤儿的同情,老头子收留了他,把他作为自己的儿子抚养。 [57]

在母亲的熏陶下,本只知道一本书——《圣经》。她曾经大段大段地读给他听。

虽然他读书写字并不熟练,但他的脑海里已经记住了他母亲称之为“好书”中的一篇篇短文。他的父亲已经教过他如何淘金,但是唐纳森教会了他野外生活的方法、各种鸟的名字、根据动物的臭迹去实施跟踪,以及如何骑马和射击。 [58]

是与唐纳森在一起时,他才遇到了那个夏延人,那人也是布设陷阱的捕兽者,是唐纳森与之在农贸市场上做交易的。是他们教会了他说夏延人的语言。 [59]

1876年那次夏季战斗前两年,这位老人被他所居住着的同一片荒野召唤去了。

在捕猎一头老棕熊时,他错过了他所做的记号,这头疯狂的野兽抓死了他。本·克雷格在林中的那座小木屋附近掩埋了他的继父,带上他需要的东酉后,一把火烧了其余物品。 [60]

老唐纳森在世时常说:“孩子,当我走了时,带上你所需要的物品。这些东西全归你了。”于是他带走了那把锋利的的鲍伊猎刀,连同以夏延人方式装饰的刀鞘、那支1852年制造的夏普斯来复枪、两匹马、鞍具、毯子以及旅途上要吃的一些牛肉干和硬面包。他不需要更多的东西。然后他走出山区到了平原,一路骑马北上去了埃利斯堡[61]

1876年4月,他以一名猎人、设陷阱捕兽人和驯马人在那里劳作,这时候吉布将军的部队骑马经过了。将军需要了解黄石河南部土地上情况的侦察兵。提供的待遇很不错,所以本·克雷格加入了。 [62] [63]

他参加了抵达汤格河河口的行军和与特里将军的会师,他还与联合部队一起折回骑行,直至他们再次到达罗斯伯德河口。在这里,卡斯特率领下的第七骑兵团接受了南下去罗斯伯德河源头的详细命令。部队里开始寻找会说夏延语的战士。 [64]

卡斯特已经至少有了两个会讲苏语侦察兵。一个是黑人战士,是七团里惟一的黑人,名叫艾赛亚·多尔曼,曾与苏人一起生活过。另一个是侦察队长米奇·波耶尔,是一个法国人和苏人的混血儿。但虽然人们普遍认为夏延人是与苏人血缘最近的和传统的同盟,但语言却相差很大。克雷格举手报名。吉本将军向他详细作了交待后让他加入了七团[65]

吉本还向卡斯特提供由布里斯宾少校领导的3个骑兵连,但被谢绝了。特里向他提供加特林机枪,但他也回绝了这些装备。当他们溯罗斯伯德溪而上时,七团有12个连队、6名白人侦察兵、30几名印第安人侦察兵、1个车辆纵列和3位平民,总共675人。这个总数包括了马医、钉马蹄铁的铁匠和赶骡人。 [66]

卡斯特已经把他的团部乐队留给了特里,所以当他要吹冲锋号时,号角声并不是他所钟爱的《加里欧文》。但在他们的南下溯源路上,挂在流动炊事车两边的水壶、铁锅和勺子互相碰撞发出了叮叮当当的声音,克雷格不知道卡斯特希望惊奇地听到的是哪一支印第安人的乐队。在由3000只马蹄形成的噪声和扬起的尘土中,他知道人们可在几英里之外见到和听到他们。 [67]

汤格河罗斯伯德溪之间,克雷格有两个星期的时间来观察大名赫赫的七团及其偶像般的指挥官,而且他越看心情越沉重。他希望他们不会遇上一大群准备厮杀的苏人夏延人,但又担心他们也许会遇上。 [68]

这支大部队整天都在骑马南下,沿着罗斯伯德溪流,但没有看见更多的印第安人。然而有好几次,当微风从牧地吹向西方时,骑兵部队的战马似乎受到了惊吓,甚至惊恐,克雷格确信它们已经闻到了风中的某种气味。正在燃烧的圆锥形帐篷不可能长时间不被注意到。牧草地上的冲天烟柱在几英里之外就能看见。 [69]

下午刚过4点钟,卡斯特将军命令停下来扎营。太阳开始落向远处视线之外的洛基山脉。军官们的帐篷很快被搭建起来了。卡斯特和他的知己部下总是使用那座救护帐篷,那是最大的也是最宽敞的帐篷。折叠式营地椅子和桌子支起来了,战马到溪边去饮水了,食物准备妥了,簧火点起来了。 [70]

那位夏延姑娘静静地躺在皮绷子上,凝视着正在黑下来的天空。她已经准备死去。克雷格在溪流里灌了一壶水,拿来给她喝。她用她那双黑色的大眼睛凝视着他。 [71]

“喝吧。”他用夏延语说。她一动也没动。他把一股清凉的溪水浇到她的嘴上。

嘴唇分开了。她咽了下去。他把水壶留在了她的身边。 [72]

当暮色加深时,B连的一名骑兵到营地来找他。 [73]

找到他之后,骑兵回去报告了。10分钟以后,阿克顿上尉骑马过来了。陪同他一起来的有布兰多克中士、一名下士和两名骑兵。他们跳下马围住了那张皮绷子[74]

附属于七团的所有边防侦察兵,6个白人、一小组克劳人和30个左右的阿里克拉人,因共同的兴趣而形成了一个小组。他们全都了解边疆以及边疆的生活方式。 [75] [76]

晚上围在营火旁,在就寝之前,他们习惯于互相交谈。他们谈论那些军官,从卡斯特将军谈起,还有连队的指挥官。克雷格已经惊奇地发现将军在其部下中是如何地不受欢迎。他的弟弟汤姆·卡斯特,C连连长,却深受战士们喜爱,但军官中最令人厌恶的是阿克顿上尉。克雷格也有这种同感。阿克顿是一位职业军人,10年前南北战争时参军,在卡斯特的庇护下在七团里得到了晋升,他出生于东部一个富裕的家庭。他长得瘦瘦的,有一张刀削脸和一张残忍的嘴。 [77]

“那么,中士,”阿克顿说,“这就是你的俘虏。让我们问问她知道些什么。” [78]

“你会说那种野蛮人的土话?”他接着问克雷格。侦察兵点点头。“我想知道她是谁、她属于哪一个族以及可在什么地方找到苏人的主体。现在就想知道。” [79]

克雷格弯腰俯身于野牛皮上的那个姑娘。他操起了夏延语,辅之以表示数字的手势,因为平原印第安人的方言词汇量很有限,需借助于手势才能表达清楚意思。 [80]

“把你的名字告诉我,姑娘。不会伤害你的。”

“我叫轻柔说话的风。”她说。,骑兵战士们站在周围倾听着。他们一个字也听不懂,但能明白她的摇头。最后,克雷格直起腰来。 [81] [82]

“上尉,姑娘说她的名字叫轻风。她是北夏延人。她的家庭是‘高糜’的。今天上午被中士消灭的是她家的棚屋村。村里有10个男人,包括她的父亲,当时他们都去罗斯伯德东岸猎杀鹿和羚羊了。”

“那么苏人的主要聚居地呢?”

“她说她没看见过苏人。她的家来自于南方,来自于汤格河。有更多的夏延人与他们在一起,但一星期前他们分手了。高糜喜欢单独狩猎。” [83] [84]

阿克顿上尉凝视着那扎上了绷带的大腿,俯身向前狠狠地掐了一把。姑娘深深地吸了一口气,但没有叫出声来。 [85]

“也许可以给予一个小小的鼓励。”阿克顿说。布兰多克中士微笑了。克雷格伸出手去,抓住上尉的手腕,把它推开了。 [86]

“那不行,上尉,”他说。“她已经把她所知道的告诉了我。如果苏人不在我们沿路过来的北边,而且也不在南边和西边,那他们一定是在东边。你可以这么告诉将军。”

阿克顿上尉把抓住他手腕的那只手推开,似乎他的手腕会受到感染。他伸直身体,取出一只猎用银怀表看了一眼。 [87]

“是在将军帐篷里吃饭的时候了,”他说。“我要走了。”他显然已经失去了对那个俘虏的兴致。“中士,到天空完全黑下来以后把她带到牧草地上干掉。”

“有没有任何规定说我们不能先与她玩一玩,上尉?”布兰多克中土问。其他战士发出了一阵赞同的笑声。阿克顿上尉骑上了马。 [88]

“坦率地说,中士,我才不管你想干什么呢。”

他策马向位于营地前头的卡斯特将军的帐篷走去。其他士兵也跟着跨上了马。 [89]

布兰多克中士从马匹上朝克雷格俯身一瞥。 [90]

“要让她活着,小伙子。我们会回来的。”

克雷格走到最近的那辆炊事车,取了一盘猪肉、硬面包和扁豆,找到一只弹药箱,坐下后吃了起来。他想起了他的母亲,十五年之前在昏暗的灯光下把《圣经》读给他听。他想起了他的父亲,耐心地在流下普赖尔山脉的溪流上淘金。他还想起了老唐纳森,老人只有一次愤怒地解下皮带要抽他,因为他曾经粗暴地对待一头被捕获的动物。 [91]

8点不到一些,当夜幕完全笼罩到营地上时,他站起身,把盘子和匙子放回到车上,走回到那张皮绷子。他没对姑娘说话。他只是把两根木杆子从那匹杂色矮种马上卸下,放在了地上。 [92]

他从地上扶起姑娘,只轻轻一抱就把她抱上了杂色矮种马的背上,又递给她缰绳,然后他指向那块开阔的牧草地。 [93]

“去吧。”他说。她盯住他看了两秒钟时间。他在矮种马屁股上拍了一下。几秒钟之后,它就走了,那是一匹坚定的、顽强的、未钉上蹄铁的矮种马,能在辽阔的牧地上找到自己的道路,直至它闻到自己亲属的气味。几个阿里克拉侦察兵在50码开外的地方好奇地观察着。 [94]

第二章

他们9点钟时来找他了,他们怒不可遏、两名骑兵抓住他,让布兰多克中士殴打他。当他倒下去后,他们拖着他穿过营地到卡斯特将军那里去。此刻,在几盏油灯的照亮下,将军正坐在帐篷前面的一张桌子旁,身边围着一群军官。 [95]

乔治·阿姆斯特朗·卡斯特将军永远是一个谜。但他显然有两个方面:一面好一面坏,一面亮堂一面阴暗。 [96]

在他的亮堂的一面,他是欢乐的,经常笑声不断,喜欢像孩子般地开玩笑,与人相处愉悦。他具有无尽的精力和强健的体格,总是在开发一些新的项目,要么是在平原上收集野生动物把它们送到东部的动物园去,或者是学习制作动物标本。尽管常年在外奔波,他对他所钟爱的妻子伊丽莎白绝对忠诚。 [97]

自他年轻时一次醉酒经历后,他变得滴酒不沾,绝对禁酒了,甚至在晚饭时也不喝葡萄酒。他从不骂人,也不允许在他在场时听到脏话。 [98]

在14年前的南北战争期间,他曾经表现出惊人的勇气,置个人的生死于不顾,以致使他迅速从中尉升至少将。他曾经身先士卒冲杀在枪林弹雨之中,却从未挂过彩。他被老百姓认为是一位英雄,却不受自己部下的信任和爱戴。除了他自己的判断。 [99] [100]

这是因为对于那些冒犯了他的人,他也会给以残酷的对待和实施报复。虽然他自己未曾受伤,但在战争中他部下官兵的伤亡人数,比任何其他骑兵部队都多。这使他变得更为急躁和鲁莽。战士们不想去拥护一位要让他们去捐躯的指挥官。 [101]

在平原战争期间,他多次命令使用皮鞭对付违反纪律的士兵,并由此产生了比西部的任何部队都要多的逃兵。七团正因为没完没了的夜间开小差而丧失兵员。部队不得不经常征募新兵,但他没什么兴趣去把他们训练成具有战斗力的熟练的骑兵。

虽然在林肯堡度过了一个漫长的秋天和冬天,但在1876年6月,七团的状态很不好。 [102]

卡斯特个人虚荣性很强,一有机会就千方百计想在报纸上抛头露面。他的许多手法,黄褐色的鹿皮服装、流畅的金棕色卷发,都是为了这个目的,现在陪同第七骑兵团的随军记者马克·凯洛格也同样。 [103] [104]

但作为一名统帅部队的将军,他有两个缺陷,这会导致他和他的大多数官兵在以后的几个小时内死去。第一个缺陷是他经常低估他的敌人。他具有印第安人克星的名声,对此他沾沾自喜。事实上,8年前他曾经消灭了一个沉睡的夏延人村落,是在堪萨斯州沃西托河边的一个村庄,在夜间他们包围了那些睡得正香的印第安人,并在太阳升起时屠杀了他们中的大多数人,男女老少。夏延人曾刚刚与白人签订了一份新的和平协议,因此他们还以为他们是安全的。 [105]

期间他也曾卷入过与一些交战派别的四次小规模战争。所有这四次的合计兵力损失不到12个人。考虑到南北战争时的重大兵员伤亡,与当地印第安人的这些遭遇战根本不值一提。但东部的那些读者需要有英雄人物作为他们的学习榜样。热情洋溢的报纸报道和他自己的书《我的平原生涯》已经使他具有了这种信誉以及偶像状态。 [106]

第二个缺陷是他听不进任何人的话。在向罗斯伯德溪流进军的路上,他有一些经验极为丰富的侦察兵与他在一起,但他对一次次警告都置若罔闻。

在6月24日晚上,本·克雷格被拖到了这个人的面前。 [107]

布兰多克中士解释了所发生的事情,而且还有目击证人。在6名军官簇拥下的卡斯特将军,打量着他面前的这个人。他见到的是一个比他年轻12岁的小伙子,身高6英尺不到一点点,身穿鹿皮衣服,有一头卷曲的栗色头发和一双明亮的蓝眼睛。

他显然是高加索人种,甚至不像其他侦察兵那样的混血种,但他的脚上却套着一双软皮靴子而不是硬皮骑兵靴,而且后脑勺头发上插着一支有白色尖头的山鹰羽毛。 [108]

“这是一次非常严重的违纪,”当中士叙述完毕时,卡斯特说。“是真的吗?”

“是真的,将军。”

“你为什么要这么做?”

克雷格解释了起先对那个姑娘的审讯以及那天晚上的后来计划。卡斯特的脸部收紧了,表示出明显的不赞同。 [109]

“在我统帅的部队里这种事情是不允许的,即使对于印第安女人也不能这么对待。这是真的吗,中士?”


这时候坐在卡斯特身后的阿克顿上尉来于涉了。他说话流畅,很具说服力。他说曾经亲自进行了审问,是用口头形式的,通过翻译。整个过程中没有对那个姑娘进行体罚。他的最后指示是,她应该彻夜被守护着,不得去碰她,这样到上午时可由将军做出决定。 [110] [111] [112]

“我认为我的骑兵中士将确认我所说的。”他最后这么说。 [113]

“是的,长官,事实就是如此。” 布拉多克说。 [114]

“违纪案子成立,”卡斯特说。“去关禁闭,直至军事法庭做出判决。叫宪兵中士过来。克雷格,你私自放走俘虏,等于让她去加入和警告敌人的主力部队。这是背叛行为,是要被判处绞刑的。”

“她没去西方,”克雷格说。“她骑马东行去寻找她自己的家人,剩余的家人。”

“她现在仍然可以把我们的位置通报给敌人。”卡斯特快速反驳说。 [115] [116]

“他们知道你在哪里,将军。”

“这你是怎么知道的?”

“他们整天都在尾随着你。”

军官们目瞪口呆地怔住了10秒钟时间。那个宪兵中士出现了,是一个大个子老兵,名叫刘易斯。 [117]

“把这个人看管起来,中士。关押着。明天太阳升起时军事法庭将快速开庭。

判决将会立即做出。就这样。“

“明天是主日。”克雷格说。 [118]

卡斯特想了一想。“你说得对。我不会在星期天绞死一个人。那就星期一吧。”

在一边,团部副官加拿大人威廉·库克上尉一直在做记录。他将在以后把记录本装进他的马鞍袋。 [119] [120]

这时候,其中一名侦察员鲍勃·杰克逊[121]骑马到了帐篷前。与他一起前来的有4名阿里克拉人和一名克劳人侦察兵。日落时他们一直在前方侦察,返回晚了。杰克逊是一个黑白混血种人。他的报告使卡斯特激动得跳了起来。 [122]

就在日落前,杰克逊的几名当地侦察兵发现了一个大营地的痕迹,牧地上有许多圆锥形帐篷曾经支起过的圆形记号。从营地出发的踪迹离开罗斯伯德溪谷一直向西方延伸。 [123]

卡斯特的激动有两个理由。他从特里将军那里接到的命令是向罗斯伯德溪流的源头进发,然后如果有新的情况,他可以自己做出判断。现在新情况出现了。卡斯特现在可以自主做出他的战略战术、他的作战计划,用不着执行谁的命令。第二个理由是,他最后似乎已经发现了捉摸不定的苏人主群体。此去西行20英里,在另一条山谷里淌着另一条河流:小比格霍恩,它流向北方汇入比格霍恩河,然后再汇入黄石河[124]

在两三天之内,吉本特里的联合部队将抵达这个河流汇合处,然后沿比格霍恩河南下。这些苏人将会受到钳制。 [125]

“拔营出发。”卡斯特喊道,他部下的军官们散开后纷纷返回他们各自的部队。

“把囚犯监管在你的身边,刘易斯中士。把他绑在马上。跟在我后面。现在他可以看一看他的朋友们会发生什么。” [126]

他们彻夜行军。山谷外面的乡间,地形复杂,崎岖不平,朝那个分水岭去一路都在爬升。战士们和马匹都开始累了。6月25日星期天凌晨两三点钟,他们抵达了那道分水岭。这是两条山谷间的制高点。天空一片漆黑,但星光灿烂。过了分水岭不久,他们发现了一条小溪,米奇·波耶尔确认这是丹斯阿什伍德溪。它朝西流淌,到山谷底下时汇入小比格霍恩河。部队沿着溪流继续行进。 [127]

黎明前卡斯特命令停下来,但没有扎营。疲惫不堪的战士们钻进帐篷,努力抓紧时间睡上几个小时。 [128]

克雷格和那位宪兵中士一直骑行在卡斯特身后50码处,作为司令部的一部分。

克雷格仍骑在他的马背上,但他的夏普斯步枪和猎刀已被刘易斯中士收缴去了。他的脚踝被缚在马鞍的肚带上,他的双腕被绑在背后。 [129]

在黎明前的休息期间,刘易斯这个长得五大三粗的人心地倒还善良,他解开脚踝的绑绳,让克雷格滑到了地上。他的双腕仍被反绑着,但刘易斯从水壶里喂了他几口水。正在到来的白天又将是一个大热天。 [130]

就在这个时候,卡斯特做出了当天他要做的那些错误决定的第一个。他召来他的第三把手弗雷德里克·本蒂恩上尉,命令他带上3个连——H连、D连和K连,往南插到荒原里去看看那里是否有任何印第安人。在相隔几码的距离,克雷格听到本蒂恩这位职业军人对命令提出了抗议。如果前方小比格霍恩河两岸有敌人的大部队,那么把兵力分散开去是明智的举措吗? [131]

“你就执行命令吧!”卡斯特厉声说完就转身走开了。本蒂恩耸耸肩去按吩咐行事了。在卡斯特600名战士的总兵力中,150名骑马离开后朝着荒山野岭而去。 [132] [133]

虽然克雷格和刘易斯中士将永远无从知道,但本蒂恩和他部下的极度疲倦的人马将在几个小时之后返回那条河谷,要解救战士们是太晚了,但正因为太晚回来使得他们逃过了被消灭的厄运。下达命令以后,卡斯特又拨营出发,七团顺溪流而下,朝着小小比格霍恩河进军。 [134]

黎明时,在大部队前方探路的几名克劳人阿里克拉人侦察兵回来了。他们已经在丹斯阿什伍德溪与那条河的交汇处附近发现了一座小山包。由于熟知整个地区,他们也很了解这个山包。上面有一些松树,爬上树之后能看见前方整个山谷。 [135]

两名阿里克拉人曾爬到树上,看见了他们所看见的一切。当他们获悉卡斯特打算继续前进时,他们坐下来开始了他们的死亡曲。 [136] [137]

太阳升起来了。气温随着白天的来临开始升高。在克雷格的前面,身穿奶油色鹿皮装的卡斯特将军脱下外套,卷起来后把它固定在他身后的马鞍上。他策马前行,身着一件蓝色棉布衬衫,戴着一顶宽边奶油色草帽以遮住射向眼睛的光线。部队来到了那个山包。 [138]

卡斯特爬上半山腰,用望远镜去观察前面的情况。他们在溪岸上,距河流汇合处还有3英里路。当他走下山丘与他的剩余军官商量时,军中交头接耳地谈论着谣传。他已经见到了一个苏人村庄的一部分,有炊烟在冉冉升起。这时候是上午9点钟光景。 [139]

山溪对面和河流东面有一丛低低的山丘,挡住了平地上人们的视线。但卡斯特还是发现了他要寻找的苏人。他不知道对方到底有多少人,也听不进他的侦察兵向他发出的警告。他决定发起攻击。 [140]

他选定的作战计划是一次钳制运动。他不是插入到那些印第安人的南翼并等待特里吉本从北面包抄过来,他决定用七团剩余的兵力形成钳子的所有两半。 [141]

缚在马背上等待战斗结束后军事法庭审判的本·克雷格,听到卡斯特命令他的第二把手马库斯·雷诺少校再带上A连、M连和B连3个连队继续西行。他们应该抵达河边,涉水过去,转向右边,从南路冲向那座村庄的底部。 [142]

卡斯特将军留下一个连队守卫骡马车队和后勤供给。他将率领余留的5个连队快速北上,抵达山丘后面,直至从北部出现。然后他将冲到河边,越过去,从北面进攻苏人。在雷诺的3个连队和他自己的5个连队的夹击下,那些印第安人将被打得落花流水。 [143]

克雷格不可能知道视线之外山丘另一边的情况,但他可以观察那些克劳人阿里克拉人的行为表现。他们知道,他们正在准备战死。他们所见到的是苏人夏延人在一个地点的空前绝后的大聚集。6个大部落来到一起协同打猎,现在把营地扎在了小比格霍恩河的西岸。营地里有来自平原地区所有部族的1万至15000个印第安人。 [144]

克雷格知道在平原印第安人的社会里,15岁至30几岁的男子应该是一名勇士。因此平原部落中的六分之一人口是勇士。 [145]

这样,河边有2000名这样的人,而且当他们刚刚听说西北平原上到处是鹿和羚羊时,他们是不会老老实实地被赶回他们的保留地去的。 [146]

更糟糕的是,而且没人知道的是,这些印第安人已经会合,并在一星期之前打败克鲁克将军。他们也没有外出狩猎,像前一天高糜那样。事实上,在24日晚上,他们曾经举行了一次战胜克鲁克将军的盛大的庆典。 [147]

庆典延迟一个星期的原因非常简单:一个星期是他们对在17日与克鲁克交战时死去的亲人进行吊丧哀悼的时期,所以庆典只能在7天以后举行。25日上午,勇士们正从头天晚上的跳舞中清醒过来。他们没有出去打猎,而且他们仍然全身涂着油彩。 [148]

即使如此,克雷格也明白这不像是沃西托河边的那个黑水壶那样的一个沉睡的村庄。是在过了中午时,卡斯特最后一次也是致命一次分开了他的兵力。 [149]

这位侦察兵注视着雷诺少校离开,带上队伍顺溪流而下向过河处而去。在B连的前头,阿克顿上尉看了一眼事实上已被他判了死刑的这个侦察员,勉强挤出一丝笑容,然后继续骑马前行。在他的后面,当布兰多克中士经过时,他朝克雷格发出了一声冷笑。在两个小时之内,这两个人都将死去,而且被放逐到一个山头上的雷诺的3个连队的残余官兵将试图守住阵地以等待卡斯特回来营救他们。但卡斯特一直没有回来,而是两天以后的特里将军才把他们解救出来。 [150] [151] [152]

克雷格注视着150名官兵的分遣队朝着溪流下游而去。虽然他不是一名战士,但他对他们没抱什么信心。卡斯特部下的百分之三十战士是刚刚招募的新兵,只接受过最基本的训练。有些人刚刚学会骑马,但在战斗中将会失去控制。其他人甚至还没有学会使用斯普林菲尔德步枪[153] [154]

还有百分之四十的士兵虽然人伍时间较长,但从来不曾对印第安人开过枪,也没在遭遇战中碰到过他们。而且许多人从未见过印第安人,除了在保留地上放牧的那些容易管教的,他不知道在遇到一大群嚎叫着的、身上涂满了油彩的游牧部落勇士为保护他们的老婆孩子而冲杀出来时,战士们会做出什么反应。他有悲惨的预感,而且以后证明他的预感是对的。但到那个时候一切都来不及了。 [155]

还有最后一个因素,他知道卡斯特对此根本不屑一顾。与传说相反,平原印第安人把生命看成是神圣的,极为珍惜。即使在征途上他们也不能承受重大的伤亡,在损失两三名优秀的勇士之后通常会无心打仗。但卡斯特是在进攻他们的父母亲、老婆和孩子。光是为了捍卫荣誉就会使他们奋起应战直至最后一名勇士战死,而决不会心慈手软。 [156]

雷诺率领的3个连队扬起的尘土在溪流下游渐渐消失了时,卡斯特命令辎重车辆留在原地不动,由他的剩余的6个连队中的一个守卫着。他带上其他连队,即E连、C连、L连、I连和F连,转向北方。那里的山丘使得河谷里的那些印第安人无法看见他,但他也无法看见他们。 [157]

他扭头对那位宪兵中士说:“带上他。当七团冲杀进去后,他就能看到他的朋友们会发生什么事。”

然后他转身朝北快步而去。5个连的官兵跟在了他身后,总共是250人兵力。

克雷格明白卡斯特仍没有觉察到危险,因为他正带着3位平民去观看这场战斗。一位就是那个精瘦的戴着眼睛的随军记者马克·凯洛格。更有甚者,卡斯特还带着两个年轻的亲戚一起前行,对于他们,他肯定是负有责任的。一个是他的弟弟波士顿·卡斯特,19岁,另一个是16岁的外甥,名叫奥蒂·里德[158]

战士们排成了两路纵队,队伍延绵拖了将近有半英里长。在卡斯特后面骑行的是他的副官库克上尉,在他后面的是将军当天的勤务兵约翰·马丁。他也是团里的司号手。他的真名叫吉斯帕·马蒂诺,是一位意大利的移民,曾经当过加里波第的男管家,而且他现在的英语水平仍相当有限。刘易斯中士和被缚住的本·克雷格走在卡斯特后面30英尺处。 [159]

他们纵马进入到山丘之中,虽然仍在山峰下,但他们能从马鞍上转过身去并能看见雷诺少校和他的人马正在跨越小比格霍恩河,然后将从南方发起攻击。这时候,卡斯特注意到他的克劳人阿里克拉人侦察兵的哭丧的脸面,于是请他们骑马回去。

他们不等再次邀请立刻掉头就走了。他们幸存下来了。 [160]

部队这样行走了3英里山路,直至最后他们终于走出左边的山峰至少能够去俯视下面的山谷。克雷格听到拉住他的马勒的那位大个子中士的一声尖锐的吸气声和轻轻吐出来的话语:“哦,我的天哪。”远处的河岸上是一个圆锥形帐篷的海洋。 [161]

即使相隔这段距离,克雷格也能分辨出那些居住棚屋的形状以及它们的装饰颜色,并能区分出部落。前方有6个分隔着的村庄。 [162]

平原印第安人迁徙时,他们以一个部落一个部落地行进。当他们停下来扎营时,他们设置分隔的村庄。这样整个营地又长又窄。对面的河岸上往下游方向一溜有6个圆圈。 [163]

几天前在停顿下来之前,他们一直在朝北迁徙。开路先锋的任务交给了北夏延人,因此他们的村落在最北端。接下来是他们最亲密的盟友奥格拉拉苏人。再接下来是圣阿克苏人,然后是黑脚。从南方数过来第二位是明尼孔焦,在最南端,即使这时候正受到雷诺少校进攻的,是队伍的尾部匈克巴巴人的村庄,其首领和苏人最高巫医是那位老练的“坐牛”。 [164]

在场的还有其他人,与他们的近亲们住在一起的有桑蒂布鲁尔阿西尼波苏人七团所看不见的、现在被山丘挡住了的是,雷诺少校对南端坐牛匈克巴巴部落的攻击是一场大灾难。匈克巴巴人已经从他们的棚屋中蜂拥而出,许多人骑着马,全都手持武器,展开了反攻。 [165] [166]

这时候是差不多下午2点钟。雷诺的人马已经被由骑着矮种马的勇士们在牧地上从左翼迂回包抄过来了,他们被逼回到了他们刚刚跨越过来的河边的一块三叶杨树林中。 [167]

许多人已经在丛林中下了马,其他人已经失落了他们的步枪,被匈克巴巴人欣喜地捡去了。在几分钟之内,剩余的战士将不得从同一条河涉回去,在一个山头上躲避,在那里遭受36个小时的围困。 [168]

卡斯特将军审视着他能看到的情景,相距咫尺的克雷格打量着这个印第安人杀手。营地里能见到女人和孩子,但没有勇士。卡斯特认为这是一次惊喜。克雷格听到他呼叫已经围在他身旁的连长们:“我们从这里冲下去捕获这个村庄。”然后他召来库克上尉,口述了一道命令。 [169]

这道命令是发给早已被派遣到荒野里去的本蒂恩上尉的。“来吧。”大村庄。快点。带上包裹。“他指的是弹药。他把由库克上尉记录下来的这道命令交给了司号兵马蒂诺。 [170]

这位意大利人奇迹般地找到了本蒂恩,因为那个机警的军官已经放弃在荒野里的寻找,回到了那条溪水边,并且最后在那座遭围困的山丘上与雷诺会合了。但在那个时候,他们已经无法突围去解救遭受到灭顶之灾的卡斯特[171]

当马蒂诺沿着小径骑马跑回去时,克雷格从马鞍上转身去注视他。他看见F连耶茨上尉的24名战士也擅自骑马跑回去了。没人试图去阻拦他们。克雷格转回身去看前方的卡斯特。这个自以为是的人难道一点也没有警觉吗? [172] [173]

将军站在他的马镫上,从头顶上掀起他的那顶奶油色草帽,朝他的部队喊道:“好哇,小伙子们,我们看到他们了。”

这是正在离开的那个意大利人听到的最后一句话,而且后来在询问时他报告了这句话。克雷格注意到,与许多长着金棕色头发的人那样,年仅36岁的卡斯特已在谢顶。虽然被印第安人起了“长发”的诨号,但他已为夏季的战役剃短了头发。也许因为这个原因,奥格拉拉妇女们后来在他倒地的地方没有认出他,勇士们也没有认为值得把他的头皮剥下来作为战利品。 [174] [175]

举帽致礼之后,卡斯特策马跑向前方,剩余的210名官兵跟了上去。通向河岸的前方地形较为平坦,适宜于从山上冲锋下来。半英里之后,部队折向左行,一个连队接一个连队走下山坡,涉过河流,并发起进攻。这个时候,这座夏延人的村落炸开了锅。 [176]

勇士们像一群大黄蜂般地倾巢而出,大多数人打着赤膊,身上涂着战斗的油彩,“嚷嚷嚷”地尖声怪叫着,冲到河边,涉过河流,登上东岸,面对着卡斯特的5个连队。蓝衣战士们在半路上停顿下来了。 [177]

在克雷格的旁边,刘易斯中士勒住了马缰,克雷格再次听到了“我的天哪”的轻声惊叹。夏延人一淌过河就纷纷跳下他们的矮种马,步行前进,钻入到高高的野草丛中看不见了,站起来向前跑几步,然后再次卧倒。第一批箭开始射向骑兵队。

一匹战马在侧腹上中了一支箭,它痛苦地哀嘶着,抬起前腿把它的骑手抛了下去。 [178]

“下马。用马作掩护。”

喊声来自于卡斯特,没人需要第二次吩咐。克雷格注意到有些战士从抢套里拔出他们的柯尔特点45手枪,把子弹直接射进他们的战马的前额,然后用马匹的尸体作为防御物。他们这么做算是聪明的。 [179]

那座山丘上没有防御物。没有岩石或巨砾可到后面去躲藏。当战士们跳到地上时,有几个离开各自的连队牵走了十几匹马,把它们带回到山顶上去了。刘易斯中士让他自己的马和克雷格的马都调过头来,快步跑回到山上去了。在那里,他们汇入到由刚才十几名骑兵牵着的正在走来走去兜圈子的马匹之中。过了不久,战马们开始闻出印第安人的气息。它们躁动着并抬起前腿,把它们的骑兵拖过来拖过去。

刘易斯和克雷格从马鞍上观察着。第一次冲击之后,战场平静了。但印第安人并没有就此罢休,他们正在运动着包抄过去。 [180] [181]

后来传说苏人在那天击溃了卡斯特。其实不然。夏延人发起了多次攻击。他们的近亲奥格拉拉苏人听从他们的保卫村庄的意见,赶过来增援,从侧翼运动过去以切断敌人的任何退路。克雷格从他的有利地位可以看到奥格拉拉人溜进了远处左右两翼的漫长的草丛之中。20分钟之内,部队将会失去退却的希望。其中一名牵着马的骑兵在喉部中了一支下落的箭后倒在了地上,边喘气边尖叫着。这些印第安人有一些步枪,甚至还有几支老式的燧发枪,但数量不多。黄昏时,他们将大量地用新的斯普林菲尔特步枪和柯尔特手枪重新武装起来。他们主要使用弓箭,这对他们来说有两个优势。弓是一种无声的武器,它不会暴露出射手的位置。那天下午许多蓝衣战士在胸部中箭而死去,但他们从未看见目标。另一个优势是,雨点般的箭可以高高地射向空中,然后几乎是垂直地落到骑兵们的身上。对付战马效果尤其佳。在60分钟之内,十几匹坐骑被下落的箭头射中了。它们甩下骑手,挣脱缰绳,沿着那条小径快步跑回去了。其它未受伤的马匹也跟着跑了。在战士们死去之前,战马已经跑走了,所有逃生的希望也随着它们消失了。恐惧开始像野火般地从俯伏在地上的士兵中间蔓延。几位老练的军官和军士已经失去了对部下的控制。 [182] [183] [184] [185]

那座夏延人村落的首领是“小狼”,但他碰巧不在。当他一个小时之后返回时,他已经错过了战斗。他因为刚才不在而受到了众人的指责。事实上,他刚才率领一个侦察队在罗斯伯德溪水上游寻找卡斯特的踪迹,并曾经越过分水岭到了小比格霍恩河边。在他不在期间,领导权交给了另一位老练的勇士,那是来自于南方夏延人部落的一位客人,人称“跛脚白人”。他有35岁左右,既不是跛脚也不是白人。当一群30名骑兵在一个军官的指挥下试图突向河边时,他孤身冲向他们,摧毁了他们的士气,自己英勇地牺牲了。但那30个士兵再也没能回到山坡上,看着他们死去的战友们失去了存活的希望。 [186] [187] [188]

在山头上,刘易斯和克雷格能够听到战士们面对死亡时的祈祷声和叫喊声。一名骑兵小伙子像一个小孩般地哭叫着突破包围跑上山来,想求得最后两匹马的其中一匹。几秒钟之内,4支箭射入他的后背,他倒地后痛苦地翻滚起来。 [189]

马鞍上的刘易斯和克雷格现在已经进入了射距范围,几支箭呼啸着从他们身边穿过。下面的山坡上也许还有50至100名战士仍然活着,但他们中的半数人肯定已被射中了一支箭或一颗子弹。有时候,一名追求个人荣耀的勇士会突然间骑马冲上来,直接越过俯伏在地上的战士们,根本不顾枪林弹雨,然后竟然能安然无恙地骑马离开,但获得了荣誉,而且总是伴随着高声尖叫。 [190] [191]

在场的每一位战士都认为这是战斗的呐喊声。克雷格知道得更多。在冲锋时,印第安人的嚎叫不是为了战斗而是为了死去,他自己的死亡。他只是在向无处不在的神吐露他自己的灵魂。 [192]

但那天真正把第七骑兵团毁灭了的是战士们对被俘和受刑的恐惧。每一位战士都曾被彻底地洗过脑,都曾被告诉过骇人听闻的印第安人把俘虏折磨死的故事。总的来说,这些故事错了。 [193]

平原印第安人没有关于战俘的文化。他们没有设施处置战俘。但敌对方如果在损失一半人员时可以不失面子地投降。70分钟之后,卡斯特肯定已经这么做了。但在印第安人的传说中,如果对方一直坚持战斗,他们通常只有在两种情况下会遭到拷打:如果他被认出曾经正式发誓宣称决不与这个部落的印第安人交战,而且以后食言了;或者如果他在战斗中贪生怕死。无论是这两种情况中的哪一种,他都失去信誉了。 [194] [195]

苏人夏延人的文化中,顽强的意志和不怕痛苦可以恢复那种荣誉。一个说谎者或一名懦夫应该得到那种经受痛苦的机会。卡斯特是曾经发誓再也不与夏延人打仗的一个人。那个部落里的两名妇女在倒地的官兵中认出他以后,用钢钻捅进死者的耳鼓,以让他下一次听得更清楚一些。 [196]

夏延人苏人的包围圈收紧时,恐惧像丛林大火般地蔓延在仍活着的战士们中间。那时候的战役从来不是在能见度良好的状态下进行的;当时没有不冒烟的弹药。一个小时之后,这座山丘已经笼罩在火药的烟雾之中了,现在烟雾中走来了那些野蛮的部落人。想像力已经不着边际了。多年后,一个叫基普林的英国诗人曾这么写道:当你受伤后被遗留在阿富汗平原上,妇女们来切割你的残余肢体时,为什么你滚向自已的步枪并把子弹射进你的脑门,而且像一个战士那样去见你的上帝。 [197] [198]

山上的最后一批幸存者没人能活到听见基普林的声音,但他所描写的正是他们所做的。克雷格听到了第一阵手枪的射击声,这是伤员们为避免遭受拷打的痛苦而结束了他们的生命。他转向刘易斯中士。 [199] [200]

他旁边的这位大个子男人脸面一片煞白,他们的两匹马都在失去控制。回去的小道已不能用作逃生之路了;那里到处是奥格拉拉苏人[201]

“中士,你不会让我像一头被捆住的猪那样死去吧?”侦察兵朝他喊道。刘易斯停顿了,想了一想,他的职责结束了。他从马背上滑下来,抽出刀子,割开了用以把克雷格的脚踝与马匹的肚带缚在一起的那两条皮带。 [202]

这时候,三件事情在不到1秒钟时间内发生了。两支箭从不超过100英尺的距离射进了中士的胸部。他手里拿着刀,带着几分惊奇地望着它们,然后他双膝一软,俯身倒在了地上。 [203] [204]

在更近的距离内,一名苏人勇士从高高的野草丛中站起来,把一支老式的隧发火炮对准克雷格开火了。显然他把黑色火药装填得太多了,为的是想增大射程。糟糕的是,他忘了取下通条。枪膛发出一声震雷般的爆炸并引发出一片火焰,把那人的右手炸成了肉酱。假如他是把枪顶在肩膀上开火的话,他将会失去大半个头颅,但他是靠在腰上开火的。 [205]

那根通条像一支颤抖的标枪那样从枪管中射了出来。克雷格刚才面对着那个人。 标枪射进他的战马的胸部,通到了心脏。当马匹倒下去时,双手仍被绑住的克雷格力图挣脱开来。他背部着地摔倒了,他的头部砸在一块小岩石上昏过去了。 [206] [207]

在10分钟之内,卡斯特部队所在山丘上最后一个白人士兵死去了。虽然侦察兵克雷格因为失去了知觉永远没能看到,但战斗的结束出奇得快。苏人勇士们后来会描述说,1分钟前最后一批十几名幸存者还在顽抗,接下来无处不在的神灵就把他们全都消灭于净了。事实上,大多数战士只是“滚到他们的步枪边”或者使用了他们的柯尔特手枪。一些人帮助受伤的战友结束生命,另一些人结束了自己的生命。 [208]

当本·克雷格苏醒过来时,因为遭到那块岩石的撞击,他的脑袋仍然痛得嗡嗡作响。他睁开一只眼睛。他侧身躺着,双手被反绑着,一边的脸颊贴在地上。草叶近在他的眼前。当他的头脑清醒后,他觉察到周围有轻轻的脚步在走来走去,还有激动的说话声和偶尔胜利的欢叫声。他的视线也清楚了。 [209]

山坡上有穿着鹿皮软鞋的脚在跑来跑去,这是苏人勇士在寻找战利品。其中一人肯定是看到了他的眼皮的眨动,于是响起了一声胜利的叫喊,接着几只强壮有力的手扶直了他的身躯。 [210]

他的周围有4名勇士,脸上涂满歪歪扭扭的油彩,仍沉浸在杀戮的狂热之中。

他看到一根石棍举了起来,想砸烂他的脑袋。当他坐着等待的那一秒钟时间里,他无聊地想起阴曹地府的生活不知道是怎么样。石棍没有砸下来,而是一个声音在说:“住手。”

他抬头去看。刚才说话的那个人骑在10英尺开外的一匹矮种马上。西沉的太阳照在骑马人的右肩上,光照的减弱使那人的形象成了一个剪影。 [211]

他的头发未经梳理,落下来后像一个斗篷披在他的双肩和背部。他没有手持长矛,甚至也没有提携钢斧,所以他显然不是夏延人[212]

那人骑坐着的矮种马朝旁边走了一步;阳光从肩后照过来,亮光更弱了。骑马人的身影对准了克雷格的脸面,他能够看得更清楚了。 [213]

那匹杂色矮种马既不是黑白斑也不是花斑,如同大多数印第安人所骑坐的。它是一种浅褐色,被称为金鹿皮色。克雷格曾听说过那种矮种马。 [214] [215]

骑在上面的那个人赤裸着身体,只在腰上围着一圈布条,脚上套着鹿皮软鞋。

他的穿着打扮像是一名勇士,但实际上是一名首领。他的左前臂上没有盾牌,意味着他不喜欢个人的防护,但他的左手上晃荡着一条石棍。因此,他是苏人[216] [217]

那条石棍是一种可怕的武器。栖把有18英寸长,头部形成一个叉。嵌在叉里的是一块鹅蛋大小的光滑的石头。石头又被缚上了一些皮带,在用作鞭打时要把皮带浸湿。在太阳底下晒干后,皮带会收缩收紧,这样那块石头永远不会落下来。受到这种棍棒一击,会砸断手臂、肩骨或肋骨,去敲打人的头部就像是去敲击一只核桃。

这种武器只能在近距离使用,因此更能带来殊荣。 [218]

当他再次说话时,他说的是奥格拉拉苏语,由于这种话语最接近夏延语,所以侦察兵能够听懂。 [219]

“你们为什么把敌人这么捆绑起来?”

“我们没有,首领。我们发现他这样被捆绑着,是被他自己人绑住的。”

那双黑眼睛的注视落到了仍绑住克雷格双踝的那些皮带子上。那位苏人注意到了,但没说什么。 [220]

他坐在马鞍上,陷入了沉思。他的胸部和肩部涂抹着一个个圆圈,代表着冰雹,从他的发迹边一道黑色的闪电延伸到他的下巴上的子弹疤痕处。他没有佩带其他饰品,但克雷格知道他的名声。他现在观望着的是具有传奇色彩的“疯马”,是在过去的12年间奥格拉拉苏人的无可争议的首领,自他26岁起就因为他的无畏、神秘和自我克制而一直受人尊敬。 [221]

河边吹来一阵晚风。它吹舞着那位首领的头发,吹拂着地上的长草和侦察兵后脑勺上的那根羽毛,现在它已经落到了肩膀的一块鹿皮上。疯马也注意到了这个。

这是由夏延人赋予的一种荣誉的标记。 [222]

“别杀他,”这位军事首领命令道。“带他去坐牛首领那里接受审判。”

勇士们对失去了这么多的掠夺机会而颇感失望,但他们服从了命令。克雷格被拖着站起来,走下山丘去河边。在他走过的半英里路上,他看到了这场大屠杀的结果。 [223]

减去侦察兵和逃兵,5个连队的210名官兵的尸体,横七竖八地躺满了山坡。

印第安人正从尸身上搜寻一切作为他们的战利品,然后根据各个部落的不同仪式进行尸体切割。夏延人砍烂腿,这样死者就不能追赶他们了;苏人用石棍捣烂脑壳和脸面。其他部落人肢解手臂和腿,并割下头颅。 [224]

山丘下50码处,侦察兵见到了乔治·阿姆斯特朗·卡斯特的尸体,浑身赤裸着,除了脚踝上的那双蓝棉短袜,在阳光下发出大理石般的白颜色。除了耳鼓被捅穿,他没被肢解分尸,以后被特里将军的官兵们发现时也是这个样子。 [225]

口袋里和鞍袋里的一切物品都被拿走了:步枪,当然还有手枪,以及仍留有的充足的弹药、烟叶袋、铁壳表、放有家庭照片的钱包,还有可以作为战利品的任何东西。然后是帽子、靴子和军服。山坡边到处是印第安人勇土和妇女。 [226]

河岸边有一群矮种马。克雷格被扶上其中一匹,然后他和他的4名护送人涉过小比格霍恩河到了西岸。当他们穿越那个夏延人的村落时,妇女们走出来对着这一个幸存的白人尖声叫嚷,但在看到那根山鹰羽毛时不吭声了。这是一位朋友还是一个叛徒? [227]

5个人骑马一溜小跑经过圣阿克人和明尼孔焦人的营地,直至抵达匈克巴巴人的那个村庄。营地里的吼声震天般地响亮。 [228]

这些勇士们没在山丘上迎战卡斯特;他们遇上并打退了甚至已经淌过了河的雷诺少校的进攻。现在雷诺的余部被围困在一个山头上,由本蒂恩及骡马车队与他们会合了,但对于卡斯特未能从山丘骑马下来解救他们而感到迷惑不解。 [229]

黑脚、明尼孔焦和匈克巴巴的勇士们骑马四处走动着,一边炫耀着从雷诺部下士兵的尸体上取得的那些战利品,克雷格看到到处都有一张张长着金发或姜色头发的头皮在高高地挥舞着。在尖叫声不断的妇女们的围观下,他们一行来到了这位伟大的巫医和判官——坐牛的棚屋。 [230]

他的奥格拉拉人护送人员解释了疯马的命令,把他交出后骑马回到山坡上去寻找他们的战利品了。克雷格被扔进了一顶圆锥形帐篷,两名老年妇女被命令手持尖刀看住他。 [231]

来提审他时已是天黑以后好久了。十几名勇士进来把他拖了出去。篝火已经点燃了。火光下,身上仍涂着油彩的勇士们看上去很可怕。但气氛已经平静下来,即使在1英里之外和视线以外,黑暗中偶尔还有零星的枪声,表明那些苏人仍在爬上山丘向在峭壁上的雷诺的防御圈发起进攻。 [232] [233]

整个战役中,在这个巨大的营地的两端,苏人遭受了31人的伤亡。虽然共有1800名勇士参战且他们的敌人已被消灭了,但他们仍然感到损失惨重。在上下各个营地里,寡妇们在对着她们的丈夫和儿子号陶大哭,并在准备让他们踏上赴天堂的路途。 [234]

在匈克巴巴村落的中心,有一处篝火比其他的都大,围着它的是十几位首领,他们中的最高首领是坐牛。他正好4O岁,但看上去更为老成,他那古铜色的脸庞在火光下显得更黑,皱纹也更深了。与疯马一样,他因为曾经有一次看到他的人民遭到屠杀和平原上的野牛结阵狂奔的景象而受人尊敬。这是一个悲惨的景象:他曾经看到他们全都被那些白人消灭了,因此人们知道他是憎恨白人的。克雷格被扔到了他左边的20英尺处,这样火光不会挡住视线。他们都盯住他看了一会儿。坐牛下了一道克雷格听不懂的命令。一位勇士拔出一把刀子走向克雷格身后。他等待着致死的一刀。 [235] [236] [237]

那把刀子割断了绑住他双腕的绳索。24小时内第一次他可以把双手放到身体前面来了。他明白他的双手现在还没有感觉。血液开始回流,先是导致一阵尖锐的刺痛,然后是疼痛。他尽力保持脸面不动声色。 [238] [239]

坐牛又说话了。这次是对他说。他听不懂,但用夏延语做了回答。人群中响起了一阵惊奇的交头接耳声。其中一位叫“双月”的夏延人首领说话了。 [240] [241]

“最高首领询问为什么白人把你绑在马上而且把你的双手反绑了?”

“我触犯了他们。”侦察兵回答说。 [242]

“很严重吗?”在接下来的审问中,双月承担了翻译工作。 [243]

“蓝衣军队的首领要绞死我。明天。” [244]

“你对他们犯下了什么?”

克雷格想了想。布兰多克摧毁高糜的棚屋只是头天上午吗?他从那次事件开始叙说,直至他被判处绞刑。他注意到在提及高康的棚屋时双月在点头。他已经知道了。每说完一句话他都要停顿一下,以让双月译成苏语。当他讲完时,人们响起了一阵轻轻的交头接耳谈论声。双月叫来了他手下的一个人。 [245]

“骑马回到我们的村落,把高糜和他的女儿带到这里来。”

那位勇士走向他那匹被用缰绳拴住的矮种马,跨上去骑走了。坐牛又开始提问。 [246]

“你们为什么要来与‘红人’交战?”

“他们告诉我,他们来这里是因为苏人正从南、北达科他州的保留地上出走。没有提到要杀人,直至长发发疯。“

又是一阵嘀嘀咕咕商量问题的嗡嗡声。“长发来这里了吗?”是双月在问。

克雷格明白他们甚至根本就不知道是在与谁打仗。 [247]

“他在河对面的山坡边。他已经死了。”

首领们又一起商量了一阵子,然后是沉静。开会是一件严肃的事情,没有必要匆匆忙忙。一个半钟头以后,双月问道:“你为什么要佩戴这根白色的山鹰羽毛?”

克雷格作了解释。10年前当他还是一个14岁的男孩时,他加入了一个夏延年轻人的群体,他们一起到山上去打猎。他们都有弓箭,除了克雷格,他被允许借用唐纳森的夏普斯来复枪。他们惊奇地看到了一只老灰熊。这是一只性格暴躁的老家伙,满口的牙齿差不多已经掉光了,但它的前爪力量大得很,只需击上一掌就会致人于死命。它从灌木丛中钻出来,发出一声地动山摇般的吼叫,并开始冲锋。 [248] [249]

这时候,双月身后的一位勇士要求暂停叙说。 [250]

“我记得这个故事。这发生在我堂兄弟的那个村庄。”

围在营火旁边,没有其他事情比一个好故事更吸引人。他被邀请讲完这个故事,于是苏人伸长脖颈倾听着双月的翻译。 [251]

“那头熊像是一座山,它的冲锋速度极快。夏延男孩们四散逃开爬到树上去了。

但那个白人男孩仔细瞄准后开火了。子弹掠过灰熊的下颌钻进了它的胸部。它用后蹄站立起来,像一棵松树那样高,虽然快要死了但仍在向前冲锋。 [252]

“那个白人男孩退出弹壳,推进了另一颗子弹。然后他又开枪了。第二颗子弹射进正在张嘴怒吼的口腔,穿过天花板击穿了大脑。老灰熊又朝前冲了一步后倒下了。那颗巨大的头颅的距离是如此之近,以致唾沫和污血溅到了那个男孩的膝头上。 [253]

但他一动也没动。 [254]

“他们派了一名送信人去村里,勇士们带着一张皮绷子回来了,剥下那怪物的皮带回去给我堂兄的父亲做了一件睡袍。然后他们办了一个宴会,并给那个白人起了一个新名字,叫”无畏杀熊“,还有那根猎人所拥有的山鹰羽毛。所以这是多年前在我们迁人保留地之前在我们村里所讲述的一个故事。”

首领们频频点头。这是一个很好的故事。一队人骑着矮种马来到了,后面是一张皮绷子。两个克雷格所从未见过的男人进入到火光之中。根据他们的穿着和辫子判断,他们是夏延人[255] [256]

一个是小狼,他叙说他曾在河东打猎,这时候他看到了罗斯伯德溪水上空腾起了烟雾。去察看之后,他发现了那些遭受屠杀的妇女和儿童。当他在那里时,他听说蓝衣军人正在返回,于是他昼夜跟踪他们,直至他们来到营地的那条山谷。但他到达得太晚了,以致错过了那场大厮杀。 [257]

另一个人是高糜。大部队经过之后,他狩猎回来了。当他的女儿返回时,他仍在为遭到杀戮的女眷和孩子们而哀伤。她受了伤,但仍活着。与他的另外9名勇土一起,他们夜以继日地骑行,以期找到夏延人的营地,在战斗打响前刚刚抵达,并自愿地参加了战斗。他自己想在卡斯特所在的那座山丘上杀身成仁,并杀死了5个白人战士,但结果无处不在的神灵没把他召唤去。 [258]

皮绷子上的那个姑娘最后讲述。她因为伤痛和从罗斯伯德一路赶过来而显得脸色苍白,但她讲得很清楚。 [259]

她诉说了那次屠杀事件,以及手臂上有条纹的那个大个子男人。她听不懂他的话,但她明白在她死去之前他要对她于的事情。她诉说了这个穿鹿皮衣服的人是如何给她水喝、喂她食物,并抱她坐上一匹矮种马,让她返回家人的怀抱。 [260]

首领们开始了议论。判决来自于坐牛,但作为他们全体的结论。这个白人也许可以活着,但他不能回归到他自己人那里去。要么他们会杀死他,或者他会把苏人的位置告诉给他们。他应该交给高糜照看。高糜可把他作为一名囚犯或客人对待。

到春天时,他可以获得自由,或继续留在夏延人那里。 [261]

营火周围的勇士们纷纷哼哼着表示赞同。这是公正的。克雷格随同高糜骑马回到分配给他的那顶圆锥形帐篷里,整个夜晚由两名勇士看守着他。上午这个大营收拾东西准备开拔了。但黎明时侦察员们带来的消息是,北方有更多的蓝衣军人,于是他们决定南行去比格霍恩山区,并看看那些白人是否会追过来。 [262]

把他接纳进自己的家族后,高糜显得慷慨大方。骑兵队的4匹未受伤的战马被找到了,克雷格挑了一匹。在印第安人的眼里,它们并无多大的价值,他们喜欢他们自己的耐力型矮种马。这是因为能适应平原严酷的冬季的马匹很少。它们需要干草,这是印第安人所从来不去收集的,它们很难像矮种马那样靠地衣。苔藓和柳皮就能活过冬天。克雷格选了一匹他认为也许能适应的、模样粗犷、瘦瘦高高的栗色马,并把它命名为“罗斯伯德”,以纪念他与轻风姑娘相遇的那个地方。 [263] [264] [265]

一副好马鞍很容易就被找到了,因为印第安人从不使用它们。当他的夏普斯来复枪和猎刀也被追查到时,它们也物归原主了。在山头上他那匹死去的战马的鞍袋里,他发现了他的夏普斯弹药。山坡上没留下可供劫掠的东西了。印第安人已把他们感兴趣的东西全部拿走了。他们对被白人扔在草丛里现正在随风飘飞的纸片不感兴趣。其中几张是威廉·库克上尉所作的第一次审讯的记录纸。 [266]

拆卸那些村庄花去了整个上午的时间。圆锥形帐篷拆倒了,炊具收集起来了,妇女们和孩子们的包袱装在了许许多多的皮绷子上,午后不久,部落人开拔了。 [267]

那些部落里的死者被留下来了,躺卧在他们的圆锥形帐篷里,被涂上了去另一个世界的色彩,身着他们最好的衣袍,旁边放置着他们那些插着羽毛的头盔。按照传说,他们的所有家庭制作品都散落在地上。 [268]

当从北方过来的特里将军的战士们于第二天发现这一情况时,他们会认为那些苏人夏延人是匆匆离去的。其实不然:撒落死者的物品是习俗。不管怎么说,这些物品都将被掠走。 [269]

即使平原的印第安人会争辩说,他们只想打猎,不想打仗,但克雷格知道军队将会从失败中恢复过来并将会来寻求复仇。不会很快,但他们肯定会来。坐牛的议事委员会也知道这个,于是几天之内就商定,各部落将分成小组各自行动。这将给蓝衣官兵的工作增加难度,也会给印第安人一个更好的机会以便在荒野里度过冬天,而不是被赶回到达科他的保留地上去挨过一个半饥不饱的冬天。 [270]

克雷格与高糜家族的剩余成员一起骑马行走。曾在罗斯伯德溪畔失去老婆的10个猎人中,两个已在小比格霍恩河畔战死,还有两个负了伤。侧翼上被划了一道浅口子的一位伤员选择了骑行。另一个在近距离被一颗斯普林菲尔德步枪子弹射穿了肩膀的伤员,躺在一张皮绷子上。高康和另5个将会找到新的女人。为使这事发生,他们已经与另两个繁衍的家庭会合了,组成了一个有60个男女老少的家族。 [271]

当分组的决定传到他们那里时,他们在委员会里商议部落的去向。大多数人认为应南下去怀俄明,躲进比格霍恩山脉中。克雷格被要求发表他的意见。 [272] [273]

“蓝军官兵将会来这里。”他说。他用一根棍棒画了比格霍恩河的线条。“他们会到这里的南方寻找你们,还有这里的东部。可我知道在西部的一个地方,它叫普赖尔岭。我就是在那里长大的。”

他向他们讲述了普赖尔岭。 [274]

“低缓的山坡上到处是猎物。森林很密,树枝使得炊烟模糊不清。溪水里鱼虾成群,山上还有湖泊,也有许多鱼。白人从来不去那里。”

家族同意了。7月1日,他们从夏延人主群体中剥离了,在克雷格的引导下朝西北方向进入蒙大拿南部,避开特里将军的巡逻队。7月中旬,他们抵达普赖尔岭。

那地方果然如同克雷格所说。 [275]

那些圆锥形帐篷由树枝遮掩起来后,在半英里之外无法看见。在今天被称为“孤山”的附近一块岩石上,一位哨兵能看到许多英里的远处,但没人过来。猎人们从林中捕来许多鹿和羚羊,孩子们在溪流里垂钓鲑鱼。 [276]

轻风姑娘年轻而健康。 [277]

她的清洁的伤口痊愈得很快,直至她又能奔跑了,像一只轻盈的小鹿。有时候当她在给男人们送饭时,克雷格看到了她的眼睛,每当这时候他的心就会狂跳不止。

她对自己的感觉不露声色,遇到他的盯视时,她就去看脚下的土地。他不可能知道当她看到那双深蓝色的眼睛的注视时,她身体内的某种东西似乎要融化了,她的胸腔快要爆裂开来了。 [278]

那年的初秋,他们相爱了。 [279]

第三章

那些妇女们注意到了。她在为男人们送饭回来时脸蛋总是红扑扑的,她的那件鹿皮束腰外衣的胸部总是急剧地起伏着,那些年长的妇女们会开心地咯咯笑着。她没有活着留下来的母亲和姨妈,所以这些女人是来自于不同的家庭。但在12个未婚男人中有她们的儿子,因此也是合格的勇士。她们不知道是谁点燃了这个美丽的姑娘的爱情的火焰。她们哄着她快点让她们知道,免得她的情人被另一个姑娘偷走,但她告诉她们,她不知道她们在说些什么。 [280] [281]

9月份树叶脱落时,营地迁到高山上去,以获得针叶树的遮掩。当10月来临时,夜间变得寒气逼人。但猎区很好,那些矮种马啮食着最后一批草料,然后才会转而去吃地衣、苔藓和树皮。罗斯伯德已像它周围的矮种马那样适应了这里的环境。克雷格时常下山去牧地并带回一袋新鲜的青草,用他的猎刀把它们切细。 [282]

假如轻风有一位母亲,那么她也许会与高糜调停此事,但问题是没有,所以最终她只能自己出面去告诉父亲。他顿时勃然大怒。 [283]

她怎么能去想这种事情?白人摧毁了她的全家。这个人将会回到他自己人那边去,而且那里是没有她的容身之地的。更何况在小比格霍恩河畔肩部中了一颗子弹的那位勇士现在差不多已经痊愈了。断裂的肩骨最后已经接合了,不是部分,而是全部。他是“走鹰”,而且他是一位优秀的勇士。他将成为她的未婚夫。这事第二天就要宣布。就这么办。 [284]

高糜烦恼了。有可能那个白人也有同样的想法。从现在起他必须被日夜监视起来。他不能回到他自己人那里去;他知道他们扎营的地方。他要留过冬天,但他要被看管起来。就这样。 [285] [286]

克雷格突然被安排住到了另一户家庭的一只圆锥形帐篷里。那里有另3名勇士与他合住着同一间棚屋,他们将警惕地注视着他在夜间的一举一动。 [287]

是在10月底的时候,她来找他了。他睁着眼睛躺在帐篷里,心中在思念着她,这时候一把刀子慢慢地无声地划破了圆锥形帐篷的一边。他轻手轻脚地爬起来,钻出了破洞。她站在月光下仰视着他。他们第一次拥抱了,炽热的爱在他们身上互相流动。 [288] [289]

她挣脱开来,后退几步并招招手。他跟上去一起穿过树林,来到了营地视线范围以外的一个地方。罗斯伯德已被挂上了鞍子,一件野牛皮睡袍卷叠在马鞍后面。

他的来复枪挂在马肩上的一只长筒枪套里,鞍袋里装满了食物和弹药。一匹杂色矮种马也已被配上了缰绳。他转过身来,他们吻在了一起,寒冷的夜晚似乎在他的周围旋转。她在他耳边轻声说:“带我去你的山里,本·克雷格,让我成为你的女人。”

“现在和永远,轻风。”

他们跨上马,轻轻地骑行着穿越树林直至来到了一片开阔地,然后一路下坡经过孤山朝着平原疾驶而去。日出时他们回到了山脚下。在黎明时,一小队克劳人在远处见到了他们,但转向北方朝通往埃利斯堡的博兹曼小径而去。 [290]

夏延人来追他们了;他们共有6个人,追赶速度很快,他们轻装出发,只是在肩上斜挂着他们的来复枪,在腰里插着斧子,屁股下垫着手工编织的毯子,而且他们接到过命令。走鹰的未婚妻要活着带回来。那个白人则应该死去。 [291]

而一支克劳人小分队也朝北骑行,他们行走得很艰苦。其中一人曾在夏天时在军队里当过侦察兵,知道蓝军部队已经贴出布告重金悬赏捉拿那个白人叛徒,赏金多得足以购买许多马匹和物品。 [292]

他们永远没能抵达博兹曼小径。在黄石河以南20英里处,他们遇上了由一名中尉指挥的由10名骑兵组成的一支巡逻小队。那位前侦察兵解释了他们的所见,主要使用的是手势语言,但中尉能明白。他让巡逻队南行去山区,让克劳人充当向导,以切断那条路径。 [293]

那年夏天,卡斯特及其部下遭屠杀的消息如同冷空气般地横扫美国。在遥远的东部,国家的领导人于1876年7月6日在费城聚集,庆祝100周年国庆。来自西部边疆的那条消息似乎不可置信。当局命令立即查清。 [294]

那次战斗之后,特里将军部下的战士们已经清理了那片致命的山坡,以期寻找对这场灾难的解释。苏人夏延人已于24小时之前离开了,特里也没有心思去追击。雷诺少校的残余部队已被解救出来,但除了当时他们看着卡斯特率领官兵们骑马走出视线进入山丘后面之外,其余他们什么也不知道。 [295]

在山坡上,每一片证据都被收集并保存起来了,即使那些正在腐败的尸体要赶快掩埋。在收集到的物品中,有夹在草丛中的几张纸片,其中有库克上尉所作的笔录。 [296] [297]

当时站在卡斯特身后参与审问本·克雷格的官兵们没有一个活下来,但那位上尉副官所记录的内容足以说明了一切。对于这场灾难,军队需要一个理由。现在他们有了一个:那些野蛮人事先得到了预告并已作好了准备。不知情的卡斯特中了一个大埋伏。而且军方有了一个替罪羊。经验不足不能作为一个理由被接受,而背叛则可以。悬赏1000美元捉拿那个侦察兵的布告贴出来了,死活都要。 [298] [299]

追踪变得渺无希望了,直至一小队克劳人看见了那个逃亡者,后面还跟着一个印第安姑娘,在10月底时骑马跑出普赖尔山区。 [300]

中尉的马匹已在夜里休息够了,而且吃饱喝足了。现在它们精神饱满,于是他率领战士们骑上马朝南方疾驶而去。他的生涯处在了关键时刻。 [301] [302]

日出后不久,克雷格和轻风抵达了普赖尔山口,这是夹在主山脉和单独的西普赖尔峰之间的一道低矮的隘口。他们越过那道隘口,策马慢跑穿过西普赖尔山脚,出现在荒野之中,那是一片长着荒草的山脊和山沟的乡野,向西一直延伸50英里。 [303]

克雷格没有必要用太阳为他导向。他能够看到远处的目标,在清冷蔚蓝色天空和早晨的太阳下熠熠发亮。他正在朝阿布萨罗卡荒原行进,那是孩提时他与老唐纳森一起打猎过的地方。那个地方很荒凉,只有一片荒芜的森林和岩石裸露的高原,很少有人能追过来,而且从那里可上行通往熊牙山脉。 [304] [305]

即使相隔那段距离,他也能看到山脉的那些雪峰——雷山。圣山、药山和熊牙山。那里,一个人只要有一支好步枪就能挡住一支军队,他停顿一下,以让浑身冒汗的坐骑饮上几口水,然后继续向着似乎把大地与天空连接了起来的那几座山峰进发。 [306] [307]

在20英里之后,那6个印第安勇士边用眼睛扫描地上留下的马蹄铁的痕迹,边策马快步前进,这样既能节省他们的矮种马的体力又能长时间奔驰。 [308]

在北方30英里处,骑兵巡逻队南下寻找踪迹。他们于中午时在西普赖尔峰西边找到了。

那几个克劳人侦察兵突然勒住缰绳让马走起圈子来,眼睛盯住了被太阳晒干了的一块土地。他们朝下指向那些铁蹄印迹和紧跟在后面的未钉铁掌的一匹矮种马的踪迹。 [309]

“那么,”中尉轻声说,“我们有了竞争对手。没关系。”

他命令继续西行,虽然马匹正在开始疲劳。半个小时后,在爬上平原上的一个高坡时,他取出望远镜去观察前方地平线上的动静。逃亡者倒没有看到,但他见到了一丛飞扬的尘土,下面是6个微小的人影,骑坐在杂色矮种马上向着山区疾驶而去。 [310]

夏延人的那些矮种马也累了,但他们知道前方逃亡者的坐骑肯定也累了。勇士们在布里吉村下面的布里吉溪旁让马匹饮了水,并休息了半个小时。一位把耳朵贴在地上的勇士,听到了后面传来了一阵阵马蹄声,于是他们上马继续前进。l英里之后,他们的领头人拐到了一边,把他们隐藏到一个小山包后面并爬到山顶上去瞭望。 [311]

他看到了3英里之外的骑兵队。夏延人不知道山坡上的任何记录纸,也不知道对那个流亡的白人的任何悬赏。他们猜测那些蓝军官兵肯定是来追赶他们的,为的是他们走离了保留地。因此他们观察着,等待着。 [312]

骑兵巡逻队抵达那条土路的分岔点时停了下来,那些克劳人侦察兵下马去察看地上。夏延人看到克劳人,直指向西方,于是骑兵巡逻队继续朝那个方向奔驰而去。 [313]

夏延人以一条平行线与他们分头并进,如同当时小狼尾随卡斯特沿罗斯伯德溪北上那样,尾随着这些蓝军战士。但在下午三四点钟时,克劳人发现了他们。 [314]

夏延人。”克劳人侦察兵说。中尉耸耸肩。 [315]

“没关系,让他们追猎。我们有我们的猎物。”


两支追捕小分队持续行进直至夜幕降临。克劳人跟随着那些踪迹,夏延人尾随着巡逻兵。当太阳沉入山峰后面时,两个小组都知道他们必须让马匹休息。如果他们试图不停地前进,他们的坐骑将会在他们身下累垮。此外,地面正变得越来越崎岖不平,踪迹也变得越来越难以追随。黑暗中,没有马灯,这是他们所没有携带的,赶路是根本不可能的。 [316] [317]

在10英里的前方,克雷格也同样知道。罗斯伯德是一匹高大、强壮的母马,但它已经载着一个人和装备在高低不平的地面上跑了50英里路程。轻风不是一个熟练的骑手,她也已经疲惫不堪。他们在雷德洛奇镇东边不远的熊溪旁扎了营,但不敢点火,惟恐被发现。 [318]

夜幕来临后气温急剧下降。他们蜷缩进那件野牛皮睡袍之中,轻风姑娘很快就睡着了。克雷格没有睡觉。他可在以后睡觉。他钻出睡袍,把自己裹在那条红色的手工编织毯子里,并注视着他所钟爱的姑娘。 [319]

没人过来,但在黎明前他就起来了。他们很快地吃了饭,是一些风于的羚羊肉,和她从自己的圆锥形帐篷里带出来的玉米面包,和着溪水吃到了肚子里。然后他们就离开了。追捕者也起来了,当第一线曙光显示出那些踪迹时。他们滞后9英里路程,并正在逼近。克雷格知道夏延人会来追赶;他所做出的事情是不可饶恕的。但他对骑兵追捕队则是一无所知。 [320]

地面更崎岖了,前进的速度也更慢了。他知道他的追捕者将会追上来,他需要用伪装踪迹的方法以使他们慢下来。在马背上骑行两个小时之后,逃亡者来到了两条溪水的交汇处。左边,从山上翻滚着流淌下来的是罗克溪,对此他判断是不能作为进入到荒野的一条通路的。前方是西溪,水更浅一些,石头也更少一些。他跳下马,把矮种马的缰绳拴到他自己马匹的鞍子上,然后牵着罗斯伯德的肚带在前方领路。 [321]

他引领着这支小小的马队以一个朝向罗克溪的角度离开岸边,进入水中,然后折回来走另一条水路。冰冷的溪水麻木了他的双脚,但他踩着溪底的砾石和卵石坚持行走了两英里。接着他转向左边的山区,牵引着坐骑淌出溪流进入到那片浓密的森林里。 [322]

现在树林下面的土地陡峭地上升起来,而且太阳被逮住之后变得阴森森的。轻风用毯子裹住身体,骑在矮种马的光背上以行走的速度前进着。 [323]

在3英里的后方,骑兵巡逻队抵达水边停了下来。克劳人指向似乎走向罗克溪的踪迹。中尉在与他的中士商议后,命令他的巡逻队朝那条假踪迹追过去。当他们消失之后,夏延人来到了两溪的会合处。他们无需进入到溪水中以掩盖他们的路线。

但他们选择了正确的溪流并快马加鞭上了岸,打量着远处马儿出水的痕迹,并朝着上山的方向进发了。 [324]

两英里之后,他们发现了溪水对面一块软土上的痕迹。他们僻僻啪啪地淌过溪流进入到那片山林之中。 [325]

中午时,克雷格抵达了他认为他记得的多年前打猎时曾经经过的地方。那是一个很大的岩石高原,叫银径高原,可由此直接通向山区。虽然他和轻风不知道,但实际上他们现在已经处在海拔1100英尺的高山上了。 [326] [327]

从岩石的边缘,他能够俯视他曾经沿着走过来而后又离开了的那条溪水。在他的右边,下面有人影,那是两条溪流分岔处。他没有望远镜,但透过稀薄的空气能见度特别好。半英里之外的那些人不是夏延人;他们是10名战士,还有4名克劳人侦察兵。他们是在发现搞错了之后从下面的罗克溪折返回来的一支部队巡逻队。这个时候,本·克雷格方才明白因为他放走了那个姑娘,部队仍在追捕他。 [328]

他从皮套里取出他那支夏普斯来复枪,塞进一颗子弹,找到一块可以卧倒的岩石,举枪瞄向了下面的那条山谷。 [329]

“打那匹马,”老唐纳森曾经总是这么告诫。“在这种地方,一个人失去马匹之后将不得不折回。”

他瞄准那位军官的坐骑。一声爆响,当它发出来时,在山谷里回响着,像一个滚雷般地来回震响了好几次。“子弹击中了中尉骑坐的马匹头部旁边的右肩。它像一只口袋般地颓然倒地,同时把那个军官掀翻在地。当他倒下去时,他扭伤了一只脚踝。 [330]

骑兵们四散逃人林中,除了那位中士。他扑向倒在地上的战马身后,试图去帮助中尉。那匹马已经受了致命伤,但还没死。中士用手枪击毙了它,由此免去了它临死时的痛苦。然后他把他的领导拖进了树林里。枪声没有再次响起。 [331]

山坡上的树林里,那些夏延人从马背上下来踩到了松针地上,并留在了那里。

他们中的4个人带有从七团那里缴获的斯普林菲尔德步枪,但与平原印第安人一样,他们的枪法很差劲。他们知道那个年轻的白人能用那支夏普斯来复枪在何种射距作何种射击。他们开始往上爬行。这使得他们的速度慢了下来。6人中的一人殿后,引领着所有的6匹矮种马。 [332]

克雷格把那条毯子割成4片,分别包住了罗斯伯德的4只蹄子。夹在铁掌和岩石之间的这些布料不会维持很长时间,但能隐藏p码距离的蹄印抓痕。然后他策马朝西南方向越过高原向山峰挺进了。 [333]

在过了银径5英里处,周围光秃秃的没有掩护。2英里之后,这位前边防战士扭头去看身后,看到微小的人影迎面越过山脊到了那条石梁上。他继续纵马前进。

他们射不中他,也抓不住他。几分钟后,人影更多了;那些骑兵战士已经引着他们的马匹穿过了树林,而且也已经到了那块岩石上,但在夏延人东边1英里处。然后他来到了那道裂口处。他以前没有到过这么高的山上;他不知道自己所处的位置。 [334] [335]

莱克福克溪又陡又窄,两岸长着松树,溪水冰冷刺骨。克雷格转身沿着溪边行走,寻找一个堤岸较浅便于跨过去的地方。他在雷山的影子下发现了这么一个地方,但他已经花去了半个小时时间。 [336]

他引领着马匹下到深谷,又上了对面的坡顶到了另一块也是最后的一块岩石上,那是赫尔罗林高原。当他从溪谷里出现时,一颗子弹在他头顶上方呼啸着飞了过去。

在山谷的对面,一名骑兵已经看见了松林中的动静。他的耽搁不但使他的追捕队赶了上来,而且他还向他们暴露了穿越的途径。 [337]

在他的前方还有3英里的平地,然后才是后卫山的那些高耸人云的岩壁,在那些重峦叠蟑、洞穴遍布的高山上,世上没人能抓住他。在稀薄的空气中,两个人和两头牲畜大口大口地吸着气,但他仍在顽强地挺进。黑暗将会很快降临,而且他将会消失在后卫山、圣山和熊牙山之间的峰峦沟壑之中。没人能跟着踪迹来到这里。

过了圣山是那道分水岭,再过去就是一路下坡进入到怀俄明。他们将会远离含有敌意的环境,结婚,并将居住在荒野里而且永远生活下去。当天光退尽时,本·克雷格和轻风甩掉后面的追捕者,向后卫山的山坡前进。 [338] [339] [340]

黄昏中,他们爬上岩石平原,遇到了雪线,那里的山顶上终年冰雪封盖。他们在那里发现了一块平坦的突岩,有50英尺长。20英尺宽,背后还有一个深深的洞穴。

几颗最后的松树遮挡着洞口。 [341] [342]

当夜幕降临时克雷格拴住马脚,它们去吃食树下的松针。山上寒气逼人,但他们有那件野牛皮睡袍。 [343]

这位侦察兵卸下马鞍和剩余的毯子,带进山洞里,在他的来复枪里塞人子弹后放在了他的身边,然后在洞口处摊开了那张野牛皮。克雷格和轻风躺上去,他拉起另一半盖在了他们的身上。

在这个大茧包里,人体的自然体温回复了。轻风姑娘开始拱向他的怀里。 [344]

“本,”她耳语着说,“让我成为你的女人。现在。”

他开始把她那件鹿皮束腰衣从她那热切的身体里往上剥出来。 [345]

‘你这么做是错误的。“

这里的高山上万籁俱寂,这个声音虽然苍老虚弱,但用夏延语说出来的这些词语却相当清楚。 [346]

已经脱去皮衬衣、现在在冰冷的空气中光着上身的克雷格,在1分钟之内就到了洞口,手里提着来复枪。 [347]

他不明白为什么他此前没有看见这个人。他盘腿坐在那块平石边缘的松树下。

铁灰色的头发垂到了他那赤裸着的腰部,他的脸上布满了皱纹,活像一只经过了炙烤的核桃。他已经相当苍老但也十分虔诚,他是一位部族的精神首领,是一位未来的预卜者,来到荒无人烟之处实施节食、沉思和追寻神灵的指导。 [348]

“是你说话吗,圣师?”侦察兵给他套上了一个对那些智慧老人的头衔。他来自何方,他也无法猜测。他是如何爬上这么高的山区?他也无从知道。在没有遮蔽衣物的情况下他是如何顶住寒冷倒不是不可想像。克雷格只知道一些圣显追求者能抵御所有已知的恶劣环境。 [349]

他感觉到轻风来到了他身边的洞口处。 [350]

‘在圣人和无处不在的神灵的眼里,这是错误的。“老人说。 [351]

月亮尚未升起,但在清冷的空气中的那些星星却是如此之明亮,以致那块宽大的岩石沐浴在一片淡白色的亮光下。克雷格能够看到树下那对苍老的眼睛里的星光的闪烁。 [352]

“为什么是错误的,圣师?”

“她已经许给了另一个人。她的郎君曾经英勇地抗击白人。他赢得了许多荣誉。

他不应该得到这种对待。“

“可现在她是我的女人。”

“她会成为你的女人,山里人。但现在还不会。无处不在的神灵是这么说的。

她应该回到她的人群和她的郎君那里去。如果她去了,那么有一天你们会重新团圆,她将会成为你的女人,你也将会是她的男人。永远。无处不在的神灵是这么说的。“

他拿起在他身边地上的一条手杖并用它帮助自己站了起来。他那赤裸的肌肤又黑又老,在寒风中萎缩着,只有一圈腰布保护着他。他转身缓慢地穿越松林走下山去,直至他的身影从视线里消失。 [353] [354]

轻风朝克雷格仰起了脸。眼泪在她的脸颊上流淌着,但它们没有掉下来,在流到她的下巴之前它们已经冻住了。 [355]

“我必须返回我的人群。这是我的命运。”

没有争论。争论也是没用的。在她围上腰布并把毯子裹上身体时,他备妥了她的那匹矮种马。他最后一次抱住她并把她抱上了马背,再递给她缰绳。她默默无语地把那匹杂色马引到了那条下山土路的起点。 [356]

“轻柔说话的风。”他叫道。她转过身来在星光下凝视着他。 [357]

“我们会团聚的。有一天。是这么说的。当莺飞草长、江河流水的时候,我将等待着你。”

“我也会等你,本·克雷格。”

她走了。克雷格遥望着天空,直至寒气更加深沉。他把罗斯伯德牵进山洞深处,并为它抱来了一大把松针。然后他在黑暗中铺开那张野牛皮,躺上去往身上一裹就睡着了。 [358]

月亮升起来了。那些印第安勇士们看到她越过岩石平地朝他们走来。她看见下面峡谷边缘两堆燃烧着的篝火,并听见了从她左边那堆传过来的一只鹰的那声低沉的叫唤。于是她朝那里去了。 [359]

他们没说什么。有什么话应该让她的父亲高糜去说。但他们还有一项任务没完成。那些洗劫了他们棚屋的白人必须死去。他们等待着黎明。 [360]

下半夜1点钟,大片云块飘到了熊牙山上空,气温开始下降。两堆篝火旁的那些人全都瑟瑟抖着并裹紧了他们身上的毯子,但那没用。不久他们全被冻醒,往火堆里添加了更多的柴禾,但气温仍在下降。 [361]

这些夏延人和白人都曾在严酷的达科他度过冬天,也知道寒冬是什么滋味,可现在才10月底。季节还早。然而温度在下降。凌晨2点钟,漫山遍野纷纷扬扬地下起了鹅毛大雪。在骑兵队的营地里,那几个克劳人侦察兵起来了。 [362]

“我们要走了。”他们对军官说。他正遭受着他的脚踝的伤痛,但他知道抓获和嘉奖将会改变他在部队里的生涯。 [363]

“天是冷的,但黎明很快就会到来。”他告诉他们。 [364]

“这不是正常的寒冷,”他们说。“这是‘长眠之寒’。任何衣袍都无法抵御。

你要寻找的那个白人已经死了。或者他将会在太阳升起前死去。“

“那就走吧。”军官说。追踪已没有必要了。他的猎物就在山上,他在下雪前的月光下看到过那座山。 [365]

克劳人骑上马离开了,折回去跨越银径高原并走下山去的那条山谷。当他们离开时,一个人发出了像一只夜鸟般的那种凄凉的叫声。 [366]

夏延人听到了那声喊叫并面面相觑着。那是一次警告的叫声。他们也骑上马,把雪块扔到黄火上,然后离开了,带上那个姑娘同行。气温还在下降。 [367]

在凌晨4点钟左右时,雪崩发生了。它从山上崩落下来,把厚厚的雪块移到了高原上。那堵雪墙噬噬响着滑向莱克福克溪,在它落人沟壑之前带走了一切。留在原地的那些骑兵巡逻队人马动弹不得;寒气已经把他们固定在了他们躺着和站着的原地。白雪填满了溪谷,只有松树的树梢隐约可见。 [368] [369] [370]

上午时,云开日出。山里一片白雪茫茫。在无数个孔洞里,山里的动物和森林知道冬天已经来临,它们应该冬眠至春天。 [371]

在高山上的那个洞穴里,那位裹在野牛皮睡袍里的前边防战士在睡觉。 [372]

第四章

当他苏醒时,如同有时候会发生的那样,他记不起自己是在什么地方。在高康的那个村庄里吗?但他听不到妇女们准备早餐时的那种声音。他睁开眼睛透过野牛皮的折缝去窥视外面。他看到了山洞的粗糙的洞壁,于是记忆突然间恢复了。他坐起来,努力消除头脑里最后的一丝睡意。 [373] [374]

他能够看到外面覆盖着冰雪并在阳光下熠熠生辉的一块白色大石板。他光着上身走出来呼吸着早晨的空气。这感觉很好。 [375]

仍被他拴住前蹄的罗斯伯德,已经走出山洞在那块石板的边缘啃着一些小松树的嫩芽。上午的太阳在他的右边,所以他正在凝视着前面北方蒙大拿州的遥远的平原。 [376]

他走到石板的前沿,坐到地上,去俯视前方的赫尔罗林高原。从莱克福克溪那里没有炊烟飘过来的迹象。他的追捕者似乎已经走了。 [377]

他回到洞穴里,穿上他的鹿皮衣并扎上皮带。拿上猎刀后又回到罗斯伯德身边,放开了它的前蹄。它轻声嘶鸣着,还用它那天鹅绒般的日鼻轻轻摩擦着他的肩膀。

然后他注意到了某种奇怪的现象。 [378] [379]

它在啃吃的那些绿色柔软的嫩芽是春天的产物。他打量了一下四周。熬过了高寒的最后几颗松树迎着太阳正在长出淡绿色的嫩芽。一阵震惊之下,他明白,与荒野里的动物一样,他肯定已经沉睡了整个严寒的冬天。 [380]

他已经听说过这是可能的。老唐纳森曾经提及过一名设陷阱捕兽者在一个熊洞里度过了冬天而没有死去,像他身边的幼兽那样睡眠着,直至冬去春来。 [381]

在他的鞍袋里,他找到了最后的一部分风干肉。这些肉很硬,难以咀嚼,但他强迫自己咽了下去。为了润喉,他抓起一捧白雪用手掌拍击直至化成了水,然后舔干他的手。他知道最好别吃原雪。 [382] [383]

鞍袋里还有他那顶暖和的狐皮帽,他取出来把它戴在了头上。当他为罗斯伯德披上马鞍后,他检查了他那支夏普斯来复枪和剩余的20发子弹,把枪插进皮套,并准备离开。那件野牛皮睡袍重是重了些,但他把它卷起来绑在了鞍后。当洞穴里的东西全都收拾起来后,他抓住罗斯怕德的马勒,牵着它走下高原的那条土路。 [384]

他还没有打定主意到底去做什么,但他知道在山下的森林里有许多猎物。光是使用陷阱捕兽,一个人就能在那里生活得相当滋润。 [385]

他缓慢行走着越过了第一个高原,等待着前方的动静或者甚至是从溪谷边缘飞过来的一颗测距射击子弹。但都没有发生。当他抵达那个豁口时,没有追捕队继续来猎杀他的迹象。他不可能知道,那些克劳人已经报告说所有的蓝军战士都已经死于那场奇特的雪灾,而且他们的猎物也肯定已经死了。 [386]

他又找到了下山进入莱克福克溪并从对岸上去的那条土路。当他走过银径高原时,太阳升得更高了,直至升上了地平线整整30度。他开始感到了温暖。 [387]

他穿越松林下行,直至阔叶树的出现。在那里,他停下来扎下了他的第一个营地。这时候是中午。他用一些细嫩的树枝和从他的鞍袋里取出的一段麻线,制成了一只兔子陷阱。一个小时后,一只从洞穴中出来的未起疑心的野兔被逮住了。他杀了它,剥了它的皮,用他的那只火绒盒和发火石生起一堆火,津津有味地品尝着这顿野味烧烤。 [388]

他在森林边的营地里过了一个星期,由此恢复了体力。鲜肉很丰富,他还可从无数条溪流里抓到鲑鱼,而且水是他所需要喝的全部饮料。 [389]

到那个星期结束时,他决定他要走出山地去平原,昼伏夜行,回到普赖尔岭,在那里他可以搭起一座木屋并建起一个家。然后他可以询问那些夏延人去了哪里,并等待轻风获得自由。毫无疑问,这事是会发生的,因为已经这么说过了。 [390] [391]

第八个晚上,他挂上马鞍离开了那片森林。星光下他朝北行进。这是一个满月的夜晚,大地沐浴在一片淡白色的亮光之中。经过第一个夜晚的行走,白天他扎营于一条干涸的溪谷旁,那里没人能够看见他。他再也不用点火了,他可以吃在林中烧烤熟了的那些勇肉。 [392]

第二天夜晚,他转向东方,即普赖尔岭横卧着的方向,不久跨过了一条朝两头延伸的狭长的黑色硬石地带。黎明前,他越过了另一条,但此后就没有了。接着他进入了荒野,地面崎岖不平,很难骑行,但适宜躲藏。 [393]

有一次他看到月光下站着一些牛羊,并对那些拓荒移民放任自己的牲畜不管的愚蠢而感到纳闷。克劳人将会享受口福,如果他们能发现它们。 [394]

是他骑马行走的第四个早晨,他看见了那座城堡。他曾在一座小山包上扎营,当太阳升起来时,他看到了西普赖尔山山脚下的那个城堡。他花了一小时时间打量着它,以期发现生活的迹象:风中飘来军号的声音、部队厨房里升起的炊烟。但那里没有那些迹象。太阳升上后,他躲进一片灌木丛中去睡觉了。 [395] [396]

在吃晚餐时,他想好了他要做的事。这里仍然是一片荒野,而且一个人单独行走常常是危险的。显然,那座城堡是新建的。去年秋天时还不在那里。这么说来,军队已经扩大了对克劳人部族土地的管制。一年前,距东方比格霍恩河最近的城堡曾经是史密斯堡,距西北方向博兹曼小径最近的是埃利斯堡。对于后者他是不能去的,那里的人是会认出他的。 [397]

但如果那座新城堡里驻守的不是七团或者不是由吉本将军统帅的部队,那么应该不会有人认识他,而且如果他报出一个假名的话……他为罗斯伯德配上马鞍,决定在夜间悄悄地去侦察一下这座新城堡。 [398]

月光下他抵达了这座城堡。旗杆上没有部队的军旗在飘扬,里面没透出一丝灯光,没有住人的声音。因为安静,他的胆子壮起来了。他骑马到了正门口。门洞上方有两个单词。他认出第一个单词是“城堡”(FORT),因为他以前见到过并知道这个单词的形状。第二个单词他没能回想起来。开始的那个字母由两条竖杠加上中间一条横杠所组成。在高大的左右两扇城门外边有一条铁链和一把挂锁把城门紧紧地锁着。 [399]

他骑在罗斯伯德背上,绕着12英尺高的防卫围墙走了一圈。为什么部队建起一座城堡后又离它而去?它是否遭受过攻击已成一座空城?里面的人都死光了吗?但如果那样的话,为什么挂了那把大铁锁?半夜时,他站到罗斯伯德背上,伸直腰用双手搭上了护墙。几秒钟之后,他已经跳到了城墙下方5英尺、地面上方7英尺的城墙内沿走道上。他去看下面。他可以分辨出那些军官和士兵的营房、军械库和水桶、储物仓库和铁匠铺子。该有的都有,但城堡被遗弃了。 [400] [401]

他轻手轻脚地走下里面的梯级,手里端着来复枪,开始了探查。没错,它是一座新城堡。他可以从接头和大梁上面新鲜的锯痕分辩出来。城防司令官的办公室上着锁,但其他一切似乎全都开放着。那里有一座供战士们居住的平屋,还有另一座供客人使用。他没能找到茅坑,这倒是奇怪的。在远离主门靠在后墙边的是一座小教堂,旁边的主墙里有一扇门,里面用一条木杠把门拴住了。 [402] [403]

他卸去木杠走到外面,沿着护墙走过去把罗斯伯德牵了进来。然后他重新用木杠封住了门。他知道他决无能力孤身守住这座城堡。如果一支武装前来进攻,勇士们能与他一样轻易地翻墙而入。但它可被用作一个临时基地,直至他能够发现高麋的部族去了什么地方。 [404] [405]

白天他去察看了马厩。里面的分隔栏可供20匹马使用,还有所有的马具和饲料以及外面槽内的新鲜的饮用水。他摘下罗斯伯德身上的马鞍,在它吃食燕麦的时候,用一把硬刷子为它上上下下刷了一遍。 [406]

在铁匠铺子里,他找到一罐黄油把他的那支来复枪擦洗了一下,直至金属和木柄又开始闪闪发亮。储物仓库里有猎人使用的捕兽器和毯子。他把毯子放到那间专门供过往客人使用的木屋的那张角落里的床铺上。现在他惟一缺乏的是食物。但在储藏室里,他最终发现了一缸糖果,于是他把糖果充做晚餐了。 [407]

第一个星期似乎快要过去了。每天上午他骑马出去捕兽打猎,下午他把那些捕获的动物皮晾干以便将来出售。他有了他所需要的所有新鲜的肉,而且他知道荒野里的几种植物的叶子用来熬汤营养很好。 [408]

他在储存库里找到一块肥皂,并在附近的溪流里赤裸着身体洗澡。那里的溪水虽然很冷,但洗过后使人感到很舒服。那里还有

在厨房里他找到了碗和锡盘子。他搬来干燥的越冬柴禾,忙着在生火烧水剃胡子。

他从唐纳森的木屋里拿来的其中一件物品是他那把老旧而锋利的剃刀,他一直把它保存在一只细细的铁皮盒子里。有了热水和肥皂,他对于剃须之容易而大为吃惊。

在荒原里或与部队在一起行军时,他曾经不得已地在没有肥皂的情况下用冷水刮胡须。 罗斯伯德可以吃到的新鲜的青草。 [409]

春天已转为初夏了,但仍然没人到来。他开始纳闷,他不知道该到哪里去询问那些夏延人已经去了何处以及他们已经把轻风带到了何处。只是在问清楚了以后,他才能去追寻。但他不敢骑马东行去史密斯堡和朝西北去埃利斯堡,那里,他肯定会被认出来。如果他获悉部队仍要绞死他,他将使用唐纳森这个名字,并希望由此能不知不觉地通过那里。

[410]

第五章

他在这座城堡里生活了一个月之后,客人们来了,但他外出去山里设陷阱捕兽了。他们共有8个人,是坐两辆长长的铁管车辆来的,车下滚动着几只黑乎乎的中间是银色的轱辘,但不是用马拉的。 [411]

其中一个人是他们的导游,其余7个人是他的客人。那导游是在博兹曼的蒙大拿大学西部历史系主任约翰·英格尔斯教授。他的主要客人是那位州参议员,是远道从华盛顿赶过来的。还有3位来自于赫勒纳的众议员和3位教育部的官员。英格尔斯教授打开那把挂锁,于是团队步行进去了,一边好奇地、饶有兴致地打量着四周。 [412] [413]

“参议员、先生们,欢迎你们来赫里蒂奇堡。”教授说。他展现出欢快的笑容。

他是一位喜欢说幽默话的人,并热衷于自己据以为生的专业。他的工作是他毕生的爱好,是对古老的西部及其详细历史的研究。他着迷于关于旧时候蒙大拿、平原上的战争和曾在这里交战、狩猎过的土著美洲人的知识。赫里蒂奇堡是他精心关爱了10年并在委员会会议上吹嘘了100次的一个梦想。 [414] [415]

“这座城堡和集贸市场是一个仿真的复制品,仿照当年不朽的卡斯特将军应该所处的这么一个地方,逼真到了最后的一些细节。我已经亲自监管了每一个细节情况,可以为它们做出证明。”

在他领着团队参观周围的木屋和设施时,他解释了这个项目是如何在他向蒙大拿历史学会和文化基金会申请之后才立项的;资金是如何由基金会控制的在得克萨斯煤炭的闲置基金里找到并经多次说服后落实的。 [416]

他告诉他们,设计时做到了尽善尽美,使用的是应该采用的当地森林里出产的木材,而且根据他追求完美的原则,甚至那些钉子也是原先的类型,铁螺丝是禁用的。 [417]

他的热情感染了他的客人们。他告诉他们:“赫里蒂奇堡将不但为蒙大拿,而且我希望将为周边各州的儿童和年轻人提供一个具有深远意义的教育基地。旅游大客车的团队已经预订到了远及怀俄明和南达科他。 [418] [419]

“在克劳人保留地的边缘,我们在墙外有20英亩的围场可供马匹使用,而且我们会及时备妥干草以便喂养它们。专家们将以那种过时的方式用长柄大镰刀去割草。

游客们将会看到100年之前边疆居民们的生活是怎么样的。我向你们做出保证,这在整个美国是独一无二的。“

“我喜欢这个,我很喜欢这个,”参议员说。“那么,你将如何配备人员?”

“那是无上的光荣,参议员。这不是一座博物馆,而是1870年代的一座功能齐全、可以使用的城堡。该项基金包括了最多雇用60名年轻人,他们将在整个夏天、全年的全国性主要节日和学校的所有假期时在这里工作。员工主要是年轻人,而且是从蒙大拿各大城市的戏剧学校里抽出来的。那些想在暑假里打工并同时完成一项有意义工作的学生们对它的反应相当不错。 [420]

“我们有60名志愿者。我自己将是骑兵二团的英格尔斯少校,统帅这个据点。我将拥有1名中士、1名下士和8名骑兵。所有的学生都会骑马。马匹是由一些友好的农场主出借的。 [421]

“然后还将有一些年轻的妇女,扮做炊事员和洗衣工。服装的式样与那时候一模一样。其他学戏剧的学生将扮演来自于山区的设陷阱捕兽者、来自于平原的侦察兵、西行要去跨越洛基山脉的移民。 [422]

“一位真正的铁匠已经同意加入我们的行列,所以游客们能够看到马匹被钉上新的铁掌。我将主持在那座小教堂里的仪式,我们将会唱那时候的赞美诗。姑娘们当然会有她们自己的寝室,还将会有一位小组指导员,也就是我的系里的助教——夏洛特·贝文女士。战士们将拥有一座宿舍,平民们有另一座。我向你们保证,任何细节都已经考虑到了。”

“肯定还有一些现代的年轻人不会做的某些事情。关于个人卫生、新鲜水果和蔬菜是怎么安排的?”来自赫勒纳的一位众议员说。 [423]

“绝对正确,”教授绽出了笑容。“实际上有三处技术处理。在兵营里我不会有装上了子弹的火器。所有手枪和来复枪都将是复制品,除了少数几件只能在监管之下放空枪的以外。 [424]

“至于卫生,你们看见那边的军械库吗?那里有存放斯普林菲尔德步枪的架子,但在一堵假墙后面有一间真正的浴室,配有出热水的自来水、厕所、水龙头、台盆和淋浴装置。还有那只大木桶是盛放雨水的吗?我们在地下铺有自来水管。大木桶后面有个秘密进口。里面有一只燃气冰箱,用来放置牛排、猪肉、蔬菜和水果。瓶装煤气。但就这些。没有电。只有蜡烛和油灯。”

他们正在那座旅客宿舍的门边。其中一位官员朝里面窥视了一下。 [425] [426] [427]

“好像你们有一个抢占住房的人。”他评价说。他们全都盯视着角落里那张铺着毯子的行军床。然后他们发现了其他痕迹。马厩里的马粪,火堆里的炭。那位参议员哈哈大笑起来。 [428]

“你的一些游客似乎等不住了,”他说。“也许你有一位真正的边防战士住在这里。”

听到这话他们全都笑了起来。 [429]

“说真的,教授,这是一件了不起的工作。我肯定我们全都同意。向你表示祝贺。这是我们州里的一张名片。”

他们随即离开了。教授转身锁上了正门,仍对于那张床铺和马粪感到迷惑不解。

两辆车沿着土路驶向那条狭长的黑石地带,即310号公路,然后朝北向着比林斯和机场疾驶而去。 [430] [431]

两个小时以后,本·克雷格从设陷阱捕兽的地方返回来了。他的孤身独居状态遭破坏的第一条线索,是小教堂旁边主墙上的那扇门被从里面插上了木杠。他知道他曾经把门关上并插入了木楔。插木杠的人不管是谁,要么已从主门离去,要么仍滞留在城堡里。 [432]

他查验了那两扇高大的主门,但它们仍上着锁。外面有一些奇怪的痕迹,是他所不明白的,似乎是由马车轮子留下的,但显得更宽,还显示出锯齿形的花纹。 [433]

他登上墙头,手里提着来复枪,但经过一个小时的检查后他满意了。里面一个人也没有。他卸下门上的木杠,把罗斯伯德牵进来,看着它在马厩里安顿下来并开始吃草后,又去检查了在阅兵场上的那些脚印。那里有鞋印和靴印,还有更多的锯齿形印迹,但没有蹄印。而且大门外也没有鞋印。这倒是很奇怪。 [434] [435]

两星期后,城堡居民工作小组抵达了。克雷格又一次外出在普赖尔山脚下设置捕兽陷阱。 [436]

人员浩浩荡荡。共来了3辆大客车、4辆轿车以及20匹马,后面拖着高大的银色马车。当客货全都卸下后,汽车开走了。 [437]

这些工作人员在比林斯出发前就已经换上了适合他们各自的服装。每个人都有一只装有其替换衣服和个人用品的背包。教授已经检查了每一件物品,并坚持不得带来任何“现代化”的东西。任何电器或电池驱动的物品都是不允许的。有些人实在难以与他们的晶体管收音机分手,但合伺的规定必须遵守。甚至连叨世纪出版的图书也是不允许的。英格尔斯教授坚持认为整整一个世纪的彻底变换至关重要,无论是从完全正常的角度还是从心理学的角度来说。 [438] [439]

“过上一段时间你们将会相信你们就是你们现在的角色,是生活在蒙大拿历史上最关键时期的边民。” [440]

几个小时之内,那些戏剧系学生们越来越欣喜地探索起他们周围的环境来。他们不但想在暑假里志愿参加一份在餐桌边侍候食客的工作,而且想从事一份对他们以后的生涯有所帮助的具有教育意义的工作。 [441]

骑兵们把他们的马匹牵到马厩里去,并在营房里安顿下他们的住所。两张美女照片,是属于拉克韦尔·韦尔什和乌尔苏拉·安德烈斯的,钉在了墙头上,但立即被没收了。城堡里洋溢着欢快友善的幽默玩笑和不断增长的激动感。 [442]

来自遥远的东部的那些平民工人、小商贩、钉马蹄铁的铁匠、厨工、侦察员和移民,占据了第二座大营房。8位姑娘由贝文小姐把她们安排到了女宿舍。两辆由白帆布作篷的四轮大马车,由雄壮高大的马匹拖曳着抵达了,并停在了主门的附近。

它们将吸引未来游客的注意力。 [443] [444]

当本·克雷格在半英里之外勒住罗斯伯德的缰绳并警觉地审视着城堡时,已是下午三四点钟光景了。大门洞开着。根据那段距离,他能够分辨出停在门内的两辆有篷的四轮大马车和在阅兵场上穿来穿去的人流。星条旗在大门上方的旗杆上迎风飘扬。他分辨出两名蓝军战士。几个星期以来,他一直等待着能向人打听那些夏延人去了何方或被带去了何方,但现在他有点不敢去打听了。 [445] [446] [447]

经过半个小时的思量,他骑马前行。在两名士兵正要关门时,他穿过门洞进入了城堡。他们好奇地看看他,但没有说话。他跳下马,开始把罗斯伯德牵向马厩。

半路上他被拦住了。 [448]

夏洛特·贝文小姐是个好心人,善良而热情,做事认真而仔细。她长得金发碧眼,鼻子上有几颗雀斑,经常挂着满嘴的笑容。现在她朝本·克雷格绽出了微笑。 [449]

“喂,你好。”

天太热已经戴不住帽子了,所以这位侦察兵无法脱帽致意,只能点点头。 [450]

“小姐。”

“你是我们团队里的一名成员吗?”

作为教授的助手和一名研究生,她从一开始就参与了这个项目,还参加过无数次的面试以确定最后的人选。但这个年轻人是她所从来没有见过的。 [451]

“我想是吧,小姐。”那陌生人说。 [452]

“你的意思是,你喜欢加入?”

“我想是的。”

“哦,这有点反常,你不是我们的工作人员。但现在天色晚了,不宜在外面牧地上过夜。我们可为你提供今晚住宿的床铺。你把马牵到马厩去,我去与英格尔斯少校谈谈。请你在半小时后去司令官办公室好吗?”

她穿过阅兵场走到司令官办公室在门上敲了敲。那位教授穿着骑兵二团一名少校的全身戎装,正坐在办公桌后埋头处理公文。 [453]

“坐下,夏洛特。那些年轻人全都安顿下来了吗?”他问道。 [454]

“是的,而且我们额外增加了一位、”

“什么?”

“一位骑马的年轻人。约二十三四岁。突然间从牧地上骑马进来了。看起来像是一名迟到的当地志愿者,想加入我们的队伍。”

“我不能肯定我们可接纳更多的人。我们有编制名额。”

“哦,公平地说,他已经带来了他自己的所有装备。马、鹿皮装、外衣和马鞍。甚至还在他身后的马鞍上缚着一张卷起来的动物毛皮。他显然很能干。“

“他现在在哪里?”

“在马厩里。我已经告诉他让他半小时内来这里报到。我认为你也许至少想见他一面。”

“噢,很好。”

克雷格没有手表,所以他是根据落日来判断时间的,但他的准确度在5分钟之内。当他前来敲门时,他得到了一声进来的回答。约翰·英格尔斯已经扣好了他的军服纽扣,正坐在写字台后面。夏洛特·贝文小姐站在一边。 [455] [456] [457]

“你要见我是吗,少校?”

教授立即被眼前这个年轻人的正宗打扮所吸引住了。他手里抓着一顶圆形狐皮帽。一张栗棕色的开朗而诚恳的脸上,配着一双沉静的蓝眼睛。已经好几个星期没有修剪的栗色头发,被用一条皮带在脑后束成了一条马尾巴,旁边还插着一支单一的山鹰羽毛。那件鹿皮装甚至还有手工缝制的歪歪扭扭的针脚,是他以前所见到过的那种真品。 [458] [459]

“哦,这个,小伙子,这位夏洛特告诉我,你想加入我们的队伍,相处一阵子?”

“是的,少校,我很愿意。”

教授做出了一项决定。该项目的操作基金留有一些余地,以备偶尔的“应急”使用。他判定这个年轻人的加入就是一次应急情况。他把一张长长的表格移到他面前,并拿起一支钢笔插到了墨水盒里。 [460]

“好吧,让我们了解一些详情。姓名?”

克雷格犹豫了。到目前为止,还没有被认出的一丝迹象,但他的名字也许会使人们回想起来。可这位少校长得身材丰满,脸色有点苍白。他看上去好像是刚刚来到边疆。也许在东部地区没有提起过头一年夏天所发生的那些事件。 [461]

“克雷格,先生。我叫本·克雷格。”

他等待着。没有迹象表明这个名字意味着什么。那胖乎乎的手工整地写下了:本杰明·克雷格。 [462] [463]

“住址?”

“什么?”

“你住在哪里,小伙子?你从哪里来?”

“外面那里,先生。”

“外面那里是牧地,然后是荒野。”

“是的,先生。在山区里出生并长大,少校。”

“天哪。”教授曾听说过有些人家居住在荒山野岭的油毛毡棚屋里,但那通常是在洛基山脉的森林中,在犹他州、怀俄明州和爱达荷州。他仔细地写下了“无固定住所”。 [464]

“父母名字?”

“都死了,先生。”

“哦,对不起。”

“是在15年前过世的。”

“那么是谁把你抚养长大的?”

“是唐纳森先生,少校。”

“哦,那么他居住在……”

“也死了。一只熊咬死了他。”

教授放下了钢笔。他没有听说过遭到一头熊攻击时会有如此厄运,虽然有些游客在处理他们的野餐垃圾时有可能会漫不经心。这是关于了解荒野的另一个问题。

不管怎么说,这位长相英俊的年轻人显然是没有家庭的。 [465]

“没有亲属吗?”

“什么?”

“如果你发生了……任何事情,我们应该与谁联系?”

“没人,先生。没人可去告诉的。”

“我明白了。出生日期?”

“52年。我想,是12月底吧。”

“那么,你快要25岁了?”

“是的,先生?”

“好。社会保险号码?”

克雷格瞪起了眼睛。教授叹了一口气。

“唉,你确实像是一条漏网之鱼。很好。在这里签字。”

他把表格转过去,推向书桌对面,并提供了那支钢笔。克雷格接过来。他看不懂“申请人签名”这几个字,但那个格子相当清楚。他弯腰作上了他自己的记号。

教授取回这张纸,不可置信地凝视着。 [466] [467] [468]

“我说小伙子呀小伙子……”他把表格转了一个方向以使夏洛特能够看清。她看着格子里的那个酿着墨水的十字架。 [469]

“夏洛特,作为一名教育工作者我认为今年夏天你有了一项小小的额外任务。”

她绽露出满面的笑容。 [470]

“是的,少校,我想我会承担的。”

她今年35岁,曾结过一次婚,后来分道扬镳,且从未有过孩子。她认为这个来自于荒野上的年轻人就像是一个小弟弟,天真无邪,容易受伤。他将需要她的保护。 [471]

“好,”英格尔斯教授说,“本,去安顿下来,如果你现在还没安顿好的话,然后与我们一起在搁板桌上吃晚饭。”

晚餐菜肴很好,这位侦察兵心里想,而且很丰富。饭菜是盛在搪瓷盘里端上来的。他用他那把猎刀、二把匙子和一块面包作餐具帮助吃晚饭。桌子周围有一阵窃窃暗笑,但他没有注意到。 [472]

与他同住一个房间的那些年轻人很友好。他们好像是来自于他所没有听说过的城镇,而似乎以后还要返回东部。但这一天已经是够累的了,而且除了蜡烛,没有电灯可供看书阅读,所以他们很快吹熄蜡烛,然后就睡着了。 [473] [474]

本·克雷格从来没对他的同伴表示过好奇,但他注意到他周围的这些年轻人在许多方面都很怪异。他们应该是侦察兵、驯马人和设陷阱捕兽者,可是似乎对这些技能知之甚少。但他回想起由卡斯特统领的那些新兵,他们对马匹、枪械和西部大平原印第安人的知识也是少得可怜。他猜测在他与夏延人一起生活和孤身独居的这一年里,事情没有发生多大的变化。 [475]

在旅游团队到来之前,根据日程有两个星期的时间用于安顿和排练。在这段时间专门安排把这座城堡料理得井井有条,日常事务训练和听英格尔斯少校讲课,这些活动主要在露天进行。 [476]

克雷格对这些安排一无所知,他又准备外出打猎了。当他穿越阅兵场向每天都敞开着的主门走去时,一个叫布雷德的年轻的牧马人喊住了他。 [477]

“你那里面放着什么家伙,本?”他指向马鞍前方挂在克雷格左膝前面的那只羊皮套筒。 [478]

“来复枪。”克雷格说。 [479]

“能让我看看吗?我正在熟悉枪械。”

克雷格从套筒里取出他那支夏普斯来复枪,把它递到了马下。布雷德欣喜若狂。 [480] [481]

“哇,真漂亮。一件真正的古董。是什么牌号?”

“夏普斯52。”

“真是难以置信。我原先不知道他们还做成了这种复制品。”

布雷德用这支来复枪瞄准主门上方框架内的那口钟。在发现或报告敌情时,这只钟将会被敲响,由此通知在外面劳作的人们快快返回。然后他扣动了扳机。 [482]

他正要说“砰”时,夏普斯52替他说了出来。然后他被反冲力击倒在地。假如那颗重磅子弹击中了那口钟的话,它是能把它击碎的。实际上子弹打飞了,呼啸着射上了天空。但那只钟还是发出了一声鸣响。这使得城堡里的一切活动都停顿下来了。教授跌跌撞撞地走出了他的办公室。 [483] [484]

“到底怎么回事?”他叫道,然后看见布雷德坐在地上,手里抓着那支重型来复枪。“布雷德,你在干什么呀?”

布雷德站起来作了解释。英格尔斯遗憾地看着克雷格。 [485]

“本,也许我忘了告诉你,但这个基地里有不准携带火器的规定。我不得不把这支枪锁进军械库里。”

“不用枪支,少校?”

“不用枪支。至少不用真枪。”

“那么苏人呢?”

苏人?据我所知,他们在南、北达科他的保留地里。”

“但是少校,他们也许会返回来。”

教授认为这是一句幽默话。他宽容地露出了笑脸。 [486]

“当然,他们也许会返回来。但不会是今年夏天,我认为。在他们到来之前,这把家伙必须放进军械库里去。”

第四天是一个星期天,全体员工在那座小教堂里参加宗教仪式。由于没有牧师,所以英格尔斯少校做了主持。在仪式进行到一半时,他走到讲台上准备读经。那本大部头的《圣经》已经翻开在夹着书笺的那一页。 [487]

“我们今天的经文是‘以赛亚书’第11章,从第6句诗开始。这里是先知处理时间,当上帝的和平将降临到我们万民的大地上时。 [488]

“‘豺狼必与绵羊羔同居,豹子与山羊羔同卧,少壮狮子与牛犊并肥畜同群;小孩子要牵引它们。 [489]

“‘牛必与熊同食,牛犊必与小熊同卧,狮子……”’这时候他翻过了这一页,但两张糯米纸粘在了一起,于是他停了下来,因为这段经文并无意义。当他正在不知所措时,在他前面第三排中间一个年轻的声音唱响了。 [490]

“‘狮子必吃草与牛一样。吃奶的孩子必玩耍在蛇的洞口,断奶的婴儿必按手在毒蛇的穴上。在我圣山的遍处,这一切都不伤人、不害物,因为认识耶和华的知识要充满遍地,好像水充满海洋一般。”’小教堂内一片寂静,因为众人都张嘴结舌地盯视着这个身穿肮脏的鹿皮装、后脑勺上插着一支摇摇晃晃的鹰毛的身影。约翰·英格尔斯找到了剩余的那段经文。 [491]

“对,非常准确。第一课到此结束。”

“我真的不明白那个年轻人,”午饭后他在办公室里对夏洛特说。“他不能读书写字,却能背诵儿童时代学过的一段段《圣经》经文。你说这个人怪不怪?”

“别担心,我认为我已经猜想出来了,”她说。“他确实是由选择在荒原里独居的一对夫妇所生的一个孩子。当他们去世时,他确实被领养了,非正式地而且很可能是非法地,被一个孤身男人,年纪很老,被当做那位老人的儿子抚养长大。所以他确实没有接受过正规的教育。但他对三件事情具有渊博的知识:他母亲曾教过他的《圣经》、这片最后余留的荒原生活以及关于古老的西部历史。”

“他是从哪里学来的?”

“假定是从那位老人那里。毕竟,如果一个人在80岁高龄时死去,在仅仅3年之前,那么他应该是在上个世纪末出生的。那时候,这里周围的生活条件是很艰苦的。他肯定对那个男孩讲述过他所回忆起来的或者是从幸存者那里听说来的关于边民拓荒的故事。”

“那么这个年轻人为什么能把角色扮演得这么好?他会不会是个危险人物?”

“不会,”夏洛特说,“根本不会。他只是很着迷。他相信他有权可随意去打猎和设陷阱捕兽,如同那时候人们曾经做过的那样。”

“角色扮演?”

“是的,当时的角色,难道我们不是全都这么扮演的吗?”

教授哈哈大笑起来,还用手拍了一下大腿。 [492]

“当然,那正是我们现在全都在做的。他只是扮演得惟妙惟肖。”

她站起身来。 [493]

“因为他这么相信了。是最佳演员。你把他交给我吧。我会使他不致对他人造成伤害。顺便说一下,有两位姑娘已经在朝他翻白眼了。”

在营房里,本·克雷格仍在感到奇怪。他的同伴们在上床脱衣时,脱得只剩下一条短裤,而他宁愿穿着那条通常的长及脚踝的白色内裤睡觉。一星期之后这成了一个问题,有几位年轻人去与夏洛特说了。 [494]

在分派完拖木头的工作之后,她找到了克雷格,他正挥舞着一把长柄斧把松木劈成小块以供厨房烧火之用。 [495]

“本,我可以问你一件事吗?”

“当然可以,小姐。”

“叫我夏洛特吧。”

“好的,夏洛特,小姐。”

“本,你曾经洗过澡吗?”

“洗澡?”

“喏,就是脱光衣服擦洗身体,洗涤全身,不光是洗手和洗脸?”

“那当然了,小姐。很正常的。”

“嗯,这么说就对了,本。你上次洗澡是什么时候?”

他想了想。老唐纳森曾教育他定期洗澡是必要的,但是无须沉湎于在冰雪刚刚融化的溪水之中。 [496]

“哦,最近的一次是上个月。”

“这正是我所怀疑的。你认为你能再次洗澡吗?现在?”

10分钟后,她发现他正从马厩里牵出罗斯伯德,挂上了全套马具。 [497]

“你去哪里,本?”

“去洗澡,夏洛特,小姐。按你的吩咐。”

“可是去哪里洗?”

“去溪水里。还有其他地方吗?”

他曾经每天漫游到外面的草地里去方便。他在马槽里洗脸和洗手。他的牙齿是用折断的柳枝刮抹的,能保持一个小时的白净,但他可以边骑行边反复刮抹。 [498]

“把马拴起来,然后跟我走。”

她把他引到军械库,用拴在她皮带上的一把钥匙打开锁,把他带进去了。走过用铁链拴住的那些斯普林菲尔德步枪的架子后,那里有一道后墙。她在墙上的节孔里找到一只压力操作旋钮,啪地一声打开了那扇暗门。里面的房间里装有台盆和浴缸。 [499]

克雷格曾见到过热水浴缸,他在埃利斯堡的两年时间里,但那都是木桶。现在这些全是铸铁搪瓷做的。他知道要把浴缸注满,需从厨房里提来一桶桶热水,但夏洛特在一端转了一下一只奇怪的旋钮,于是冒着蒸气的热水就哗哗响着流了出来。 [500]

“本,我过两分钟回来,我要求在门外发现你脱下的全身衣裤,除了那件需干洗的鹿皮装。 [501]

“然后我要你带上刷子和肥皂跳进去擦洗身体。全身清洗。然后我要求你拿上这个并用它洗头发。”

她递给他一瓶散发着松芽香味的绿色液体。 [502]

“最后,我要你穿上在那边的架子上找到的内衣裤和衬衫。穿好衣服后出来。好吗?“


他按吩咐去做了。他以前从未在浴缸里洗过澡,发现感觉很好,虽然他手忙脚乱不知道如何关水,以至洗浴水溢出来后差不多流了一地。洗完身体后,他用香波洗发,水成了暗绿色。他在浴缸底部找到塞子,看水渐渐流完。 [503] [504]

他从房间角落的架子上挑选了棉布短裤、一件白色T恤和一件暖和的格子衬衣,穿上后,把那支羽毛插进后面的发束里,并走了出来。她正等待着他。阳光下有一把椅子。她拿着一把剪刀和一把梳。 [505]

“我不是专家,但修一下总比不修要好,”她说。“坐下。”

她修剪了他那栗色的头发,只留下那束插着羽毛的头发未去碰及。 [506]

“这样好看了,”剪完后她说。“你闻上去不错。”

她把椅子放回到军械库里,并锁上了门。指望能得到热情感谢的她,却发现这个侦察兵神情严肃,甚至有点沮丧。 [507] [508]

“夏洛特,小姐,你愿意与我一起散步吗?”

“行,本。有什么想法吧?”

私下里,她对这个机会是高兴的。现在她也许开始理解这个谜一般的奇怪的荒野产物了。他们穿过大门出去,由他引领着越过牧地走向那条溪流。他默默无言,心事重重。她强忍着不去打破这种沉寂。到溪水边有1英里距离,他们走了20分钟。 [509]

牧地上有股青草味。有好几次,那年轻人抬起头来去眺望在南方高耸人云的普赖尔岭。 [510]

“到外面来的感觉很好,可以看看大山。”她说。 [511]

“这是我的家,”他说完又陷入了沉思。当他们走到溪岸时,他在水边坐了下来。她折起她那件棉布长裙的裙摆,面对着他也坐了下来。 [512]

“什么事,本?”

“我能问你一件事吗,小姐?”

“叫我夏洛特。是的,你当然可以问。”

“你不会对我说谎吧?”

“不说谎,本。只说真话。”

“今年是哪一年?”

她吃了一惊。她原先指望是揭露某事,揭露他与团队内其他年轻人之间的某种关系。她凝视着那双宽宽的深沉的蓝眼睛开始纳闷了……她比他大10岁,可是…… [513]

“哦,今年是1977年呀,本。”

假如她指望的是一次态度不明朗的点头,那么她没有得到。这位年轻人把头埋在双膝之间,用双手捂住了脸面。他那穿在鹿皮装之下的双肩开始颤抖。 [514]

她以前只见过一次成年男人的哭泣。那是在从博兹曼至比林斯公路上一堆汽车残骸的旁边。她用膝盖摇摇摆摆地朝前移了几步,把手搭在了他的肩上。 [515]

“什么事,本?今年怎么啦?”

本·克雷格曾感到过恐惧。面对那只北美大灰熊,在小比格霍恩河畔的山坡上,但都没有这次恐怖。 [516]

“我生于,”他最后说,“1852年。”

她没有吃惊。她知道这里有一个问题。她用双臂抱住他,把他抱在她的胸前,抚摸着他的后脑勺。 [517] [518]

她是一位现代的年轻女士,这些事情她在书本里都读到过。西部的一半年轻人被东部神秘的哲理所迷住。她知道所有关于再生和死尸还魂的理论,以及人们对此的各种不同程度的信任。她读到过有些人的记忆错觉,就是他们认为他们在很久以前就已经存在了。 [519]

这是一个问题,是一种幻觉现象,是心理学曾经研究过的和正在研究的课题。

这是可以得到帮助、咨询和治疗的。 [520]

“没事,本,”她轻声说,一边像摇晃一个孩子般地摇晃着他。“没事。一切都会好起来的。只要你能相信就好。与我们一起在这座城堡里度过夏天,我们将像100年前的人们那样生活。到了秋天,你可以和我一起回到博兹曼,我会去找一些人来帮助你。你会好转的,本。相信我。”

她从袖子里抽出一块布手帕擦了擦他的脸,不禁对这个来自于山区的遇到了麻烦的年轻人有了同情感。 [521] [522]

他们一起走回城堡。夏洛特满足于自己身上穿着的现代人的内衣裤,万一皮肤被划破、出现青肿或生病,手头上有现代的药品,而且如果搭直升机去比林斯纪念医院只有几分钟路程,她开始欣赏这件棉布连衣长裙、简单的生活和边疆城堡的日常事务。而且现在她知道她的博士论文肯定能获得通过。 [523] [524]

英格尔斯少校的讲课是全体必须去听的。由于6月下旬的温暖天气,他安排在阅兵场上进行,学生们坐在他面前的一排排长凳上,他自己配妥了黑板架和图片资料。只要是讲述古老的西部的真实历史,他就能讲得头头是道。 [525]

10天之后他讲到了平原战争时期。在他的身后,他已经挂上了大比例的苏人主要首领们的照片。本·克雷格发现自己正凝视着坐牛的一张近距离照片,是在他的后期所拍摄的。这位匈克巴巴部族人的巫医已经去过加拿大避难,但已经回来接受了美国陆军的招安。黑板架上的这张照片是在他被谋杀之前拍摄的。 [526] [527]

“但他们中最奇怪的首领之一是奥格拉拉首领疯马,”教授讲解说。“由于他自己的原因,他从来没有同意过让白人给自己拍照。他相信照相机会带走他的灵魂。

所以,他是其中一个没有留下照片的人。因此,我们将永远无从知道他的长相。“

克雷格张开嘴巴但又闭上了。 [528] [529]

在另一次讲课时,教授详细描述了导致小比格霍恩河畔战役的那场战斗。这是克雷格第一次获悉雷诺少校和他率领的3个连队所发生的事情,以及本蒂恩上尉从荒原里折回在那座遭围困的山头上与他们会师。对于大多数战士被特里将军解救出来他感到由衷的高兴。 [530] [531]

在最后一堂课上,教授叙述了那些分散的苏人夏延人于1877年被赶拢后带回到他们的保留地去了。当约翰·英格尔斯要求学生提问时,克雷格举起了手。 [532]

“说吧,本。”教授对于能解答他的一个从未迈进过学校门槛的学生的提问而感到很高兴。 [533]

“少校,那时候是否提到过一个叫高糜的部族首领,或者一个叫走鹰的勇士?”

教授的脸红了。在系里,他的参考书可装满一辆卡车,而且绝大多数内容都已经印在了他的脑子里。他曾经认为没有~个简单的问题能够难住自己,他在脑海里搜索了一番,不好意思地说:“没有,我相信没人听说过他们,而且平原印第安人中的后来的证人也没有提及过他们。你为什么提这个问题?”

“我听说的是,高糜离开大部族,躲开特里将军的巡逻队,就在那里的普赖尔岭度过了冬天,先生。”

“哦,我可从来没听说过这种事。如果他这么做了,他和他的部落人肯定在春天时被发现了。你必须去莱姆迪尔打听,那里现在是北夏延人的保留地中心。在达尔纳夫纪念学院里也许有人知道。”

本·克雷格记住了这个名字。到秋天时,他会找到去莱姆迪尔的路,不管它在哪里,都会去打听的。

[534] [535]

第六章

第一批游客团队在周末到来了。此后,团队差不多每大都有。他们主要是坐大客车过来的,也有一些人是坐私家小汽车来的。有些团队由老师领队,其他的是家庭组团。但他们都把汽车停在半英里远的视线之外,然后由选篷四轮大马车把他们拉到主门边。这是英格尔斯教授的“逼真气氛”战略的一个部分。 [536]

这方法奏效了。孩子们,他们主要是孩子们,对于坐马车欣喜万分,这对他们来说很新奇,在接近主门的最后200码马车行程时,他们想像着他们是真正的拓荒边疆的移民。他们兴高采烈地纷纷从马车上跳下来。 [537]

克雷格被指派去加工动物毛皮,它们被绷在太阳下的那些架子上晒干。他在毛皮上抹了盐,并刮了一遍,以让它们软化成革。战士们在操练,那位铁匠在他的打铁铺子里拉动着风箱,姑娘们穿着棉布连衣长裙在大木桶里洗衣服,英格尔斯少校在带领团队去一处处参观,一边解释着城堡内各处的每项功能,以及在平原的生活中为什么这些是必要的。 [538]

有两个土著美洲人学生扮演着住在城堡里的友好的印第安人,充当猎人和向导,以备万一移民们在平原上遭到游离保护地的交战派袭击时的紧急状况下去向战士们通风报信。他们身穿棉布长裤、蓝色帆布衬衣、扎着腰带,还在烟筒式帽子下披着长长的假发。 [539]

最吸引人的似乎是那位铁匠和正在摆弄动物皮毛的本·克雷格。 [540]

“是你亲自设陷阱捕捉动物的吗?”来自赫勒纳一所学校的一个男孩问。 [541]

“是的。”

“你有许可证吗?”

“什么?”

“如果你不是一个印第安人,你为什么要在头发里插着一根羽毛?”

“是那些夏延人给我的。”

“为什么?”

“因为打死了一只北美大灰熊。”

“这是一个精彩的故事。”陪同的那位老师说。 [542]

“不,这不是故事,”那个男孩说。“他是一名演员,如同所有其他人那样。”

每当一辆马车载着一群游客抵达,克雷格就会去人群中扫视一头披肩黑发、一次转脸、一双黑色的大眼睛。但她没来。7月转人了8月。 [543]

克雷格请假3天返回到荒野中去。他在黎明前骑马出行。在山区里他发现一片樱桃树,取出他从铁匠铺借来的那把手斧,开始工作了。当他砍削成那把弓架时,他把从城堡里带来的那段两股麻线装上去了,因为他没有动物腿筋。 [544]

那些箭是他从长得笔直的按本幼树砍下来削成的。从一只呆头呆脑的野火鸡屁股上拔下来的羽毛形成了箭翼。在一条溪水边,他发现了火石,由此他对箭头进行了一番敲铲。夏延人苏人都曾使用过火石箭头和铁箭头,射人身体后箭头能深深地嵌人肌肤内。 [545] [546]

对于这两种箭头,平原人恐惧的是火石箭头。铁箭头可顺着箭杆的方向把它的倒钩拔出来,但火石箭头通常会断落,深入肌体,导致一次无麻醉的外科手术。克雷格制成了4支火石箭头。第三天上午,他猎得了一只雄鹿。 [547]

当他骑马返回时,那只动物被横挂在马鞍上,心脏里仍插着那支箭。他把猎到的动物带进厨房,挂起来开膛剖肚、剥皮。切块,最后当着一群瞠目结舌的城堡居民的面,向厨工提供了m磅新鲜的鹿肉。 [548]

“我的烹调不对吗?”厨师问道。 [549]

“没有,很好。我喜欢那种有五颜六色小颗粒的奶酪馅饼。”

“那叫比萨饼。”

“我只是想,我们还可以吃一些野味鲜肉。”

当这位侦察兵在马槽里洗手之时,厨工拿着那支带血的箭快步走向司令官办公室。 [550]

“这是一件精美的手工艺术品,”英格尔斯教授仔细审视着说。“当然,我在博物馆里见过它们。甚至那些划出条沟的火鸡羽毛也可被清楚地辨明是夏延人的杰作。他是在哪里得到它的?”

“他说是他自己制作的。”厨工说。 [551]

“不可能。现在再也没人能这样敲打火石了。”

“嗯,这种箭他有4支,”厨师说,“这一支射中了那只动物的心脏。今晚我可以让大家品尝新鲜的野味了。”

员工们在城堡外面津津有味地享受了一顿鹿肉烧烤。 [552]

隔着火光,教授惊恐地观察着克雷格用他那把极为锋利的猎刀切割着烤熟了的鹿肉,不禁回想起夏洛特对他做出的保证。也许,但他仍然有所怀疑。这个奇异的年轻人会不会变成一个危险人物?他注意到现在已有4位姑娘在努力引起这个未经驯服的小伙子的注意,但他的思绪似乎总是在遥远的地方。 [553]

到8月中旬时,本·克雷格开始感到了沮丧和绝望。他的内心仍在试图相信,无处不在的神灵没有对他说谎,没有出卖他。他所热爱的姑娘是否也遭到了命运的捉弄?在他周围的那些兴高采烈的年轻人谁也不知道他已经做出了一个决定。如果到夏天结束时他还没能找到他曾经顺从那位占卜老人请求的爱情,他将骑马进入山区,靠自己的努力在精神世界里去与她团聚。 [554]

一个星期后,那两辆马车又滚动着驶进了门洞,驾车人勒住了正在冒汗的马匹。

从第一辆马车里,跳下一群叽叽喳喳的激动的孩子们。他把经常在磨石上磨的那把猪刀插进刀鞘,走上前去。其中一位小学女教师正背对着他。她那一头瀑布般的黑发一直垂到了背部的中段。 [555]

她转过身来。是一个日裔美国人,长着一张圆圆的娃娃脸。侦察兵转身大步走开了。他的怒气升上来了。他停住脚步,朝空中举起握紧的拳头发出了尖声叫喊。 [556]

“你骗我了,神灵。你骗我了,老头。你们让我等待,可是你们把我抛进了这个荒野里,成了世人和上帝的弃儿!” [557]

第七章

建筑物之间的阅兵场上的每一个人都停下来凝视着他。在他的前面是其中一个“驯服”的印第安人,正在走开去。这个人也停了下来。 [558]

这张苍老的古铜色的脸,形容枯槁,活像一只火烧过的核桃,与熊牙山的岩石一般古老,两边披着一股股雪白的头发,正从那顶烟筒帽下面盯视着他。在这位占卜者的眼神里,有一种无限悲伤的表情。然后他抬起眼睛,默默地点点头,遥望着侦察兵身后某处。 [559]

克雷格转回身去,没看到什么东西,于是又回头来看。在那顶帽子下,他的朋友布里安·哈维希尔德,两位土著美国演员的其中之一,正凝视着他,似乎他已经发疯了。他回到了大门边。 [560] [561]

第二辆马车已经卸完了游客。一群孩子们围在他们的老师身边。这位女教师穿着一件格子衬衫和一条牛仔裤,头上戴了一顶棒球帽。她弯腰分开两个正在互相拳来脚去的男孩,然后用衬衣袖子去擦她的眉头。帽舌妨碍了她。她索性摘下了那顶棒球帽。一头瀑布般的黑发顿时翻滚着垂落到她的腰际。她感觉到被人盯得有点不好意思,于是朝他转过身来。一张鹅蛋脸,一双乌黑的大眼睛。是轻风。 [562]

他的双脚似乎被钉在了地上,他张口结舌说不出话来。他知道他应该说些话,应该走向她。但他没有说话、没有迈步,只是凝视着。她脸红了,感到很窘迫。赶紧转移视线纠集起学生们开始游览。一个小时后,他们到达了马厩,由夏洛特领路,担任他们的导游。本·克雷格正在饲弄罗斯伯德。他知道他们会来。马厩是一个游览点。 [563]

“这是我们关养马匹的地方,”夏洛特介绍说。“有些是骑兵的战马,其他的属于住在这里或从这里经过的边民。这位本正在照料他的马——罗斯伯特。本是一个猎人、设陷阱捕兽者、侦察兵和山民。”

“我们要看所有的马。”其中一个孩子叫道。 [564]

“好的,宝贝,我们会去看所有的马。请大家不要靠得太近,以防被马蹄踢着。”

夏洛特说。她引领着学生们沿畜栏走去。留下克雷格和那位姑娘在互相对视。 [565]

“对不起,我刚才一直盯着你看,ma‘arn(小姐)。”他说。“我的名字叫本·克雷格。”

“晦,我叫琳达·皮基特。”她伸出手去。他握住了。她的手又小又暖和,是他所记得的。 [566]

“我能问你几句话吗,ma‘?

“你把每一位女士都称为ma‘am吗?”

“好像是的。是人们教我的。这么称呼不好吗?”

“太正式了。像是旧时代的称呼。你要问什么?”

“你记得我吗?”

她皱紧了眉头。 [567]

“恐怕不记得。我们见过面吗?”

“很久以前。”

她哈哈笑了。这是他所追忆起来的回响在高糜棚屋边簧火周围的笑声。 [568]

“那么,我肯定是年纪太小了。在哪里呢?”

“来吧,我指给你看。”

他把这位迷惑不解的姑娘引到了外面。越过木栅栏,南方的远处普赖尔岭群峰耸立。 [569]

“你知道那是什么吗?”

“是熊牙山脉吧?”

“不,熊牙山在更远的西方。那是普赖尔山。我们就是在那里互相认识的。”

“可我从来没去过普赖尔岭。小时候我哥哥常带我去露营,但从来不是去那里。”

他转过身来盯视着这张可爱的脸庞。 [570]

“你现在是学校的老师?”

“嗯,在比林斯。怎么啦?”

“你还会回到这里来吗?”

“我也不知道。按计划,以后还有其他团队要来。也许会指派我陪同。怎么啦?”

“我要你再来这里,我请你。我必须再次见到你。请说你愿意。”

皮基特小姐又脸红了。她太漂亮了,不可能没收到过男孩们递给她的纸条。通常她都会笑着把纸条推到一边,这样既传递了她不为所动的信息,又不致冒犯对方。

这个年轻人很奇怪。他没有奉承,他也没有谄媚。他似乎很严肃、很诚挚、很天真。

她凝视着这双坦率的、钻蓝色的眼睛,不禁心旌摇荡。夏洛特带着孩子们从马厩里出来了。 [571]

“我不知道,”姑娘说。“我会考虑的。”

一小时后,她和她的团队离开了。 [572]

过了一个星期,她又来了。学校里她的一位同事临时不得不照顾躺在病床上的一个亲戚,团队的陪同出现了空缺,于是她自告奋勇陪同前来了。这一天天气很热。

她穿着一件单薄的棉布印花衬衣。 [573]

克雷格已经要求夏洛特为他查阅旅游团队的花名册,寻找来自学校的预订团队。 [574]

“你的眼睛在盯着某个人吧,本?”她调皮地说。她没有感到失望,认为与一位明白事理的姑娘建立恋爱关系对于使他回归现实世界具有极大的帮助。她对他的学习读书写字的速度之快感到由衷的高兴。她已经搞到了两本简易的书供他逐字逐句阅读。秋后,她认为她能帮他在城里找到住所,以及一份商店营业员或饭店服务员那样的工作,而她则可以撰写关于他脱离蛮荒而进入现代文明社会的论文。 [575]

当马车卸下一车学生和老师时,他等在旁边。 [576]

“你跟我走好吗,琳达小姐?”

“跟你走?去哪里丁‘”去外面的牧地上。这样便于我们谈话。“

她表示反对,说孩子们需要她照顾,但她的一位年长的同事朝着她微微一笑,在她耳边轻声说她可以去陪伴她的爱慕者,如果她愿意。她当然愿意。 [577] [578]

他们一起走出城堡,发现了一处树阴下的一堆岩石。他似乎默默无语。 [579]

“你从哪里来,本?”她问道,她觉察到他的害羞,感到很喜欢。他朝远处的那些山峰点点头。 [580]

“你是在那里长大的,在山区?”他又点点头。 [581]

“那么你进过什么学校?”

“没进过学校。”

她试图去想像这种生活。在狩猎和设陷阱捕兽中度过整个少年时代,从未迈进过学校大门……这太奇异了。 [582]

“山里一定很安静。没有交通,没有广播,没有电视。”

他不明白她在说些什么,但猜想她提到的是会发出噪音的东西,不是树叶的飒飒声和鸟儿的鸣叫声。 [583]

“那是自由的声音,”他说。“告诉我,琳达小组,你听说过北夏延人吗?”

她吃了一惊,但对于改变话题而松了一口气。 [584]

“当然了。事实上,我外婆的母亲就是一位夏延妇女。”

他猛地把头转向她,那支山鹰羽毛在热空气中一阵颤动,那双深蓝色的眼睛一眨不眨地盯住她,请求她说下去。 [585]

“请告诉我关于她的事。”

琳达·皮基特回忆起她的外婆曾给她看过一张照片,那是一个枯萎干瘪的皱皮老太婆,是外婆自己的母亲。虽然年代久远,但在这张褪了色的黑白照片中,那双大眼睛、那只精美的鼻子和那副高颊骨表明那位老太太曾经长得很漂亮。她说出了她所知道的事情,在她还是个小女孩时,她那现在已经过世了的外婆告诉过她的事情。 [586]

那位夏延妇女曾经嫁给了一位勇士并生养了一个男婴。但大概在1880年时,一场流行性霍乱横扫那个保留地,夺走了那位勇士和男孩的生命。两年后,一位边疆的传教士娶了这个年轻的寡妇为妻,不顾他的白人同伴们的反对。他是一个瑞典血统的男人,长得身材高大,金发碧眼。他们生了3个女儿。最小的女儿就是皮基特小姐的外婆,生于1890年。

她又与一个白人结婚,生了一个儿子和两个女儿。小女儿生于1925年,名叫玛丽,在她十八九岁时,她来到比林斯找工作,并在新开办的农业银行里当上了一名文员。

在旁边一个柜台里工作的是一个诚挚而又勤勉的出纳员,名叫迈克尔·皮基特。

他们于1945年结婚。琳达的父亲因为眼睛近视没有参军。她有4个哥哥,都是身材高大、金发碧眼的小伙子。她生于1959年,今年18岁。 [587] [588]

“我不知道为什么,可我生下来时就一头黑发和一双黑眼睛,一点也不像我的爸爸妈妈。就这些情况。现在轮到你说说你自己的身世了。”

他对她的要求置之不理。 [589]

“你在右腿上有记号吗?”

“我的胎记?这你是怎么知道的?”

“请让我看看。”

“为什么?这是我的隐私。”

“请吧。”

她犹豫了一会儿,然后拉起她的棉布裙子,露出了一条金棕色的纤纤美腿。记号仍在那里。两只皱巴巴的酒窝,是当年罗斯伯德溪畔边那个骑兵的子弹钻进和穿出的孔洞。她有点愠怒地把裙子放了下来。 [590]

“还有什么呀?”她问道,带着一丝嘲讽。 [591]

“只有一个问题。你知道EInos-est—sc—haa‘e在夏延语中是什么意思吗?”

“天知道呢?”

“它的意思是轻柔说话的风。轻风。我可以叫你轻风吗?”

“我不知道。我想可以吧。如果这样能使你高兴。可是为什么呢?”

“因为这曾经是你的名字。因为我梦见过你。因为我等待过你。因为我爱你。”

她的脸涨得通红,她站起身来。 [592]

“这不行。你根本不了解我,我也不了解你。再说我已经订婚了。”

她走开去加入到她的团队之中,再也不愿与他说话了。 [593] [594]

她又回到了城堡。她经过了激烈的思想斗争,不止一百遍地告诉自己她这么做是疯了,是一个傻瓜,已经糊涂了。但在脑海里,她看到了那双沉静的蓝眼睛紧紧地盯住自己,深信自己应该去告诉这位害相思病的年轻人他们再次见面是没有意义的。至少,这是她认为自己要做的。 [595]

在离开学还有一个礼拜的那个星期天,她在市中心搭上一辆旅游客车到城堡外的停车场下了车。他好像知道她要来。他等在阅兵场上,如同他每天都在等待着的那样,身边的罗斯伯德配上了全套马具。 [596]

他帮着她骑上马,坐在他后面,然后骑出去到了外面的牧地上。罗斯伯德认识去溪边的路。在波光粼粼的溪水边,他们下了马,他向她讲述了在他小时候他的父母就死了,后来一位山民把他认做义子并把他抚养长大。他解释说他没进过学校读书写字,但他学会了辨别荒原里每一种动物的踪迹,每一种鸟的鸣叫和每一种树的形状和特征。 [597] [598]

她解释了她自己的生活与他截然不同,长期受到正统和传统教育,做事考虑周到。她的未婚夫是一个出身于上等巨富家庭的年轻人,能向她提供一个女人所需要的或要求的一切,如同她的母亲所解释过的。所以这事是没有意义的…… [599]

然后他吻了她。她试图推开他,但当他们的嘴唇碰在一起时,她的手臂失去了力气,反而抱住了他的脖子。

他的口腔里没有她的未婚夫所具有的酒味和难闻的雪茄味。他没有抚摸她的身体。她闻到了他身上的气味:鹿皮味、炊烟味和松树味。

慌乱中,她挣脱身子,开始走回城堡。他在后面跟随着,但没有再次碰她。罗斯伯德停止了吃草,也跟着走在后面。 [600]

“留下来与我在一起,轻风。”

“我不能。”

“我们命中注定要在一起。神灵是这么说的,在很久以前。”

“我不能回答。我必须考虑一番。这是疯狂的。我已经订了婚。”

“告诉他他将不得不等待。”

“不可能。”

一辆四轮大马车正离开大门驶向那个在视线范围之外的停车场。她走开去,登上了马车。本·克雷格跨上罗斯伯德跟在了马车的后面。 [601]

在停车场里,乘客们纷纷跳下马车登上了那辆大客车。 [602]

“轻风,”他喊道,“你回来好吗?”

“我不能,我将嫁给别人。”

几位已婚妇女向这个外表粗野的年轻骑手投去了鄙视的目光。这个人显然是在纠缠一位年轻的好姑娘。车门关上了,司机发动了汽车。 [603]

罗斯伯德发出一声惊恐的嘶鸣并抬起前蹄。大客车开动了,在通向沥青公路的那条土路上开始加速。克雷格夹紧罗斯伯德的双肋,骑在马背上去追客车。当汽车加快速度以后,罗斯伯德也由小跑变为快跑。 [604] [605]

这匹母马对身边的那个怪物有点害怕。汽车对着它又是喷气又是怒吼。风速增加了。车厢里的乘客听到了一声叫喊。 [606]

“轻风,跟我一起去山里,做我的妻子。”

司机看了一眼倒车镜,看到那匹马的张开的鼻孔和滴溜溜转动的那双眼睛,进一步踩下了油门。旅游大客车在土路上颠簸着向前猛冲。几位已婚妇女一阵尖叫,一边抱紧了在身边的孩子们。琳达·皮基特从窗边座位站起来,推开了移动车窗玻璃。 [607] [608]

客车稍稍处在那匹狂奔的母马的前方。罗斯伯德已经受到了惊吓,但它没有背叛夹住它两肋和提住它缰绳的主人的意愿。一颗黑黝黝的脑袋从车窗里探了出来。

随着汽车的气流飘来了她的回答。 [609]

“好的,本·克雷格,我愿意。”

骑手勒住马缰,消失在飞飞扬扬的尘土之中。 [610]

第八章

她仔细地写了一封信,不想去触犯他使他发脾气,她以前已经领教过了,而只是遗憾地清楚地表达了她的意思。当她完成了第四稿后,她签上字寄了出去。一星期内石沉大海杳无音信。那次会面,当会面到来之时,是简短的、狂暴的。 [611]

迈克尔·皮基特是他所在社区里的栋梁,是比林斯农业银行的总裁和首席执行官。在珍珠港事件前夕从一名卑微的出纳员开始,他一步一步地升上了经理助理的职位。他的勤奋工作、办事认真和天赋聪明,引起了银行的创始人和业主——一位毕生单身且没有亲属的老先生的注意。 [612]

在退休时,这位老先生主动把他的银行售给了迈克尔·皮基特。他要某一个人继续他的传统。贷款资金筹集了,银行的产权买下了。大部分购置贷款及时偿还了。 [613]

但在60年代后期有了问题:业务过度开发、抵押品赎回权取消以及坏账和死账的增加。皮基特不得不面向公众,通过上市筹措了使银行起死回生的资金。危机度过去了,资金流转恢复了。 [614]

在女儿的信件抵达后一星期,皮基特先生不是被邀请去,而是被召唤去其未婚夫父亲家里会面。是在比林斯西南黄石河畔的那座豪华气派的T吧庄园。他们以前曾见面过,在他们的儿女订婚时,但那是在牛仔俱乐部的餐厅里。 [615]

这位银行家被引进了一间庞大的办公室里,那里铺着抛光的木地板,护壁板豪华昂贵,装饰着各种纪念品,挂有装在镜框里的各种证书和捕获的牛头。坐在那张宽大的书桌后面的那个人没有起身打招呼。他朝对面一把惟一的空椅子做了一下手势。当他的客人坐下后,他一言不发地盯着银行家。皮基特先生感到很狼狈。他认为他知道是什么事。 [616] [617]

那庄园主和大亨故意慢吞吞地,他取出一只大烟斗,点上火,等烧得通畅后把一张惟一的纸从书桌上推了过去。皮基特一看,是他女儿的一封信。 [618]

“对不起,”银行家说。“她已经告诉我了。我知道她写了一封信,但我没看过。”

庄园主俯身向前,举起一根教训人的手指,一双喷火的眼睛嵌在一张活像一块牛肉般的脸上。他的头上总是戴着一顶即使在办公室里也不肯摘去的斯台森草帽。 [619]

“不可以,”他说。“不可以,你明白吗?任何姑娘都不可以这么对待我的儿子。”

银行家耸耸肩。 [620]

“我与你一样感到失望,”他说。“可是现在的年轻人……有时候他们会改变自己的主意。他们都很年轻,也许稍微草率了一点?”

“与她谈谈。告诉她,她已经犯了一个严重的错误。”

“我已经与她谈过了。她母亲也一样。她希望解除她的婚约。”

庄园主仰身靠在了椅背上,打量着房间,心里想着当初他从一个放牛娃到现在发迹他所走过的道路。 [621] [622]

“对我的儿子就不行。”他说。收回那封信后,他把一叠纸从桌面上推了过去。

“你最好看看这些材料。”

威廉·布兰多克人称大比尔,他确实走过了一条漫长的道路。他的祖父从北达科他州俾斯麦来到了西部,他是在那里出生的,尽管是一个私生子,其父亲是一名骑兵,曾在平原战死。这位祖父在一家商店里找到了一份工作,一直做了下去,既没有得到提升,也没被解雇。他的儿子继承了他的卑微的职业,但孙子却在牧场里找到了一份工作。 [623]

那男孩长得高大、强悍,是个天生的暴徒,经常用他的拳头解决问题,而且几乎每次都让他占便宜。但他也很聪明。战后他发现了一项赚钱的行业:冷藏卡车,从饲养菜牛的地方往蒙大拿运送牛肉。 [624] [625]

他自行谋生,从卡车开始,开进屠宰场,直至他控制了从牧场至烧烤的一条龙整个业务。他开创了他自己的品牌:大比尔牛肉,自由放养,汁多味鲜,当地超市有售。当他回过来经营牧场业务这块牛肉供应链的最后一环时,他已经成了一个大老板。 [626]

10年前购买的这座T吧庄园,经重建之后,是黄石河沿岸最为壮观的大厦。他的老婆是一个从不敢大声说话的小女人,几乎难得看见她的身影。她为他生下了一个儿子,名叫凯文,但长得一点也不像父母亲。凯文今年25岁,从小娇生惯养,飞扬跋扈。但大比尔宠爱他的后代;一切都必须满足他的独生儿子。 [627]

迈克尔·皮基特看完这些材料后脸色灰白。 [628]

“我不明白。”他说。 [629]

“嗯,皮基特,这再清楚不过了。我花了一星期时间买下了你在本州内你所拥有的每一件标志物。这意味着现在我拥有了控股权。我拥有了这家银行。这花了我一大笔钱。全是因为你的女儿。她很漂亮,这我承认,但很愚蠢。我不知道也不在意她所遇到的另一个家伙是谁,可你必须告诉她把他甩掉。 [630] [631]

“让她再写一封信给我儿子,承认她所犯下的错误。他们的婚约要恢复。”

“但如果我不能说服她呢?”

“那你就告诉她,她将对你的彻底毁灭负责。我将接管你的银行,我将接管你的住房,我将接管你所拥有的一切。告诉她,你在本县连喝一杯咖啡的钱都将借贷不到。你听见了吗?”

驾车行驶在公路上时,迈克尔·皮基特心情极为沮丧。他知道布兰多克不是在开玩笑。他曾经对阻挡他的人来过这一手。皮基特还被警告说,婚礼必须提前到10月中旬举行,离现在还有一个月时间。 [632] [633]

家庭会议开得很不愉快。皮基特夫人一会儿指责一会儿安慰。琳达是否知道她想干什么?她是否知道她所做出的举措?嫁给凯文布兰多克可使她一举获得其他人工作一辈子还不一定能够全部得到的一切:一座漂亮的房子、宽敞的花园可供孩子们玩耍、最好的学校和社会地位。她怎么可以地去这一切,就为了一个傻乎乎的、没有受过教育的、没有固定工作、只是在暑假期间扮作一名边民和侦察兵的演员? [634] [635]

她的两位在当地的哥哥已被召来参加家庭会议。其中一位兄长提议由他去一趟赫里蒂奇堡,与那个第三者当面谈一谈。两个年轻人都怀疑复仇心切的布兰多克会搞阴谋使他们两人都丢掉饭碗。说话的那位哥哥在州政府机关工作,布兰多克在州府赫勒纳有好些财大气粗、能呼风唤雨的朋友。 [636]

她的心烦意乱的父亲一遍又一遍地擦拭着他的那副厚镜片近视眼镜,脸上痛苦万分。最后是他的痛苦使琳达·皮基特作了让步。她点点头,站起来回到了她自己的房间。这一次,她写了两封信。 [637] [638]

第一封信写给凯文·布兰多克。她承认自己为一个她所遇见的年轻的牧马人而犯下了一个愚蠢的、孩子气的错误,但这已经结束了。她告诉他,她原先那么写信给他是干了一件傻事,并请求他原谅。她希望他们之间的婚约能得以恢复和延续,并期望能在10月底之前成为他的新娘。 [639]

她的第二封信是写给本·克雷格先生的,通过蒙大拿州比格霍恩县赫里蒂奇堡转交。两封信都在第二天寄发了。 [640]

虽然热衷于当时古堡内原汁原味的生活,但英格尔斯教授还是额外同意了两件现代化的设施。尽管电话线没有通到城堡里,但他在办公室里放着一部无线电话,由镍充电电池供电。此外还有邮政服务。 [641] [642]

比林斯邮局已经同意把所有寄给城堡的邮件全都交到城里最大的那家旅游客车公司的办公室里,他们还同意把需递交的邮袋交给下一班出发的司机带过去。4天后,本·克雷格收到了他的信件。 [643]

他试图读信,但遇到了困难。多亏夏洛特的辅导讲课,他已经习惯了大写字母,甚至小写印刷体字母,但是一位年轻小姐龙飞凤舞的手写体使他傻了眼。他带上信件去找夏洛特。女教师看了一遍后遗憾地望着他。 [644]

“对不起,本。这是你喜爱的那位姑娘寄来的。琳达?”

“请读给我听,夏洛特。”

“亲爱的本,”‘她开始读信,“’两星期前,我干下了一件傻事。当你从马背上朝我叫喊、我也从客车上朝你回喊时,我认为我当时说过我们要结婚。回到家后,我才明白我真是太傻了。 [645]

“事实上,我已经与相识几年的一个很好的小伙子订了婚。我发觉我不能随意与他解除婚约。我们预定要在下个月完婚。 [646]

“‘请祝福我将来幸福快乐,我也这么祝愿你。就此吻别,琳达·皮基特。”

‘夏洛特折起那封信并递了回去。本·克雷格遥望着远处的群山,陷入了沉思。夏洛特伸出手去,搭在了他的手上。 [647]

“对不起,本。这事发生了。驶过黑夜的轮船。她显然是一时冲动对你有了好感,我可以理解为什么。但她已经决定继续与她的未婚夫相好。”

克雷格对轮船一无所知。他凝视着群山,然后问道:“谁是她的未婚夫?”

“我不知道。她没有说起。”

‘你能去查明吗?“

“我说,本,你不会去制造任何麻烦吧?”

很久以前,夏洛特曾有两个年轻小伙子同时为了她争风吃醋大打出手。她还感到自己很吃香、很风光。但那时候是那时候。她不想让她的未经驯服的年轻的门徒为了一个姑娘而与人斗殴打架。那姑娘曾来过城堡三次,扰乱了他的容易受伤的感情。 [648] [649]

“不,夏洛特,不是麻烦。只是好奇。”-“你不会骑马走进比林斯去挑起一次打架吧?”

“夏洛特,我只是要求属于我的那一份,在世人和无处不在的神灵的眼中。如同很久以前这么说过的。”

他又在说谜语了,于是她坚持着。 [650]

“但不是琳达·皮基特吧?”

他想了一会儿,口里咀嚼着一根草梗。 [651]

“不,不是琳达·皮基特。”

“你答应了,本?”

“我答应。”

‘我想办法去打听一下。“

在博兹曼的学院里,夏洛特曾有一位朋友,后来当上了一名女记者,在《比林斯快报》社工作。她打电话给她,要求尽快查阅过期的报刊上曾经登载过的有关涉及一个叫琳达·皮基特的年轻小姐的订婚消息。这条消息很快就被查到了。 [652] [653]

4天后,夏洛特收到了装有初夏时一份剪报的那件邮包。迈克尔·皮基特夫妇和威廉·布兰多克夫妇欣喜地宣告他们的女儿琳达和儿子凯文的订婚。夏洛特扬起眉毛吹了一声口哨。怪不得那姑娘不想解除她的婚约。 [654]

“那一定是大比尔·布兰多克的儿子,”她告诉克雷格。“你知道那位牛肉大王吗?”

侦察兵摇摇头。 [655] [656]

“不,”夏洛特遗憾地说,“你只是在追猎你自己。没有证书。嗯,本,那位父亲确实很富有。他住在这里北边的一个大庄园里,靠近黄石河。你知道那条河吗?”

克雷格点点头。他曾经与吉本将军一起踏遍了黄石河南岸的每一英寸土地,从埃利斯堡到与汤格河的交汇处,在罗斯伯德溪的东边远处,并在那里折返了。 [657] [658]

“夏洛特,你能去打听清楚婚礼将在何时举行吗?”

“你还记得你的诺言?”

“我记得。不是为了琳达·皮基特。”

“这就对了。那么你心里有什么打算?一次小小的惊奇?”

“嗯。”

夏洛特又是去打了一个电话。

[659]

第九章

9月结束,10月来临了。天气仍然晴朗温和。气象趋势预报是一个真正的小阳春天气,晴好天气一直可待续至10月底。 [660]

10月10日,那辆旅游大巴士带来了一份《比格斯快报》。由于学校早已开学,旅游团队正在大量减少。 [661]

在她朋友带来的那份报纸上,夏洛特发现了由社会栏那位专栏记者所采写的一篇专题报道。她读给克雷格听。 [662]

那位专栏记者以使人喘不过气来的手笔描述了凯文·布兰多克和琳达·皮基特的即将到来的结婚典礼。婚礼将于10月20日在劳雷尔城南方的雄伟壮观的T吧庄园举行。由于天气的持续晴好,婚礼仪式将安排在下午2点钟在庄园里巨大的草坪上进行,届时将邀请1000名客人,包括蒙大拿州的社会名流和工商界精英。她一口气读完了这篇新闻。本·克雷格点点头并记住了。 [663]

第二天,约翰·英格尔斯教授召集全体员工在阅兵场上讲话。他说,赫里蒂奇堡的夏季仿古演出将在10月21日结束。这次活动已经获得了很大的成功,全州各地的教育工作者和议员纷纷发来了贺信。 [664]

“在结束前的4天里将有许多艰苦的工作要做,”英格尔斯教授告诉他的年轻的员工。“薪水将会在前一天支付。我们必须把所有设施打扫清理,在离开之前放置妥当以备度过严酷的冬天。”

会后,夏洛特把本·克雷格拉到一边。 [665]

“本,这里的活动已经接近尾声,”她说。“当事情结束后,我们全都可以回去穿上我们正常的服装。哦,我猜想那是你的正常的服装。嗯,你会收到一叠美元。

我们可以去比林斯,为你购置一些跑鞋、牛仔裤、运动衣和两件过冬的保暖装。 [666]

“然后我要你跟我一起回到博兹曼。我会为你找到很好的住所,然后把你介绍给一些能够帮助你的人。”

“很好,夏洛特。”他说。 [667]

那天晚上,他敲响了教授的房门。约翰·英格尔斯正坐在他的办公桌后面。一只柴灶在角落里燃起一堆火焰,驱走了晚间的寒意。教授热情欢迎了他这位身穿鹿皮装的客人。他对这个年轻人印象颇深,这个人具有西部荒原和旧时边疆的知识。

有他的知识和一张大学文凭,教授可为他在校园里找到一份差使。 [668]

“本,小伙子,有事吗?”

他期望着能给这个年轻人的将来生活一些慈父般的忠告。 [669]

“你有地图吗,少校?”

“地图?我的天哪。有,我想我应该有的。你要哪个地区的?”

“这里的城堡,还有往北至黄石河,先生。”

“好主意。通过地图总是可以知道自己的所在位置,还有周边地区。喏,这一张。”

他把那张地图摊放在书桌上并开始解释。克雷格以前曾见过作战地图,但图上大部分是空白的,除了由几个设陷阱捕兽者和侦察兵所作的标记之外。这张地图上布满了各种线条和圆圈。 [670]

“这就是我们的城堡,在西普赖尔山脉的北边,朝北是黄石河,朝南是普赖尔岭。这里是比林斯,还有这里是我过来的地方——博兹曼。”

克雷格的手指移动在相隔100英里距离的这两个城镇之间。 [671]

“博兹曼小径?”他问道。 [672]

“没错,但那是过去的叫法。现在当然是一条沥青公路。”

克雷格不知道沥青公路是什么,但他认为也许就是他在月光下曾经见过的那条狭长的黑色岩石地带。在这张大比例地图上标有几十个小城镇,而且在黄石河南岸与克拉克溪汇合处有一个叫T吧庄园的房地产。他估计它应该在从城堡往正北方向的偏西处,越过乡野约有20英里。他谢过少校后递回了地图。 [673] [674]

10月19日晚上,本·克雷格吃过晚饭后就早早上床了。没人感到奇怪。这一天所有的年轻人们都在打扫卫生,为金属器件上油以抵御冬天的霜雪,把工具放进木屋里以待来年春天使用。平房里的其他人在10点钟左右就寝了并很快就进入了梦乡。

没人注意到他们的同伴在毯子下面是和衣而卧的。 [675]

他在半夜时起床,戴上他那顶狐皮帽,折起两条毯子,无声无息地离开了。没人看见他走向马厩,闪身进去,并开始为罗斯伯德装备马具。他已经确保为它配备了双份燕麦口粮以增加它所需要的额外力气。 [676]

当它备妥鞍具后,他让它留在那里,自己闪身进入那间铁匠铺,取到了他在头天晚上就已经注意到了的那几件物品:一把放在皮套里的手斧、一条铁棒和一把铁剪。 [677]

那条铁棒撬落了军械库门上的那把挂锁,进入里面后,铁剪子很快剪断了拴住那些步枪的铁链。它们全是复制品,只有一支是真枪。他取回他那支夏普斯52型来复枪后就离开了。 [678]

他引着罗斯伯德走向小教堂旁边的那扇后门,卸下插门的木杠走了出去。他的两条毯子塞在马鞍下面,那件野牛皮睡袍卷起来后缚在后面。插在皮套里的那支来复枪挂在他左膝前方,他的右膝处挂着一只皮筒,里面插着4支箭。他的那把弓斜挂在他的背后。在他牵引着马匹静静地走离城堡半英里后他跨上了马背。 [679]

就这样,本·克雷格这位边民和侦察兵,小比格霍恩河畔大屠杀的惟一幸存者,骑马走出1877年,进入到了20世纪的最后四分之一。 [680]

根据正在落山的月亮,他估摸现在应该是凌晨2点钟。他有足够的时间走完20英里的路程抵达T吧庄园并能节省罗斯伯德的体力。他找到了北斗星,在它的指引下他在正北向的小路上往偏西方向走去。 [681]

牧地渐渐变成了农田,在他前进的道路上不时地插有木杆,杆子之间还拉着铁丝。他用钢剪剪断后继续行进。他越过县界从比格霍恩县进入了黄石县,但他对此一无所知。黎明时他找到了克拉克溪,于是沿着弯弯曲曲的溪流北上。当太阳从东边的山丘上露脸时,他观察着一道长长的、鲜白色的木栅栏以及钉在上面的一块告示牌:“庄园。私人宅地。非请莫入。”他猜测出这些词语的意思,继续前行直至发现通向庄园大门的那条私人道路。 [682] [683]

在半英里之外,他能够看见大门,里面是一座宏大的房子,四周簇拥着一些气派的谷仓和马厩。大门口有一条涂有条纹的木杆横在路上,还有一座警卫屋。窗户里有一抹淡淡的灯光。他又后退半英里到了一片树丛里,卸下罗斯伯德的鞍具,让它休息和吃着秋天的青草。整个上午他自己也休息了,但没有睡着,如同一头野生动物那样保持着警惕。 [684] [685]

事实上,那位报纸的专栏记者低估了大比尔·布兰多克为他儿子婚礼做出的排场。 [686]

他已经坚持他儿子的未婚妻必须接受一次由他的家庭医生所进行的身体检查,受此污辱的姑娘没办法只得同意。当他读到这份详细体检报告时,他吃惊地扬起了眉毛。 [687]

“她什么?”他问医生。医生去看那根香肠般的手指所指点的地方。 [688]

“哦,对,这是毫无疑问的。绝对完整无损。”

布兰多克会意地斜眼一瞥。 [689]

“好,凯文这小子运气不错。其他情况呢?”

“无可挑剔。她是一个非常美丽和健康的姑娘。”

那座大厦已由用金钱可雇到的最时尚的室内设计师把它改造成了一个童话般的城堡。在外面占地1英亩的草坪上,已在距栅栏20码处搭起了一个祭坛,面朝牧地。

祭坛前面是一排排舒适的椅子供他的客人们使用,中间留出了一条走道供新人行走,由凯文先走,在他最要好的朋友陪同之下,然后是她和她那废物般的父亲,随着《婚礼进行曲》的旋律加入进来。 [690]

冷餐菜肴将摆放在那些椅子后面的隔板桌上。该花钱的地方没有一处显得小家子气。香摈酒杯堆成了一座座晶莹透明的金字塔,各种牌号的法国香滨酒和所有的佳酿酒汇成了一个个海洋。他确信要使他的最老练的客人挑不出一丝一毫的不足之处。 [691]

来自西雅图的北极对虾、螃蟹和牡蜊已经带着冰块被空运过来了。对于那些嫌香槟酒不过瘾的人,一箱箱王朝葡萄酒也已备妥了。婚礼前夜,当他爬上他那张有四根床柱的睡床时,大比尔惟一担心的是他的儿子。那孩子又喝醉了,需一个小时的冲淋才能在上午清醒过来。 [692]

在新婚夫妻换回衣服离开去巴哈马一座私人岛屿度蜜月时,为进一步招待他的客人,布兰多克已经安排好在花园旁边举行一场西部牧场牧人的竞技表演。这些竞技演员,如同那些服务员和帮忙人员那样,全是雇佣的。布兰多克惟一没有雇佣的是保安人员。 [693]

着迷于个人安全的他,设有一支私人军队。除了三四名时刻不离他左右的贴身保镖之外,其余的平常以牧场上的牧马人身份作掩护,但他们全都接受过火器射击的训练,都具有战斗经验,都会不折不扣地执行命令。这些是他们的职责。 [694]

为这次婚礼,他已经把所有30名战士安排到了房子附近。两名去守卫大门。他个人的卫队由一位前绿色贝雷帽特种部队军人率领,跟随在他身边。其余的扮做了服务员和引座员。 [695]

整个上午,川流不息的豪华轿车和面包车纷纷把客人从比林斯机场接过来,驶到庄园大门口停下,经樟查无误后驶进去了。克雷格在树丛深处观察着。刚过中午,那位教士来到了,后面跟着一队乐师。 [696] [697]

另一群运送食品的汽车和竞技表演者从另一道大门抵达了,但他们在视线以外。 [698]

过了1点钟;乐师们开始奏乐。克雷格闻声备好了马鞍。 [699]

他把罗斯伯德的头引向开阔的牧地,沿着栅栏的周边骑行,直至那座警卫屋消失到了视线之外。然后他迎向白色的木栅栏,速度从慢走发展到了慢跑。罗斯伯德看见了正在逼近的栅栏,调整了一下脚步,纵身一跃跨了过去。侦察兵发现自己落在了一个很大的围场内,与最近的那批谷仓相距四分之一英里。一群长角菜牛在附近吃草。 [700]

在离田野的远处,克雷格发现了谷仓区域的大门,打开后并未关上。当他穿过谷仓、经过有旗杆石的院子时,两名巡逻警卫与他打了招呼。 [701]

“你一定是属于盛装竞技表演队的吧?”

克雷格凝视着他们并点点头。 [702]

“你走错了地方。到那边去,你们的那些人在屋子后面。”

克雷格沿巷子走去,等到他们继续前行后,又折返回来了。他朝乐声方向而去。

他听不懂《婚礼进行曲》。 [703] [704]

在祭坛上,凯文·布兰多克与他最要好的朋友站在一起,身穿纯白的无尾夜礼服。他的身高比父亲矮8英寸,体重比父亲轻50磅,他有窄窄的肩膀和宽宽的臀部。

他的脸上长着几颗脓疮,但他已用他母亲的扑粉予以了掩饰。 [705]

皮基特夫人与布兰多克的双亲坐在前排座位里,由那条走道分隔着。在走道远处,琳达·皮基特挽着她父亲的手臂出现了。她的那件白色丝绸婚纱是由巴黎的巴伦西亚加定做后空运过来的,披在她身上使她如同天仙般美丽。她的脸庞显得苍白肃穆。她凝视着前方,没有一丝笑容。 [706] [707]

当她开始走向祭坛时,一千颗脑袋都转过去看她。在一排排的客人后面,夹杂着一些服务员,他们也在驻足观看。在他们身后出现了一个孤独的骑马人。 [708]

迈克尔·皮基特让她的女儿站到了凯文·布兰多克旁边,然后自己坐到了他的妻子身边。她正在拭抹自己的眼睛。那位传道士抬起眼皮,提起了嗓门。 [709]

“各位来宾,今天我们欢聚一堂,共同参加这个男人和这个女人的神圣的婚礼。”

当乐曲声渐渐消退时他开始说话。如果他看见了走道里50码开外面对着他的那个骑马人,他也许会迷惑,但他没表示出来。当那匹马朝前迈进几步时,十几名服务员被挤到了两边。即使是在草坪周围的12名保嫖也在盯视着面朝着传道士的那一对新人。 [710]

传道士继续往下说话。 [711]

“……在这片神圣的土地上,这两个人现在即将结合。”

皮基特夫人已在公开哭泣。布兰多克隔着走道怒视着她。那位传道士惊奇地看到竟有两颗泪珠从新娘的眼眶里涌出来,流落到了她的脸颊上。他猜测她是因为兴奋过度而流的泪。 [712]

“因此,如有任何人能说明他们不能合法结合,那就请他现在就说明,不然以后只能保持缄默。”

他从书本上抬起眼皮,朝着众人露出了笑容。 [713]

“我要说话。她与我订了亲。”

当那匹马冲向前方时,那话音显得年轻而有力,传到了草坪上的每一个角落。

服务员们被掀翻了。两名保镖奋力扑向那个骑马人。两人都在脸上被踢了一脚,仰身倒在了最后两排客人的身上。男人们狂喊,女人们尖叫,传道士的口形成了一个完整的几罗斯伯德在几秒钟之内由慢走加速为慢跑和快跑。它的骑手勒住它,把缰绳拉向左边。他朝右侧俯下身,轻舒右臂一把搂住姑娘那披着丝绸婚纱的纤纤细腰,把她抱了上来。在1秒钟内她还横在他面前,然后她就滑到后面,一条腿跨过那卷牛皮,坐稳后用她的双臂抱住了他的腰。 [714] [715]

那马冲过前排座位,越过白色栅栏,快步在齐腰深的草地上跑远了。草坪上乱做了一团。 [716]

客人们全都站了起来,口中大呼小叫着。那些菜牛拐过角落到了平整的草坪上。

布兰多克4名贴身保镖的其中一个,原先坐在他的主子的那排椅子的远处,这时候他跑过传道士,拔出一支手枪,仔细瞄向了正在消失的那匹马。迈克尔·皮基特发出一声“不……”的叫喊,扑向那个枪手,抓住他的手臂把它推向了空中。在他们互相角斗时,手枪射出了3颗子弹。 [717]

这对于人群和牛群已经足够了。他们和它们全都惊慌地四处乱窜。椅子翻倒了,一盘盘对虾和螃蟹被碰翻后落到了草坪上。一位当地的市长被推倒在一堆金字塔形的香摈酒杯上,洗了一次昂贵的玻璃碎片澡。那位传道士一弯腰钻进了祭坛底下,他在那里遇见了新郎。 [718]

外面的主车道上停着当地警方的两辆巡逻车,还有4名骑警。他们是在那里疏导交通的,并已被邀请吃快餐。他们听到了枪声,互相对视了一下,扔掉手里的汉堡包,跑向了草坪。 [719] [720]

在草坪的边缘,其中一位警察追上了一个正在飞跑的服务员。他扯住那人的白西服,使其转过身来。 [721]

“这里到底发生了什么事情?”他问道。另3名警察张口结舌地凝视着草坪上疯狂的场面。那位资深副警长听完服务员回答后转身告诉他的同事们:“回到车上去,向警长报告我们这里发生了一个问题。”

警长保罗·刘易斯星期六下午通常不会在办公室里,但他有一些公文想在新的一周开始前处理完。当值班副主任来到他的办公室门边时,是下午2点叨分左右。 [722]

“T吧庄园那里出了一个问题。”

他的手里拿着电话听筒。 [723]

“你知道布兰多克家的婚礼吗?埃德警官打来的电话,说新娘刚刚被绑架了。”

“被什么了?把他转接到我的线路上来。”

当转接完成时,那只红灯闪亮了。刘易斯警长一把抓起听筒。 [724]

“埃德,我是保罗。你们那边到底是怎么回事?”

他倾听着他的部下从庄园里向他报告的情况。与所有治安警官一样,他厌恶绑架。其一,这是一宗卑鄙的犯罪,通常是针对富人的妻子和孩子;其二,这触犯了联邦法律,意味着联邦调查局将会来找他的麻烦。他在卡本县的30年警察生涯包括10年的警长生涯中,他曾经听说过3次扣留人质的事情,全都安然无恙地得到了解决,但从未发生过绑架。他假定歹徒应有一帮人,动用了大马力汽车,甚至还可能有直升机。 [725]

“一个孤独的骑马人?你疯了吧?他去了哪里?……跨过栅栏穿过牧地。好,他肯定在某个地方藏有一辆汽车。我会要求邻县警力的协助并封住主要道路。听着,埃德,询问看到了这一事件的每一个人并作好笔录:他如何进来,做了什么,如何制服那姑娘,又如何逃走,然后向我汇报。”

他花了半小时时间召集后备警员,并在卡本县的东南西北主要公路上安排了巡逻车。公路巡警们被告知要去检查每一辆汽车和每一只箱子。他们要寻找的是一位身穿一件白色丝绸连衣裙的美丽的微黑型女士。刚过3点钟,埃德警官在T吧庄园的警车里打电话汇报了。 [726]

“这事很奇怪,警长。我们从目击者那里获得了将近20份笔录。那个骑马人的进入是因为大家都以为他是来参加狂野西部竞技表演的。他穿着鹿皮装,骑着一匹高大的栗色母马。他戴着一顶狐皮帽,头上插着一支摇摇晃晃的羽毛,还带着一把弓。”

“一把弓?什么样的弓?弹弓吗?”

“不是那种弓,是弓箭的弓。这就越发奇怪了。”

“不用奇怪。说下去。”

“所有的目击证人都说,当他冲到祭坛前俯身去抱那姑娘时,她主动配合I他。

他们都说,她好像认识他,而且在一起骑马跨越栅栏时还用双臂紧紧地抱住他。假如她没有抱紧他,她就会从马背上落下来,现在就会在这里了。“

警长心头上悬着的一块石头落地了。运气好的话,他碰到的不是一件绑架案,而只是一次男女私奔。他开始微笑了。 [727] [728]

“证人们是不是都这么证实,埃德?他没有打她,没把她打昏,没把她扔到马鞍上,没把她作为俘虏带走?”

“显然没有。另外,他造成了许多破坏。婚礼搞砸了,宴会泡汤了,新郎在闹,新娘走了。”

警长笑得更开心了。 [729]

“哦,这是有点可怕,”他说。“我们知道他是谁吗?”

“也许知道。新娘的父亲说,她的女儿曾与整个夏天在赫里蒂奇堡扮做边民的其中一个年轻小伙子有过一段交往。你知道吗?”

刘易斯知道关于那座城堡的所有事。他自己的女儿也曾带着她的孩子去那里游玩过一天,而且都很喜欢。 [730]

“不管怎么说,因为这段交往,那姑娘中断了与凯文·布兰多克的婚约。她的双亲批评她这么做是发疯了并说服了她重续婚约。他们说他的名字叫本·克雷格。”

副警长又回去作笔录了。刘易斯警长正想与赫里蒂奇堡联系时,英格尔斯教授来电话了。 [731]

“这也许算不了什么,”他开始叙述,“可我手下的一名年轻的员工跑走了。

是在昨天夜里。“

“他是否偷走了任何东西,教授?”

“哦,那倒没有。他有自己的马匹和服装。但他还有一支来复枪。在这段时间里,我已经把它给没收了,他破门闯入军械库里取走了它。”

“他要那东西于什么?”

“打猎,我希望。他是一个很好的年轻人,可就是有点野。他在普赖尔山区出生并长大。他的乡亲们好像都是山民。他甚至从未上过学?”

“听着,教授,这也许很严重。这个年轻人会成为一个危险人物吗?”

“哦,我希望不会。”

“他还携带着什么?”

“嗯,他有一把猪刀,还有一把手斧失踪了。加上一把夏延人的弓和4支火石箭。”

“他拿走了你那些古董?”

“不,那是他自己制作的。”

警长数到了5,慢慢地。 [732]

“这个人是不是本·克雷格?”

“是的,你是怎么知道的?”

“请继续说下去,教授。他是否与从比林斯到城堡来的一位年轻漂亮的女教师恋爱了?”

他听到电话另一头那位学者与身后某个叫夏洛特的人在商议。 [733]

“这事……似乎他深深地爱上了这样一位姑娘。他认为她接受了他的爱,可我听说她写信给他要求终止恋爱关系。他受到了很大的打击。他甚至打听她的婚礼在什么时候什么地点举行。我希望他没有干出傻事。”

“恐怕不是这样。他刚刚从祭坛上劫持了她。”

“哦,我的天哪。”

“听着,他会不会把马换成汽车?”

“不会。他不会驾车。从来没有坐过汽车。他将与他所钟爱的马在一起,并在荒野里露营。”

“他会朝哪里去?”

“几乎可以肯定是南方,去普赖尔岭。他毕生在那里打猎和设陷阱捕兽。”

“谢谢你,教授,你为我们提供了极大的帮助。”

他下令取消路障并打电话给卡本县的那位直升机飞行员,请他升空并来报到。

然后他开始等待大比尔·布兰多克必然会打过来的那只电话。 [734]

保罗·刘易斯警长是一位优秀的治安警官,遇事沉着镇定,心肠又好。他更愿意帮助人们脱离困境,而不是乘人之危落井下石,但法律就是法律,他在执法中是不会犹豫的。 [735]

他的祖父曾经是一名骑兵战士,后来在平原上战死,把一个寡妇和一个男婴抛在了林肯堡。这位战争的寡妇又嫁给了另一位驻守在蒙大拿的战士。他的父亲是在蒙州长大的,结过两次婚。1900年第一次结婚后有过两个女儿。在妻子死后他又结婚了,在1920年45岁的中年期生下了惟一的儿子。 [736]

刘易斯警长今年58岁,再过两年就可退休了。此后,他知道在蒙大拿和怀俄明的一些湖,那里的鲑鱼将会得到他的亲自关注。 [737]

他没被邀请参加这次婚礼,也没对为什么不请他表示出任何惊讶。在过去的年月里,他和他的警官们曾4次处理了涉及凯文·布兰多克的酗酒斗殴事件。每一次酒吧老板都获得了大方的经济赔偿,都不愿再提起指控。警长对年轻人的打架斗殴也就感到轻松了,但当布兰多克的儿子因为一位酒吧女招待不肯满足他的奇特口味而殴打她时,刘易斯的轻松感消失了。 [738]

警长把凯文·布兰多克关进拘留所,准备对他提起指控,但那姑娘突然改变了主意,回忆说是她自己不小心摔到楼下跌伤了。 [739]

还有另一份情报警长从来没有泄漏给任何人。3年前他曾经接到过赫勒纳市警察局一位朋友的一个电话。他们曾在警察学校里同学过。 [740]

那位同事讲述了他的警官们曾对一家夜总会进行了一次突击检查。那是一个吸毒窝。当时在场的每一个人的姓名和地址都被记载下来了。其中一个是凯文·布兰多克。假如他手头上有任何毒品的话,那么他已经及时甩掉了,因此不得不把他释放。但那个夜总会是同性恋的专用聚会场所。 [741] [742] [743]

电话响起来了。是瓦伦蒂诺,大比尔·布兰多克的私人律师打来的。 [744]

“你也许已经听说了今天下午在这里发生的事情,警长。你的助手们在几分钟之后到场了。”

“我听说一切全都在按计划进行。”

“请不要包庇,刘易斯警长。所发生的事情是一次野蛮的绑架,而且罪犯必须被抓获归案。”

“这是你的说法,律师。可我手头上有一叠由客人们和送货员们所做出的陈述,其大意是那位小姐自愿配合骑上了马,而且她与这个小伙子,也就是骑马人,曾谈过恋爱。因此,在我看来这更像是一次男女私奔。”

“花言巧语的狡辩,警长。假如那位姑娘要想撕毁婚约,那是什么都挡不住她的。但现在该姑娘是被用暴力劫持走的。那罪犯非法侵人此地,踢中了布兰多克先生的两位员工的脸部,还对私人财产造成了极大的损坏。布兰多克先生准备起诉。

是你去把这个歹徒抓来,还是由我们去抓?“

刘易斯警长不喜欢被威胁。 [745]

“我希望你和你的当事人不至于自己去执法,律师?那将是最不明智的举措。”

那律师对反威胁置之不理。 [746]

“布兰多克先生对她的儿媳妇的安全深为关切。他有权去寻找她。”

“那场婚礼完成了吗?”

“婚礼什么?”

“你的当事人的儿子与皮基特小姐是否已按法律确实已经结婚了?”

“这个·”

“那样的话,她还不是你的当事人的儿媳妇。她与他们没有关系。”

“我退一步说,她仍是我的当事人儿子的未婚妻。他在以一位关心的公民来采取行动。那么你到底是想去把歹徒抓来吗?别忘了还有赫勒纳。”

刘易斯警长叹了一口气。他知道比尔·布兰多克能对州府的一些议员们施加影响。对此他也不怕。但这位年轻人本·克雷格无疑是做出了冒犯之举。 [747] [748]

“一查明他的踪迹,我就会赶过去。”他说。当他放下电话时,他想如果赶在布兰多克的那帮人之前找到那对爱情乌也许是明智的。他的直升机飞行员来电话了。

这时候已经接近4点钟了,离太阳下山天色变黑还有两个小时。 [749]

“杰里,我要你找到T吧庄园。然后朝南飞向普赖尔岭。注意观察前方和左右两侧。”

“要我寻找什么呢,保罗?”

“一名孤独的骑马人,朝着南方,很可能是朝着山区。还有一位披着白色婚纱的姑娘骑在他后面。”

“你在哄骗我吧?”

“没有。某个骑马的流浪汉刚刚从祭坛上劫走了比尔·布兰多克儿子的未婚妻。”

“我认为我已经开始喜欢那个家伙了。”警方直升机飞行员说。他正在离开比林斯机场。 [750] [751]

“只是为我去找到他,杰里。”

“小事一桩。如果他在那里,我将会找到他。我出发了。”

5分钟之后,他飞到了T吧庄园上空并把他的航向转到了正南。他保持在1000英尺空中,这样他既能看清身下任何移动的骑马人,又能扫视前方和左右两边的10英里范围。 [752]

在他的右侧,他能够看到310号公路以及朝南通往沃伦村继之越过平原进入怀俄明的那条铁路线。前方他能够看见普赖尔岭的群峰。 [753]

为防那个骑马人试图躲开追踪而转向西方跨越那条道路,刘易斯警长要求公路巡警沿310号公路巡视,注意观察道路两侧的草地上是否有一个骑马人的身影。 [754]

大比尔·布兰多克也没有闲着。留下工作人员去收拾草坪上的残局之后,他和手下的警卫人员直接去了他的办公室。从来没人知道他有幽默感,他周围的那些人也从来没见过他会如此勃然大怒。他在书桌后面静静地坐了一会儿。他的身边围着12个人,等待着他的命令。 [755]

“我们怎么办,老板?”其中一人最后这么问道。 [756]

“思考,”庄园主咆哮着说。“思考。他孤身单骑,负荷沉重。行走距离有限。

他会去哪里?“

前绿色贝雷帽特种部队军人马克斯审视着挂在墙上的一张卡本县地图。 [757]

“不会去北方。那样的话,他不得不跨越黄石河。太深了。所以,是南方。回到山丘里的那座复制城堡?”

“对。我要求10个人,骑上马带上武器。去南方,展开后形成一条5英里的战线。快马加鞭,追上他。”

当10个牧马人备妥马鞍时,他在外面向他们交待任务。 [758] [759]

“你们每个人都有无线电话。保持联络。如果你们发现了他,打电话要求增援。

当你们包围他以后,把那个姑娘带回来。如果他试图威胁她或威胁你们,你们知道该怎么办。我认为你们明白我的意思。我要求把那姑娘带回来,不要其他人。去吧。“

10名骑手策马慢跑着出了大门,散开形成一个扇面后疾驰而去。那逃亡者是45分钟之前出发的,但马背上坐着两个人,还驮着鞍袋、一支来复枪和一张厚重的野牛皮。 [760]

在庄园内,瓦伦蒂诺律师回来报告了。 [761]

“警长对这事似乎很不重视,但他将组织一次搜索。巡逻车已经上路了,而且很可能还会派去一架直升机。”他汇报说。 [762]

“我不想让他先到达那里,”布兰多克厉声说。“可我确实想知道他得到了什么情报。马克斯,去无线电室。我要求对本县每一条警方频道进行扫描,建立永久性的监听。把我自己的直升机升空。抢在骑马追捕队的前头。找到那个狗杂种。把骑手们引向他。我们需要不止一架直升机。在机场里另租两架。出发,现在。”

他们全都搞错了。教授、警长和布兰多克。这位边民没有向普赖尔岭行进。他知道那太明显了。 [763] [764]

在庄园南方5英里时,他已经停下来,把他的其中一块鞍毯裹在了轻风身上。

毯子是鲜红色的,可它遮住了耀眼的白色连衣裙。但他从来没有听说过直升机。暂时停顿之后,他斜向往西南而去,他记得去年春天曾在那里穿过一条狭长的黑石地带。 [765]

在1英里之外,他能够分辨出一排笔直的杆子,上面拉着线条。这些杆子从他前面横向穿过,延伸到视力范围以外。它们是架在与那条公路平行的伯林顿铁路上方的电话线。 [766]

下午3点半,在空中盘旋的警方直升机飞行员杰里发话了。 [767]

“保罗,我记得你曾经说过是一名孤独的骑马人,对不对?可是这里的下面有一支军队。”

布兰多克的追捕队,警长想道。 [768]

“你到底发现了什么,杰里?”

隔着那段空中距离,说话声僻啪作响。 [769]

“我数过了,至少有8名骑手,成一列横队朝南方疾驰。看上去像是庄园里的帮手。而且他们全都轻装骑行。此外,前方还有另一架直升机,在山脚上空盘旋着,靠近那座复制的城堡。”

刘易斯轻轻咒骂了一声。他希望他现在坐在那架警方直升机里,而不是留在一间办公室里。 [770]

“杰里,如果逃亡者在前方,要努力抢先赶上他们。如果布兰多克的人手抓住了那个小伙子,他就会有麻烦了。”

“明白了,保罗。我会继续观察的。”

在庄园的那座房子里,无线电室主任来到了办公室门口。 [771]

“布兰多克先生,警方的那架直升机就在我们人员的头顶上。”

“这样就会有一个目击证人了。”马克斯说。 [772]

“告诉我们的人员继续寻找,”布兰多克厉声说。“法庭上的事情我们以后再去摆平。”

5点差5分,当一个电话打进来时,刘易斯警长对于自己坐在办公室里能指挥全局而颇感高兴。电话里是一声激动叫喊:“发现了。”

“说话人,请说明你的身份。”

“T-1号巡逻车,在310号公路上。他刚刚穿过公路,朝西南骑行。在他进入到树林后面之前,看到过他一眼。”

“在310号公路的哪一段?”

“布里吉尔以北4英里处。”

“确认目标在公路西边。”刘易斯命令道。 [773]

“是这样,警长。”

“留在公路上,以防他折返回来。”

“明白了。”

刘易斯警长查了一下挂在墙上的地图。如果那个骑马者保持前进的方向,他就会遇上另一条铁路线和那条穿过山区进入到怀俄明州帕克县的更宽大的212号州际公路。 [774]

在州际公路上有两辆巡逻车在巡逻。他要求他们继续南下并睁大眼睛注意试图由东往西穿越公路的人。然后他呼叫他的直升机飞行员。 [775] [776]

“杰里,他被看见了。在你的西边远处。他刚刚越过310号公路,朝西南骑行。

你赶到那里去好吗?大概在布里吉尔北方4英里处。他又回到了开阔地上。“

“好的,保罗,可我的燃油很快就要用完了,而且天色也在很快暗下来。”

警长又在地图上看了一下布里吉尔这个小村镇。 [777]

“布里吉尔有一个简易机场。节省着用油,然后飞到那里去。你也许要在那里过夜。我会通知你老婆珍妮的。”

在那座庄园房子里,这些话全被听到了。马克斯审视着那张地图。 [778]

“他没有朝普赖尔岭进发。太明显了。他在向荒原和熊牙山方向走。他指望一直骑马穿越那段距离,从而进入怀俄明州并隐藏起来。够聪明的。换成我也会这么做的。”

布兰多克的无线电主任告诉那10名骑手转向正西,穿过公路继续寻找。他们同意了,但克制着没向他说明,他们已经快马加鞭跑了15英里,马匹冒着累跨的危险,而且天正在黑下来。 [779] [780] [781]

“我们应该派出两辆汽车,配上人员,去那条州际公路,”马克斯说。“如果他想去荒原里,他就必须穿过它。”

两辆宽大的越野吉普车出发了,车内坐着另外8名警卫人员。 [782]

在临近那条州际公路时,本·克雷格跳下马,爬到了一座小山包的一棵树上,审视着前方的这条障碍带。它升起在平原之上,还有一条铁路与之平行。偶尔有一些南来北往的车辆经过。他的四周是一片荒野,布满了溪流和乱石,地面高低不平,长着一些牲口不吃的齐马肚高的荒草。他溜下树来,从鞍袋里取出他的铁盒子和打火石。 [783]

一阵阵微风从东方吹来,当那堆火点着后,它迅速形成了1英里宽的火线,朝着西边的公路方向蔓延过去。一缕缕青烟升上了正在黑下来的天空。东风把烟雾吹向了西方,比火苗跑得更快,道路消失了。

在北边5英里处的那辆巡逻车看见了烟雾,于是开到南方来调查。当烟雾变浓变黑时,巡警们停了下来,但稍微太晚了一些。几秒钟之内,他们被包围在了浓烟之中。他们没有其他办法,只能倒车。 [784]

那位朝南驶向怀俄明州的拖挂大货车司机,在看见前方的尾灯时,确实尽了最大的努力以避免撞上警车。制动系统完全有效,车头停住了,但后面的挂车就没有那么幸运了。 [785]

拖挂车一般情况下能够互相适配运行,但也会像折叠刀那样折起来。后面的挂车由于惯性撞上了前面的拖车,两者折了起来,横过中线,阻断了公路的两头交通。

由于两端都成了斜面,驾车绕过障碍是不可能的。 [786]

巡逻车的警官们打了一个无线电话,然后不得不跳下汽车随同前方道路上的卡车司机们一起逃离了这片烟雾熏人的地方。 [787]

这个电话信息已经足够了。消防车和起重车很快就南下去处理这次事故了。排障工作进行了整整一夜,终于到黎明时道路又畅通了。消息传到怀俄明后,山区南边的交通全都停止了。只有那些已经上了路的车辆在荒野里度过了夜晚。 [788]

混乱中,一名孤单的骑马人惜着烟幕的掩护慢步穿过公路进入到了西边的荒原之中。那个男人在脸上捂着一块手帕,而骑坐在他身后的那个女孩则用一条毯子包裹着。 [789]

在公路的西边,那位骑手下了马。罗斯伯德的肌肉因为体力耗尽而在颤抖着,而到达前方的树林还需行走10英里。轻风移坐到了马鞍上,但她的体重只有她的情人的一半。 [790] [791]

她从肩头上取下那条毯子,在黄昏中她的婚纱显得白亮耀眼,她那未经束缚的长发飘落到了她的腰际。 [792]

“本,我们去哪里?”

他指向南方作为回答。晚霞下,熊牙山的群峰像火焰般地耸立在森林线上方,守卫着另一种更加美好的生活。 [793]

“穿过山区,进入怀俄明。没人能在那里发现我们。我将为你建起一座小木屋,为你打猎和捕鱼。我们将自由自在地永远生活在一起。”

她听了后微笑了,因为她非常爱他,也相信他的诺言,她再次感到很高兴。 [794]

布兰多克的私人飞行员没有其他选择只得返航。他的存油已经不多,而且身下的地面大暗了,模模糊糊地看不清楚。他用油箱里的最后一些剩油降落在庄园里了。 [795]

追捕队的10名骑手坐在耗尽了体力的马匹上一瘸一拐地进入了布里吉尔小村镇并要求宿夜。他们在那家餐车式小饭店里吃了饭,用他们的鞍毯铺好了床。 [796]

杰里把那架警用直升机降落在布里吉尔简易机场,并从经理那里得到了一张过夜的床铺。 [797]

在庄园里,现在由那位前绿色贝雷帽特种部队军人接管了追捕计划。这支私人军队的10名战士连同他们的马匹被困在了布里吉尔;另8名战士坐在汽车里被放逐到了那条州际公路的堵车处进退不得。这两拨人马都将整夜在那里度过。马克斯面对着布兰多克和剩余的12名战士。他是部队里的精英,在越南制订作战计划时就胜人一筹。一张卡本县的大地图挂在墙面上。 [798]

“方案一,”他说。“切断通路。这里有一条深深的溪谷或峡谷,穿越山区进入怀俄明州。它的名字叫罗克溪。它旁边就是那条公路,蜿蜒曲折地前行,直至出现在山脉的南边。 [799]

“他还许会顺着公路旁边的草地南行,以避开两边的高山。州际公路上的阻碍一经清除,我们的人员需追向那里,在他们的前进道路上超越一切,并把守在位于州界的道路上。如果他出现了,他们知道该怎么做。”

“同意,”布兰多克粗声粗气地说。“假定他试图彻夜骑行呢?”

“他不能,先生。他的那匹马肯定已经疲惫不堪。我猜测他之所以穿越那条道路是因为他在朝那片树林行进,然后去山区。你们看,他不得不穿过庞大的卡斯特国家森林保护区,一路上坡,跨越那条叫西福克的峡谷,然后继续爬坡,出现在这片高原,即银径高原。对此,我们有第二方案。 [800]

“我们使用那两架租用的直升机,飞到他的前方,路上把在布里吉尔的那10个人捎上。这些人员在这个高原上设置一条防线。当他从森林里出现登上石坡时,他将会成为蹲伏在半坡上巨石后面这些人的囊中之物。”

“行,”布兰多克说。“还有吗?”

“第三方案,先生。我们的其余人员在黎明时骑马进入那片森林,把他逼上山顶上的那个高原。不管哪个方案,我们都能瓮中捉鳖。”

“那如果他在林中转身面对我们呢?”

马克斯露出了欣喜的笑容。 [801]

“别担心,先生。我是一个经过丛林战训练的战士。还有三四个人参加过越战。

我要求他们与我们一起参加行动。如果他试图想在林中逃跑时停下来反抗,他将成为我的猎物。“

“现在公路受阻,我们怎么能把马匹弄到那里去呢?”其中一人问道。 [802]

马克斯的手指探索着地图上的一条细线。 [803]

“这里有一条支线公路。从这里西边15英里的比林斯公路出发,穿越荒原到这里的雷德洛奇为止,正好在罗克溪峡谷的瓶颈口。我们连夜用拖车把马运到那里,在黎明时骑上马去追越他。现在,我提议我们去睡上4个小时的觉,在半夜时起床出发。”


布兰多克点点头表示同意。“还有一件事,马克斯少校。我与你们一起去,还有凯文。这个人今天羞辱了我,现在该是让我们看到他完蛋的时候了。”

刘易斯警长也有一张地图,而且他也得出了相似的结论。他请求雷德洛奇警方协助,对方答应日出时备妥12匹马,全都吃饱喝足休息够了的,而且配上了全套马具。杰里也将在同一时刻为直升机加满燃油并做好起飞准备。 [804] [805]

警长检查了一下在州际公路上的应急排障工作进度,得到报告说他们在凌晨4时可完成道路的清理。他要求他自己的两辆巡逻车能被允许优先通过。他可在4点半时抵达雷德洛奇。 [806]

即使在星期天,他也可以毫无困难地找到志愿参加行动的警员。对县里心平气和、遵纪守法的老百姓的管理,很少有重大事件发生,但一次真正的追捕会使人激动亢奋。除了已在他头顶上方的杰里以外,他还召来了一名侦察机飞行员,以及10名警官与他一起实施地面追捕。这些警力对于一名骑马人应该是足够了。他长时间仔细地审视着那张地图。 [807] [808] [809]

“请不要进入到森林中,小伙子,”他喃喃地说。“那里就很难找到你了。”

在他这么说话的时候,本·克雷格和轻风进入森林线,消失在树丛中了。在云杉和松树的遮盖下,林中一片漆黑。进去半英里之后,克雷格扎了营。他从筋疲力尽的罗斯伯德身上卸下鞍具、那姑娘、来复枪和毯子。罗斯伯德在树林中找到一涓细细的溪流和多汁的松针。它开始休息和恢复体力。 [810]

第十章

侦察兵没有生火,轻风也不需要。她钻进那件野牛皮袍子后就睡着了。克雷格提起斧子走开了。他离开了6个小时。当他回来后他打了一个小时的瞌睡,然后就拔营了。他知道前方的某处就是很久以前他曾经拖延了骑兵和夏延人的那条溪流。

他想赶在追捕队进入来复枪射程之前跨越过去并抵达对岸。

罗斯伯德的疲劳已经有所消除,如果它还没有从头一天的马拉松赛跑中完全恢复的话。他拉着它的肚带引领着它前进。虽然经过了休息,但它的体力正在流失,而且要抵达山峰上的安全之处他们还需行走许多英里的路程。

他行进了一个小时,以树梢上方的星光为导向。在遥远的东方,在达科他的神圣的黑山上空;一轮红日已经染红了天际。他来到了在他前进的小径上的第一条峡谷——被称为西福克的那条险峻陡峭的溪谷。 [811] [812]

他知道他以前曾来过这里。有一条路可以通过,只要他能够再次找到它。找路花去了一个小时。罗斯伯德饮着清冷的溪水,山路滑溜,它努力走稳脚步。他们爬上了对岸的高坡。 [813]

克雷格给了罗斯伯德又一次休息,并找到了一个能俯视溪流的隐蔽处。他想知道有多少个人来追赶他。他们将骑坐体力充沛的马,那是肯定的,但也有不同的东西。这些追捕队拥有奇异的能在天空中飞翔的铁箱子,如同头顶上装有旋翼的山鹰,还会发出如同发情期的公鹿那样的吼声。头一天他在荒原上空见过这些飞翔的箱子。 [814] [815]

交通事故处理小组倒是说到做到的,他们在刚过凌晨4点钟就使州际公路重新畅通了。在交警的指挥下,刘易斯警长的那两辆巡逻车绕到排队等候的车列前头,加大油门朝南方15英里外的雷德洛奇疾驶而去。 [816]

8分钟后,他们被两辆疯狂行驶的宽大的吉普车超上了。 [817]

“我们要追上去吗?”驾车的警官问道。 [818]

“让他们去。”警长说。 [819]

越野吉普车怒吼着穿过正在苏醒的雷德洛奇小镇,冲进了州际公路与罗克溪并行的那条山谷。 [820]

山隘越来越狭窄了,崖坡越来越陡峭了,公路右边是落差500英尺的溪流,左边是树木苍翠的悬崖峭壁。S形的弯道越来越小了。 [821]

领头的那辆吉普车在转过第五个弯道时速度太快了,司机没能及时看见新近倒下来横在道路上的那颗松树。吉普车的车身冲到了树木的南边,而4只轮子仍留在树木的北边。车内有5个人,他们共有10条腿。4条腿断裂了,再加上3条胳膊和两处锁骨骨折,以及一只骨盆错位。 [822]

第二辆越野车司机的选择是:右转坠入万丈深渊或左转去撞山崖。他把方向盘朝左打过去。汽车猛烈地撞上了石崖。 [823] [824]

10分钟后,伤势最轻的那个人爬回到公路上寻求救援,这时候第一辆拖挂大货车从一个弯道上过来了。制动系统完全有效。大卡车及时停住了,但车头与挂车折弯了。然后那辆挂车,似乎对这些无礼的举动静静地提出了抗议,它悄悄地侧身卧倒了。 [825]

刘易斯警长和他的7名警察小分队已经抵达了雷德洛奇,他们遇到了那位当地的警官和一群借用的马匹。在场的还有两位国有森林看守官。其中一位把一张地图展开来后摊在了一辆汽车的发动机罩子上,并指向卡斯特国家森林公园的那些路标。 [826]

“这片森林被这条西福克溪切成了东、西两块,”他说。“溪流的这一边有土路和营地,是供夏季的游客使用的。越过溪水就进入了真正的荒原。如果你们那个人去了那里,我们将不得不进去追他。那是一个汽车无法行驶的地方,所以我们备好了这些马。”

“那里的树林密度如何?”

“很浓密,”那位护林官说。“由于气候暖和,那些宽叶树仍然枝繁叶茂。然后是松林,然后是岩石高原,一路通上高峰。你们的那个人能在那里幸存吗?”

“据我所知,他是在荒原里出生长大的。”警长叹了一口气。 [827]

“没问题,我们有现代化的技术,”另一丁位护林官说。“直升机、侦察机、对讲机。我们将为你们找到他。”

小分队正要弃车出发时,比林斯机场的那位空中交通控制员来了一只电话,是由警长办公室转接过来的。 [828]

“我们有两架直升机等待着起飞。”那人在控制塔里说。他与刘易斯警长相识多年。他们一起捕钓鲑鱼,交往很深。 [829]

“我是想让它们出发的,但它们已被比尔·布兰多克租用了。它们计划飞往布里吉尔。杰里说你那里有一个问题。是关于T吧庄园的那场婚礼吧?这消息上了所有的早间新闻。”

“拖住它们。给我10分钟时间。”

“好的。”然后这位控制员对等待着的直升机飞行员说:“起飞推迟。我们有一架进来的飞机需着陆。”

刘易斯警长回想起杰里曾告诉过他有一群携带武器的骑手从庄园出发南下去追捕那个逃亡的人。他们合乎逻辑地已经在离家很远的地方遇上了黑夜,并已经在开阔的牧地上或在布里吉尔过了夜。但如果他们被召回庄园,为什么不骑上经过休息的马赶往那里呢?他要求打电话给另一位朋友——在赫勒纳的联邦航空管理局负责人。那官员在家里被唤醒后接听了这个电话。 [830]

“怎么回事,保罗?星期天别来打扰我好不好?”

“我们有一个小问题,两名逃亡者要进入阿布萨罗卡荒原。我现在想率领一支小分队和两名护林官去把他们带回来。这里有几位关心此事的公民似乎想把他们当做猎物追杀。而且新闻媒体也会闻风而来。你能否宣布今天这个荒原地区为禁区?”

“可以。

“比林斯机场有两架直升机正等待着起飞。”

“比林斯控制塔谁在当班?”

“奇普·安德森。”

“把这事留给我去处理吧。”

10分钟后那两架直升机接到了控制塔的一个电话。 [831] [832]

“对不起,那架飞机不来降落了。你们现在可以起飞了,除了联邦航空管理局的专有区之外。”

“什么专有区?”

“5000英尺以下的整个阿布萨罗卡荒原。”

在航管区和空中安全方面,联邦航空管理局的话就是法律。这几位受雇的飞行员不想被吊销驾驶执照。发动机关闭了,桨叶慢慢地停止了旋转。 [833]

大比尔·布兰多克和他的剩余10名保镖顺着那条支线公路已经在黎明前抵达了雷德洛奇。在距镇子5英里的森林边缘,他们从卡车上卸下马匹,检查了他们的武器后,骑上马进入了树林。 [834]

布兰多克还带着便携式无线电收发报机,与庄园里的无线电室保持着联系。当曙光照亮了骑手们头顶上方的树林时,他获悉他的10名卫兵在罗克溪中段的州际公路上正被用担架抬走,他的另10名战士流落在布里吉尔,没有空中运输工具把他们带往逃亡者前方的那个岩石高原。马克斯少校的一号和二号方案成了历史。 [835]

“要靠我们自己去抓那个狗杂种了。”这个牛仔咆哮着说。他的儿子在马鞍上感到很不自在,于是从屁股袋中取出那只旅行水瓶喝了一大口酒。这个武装团伙排成一个四分之一英里宽的一列横队,骑马进入了森林,边前进边扫视着地上的新鲜蹄印。30分钟后,其中一人发现了踪迹,是罗斯伯德的蹄印,在前方引领的脚印,很可能是印第安人的鹿皮软鞋所留下的。他用无线电通讯器把其他人召了过来。然后他们以一个团组继续前进。在1英里之后,刘易斯警长和他的警察小分队也骑马进入了林中。 [836] [837] [838]

目光敏锐的护林宫过了10分钟就发现了。 [839]

“这个人有几匹马?”其中一位问道。 [840]

“只有一匹。”刘易斯说。 [841]

“这里的痕迹不止一匹马,”那位护林官说。“我数了数,至少有4匹马。”

“该死的家伙。”警长说。他用无线电通讯器叫通他的办公室,要求转接瓦伦蒂诺律师的私人电话。

瓦伦蒂诺律师听了警长的询问后说:“我的当事人对这位年轻女士的安全深为忧虑,刘易斯警长。他也许已经组织了一支搜索队。我向你保证他完全是在他的职权范围内行事。”

“律师,如果这两个年轻人受到了任何伤害,如果其中任何一个被杀害,我首先要以谋杀罪立案。你把这话告诉你的当事人。”

他在律师提出反对意见之前关去了无线电话。 [842] [843]

“保罗,这个家伙绑架了一位姑娘,而且他还拥有一支步枪,”他的副手汤姆·巴罗咕哝着说。“看来我们也许不得不先开枪后提问呢。”

“有许多证人证实那姑娘是自己跳到他的马上的,”刘易斯反驳说。“我不愿以只打碎一些玻璃杯就对某个小伙子定罪。”

“还有脸上踢的两脚。”

“没错,还有脸上踢的两脚。”

“还有一场牧地火灾,和州际公路的一次关闭。”

“没错,清单长了一点。但他孤身一人在那里,带着一个漂亮的姑娘,一匹筋疲力尽的马和一支1852年制造的来复枪。哦,对了,还有弓和箭。我们拥有各种现代化的技术装备,他没有。注意这种对比,并注意观察那些踪迹。”

本·克雷格隐蔽在树丛里观察着抵达溪岸的第一批人马。在500码之外,他能够分辩出个子高大的大比尔·布兰多克和身材矮小的他的儿子。布兰多克旁边的其中一个人没穿西部人服装,而是穿着迷彩战斗服,丛林靴,戴着贝雷帽。 [844] [845]

他们用不着寻找从陡岸下到水中的小径,或在对岸爬上去的路径。他们只是简单地沿着罗斯伯德的踪迹,他知道他们会那样做。轻风穿着丝绒拖鞋无法行走,而罗斯伯德也无法在软土上隐蔽它的踪迹。 [846]

他观察着他们走下潺潺流动的清澈的溪水之中,停下来喝上几口,又捧起来洗了一把脸。 [847]

没人听见那几支箭,也没人看见它们来自何方。当他们把步枪里的子弹全都射进对岸的树林中时,那个弓箭手已经离开了。他脚步轻盈地穿过森林回到了他的马匹和他的姑娘的身边,未留下任何痕迹,然后引领着她们继续登向山峰。 [848]

那些箭射中了目标,穿过柔软的肌肤直到触及骨头,火石箭头断人肌肉之中。

两个人被射倒了,痛苦地大声叫喊着。越战老兵马克斯追上南岸,卧倒后观察着进攻者从中消失的树林。他什么也没看见。但假如那个人仍逗留在那里,那么他的火力掩护将能保护在溪流中的追捕队。 [849]

布兰多克的部下把伤员们救回到他们走过来的路上。他们一路尖叫着。 [850]

“老板,我们不得不让他们离开这里,”其中一名保缥说。“他们需要住院治疗。”

“好吧,让他们骑马回去。”布兰多克说。 [851]

“老板,他们已无法骑马,他们也无法步行。”

没有其他办法,他们只得砍下树枝做成两副担架,然后又需要另4个人去拾这些担架。在损失了6个人员和一个钟头的时间之后,布兰多克的追捕队在对岸重新集合了;由马克斯少校的枪械保护着。这4个人又开始在林中穿行了。他们不知道一张皮绷子将会使事情更加容易,还能节省更多的劳力。 [852]

警长已经听到了武器的连续射击声,并担心发生了最糟糕的事情。但在密林中如果策马跑上去则是愚蠢之举,说不定会挨上对方的一颗子弹。他们在由那么多的马匹踩出来的那条小径上遇到了抬着担架的那几个人。 [853]

“他们到底是怎么回事?”警长问道。布兰多克的战士们作了解释。 [854]

“他已经逃走了吗?”

“是的。马克斯少校越过了溪流,可是他已经离开了。”

担架队继续往回走,而警长的小分队匆匆向前赶往那条溪水。 [855]

“你们不要笑,”警长厉声说。他正在对他前方某处的那个山民失去耐心。

“谁也赢不了这场与弓箭的战斗。看在上帝的分上,现在是1977年呀!”

他们所看见的那两名伤员都是脸朝下俯卧在临时担架上,屁股上垂直插着一支夏延人的火鸡羽毛箭。警长的小分队淌过了溪水,他们拉着马匹的肚带,一步三滑,深一脚浅一脚地抵达对岸重新集合了。这里再也没有野餐的营地了。这里是远古世界的原始景色。 [856]

但杰里已经在直升机上了,他在树林上方1000英尺的空中盘旋着,直至发现了正在淌过溪水的那批人马。这使得他缩小了他的搜索范围。逃亡者必定在追踪队的前方,在溪流与前方深山之间的某处。 [857]

但他的技术设备现在有一个问题。由于茂盛的枝叶,他无法用他的对讲机通知警长。从他这方面来说,警长能够听到他的呼叫,但分辨不出他所说的话。静电于扰声太响了,词语变得支离破碎了。 [858] [859]

杰里在说的是:“我找到他了。我见到他了。”

事实上他瞥见了一匹孤独的马,被人牵着肚带,马背上是披着毯子的一个姑娘的身影。逃亡者刚才穿过了林中的一块小小的开阔地,在空中巡视的直升机朝一边倾斜着,以使飞行员能够得到最佳的俯视视线,这时候直升机有那么1秒钟时间看见了他们在开阔地上。但那仅仅是1秒钟,然后逃亡者又钻进了林中。 [860] [861]

本·克雷格抬头透过树梢仰望着在他头顶上方咔嚓咔嚓作响的那个怪物。 [862]

“里面的那个人会把你的位置告诉给追捕队。”轻风说。 [863]

“他们怎么听得见呢,噪音那么响?”他问道。 [864]

“这没有关系,本。反正他们有办法。”

这位边民也有他的对付办法。他从皮套里抽出那支古旧的夏普斯来复枪,推进一颗长长的重磅子弹。为获得更好的视线,杰里已经下降了600英尺高度,现在离地面只有200码了。他盘旋着,机鼻微微下倾,凝视着他们也许会去穿越的又一个林中小小的开阔地。下面的那个人仔细瞄准后开火了。 [865]

那颗重磅子弹穿透直升机底版,从飞行员两条大腿之间经过,擦过他的脸面之后在天花板上穿了一个星形的弹孔。从地面上看到的是,直升机狂乱地绕了一圈后朝一边急剧上升。它丝毫没有放慢速度,直至它到了1英里之外和1英里高空。 [866]

杰里现在正对着话筒尖声叫喊。 [867]

“保罗,那家伙在我的机身上钻了一个孔,穿透了我的座舱罩。我现在走了。

我必须回到布里吉尔去验伤。假如他击中的是主转子,那么我现在已经上了西天。

我不能再冒险了,好不好?“

警长根本没听清这些话。他听见了那支古旧的来复枪在远处发出的一响震响,并看见了那架直升机在空中做了一个芭蕾舞动作,他还看见了它朝地平线方向飞了过去。 [868] [869]

“我们拥有现代化的技术设备。”其中一位护林官咕哝着说。 [870]

“算了吧,”刘易斯说。“那小伙子在林中生活多年。继续走吧,备妥步枪,睁大眼睛,竖起耳朵。我们在这里进行的是一次真正的追击。”

还有一名猎手听见了这支来复枪的射击声,而且他的距离更近,大约半英里。

马克斯已经提议他走在追捕队的前方去侦察。 [871]

“他正牵着马行走,先生。这意味着我可以跑得更快。他不会听见我的接近。

如果我能看清楚,我就能在与那姑娘相隔几英尺之处把他击倒。“

布兰多克同意了。马克斯插向前方,悄悄地边隐蔽边前进,眼观四面,耳听八方,一有风吹草动赶紧躲进灌木丛中。当他听到来复枪的射击声时,这给了他一个明确的追踪方向,大概在他的行进方向稍稍靠右侧一些的半英里处。他开始追寻过去。 [872]

在前方的山坡上,本·克雷格已经把来复枪插回皮套并恢复了行军。他只要再行上半英里就可走出森林到达被称为银径的那块大石板了。在树梢的上方,他能够看到大山正在缓慢地向他逼近。他知道他已经延缓了追捕队的进度,但没能使他们折返。他们仍在那里,仍在跟上来。 [873]

一只鸟儿鸣叫了,在他身后高高的树枝上。他知道那是什么乌,也知道那种叫声,一种重复的呱呱呱叫声,随着鸟儿的飞远渐渐消退。另一只鸟响应了,是那种同样的叫声。那是它们的警告叫声。他让罗斯伯德留下来吃食牧草,自己走到它留下的蹄印左边20英尺处,然后穿越松林朝后走了过去。 [874]

马克斯边隐蔽边向前跃进,沿着蹄印,直至他来到那个林中空地。他的迷彩军服和脸上涂抹的黑炭为他在光线昏暗的树林中提供了最好的伪装。他审视着那片林中开阔地,见到空地中央那枚亮晶晶的黄铜弹壳时,不禁露出了微笑。如此愚蠢的诡计。他知道最好不要跑上去察看,免得挨上躲在暗处的那个枪手的一颗子弹。他知道那人肯定在那里。这份十分明显的诱饵证明了这一点。他一寸一寸地审视着空地对面的树叶。 [875]

然后他看到了那条嫩枝的晃动。那是一颗灌木,是空地对面一颗又大又密的灌木。微风吹动着枝叶,但总是朝着一个方向。这条树枝却摇向另一个方向。他盯住那丛灌木细细察看,分辨出离地面6英尺那片淡淡的褐色污渍。他回想起头一天戴在那个骑马人头上的那顶狐皮狩猎帽。 [876]

他携带着他最喜欢的武器——M-16自动步枪:枪管短、重量轻、绝对可靠。


他用右手拇指把栓钮静静地推到了自动档,然后就开火了。半匣子弹射进了那丛灌木,茶褐色的污渍消失了,然后重新出现在它倒下的地上。只是在这个时候,马克斯才不顾隐蔽冲上前去。 [877] [878]

夏延人从来不使用石棍。他们喜欢使用斧子,他们可从马背上用斧子朝侧面和下面砍去,或者准确、快速地抛出去。 [879]

那把飞出来的斧子击中了少校的右手二头肌,切开皮肉后粉碎了里面的骨头。

那支自动步枪从软绵绵的手中落到了地上。马克斯俯视着,脸色灰白地,然后把小斧从手上拔了出来。当鲜血喷射出来时,用左手夹住了伤口以止住流血。然后他转身沿着他过来的原路跑下山去。 [880]

侦察兵扔下左手捏着的那条曾经拉动树枝的50英尺长的细皮带,捡回他的手斧和帽子后跑上去寻找他的马匹了。 [881]

布兰多克、他的儿子和剩余的3个人赶上去后发现少校倚靠在一棵树上,正大口大口地喘着气。 [882]

刘易斯警长和他的人马已经听到了自动步枪的连续射击声,是这一天的第二次,但与逃亡者的单一的枪声很不相同,于是他们赶快策马围了上去。那位资深的护林官看了一下少校受伤的手臂,说了声“止血带”,接着赶紧打开了他的急救箱。 [883]

当护林官包扎着那条血肉模糊的手臂时,刘易斯警长听取了布兰多克告诉他的所发生的事情。他厌恶地凝视着这个庄园主。 [884]

“我应该把你们全都抓起来,”他厉声说。“假如我们现在不是离文明很远这个事实,我是会的。现在嘛,你们给我滚开,布兰多克先生,别来插手。”

“这事我要管到底的,”布兰多克喊道。“那个野蛮人偷走了我儿子的女友,而且把我的3名员工弄成了重伤……”

“你们本来就不应该来这里。现在,我要把那个小伙子抓起来审问,可我不想发生流血事情。所以,我要收缴你们的武器,全部收上,现在就收。”

几支步枪对准了布兰多克和他的追捕队员的方向。其他几名警官上去收缴了那几支步枪和手枪。警长转向那位为少校的手臂尽了最大的努力的护林官。 [885] [886]

“你那个伤员怎么样?”

“要疏散出去,而且要快,”护林官说。“他可以由人陪同着骑马返回雷德洛奇,但有20英里路程,而且地面崎岖不平,中间还夹着西福克溪。路上肯定不好受,他也许坚持不住。前方是银径高原,无线电话在那里应该会畅通。我们可在那里呼叫,要求来一架直升机。”

“你说什么?”

“直升机,”护林官说。“少校需动外科手术,而且不能耽搁,不然他的手臂就保不住了。”

他们继续骑马前进。在那片林中开阔地上,他们发现了丢弃在那里的那支自动步枪和洒在四周的子弹壳。护林官仔细地审视着。 [887] [888]

“火石箭头、一把飞斧、一支野牛枪。这家伙到底是什么人,警长?”

“我原以为我知道,”刘易斯说。“现在我认为我并不知道。”

“嗯,”护林官说,“他肯定不是一个失业演员。”

本·克雷格站在森林的边缘,眺望着前方那块平展的闪闪发光的岩石。前行5英里就是最后那条隐藏的溪流,再往前两英里可越过赫尔罗林高原,接下来是最后的1英里抵达大山。他抚摸着罗斯伯德的脑袋和它那天鹅绒般的柔软的口鼻部。 [889]

“在太阳下山之前再来一次,”他告诉它。“再骑行一次,然后我们将获得自由。”

他骑上去策马在岩石上慢跑起来。10分钟后追踪队到达了这个高原。他已经是在岩面上1英里之外的一个微小的影子了。 [890]

离开树林后,无线电又可发挥作用了。刘易斯警长联系上杰里,并获悉了那架小型直升机所受到的损伤。杰里已经回到了比林斯机场并借了一架大型的贝尔直升机。 [891]

“快来这里,杰里。别担心那个狙击手。他已经在1英里之外了,超出了射距。我们这里有一个人需紧急救援。还有那位侦察机的平民志愿飞行员是不是?告诉他我现在就需要他。我要他到银径高原上空,不得低于5000英尺高度。告诉他让他寻找一个向着高山进发的孤独的骑马人。“

这时候已经是下午3点多了,太阳正在向西边的群峰倾斜下去。当太阳落到斯普里特山和熊牙山后面时,黑暗将会很快降临。 [892] [893]

杰里架着贝尔直升机首先到达,咔嚓响着从蓝色的天空飞过来降落在那块平展的岩石上。少校被搀扶着登上了直升机,还有一名警官陪同着他。警方飞行员起飞了,并用无线电通知前方的比林斯纪念医院,要求在停车场上降落,还要求作好外科大手术的准备。 [894]

剩余的骑手们开始了穿越高原。 [895]

“前方有一条暗溪,他不一定知道,”那位资深护林官说,一边骑马上来与警长并行。“它叫莱克福克溪,溪水很深、很窄,溪岸很陡。只有一条路可供马匹涉水过去。他要找到它恐怕会花上很长时间。我们可以追上去,在那里抓住他。”

“可是如果他等在树林里,用那支来复枪瞄准着我们呢?我不想以牺牲你们一两个人来证明这一点。”

“那我们怎么办?”

“别担心,”刘易斯说。“他无法走出大山,甚至也无法南下进入怀俄明州,有空中侦察他是逃不掉的。”

“除非他彻夜行军。”

“他有一匹累得筋疲力尽的马和一位穿着白色丝绸结婚拖鞋的姑娘。他已经快要走不动了,而且他应该知道这一点。我们只要保持1英里的距离盯住他,并等待那架侦察机的到来。”

他们盯着前方视线中的那个微小的身影继续骑行。那架侦察机在快到4点钟时飞过来了。年轻的飞行员是被从他在比林斯的工作中召唤过来的,他在一家宿营商店工作。莱克福克溪陡峭的堤岸上的树梢进入了视线。 [896] [897] [898]

飞行员的声音在警长的无线电设备上振响了。 [899]

“你们想知道什么?”

“我们的前方有一名孤独的骑马人,还有一位裹着毯子的姑娘骑在背后。你能看见他吗?”

高空中的那架侦察机倾斜着机翼飞向那条溪水。 [900]

“能看见。这里有一条狭窄的溪流。他正在进入树林。”

“离远点。他有一支步枪,而且他是一名神枪手。”

他们看见那架侦察机在前方两英里处向高空爬升,倾斜着掠过了溪流的上空。 [901]

“好的。可我还能看见他。他已经下了马,正牵着它走下溪水中。”

“他永远到不了对岸,”那护林官噬噬响着说。“我们现在可以追上去了。”

他们开始策马慢跑。布兰多克、他的儿子和他的剩余3名枪手带着已经空了的枪套跟在警官们后面。 [902]

“保持距离,”警长再次警告说。“如果你靠得太近,他仍可从树林中射击。

他曾经对杰里来过这一手。“

“当初杰里是在600英尺的低空盘旋,”那位飞行员的话声从空中僻僻啪啪地传了过来。“可我是在3000英尺的空中以120节的速度飞行。顺便说到,他似乎已经找到了上岸的路径。他正在登上赫尔罗林高原。”

警长朝那个护林官看了一眼,并喷了一下鼻息。 [903]

“你认为他以前来过这里。”迷惑不解的护林官说。 [904]

“也许他是来过。”刘易斯厉声说。 [905]

“不可能。我们知道谁来过这里。”

这群人抵达了峡谷的边沿,但松林挡住了视线,使他们无法看见那个筋疲力尽的人拉着马匹及其负荷在对岸爬山。 [906]

那位护林官知道可涉过溪流的那条惟一的小径,但罗斯伯德的蹄印显示出他们的猎物也同样知道。当他们登上第二个高原时,逃亡者又成了远处微小的一个点。 [907]

“天在黑下来,油也快用完了,”侦察机飞行员说。“我必须回去了。”

“最后再盘旋一圈,”警长催促说。“他现在在什么地方?”

“他已经到了山上。他又下了马在前方引路。在爬上北坡。但看起来他的马匹快要支持不住了。它一路上跌跌撞撞。我估计你们可在日出时抓住他。祝你们好运,警长。”

侦察机在暮色渐浓的空中转了一个弯,嗡嗡响着飞回比林斯去了。 [908] [909]

“我们继续前进吗,警长?”其中一名警官问道。刘易斯警长摇摇头。这里空气稀薄,他们全都在大口大口地吸着气,黑夜正在快速降临。 [910]

“黑暗中不能行路。我们在这里宿营等待天明。”

他们在溪岸上方面向大山南坡的最后一片树林中扎了营。在暮色苍茫中,这些树木似乎赫然耸立在岩石上由人员和马匹组成的小点点之上。 [911]

他们取出厚厚的温暖的皮夹克,穿在了身上。在树下找到了一把枯枝,很快,一堆明亮而又温暖的黄火燃了起来。在警长的提议下,布兰多克、他的儿子和剩余的3个人在100码之外安了营。 [912]

在这么高的山区过夜是从来没有想到过的。他们没带来被褥和食物。他们围着簧火坐在马毯上,背靠着从马上卸下来的鞍具,吃着糖果。刘易斯警长凝视着火焰。 [913]

“明天你打算怎么办,保罗?”

他的副手汤姆·巴罗问道。 [914]

“我想孤身向前进入高山。不带枪支。我想打起一面停战旗并带去一只扩音器。

我打算努力说服他下山来,带着那个姑娘。“

“那很危险。他是一个野孩子。他也许想杀死你。”那位护林官说。 [915] [916]

“他今天原本是可以杀死3个人的,”警长沉思着说。“他是可以的,但他没有。他必须明白在受到了围困的山上他保护不了那个姑娘。我猜测他很可能不会朝一个打着白旗的治安警官开枪。他首先会倾听。这值得一试。”

寒冷的夜色包围了山区。本·克雷格连推带拉,连催带哄地引领着罗斯伯德爬完最后一段山路,登上了那个洞穴外的大石板上。罗斯伯德站在那里,浑身颤抖着,眼睛迟钝麻木,由它的主人把那个姑娘从它的背上抱了下来。 [917] [918]

克雷格做手势示意轻风走向那个古老的熊洞,他自己解下那件野牛皮袍为她铺在了地上。他摘下还剩两支箭的箭筒,从背上取下弓,把它们放在了一起。最后,他松开肚带并卸下了马鞍和两只驮袋。 [919]

卸去负担之后,这匹栗色母马朝灌木丛及其下面的枯叶走了几步。它的后腿一曲,一屁股坐在了地上。然后前腿也弯曲下来了。它朝侧面卧下了。 [920] [921]

克雷格跪在它的头部旁边,捧起马头放在他的膝盖上,用手抚摩着它的口鼻部。

在他的触摸下,它轻柔地嘶叫着,然后它那勇敢的心脏停止了跳动。 [922]

这位年轻人也已经耗尽了体力。他已经两天两夜没睡觉了,几乎没吃过什么东西,而且已经骑行或步行了近100英里。现在还有事情要做,他拖着脚步又往前走了一段距离。 [923]

在大石板的边缘去俯视,他看到了下面北方远处追捕队的那两堆篝火。他在那位老人曾经坐过的地方砍了一些树枝并点起了一堆火。火焰照亮了突岩和山洞,以及他曾经爱过的而且要永远爱下去的那位惟一的姑娘穿着白色丝绸的身影。 [924] [925]

他打开驮袋,取出他从城堡里带来的一些食品。他们并肩坐在野牛皮上,一起吃着他们曾经吃过的或者将要吃的惟一的一顿饭。 [926]

他知道在他的马倒下之后,追赶差不多已经结束了。但那位占卜老人曾经答应过他这个姑娘将成为他的妻子,而且无处不在的神灵也是这么说的。 [927] [928]

在下面的平地上,那些筋疲力尽的追捕队员的谈话声渐渐消失了。火光映红了他们的脸庞,他们静静地坐着,望着火焰出神。 [929]

高峰上空气稀薄,万籁俱寂。一阵微风从山顶上吹过来,但没有打破寂静。然后响起了一个声音。 [930]

它划过夜空传到了他们的耳际,是由猫掌风从山上带下来的。这是一种叫声,又长又清晰,是一个年轻女人的声音。 [931]

这不是一种痛苦的叫声,而是一个人在经历了极度愉悦之后的那种飘飘欲仙般的欢叫,是语言所无法描述的,也是无法重复的。 [932]

警官们面面相觑,然后把头垂在了胸前。警长看到他们的肩头在抽搐和颤抖。 [933]

在100码之外,比尔·布兰多克从火堆旁站了起来,他的部下这时候不敢去看他的眼睛。他凝视着高山,他的脸因为愤恨而扭曲了。 [934]

半夜里,温度开始下降。起初,这些人还以为是高山和空气稀薄引起的夜冷。

他们颤抖着裹紧了他们的皮夹克。但寒风钻进了他们的牛仔裤,于是他们缩着身体更靠近了篝火。 [935]

气温落到摄氏零度后还在下降。警官们抬头去看天空,看到一团团厚厚的乌云遮住了群峰。在高耸的后卫山山脊上,他们看见了一抹孤独的微小的火光;然后它从视线里消退了。 [936]

这些人全都是蒙大拿当地人,习惯于严酷的冬天,但10月下旬不应该这么寒冷。 [937]

下半夜1点钟时,两位护林宫猜测气温已经降到了零下20度,而且仍在下落。到2点钟时,他们全都站起来了,睡意已经消失殆尽,他们不停地往手心里吹热气,跺着脚以保持血液循环,还往火堆里添加了更多的树枝,但都没什么作用。第一阵鹅毛大雪开始飘落下来了,噬噬响着飘进了火堆,降低了簧火的热量。 [938]

那位资深的护林官走到刘易斯警长旁边,冻得牙齿咯咯响。 [939]

“我和卡尔认为我们应该回到卡斯特森林里去避寒。”他提议说。 [940]

“那里是不是暖和一些?”警长问。 [941]

“也许是的。”

“这里到底是怎么回事?”

“你会认为我胡说八道的,警长。”

“我倒想听一听呢。”

雪下得更大更密了,星星已经不见了,一道寒冷刺骨的白茫茫的幕帘在向他们飘落下来。 [942]

“这地方是克劳人地盘和肖松尼人区域的汇合点。多年前,在白人到来之前,勇士们在这里战斗和牺牲。那些印第安人相信他们的灵魂仍在这些山上行走,他们认为这是一个神奇的地方。”

“一种很迷人的传说。可这鬼天气是怎么回事?”

“我说过这听起来像是胡说八道。可他们说,有时候无处不在的神灵也会来到这里,并带来‘长眠之寒’,这是无人可承受得了的。当然,这只是一种奇特的天气现象,但我认为我们应该离开这里,如果我们留在这里,那么在日出之前我们是会冻僵的。”

刘易斯警长想了一想,然后点点头。 [943]

“备上鞍具,”他说。“我们骑马出去。去告诉布兰多克他们。”

几分钟之后,这位护林宫冒着暴风雪回来了。 [944]

“布兰多克说,他将退回到溪边的避寒处,再也不会后撤了。”

警长、两位护林官和警官们打着寒战,重新淌过溪流,骑上马越过银径高原回到了稠密的松林之中。林中的气温升到了零摄氏度。他们点燃了更多的篝火并存活下来了。 [945]

凌晨4点半,山上的那层白色积雪崩裂了,朝平原横扫下来。这是一道无声的、川流不息的浪潮,如同一堵墙倒向岩石,翻滚着跌人溪流,把它填得满满的。冲入银径高原半英里之后,它才最后停了下来。天空的乌云开始消散。 [946]

两个小时后,保罗·刘易斯警长站在森林的边沿遥望着南方。群山一片银装素裹。东方的朝霞染红了天际,预示着又是一个晴朗的日子。靛蓝色的天空正在变为蛋青色。他整夜都把他的无线电通讯器贴身悟着保暖,现在它还能使用。 [947]

“杰里,”他呼叫着,“我们需要你来这里,架着贝尔直升机,而且快点来。

我们这里下了一场暴风雪,事情似乎不太妙……不,我们已经回到了那片森林的边缘,就是昨天你把少校接回去的地方。你会发现我们都在这里。“

那架4座直升机从初升的太阳那里飞过来,降落在冰冷的。但没有积雪的那块岩石上。刘易斯让两名警官坐进后座里,他自己爬上去坐到了飞行员身边。 [948]

“回到山上去。”

“那位夏普斯枪手怎么办?”

“我认为现在不会有人想开枪了。如果他们还活着就算他们运气好。”

直升机沿着头一天追捕队所走过的路线飞过去了。莱克福克溪只露出岸边一些松树的梢头。林中的那5个人则没有显示出任何迹象。他们继续朝着那座山头飞过去。警长在寻找着他曾经在空中见过的那团淡淡的营火。飞行员很紧张,保持在远处的高空,在离地600英尺上空盘旋着。

刘易斯先看见了。高山上的那片污黑的痕迹,一个山洞的人口处,前面是一块积着冰雪、宽得足以降落贝尔直升机的大石板。 [949] [950] [951] [952]

“降下来,杰里。”

飞行员仔细地操纵着,扫视着岩丛中的动静。一个举枪瞄准的人、一支旧时黑火药步枪在下面闪烁。没有动静。直升机降落在那块大石板上,桨叶仍在快速旋转着,做好了逃离的准备。 [953]

刘易斯警长跳出舱门,握着一支手枪。警官们提着步枪钻出机舱跳到了地上,去封住洞口。没有动静。刘易斯喊话了。 [954] [955]

“出来吧,举起双手。我们不会伤害你。”

没有应答,没有骚动。他左右躲闪着来到了洞口侧面。然后他朝四周打量着。 [956]

地上只有一堆东西,没有其他。他好奇地钻进洞穴去察看。不管这东西曾经是什

  1. WHISPERING WIND
  2. LEGEND HAS ALWAYS HAD IT THAT NO WHITE MAN SURVIVED .THE massacre of the men under General Custer at the Little Bighorn, 25 June, 1876. Not quite true; there was one single survivor. He was a frontier scout, aged twenty-four, name of Ben Craig.
  3. This is his story.
  4. IT WAS THE KEEN NOSE OF THE FRONTIER SCOUT THAT CAUGHT IT first: the faint aroma of woodsmoke on the prairie wind.
  5. He was riding point, twenty yards ahead of the ten cavalrymen of the patrol scouting forward of the main column down the western bank of Rosebud Creek.
  6. Without turning round the scout raised his right hand and reined in.Behind him the sergeant and the nine troopers did the same. The scout slipped from his horse, leaving it to crop the grass in peace, and trotted towards a low bank between the riders and the creek. There he dropped to the ground and crawled to the crest, peering over the top while remaining hidden in the long grass.
  7. They were cramped between the ridge and the bank of the stream. It was a small camp, no more than five lodges, a single extended family. The teepees indicated Northern Cheyenne.
  8. The scout knew them well. Sioux teepees were tall and narrow; Cheyenne built theirs wider at the base, more squat.
  9. Pictographs showing hunting triumphs adorned the sides and these too were in the Cheyenne manner.
  10. The scout estimated the camp would contain between twenty and twenty-five persons, but the half-score of men were away hunting. He could tell by the ponies. There were only seven grazing near the lodges. To move such a camp, with the men mounted and the women and children, folded teepees and other baggage on travois there should have been almost twenty.
  11. He heard the sergeant crawling up the bank towards him and gestured behind him for the man to stay down. Then the blue uniform sleeve with the three chevrons appeared beside him.
  12. "What do you see?' said a hoarse whisper.
  13. It was nine in the morning and already burning hot. They had been riding for three hours. General Custer liked to break camp early. But already the scout could smell the whisky on the breath of the man beside him. It was bad frontier whisky and the smell was rank, stronger than the perfume of the wild plum, cherry and the torrents of rambling dog roses that grew in such profusion along the banks to give Rosebud Creek its name.
  14. "Five lodges. Cheyenne. Only the women and children in camp. The braves are away hunting across the creek." Sergeant Braddock did not ask how the scout knew this. He just accepted that he did. He hawked, ejected a squirt of liquid tobacco and gave a yellow-toothed grin. The scout slid down the bank and stood up.
  15. "Let us leave them alone. They are not what we are looking for." But Braddock had spent three years on the plains with the Seventh Cavalry and had had depressingly little sport. A long and boring winter in Fort Lincoln had yielded a bastard son by a laundress and part-time whore, but he had really come to the plains to kill Indians and did not intend to be denied.
  16. The slaughter took only five minutes. The ten riders came over the ridge at a canter and broke at once into a full gallop.
  17. The scout, mounted up, watched in disgust from the top of the ridge.
  18. - One trooper, a raw recruit, was so bad a horseman that he fell off. The rest did the butchery. All cavalry swords had been left behind at Fort Lincoln so they used their Colt revolvers or new-issue Springfield '73s.
  19. When they heard the drumming of hooves the squaws attending the campfire and their cooking pots tried to find and gather their children before running for the river. They were too late. The riders were through them before they could reach the water, then turned and charged back through the lodges, shooting down anything that moved. When it was over and all the old people, women and children were dead, they dismounted and raided the teepees, looking for interesting loot to send home. There were several more shots from inside the lodges when still-living children were found.
  20. The scout trotted the four hundred yards from the ridge to the camp to examine the slaughter. There seemed nothing and no-one left alive as the troopers torched the teepees. One of the troopers, little more than a boy and new to this, was bringing up his breakfast of hard tack and beans, leaning out of the saddle to avoid his own puke. Sergeant Braddock was triumphant. He had his victory. He had found a feathered war bonnet and affixed it to his saddle near the canteen that ought to have contained only spring water.
  21. The scout counted fourteen corpses, tossed like broken dolls where they fell. He shook his head as one of the men offered him a trophy, and trotted past the tents to the bank of the creek to give his horse a brief drink.
  22. She was lying half-hidden in the reeds, fresh blood running down one bare leg where the rifle bullet had taken her in the thigh as she ran. If he had been a mite quicker he would have turned his head away and ridden back to the burning teepees.
  23. But Braddock, watching him, had caught the direction of his glance and ridden up.
  24. "What have you found, boy? Well, another vermin, and still alive." He unholstered his Colt and took aim. The girl in the reeds turned her face and stared up at them, eyes blank with shock.
  25. The scout reached out, gripped the Irishman's wrist and forced the pistol-hand upwards. Braddock's coarse, whisky-red face darkened with anger.
  26. "Leave her alive, she may know something,' said the scout. It was the only way. Braddock paused, thought and then nodded.
  27. "Good thinking, boy. We'll take her back to the general as a present." He re-holstered his pistol and went back to check on his men. The scout slipped off his horse and went into the reeds to tend to the girl. Luckily for her the wound was clean. At short range the bullet had gone through the flesh of the thigh as she ran. There was an entry wound and an exit hole, both small and round. The scout used his neckerchief to bathe the wound with clear creek water and bind it tight to stop the flow of blood.
  28. When he had finished he looked at her. She stared back at him. A torrent of hair, black as a raven's wing, flowed about her shoulders; wide dark eyes, clouded with pain and fear. Not all Indian squaws were pretty in a white man's eyes, but of all the tribes, the handsomest were the Cheyenne. The girl in the reeds, aged about sixteen, had a stunning, ethereal beauty. The scout was twenty-four, Bible-raised, and had never known a woman in the Old Testament sense. He felt his heart pound and had to break the gaze. He swung her onto his shoulder and walked back to the ruined camp.
  29. "Put her on a pony,' shouted the sergeant. He swigged again from his pannikin. The scout shook his head.
  30. "Travois,' he said, 'or she'll die." There were several travels on the ground near the smouldering ashes of the teepees. Composed of two long, springy lodgepole pines, crossed over the back of a pony, with trailing ends spread wide and a stretched buffalo hide to carry the burden, the travois was a remarkably comfortable way of travelling, much easier on an injured person than the white man's cart, which bucked savagely at every rut.
  31. The scout rounded up one of the straying ponies. There were only two left; five had stampeded into the distance. The animal reared and shied as he took its tethering rein. It had already caught the odour of white men and this smell could drive a pinto pony half-wild. The reverse was also true: US cavalry horses could become almost unmanageable if they scented the body smell of Plains Indians.
  32. The scout breathed gently into the animal's nostrils until it calmed down and accepted him. Ten minutes later he had the travois in place and the injured girl wrapped in a blanket on the buffalo hide. The patrol set off back up the trail to find Custer and the main body of the Seventh Cavalry. It was the 24th of June, year of grace 1876.
  33. The seeds of the campaign of that summer across the plains of southern Montana dated back several years. Gold had been discovered at last in the sacred Black Hills of South Dakota and the prospectors poured in. But the Black Hills had already been accorded to the Sioux nation in perpetuity. Angered by what they saw as treachery, the Plains Indians responded by raids on prospectors and wagon trains.
  34. The whites reacted with rage to such violence; tales of hideous barbarity, often fictitious or hugely exaggerated, fuelled the anger to boiling point, and the white communities appealed to Washington. The government responded by casually revoking the Treaty of Laramie and confining the Plains Indians to a series of meagre reservations, a fraction of what they had been solemnly promised. The reservations were in North and South Dakota territories.
  35. But Washington also conceded the creation of a block known as the Unceded Territories. These were the traditional hunting grounds of the Sioux, still teeming with buffalo and deer. The ? 11 block had its eastern border down the vertical line created by the western perimeters of North and South Dakota. Its western border was an imaginary line north-south, 145 miles further west, a line the Indians had never seen and could not imagine.
  36. To the north the Unceded block was bounded by the Yellowstone river, running through the land called Montana and into the Dakotas; to the south by the North Platte river in Wyoming. Here, at first, the Indians were allowed to hunt. But the westward march of the white man did not stop.
  37. The Sioux and their allies did not contest the ultimatum; they simply ignored it. Most of them never even heard of it.
  38. They continued to hunt, and as winter gave way to spring they sought their traditional staples, the munificent buffalo and the gentle deer and antelope. In early spring the Bureau handed the matter over to the army. Its task: to find them, round them up and escort them back to the Dakota reservations.
  39. The army did not know two things: how many there really were off reservation, and where they were. On the first matter, the army was simply lied to. The reservations were run by Indian agents, all white and many of them crooks.
  40. From Washington they received allotments of cattle, corn, flour, blankets and money to distribute among their charges.
  41. Many swindled the Indians grossly, leading to hunger among the women and children, and thus the decision to return to the hunting plains.
  42. The agents also had another reason for lying. If they declared that one hundred per cent of those supposed to be on reservation were indeed there, they received one hundred per cent allowance. As the percentage of those Indians accounted for dropped, so did the allocations and thus the agents' personal profits. In the spring of 1876 the agents told the army there were only a few handfuls of warriors missing. They lied. There were thousands and thousands of them missing, all gone west across the border to hunt the Unceded Lands.
  43. As to where they were, there was only one way to find out.
  44. Troops would have to be sent into southern Montana to find them. So a plan was formulated. There would be three columns of mixed infantry and cavalry.
  45. From Fort Lincoln in northern Dakota General Alfred Terry would march west along the course of the Yellowstone river, the northern border of the hunting grounds. From Fort Shaw in Montana General John Gibbon would march south to Fort Ellis, then veer east along the Yellowstone until he met up with Terry's column coming the other way.
  46. From Fort Fetterman, far to the south in Wyoming, General George Crook would march north, cross the headwaters of Crazy Woman Creek, cross the Tongue river and head up the valley of the Big Horn until he made rendezvous with the other two columns. Somewhere, between them, it was figured, one of them would find the main body of the Sioux. They all set off in March.
  47. In early June Gibbon and Terry met up where the Tongue, flowing north, empties into the Yellowstone. They had not seen a single war bonnet. All they knew was that at least the Plains Indians were somewhere to the south of them. Gibbon and Terry agreed that Terry would march on westward and Gibbon, now united with him, would retrace his steps back to the west. This they did.
  48. On 20 June the combined column reached the point where the Rosebud flows into the Yellowstone. Here it was decided that in case the Indians were up that particular watercourse, the Seventh Cavalry, which had accompanied Terry all the way from Fort Lincoln, should peel off and head up the Rosebud to the headwaters. Custer might find Indians, he might find General Crook.
  49. No-one knew that on the 17th Crook had chanced into a very large concentration of mixed Sioux and Cheyenne and taken a beating. He had turned round, headed back south and was even then happily hunting game. He did not send any riders north to find and warn his colleagues, so they did not know there would be no relief coming up from the south. They were on their own.
  50. It was on the fourth day of forced march up the valley of the Rosebud that one of the forward patrols returned with a tale of victory over a small village of Cheyenne, and one prisoner.
  51. General George Armstrong Custer, riding proudly at the head of his column of cavalry, was in a hurry. He did not wish to halt the entire unit for one prisoner. He nodded in response to Sergeant Braddock's appearance and ordered him to report to his own company commander. Information, if any, from the squaw could wait until they made camp that night.
  52. The Cheyenne girl remained on the travois for the rest of that day. The scout took the pony to the rear and tethered its lead rein to one of the wagons of the baggage train. The pony pulling the travois trotted along behind the wagon. As no scouting was now needed, the scout remained nearby. In the short time he had been with the Seventh he had decided he did not like what he was doing, he did not like either the company commander to whom he was attached or the company sergeant; and he thought the famous General Custer a bombastic ass. He did not have the vocabulary to phrase it that way, and in any case he kept his thoughts to himself. His name was Ben Craig.
  53. His father, John Knox Craig, had been an immigrant from Scotland, ousted from his small farm by a greedy laird. This hardy man had emigrated to the United States in the early 1840s. Somewhere in the east he had met and married a girl of Scottish Presbyterian stock like himself, and, finding few opportunities in the cities, had headed west to the frontier. By 1850 he had reached southern Montana and decided to try for his fortune by panning for gold in the wilderness around the foothills of the Pryor Range.
  54. He was one of the first in those days. Life had been bleak and hard, with bitter winters in a timber shack by a stream at the edge of the forest. Only the summers had been idyllic, the forest teeming with game, trout brimming in the streams and the prairie a carpet of wild flowers. In 1852 Jennie Craig bore her first and only son. Two years later a small daughter died in infancy.
  55. Ben Craig was ten, a child of the forest and the frontier, when both his parents were killed by a Crow war party. Two days later a mountain trapper called Donaldson had come across the boy, hungry and grieving amid the ashes of the burnt-out cabin.
  56. Together they had buried John and Jennie Craig beneath two crosses by the water's edge. Whether Craig Senior had ever put together a stash of gold dust would never be known, for if the Crow warriors had found it they would have scattered the yellow powder, thinking it to be sand.
  57. Donaldson was older, a mountain man who trapped the wolf and beaver, bear and fox, and yearly took the pelts to the nearest trading post. Out of pity for the orphan, the old bachelor took him in and raised him as his own.
  58. In his mother's charge Ben had only had access to one book, the Bible, and she had read him long passages from it. Though he was no dab hand at reading and writing he had retained tracts from what she called the Good Book in his head. His father had taught him to pan for gold, but it was Donaldson who taught him the ways of the wild, the call of the birds by name, the tracking of an animal by its spoor and how to ride and shoot.
  59. It was with the trapper that he met the Cheyenne, who also trapped, and with whom Donaldson traded his store goods from the trading post. It was they who taught him their ways and their language.
  60. Two years before the summer campaign of 1876 the old man was claimed by the same wilderness in which he had lived. He missed his mark while shooting an old cinnamon bear and the crazed animal clawed and mauled him to death. Ben buried his adoptive father near the cabin in the forest, took what he needed and torched the rest.
  61. Old Donaldson had always said, 'When I'm gone, boy, take what you need. It will all be yours.' So he took the razor-sharp bowie knife and its sheath decorated in the Cheyenne manner, and the 1852 Sharps rifle; the two horses, saddles, blankets and some pemmican and hard tack for the ride. He needed no more. Then he came down from the mountains to the plain and rode north to Fort Ellis.
  62. He was working there as hunter, trapper and horse-breaker in April 1876 when General Gibbon rode by. The general needed scouts who knew the land south of the Yellowstone.
  63. The pay offered was good, so Ben Craig signed on.
  64. He was present when they reached the mouth of the river Tongue and met up with General Terry; he rode back with the combined column until they found again the mouth of the Rosebud. Here the Seventh Cavalry under Custer was detailed to go south up the course of the creek, and the call went out for anyone who could speak Cheyenne.
  65. Custer already had at least two Sioux-speaking scouts. One was a black soldier, the only one in the Seventh, Isaiah Dorman, who had lived with the Sioux. The other was the Chief Scout, Mitch Bouyer, a half blood, part French, part Sioux. But although the Cheyenne have always been regarded as first cousins and traditional allies of the Sioux, the languages are different. Craig put up his hand and was detailed by General Gibbon to join the Seventh.
  66. Gibbon also offered Custer three extra companies of cavalry under Major Brisbin, but was turned down. Terry offered him Gatling machine guns, but he turned these down as well. When they set off up the Rosebud the Seventh was twelve companies of troops, six white scouts, over thirty Indian scouts, a wagon train, and three civilians, in all 675 men. These also included farriers, smiths and muleteers.
  67. Custer had left his regimental band behind with Terry, so when he made his final charge it would not be to the sound of his favourite march, 'Garryowen'. But as they moved down the river course, kettles, pots, cauldrons and ladles banging together from the sides of the chuck wagons, Craig wondered which band of Indians Custer hoped to catch by surprise. With the noise and the column of dust raised by three thousand hooves, he knew they could be seen and heard several miles off.
  68. Craig had had two weeks between the Tongue and the Rosebud to look at the famed Seventh and its iconic commander, and the more he saw the more his heart sank. He hoped they would not meet a large body of Sioux and Cheyenne prepared to fight, but feared they might.
  69. All day the column rode south, following the course of the Rosebud, but saw no more Indians. Yet several times, when the wind blew off the prairie to the west, the cavalry horses became skittish, even panicky, and Craig was sure they had smelt something on the breeze. The burning teepees could not have gone unnoticed for very long. A high-rising column of smoke over the prairie could be seen for miles. The element of surprise was gone.
  70. Just after four in the afternoon General Custer called a halt and made camp. The sun began to drop towards the distant and invisible Rockies. Tents for the officers were quickly established. Custer and his intimates always used the ambulance tent, the biggest and most spacious. Folding camp chairs and tables were set up, the horses watered in the stream, food prepared, campfires lit.
  71. The Cheyenne girl lay silent on the travois and stared at the darkening sky. She was prepared to die. Craig took a canteen of fresh water from the creek and offered her a drink. She stared at him with huge dark eyes.
  72. "Drink,' he said in Cheyenne. She made no move. He poured a small stream of the cool liquid onto her mouth. The lips parted. She swallowed. He left the pannikin beside her.
  73. As dusk deepened a rider from B Company came down the camp looking for him.
  74. When he was 'found the trooper rode back to report. Ten minutes later Captain Acton rode up. He was accompanied by Sergeant Braddock, a corporal and two troopers. They all dismounted and surrounded the travois.
  75. All the frontier scouts attached to the Seventh, the six whites, the small group of Crows and the thirty or so Arikaras, known as the Rees, formed a group with a common interest. They all knew the frontier and the way of life.
  76. All the frontier scouts attached to the Seventh, the six whites, the small group of Crows and the thirty or so Arikaras, known as the Rees, formed a group with a common interest. They all knew the frontier and the way of life.
  77. Round the campfires in the evening, before turning in, it was customary for them to talk among themselves. They discussed the officers, starting with General Custer, and the company commanders. Craig had been surprised how unpopular the general was with his men. His younger brother Tom Custer, commanding C Company, was much better liked, but the most loathed of them all was Captain Acton. Craig shared this antipathy. Acton was a career soldier who had joined just after the Civil War ten years earlier and risen in the Seventh in the shadow of Custer, the scion of a wealthy family back east. He was thin, with a chiselled face and a cruel mouth.
  78. "So, Sergeant,' said Acton, 'this is your prisoner. Let's find out what she knows.
  79. "You talk the savage's lingo?' he asked Craig. The scout nodded. 'I want to know who she is, what group she was with and where the main body of the Sioux is to be found. Right now.
  80. Craig bent over the girl on the buffalo hide. He broke into Cheyenne, using both words and numerous hand gestures, for the dialects of the Plains Indians had limited vocabulary and needed hand signals to make the meaning plain.
  81. "Tell me your name, girl. No harm will come to you." "I am called Wind That Talks Softly,' she said. The cavalrymen stood around and listened. They could understand not a word, but could comprehend the shakes of the girl's head.
  82. Finally Craig straightened up.
  83. "Captain, she says her name is Whispering Wind. She is of the northern Cheyenne. Her family is that of Tall Elk. Those were his lodges that the sergeant wiped out this morning.
  84. There were ten men in the village, including her father, and they were all away hunting deer and antelope east of the Rosebud." "And the main concentration of the Sioux?" "She says she has not seen the Sioux. Her family came up from the south, from the Tongue river. There were some more Cheyenne with them, but they parted company a week ago.Tall Elk preferred to hunt alone."
  85. Captain Acton stared down at the bandaged thigh, leaned forward and squeezed hard. The girl sucked in her breath but gave no cry.
  86. "A little encouragement perhaps,' said Acton. The sergeant grinned. Craig reached out, took the captain's wrist and removed it.
  87. "That will not work. Captain,' he said. 'She has told me what she knows. If the Sioux cannot be to the north, the way we have come, and they are not to the south and east, they must be to the west. You could tell the general that." Captain Acton plucked the restraining hand from his wrist as if it were infected. He straightened up, produced a half-hunter silver watch and glanced at it.
  88. "Chow time in the general's tent,' he said. 'I must go.' He had plainly lost interest in the prisoner. 'Sergeant, when it is full dark take her into the prairie and finish her off." "Anything say we can't have a little fun with her first, Captain?' asked Sergeant Braddock. There was a gust of approving laughter from the other men. Captain Acton mounted his horse.
  89. "Frankly, Sergeant, I don't give a damn what you do." He spurred his mount in the direction of General Custer's tent at the head of the camp. The others mounted likewise.
  90. Sergeant Braddock leaned down to Craig with a leer.
  91. "Keep her safe, boy. We'll be back." Craig walked over to the nearest chuck wagon, took a plate of salt pork, tack and beans, found a box of ammunition, sat down and ate. He thought of his mother, fifteen years earlier, reading to him from the Bible by the dim light of a tallow candle. He thought of his father, patiently panning hour after hour to find the elusive yellow metal in the streams running down from the Pryors. And he thought of old Donaldson, who had only once taken off his belt to him, and then when he had been cruel to a captured animal.
  92. Shortly before eight, with darkness now settled on the camp, he rose, returned his billycan and spoon to the wagon, and walked back to the travois. He said nothing to the girl. He just unhitched the two poles across the pinto pony's back and lowered the rig to the ground.
  93. He picked up the girl from the floor and swung her effortlessly onto the pinto's back, handing her the tether rein. Then he pointed to the open prairie.
  94. "Ride,' he said. She stared at him for two seconds. He slapped the pony on the rump. Seconds later it was gone, a sturdy, hardy, unshod animal that could find its own way across many miles of open prairie until it scented the odour of its own kin. Several Ree scouts watched curiously from fifty feet away.
  95. They came for him at nine and they were angry. Two troopers held him while Sergeant Braddock hit him about the body. When he sagged they dragged him through the camp to where General Custer, by the light of several oil lamps and surrounded by a group of officers, sat at a table in front of his tent.
  96. George Armstrong Custer has always been an enigma. But it is clear there were two sides to the man: a good and a bad, a light and a dark.
  97. On his light side he could be joyous and full of laughter, addicted to boyish practical jokes, and pleasant company. He possessed an endless energy and enormous personal stamina, forever engaged in some new project, whether collecting wildlife from the plains to send back to zoos in the east, or learning taxidermy. Despite years of absence, he was unswervingly loyal to his wife, Elizabeth, on whom he doted.
  98. After a drunken experience in his youth, he was teetotal, refusing even a glass of wine with dinner. He never swore and forbade profane language in his presence.
  99. During the Civil War fourteen years earlier he had shown such blinding courage, such total absence of personal fear, that he had quickly risen from lieutenant to major-general, only agreeing to revert to lieutenant-colonel to stay in the smaller postwar army. He had ridden at the head of his men into withering curtains of fire, yet never been touched by a bullet.
  100. He was a hero to myriad civilians, yet was distrusted and disliked by his own men, excepting his own personal court.
  101. This was because he could also be vindictive and cruel to those who offended him. Although himself unscathed, he lost more of his own men, dead and wounded, than any other cavalry commander in the war. This was put down to an almost crazy rashness. Soldiers tend not to warm to a commander who is going to get them killed.
  102. He ordered the use of the lash frequently during the War of the Plains and sustained more desertions than any other commander in the West. The Seventh was endlessly being depleted by the nocturnal departure of deserters, or snowbirds as they were called. The unit had to be constantly replenished with fresh recruits, but he had little interest in training them to become efficient and drilled cavalrymen. Despite a long autumn and winter at Fort Lincoln, the Seventh was in a deplorable state in June 1876.
  103. Custer possessed a personal vanity and ambition of awesome proportions, going out of his way to encourage personal glorification through newspapers whenever he could get it.
  104. Many of his mannerisms, the tanned buckskin suit, the flowing auburn curls, were to this end, as was the journalist Mark Kellogg, who now accompanied the Seventh Cavalry to war.
  105. But as a commanding general he had two flaws that would kill him and most of his men in the next hours. One was that he constantly underestimated his enemy. He had the reputation of a great Indian-fighter and he believed it. In truth, eight years earlier he had wiped out a sleeping Cheyenne village, that of Chief Black Kettle on the Washita River in Kansas, surrounding the sleeping Indians in the night and butchering most of them, men, women and children, at sunrise. The Cheyenne had just signed a new treaty of peace with the white men, so they thought they were safe.
  106. In the intervening years he had been involved in four small skirmishes with war parties. The aggregate losses for all four were not a dozen. Considering the hideous casualty lists of the Civil War, these brushes with local Indians were hardly worth a mention. Yet the readers back east were hero- hungry and the painted savage of the frontier was a demonic villain. Sensational newspaper reports and his own book. My Life on the Plains, had led to this reputation and the iconic status.
  107. The second fault was that he would listen to no-one. He had some extremely experienced scouts with him on the march down the Rosebud, but he ignored warning after warning. This was the man before whom Ben Craig was dragged on the evening of 24 June.
  108. Sergeant Braddock explained what had happened, and that there were witnesses. Custer, surrounded by six of his officers, studied the man in front of him. He saw a young man twelve years his junior, just under six feet tall, clad in buckskin, with curling chestnut hair and electric blue eyes. He was clearly Caucasian, not even a half blood as some scouts were, yet his feet were clad in soft leather boots rather than stiff cavalry issue, and a single white-tipped eagle feather hung from a braided strand of hair at the back of his head.
  109. "This is a very serious offence,' said Custer when the sergeant had finished. 'Is it true?" "Yes, General." "And why did you do it?" Craig explained the earlier interrogation of the girl and the plans for later that evening. Custer's face tightened in disapproval.
  110. "I'll have none of that sort of thing in my command, not even with squaws. Is it true, Sergeant?" At this point Captain Acton, sitting behind Custer, intervened.
  111. He was smooth, persuasive. He had personally conducted the inter-rogation. It had been entirely verbal, via the interpreter. There had been no infliction of pain on the girl.
  112. His last instructions were that she should be guarded through the night, but not touched, so that the general could make a decision in the morning.
  113. "I think my troop sergeant will confirm what I say,' he concluded.
  114. "Yes sir, that's just the way it was,' said Braddock.
  115. "Case proved,' said Custer. 'Close arrest until court martial.
  116. Send for the provost-sergeant. Craig, in letting this prisoner go, you have sent her to join and warn the main body of the hostiles. That is treason and a hanging offence." "She did not ride to the west,' said Craig. 'She rode to the east to find her own family, what's left of them." "She can still now warn the hostiles where we are,' snapped Custer.
  117. "They know where you are. General." "And how do you know that?" "They've been shadowing you all day." There were ten seconds of stunned silence. The provost- sergeant appeared, a big, bluff veteran called Lewis.
  118. "Take this man in charge, Sergeant. Close arrest. Tomorrow at sun-up there will be a quick court martial. Sentence will be carried out immediately. That is all." "Tomorrow is the Lord's Day,' said Craig.
  119. Custer thought. 'You are right. I will not hang a man on a Sunday. Monday it shall be." To one side, the regimental adjutant Captain William Cooke, a Canadian, had been scratching notes of the proceedings.
  120. These he would later stuff in his saddlebag.
  121. Peter Jackson: half-Pikuni and half Blackfoot brother of William, scout
  122. At this moment one of the scouts. Bob Jackson, rode up to the tent. With him were four Rees and a Crow scout. They had been up ahead at sundown and were late in returning. Jackson was half white and half Piegan Blackfoot. His report brought Custer excitedly to his feet.
  123. Just before sundown Jackson's native scouts had found traces of a large camp, many circular marks in the prairie where the teepees had stood. The trail from the camp headed west, away from the valley of the Rosebud.
  124. Custer was excited for two reasons. His orders from General Terry had been to go right on up to the headwaters of the Rosebud, but then to use his own judgement if fresh information was available. This was it. Custer was now a free man to create and formulate his own strategy and tactics, his own battle plan, without having to follow orders. The second reason was that he at last seemed to have found the main body of the elusive Sioux. Twenty miles to the west lay another river in another valley: the Little Bighorn, flowing north to join the Bighorn and thence to the Yellowstone.
  125. Within two or three days Gibbon's and Terry's combined forces would reach that confluence and turn south down the Bighorn. The Sioux were in a nutcracker.
  126. "Break camp,' shouted Custer and his officers scattered to their units. 'We march through the night.' He turned to the provost-sergeant. 'Keep that prisoner beside you. Sergeant Lewis. Tethered to his horse. And close behind me. Now he can see what happens to his friends." They marched through the night. Rough country, harsh terrain, out of the valley, always climbing towards the watershed.
  127. The men and horses began to tire. They arrived at the divide, the high point between the two valleys, in the small hours of the morning of Sunday the 25th. It was pitch dark but the stars were bright. Soon after the divide they found a rivulet which Mitch Bouyer identified as Dense Ashwood Creek. It flowed westwards, downhill to join the Little Bighorn in the valley. The column followed the creek.
  128. Just before dawn Custer called a halt, but there was no pitching of camp. The tired men rested in bivouac and tried to catch a few moments' sleep.
  129. Craig and the provost-sergeant had been riding barely fifty yards behind Custer as part of the headquarters troop. Craig was still mounted on his horse, but his Sharps rifle and bowie knife were with Sergeant Lewis. His ankles were tied with rawhide thongs to his saddle girth and his wrists behind him.
  130. At the pre-dawn pause Lewis, who was a bluff, by-the-book but not unkindly man, untied the ankles and let Craig slide to the ground. His wrists remained tied, but Lewis fed him several slugs of water from his canteen. The coming day would again be hot.
  131. It was at this point that Custer made the first of the foolish decisions he would make that day. He summoned his third-in- command. Captain Frederick Benteen, and ordered him to take three companies, H, D and K, and ride off into the badlands to the south to see if there were any Indians there. From a few yards away Craig heard Benteen, whom he judged to be the most professional soldier in the unit, protest the order. If there was a big concentration of hostiles up ahead on the banks of the Little Bighorn, was it wise to split the force?
  132. "You have your orders,' snapped Custer and turned away.
  133. Benteen shrugged and did as he was bid. Of Custer's total force of about 600 soldiers, 150 rode away into the endless hills and valleys of the badlands on a wild goose chase.
  134. Although Craig and Sergeant Lewis would never know it, Benteen and his exhausted men and horses would return to the river valley several hours later, too late to help but also too late to be wiped out. After giving his order, Custer broke camp again and the Seventh marched on down the creek towards the river.
  135. At the hour of dawn a number of Crow and Ree scouts who had been out forward of the column came back. They had found a knoll near the confluence of Dense Ashwood Creek and the river. Being familiar with the whole area, they knew it well. There were pine trees on it, and by climbing one an observer could finally see the whole valley ahead.
  136. Two Rees had been up the trees and seen what they had seen.
  137. When they learned that Custer intended to continue, they sat down and began their death songs.
  138. The sun rose. The heat began to come upon the day. Ahead of Craig, General Custer, who was wearing his cream buckskin suit, took off the jacket, rolled it and fastened it behind his saddle. He rode on in a blue cotton shirt, with his wide- brimmed cream hat shielding his eyes. The column came to the knoll.
  139. Custer went halfway up and tried to spot with a telescope what lay ahead. They were on the bank of the creek, still three miles short of the confluence with the river. When he came down from the hill and conferred with his remaining officers, rumour buzzed through the column. He had seen part of a Sioux village with smoke rising from the cooking fires. It was now midmorning.
  140. Across the creek and east of the river there was a low range of hills which blocked the view of anyone at ground level. Still, Custer had found his Sioux. He did not know precisely how many there were and declined to listen to the warnings of his scouts. He determined to attack, the only manoeuvre in his personal lexicon.
  141. The battle plan he chose was a pincer movement. Instead of securing the Indians' southern flank and waiting for Terry and Gibbon to close off the north, he decided to form both halves of the nutcracker with what was left of the Seventh Cavalry.
  142. Tethered to his horse and awaiting court martial after the battle, Ben Craig heard him order his second-in-command, Major Marcus Reno, to take a further three companies. A, M and B, and continue west. They were to reach the river, ford it, turn right and charge the lower end of the village from the south.
  143. He would leave one company to guard the mule train and the supplies. With his remaining five companies Custer would gallop due north, behind the range of hills, until he emerged at the northern end. Then he would ride down to the river, cross it and attack the Sioux from the north. Between Reno's three companies and his own five, the Indians would be trapped and destroyed.
  144. Craig could not know what lay out of vision on the other side of the low hills, but he could study the behaviour of the Crow and Ree scouts. They knew, and they were preparing to die. What they had seen was the biggest concentration of Sioux and Cheyenne in one place that there had ever been or ever would be. Six great tribes had come together to hunt in partnership, and were now camped along the western bank of the Little Bighorn river. They contained between ten and fifteen thousand Indians drawn from all the tribes of the plains.
  145. Craig knew that in Plains Indian society a male was deemed to be a warrior between the ages of fifteen and mid to late thirties. One-sixth of any plains tribe were therefore warriors.
  146. Thus there were two thousand of them down by the river, and they were not in a mood to be tamely driven back to any reservation when they had just heard that the plains to the north-west were teeming with deer and antelope.
  147. Worse, and no-one knew this, they had met and defeated General Crook a week earlier and were not afraid of the bluecoated soldiers. Nor were they out hunting, like the menfolk of Tall Elk the previous day. In fact, on the evening of the 24th they had had a huge celebration of the victory over Crook.
  148. The reason for the week's delay was simple: one week was the mourning period for their own dead from the fight with Crook on the 17th, and so the celebration could only take place after seven days. On the morning of the 25th the warriors were recovering from the dancing of the previous evening. They had not gone hunting and they were still in full body paint.
  149. Even so, Craig realized this was no sleeping village like that of Black Kettle by the Washita. It was past noon when Custer split his forces for the last and lethal time.
  150. The scout watched Major Reno depart, heading down the creek towards the river crossing. At the head of B Company Captain Acton gave a glance at the scout he had virtually condemned to die, permitted himself a thin smile and rode on.
  151. Behind him Sergeant Braddock sneered at Craig as he went by.
  152. Within two hours both would be dead and the remnants of Reno's three companies marooned on a hilltop trying to hold out until Custer could come back and relieve them. But Custer never came back and it was General Terry who would rescue them two days later.
  153. Craig watched another 150 of the shrinking force head off down the creek. Though he was not a soldier, he had little faith in them. A full thirty per cent of Custer's men were raw recruits with minimal training. Some could just about manage their horses when they were calm, but would lose control in combat.
  154. Others could hardly manage their Springfield rifles.
  155. Another forty per cent, though of longer careers, had never fired a shot in anger at an Indian, nor met them in skirmish, and many had never even seen one except docile and cowed on a reservation. He wondered how they would react when a howling, painted horde of warriors came sweeping out to defend their women and children. He had the direst premonition and it turned out to be right. But by then it would be far too late.
  156. There was a final factor he knew Custer had refused to bear in mind. Contrary to legend. Plains Indians held life to be sacred, not cheap. Even on the warpath they refused to take heavy casualties and after losing two or three of their best and bravest warriors would usually disengage. But Custer was attacking their parents, wives and children. Honour alone would forbid the menfolk to cease to fight until the last wasichu was dead. There could be no mercy.
  157. As the dust cloud of Reno's three companies disappeared down the creek Custer ordered the baggage train to stay put, guarded by one company of his remaining six. With the others, E, C, L, I and F, he turned towards the north with the range of hills keeping him invisible to the Indians in the valley of the river, but they were also invisible to him.
  158. He called over to the provost-sergeant, 'Bring the prisoner along. He can see what happens to his friends when the Seventh gets among them." Then he turned and trotted off to the north. The five companies fell in behind him, about 250 men in all. Craig realized Custer still did not perceive the danger, for he was bringing three civilians with him to watch the fun. One was the wispy, bespectacled journalist Mark Kellogg. More to the point, Custer had two young relatives along, for whom he must have felt responsible. One was his youngest brother, Boston Custer, aged nineteen, and the other was a sixteen-year-old nephew, Autie Reed.
  159. The men were trotting two abreast, in a line nearly half a mile long. Behind Custer rode his adjutant. Captain Cooke, and behind him the general's orderly of the day. Trooper John Martin, who was also the regimental bugler. His real name was Giuseppe Martino; he was an Italian immigrant who had once been a butler for Garibaldi, and he still had only a limited command of English. Sergeant Lewis and the tethered Ben Craig were thirty feet behind Custer.
  160. As they rode up into the hills, still keeping below the crest, they could turn in their saddles and see Major Reno and his men crossing the Little Bighorn before attacking from the south. At this point Custer, noticing the glum faces of his Crow and Ree scouts, invited them to turn and ride back. This they did without waiting for a second invitation. They survived.
  161. The troops rode like this for three miles until they finally cleared the crest to their left and could at last look down into the valley. Craig heard a sharp intake of breath from the big sergeant who held his horse's bridle and the murmured words: "Sweet Jesus.' The far bank of the river was a great ocean of teepees.
  162. Even at that distance Craig could make out the shapes of the lodges and the colours in which they were decorated, identifying the tribes. There were six separate villages.
  163. When the Plains Indians travelled, they did so in column, tribe by tribe. When they stopped to camp, they settled in separate villages. Thus the whole encampment was long and narrow, six circles flowing down the riverbank on the other side of the water.
  164. They had been travelling north when they had stopped several days earlier. The honour of breaking trail had been given to the Northern Cheyenne, so their village was the northernmost. Next to them came their closest allies, the Oglala Sioux. Close by the Oglala were the Sans Arc Sioux and then the Blackfeet. Second from the south were camped the Minneconjou and at the far south, even then being attacked by Major Reno, was the tail of the column, the village of the Hunkpapa, whose chief and supreme medicine man of the Sioux was the veteran Sitting Bull.
  165. There were others present, lodged with their nearest relatives, elements of the Santee, Brule and Assiniboin Sioux.
  166. What the Seventh could not see, now blotted out by the hills, was that Major Reno's attack on the southern end of Sitting Bull's Hunkpapa tribe was a catastrophe. The Hunkpapa had come swarming out of their lodges, many mounted and all fully armed, and counterattacked.
  167. It was almost two in the afternoon. Reno's men had been easily and skilfully outflanked to their left by pony-mounted warriors riding round them on the prairie and, with their flank turned, were being forced back into a stand of cottonwoods by the riverbank they had just crossed.
  168. Many had dismounted from their horses in the trees, others had lost control and been thrown off. Some had lost their rifles, which the Hunkpapa gleefully took. Within minutes the remainder would have to stream back across the same river and take refuge on a hilltop, there to endure a thirty-six-hour siege.
  169. General Custer surveyed what he could see, and from a few yards away Craig studied the great Indian-fighter. There were squaws and children to be seen about the camps but no warriors. Custer thought this a nice surprise. Craig heard him call to the company commanders, who had grouped round him. 'We will go down and make a crossing and capture the village." Then he summoned Captain Cooke and dictated a message.
  170. It was to, of all people. Captain Benteen, whom he had long sent off into the wilderness. The message Cooke scribbled said: "Come on. Big village. Be quick. Bring packs.' He meant extra ammunition. This he gave to the bugler, Martino, who would live to tell the tale.
  171. The Italian by a miracle did find Benteen, because that canny officer had given up his wild goose chase in the badlands, returned to the creek, and eventually joined Reno on the besieged hill. But by then there was no question of breaking through to the doomed Custer.
  172. As Martino cantered back down the trail, Craig turned in his saddle to watch him. He saw twenty-four of Captain Yates's F Company also turn round and simply ride off without orders.
  173. No-one tried to stop them. Craig glanced back at Custer, up ahead. Did nothing penetrate that peacock head?
  174. The general stood in his stirrups, raised his cream hat above his head and called to his troops, 'Hurrah, boys, we've got them." These were the last words the departing Italian heard, and he later reported them to the inquiry. Craig noticed that, like so many with fine auburn hair, Custer at thirty-six was developing a bald patch. Although nicknamed 'Long Hair' by the Indians, he had had it cropped short for the summer campaign.
  175. Perhaps for this reason the Oglala squaws later could not recognize him where he fell, and the warriors did not think him worth scalping.
  176. After his salutation Custer spurred his horse forward and the remaining 210 men followed. The ground ahead, leading down to the riverbank, was shallower and easier for a downhill charge. Half a mile later the column wheeled left, company by company, to descend the slope, ford the river and attack. At this point the Cheyenne village exploded.
  177. The warriors came out like a cloud of hornets, painted in their battle colours, most naked from the waist up, screaming their high-pitched 'yip yip yip' cries as they rode to the river, splashed across and came up the eastern bank towards the five companies. The bluecoats stopped in their tracks.
  178. Beside Craig, Sergeant Lewis reined in, and Craig heard again the muttered 'Sweet Jesus'. Hardly were they across the river than the Cheyenne threw themselves from their ponies and came forward and upward on foot, sinking into the long grass to become invisible, rising, running a few paces and dropping again. The first arrows began to fall among the cavalry. One buried itself in the flank of a horse, which whinnied in pain, rearing high and throwing its rider.
  179. "Dismount. Horses to the rear." The shout was from Custer, and no-one needed a second bidding. Craig watched some of the soldiers unholster their Colt .45s, shoot their own horse straight through the forehead, and then use the body as a rampart. They were the smart ones.
  180. There was no defensive cover on that hill. Not a rock or boulder behind which to hide. As the men jumped to the ground a few were detached from each company to take a dozen mounts by the bridle and run them back to the crest of the ridge. Sergeant Lewis turned both his and Craig's horse and cantered them back to the ridge. There they joined the milling mob of cavalry mounts being held by a score of troopers.
  181. Before long the horses began to scent the Indians. They skittered and reared, pulling their handlers with them. From the saddle Lewis and Craig watched. After the first rush, the battle went quiet. But the Indians were not finished; they were simply moving to surround.
  182. It was said later that the Sioux destroyed Custer that day.
  183. Not so. The Cheyenne did most of the frontal assault. Their cousins the Oglala Sioux deferred to them the honour of defending their own village, which would have been the first in Custer's attack, and acted in an assisting capacity, moving xi round the flanks to cut off any retreat. From his vantage point Craig could see the Oglala slipping through the long grass far to the left and right. Within twenty minutes there was no hope of retreat. The zipping bullets and hissing arrows began to fall closer. One of the horse-handlers took a falling arrow in the base of the throat and fell, choking and screaming.
  184. The Indians had some rifles and even a few old flintlocks, but not many. By the end of the afternoon they would be substantially rearmed with new Springfields and Colts. Mainly, they used arrows, which for them had two advantages. The bow is a silent weapon; it does not give away the position of the firer. Many bluecoats died that afternoon with an arrow in the chest and never saw a target. The other advantage was that clouds of arrows could be fired high in the sky, to fall almost vertically on the cavalrymen. The effect was particularly damning on the horses. Within sixty minutes a dozen mounts had been hit by falling arrows. They broke away from the handlers, tearing the reins from the men's grasp, and galloped away down the trail. The others, uninjured, followed their example.
  185. Long before the men were dead, the horses were gone and all hope of escape gone with them. Panic began to run like wildfire through the crouching troopers. The few veteran officers and NCOs simply lost control.
  186. The Cheyenne village belonged to Little Wolf, but by chance he was missing. When he returned an hour too late for the fight, he was roundly abused for not being there. In fact, he was the one leading the scout party that had been tracking Custer up the Rosebud and across the divide to the Little Bighorn.
  187. In his absence leadership went to the next senior warrior, a visitor from the Southern Cheyenne called Lame White Man.
  188. He was in his mid-thirties, neither lame nor white. When a group of thirty troopers under an officer tried to make a break towards the river, he charged them alone, crushing their morale and dying a hero in the process. None of those thirty struggled back to the rings on the slope. Watching them die, their companions lost hope of survival.
  189. From above, Lewis and Craig could hear the sounds of men praying and crying as they faced their death. One trooper, little more than a boy and blubbering like a baby, broke circle and came up the hill seeking one of the last two horses. Within seconds four arrows thudded into his back and he went down twitching.
  190. The two men on horses were now within range, and several arrows whistled past. Perhaps fifty to a hundred men were still left alive on the slope below, but half of them must have taken an arrow or a bullet. Sometimes a warrior, seeking personal honour, would mount up and charge straight past the crouching soldiers, defying a hail of shot and, the marksmanship being what it was, riding away unharmed but covered in glory.
  191. And always the high-pitched screams.
  192. Every soldier there thought they were war cries. Craig knew better. The charging Indian's cry was not for battle but for death, his own. He was simply confiding his soul to the care of the Everywhere Spirit.
  193. But what really destroyed the Seventh Cavalry that day was their fear of being taken alive and tortured. Each soldier had been completely brainwashed with stories of the hideous ways in which captives of the Indians died. In the main they were wrong.
  194. Plains Indians had no culture of the prisoner of war. They had no facilities for them. But an opposing force could surrender with honour if they had lost half their men. After seventy minutes Custer had certainly done this. But in Indian lore, if opponents just kept on fighting, they would normally be killed to the last man.
  195. If a prisoner was taken alive, he would normally only be tortured in one of two cases: if he was recognized as one who had formally sworn never to fight the Indians of that tribe again, and had broken his word, or if he had fought with cowardice. In either case he was without honour.
  196. In Sioux/Cheyenne culture the withstanding of pain with fortitude and stoicism could recover that honour. A liar or a coward should be given that chance, through pain. Custer was one who had once sworn to the Cheyenne that he would never fight them again. Two squaws of that tribe, recognizing him among the fallen, pushed steel awls through the dead eardrums so that he could hear better next time.
  197. As the circle of Cheyenne and Sioux closed in, the panic ran like a brushfire through the surviving men. Battles in those days were never fought in good visibility; there was no smokeless ammunition. After an hour the hill was wreathed in a fog of powder smoke, and through the fog came the painted savages.
  198. Imagination ran riot. Years later an English poet would write: When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, And the women come out to cut up your remains, Why, you rolls to your rifle and blows out your brains, And you goes to your Gawd like a soldier.
  199. None of the last survivors on that hillside would ever live to hear of Kipling, but what he described was what they did.
  200. Craig heard the first pistol shots as wounded men saved themselves the misery of torture. He turned to Sergeant Lewis.
  201. The big man was white-faced beside him, both their horses running out of control. There was no escape back down the track; it seethed with Oglala Sioux.
  202. "Sergeant, you'll not let me die like a tied pig,' the scout called to him. Lewis paused, thought, and his dedication to duty ended. He slipped from his horse, drew his knife and cut the thongs that tied Craig's ankles to his girth-strap.
  203. At that moment three things happened in less than a second.
  204. Two arrows from a range of no more than a hundred feet thudded into the sergeant's chest. Knife in hand, he gazed at them with some surprise, then his knees buckled and he fell onto his face.
  205. From even closer range a Sioux warrior rose from the long grass, pointed an ancient flintlock musket at Craig and fired. He had clearly used too much black powder in an effort to achieve increased range. Worse, he had forgotten to remove the ramrod. The breech exploded with a roar and a sheet of flame, shattering the man's right hand to pulp. If he had been firing from the shoulder he would have lost most of his head, but he was firing from the hip.
  206. The ramrod came out of the barrel like a quivering harpoon.
  207. Craig had been facing the man. The ramrod took his horse full in the chest, penetrating to the heart. As the animal went down Craig, hands still cord-tied, tried to throw himself clear. He landed on his back, his head slammed into a small rock and he was knocked cold.
  208. Within ten minutes the last white soldier on Custer's hill was dead. Though the scout was unconscious and never saw it, the end when it came was blisteringly fast. Sioux warriors would later relate that one minute the few dozen last survivors were still fighting and the next the Everywhere Spirit had simply swept them away. In fact most just 'rolled to their rifles' or used their Colt pistols. Some did the favour to wounded comrades, others to themselves.
  209. When Ben Craig came to, his head sang and reeled from the blow by the rock. He opened one eye. He was on his side, hands tied behind, one cheek pressed to the earth. Grass blades were close to his face. As his head cleared he became aware of soft-shod feet moving all about him, of excited voices and occasional cries of triumph. His vision cleared also.
  210. There were bare legs and feet in moccasins running across the hillside as Sioux warriors hunted for loot and trophies. One of them must have seen his eyes move. There was a yelp of triumph and strong hands jerked his torso upright.
  211. There were four warriors round him, faces painted and contorted, still deranged by the killing frenzy. He saw a stone war club raised to smash out his brains. For one second as he sat and waited for death he wondered idly what lay on the other side of life. The blow did not fall. Instead a voice said, "Stop." He looked up. The man who had spoken was astride a pony ten feet away. The dropping sun was to the right of the rider's shoulder and the glare reduced the image of the man to a silhouette.
  212. His hair was undressed; it fell like a dark cloak around his shoulders and back. He carried no lance, nor yet a steel hatchet, so he was clearly not Cheyenne.
  213. The pony the man rode moved a foot to one side; the sun went behind the shoulder and the glare fell away. The rider's shadow dropped over Craig's face and he saw more clearly.
  214. The pinto pony was neither piebald nor skewbald as most Indian mounts. It was a pale fawn, known as a golden buckskin.
  215. Craig had heard of that pony.
  216. The man on it was naked but for a breechcloth around his waist and moccasins on his feet. He was dressed like a simple brave but had the authority of a chief. There was no shield on his left forearm, implying that he disdained personal protection, but from the left hand dangled a stone war club.
  217. Therefore, Sioux.
  218. The war club was a fearsome weapon. Eighteen inches of haft, ending in a fork. Into the fork was rammed a smooth stone the size of a large goose egg. This was tied with hide thongs which would have been soaking wet when applied as lashings. Drying in the sun, they would shrink and tighten, so that the stone never fell. A blow from such a club would smash arms, shoulders or ribs, and crush the human skull like a walnut. It could only be used at close quarters, thus bringing much honour.
  219. When he spoke again it was in the Oglala Sioux tongue, which being closest to Cheyenne the scout could understand.
  220. "Why did you tie the wasichu like this?" "We did not. Great Chief. We found him thus tied, by his own people." The dark gaze fell on the thongs still tied to each of Craig's ankles. The Sioux noticed, but said nothing. Sat, lost in thought.
  221. His chest and shoulders were covered with painted circles to represent hailstones and from his hairline a single black lightning bolt ran to his bullet-scarred chin. He wore no other ornamentation but Craig knew him by repute. He was looking at the legendary Crazy Horse, undisputed chief of the Oglala Sioux these past twelve years, since the age of twenty-six, a man revered for his fearlessness, mysticism and self-denial.
  222. An evening breeze came off the river below. It ruffled the chief's hair, the long grass and the feather behind the scout's head, which came to rest on one buckskin shoulder. Crazy Horse noted this too. It was a sign of honour given by the Cheyenne.
  223. "He lives,' ordered the war leader. 'Take him to Chief Sitting Bull for judgement." The warriors were disappointed to lose the chance of so much loot, but they obeyed. Craig was hauled to his feet and hustled down the hill to the river. As he went the half-mile he saw the aftermath of the massacre.
  224. Across the slope the 210 men of the five companies, minus scouts and deserters, were strewn in the strange postures of death. The Indians were stripping them of everything in the search for trophies, then carrying out the ritual mutilations, different according to each tribe. The Cheyenne slashed legs so the dead man could not pursue them, the Sioux battered skulls and faces to pulp with stone clubs. Others severed arms, legs and heads.
  225. Fifty yards down the hill the scout saw the body of George Armstrong Custer, naked but for his cotton ankle socks, marble white under the sun. He remained unmutilated save for the punctured eardrums and would be found that way by Terry's men.
  226. Everything was being taken from pockets and saddlebags: rifles and pistols of course, with the copious supply of ammunition still remaining; tobacco pouches, steel-case watches, wallets with family photos, anything that could constitute a trophy. Then came the caps, boots and uniforms. The hillside swarmed with braves and squaws.
  227. At the riverbank there was a cluster of ponies. Craig was hoisted onto one and he and his four escorts splashed through the Little Bighorn to the western bank. As they rode through the Cheyenne village the women came out to scream abuse at the one surviving wasichu, but they fell silent when they saw the eagle feather. Was this a friend or a traitor?
  228. The group trotted down through the camps of the Sans Arcs and the Minneconjou until they reached the village of the Hunkpapa. The camp was in uproar.
  229. These braves had not faced Custer on the hill; they had met and driven back Major Reno, whose remnants were even then across the river, besieged on their hilltop, joined by Benteen and the mule train, wondering why Custer did not ride back down the hills to relieve them.
  230. Blackfoot, Minneconjou and Hunkpapa warriors rode hither and thither waving their trophies taken from Reno's dead, and here and there Craig saw a blond or ginger scalp being waved aloft. Surrounded by screaming squaws, they came to the lodge of the great medicine man and judge. Sitting Bull.
  231. His Oglala escorts explained the orders of Crazy Horse, handed him over and rode back to seek their trophies on the slope. Craig was roughly thrown into a teepee and two old squaws were instructed to watch over him with knives in their hands.
  232. It was long after dark when he was sent for. A dozen braves came for him and dragged him out. Campfires had been lit and by their light the still-painted warriors were a fearsome sight.
  233. But the mood had calmed, even though a mile away, beyond the cottonwood stand and across the river, out of sight, occasional shots in the dark indicated that the Sioux were still crawling up the hill to Reno's defensive circle on the bluff.
  234. In the entire battle, at both ends of the huge camp, the Sioux had taken thirty-one casualties. Although eighteen hundred warriors had been involved and their enemies had been virtually wiped out, they felt the loss. Up and down the camps widows were keening over husbands and sons and preparing them for the Great Journey.
  235. At the centre of the Hunkpapa village was one fire larger than the rest, and around it were a dozen chiefs, supreme among them Sitting Bull. He was then just forty but he looked older, his mahogany face even darker in the firelight and deeply lined. Like Crazy Horse, he was revered for once having had a great vision of the future of his people and of the buffalo of the plains. It had been a bleak vision: he had seen them all wiped out by the white man, and he was known to hate the wasichu.
  236. Craig was thrown down twenty feet to his left so that the fire did not block the view. They all stared at him for some time.
  237. Sitting Bull gave an order which Craig did not understand. A brave unsheathed his knife and moved behind Craig. He waited for the death blow.
  238. The knife sliced through the cords binding his wrists. For the first time in twenty-four hours he could bring his hands to the front of his body. He realized he could not even feel them.
  239. The blood began to flow back, causing first a fiery tingle and then pain. He kept his face immobile.
  240. Sitting Bull spoke again, this time to him. He did not understand, but replied in Cheyenne. There was a buzz of surprise.
  241. One of the other chiefs. Two Moon of the Cheyenne, spoke.
  242. "The Great Chief asks why the wasichu tied you to your horse and your hands behind you." "I had offended them,' said the scout.
  243. "Was it a bad offence?' For the rest of the interrogation Two Moon interpreted.
  244. "The chief of the blue uniforms wanted to hang me.Tomorrow."
  245. "What had you done to them?" Craig thought. Was it only the previous morning that Braddock had destroyed the lodge of Tall Elk? He started with that incident and finished when he was sentenced to hang. He noticed Two Moon nod at the reference to Tall Elk's lodges. He already knew. At each sentence he paused while Two Moon translated into Sioux. When he was done there was a brief murmured conference. Two Moon called to one of his men.
  246. "Ride back to our village. Bring Tall Elk and his daughter here." The brave went to his tethered pony, mounted and rode away. Sitting Bull's questions resumed.
  247. "Why did you come to make war against the Red Man?" "They told me they had come because the Sioux were moving away from the reservations in the Dakotas. There was no talk of killing until Long Hair went crazy." There was another buzz of consultation. 'The Long Hair was here?' asked Two Moon. For the first time Craig realized they had not even known whom they were fighting.
  248. "He is on the hillside across the river. He is dead." The chiefs conferred again for a while, then there was silence. A council was a serious thing and there was no need for hurry. After half an hour Two Moon asked, 'Why do you wear the white eagle feather?" Craig explained. Ten years ago when he was fourteen he had joined a bunch of Cheyenne youths and they all went hunting in the mountains. They all had bows and arrows, save Craig, who had been allowed to borrow Donaldson's Sharps rifle.
  249. They had been surprised by an old grizzly, an evil-tempered veteran with hardly a tooth left in his head but the strength in his forepaws to kill a man with a single swipe. The bear had come out of a thicket with a mighty roar, and charged.
  250. At this point one of the braves behind Two Moon asked to interrupt.
  251. I remember this story. It happened in the village of my cousin." Round the campfire there is nothing like a good story. He was invited to complete the tale and the Sioux craned to listen as Two Moon translated.
  252. "The bear was like a mountain and he came fast. The Cheyenne boys scattered to the trees. But the small wasichu took careful aim and fired. The bullet passed under the bear's muzzle and struck him in the chest. He rose to his back feet, tall as a pine, dying but still coming forward.
  253. "The white boy ejected the spent cartridge and inserted another. Then he fired again. The second bullet went into the roaring mouth, through the roof and blew out the brains. The bear took one more pace and fell forward. The great head came down so close that saliva and blood splashed the boy's knees.
  254. But he did not move.
  255. "They sent a messenger to the village and braves came back with a travois to skin the monster and bring the hide to make a sleeping robe for my cousin's father. Then they held a feast and gave the wasichu a new name. Kills-Bearwithno-Fear.
  256. And the eagle feather of a man who hunts. So it was told in my village a hundred moons ago before we were moved to the reservations." The chiefs nodded. It was a good story. A party on ponies rode up. Behind was a travois. Two men Craig had never seen before entered the firelight. By their dressed and plaited hair they were Cheyenne.
  257. One was Little Wolf, who told how he had been hunting east of the river when he saw plumes of smoke rising over the Rosebud. He investigated and found the slaughtered women and children. While he was there he heard the bluecoat soldiers coming back, so he trailed them all day and night until they came to the valley of the camp. But he was too late for the great fight.
  258. The other man was Tall Elk. He had returned from hunting after the main column had passed. He was still grieving over his murdered womenfolk and children when his daughter came back. She was wounded but alive. Together with his other nine braves they had ridden through the night and the day to find the camp of the Cheyenne, arriving just before the battle, in which they had taken part with a will. He personally had sought death on Custer's hill and had killed five wasichu soldiers but the Everywhere Spirit had not taken him.
  259. The girl from the travois was the last to be heard. She was pale and in pain from the wound and the long ride from the Rosebud, but she spoke clearly.
  260. She told of the massacre, and of the big man with the stripes on the arm. She did not understand his language but she understood what he wanted to do to her before she died. She told how the buckskin one had given her water, and eaten his meal, and set her on a pony and sent her back to her people.
  261. The chiefs conferred. The judgement came from Sitting Bull but it was the verdict of them all. The wasichu might live, but he could not go back to his people. Either they would kill him, or he would tell them the position of the Sioux. He would be given into the care of Tall Elk, who could treat him as prisoner or as guest. In the spring he could go free or remain with the Cheyenne.
  262. Around the fire there were grunts of approval from the braves. It was just. Craig rode back with Tall Elk to the teepee he had been given, and spent the night with two braves watching him. In the morning the great camp packed up to move. But scouts coming at dawn had brought news of even more bluecoats in the north, so they decided to go south towards the Bighorn Mountains and see if the wasichu came after them.
  263. Having accepted him into his clan, Tall Elk was generous.
  264. Four uninjured cavalry horses were found and Craig took his pick. They were not much valued by the Plains Indians, who preferred their hardy ponies. This was because few horses could adapt to the harsh winters of the plains. They needed hay, which the Indians never gathered, and could rarely survive the winter on lichen, moss and willow bark like the ponies.
  265. Craig selected a tough-looking, rangy chestnut he thought might adapt and named her Rosebud after the place where he had met Whispering Wind.
  266. A good saddle was easily found because the Indians never used them, and when his Sharps rifle and bowie knife were traced and identified, they were returned to him with some reluctance. From the saddlebags of his dead horse at the top of the slope he recovered his Sharps ammunition. There was nothing left to loot on the hillside. The Indians had taken all that interested them. They had no desire for the white man's paper and white sheets fluttered in the long grass where they had been thrown. Among them were Captain William Cooke's notes of the first interrogation.
  267. The striking of the villages took all morning. The teepees came down, the utensils were packed, the women, children and baggage loaded onto the numerous travois and shortly after midday the departure began.
  268. The dead were left behind, laid out in their teepees, painted for the next world, in their best robes, with the feathered bonnets of their rank. But in accordance with tradition all their household artefacts were scattered on the ground.
  269. When Terry's men, coming up the valley from the north, discovered this the next day they would think the Sioux and Cheyenne had departed in a hurry. Not so: scattering the effects of the dead was the custom. They would all be looted anyway.
  270. Ever after the Plains Indians would protest that they only wanted to hunt, not fight, but Craig knew the army would recover from its loss and come looking for vengeance. Not for a while, but come they would. Sitting Bull's grand council knew it too, and within a few days it was agreed the tribes should split up into smaller groups and scatter. This would make the job of the bluecoat soldiers harder and give the Indians a better chance of being able to winter in the wild and not be driven back to a half-starved winter in the Dakota reservations.
  271. Craig rode with what was left of the clan of Tall Elk. Of the ten hunters who had lost their womenfolk by the Rosebud, two had died at the Little Bighorn and two were injured. One, with a slight gash in the side, chose to ride. The other, who had taken a Springfield bullet through the shoulder at close range, was on a travois. Tall Elk and the other five would find new women. To enable this to happen, they had joined ranks with two other extended families, making a clan of some sixty men, women and children.
  272. When the group decision to split up came to them, they met in council to decide where they should go. Most were for heading on south into Wyoming, hiding in the Bighorn Mountains.
  273. Craig was asked for his view.
  274. "The bluecoats will come there,' he said. With a stick he drew the line of the Bighorn River. 'They will look for you here in the south, and here in the east. But I know a place in the west. It is called the Pryor Range. I was raised there." He told them about the Pryors.
  275. "The lower slopes teem with game. The forests are thick and their branches blur the smoke rising from cooking fires. The streams are full of fish and higher there are lakes with many fish also. The wasichu never come there." The clan agreed. On 1 July they peeled away from the main party of Cheyenne and, guided by Craig, headed northwest into south Montana, avoiding General Terry's patrols, which were fanning out from the Bighorn but not that far west. In mid-July they reached the Pryors and it was still as Craig had said.
  276. The teepees were shrouded by trees and invisible from half a mile away. From a nearby rock, today called Crown Butte, a watchman could see many miles, but no-one came. The hunters brought many deer and antelope from the forests and children fished fat trout from the streams.
  277. Whispering Wind was young and healthy.
  278. Her clean wound healed fast until she could run again, swift as a fawn. Sometimes he caught her eye as she brought food to the menfolk and always his heart hammered inside him. She gave no sign of what she felt, casting her glance downward when she caught him staring. He could not know that something in her belly seemed to melt and her ribcage wanted to burst when she took a glance from those dark blue eyes.
  279. During the early autumn they just fell in love.
  280. The women noticed. She would return from serving the men flushed, the front of her buckskin tunic rising and falling, and the older women would cackle with glee. She had no mother nor aunt left alive, so the squaws were from different families.
  281. But they had sons among the twelve unmarried and therefore eligible braves. They wondered which one had set the beautiful girl afire. They teased her to let them know before he was stolen by another, but she told them they were talking nonsense.
  282. In September the leaves fell and the camp moved higher to be screened by the conifers. The nights turned chill as October came. But the hunts were good and the ponies cropped the last grass before turning to moss, bark and lichen. Rosebud adapted like the ponies around her and Craig would go down to the prairie and return with a sack of fresh grass, sliced in tufts with his bowie knife.
  283. If Whispering Wind had had a mother she might have intervened with Tall Elk, but there was no-one, so eventually she told her father herself. His rage was terrible to behold.
  284. How could she think such a thing? The wasichu had destroyed all her family. This man would go back to his people and there was no place for her. Moreover, the warrior who had taken the bullet in the shoulder at the Little Bighorn was now almost recovered. The shattered bones had finally knit. Not straight, but whole again. He was Walking Owl and he was a fine and brave warrior. He was to be her betrothed. It would be announced the next day. That was final.
  285. Tall Elk was perturbed. It could be the white man felt the same. He would have to be watched day and night from now on. He could not go back to his people; he knew where they camped. He would stay the winter but he would be watched.
  286. And so it was.
  287. Craig was suddenly moved to stay and sleep in a teepee with another family. There were three other single braves sharing the same lodge and they would stay alert if he tried to move during the night.
  288. It was at the end of October that she came for him. He was lying awake, thinking of her, when a knife slowly and soundlessly slit one of the panels of the teepee. He rose silently and stepped through. She stood in the moonlight looking up at him.
  289. They embraced for the first time and the blazing heat flowed back and forth.
  290. She broke free, stepped back and beckoned. He followed where she led, through the trees to a spot out of sight of the camp. Rosebud was saddled up, a buffalo robe rolled behind the saddle. His rifle was in its long sheath by the shoulder. The saddlebags bulged with food and ammunition. A pinto pony was also tethered. He turned and they kissed and the cold night seemed to spin around him. She whispered in his ear, 'Take me to your mountains, Ben Craig, and make me your woman." "Now and for ever. Whispering Wind." They mounted up and walked the horses quietly through the trees until they were clear, then rode down past the butte and towards the plain. At sunrise they were back in the foothills. At dawn a small party of Crow saw them in the distance and turned north towards Fort Ellis on the Bozeman Trail.
  291. The Cheyenne came after them; they were six, moving fast, travelling light with their rifles slung behind their shoulders, hatchets in waistbands, trade blankets beneath them, and they had their orders. The betrothed of Walking Owl was to be brought back alive. The wasichu would die.
  292. The Crow party rode north and they rode hard. One of them had been with the army in the summer and knew that the bluecoats had posted a big reward for the white renegade, enough to buy a man many horses and trade goods.
  293. They never made the Bozeman Trail. Twenty miles south of the Yellowstone they ran into a small patrol of cavalrymen, ten in all, commanded by a lieutenant. The former scout explained what they had seen, using mainly sign language, but the lieutenant understood. He turned the patrol south for the mountains, with the Crow acting as guides, seeking to cut the trail.
  294. That summer the news of the massacre of Custer and his men had swept America like a blast of cold air. Far to the east the high and mighty of the nation had gathered at Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, to celebrate the first centenary of independence on July the Fourth, 1876. The news from the western frontier seemed unbelievable. An immediate inquiry was ordered.
  295. After the battle the soldiers of General Terry had scoured the fatal hillside, seeking an explanation of the disaster. The Sioux and the Cheyenne were twenty-four hours gone and Terry was in no mood to pursue them. Reno's survivors had been relieved but they knew nothing beyond what they had seen as Custer and his men rode out of sight behind the hills.
  296. On the hillside every scrap of evidence was gathered and stored, even as the decomposing bodies were hastily buried.
  297. Among those things collected were the sheets of paper stuck in the long grass. Among these were the notes taken by Captain Cooke.
  298. None of those who had stood behind Custer when he interrogated Ben Craig was left alive, but the clerkish notes by the adjutant said enough. The army needed a reason for the disaster.
  299. Now they had one: the savages had been forewarned and were fully prepared. The unwitting Custer had ridden into a massive ambush. More, the army had a scapegoat. Incompetence could not be accepted; treachery could. A reward of one thousand dollars was posted for the taking of the scout, dead or alive.
  300. The trail went cold, until a party of Crow saw the fugitive, with an Indian girl behind him, riding out of the Pryor Mountains in the last days of October.
  301. The lieutenant's horses had rested, fed and watered through the night. They were fresh and he rode them hard to the south.
  302. His career was at stake.
  303. Just after the sun rose Craig and Whispering Wind reached the Pryor Gap, a defile of lowland between the main range and the single peak of West Pryor. They crossed the defile, cantered through the foothills of West Pryor and emerged into the badlands, rough country of grassy ridges and gullies that went west for fifty miles.
  304. Craig had no need to use the sun for guidance. He could see his target in the far distance, glittering in the morning sun beneath a cold blue sky. He was heading for the Absaroka Wilderness, which he had hunted as a boy with old Donaldson.
  305. This was terrible country, a wilderness of forest and rocky plateaus where few could follow, and it ran upwards into the Beartooth Range.
  306. Even from that distance he could see the icy sentinels of the range. Thunder, Sacred, Medicine and Beartooth Mountains.
  307. There a man with a good rifle could hold off an army. At a creek he paused to give the sweating mounts a few gulps of water, then pressed on towards the peaks that seemed to nail the land to the sky.
  308. Twenty miles behind, the six warriors, eyes scanning the ground for the telltale marks of steel-shod hoofs, kept up a fast trot that saved their ponies' energy and could be maintained for mile after mile.
  309. Thirty miles to the north the cavalry patrol pressed south to pick up the trail. They found it at noon just west of West Pryor Peak. The Crow scouts suddenly reined in and circled, staring at a patch of sun-hardened earth. They pointed down to the marks of steel horseshoes and the spoor of an unshod pony close behind. A short distance away were the traces of other ponies, five or six in all.
  310. "So,' murmured the lieutenant, 'we have competition. No matter." He gave the order to continue westward, though the horses were beginning to tire. Half an hour later, cresting a rise in the plain, he took his telescope and scanned the horizon ahead. Of the fugitives there was no sign, but he saw a puff of dust and beneath it six tiny figures on pinto ponies trotting towards the mountains.
  311. The Cheyenne ponies were also tiring but so, they knew, must be the mounts of the fugitives up ahead. The warriors gave their horses water at Bridger Creek, just below the modern village of Bridger, and half an hour's rest. One, ear pressed to the ground, heard the drumming of hoofs coming from behind, so they mounted up and rode on. After a mile their leader pulled away to one side, hid them all behind a knoll and climbed to the top to look.
  312. At three miles he saw the cavalry. The Cheyenne knew nothing of any papers on a hillside, nor of any reward for the runaway wasichu. They presumed the bluecoats must be hunting them, for being off-reservation. So they watched and waited.
  313. When the cavalry patrol reached the parting of the tracks it stopped while the Crow scouts dismounted and studied the ground. The Cheyenne saw the Crows point ever westward and the cavalry patrol continued in that direction.
  314. The Cheyenne kept up with them on a parallel track, shadowing the bluecoats as Little Wolf had shadowed Custer up the Rosebud. But in mid-afternoon the Crow spotted them.
  315. "Cheyenne,' said the Crow scout. The lieutenant shrugged.
  316. "No matter, let them hunt. We have our own quarry." The two parties of pursuers pressed on till nightfall.
  317. The Crow followed the trail and the Cheyenne shadowed the patrol. As the sun tipped the mountain peaks both groups knew they had to rest the horses. If they tried to go on their mounts would simply collapse beneath them. Besides, the ground was becoming harder and the trail more difficult to follow. In darkness, without lanterns, which they did not have, it would be impossible.
  318. Ten miles ahead Ben Craig knew the same. Rosebud was a big, strong mare, but she had covered fifty miles carrying a man and equipment over broken ground. Whispering Wind was not a skilled rider and she too was at the end of her tether. They camped by Bear Creek, just east of the modern township of Red Lodge, but lit no fire for fear it might be seen.
  319. As darkness fell the temperature plunged. They rolled themselves in the buffalo robe and in seconds the girl was fast asleep. Craig did not sleep. He could do that later. He crawled out of the robe, wrapped himself in the red trade blanket and kept watch over the girl he loved.
  320. No-one came, but before dawn he was up. They ate, quickly, some dried antelope meat and a quantity of corn bread she had taken from her teepee, washed down with creek water. Then they left. The pursuers were also up as the first light revealed the trail. They were nine miles behind and closing. Craig knew the Cheyenne would be there; what he had done could not be forgiven. But he knew nothing of the cavalry.
  321. The land was harder, the going slower. He knew his pursuers would be catching up and he needed to slow them by disguising his trail. After two hours in the saddle the fugitives came to the confluence of two creeks. To the left, tumbling out of the mountains, was Rock Creek, which he judged to be impassable as a way into the real wilderness. Straight ahead lay West Creek, shallower and less rocky. He dismounted, tied the pony's tethering rein to the horse's saddle and led Rosebud by the bridle.
  322. He led the small convoy off the bank at an angle towards Rock Creek, into the water, then doubled back and took the other waterway. The freezing water numbed his feet, but he pressed on for two miles over the gravel and pebbles. Then he turned to the mountains on his left and led the mounts out of the water into the dense forest.
  323. The land now rose steeply beneath the trees and with the sun shut out it was chill. Whispering Wind was shrouded in her blanket, riding bareback at a walking pace.
  324. Three miles behind, the cavalry had reached the water and stopped. The Crows pointed out the tracks seeming to lead up Rock Creek and after conferring with his sergeant the lieutenant ordered his patrol up the false trail. As they disappeared, the Cheyenne reached the two creeks. They did not need to enter the water to hide their tracks. But they chose the right creek and trotted up the bank, scanning the far side for signs of horses coming out of the water and heading for the high country.
  325. After two miles they found the signs in a patch of soft earth across the creek. They splashed over and entered the forest.
  326. At midday Craig arrived at what he thought he remembered from his hunting trip years before, a great open plateau of rock, the Silver Run Plateau, which headed straight to the mountains.
  327. Although they did not know it, they were now over 11,000 feet high.
  328. From the edge of the rocks he could look down towards the creek he had followed and then quit. To his right, there were figures down there, where the two creeks split. He had no telescope but in the thin air visibility was extraordinary. At half a mile these were not Cheyenne; they were ten soldiers with four Crow scouts. They were an army patrol coming back down Rock Creek, having realized their error. That was when Ben Craig understood the army was still after him for liberating the girl.
  329. He took his Sharps rifle from its sheath, inserted a single cartridge, found a rock to rest it on, set the sights at maximum elevation and squinted down into the valley.
  330. "Take the horse,' old Donaldson had always said. Tn this country a man with no horse has to turn back." He aimed for the forehead of the officer's mount. The crash, when it came, echoed through the mountains, backward and forward like rolling thunder. The bullet took the lieutenant's horse just to the side of the head, high in the right shoulder. It went down like a sack, the officer with it. He twisted an ankle as he fell.
  331. The troopers scattered into the forest, save the sergeant, who threw himself behind the downed horse and tried to help the lieutenant. The horse was finished but not dead. The sergeant used his pistol to put it out of its misery. Then he dragged his officer to the trees. No more shots came.
  332. In the forest on the slope the Cheyenne dropped from their ponies to the carpet of pine needles and stayed there. Four of them had Springfields looted from the Seventh, but they also had the Plains Indian's lack of marksmanship. They knew what the young wasichu could do with that Sharps, and at what range. They began to crawl upwards. It slowed them down. One of the six stayed in the rear, leading all six ponies.
  333. Craig cut the blanket into four pieces and tied one quarter round each of Rosebud's hoofs. The material would not last long between steel shoe and rock but it would hide scratch marks for five hundred yards. Then he trotted southwest across the plateau towards the peaks.
  334. It is five miles across the Silver Run and there is no cover.
  335. After two miles the frontiersman looked back and saw specks coming over the ridge onto the rock shelf. He trotted on. They could not hit him and they could not catch him. A few minutes later there were more specks; the cavalrymen had led their mounts up through the forest and were also on the rock, but a mile east of the Cheyenne. Then he came to the crevasse. He had not been this high before; he did not know it was there.
  336. It is steep and narrow, Lake Fork, with sides wooded with pine and a freezing stream at the bottom. Craig turned along its edge and looked for a place where the banks were shallow enough to cross. He found such a place in the shadow of Thunder Mountain, but he had lost half an hour.
  337. Pushing himself and the horses to the limit, he led them down the ravine and up the other side to another and last sheet of rock, Hellroaring Plateau. As he emerged from the gulley a shot whistled over his head. From across the ravine one of the troopers had seen movement among the pines. His delay had not only let his pursuers catch up, he had shown them the way across.
  338. Ahead of him was another three miles of flat running before the towering palisades of Mount Rearguard, among whose jumbled rocks and caves no man on earth would ever take him.
  339. In the thin air two humans and two animals gasped for oxygen but still he pressed on. Darkness would come soon, and he would disappear into the peaks and ravines between Rearguard and Sacred and Beartooth Mountains. No man could follow a trail up here. Beyond Sacred Mountain was the watershed divide and after that it was downhill all the way into Wyoming.
  340. They would lose the hostile world, be married, dwell in the wilderness and live for ever. As the daylight faded Ben Craig and Whispering Wind left their pursuers behind and headed for the slopes of Mount Rearguard.
  341. In the dusk they climbed above the rock plain and met the snowline where the whiteness of the peaks is never melted.
  342. There they found a flat ledge, fifty yards by twenty, and at the back a deep cave. A few last pines shrouded the entrance.
  343. Craig hobbled the horses as darkness fell and they cropped pine needles beneath the trees. The cold was intense, but they had their buffalo robe.
  344. The scout hauled his saddle and remaining blanket into the cave, loaded his rifle and laid it by his side, then spread the buffalo skin by the mouth of the cave. Craig and Whispering Wind lay on it and he pulled the other half over them both. Inside the cocoon the natural warmth of human bodies returned. The girl began to move against him.
  345. "Ben,' she whispered, 'make me your woman. Now." He began to slip her buckskin tunic upwards over her eager body.
  346. "What you are doing is wrong." It was utterly silent this high on the mountain, and though the voice was old and frail the words, in the Cheyenne language, were quite clear.
  347. Craig, his hide shirt gone and bare-chested in the freezing cold, was at the entrance to the cave, rifle in hand, in a moment.
  348. He could not understand why he had not seen the man before. He sat cross-legged under the pines at the edge of the flat rock. Iron-grey hair hung to his naked waist, his face was wrinkled and lined as a burnt walnut. He was of immense age and piety, a tribal shaman, a vision-quester come to the lonely places to fast, meditate and seek guidance from the infinite.
  349. "You spoke, holy one?' The scout gave him the honorific title reserved for those of great age and wisdom. Where he came from, he could not guess. How he had climbed to these altitudes, he did not know. How he could survive the cold with no covering was not imaginable. Craig only knew that some vision-questers could defy all the known laws.
  350. He felt the presence of Whispering Wind join him in the mouth of the cave.
  351. "It is wrong in the eyes of Man, and of Meh-y-yah, the Everywhere Spirit,' said the old man.
  352. The moon had not yet risen but the stars in the clean and bitter air were so bright that the wide rock ledge was bathed in a pale light. Craig could see the starlight glitter in the old eyes that fixed him from beneath the tree.
  353. "Why so, holy one?" "She is promised to another. Her intended fought bravely against the wasichu. He has much honour. He does not deserve to be treated like this." "But now she is my woman." "She will be your woman, man of the mountains. But not yet.
  354. The Everywhere Spirit speaks. She should go back to her people and her intended. If she does, you will one day be reunited and she will be your woman and you her man. For ever. So says Mehyyah." He took a stick from the ground beside him and used it to help him rise. His naked skin was dark and old, pinched by the cold, with only breechcloth and moccasins to protect him. He turned and slowly walked through the pines and down the track until he was gone from view.
  355. Whispering Wind turned her face up to Craig. There were tears running down her cheeks but they did not fall, freezing before they touched her chin.
  356. "I must go back to my people. It is my fate." There was no arguing. It would have served nothing. He prepared her pony while she slipped on her moccasins and wrapped her blanket around her. He took her in his arms one last time and swung her onto the pony's back, handing her the rein. Silently she directed the pinto to the start of the track downwards.
  357. "Wind That Talks Softly,' he called. She turned and stared at him in the starlight.
  358. "We will be together. One day. It was spoken so. While the grass grows and the rivers run, I will wait for you." "And I for you, Ben Craig." She was gone. Craig watched the sky until the cold bit too deep. He led Rosebud deep into the cave and prepared an armful of pine needles for her. Then he pulled the buffalo hide deeper into the darkness, rolled himself in its folds and fell asleep.
  359. The moon rose. The braves saw her coming towards them across the stone plain. She saw two campfires burning below the rim of the gulch where the pines grew and heard the low call of an owl from the fire to her left. She made her way there.
  360. They said nothing. That would be for her father. Tall Elk. But they still had their orders. The wasichu who had violated their lodges must die. They waited for dawn.
  361. At one in the morning great clouds swept over the Beartooth Range and the temperature began to drop. The men round both campfires shivered and wrapped themselves tighter in their blankets, but it was no use. Soon they were all awake, hurling more wood onto the fires, but still the temperature fell.
  362. Both the Cheyenne and white men had wintered in the fierce Dakotas and knew what midwinter could do, but this was the last day of October. Too early. Yet the temperature fell. At two o'clock the snow began to fall like a white wall. In the camp of the cavalry the Crow scouts rose.
  363. "We would go,' they said to the officer. He was in pain from his ankle but knew the bounty and the capture would transform his life in the army.
  364. "It is cold, but dawn will soon come,' he told them.
  365. "This is no ordinary cold,' they said. 'This is the Cold of the Long Sleep. No robe is proof against it. The wasichu you seek is already dead. Or he will die before the sun." "Then leave,' said the officer. There was no more tracking to be done. His quarry was on the mountain he had seen shimmering in the moonlight before the snow came.
  366. The Crow mounted up and left, heading back across the Silver Run Plateau and down the slopes to the valley. As they left, one gave the harsh call of a night bird.
  367. The Cheyenne heard it and looked at each other. It was a warning cry. They too mounted up, threw snow on the fire and left, taking the girl with them. And still the temperature fell.
  368. It was about four in the morning when the avalanche came.
  369. It fell from the mountains and moved a thick blanket of snow across the plateau. The advancing wall hissed as it slid towards Lake Fork, and when it fell into the ravine it took all before it.
  370. The remaining men and horses could not move; the cold had pinned them where they lay and stood. And the snow filled the creek until only the tops of the pines showed.
  371. In the morning the clouds cleared and the sun returned. The landscape was a uniform white. In a million holes the animals of the mountain and forest knew that winter had come, and they should hibernate until the spring.
  372. In his high cave, rolled in his buffalo robe, the frontiersman slept.
  373. When he awoke he could not, as sometimes happens, recall where he was. In the village of Tall Elk? But he heard no sounds of the squaws preparing the morning meal. He opened his eyes and peered out from the folds of the buffalo fur. He took in the rough walls of the cave and the memories came back in a rush.
  374. He sat up and tried to clear his head of the last mists of sleep.
  375. Outside he could see a white shelf of rock dusted with snow and it glittered in the sun. He emerged bare-chested and sucked in the morning air. It felt good.
  376. Rosebud, still hobbled at the forelegs as he had left her, had come out of the cave and was nibbling at some young pine shoots at the edge of the shelf. The morning sun was to his right hand; he was staring north towards the distant plains of Montana.
  377. He walked to the forward edge of the shelf, dropped to the ground and peered down towards Hellroaring Plateau. There were no signs of woodsmoke coming from Lake Fork. His pursuers seemed to have gone.
  378. He returned to the cave, dressed in his buckskin suit and belt.
  379. Taking his bowie knife he went back to Rosebud and freed her front legs. She whinnied softly and nuzzled his shoulder with her velvet muzzle. Then he noticed something strange.
  380. The soft green shoots upon which she fed were those of spring. He looked around. The last few hardy pines which survived this high were each pushing out pale green buds towards the sun. With a start of shock he realized that, like a creature of the wild, he must have hibernated through the bitter cold of winter.
  381. He had heard it could be done. Old Donaldson had once mentioned a trapper who overwintered in a bear cave and did not die, but slept like the cubs beside him until winter passed.
  382. In his saddlebags he found a last portion of wind-dried meat.
  383. It was hard to chew but he forced it down. For moisture he took a handful of powder snow, crushed it between his palms till it was water, then licked his hands dry. He knew better than to eat raw snow.
  384. The bags also contained his round trapper hat of warm fox fur, and he pulled this onto his head. When he had saddled Rosebud he checked his Sharps rifle and the twenty cartridges that remained to him, slipped it into its sheath and prepared to leave. Heavy though it was, he rolled the buffalo robe that had saved his life and lashed it behind the saddle. When there was nothing left in the cave he took Rosebud's bridle and began to walk her down the track to the plateau.
  385. He was not quite decided what to do, but he knew there would be plenty of game in the lower forests. With traps alone a man could live well down there.
  386. He crossed the first plateau at a slow walk, waiting for a sign of movement or even a ranging shot from the edge of the crevasse. None came. When he reached the cleft there was no sign of his pursuers returning to continue the hunt for him. He could not know that the Crow had reported that all the bluecoat soldiers were lost in the blizzard and their quarry also must have died.
  387. He found again the track down into Lake Fork and up the other side. The sun rose higher as he walked across the Silver Run until it was a full thirty degrees above the horizon. He began to feel warm.
  388. He went down through the pine forests until the broadleaf trees began and there he made his first camp. It was noon. With springy twigs and a yard of twine from his saddlebag he made a rabbit snare. It took an hour until the first unsuspecting rodent came out of its hole. He killed and skinned it, used his small box of tinder and flint to make a fire and enjoyed the roasted meat.
  389. He spent a week camping at the edge of the forest and recovering his strength. Fresh meat was plentiful, he could tickle trout from the numerous creeks and water was all he needed to drink.
  390. By the end of the week he decided he would leave for the plains, travelling by moonlight, hiding up in the day, and return to the Pryors, where he could build a shack and make a home.
  391. Then he could ask where the Cheyenne had gone and wait for Whispering Wind to be free. He had no doubt it would happen, for so it had been spoken.
  392. On the eighth night he saddled up and left the forest. By the stars he headed north. It was the time of the high moon and the land was bathed in pale white light. After walking through the first night he camped by day in a dry creek where no-one would see him. He lit no more fires and ate meat he had smoked in the forest.
  393. On the next night he turned to the east, where the Pryors lay, and soon crossed a long strip of hard black rock that ran away on each side. Just before dawn he crossed another one, but after that no more. Then he entered the badlands, hard country to ride but easy to hide in.
  394. Once he saw cattle standing silently in the moonlight and wondered at the stupidity of the settler who had left his herd untended. The Crow would feast well if they found them.
  395. It was on the fourth morning of his trek that he saw the fort.
  396. He had camped on a knoll and as the sun rose he saw the fort in the foothills of the West Pryor Mountain. He studied it for an hour, alert for signs of life, the blare of a bugle on the wind, the smoke rising from the troopers' chow house. But there was no sign. As the sun rose he withdrew into the shade of a clump of bush and slept.
  397. Over his evening meal he thought what he should do. This was still wild country and a man travelling alone was in constant danger. Clearly the fort was newly built. It had not been there the previous autumn. So the army was extending its control of the tribal lands of the Crow people. A year earlier the nearest forts had been Fort Smith to the east on the Bighorn river and Fort Ellis to the north-west on the Bozeman Trail. To the latter he could not go; they would recognize him there.
  398. But if the new fort was not occupied by the Seventh, or men of Gibbon's command, there was no reason anyone would know him by sight, and if he gave a false name ... He saddled Rosebud and decided to scout the new fort during the night and remain unseen.
  399. He reached it in the moonlight. No unit flag flew from its pole, no chink of light came from within, no sound of human habitation. Made bolder by the silence, he rode to the front gate. Above it were two words. He recognized the first as 'Fort' because he had seen it before and knew its shape. The second word he could not recall. It began with a letter made of two vertical poles with a sort of crossbar. On the outside of the high double gates was a chain and padlock to keep them closed.
  400. He walked Rosebud round the twelve-foot-high stockade walls. Why would the army build a fort and leave it? Had it been attacked and gutted? Were all inside dead? But if so, why the padlock? At midnight he stood on Rosebud's saddle, reached up and locked fingers over the palisades. Seconds later he was on the walkway five feet below the parapet and seven feet above the ground inside. He looked down.
  401. He could make out the quarters for the officers and the troopers, the livery stable and kitchens, the armoury and water barrel, the trade goods store and the forge. It was all there, but it was abandoned.
  402. He came soft-footed down the steps inside, rifle at the ready, and began to explore. It was new, all right. He could tell by the joinery and the freshness of the sawcuts across the beams.
  403. The post commander's office was locked, but everything else seemed to be open to the touch. There was a bunkhouse for the soldiers and another for travellers. He could find no earth latrines, which was odd. Against the back wall, away from the main gate, was a small chapel and beside it in the main wall a door secured on the inside with a timber bar.
  404. He removed this, stepped outside, walked round the walls 9 8 t and led Rosebud inside. Then he rebarred the door. He knew he could never defend the fort alone. If a war party attacked, the braves would come over the walls with the same ease as he.
  405. But it would serve as a base for a while, until he could discover where the clan of Tall Elk had gone.
  406. In daylight he explored the livery stable. There were stalls for twenty horses, all the tack and feed a man could need and fresh water in the trough outside. He unsaddled Rosebud and gave her a brisk rub with a stiff brush while she feasted off a bin of oats.
  407. In the forge he found a tin of grease and cleaned his rifle until the metal and wooden stock shone. The trade store yielded hunter's traps and blankets. With the latter he made a comfortable niche in the corner bunk of the cabin set aside for passing travellers. The only thing he was short of was food. But in the trade store he eventually found a jar of candies, so he ate them for his evening meal.
  408. The first week seemed to fly by. In the mornings he rode out to trap and hunt, and in the afternoons he prepared the skins of the animals for future trade. He had all the fresh meat he needed and knew of several plants in the wilderness whose leaves made a nourishing soup.
  409. He found a bar of soap in the store and bathed naked in the nearby creek, whose water, though icy, was refreshing. There was fresh grass for his horse. In the chow kitchen he found bowls and tin plates. He brought in dry fallen winter-wood for his fire and boiled water in which to shave. One of the things he had taken from Donaldson's cabin was his old cutthroat razor, which he kept in a slim steel case. With soap and hot water he was amazed at how easy it was. In the wilderness or on the march with the army he had perforce used cold water and no soap.
  410. The spring turned to early summer and still no-one came. He began to wonder where he should turn to ask where the Cheyenne had gone and where they had taken Whispering Wind. Only then could he follow. But he feared to ride east to Fort Smith or north-west to Fort Ellis, where he would surely be recognized. If he learned the army still wanted to hang him, he would take the name of Donaldson and hope to pass unknown.
  411. He had been there a month when the visitors came, but he was away in the mountains trapping. There were eight in the party and they came in three long steel tubes that rolled on spinning black discs with silver centres but were drawn by no horses.
  412. One of the men was their guide and the other seven were his guests. The guide was Professor John Ingles, head of the faculty of Western History at the University of Montana at Bozeman.
  413. His chief guest was the junior senator for the state, all the way from Washington. There were three legislators from the Capitol at Helena and three officials from the Department of Education. Professor Ingles unlocked the padlock and the party entered on foot, staring about them with curiosity and interest.
  414. "Senator, gentlemen, let me welcome you to Fort Heritage," said the professor. He beamed with pleasure. He was one of those lucky men to possess limitless good humour and to be hopelessly in love with the very activity from which he made his living. His work was his lifelong obsession, a study of the Old West and the detailing of its history. He was steeped in knowledge of Montana in the old days, of the War of the Plains, of the native American tribes who had warred and hunted here. Fort Heritage was a dream he had nursed for a decade and coaxed through a hundred committee meetings.
  415. This day was the crowning moment of that decade.
  416. "This fort and trading post is an exact replica, to the last and tiniest detail, of what such a place would have been at the time of the immortal General Custer. I have supervised every detail personally and can vouch for them all." As he led the party round the timber cabins and facilities he explained how the project had had its birth in his original application to the Montana Historical Society and the Cultural Trust; how funds had been found in the dormant Coal Taxes fund held by the Trust and allocated after much persuasion.
  417. He told them the design was inch-perfect, made from local forest timber as it would have been, and how, in his pursuit of perfection, even the nails were of original type and steel screws banned.
  418. His enthusiasm overflowing and infecting his guests, he told them: 'Fort Heritage will be an involving and deeply meaningful educational experience for children and young people not only from Montana but, I expect, from the surrounding states.
  419. Tour bus parties have already booked from as far away as Wyoming and South Dakota.
  420. "At the very edge of the Crow Reservation, we have twenty acres of paddocks outside the walls for the horses and we will take a hay crop in due season to feed them. Experts will scythe the hay in the old-fashioned way. Visitors will see what life used to be like on the frontier a hundred years ago. I assure you this is unique in all America." "I like it, I like it a lot,' said the senator. 'Now, how will you staff it?" "That is the crowning glory, Senator. This is no museum but a functioning, working 1870s fort. The funds run to the employment of up to sixty young people throughout the summer, right through all the main national holidays and above all the school vacations. The staff will be mainly young, and drawn from the various schools of drama in the principal cities of Montana. The response from the students wishing to work through the summer break and fulfil a worthwhile task at the same time has been impressive.
  421. "We have our sixty volunteers. I myself will be Major Ingles of the Second Cavalry, commanding the post. I will have a sergeant, corporal and eight troopers, all students who know how to ride. Mounts have been loaned by friendly ranchers.
  422. "Then there will be some young women, pretending to be cooks and laundresses. The mode of dress will be exactly as it was then. Other drama students will play the roles of trappers in from the mountains, scouts from the plains, settlers moving west to cross the Rockies.
  423. "A real blacksmith has agreed to join us, so the visitors will see horses being shod with new shoes. I will take services in the post chapel over there and we will sing the hymns of those days. The girls will of course have their own dormitory and a group chaperon in the form of my faculty assistant. Charlotte Bevin. The soldiers will have one bunkhouse, the civilians the other. I assure you, no detail has been overlooked." "Surely there have to be some things that modern young people cannot do without. How about personal hygiene, fresh fruit and vegetables?' said a congressman from Helena.
  424. "Absolutely right,' beamed the professor. 'There are in fact three areas of subterfuge. I will not be having any loaded firearms on the post. All handguns and rifles will be replicas, save a few that fire blanks and only under supervision.
  425. "As to hygiene, you see the armoury over there? It has racks of replica Springfields, but behind a false wall is a real bathhouse with hot running water, toilets, faucets and basins and showers. And the giant butt for rainwater? We have underground piped water. The butt has a secret entrance at the back.
  426. Inside is a gas-operated refrigeration unit for steaks, chops, vegetables, fruit. Bottled gas. But that's it. No electricity.
  427. Candles and oil lamps only." They were at the door of the travellers' bunkhouse. One of the officials peered inside.
  428. "It seems you have had a squatter,' he remarked. They all stared at the blanketed bunk in the corner. Then they found other traces. Horse dung in the stable, the embers of a fire. The senator roared with laughter.
  429. "Seems some of your visitors can't wait,' he said. 'Maybe you have a real frontiersman in residence." They all laughed at that.
  430. "Seriously, Professor, it's a great job. I'm sure we all agree.
  431. You are to be congratulated. An asset to our state." With that they left. The professor locked the front gate behind him, still wondering about the bunk and the horse dung. The three vehicles ground down the rough tracks to the long strip of black rock. Highway 310, and turned north for Billings and the airport.
  432. Ben Craig returned from his trapping two hours later. The first clue that his solitude had been disturbed was that the door in the main wall near the chapel had been barred from the inside. He knew he had left it closed but wedged. Whoever had done it had either left by the main gate or was still inside.
  433. He checked the big gates but they were still locked. There were strange tracks outside which he could not understand, as if made by wagon wheels but wider with zigzag patterns in them.
  434. Rifle in hand, he went over the wall, but after an hour of checking he was satisfied there was no-one else there. He unbarred his door, led Rosebud inside, saw her stabled and fed, then re-examined the footmarks in the main parade ground.
  435. There were marks of shoes and heavy hiking boots, and more of the zigzag tracks, but no marks of hoofs. And there were no shoe-marks outside the gate. It was all very odd.
  436. Two weeks later the resident staff party arrived. Once again Craig was out tending his traps in the foothills of the Pryors.
  437. It was quite a column. There were three buses, four cars with spare drivers to take them away and twenty horses in big silver trailers. When they were all unloaded the vehicles drove away.
  438. The staff had changed back in Billings into the costumes appropriate for their roles. Each had a backpack of changes of clothing and personal effects. The professor had checked everything and insisted that nothing 'modern' be brought along.
  439. Nothing electrical or battery-operated was allowed. For some it had been a wrench parting with their transistor radios, but it went with the contract. Not even books published in the twentieth century were allowed. Professor Ingles insisted that a complete change by one entire century was vital, both from the point of total authenticity and from a psychological angle.
  440. "With time you really will get to believe you are what you are, frontier people living in a crucial time in Montana's history,' he told them.
  441. For several hours the drama students, having volunteered not only for a summer job that beat waiting tables but also for an educational experience that would help with their careers, explored their new environment with growing enthusiasm.
  442. The cavalry troopers stabled their horses and fixed their sleeping quarters in the military bunkhouse. Two pin-ups, of Raquel Welsh and Ursula Andress, were tacked up and immediately confiscated. There was high good humour and a growing sense of excitement.
  443. The civilian workers, the farrier, traders, cooks, scouts and settlers from back east, occupied the second large bunkhouse.
  444. The eight girls were marshalled to their own dormitory by Miss. Bevin. Two covered wagons, prairie schooners, covered in white canvas and drawn by heavy draught horses, arrived and were parked near the main gate. They would prove a focal attraction for future visitors.
  445. It was late afternoon when Ben Craig reined in Rosebud half a mile away and studied the fort with a rising sense of alarm.
  446. The gates were wide open. Scouting from that distance, he could make out two prairie schooners parked inside and people crossing the parade ground. The flag of the Union fluttered 789 from the pole above the gate. He made out two blue uniforms.
  447. He had waited weeks to be able to ask someone where the Cheyenne had gone or been taken, but now he was not so sure.
  448. After deliberating for half an hour, he rode in. He came through the gate as two troopers were about to close it. They glanced at him curiously but said nothing. He dismounted and began to lead Rosebud to the stable. Halfway there he was intercepted.
  449. Miss. Charlotte Bevin was a nice person, good-natured and welcoming in the American way, blonde, earnest and wholesome with a freckled nose and a wide grin. She gave Ben Craig the latter.
  450. "Well, hallo there." It was too hot to be wearing a hat, so the scout bobbed his head.
  451. "Ma'am." "Are you one of our party?" As the professor's assistant and herself a postgraduate student, she had been involved in the project from the outset and had been present at the numerous interviews leading to the final selection. But this young man she had never seen.
  452. "I guess so, ma'am,' said the stranger.
  453. "You mean, you'd like to be?" "I suppose I do." "Well, this is a bit irregular, you not being on the staff. But it's getting late to spend the night on the prairie. We can offer you a bed for the night. So stable your horse and I'll talk with Major Ingles. Would you come to the command post in half an hour?" She crossed the parade ground to the command post and tapped on the door. The professor, in full uniform of a major of the Second, was at his desk immersed in administrative papers.
  454. "Sit down, Charlie. Are the young people all settled in?' he asked.
  455. "Yes, and we have an extra one." "A what?" "A young man on a horse. Early to mid-twenties. Just rode in off the prairie. Looks like a local late volunteer. Would like to join us." "I'm not sure we can take any more on. We have our complement." "Well, to be fair, he has brought all his own equipment.
  456. Horse, buckskin suit, pretty soiled, saddle. Even had five animal pelts rolled behind his saddle. He's obviously made the effort." "Where is he now?" "Stabling the horse. I told him to report here in half an hour.
  457. Thought you might at least take a look at him." "Oh, very well." Craig did not have a watch, so he judged by the fall of the sun, but he was accurate to five minutes. When he knocked he was bidden to enter. John Ingles had buttoned up his jacket and was behind his desk. Charlie Bevin stood to one side.
  458. "You wanted to see me. Major?" The professor was at once struck by the authenticity of the young man before him. He clutched a round fox-fur hat. An open, honest-looking nut-brown face with steady blue eyes.
  459. Chestnut hair that had not been trimmed for many weeks was held back by a leather thong in a ponytail, and beside it hung a single eagle feather. The buckskin suit even had the straggling hand-stitching he had seen before on the real thing.
  460. "Well now, young man, Charlie here tells me you would like to join us, stay a while?" "Yes, Major, I surely would." The professor made a decision. There was a bit of slack in the operating fund for the occasional 'contingency'. He judged this young man to be a contingency. He pulled a long form towards him, took a steel-nibbed pen and dipped it in the inkwell.
  461. "All right, let us have a few details. Name?" Craig hesitated. There had been not a hint of recognition so far but his name might ring a bell. But the major was plump and somewhat pale. He looked as if he had just come out to the frontier. Perhaps back east there had been no mention of the events of the previous summer.
  462. "Craig, sir. Ben Craig." He waited. Not a hint that the name meant anything at all.
  463. The plump hand wrote in clerkish script: Benjamin Craig.
  464. "Address?" "Sir?" "Where do you live, son? Where do you come from?" "Out there, sir." "Out there is the prairie and then the wilderness." "Yes, sir. Born and raised in the mountains. Major." "Good Lord.' The professor had heard of families who lived in tar-paper shacks deep in the wilderness, but this was usually in the forests of the Rockies, in Utah, Wyoming and Idaho. He carefully wrote 'No Fixed Abode'.
  465. "Parents' names?" "Both dead, sir." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." "Gone these fifteen years." "So who raised you?" "Mr. Donaldson, sir." "Ah, and he lives ... ?" "Also dead. A bear got him." The professor put down his pen. He had heard of no fatalities due to a bear attack, though some tourists could be remarkably careless with their picnic garbage. It was all a question of knowing the wild. Anyway, this handsome young man was clearly without family.
  466. "No next of kin?" "Sir?" "Who should we contact in the event of ... anything happening to you?" "No-one, sir. No-one to tell." "I see. Date of birth?" ' 'Fifty-two. End of December, I think." "So you would be nearly twenty-five years old?" "Yessir." "Right. Social Security number?" Craig stared. The professor sighed.
  467. "My, you do seem to have slipped through the net. Very well.
  468. Sign here." He turned the form around, pushed it across the desk and offered the pen. Craig took it. He could not read the words 'signature of applicant' but the space was clear enough. He stooped and made his mark. The professor retrieved the paper and stared in disbelief.
  469. "My dear boy, my dear dear boy ...' He turned the paper so Charlie could see it. She looked at the inky cross in the space.
  470. "Charlie, as an educator I think you have a small extra task this summer." She flashed her wide grin.
  471. "Yes, Major, I think I do." She was thirty-five years old, had been married once, not well, and had never had babies. She thought the young man from the wilderness was like a boy-child, naive, innocent, vulnerable. He would need her protection.
  472. "Right,' said Professor Ingles, 'Ben, go and get yourself settled in, if you are not already, and join us all at the trestle tables for the evening meal." It was good food, the scout thought, and plenty of it. It came on enamelled tin plates. He ate with the help of his bowie knife, a spoon and a wad of bread. There were several half-hidden grins around the table, but he missed them.
  473. The young men he shared the bunkhouse with were friendly.
  474. They all seemed to be from towns and cities he had not heard of and presumed to be back east. But it had been a tiring day, and there was no light save candles to read by, so these were quickly blown out and they fell asleep.
  475. Ben Craig had never been taught to be curious about his fellow man but he noticed the young men around him were strange in many ways. They purported to be scouts, horse- breakers and trappers, but seemed to know very little about their skills. But he recalled the raw recruits led by Custer and how little they too had known of horses, guns and the Indians of the Great Plains. He supposed nothing much had changed in the year he had lived with the Cheyenne or alone.
  476. There were to be two weeks of settling in and rehearsals in the schedule before the visitor parties began to arrive, and this time was dedicated to getting the fort in perfect order, practising routines and lectures by Major Ingles, mainly held in the open air.
  477. Craig knew none of this and prepared to go out hunting again. He was crossing the parade ground, heading for the main gate which stood wide open each day, when a young wrangler called Brad hailed him.
  478. "What you got there, Ben?' He pointed to the sheepskin sheath hanging forward of Craig's left knee in front of the saddle.
  479. "Rifle,' said Craig.
  480. "Can I see? I'm way into guns." Craig eased his Sharps out of the sheath and handed it down.
  481. Brad was ecstatic.
  482. "Wow, that is a beauty. A real antique. What is it?" "Sharps fifty-two." "That's incredible. I didn't know they made replicas of this." Brad sighted the rifle on the bell in the frame above the main gate. It was the bell that would be rung with vigour if any hostiles were spotted or their presence reported, and would warn outside working parties to hurry back. Then he pulled the trigger.
  483. He was about to say 'Bang' but the Sharps did it for him.
  484. Then he was knocked back by the recoil. If the heavy bullet had hit the bell square on, it would have shattered it. Instead it hit at an angle and screamed off into space. But the bell still emitted a clang that stopped all activity in the fort. The professor came tumbling out of his office.
  485. "What on earth was that?' he called, then saw Brad sitting on the ground clutching the heavy rifle. 'Brad, what do you think you're doing?" Brad clambered to his feet and explained. Ingles looked sorrowfully at Craig.
  486. "Ben, maybe I forgot to tell you, but there is a no-firearm rule on this base. I'll have to lock this up in the armoury." "No guns. Major?" "No guns. At least not real ones." "But what about the Sioux?" "The Sioux? So far as I know they are on the reservations in North and South Dakota." "But Major, they might come back." Then the professor saw the humour. He gave an indulgent beam.
  487. "Of course, they might come back. But not this summer, I think. And until they do, this goes behind a chain in the armoury." The fourth day was a Sunday and the staff all attended morning service in the chapel. There was no chaplain, so Major Ingles officiated. In mid-service he moved to the lectern and prepared to read the lesson. The big Bible was opened at the appropriate page with a marker.
  488. "Our lesson today comes from the Book of Isaiah, chapter eleven, starting at verse six. Here the prophet deals with the time when God's peace shall come upon our earth.
  489. 29.S '"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the falling together. And a little child shall lead them.
  490. "And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together, and the lion ..." ' At this point he turned the page, but two of the ricepaper sheets had stuck together and he stopped, as the text made no sense. As he wrestled with his confusion a young voice spoke from the middle of the third row in front of him.
  491. "And the lion shall eat straw like the ox. And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain, for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea."' There was silence as the congregation stared openmouthed at the figure in the stained buckskin suit with the eagle feather dangling from the back of his head. John Ingles discovered the remainder of the passage.
  492. "Yes, precisely. Here endeth the first lesson." "I really do not understand that young man,' he said to Charlie in his office after lunch. 'He cannot read or write but can recite passages from the Bible that he learned as a child. Is he weird or am I?" "Don't worry, I think I have figured it out,' she said. 'He really was born to a couple who chose to live in isolation in the wilderness. When they died he really was adopted, unofficially and probably illegally, by a single man, much older, and raised as the old man's son. So he really does have no formal education. But he has a huge knowledge of three things: the Bible that his mother taught him, the ways of the last remaining wilderness and the history of the Old West." "Where did he get that from?" "The old man, presumably. After all, if a man died at age, say, eighty, only three years ago, he would have been born before the end of the last century. Things were pretty basic around here back then. He must have told the boy what he recalled or was himself told about the frontier days by survivors." "So why does the young man play the role so well? Could he be dangerous?" "No,' said Charlie, 'none of that. He is just fantasizing. He believes he has a right to trap and hunt at will, like they used to in the old days." "Role-playing?" "Yes, but then, aren't we all?" The professor roared with laughter and slapped his thighs.
  493. "Of course, that is what we're all doing. He just does it brilliantly well." She rose.
  494. "Because he believes in it. The best actor of them all. You leave him to me. I'll see he comes to no harm. Incidentally, two of the girls are already making sheep's eyes at him." In the bunkhouse Ben Craig still found it odd that his companions, when they undressed for the night, stripped right down to brief shorts made of cotton, while he preferred to sleep in the usual ankle-length white underwear. After a week this led to a problem and some of the young men spoke to Charlie.
  495. She found Craig after log-hauling detail, swinging a long- handled axe as he reduced the cords of pine to splits for the kitchen range.
  496. "Ben, could I ask you something?" "Sure, ma'am." "And call me Charlie." "All right, Charlie, ma'am." "Ben, do you ever bathe?" "Bathe?" "Uh-huh. Strip right down and wash the body, all of it, not just the hands and face?" "Why sure, ma'am. Regular." "Well, that's nice to hear, Ben. When did you last do that?" He thought. Old Donaldson had taught him that regular bathing was necessary, but in creeks of melted snow there was no need to become addicted.
  497. "Why, as recently as last month." "That's what I suspected. Do you think you could do that again? Now?" Ten minutes later she found him leading Rosebud, fully saddled, out of the stable.
  498. "Where are you going, Ben?" "To bathe, Charlie, ma'am. Like you said." "But where?" "In the creek. Where else?" Every day he had wandered out into the long-grassed prairie to perform the usual bodily functions. He washed face, arms and hands in the horse-trough. His teeth were kept white by an hour with the splay-ended willow twig, but he could do that as he rode.
  499. "Tether the horse and come with me." She led him to the armoury, unlocked it with a key on her belt and took him inside. Beyond the racks of chained Springfields was the back wall. Here she found a pressure- operated release in a knothole and swung open the hidden door. There was a further room equipped with basins and bathtubs.
  500. Craig had seen hot tubs before, during his two years at Fort Ellis, but they had been made of wooden staves. These were of enamelled iron. He knew tubs had to be filled by relays of buckets of hot water from the kitchen range, but Charlie turned a strange knob at one end and steaming water flowed out.
  501. "Ben, I'm going to come back in two minutes and I want to find all your clothes, except the buckskin, which needs dry- cleaning, outside the door.
  502. "Then I want you to get in with the brush and soap and scrub yourself. All over. Then I want you to take this and wash your hair with it." She handed him a flask with a green liquid that smelled of pine buds.
  503. "Finally I want you to dress again from any underclothes and shirts you find in those shelves over there. When you are done, come back out. OK?" He did as he was bid. He had never been in a hot bath before and found that it was pleasant, though he had trouble finding out how the faucets operated and nearly flooded the floor.
  504. When he had done, and shampooed his hair, the water was a dull grey. He found the plug at the bottom and watched it drain away.
  505. He selected cotton shorts, a white tee shirt, and a warm plaid shirt from the racks in the corner, dressed, braided the eagle feather back into his hair and came out. She was waiting for him. In the sun was a chair. She carried scissors and a comb.
  506. "I'm not an expert, but this will be better than nothing,' she said. 'Sit down." She trimmed his chestnut hair, leaving only the long strand with the feather untouched.
  507. "That's better,' she said when she was done. 'And you smell just fine." She put the chair back in the armoury and locked it.
  508. Expecting warm thanks, she found the scout looking solemn, even miserable.
  509. "Charlie, ma'am, would you walk with me?" "Sure, Ben. Something on your mind?" Secretly she was delighted at the chance. She might now begin to understand this enigmatic and strange product of the wilderness. They walked out through the gate and he led the way across the prairie towards the creek. He was silent, lost in thought. She forced back her desire to interrupt. It was a mile to the creek and they walked for twenty minutes.
  510. The prairie smelt of hay-ready grass and several times the young man raised his gaze to the Pryor Range, towering in the south.
  511. "It's nice to be out on the range, looking at the mountains," she said.
  512. "It's my home,' he said and lapsed into silence. When they reached the creek he sat down at the water's edge and she gathered the folds of her full cotton dress about her and sat facing him.
  513. "What is it, Ben?" "Can I ask you something, ma'am?" "Charlie. Yes, of course you can." "You wouldn't tell me no lies?" "No lies, Ben. Just the truth." "What year is it?" She was shocked. She had hoped for something revelatory, something about his relationship with the other young people in the group. She stared into the wide, deep blue eyes and wondered ... she was ten years his senior but ...
  514. "Why, it's 1977, Ben." If she had expected a non-committal nod, it was not what she got. The young man leaned his head between his knees, covered his face with his hands. His shoulders under the buckskin began to shake.
  515. She had only once seen a grown man cry. It was beside an auto wreck on the highway from Bozeman to Billings. She rocked forward onto her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders.
  516. "What is it, Ben? What's the matter with this year?" Ben Craig had felt fear before. Facing the grizzly, on the slope above the Little Bighorn, but nothing like this awful terror.
  517. "I was born,' he said at length, 'in the year 1852." She was not surprised. She knew there had been a problem.
  518. She wrapped her arms round him and held him to her bosom, stroking the back of his head.
  519. She was a modern young woman, a girl of her time. She had read all about these things. Half the youth of the West was attracted by the East's mystic philosophies. She knew all about the theory of reincarnation, or at any rate the belief in it. She had read of some people's sense of deja-vu, a conviction that they had existed before, long ago.
  520. This was a problem, the phenomenon of delusion, that had been tackled, was even then being tackled, by the science of psychiatry. There was help, counselling, therapy.
  521. "It's all right, Ben,' she murmured as she rocked him like a child. 'It's all right. Everything's going to be OK. If you believe that, it's fine. Spend the summer with us here at the fort and we'll live as they lived a hundred years ago. In the fall you can come back to Bozeman with me and I'll find people to help.
  522. You're going to be all right, Ben. Trust me." She took a cotton handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed his face, overcome by her sense of compassion for the troubled young man from the hills.
  523. They walked back to the fort together. Satisfied that her underclothes were modern and there were modern medications to hand in the event of cuts, bruises or illness, secure in the knowledge that the Billings Memorial Hospital was only minutes away by helicopter, Charlie was beginning to enjoy the long cotton dress, the simple life and the routines of frontier-fort living.
  524. And now she knew that her doctoral thesis was a certainty.
  525. "Major' Ingles's lectures were obligatory for all. Due to the warm late-June weather, he held them on the parade ground, the students on rows of benches in front of him, his easel and pictorial material to hand. Once he was lecturing on the real history of the Old West he was in his element.
  526. After ten days he reached the period of the War of the Plains.
  527. Behind him he had draped large-scale photographs of the principal Sioux leaders. Ben Craig found himself staring at a blow-up of a photograph of Sitting Bull, taken in his later ifii years. The Hunkpapa medicine man had been to Canada for sanctuary but had returned to throw himself and the remainder of his people on the mercy of the US Army. The picture on the easel was taken just before he was murdered.
  528. "But one of the strangest of them all was the Oglala chief, Crazy Horse,' said the professor. 'For reasons of his own he never permitted himself to be photographed by the white man.
  529. He believed the camera would take his soul away. Thus he is the one man of whom there is no photograph. So we will never know what he looked like." Craig opened his mouth and shut it again.
  530. In another lecture the professor described in detail the campaign that led to the fight at the Little Bighorn. It was the first time 'Craig learned what happened to Major Reno and his three companies, or that Captain Benteen had returned from the badlands to join them on the besieged hilltop.
  531. He was glad most of them had been rescued by General Terry.
  532. In his final lecture the professor dealt with the round-up in 1877 of the scattered groups of Sioux and Cheyenne and their escort back to the reservations. When John Ingles called for questions Craig raised his hand.
  533. "Yes, Ben.' The professor was pleased to take a question from his one pupil who had never crossed the threshold of a grade school.
  534. "Major, was there ever mention of a clan chief called Tall Elk, or of a brave named Walking Owl?" The professor was flustered. He had reference books back at the faculty to fill a truck and most of their contents were in his own head. He had expected a simple question. He searched his memory.
  535. "No, I do believe no-one heard of them and no later witnesses among the Plains Indians mentioned them. Why do you ask?" "I have heard it said that Tall Elk split away from the main group, avoided Terry's patrols and wintered right over there in the Pry or Range, sir." "Well, I have never heard of such a thing. If he did, he and his people must have been found in the spring. You would have to ask at Lame Deer, now the centre of the Northern Cheyenne Reservation. Someone at the Dull Knife Memorial College might know." Ben Craig memorized the name. In the fall he would find his way to Lame Deer, wherever that was, and ask.
  536. The first visitor parties came at the weekend. After that the parties came almost daily. They came by buses mainly, and some in private cars. Some were groups in the charge of their teachers, others private family parties. But they all parked in an area half a mile away and out of sight, and were brought to the main gates in the covered wagons. It was part of Professor Ingles's 'getting in the mood' stratagem.
  537. It worked. The children, and they were mainly children, were thrilled by the wagon ride, which was new to most of them, and in the last two-hundred-yard approach to the gates could imagine they really were frontier settlers. They poured from the wagons in an excited throng.
  538. Craig was detailed to work on his animal pelts, which were stretched on frames in the sun. He salted and scraped them, readying them for softening and tanning. The soldiers drilled, the smith pumped the bellows of his forge, the girls in their long cotton dresses washed clothes in big timber tubs and "Major' Ingles conducted parties from activity to activity, explaining each function and why it was necessary in the life on the plains.
  539. There were two Native American students who posed as non-hostile Indians living in the fort as trackers and guides, in the event the soldiery would need to respond to the emergency of a settler party out on the plains being attacked by an off- reservation war party. They wore cotton pants, blue canvas shirts, waist sashes and long black wigs under stovepipe hats.
  540. The favourite attractions seemed to be the blacksmith and Ben Craig working on his pelts.
  541. "Did you trap them yourself?' asked one boy from a school in Helena.
  542. "Yep." "Do you have a licence?" "A what?" "Why do you wear a feather in your hair if you are not an Indian?" "The Cheyenne gave it to me." "Why?" "For bringing down a grizzly." "That's a wonderful story,' said the escorting teacher.
  543. "No it's not,' said the boy. 'He's an actor just like all the rest." As each new wagonload of visitors arrived Craig scanned them for the glimpse of a cascade of black hair, the turn of a face, a pair of large dark eyes. But she did not come. July slipped into August.
  544. Craig asked for three days to go back to the wilderness. He rode out before dawn. In the mountains he found a stand of osage cherry, took his hand-axe, borrowed from the smithy, and went to work. When he had cut, shaved and scraped the bow-stave he strung it with twine from the fort, as he had no animal tendons.
  545. The arrows he cut from rigid and cue-straight ash saplings.
  546. The tail feathers from an inattentive wild turkey formed the flights. By a creek he found flint rocks and from these he chipped and knapped the arrowheads. Both Cheyenne and Sioux had used mainly flint or iron arrowheads, lodged into a cleft at the tip of the arrows and lashed in place with ultra-fine cords of skin.
  547. Of the two the plainsmen feared the flint the more. The iron arrowheads could be withdrawn against the barb along with the arrow, but the flint variety generally broke off, involving deep and usually terminal no-anaesthetic surgery. Craig made four of them. On the third morning he took the buck.
  548. When he rode back in the beast was across his saddlebow, the arrow still in the heart. He took the kill to the kitchen, hung, gutted, skinned and dissected the animal, finally offering the cook sixty pounds of fresh venison in front of a stunned audience of townsfolk.
  549. "Something wrong with my cooking?' asked the chef.
  550. "No, it's fine. I liked the cheese pie with coloured bits." "It's called a pizza." "Just figured we could do with some fresh meat." While the scout was washing off his hands and forearms in the horse trough the cook took the bloody arrow and walked quickly to the command post.
  551. "It's a beautiful artefact,' said Professor Ingles as he handled it. 'I have seen them in museums, of course. Even the barred tail feathers from a turkey are clearly identifiable as Cheyenne work. Where did he get it?" "He says he made it,' said the cook.
  552. "Impossible. Nobody can knap flint like this any more." "Well, he has four,' said the chef, 'and this one was right in the animal's heart. Tonight I'm serving fresh venison." The staff ate it at a barbecue outside the stockade walls and enjoyed it.
  553. Across the fire the professor watched Craig slicing slivers of cooked meat from a haunch with his razor-sharp bowie knife and recalled Charlie's assurance to him. Maybe, but he had his doubts. Could this strange young man ever turn dangerous? He noted that now four of his female students were trying to attract the untamed boy's attention, but his thoughts always seemed to be far away.
  554. By the middle of the month the black dog of despair was beginning to overtake Ben Craig. Part of him tried to remain convinced that the Everywhere Spirit had not lied to him, not betrayed him. Had the girl he loved also been given the curse of life? None of the high-spirited group around him knew that he had already made a decision. If by the end of the summer he had not found the love for which he had obeyed the vision- quester's plea, he would ride back to the mountains and by his own hand go to join her in the spirit world.
  555. A week later the two wagons rolled again through the gates and their drivers halted the sweating draught horses. From the first poured a gaggle of young and excited children. He sheathed his knife, which he had been honing on a stone, and walked forward. One of the grade-school teachers had her back to him. From her head to the middle of her back flowed a torrent of hair the colour of jet.
  556. She turned. Japanese-American, round puppy face. The scout turned and strode away. His rage boiled up. He stopped, raised clenched fists to the sky and screamed.
  557. "You lied to me, Meh-y-yah. You lied to me, old man. You told me to wait but you have cast me into this wilderness, an outcast of man and God."
  558. Everyone in the parade ground between the buildings stopped and stared. Ahead of him was one of the 'tame' Indians, walking away. This man also halted.
  559. The old face, wizened and brown like a burnt walnut, ancient as the rocks of the Beartooth Range, framed by strands of snow-white hair, stared at him from beneath the stovepipe hat. In the vision-quester's eyes was an expression of infinite sadness. Slowly he shook his head. Then he raised his gaze and | nodded silently, looking at a point beyond the young scout.
  560. Craig turned again, saw nothing and looked back.
  561. Underneath his hat his friend Brian Heavyshield, one of the two Native American actors, was staring at him as if he had gone crazy. He turned back to the gate.
  562. The second wagon was unloaded. A crowd of children milled around their teacher. Jeans, check shirt, baseball cap. She stooped to separate two scuffling boys, then wiped her shirtsleeve across her brow. The peak of her cap got in the way. She pulled the baseball cap off. A torrent of released dark hair tumbled down to her waist. Disconcerted by the sensation of someone staring, she turned towards him. An oval face, two huge dark eyes. Whispering Wind.
  563. He could not move. He could not speak. He knew he should say something, walk towards her, anything. But he could not, he just stared. She flushed, embarrassed, broke the gaze and gathered her charges to begin the tour. An hour later they arrived at the stables, led by Charlie, their tour guide. Ben Craig was grooming Rosebud. He knew they would come. It was on the route.
  564. "This is where we keep the horses,' said Charlie. 'Some are cavalry mounts, others belong to the frontiersmen who live here or are just passing through. Ben here is looking after his horse Rosebud. Ben is a hunter, trapper, scout and mountain man." "Want to see all the horses,' yelled one of the children.
  565. "All right, honey, we'll see all the horses. Just don't get too close to the hooves in case they kick out,' said Charlie. She led the youngsters down the line of stalls. Craig and the girl were left facing each other.
  566. "I'm sorry I stared, ma'am,' he said. 'My name is Ben Craig." "Hi. I'm Linda Pickett.' She held out her hand. He took it. It was warm and small, the way he remembered.
  567. "Could I ask you something, ma'am?" "Do you call every female ma'am?" "Guess so. Way I was taught. Is it bad?" "Kind of formal. Like from a long time ago. What did you want to ask?" "Do you remember me?" Her brow furrowed.
  568. "I don't believe so. Have we met?" "A long time ago." She laughed. It was the sound he recalled from around the campfires at Tall Elk's lodges.
  569. "Then I must have been too young. Where was it?" "Come. I'll show you." He led the puzzled girl outside. Beyond the timber palisades the peaks of the Pryor Range rose in the south.
  570. "Do you know what those are?" "The Beartooth Range?" "No. They are further west. Those are the Pryors. That was where we knew each other." "But I've never been into the Pryor Range. My brothers used to take me camping as a kid, but never there." He turned and looked into the beloved face.
  571. "You are a schoolteacher now?" "Uh-huh. In Billings. Why?" "Are you going to come back here again?" "I don't know. There are other parties scheduled to come later. I might be assigned. Why?" "I want you to come again. Please. I must see you again. Say you will." Miss. Pickett flushed again. She was too beautiful not to have been in receipt of many passes from boys. Usually she brushed them aside with a laugh that conveyed the message but gave no offence. This young man was strange. He did not flatter, he did not smile invitingly. He seemed solemn, earnest, naive. She stared into the frank, cobalt eyes and something fluttered inside her. Charlie came out of the stable with the children.
  572. I don't know,' said the girl, 'I'll think about it." An hour later she and her party were gone.
  573. It took a week, but she came. One of her colleagues at the school was called away to the bedside of a relative. There was a vacancy in the escort group and she volunteered. The day was hot. She wore a simple cotton print frock.
  574. Craig had asked Charlie to check the visitor roster for him, looking for a booking from the school.
  575. "You have your eye on someone, Ben?' she asked archly. She was not disappointed, recognizing that a relationship with a sensible girl could enormously help his rehabilitation to the real world. She was pleased by the speed with which he was learning to read and write. She had procured two simple books for him to read, word by word. After the fall she thought she could find lodgings for him in town, a job as store clerk or table waiter, while she worked on her thesis about his recovery.
  576. He was waiting when the wagons unloaded their cargoes of children and teachers.
  577. "Will you come walk with me, Miss. Linda?" "Walk? Where?" "Out to the prairie. So we can talk." She protested that the children needed her attention, but one of her older colleagues gave her a broad wink and whispered that she should take time for her new admirer if she wished.
  578. She wished.
  579. They walked away from the fort and found a jumble of rocks in the shade of a tree. He seemed tongue-tied.
  580. "Where do you come from, Ben?' she asked, aware of his shyness, quite liking it. He nodded towards the distant peaks.
  581. "You were raised over there, in the mountains?' He nodded again.
  582. "So what school did you go to?" "No school." She tried to assimilate this. To spend a whole boyhood hunting and trapping, never to go to school ... It was too strange.
  583. "It must be very quiet in the mountains. No traffic, no radios, no TV." He did not know what she was talking about but presumed she referred to things that made noise, other than the rustle of the trees and the call of the birds.
  584. "It's the sound of freedom,' he said. 'Tell me, Miss. Linda, have you heard of the Northern Cheyenne?" She was surprised but relieved at the change of subject.
  585. "Of course. In fact my great-grandmother on my mother's side was a Cheyenne lady." He swung his head towards her, the eagle feather danced in the hot breeze, the dark blue eyes fixed her, pleading.
  586. "Tell me about her. Please." Linda Pickett recalled that her grandmother had once shown her an old photograph of a wizened crone who had been her own mother. Even with the passing years the large eyes, fine nose and high cheekbones indicated the old woman in the faded monochrome snapshot had once been very beautiful. She told what she knew, what her now-dead grandmother had told her as a little girl.
  587. The Cheyenne woman had once been married to a brave and ; there had been a baby boy. But about 1880 an epidemic of ' cholera on the reservation had taken the brave and the boy away. Two years later a frontier preacher had taken the young ; widow as his wife, braving the disapproval of his fellow whites. He had been of Swedish extraction, big and blond. There were ^ three daughters, the youngest Miss. Pickett's own grandmother, born in 18 90. She in turn had married a Caucasian and produced a son and 'j two daughters, the younger girl born in 1925. In her late teens i '^'i it was that second daughter, Mary, who had come to Billings seeking work, and had found it as a clerk in the newly established Farmers' Bank. Working at the next booth was an earnest and industrious teller called Michael Pickett. They married in 1945. Her father had not gone to the war due to short-sightedness. There were four elder brothers, all big blond lads, and then Linda in 1959.
  588. She was just eighteen.
  589. "I don't know why, but I was born with a streak of jet black hair down my head, and dark eyes, nothing like my mom and pa. So there you are. Now you." He ignored the invitation.
  590. "Do you have marks on your right leg?" "My birthmark? How on earth do you know?" "Please let me see it." "Why? It's private." "Please." She paused awhile, then tucked up her cotton skirt to reveal a slim golden thigh. They were still there. Two puckered dimples, the entry and exit holes of the trooper's bullet beside Rosebud Creek. Irritated, she pulled her skirt back down.
  591. "Anything else?' she asked sarcastically.
  592. "Just one. Do you know what Emos-est-se-haa'e means in the Cheyenne language?" "Heavens no." Tt means Wind That Talks Softly. Whispering Wind. May I call you Whispering Wind?" "I don't know. I suppose so. If it pleases you. But why?" "Because it was once your name. Because I have dreamed about you. Because I have waited for you. Because I love you." She flushed deep pink and rose to her feet.
  593. "This is madness. You know nothing about me, nor I of you.
  594. Anyway, I am engaged to be married." She stalked off to rejoin her group and would talk to him no more.
  595. But she came back to the fort. She wrestled with her conscience, told herself a thousand times she was being crazy, a fool, out of her mind. But in that mind she saw the steady blue eyes holding hers and convinced herself that she should tell this lovelorn young man that there was no point in their ever meeting again. At least, that was what she told herself she would do.
  596. On a Sunday, a week before school resumed, she caught a tour bus from the centre of the town and alighted at the parking lot. He seemed to know she was coming. He was waiting on the parade ground, as he had every day, with Rosebud saddled up.
  597. He helped her up behind him and rode out to the prairie.
  598. Rosebud knew her way to the creek. By the glittering water they dismounted, and he told her how his parents had died when he was a boy and a mountain man had adopted him as his own and raised him. He explained that instead of the school of books and maps he had learned the spoor of every animal of the wild, the cry of every bird, the shape and character of every tree.
  599. She explained that her own life was quite different, orthodox and conventional, planned out. That her fiance was a young man of good and immensely wealthy family who could give her everything a woman could need or want, as her mother had explained. So there was no point ...
  600. Then he kissed her. She tried to push him away, but when their lips met the strength went out of her arms and they ;i slipped helplessly round the back of his neck. | His mouth did not smell of alcohol or stale cigars, as did that | of her fiance. He did not grope her body. She smelt the odour | of him: buckskin, woodsmoke, pine trees, j In a tumult she broke away and began to walk back to the i| fort. He followed but did not touch her again. Rosebud ceased | cropping and walked behind.
  601. "Stay with me. Whispering Wind." T cannot." "We are destined for each other. It was so spoken, a long time ago." "I cannot answer. I have to think. This is crazy. I am engaged." "Tell him he will have to wait." "Impossible." There was a prairie schooner leaving the gates, heading for the out-of-sight parking lot. She diverted her course, boarded it and went inside. Ben Craig mounted Rosebud and walked after the wagon.
  602. At the parking lot the passengers disembarked from the wagon and boarded the bus.
  603. "Whispering Wind,' he called, 'will you come back?" "I cannot, I am going to marry someone else." Several matrons looked with displeasure at the young horseman with the wild appearance who was clearly importuning a nice young girl. The doors closed and the driver started the engine.
  604. Rosebud gave a frightened whinny and reared high on her back legs. The bus began to move, picking up speed on the rough road that would lead back to the blacktop highway.
  605. Craig touched Rosebud in the flanks and rode after it, canter developing to gallop as the bus accelerated.
  606. The mare was terrified of the monster beside her. It snorted and roared at her. The force of the wind increased. Inside the coach the passengers heard a shout.
  607. "Whispering Wind, come with me to my mountains and be my wife." The driver glanced in his rear-view mirror, saw the flaring nostrils and wildly rolling eyes of the horse, and pressed the gas. The bus bucked and jolted on the rough road. Several matrons screamed as they clutched their plump offspring.
  608. Linda Pickett rose from her window seat and tugged at the sliding pane.
  609. The bus was slowly outpacing the galloping horse. Rosebud was stricken with panic but trusted to the firm knees that pressed her ribs and the grip on her rein. A dark head came out of a window. Down the slipstream came her reply.
  610. "Yes, Ben Craig, I will." The horseman reined in and was lost to view in the dust.
  611. She wrote her letter carefully, not wishing to provoke an outbreak of his temper, which she had felt before, but just to make her meaning regretfully clear. When she had finished her fourth draft, she signed it and posted it. Nothing was heard for a week. The meeting, when it came, was short and brutal.
  612. Michael Pickett was a pillar of his community, president and chief officer of the Farmers' Bank of Billings. Starting as a humble teller just before Pearl Harbor, he had risen through the ranks to the post of assistant manager. His hard work, orthodoxy and conscientiousness had caught the eye of the founder and owner of the bank, a lifelong bachelor with no kin.
  613. On retirement this gentleman had offered to sell his bank to Michael Pickett. He wanted someone to continue his tradition.
  614. Loan finance was raised and the buyout went through. In time most of the purchasing loans were repaid. But in the late Sixties there had been problems: overextension, foreclosures, bad debts. Pickett had been forced to go public and raise survival capital by offering stock on the market. The crisis had been ridden through and liquidity returned.
  615. A week after the arrival of his daughter's letter Mr. Pickett was not invited but summoned to a meeting with the fiance's father at his home, the impressive Bar-T Ranch on the banks of the Yellowstone river south-west of Billings. They had met before, at the time of the betrothal, but in the Cattlemen's Club dining room.
  616. The banker was shown into a huge office with polished timber floors and expensive panelling, adorned with trophies, J framed certificates and the heads of prize bulls. The man 1 behind the expansive desk did not rise or greet. He gestured to I a single vacant chair facing him. When his guest was seated, he stared at the banker without a word. Mr. Pickett was discomfited.
  617. He thought he knew what it was about.
  618. The rancher and tycoon took his time. He unwrapped a large Cohiba, lit up and when it was drawing well pushed a single sheet of paper across his desk. Pickett read it; it was his daughter's letter.
  619. "I'm sorry,' he said. 'She told me. I knew she had written. I had not seen the letter." The rancher leaned forward, admonitory finger raised, angry eyes set in a face like a side of beef beneath the Stetson he always wore, even in his office.
  620. "No way,' he said. 'No way, you get it? No way any girl treats my boy like this." The banker shrugged.
  621. "I'm as disappointed as you,' he said. 'But young people ...
  622. sometimes they change their mind. They are both young, maybe a bit overhasty?" "Talk to her. Suggest she has made a bad mistake." "I have talked to her. So has her mother. She wishes to call off her engagement." The rancher leaned back and glanced about the room, thinking how far he had come since his early days as a simple wrangler.
  623. "Not when it comes to my boy,' he said. Retrieving the letter, he pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk. 'You had better read these." William 'Big Bill' Braddock had indeed come a long way. His grandfather had come west from Bismarck, North Dakota, where he had been born, albeit out of wedlock, to a cavalry soldier who had died fighting on the plains. The grandfather had taken a job in a store and kept it all his life, neither rising nor being dismissed. His son had followed in his humble footsteps, but the grandson had taken a job on a cattle ranch.
  624. The boy was big, hard, a natural bully and given to settling disputes with his fists, almost inevitably to his own advantage.
  625. But he was also smart. After the war he had spotted the early beginnings of a company opportunity: the refrigerated truck, capable of delivering prime Montana beef hundreds of miles from where it had been raised.
  626. He struck out on his own, starting with trucks, moving into slaughtering and butchering, until he controlled the whole business from the ranch gate to the barbecue. He created his own name brand, Big Bill's Beef, free-range, juicy, field-fresh and in your local supermarket. When he moved back into ranching, the missing link in the beef chain, it was as the boss.
  627. The Bar-T, bought ten years earlier, was a rebuilt showpiece and the most impressive mansion along the Yellowstone. His wife, a subdued wisp of a woman almost invisible to the naked eye, had produced him one son, but hardly a chip off the old block. Kevin was in his mid-twenties, much indulged, spoiled and terrified of his father. But Big Bill doted on his scion; nothing was too good for his only son.
  628. Michael Pickett finished the papers pale and shaken.
  629. "I don't understand,' he said.
  630. "Well, Pickett, it's pretty plain. I have spent a week buying up every marker you owe in this state. That means I now hold the majority stock. I own the bank. And a packet it has cost me.
  631. All because of your daughter. Pretty, I'll say that, but stupid. I don't know or care who this other guy she's met is, but you tell her to drop him.
  632. "She writes back to my son and admits she made a mistake.
  633. Their engagement resumes." "But if I can't persuade her?" "Then you tell her she will be responsible for your complete destruction. I'll take your bank, I'll take your house, I'll take everything you've got. Tell her you won't be able to get a cup of coffee on credit in this county. You hear?" As he drove down to the highway Michael Pickett was a broken man. He knew Braddock was not joking. He had done this before to men who had crossed him. Pickett had also been warned that the nuptials would have to be advanced to mid- October, a month away.
  634. The family conference was unpleasant. Mrs. Pickett was accusatory and wheedling by turns. What did Linda think she was up to? Had she any idea what she had done? Marriage to Kevin Braddock would bring her, at a stroke, all the things others worked a lifetime to achieve: a fine house, spacious grounds to raise the kids, the best schools, a position in society.
  635. How could she throw it all away for a silly infatuation with an out-of-work actor pretending to be a frontier scout for the duration of a summer work assignment?
  636. Two of her brothers who lived and worked locally had been called to attend. One suggested he go out to Fort Heritage and have a man-to-man talk with the interloper. Both young men suspected a vengeful Braddock could ensure that they too lost their jobs. The brother who spoke was on the state government payroll, and Braddock had powerful friends in Helena.
  637. Her distraught father polished his thick-lensed eyeglasses and looked miserable. It was eventually his misery that convinced Linda Pickett. She nodded, rose and went to her room.
  638. This time she wrote two letters.
  639. The first was to Kevin Braddock. She admitted she had developed a silly, girlish crush on a young wrangler she had met, but that it was over. She told him she had been foolish to write him the way she had, and asked for his forgiveness. She wished their engagement to resume and looked forward to becoming his wife before the end of October.
  640. Her second letter was addressed to Mr. Ben Craig, c/o Fort Heritage, Bighorn County, Montana. Both letters were posted the following day.
  641. Despite his obsession with authenticity Professor Ingles had made two other concessions to modernity. Though there were no telephone lines to the fort, he kept in his office a radio/ telephone powered by rechargeable cadmium/nickel batteries.
  642. There was also a postal service.
  643. The Billings post office had agreed to deliver all mail for the fort to the office of the town's principal tour bus company, and they had agreed to send the satchel of mail needing delivery with the driver of their next bus out. Ben Craig received his letter four days later.
  644. He tried to read it, but had trouble. Thanks to Charlie's lessons he had become accustomed to capital letters and even lower-case print, but the cursive handscript of the young woman defeated him. He took the letter to Charlie, who read it and looked at him with pity.
  645. "I'm sorry, Ben. It's from the girl you took a fancy to. Linda?" "Please read it to me, Charlie." '"Dear Ben,"' she read, '"two weeks ago I did something extremely foolish. When you shouted to me from your horse, and I shouted back from the bus, I think I said that we could be married. Back home I have realized how stupid I was.
  646. '"In truth I am engaged to a fine young man whom I have known for some years. I find that I simply cannot break off my engagement to him. We are to be married next month.
  647. "Please wish me luck and happiness in the future, as I wish to you. With a farewell kiss, Linda Pickett."' Charlie folded the letter and handed it back. Ben Craig stared at the mountains, lost in thought. Charlie reached out and placed her hand over his.
  648. "I'm sorry, Ben. It happens. Ships that pass in the night. She clearly developed a girlish crush on you, and I can understand why. But she has made her decision to stay with her fiance." Craig knew nothing of ships. He stared at his mountains, then asked: 'Who is her betrothed?" "I don't know. She doesn't say." "Could you find out?" "Now, Ben, you are not going to cause any trouble?" Long ago Charlie had had two young men come to blows over her. She found it rather flattering. But that had been then.
  649. She did not want her untamed young protege heading into a fist-fight on account of a chit of a girl who had come three times to the fort to mess with his vulnerable affections.
  650. "No, Charlie, no trouble. Just curious." "You're not going to ride into Billings and start a fight?" "Charlie, I just want that which is mine, in the eyes of man and the Everywhere Spirit. As it was spoken long ago." He was talking riddles again, so she persisted.
  651. "But not Linda Pickett?" He thought for a while, chewing on a grass stem.
  652. "No, not Linda Pickett." "You promise, Ben?" "I promise." "I'll see what I can do." In college at Bozeman Charlie Bevin had had a friend who had become a journalist and moved to work on the Billings Gazette.
  653. She called her and asked for a quick check of the back issues for any mention of the announcement of an engagement involving a young woman called Linda Pickett. It did not take long.
  654. Four days later the mail package brought her a cutting from the early summer. Mr. and Mrs. Michael Pickett and Mr. and Mrs. William Braddock had been pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Linda and son Kevin. Charlie raised her eyebrows and whistled. No wonder the girl did not intend to break her engagement.
  655. "That must be the son of Big Bill Braddock,' she told Craig.
  656. "You know, the beefsteak king?" The scout shook his head.
  657. "No,' said Charlie with resignation, 'you just hunt your own.
  658. Without a licence. Well, Ben, the father is very rich indeed. He lives on a big spread up north of here, near the Yellowstone. Do you know the river?" Craig nodded. He had ridden down every inch of the southern bank with General Gibbon, from Fort Ellis to the junction with the Tongue, far east of Rosebud Creek, where they turned back.
  659. "Could you find out when the wedding will be, Charlie?" "You remember your promise?" "I do. No Linda Pickett." "That's right. So what do you have in mind? A little surprise?" "Uh-huh." Charlie made another phone call.
  660. September slipped into October. The weather remained fine and mild. The long-range forecast suggested a real Indian summer, with fine sunny weather until the end of the month.
  661. On the 10th a copy of the Billings Gazette arrived with the tour bus. With the school term well under way, the flow of visitors was easing fast.
  662. In the paper from her friend Charlie found an entire column from the writer of the social diary. She read it out to Craig.
  663. In breathless prose the diarist described the forthcoming nuptials of Kevin Braddock and Linda Pickett. The ceremony would be at the magnificent Bar-T Ranch south of Laurel Town on 20 October. Given the continuing clement weather, the ceremony would take place on the expansive lawns of the ; estate at 2 p.m. before an invited thousand guests who would j include the social cream and business elite of the state of , Montana. She went on like this to the bottom of the page. Ben Craig nodded and memorized. 3?
  664. The next day the post commander addressed them all on the parade ground. The Fort Heritage summer experience would I close for the winter months on 21 October, he said. It had been an outstanding success and messages of congratulations had ^ flowed from educators and legislators across the state.
  665. "There will be much hard work to do in the four days prior to closure,' Professor Ingles told his young team. 'Salaries and wages will be paid out on the day before. We have to get the facility cleaned, stored and ready for the hard winter before we go." Afterwards Charlie took Ben Craig aside.
  666. "Well, Ben, we're coming to the end,' she said. 'When it's over we can all go back to wearing our normal clothes. Oh, I suppose those are your normal clothes. Well, you have a wad of dollars coming. We can go into Billings and get you some sneakers, jeans, a selection of sports shirts and a couple of warm jackets for the winter.
  667. "Then I want you to come back to Bozeman with me. I'll find you nice lodgings and then introduce you to some people who can help you." "Very well, Charlie,' he said.
  668. That evening he tapped on the professor's door. John Ingles was sitting at his desk. A wood-burning pot-bellied stove glowed in the corner to take the chill off the evening air. The professor welcomed his buckskin-clad visitor warmly. He had been impressed by the lad, by his knowledge of the wild and the old frontier and the fact that never once had he slipped out of character. With his knowledge and a college degree, the professor could have found him a post on campus.
  669. "Ben, my boy, how can I help you?" He expected to be able to dispense some fatherly advice for the future.
  670. "Would you have a map, Major?" "A map? Well, good Lord. Yes, I suppose I do. Which area?" "Here at the fort, and north to the Yellowstone, please, sir." "Good idea. Always useful to know where one is, and the surrounding country. Here." He spread the map out on the desk and explained. Craig had seen campaign maps before, but they were mostly blank except for landmarks noted by a few trappers and scouts. This one was covered with lines and blobs.
  671. "Here is the fort, on the north side of West Pryor Mountain, facing north to the Yellowstone and south to the Pryors. Here is Billings, and here is where I come from, Bozeman." Craig ran his finger the hundred miles between the two towns.
  672. "The Bozeman Trail?' he asked.
  673. "Quite right, that's what it used to be called. A blacktop highway now, of course." Craig did not know what a blacktop highway was, but thought it might be the long strip of black rock he had seen in the moonlight. There were dozens of smaller towns shown on the large-scale map and, on the southern bank of the Yellowstone, at the confluence with Clark's Creek, an estate marked Bar-T Ranch. He reckoned it to be a tad to the west of a line due north from the fort and, cross-country, twenty miles.
  674. He thanked the major and handed back the map.
  675. On the night of the 19th Ben Craig turned in early, just after chow time. No-one thought it odd. All the young men had spent the day cleaning up, greasing metal parts against the winter frosts, storing tools in secure cabins for next spring. The others in the bunkhouse came to bed around ten and quickly fell asleep. None noticed that their companion, beneath his blanket, was fully clothed.
  676. He rose at midnight, slipped his fox hat on his head, folded two blankets and left without making a sound. No-one saw him cross to the stable, let himself in, and start to saddle Rosebud. He had made sure she had a double ration of oats for the extra strength she would need.
  677. When she was ready he left her there, let himself into the smith's forge and took the items he had noted the previous day: a hand-axe with belt sheath, a jemmy and metal cutters.
  678. The jemmy took the hasp and padlock off the armoury door, and once inside the cutters made short work of the chain threaded through the trigger guards of the rifles. They were all replicas but one. He took his Sharps '52 model back and left.
  679. He led Rosebud to the small rear door by the chapel, unbarred it and walked out. His two blankets were under his saddle, the buffalo robe rolled and tied behind. The rifle in its sheath hung forward of his left knee and by his right knee hung a rawhide quiver with four arrows. His bow swung from his back. When he had walked his horse half a mile from the fort in silence he mounted up.
  680. In this manner Ben Craig, frontiersman and scout, the only man to survive the massacre at the Little Bighorn, rode out of the year of grace 1877 and into the last quarter of the twentieth century.
  681. By the setting of the moon he reckoned it was two in the morning. He had time to walk the twenty miles to the Bar-T Ranch and save Rosebud's energy. He found the pole star and headed a few degrees to the west of the due-north path it indicated.
  682. The prairie gave way to farmland and here and there he found posts in his way, with wire strung between them. He used the cutters and walked on. He crossed the line from Bighorn into Yellowstone County, but he knew nothing of that.
  683. At dawn he found the banks of dark's Creek and followed the curving stream north. As the sun tipped the hills to the east he spied a long stretch of bright white post-and-rail fencing and a sign announcing: 'Bar-T Ranch. Private Property. Keep out.' He deciphered the letters and walked on until he found the private road leading to the main gate.
  684. At half a mile he could see the gate, and beyond it an enormous house surrounded by magnificent barns and stables.
  685. At the gate there was a striped pole across the road and a guardhouse. In the window was a low night light. He withdrew another half-mile to a stand of trees, unsaddled Rosebud and let her rest and crop the autumn grass. He rested through the morning but did not sleep, remaining alert like a wild animal.
  686. In truth the newspaper diarist had underestimated the splendour Big Bill Braddock planned for his son's wedding.
  687. He had insisted that his son's fiancee undergo a thorough examination at the hands of his family doctor, and the humili- ated girl had had no choice but to concede. When he read the full report, his eyebrows rose.
  688. "She's what?' he asked the doctor. The medical man followed where the sausage finger pointed.
  689. "Oh yes, no question about it. Completely intacta." Braddock leered.
  690. "Well, lucky young Kevin. And the rest?" "Flawless. A very beautiful and healthy young woman." The mansion had been transformed by the most fashionable interior designers money could hire into a fairy-tale castle. Out on the acre-sized lawn the altar had been set up twenty yards from the rail fence, facing the prairie. In front of the altar were row upon row of comfortable chairs for his guests, with an aisle down the centre for the loving couple to walk, Kevin first, attended by his best man, she and her nincompoop father to join them to the strains of the Bridal March.
  691. The buffet banquet was to be laid out on trestle tables behind the chairs. No expense had been spared. There were pyramids of champagne glasses in Stuart crystal, oceans of French champagne of an eyebrow-raising marque and all vintage. He was determined his most sophisticated guest would not find a single detail amiss.
  692. From Seattle arctic lobster, crab and oysters had been flown on ice. For those who preferred something stronger than champagne there was Chivas Regal by the crate. As he clambered into his four-poster the night before the wedding. Big Bill was worried only about his son. The boy had been drunk again and would need an hour in the shower to shape up in the morning.
  693. To entertain his guests further, as the married couple changed for their departure on honeymoon to a private island in the Bahamas, Braddock had planned a Wild West rodeo right next to the gardens. These troupers, like the caterers and their staff, were all hired. The only people Braddock did not hire were the security detail.
  694. Obsessive about his personal security, he maintained his own private army. Apart from three or four who stayed close to him at all times, the rest worked as wranglers on the ranch, but they were trained in firearms, had combat experience and would follow orders to the letter. They were paid to do so.
  695. For the wedding he had brought all thirty of them into close proximity to the house. Two manned the guard post on the main gate. His personal protection detail, headed by an ex-Green Beret, would be near him. The rest posed as stewards and ushers.
  696. Throughout the morning a stream of limousines and luxury coaches detailed to pick up guests from the airport at Billings cruised up to the main gate, were checked and passed through.
  697. Craig watched from deep cover. Just after midday the preacher arrived, followed by the musicians.
  698. Another column of catering vans and the rodeo performers came through a different gate, but they were out of sight.
  699. Shortly after one, the musicians began tuning up. Craig heard the sound and saddled up.
  700. He turned Rosebud's head towards the open prairie and rode round the perimeter fence until the guardhouse dropped out of sight. Then he headed for the white rails, moving from a trot to a canter. Rosebud saw the rails approaching, adjusted her stride and sailed over. The scout found himself in a large paddock, a quarter-mile from the outlying barns. A herd of prize longhorn steers grazed.
  701. At the far side of the field Craig found the gate to the barn complex, opened it and left it that way. As he moved through the barns and across flagstoned courtyards two patrolling guards hailed him.
  702. "You must be part of the cabaret?" Craig stared and nodded.
  703. "You're in the wrong place. Go down there and you'll see the rest of them at the back of the house." Craig headed down the alley, waited till they had moved on, .
  704. then turned back. He headed for the music. He could not recognize the Bridal March.
  705. At the altar Kevin Braddock stood with his best man, immaculate in white tuxedo. Eight inches shorter than his father and fifty pounds lighter, he had narrow shoulders and wide hips. Several zits, to which he was prone, adorned his cheeks, partly masked by dabs of his mother's face powder.
  706. Mrs. Pickett and the Braddock parents sat in the front row, separated by the aisle. At the far end of that aisle Linda Pickett appeared on the arm of her father. She was ethereally beautiful in a white silk wedding gown flown from Balenciaga in Paris.
  707. Her face was pale and set. She stared ahead with no smile.
  708. A thousand heads turned to look as she began the walk down the aisle to the altar. Behind the rows of guests serried ranks of waiters and waitresses stood watching. Behind them appeared a lone rider.
  709. Michael Pickett delivered his daughter to stand beside Kevin Braddock, then seated himself beside his wife. She was dabbing her eyes. The preacher raised his eyes and voice.
  710. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here this day to join this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony,' he said when the music of the march had faded. If he saw the rider facing him fifty yards down the aisle he may have been puzzled but gave no sign. A dozen waiters were nudged aside as the horse moved forward several paces. Even the dozen bodyguards round the perimeter of the lawn were staring at the couple facing the preacher.
  711. The preacher went on.
  712. '. , . into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined." Mrs. Pickett was sobbing openly. Braddock glared across at her. The preacher was surprised to see a slow tear well from each of the bride's eyes and flow down her cheeks. He presumed she too was overcome with joy.
  713. "Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace." He raised his eyes from the text and beamed at his congregation.
  714. "I so speak. She is betrothed to me." The voice was young and strong, and it carried to every corner of the lawn as the horse surged forward. Waiters were knocked flying. Two bodyguards launched themselves at the horseman. Each took a flying kick in the face and went backwards among the last two rows of guests. Men shouted, women screamed, the preacher's mouth was a perfect 0.
  715. Rosebud moved from trot to canter to gallop in seconds. Her rider reined her back in and hauled the bridle to his left. With his right arm he reached down, encircled the slim, silk-clad waist and pulled the girl up. For a second she swung across the front of his body, then slipped behind, threw a leg over the buffalo roll, clamped her arms around him and hung on.
  716. The horse charged past the front row, cleared the white rail fence and galloped away through the belly-high grass of the prairie beyond. The scene on the lawn degenerated into utter chaos.
  717. The guests were all upright, screaming and shouting. The longhorn herd trotted round the corner and onto the trim grass. One of Braddock's four men, seated far down the row from his master, ran past the preacher, drew a handgun and took careful aim at the disappearing horse. Michael Pickett let out a shout of 'No-o-o-o', threw himself at the gunman, seized his arm and jerked it upwards. The gun fired three shots as they wrestled.
  718. That was enough for the congregation, and the steers. All stampeded. Chairs crumbled, salvers of lobster and crab were tossed aside to spill on the lawn. A local mayor was thrown through a pyramid of Stuart crystal and went down in an expensive shower of trash. The preacher dived under the altar, where he met the bridegroom.
  719. Out on the main driveway two patrol cars from the local sheriff's office were parked, with four troopers. They were there to guide traffic and had been invited in for a snack lunch.
  720. They heard the shots, glanced at each other, threw their burgers away and ran for the lawn.
  721. At the edge of the lawn one of them cannoned into a fleeing waiter. He jerked the man upright by his white jacket.
  722. "What the hell just happened here?' he demanded. The other three stared open-mouthed at the bedlam. The senior deputy listened to the waiter and told one of his colleagues: 'Get back to the car and tell the sheriff we have a problem here." Sheriff Paul Lewis would not normally have been in his office on a Saturday afternoon, but he had paperwork he wanted to clear before starting the new week. It was twenty after two when the head of the duty deputy came round the office door.
  723. "There's a problem out at the Bar-T." He was holding a phone in his hand.
  724. "You know, the Braddock wedding? Ed is on the line. Says the bride's just been kidnapped." "Been WHAT? Put him on my line." The red light flashed as the transfer came through. He snatched the handset.
  725. "Ed, Paul. What the hell are you talking about?" He listened while his man at the ranch reported. Like all peace officers, he loathed the idea of kidnapping. For one thing it was a filthy crime, usually directed at the wives and children of the rich; for another it was a federal offence and that meant the Bureau would be all over him like a rash. In thirty years of service to Carbon County, ten of them as sheriff, he had known three takings of hostages, all resolved without fatalities, but never yet a kidnapping. He presumed a team of gangsters with fast cars, even a helicopter, were involved.
  726. "A lone horseman? Are you out of your mind? Where did he go? ... over the fence and away across the prairie. OK, he must have hidden a car somewhere. I'll call in some out-of-county help and block the main roads. Look, Ed, get statements from everyone who saw anything: how he got in, what he did, how he subdued the girl, how he got away. Call me back." He spent half an hour calling in reserves and arranging patrol cars on the main highways out of Carbon County, north, south, east and west. The Highway Patrol troopers were told to check every vehicle and every trunk. They were looking for a beautiful brunette in a white silk dress. It was just after three when Ed called back from his car at the Bar-T.
  727. "This is getting very weird, chief. We have near twenty statements from eyewitnesses. The rider got in because everyone thought he was part of the Wild West rodeo show. He was dressed in buckskin, riding a big chestnut mare. He had a fur- trapper's hat, a feather hanging from the back of his head and a bow." "A bow? What kind of a bow? Pink ribbon?" "Not that kind of a bow, chief. A bow as in bow and arrow.
  728. It gets stranger." "It can't. But go on." "All the witnesses say when he charged up to the altar and reached down for the girl, she reached up to him. They say she seemed to know him and wrapped her arms round him as they went over the fence. If she hadn't she'd have fallen off and be here now." A huge weight lifted off the sheriff. With a bit of luck he did not have a kidnap, he had an elopement. He began to grin.
  729. "Now are they all sure about that, Ed? He didn't hit her, knock her cold, throw her over his saddlebow, hold her prisoner as he rode?" "Apparently not. Mind you, he has caused an awesome amount of damage. The wedding ceremony was wrecked, the banquet pretty smashed up, the bridegroom pissed and the bride gone." The sheriff's grin widened.
  730. "Why, that's terrible,' he said. 'Do we know who he is?" "Maybe. The bride's father said his daughter had a kinda crush on one of those young actors they've had out at Fort Heritage all summer, posing as frontiersmen. You know?" Lewis knew all about the fort. His daughter had taken his grandchildren out for a day and they had loved it.
  731. "Anyway, she broke off her engagement to Kevin Braddock because of this. Her parents persuaded her she was crazy and the engagement resumed. They say he's called Ben Craig." The deputy went back to his statement-taking, and Sheriff Lewis was about to try to contact Fort Heritage when Professor Ingles came on the line.
  732. "This may be nothing,' he began, 'but one of my young staff has quit and run. During the night." "Did he steal anything. Professor?" "Well, no, not as such. He has his own horse and clothes. But he also has a rifle. I had confiscated it for the duration. He broke into the armoury and took it back." "What does he need it for?" "Hunting, I hope. He's a nice young man but a bit wild. He was born and raised in the Pry or Range. His folk seem to have been mountain people. He never even went to school." "Look, Professor, this could be serious. Could this young man turn dangerous?" "Oh, I hope not." "What else is he carrying?" "Well, he has a bowie knife, and a hand-axe is missing. Plus a Cheyenne bow and four arrows with flint heads." "He took your antiques?" "No, he made them himself." The sheriff counted to five, slowly.
  733. "Would this by chance be Ben Craig?" "Yes, how did you know?" "Just keep helping. Professor. Did he start a love affair with a pretty young schoolteacher from Billings who came out to the fort?" He heard the academic conferring with someone in the background called Charlie.
  734. "It seems he developed a deep affection for such a girl. He thought she accepted him, but I am informed she wrote him to break it all off. He took it badly. He even asked where and when her wedding would take place. I hope he hasn't made a fool of himself." "Not quite. He's just snatched her from the altar." "Oh my God." "Look, could he switch from horse to car?" "Heavens, no. He can't drive. Never been in one. He'll stay on his beloved horse and camp out in the wild." "Where will he head?" "Almost certainly south, to the Pryors. He's hunted and trapped there all his life." "Thank you. Professor, you've been most helpful." He called off the roadblocks and telephoned the Carbon County helicopter pilot, asking him to get airborne and check in. Then he waited for the inevitable call from Big Bill Braddock.
  735. Sheriff Paul Lewis was a good peace officer, unflappable, firm but kindly. He preferred to help people out rather than lock them up, but the law was the law and he had no hesitation in enforcing it.
  736. His grandfather had been a soldier with the cavalry who had died on the plains, leaving a widow and baby son at Fort Lincoln. The war widow had married another soldier who had been posted west into Montana. His father had been raised in the state and married twice. By the first marriage in 1900 there had been two daughters. After his wife's death he had married again and at the mature age of forty-five had sired his only son in 1920.
  737. Sheriff Lewis was in his fifty-eighth year and would retire in two more. After that, he knew of certain lakes in Montana and Wyoming whose cut-throat trout would benefit from his personal attention.
  738. He had not been invited to the wedding and entertained no sense of puzzlement as to why not. Four times over the years he or his men had investigated drunken brawls involving Kevin Braddock. In each case the bartenders had been well recompensed and had preferred no charges. The sheriff was pretty relaxed about young men in fist-fights, but less so when Braddock Junior beat up a bar girl who had refused his rather peculiar tastes.
  739. The sheriff had thrown him in the slammer and would have proceeded with charges on his own, but the girl suddenly changed her mind and recalled that she had simply fallen downstairs.
  740. There was another piece of information the sheriff had never divulged to anyone. Three years earlier he had had a call from a friend on the Helena City force. They had been at police college together.
  741. The colleague related that his officers had raided a nightclub.
  742. It had been a drug bust. The names and addresses of all present had been taken. One was Kevin Braddock. If he had had any drugs he had got rid of his stash in time and had to be released.
  743. But the club had been exclusively gay.
  744. The phone rang. It was Mr. Valentine, Big Bill Braddock's personal lawyer.
  745. "You may have heard what happened here this afternoon, Sheriff. Your deputies were present minutes later." "I heard not all went according to plan." "Please do not patronize, Sheriff Lewis. What happened was a case of brutal kidnap and the criminal must be caught." "I hear you. Counsellor. But I have a sheaf of statements from guests and catering staff to the effect that the young lady cooperated in mounting the horse and that she had had a love affair with this young man, the horse-rider, before. That looks to me more like an elopement." "Weasel words, Sheriff. If the girl had wished to break off her engagement there was nothing to stop her. This girl was snatched with physical force. The criminal committed trespass to get in here, kicked two of Mr. Braddock's staff in the face and did an impressive amount of malicious damage to private property. Mr. Braddock intends to press charges. Will you bring this hooligan in, or shall we?" Sheriff Lewis did not like being threatened.
  746. "I hope you and your client are not thinking of taking the law into your own hands. Counsellor? That could be most unwise." The lawyer ignored the counter-threat.
  747. "Mr. Braddock is deeply concerned for the safety of his daughter-in-law. He is within his right to search for her." "Was the wedding ceremony complete?" "Was it what?" "Are your client's son and Miss. Pickett actually married in law?" "Well ..." "In that case she is not your client's daughter-in-law. She is no relation." "Until further information she is still my client's son's fiancee.
  748. He is acting as a concerned citizen. Now are you going to bring this hooligan in? There is always Helena." Sheriff Lewis sighed. He knew how much influence Bill Braddock had with some legislators in the state capital. He was not afraid of that either. But this young man, Ben Craig, had undoubtedly committed offences.
  749. "As soon as he can be traced, I'll be there,' he said. As he put the phone down he thought it might be wise for him to get to the lovebirds before Braddock's men. His helicopter pilot came on the line. It was nearly four, with two hours to go before sundown and the fading of the light.
  750. "Jerry, I want you to find the Bar-T Ranch. Then fly south towards the Pryors. Keep an eye open in front and to both sides." "What am I looking for, Paul?" "A lone rider, heading south, probably for the mountains.
  751. There's a girl mounted up behind him in a white wedding dress." "Are you putting me on?" "Nope. Some saddle-bum just snatched the fiancee of Bill Braddock's son from the altar." "I think I like the guy already,' said the police officer as he left the Billings Airfield area.
  752. "Just find him for me. Jerry." "No sweat. If he's there I'll find him. Out." The pilot was over the Bar-T five minutes later and set his course due south. He maintained one thousand feet, low enough to give him a good view of any moving rider below him and high enough to cover a ten-mile-wide swathe to left and right.
  753. To his right he could see Highway 310 and the rail line running south towards the village of Warren and on into Wyoming via the flat country. Ahead he could see the peaks of the Pryors.
  754. In case the rider had tried to evade detection by veering west across the road. Sheriff Lewis asked the Highway Patrol to cruise down the 310 and keep an eye open on both sides of the road for the torso of a rider above the prairie grass.
  755. Big Bill Braddock had not been idle. Leaving his staff to cope with the anarchy on his lawn, he and his security men had gone straight to his office. Never a man known for his good humour, those around him had still not ever seen him in such a towering rage. For a while he sat at his desk in silence. There were a dozen grouped round him, waiting for orders.
  756. "What do we do, boss?' asked one eventually.
  757. "Think,' snarled the rancher. 'Think. He's a man alone on a horse, heavy-laden. Limited range. Where would he go?" The former Green Beret, Max, studied a wall map of the county.
  758. "Not north. He'd have to cross the Yellowstone. Too deep.
  759. So, south. Back to that replica fort in the hills?" "Right. I want ten men, mounted and armed. Go south, spread out over a five-mile front. Ride like hell. Overtake him." When the ten wranglers were saddled up he addressed them outside.
  760. "You each have radiophones. Stay in touch. If you see him, call for back-up. When you corner him, get the girl back. If he attempts to threaten her, or you, you know what to do. I think you know what I mean. I want the girl back, no-one else. Go." The ten riders cantered out the main gate, fanned out and broke into a gallop. The fugitive had a forty-minute start but he was carrying two riders and saddlebags, a rifle and heavy buffalo hide.
  761. Inside the ranch lawyer Valentine reported back.
  762. "The sheriff seems pretty relaxed about it all. But he is going to mount a search. Patrol cars on the roads and probably a helicopter,' he said.
  763. "I don't want him to get there first,' snapped Braddock. 'But I do want to know what information he gets. Max, get to the radio shack. I want a band-sweep of every police channel in the county. Permanent listening watch. Get my own helo up in the air. Get ahead of the riders. Find the bastard. Guide them to him. We'll need more than one. Rent two more out of the airport. Go. Now." They were all wrong. The professor, the sheriff, Braddock.
  764. The frontiersman was not heading for the Pryors. He knew that was too obvious.
  765. Five miles south of the ranch he had stopped, taken one of his saddle blankets and wrapped it round Whispering Wind. It was bright red but it hid the glaring white of the dress. But he had never heard of helicopters. After the halt he slanted southwest towards where he recalled having crossed a long strip of black rock the previous spring.
  766. At a mile, he could make out a row of upright posts with wires strung between them. They ran across his front as far as the eye could see. They were the phone lines running above the Burlington rail line that paralleled the highway.
  767. At half past three Jerry called in from his hovering Sikorsky.
  768. "Paul, I thought you said there was a lone rider? There's a goddamn army down here." Braddock's pursuers, thought the sheriff.
  769. "What do you have, exactly. Jerry?" The voice crackled over the distance.
  770. "I count at least eight riders abreast, galloping south. Ranch hands by the look. And they're travelling light. Also, there's another helo, up ahead, hovering over the foothills, close to that replica fort." Lewis swore softly. He wished now he were with the helicopter instead of stuck in an office.
  771. "Jerry, if the fugitives are up ahead, try and get to them first. If Braddock's hoods get to the boy he won't be worth squat." "You got it, Paul. I'll keep looking." In the ranch house the head of the radio operator came round the door.
  772. "Mr. Braddock, sir, the sheriff's helicopter is right over our own team." "That makes an eyewitness,' said Max.
  773. "Tell my boys to keep looking,' snapped Braddock. 'We'll sort out any court case later." Sheriff Lewis was glad he had stayed in overall control in his office when a call came through at five minutes before five. An excited voice shouted, 'Got 'em." "Speaker, identify." "Car Tango One. On the Three-Ten. He just crossed the highway, riding south-west. Caught a glimpse before he went behind some trees." "Where on the Three-Ten?" "Four miles north of Bridger." "Confirm the target is now west of the highway,' ordered Lewis.
  774. "That is affirmative. Sheriff." "Stay on the highway in case he doubles back." "Ten-four." Sheriff Lewis studied his wall map. If the rider continued on his track he would come up against another rail line and the much bigger Interstate 212 running right through the mountains to Park County, Wyoming.
  775. There were two Highway Patrol cars cruising the interstate.
  776. He asked them to move further south and keep their eyes open for someone trying to cross from east to west. Then he called up his helicopter pilot.
  777. "Jerry, he's been seen. Well to your west. He just crossed the Three-Ten riding south-west. Can you get over there? About four miles north of Bridger. He's back in open country again." "OK, Paul, but I'm going to have a fuel problem soon and the light is fading fast." The sheriff looked again at the tiny community of Bridger.
  778. "There's an airstrip at Bridger. Go to the limit of your fuel, then put down there. You may have to spend the night. I'll tell Janey." In the ranch house it had all been heard. Max studied the map.
  779. "He's not going for the Pryors. Too obvious. He's heading for the Wilderness and the Beartooth Range. He figures to ride right through the range into Wyoming and lose himself. Clever.
  780. That's what I'd do." Braddock's operator told the ten horsemen to turn due west, cross the highway and resume looking. They agreed to that, but forbore to warn him that they had ridden their mounts so hard for fifteen miles that they were in danger of breaking down.
  781. And darkness was closing in.
  782. "We should get a couple of cars with men in them down the interstate,' said Max. 'He'll have to cross it if he wants to make the Wilderness." Two big off-road vehicles were despatched with eight more men in them.
  783. Approaching the interstate, Ben Craig dismounted, climbed a tree on a small knoll and studied the barrier. It was raised above the plain and a train track, another spur of the Burlington line, ran beside it. Occasionally a vehicle would pass, heading north or south. All around him were the badlands, rough country of creeks, rocks and ungrazed prairie grass, belly-high to a horse. He descended and from his saddlebag took his packet of steel and flint.
  784. There was a light breeze from the east, and when the fire took hold it spread to cover a mile-wide front and moved' towards the road. Billows of smoke rose into the darkening sky. The breeze bore them west, faster than the advancing fire, and;g the road disappeared. i The patrol car five miles to the north saw the smoke and came south to investigate. As the smoke thickened and darkened the patrolmen stopped, a mite too late. Within seconds they were enveloped in the clouds. There was nothing for it but to back up.
  785. The tractor-trailer heading south for Wyoming tried really hard to avoid the tail lights when the driver saw them. The brakes worked perfectly and the semi stopped. The one behind it was not so lucky.
  786. Tractor-trailers are very adaptable, until they jackknife. The second rig hit the first and both performed that manoeuvre, slewing across the centre line and blocking the highway in both directions. Given the escarpments on both sides, driving around the blockage was not an option.
  787. The patrol officers were able to make one radio call before they had to quit their vehicle and join the truck drivers further up the road, out of the smoke pall.
  788. The message was enough. Fire trucks and heavy lifting gear soon headed south to cope with the emergency. It took all night but they had the road open again by dawn. Messages flashed to Wyoming halted all traffic south of the mountains. Only those already on the road were marooned for the night.
  789. In the confusion, invisible in the smoke, a single rider trotted across the highway and into the wild country to the west. The man had a kerchief across his face and the girl who rode behind him was shielded by a blanket.
  790. West of the highway the rider dismounted. The muscles beneath Rosebud's gleaming coat were trembling with exhaustion and there were ten miles yet to the cover of the timber.
  791. Whispering Wind eased herself forward into the saddle but she was half her lover's weight.
  792. She slipped the blanket from her shoulders and sat shimmering white in the dusk, her unleashed hair flowing to her waist.
  793. "Ben, where are we going?" For answer he pointed to the south. In the last rays of the setting sun the peaks of the Beartooth Range rose like flames above the forest line, sentinels of another and better life.
  794. "Through the mountains, into Wyoming. No-one will find us there. I will build you a cabin and hunt and fish for you. We will be free and live for ever." Then she smiled, for she loved him very much, and believed his promise, and was happy again.
  795. Braddock's personal pilot had had no choice but to turn back. His fuel was low and the ground below was too dark to make out details. He landed at the ranch on the last of his reserve.
  796. The ten riders limped into the little community of Bridger on their exhausted horses and asked for lodgings. They ate at the diner and made beds in their own saddle blankets.
  797. Jerry put the sheriff's helicopter down at Bridger airstrip and was offered a bed for the night by the manager.
  798. At the ranch it was the former Green Beret who took over the planning. Ten of the private army were stranded at Bridger with exhausted horses; eight more were marooned in their vehicles upstream of the blockage on the interstate. Both sets would be there all night. Max faced Bill Braddock and the remaining twelve. He was in his element, planning a campaign, just like in Vietnam. A large map of the county adorned the wall.
  799. "Plan One,' he said. 'Cut off the pass - literally. Right here there is a deep cleft or defile running right through the range into Wyoming. It is called Rock Creek. Beside it runs the highway, twisting and winding until it emerges on the south side.
  800. "He may try to ride along the grass edging the highway to avoid the high country on either side. As soon as the blockage on the interstate is clear, our boys need to race down here, overtaking everything in their path, and stake out the road at the state line. If he appears, they know what to do." "Agreed,' growled Braddock. 'Supposing he tries to ride through during the night?" "He can't, sir. That horse of his must be on its last legs. I figure he crossed the road because he is heading for the forest, then the mountains. As you see, he has to penetrate the expanse of the Custer National Forest, climbing all the way, crossing the defile called West Fork and then more climbing to emerge on this plateau, the Silver Run. Hence Plan Two.
  801. "We use the two rented helicopters to overfly him, picking up the ten men at Bridger on their way. These men are set down in a skirmish line across this plateau. When he emerges from the forest onto the rock, he'll be a sitting target for men crouching behind boulders halfway across." "Order it,' said Braddock. 'What else?" "Plan Three, sir. The rest of us enter the forest on horses at dawn behind him and flush him upwards to the plateau at the top. Either way, we'll hunt him down like game." "And if he turns on us in the forest?" Max smiled with pleasure.
  802. "Why, sir, I am a jungle-trained fighter. There are three or four others who did time in 'Nam. I want them all with us. If he tries to make a stand in the timber, he's mine." "How do we get the horses down there with the road blocked?' asked one of the others.
  803. Max's finger traced a fine line on the map.
  804. "There's a small secondary road. Runs from the Billings highway fifteen miles west of here, through the badlands to terminate here at Red Lodge, right at the neck of the Rock Creek defile. We drive them down in trailers through the night, mount up at dawn and go after him. Now I suggest we sleep for four hours and rise at midnight." Braddock nodded his agreement. 'One other thing. Major.
  805. I'm coming with you and so is Kevin. Time we both saw the end of the man who humiliated me today." Sheriff Lewis also had a map, and he had come to similar conclusions. He asked for co-operation from the town of Red Lodge and was promised a dozen mounts, fresh and saddled, for sunup. Jerry would refuel at the same time and be ready for takeoff.
  806. The sheriff checked with the emergency service working on the interstate and was told they would have a clear road by four in the morning. He asked that his own two cars be allowed through first. He could be at Red Lodge by four thirty.
  807. He had no trouble finding volunteers even for a Sunday.
  808. Policing a county of peaceable folk can be short of really eventful days, but a true manhunt usually set the adrenalin running.
  809. Apart from Jerry above him, he had on call a private pilot with a high-wing spotter plane and would have ten men with him for the ground pursuit. That should be enough for one rider. He stared long and hard at the map.
  810. "Please don't go into the forest, kid,' he murmured. 'You I could be awfully hard to find in there." As he was speaking Ben Craig and Whispering Wind made it to the forest line and disappeared into the trees. It was pitch- dark under the canopy of the spruce and lodgepole pine. Half a mile in, Craig made camp. He relieved the tired Rosebud ofj her saddle, the girl, rifle and blankets. Among the trees; Rosebud found a rill of fresh water and juicy pine needles. She began to rest and recover.
  811. The scout lit no fire but Whispering Wind needed none. She curled in the buffalo robe and fell asleep. Craig took his axe and trotted away. He was gone six hours. When he returned hd catnapped for an hour, then broke camp. He knew that some*l where up ahead was the creek where he had delayed the cavalryl and the Cheyenne a long time ago. He wanted to cross it andj gain the farther bank before his pursuers could come withitt rifle range. ; Rosebud was fresher, if not fully recovered from he(J marathon of the previous day. He led her by the bridle. Despite her rest the strength was flowing out of her, and they had many!
  812. miles to go to reach the safety of the peaks. He marched for an hour, sensing his direction from the stars^l glimpsed through the treetops. Far away to the east, above the I sacred Black Hills of Dakota, the sun pinked the sky. He came to the first defile across his path, the precipitous gully called West Fork.
  813. He knew he had been here before. There was a way across if only he could find it again. It took an hour. Rosebud drank from the cool water and, slipping and scrabbling for a foothold, they clambered up the far bank to the high ground.
  814. Craig gave Rosebud a further rest and found a hidden place where he could stare down at the creek. He wanted to see how many were coming after him. They would be on fresh horses, that was sure, but something was different. These pursuers had strange metal boxes that flew in the sky like eagles beneath whirling wings and they roared like bull moose in the rut.
  815. He had seen these flying boxes over the badlands the day before.
  816. True to their promise the emergency services cleared the interstate for traffic just after four in the morning. Guided by a Highway Patrol officer. Sheriff Lewis's two cars threaded through the tangle of gridlocked vehicles to the head of the line and set off for Red Lodge fifteen miles to the south.
  817. Eight minutes later they were overtaken by two large off- road trucks travelling at dangerous speed.
  818. "Shall we go after them?' asked the police driver.
  819. "Let them go,' said the sheriff.
  820. The off-roads roared through the waking township of Red Lodge and headed into the canyon where the interstate bordered Rock Creek.
  821. The gulch became narrower and the slopes more vertical, with a clear drop of five hundred feet into the creek on the right-hand side and the sheer face of the wooded mountains on the left. The hairpin bends became tighter and tighter.
  822. The leading vehicle came round the fifth hairpin too fast and too late to see the freshly felled pine lying across the road. The body of the off-road made it to the southern side but the four wheels remained on the north. There were five men in the truck and they had ten legs between them. Four were broken, to which could be added three arms, two collarbones and a dislocated pelvis.
  823. The driver of the second vehicle had a clear choice: to pull right and drop into the creek or pull left into the mountainside.
  824. He pulled left. The mountain won.
  825. Ten minutes later the least injured man was staggering back up the highway to seek help when the first tractor-trailer came round a bend. The brakes were still working perfectly. It stopped in time but jackknifed. Then the trailer, as if in silent protest at these indignities, rolled sedately onto its side.
  826. Sheriff Lewis and his party of seven deputies had arrived in Red Lodge to be met by the local officer with a string of borrowed horses. There were also two Forest Rangers. One of them spread a map over the hood of a car and pointed to the landmarks in the Custer National Forest.
  827. "The forest is bisected, east to west, by this creek, the West Fork,' he said. 'This side of the fork there are tracks and campsites for summer visitors. Cross the creek and you are into real wilderness. If your man has done that, we will have to go in there after him. It's no-vehicle country, which is why we have the horses.' ; "How dense is it in there?' " "It's thick,' said the ranger. 'What with the warm weather the broadleaf trees are still in foliage. Then comes the pine forest, then the rock plateau all the way to the high peaks. Can your man survive in there?' j "From what I hear, he was born and raised in the wilderness,' sighed the sheriff.
  828. "Not a problem, we have modern technology,' said the other ranger. 'Helicopters, spotter planes, walkie-talkies. We'll find him for you." The party was about to leave the cars and move off when a message came through from the sheriff's office. It was a patch through from the air traffic controller at Billings Field.
  829. "I have two big helos waiting for take-off,' said the man in the control tower. He and Sheriff Lewis had known each other for years. They fished trout together, and there are few stronger bonds.
  830. "I'd have let them go but they have been rented by Bill Braddock. They have filed flight plans for Bridger. Jerry says you have a problem down there. Something about the Bar-T wedding? It's on all the morning news." "Stall them. Give me ten minutes." "You got it.' To the waiting helicopter pilots the controller said, 'Clearance delayed. We have an incomer joining the circuit." Sheriff Lewis recalled Jerry telling him about a skein of armed riders heading south from the ranch in pursuit of the runaways. They would logically have been caught by the darkness far from home and would have spent the night in the open prairie or at Bridger. But if they were recalled to the ranch, why not ride there on rested horses? He asked for a call to another friend, the head of the FAA in Helena. The official came on the line after being woken in his home.
  831. "This had better be good, Paul. I like my Sundays." "I have a little problem with two runaways who have decided to head into the Absaroka Wilderness. I'm going in with a party of deputies and a couple of rangers to bring them back.
  832. There are some concerned citizens around here who seem to want to turn it into a turkey shoot. And the media will be along later. Could you declare the Wilderness area off limits for today?" "Sure." "There are two helos at Billings Field waiting takeoff." "Who's in the tower at Billings?" "Chip Anderson." "Leave it to me." IA<; Ten minutes later the helicopters received a call from the tower.
  833. "Sorry about that. The incomer turned away. You are cleared for take-off, subject to the FAA Exclusion Zone." "What Exclusion Zone?" "The whole Absaroka Wilderness up to five thousand feet." In matters of air space and in-air safety the word of the Federal Aeronautics Administration is law. The hired pilots had no intention of losing their licences. The engines were switched off and the rotors slowly wound down.
  834. Big Bill Braddock and his remaining ten men had arrived in the pre-dawn along the secondary road that approached Red Lodge from the north-west. Five miles from the town, on the edge of the forest, they unloaded the horses from the trailers, checked their weapons, mounted up and went into the trees.
  835. Braddock also had portable transceivers and was in touch with his radio room at the ranch. As dawn lightened the canopy of trees above the riders he learned he had ten men being stretchered off the interstate in the middle of Rock Creek and another ten stranded at Bridger without air transport to bring them over the fugitives to the rock plateau. The major's Plans One and Two were history.
  836. "We'll go get the bastard ourselves,' growled the cattleman.
  837. His son, ill at ease in the saddle, took a swig from his hip flask.
  838. The posse rode into the forest in a quarter-mile-wide chain, scanning the ground for fresh hoof marks. After thirty minutes one of them found the spoor, the marks of Rosebud's hoofs and, leading them, the footprint of what could have been a moccasin. Using his communicator, he called the others over to join him. After that they followed as a group. A mile behind, Sheriff Lewis and his party rode in.
  839. It took the sharp eyes of the rangers less time, ten minutes.
  840. "How many horses does this man have?' asked one.
  841. "Just the one,' said Lewis.
  842. "There's more than one set of tracks here,' said the ranger. 'I count four at least." "Damn the man,' said the sheriff. He used his transceiver to call his office and ask for a phone-through to Counsellor Valentine at his private home.
  843. "My client is profoundly worried for this young lady's safety, Sheriff Lewis. He may have mounted a search party. I assure you he is entirely within his rights." "Counsellor, if any harm comes to these young people, if either of them is killed, I'm going to be looking at murder in the first. You just tell your client that." He switched off before the lawyer could protest.
  844. "Paul, this guy has kidnapped a girl and he does have a rifle," murmured the senior deputy, Tom Barrow. 'Seems we may have to shoot first and ask questions afterwards." "There's a mass of statements that the girl jumped on his horse,' snapped Lewis. 'I do not want to blow some kid away for a mess of broken glass." "And two kicks in the face." "All right, and two kicks in the face." "And a prairie fire, and a closedown of the interstate." "All right, the list's getting a bit long. But he's up there alone with a pretty girl, an exhausted horse and a rifle dated 1852.
  845. Oh yes, and a bow and arrow. We have all the technology, he has none. Keep a sense of proportion. And keep following those tracks." Ben Craig lay invisible in the undergrowth and watched the first horsemen arrive at the creek. From five hundred yards he could pick out the towering figure of Big Bill Braddock and the much smaller one of his son, who squirmed in the saddle to ease the chafing of his backside. One of the men beside Braddock was not in western clothes but in camouflage uniform, jungle boots and beret.
  846. They did not have to scout around for the path down the steep slope to the water, nor the path on which to scramble up the other side. They had simply followed Rosebud's tracks, as he knew they would. Whispering Wind could not walk in her silken slippers, and Rosebud could not conceal her tracks in soft ground.
  847. He watched them make their descent into the bubbling clear water and there pause to drink and splash their faces in relief.
  848. No-one heard the arrows and no-one saw where they came from. By the time they had emptied their rifles into the trees above the far bank, the bowman was gone. Soft-footed and trackless, he slipped through the forest to his horse and his girl and led them on and upwards towards the peaks.
  849. The arrows had found their marks, entering soft flesh, penetrating to the bone and snapping off the flint tips. Two men were down, yelling in pain. Max, the Vietnam veteran, raced up the southern bank, threw himself flat and scanned the undergrowth into which the attacker had vanished. He saw nothing. But if the man had still been there his covering fire would have protected the party in the creek.
  850. Braddock's men helped the injured back up the way they had come. They screamed all the way.
  851. "We'll have to get them out of here, boss,' said one of the bodyguards. 'They need hospitalization." "All right, let them mount up and go,' said Braddock.
  852. "Boss, they can't mount up. And they can't walk." There was no help for it but to cut branches and make two litters. When this was done another four men were needed to carry the poles of the makeshift stretchers. With six men and an hour lost, the Braddock party reassembled on the far bank, protected by the gun of Major Max. The four carriers began to tramp back through the forest. They did not know a travois would have been easier and saved more manpower.
  853. The sheriff had heard the fusillade and feared the worst. But in this density of cover it would have been foolish to gallop for ward for fear of meeting a bullet from the other party. They met the stretcher-carriers coming back down the trail created by so many horses.
  854. "What the hell happened to them?' asked the sheriff. The Braddock soldiers explained.
  855. "Did he get away?" "Yep. Major Max got across the creek but he was gone." The stretcher-bearers continued back towards civilization and the sheriff's posse hurried forward to the creek.
  856. "And you guys can wipe those smiles off your faces,' snapped the sheriff, who was fast losing patience with the young woodsman somewhere up ahead of him. 'No-one is going to win this fight with bows and arrows. For God's sake, it's 1977." Each of the wounded men they had just seen was lying face down on his litter with a Cheyenne turkey-feathered arrow sticking vertically out of the left buttock. The sheriff and his men crossed the creek, slipping, sliding, hauling on their horses' bridles, until they were assembled on the far bank. There would be no more picnic sites for campers up here. This was the landscape when the world was young.
  857. But Jerry was up in his helicopter, a thousand feet above the canopy of trees, quartering the wilderness until he found the parties of horsemen crossing the creek. This narrowed his line of search. The fugitives had to be up ahead of the followers, somewhere on or near the line from the crossing to the mountains ahead.
  858. He was having a problem with part of his technology.
  859. Because of the density of the foliage he could not raise Sheriff Lewis on his walkie-talkie. For his part the sheriff could hear his pilot calling but could not make out what he said. The static was too loud and the words broke up.
  860. What Jerry was saying was: 'I've got him. I've seen him." He had in fact caught a glimpse of a lone horse, led by the bridle, with the blanket-shrouded figure of a girl on its back.
  861. The fugitives had been crossing a small clearing in the forest when the helo, sweeping across the sky tilted to one side to give the pilot the best downward vision, had caught them for a second in the open. But it was only a second; then they were back under the trees again.
  862. Ben Craig stared up through the canopy at the monster chattering and clattering above him.
  863. "The man in it will be telling the hunters where you are,' said Whispering Wind.
  864. "How can they hear, with all that noise?' he asked.
  865. "Never mind, Ben. They have ways." So did the frontiersman. He eased the old Sharps from its sheath and slipped in one long, heavy-grain round. To get better vision, Jerry had dropped to six hundred feet, just two hundred yards up. He hovered, slightly nose down, gazing for another small clearing they might have to cross. The man below him sighted carefully and fired.
  866. The heavy slug tore through the floor, went between the pilot's spread thighs and made a starred hole in the bulbous canopy past his face. Seen from the ground the Sikorsky performed one wild, crazy circle, then hauled away to one side and upwards. It did not relent until it was a mile to one side and a mile high.
  867. Jerry was screaming into his microphone.
  868. "Paul, the bastard just drilled me. Right through the canopy.
  869. I'm out of here. I have to go back to Bridger and check the damage. If he'd hit the main rotor assembly I'd be a goner. The hell with this. The gloves are off, right?" The sheriff heard none of this. He had heard the distant boom of the old rifle and seen the helicopter giving a ballet performance up against the blue sky; he had seen it head for the horizon.
  870. "We have the technology,' murmured one of the rangers.
  871. "Stow it,' said Lewis. 'The boy's going inside for years. Just keep moving, rifles at the ready, eyes and ears alert. We have a real manhunt on here." Another hunter had heard the rifle shot, and he was much closer, about half a mile. Max had proposed that he scout forward of the main party.
  872. "He's walking a horse, sir, which means I can move faster. He won't hear me coming. If I get a clear shot I can bring him down with the girl several feet away." Braddock agreed. Max slipped away forward, dodging quietly from cover to cover, eyes ahead and to each side, covering the bush for the slightest movement. When he heard the rifle shot it gave him a clear line to follow, about half a mile ahead and slightly to the right of his trail. He began to close in.
  873. Up ahead Ben Craig had bolstered his rifle and resumed his march. He had but a half mile left to go before the forest gave way to the rock sheet known as the Silver Run. Above the trees he could see the mountains coming slowly closer. He knew he had slowed his pursuers but not turned them back. They were still there, still following.
  874. A bird called, high in the trees behind him. He knew the bird and he knew the call, a repeated toc-toc-toc that faded as the bird flew away. Another responded, the same call. It was their warning call. He left Rosebud to graze, moved twenty feet off the trail left by her hoofs and trotted back through the pines.
  875. Max flitted from cover to cover, following the hoof marks, until he came to the clearing; with his camouflage uniform and black-streaked face he was invisible in the gloom beneath the trees. He studied the clearing and grinned when he saw the glitter of the brass cartridge in the middle of it. Such a silly trick. He knew better than to run forward to examine it, and take the bullet from the hidden marksman. He knew the man must be there. The too-obvious bait proved it. Inch by inch he studied the foliage on the other side.
  876. Then he saw the twig move. It was a bush, a large and dense 351 bush across the clearing. The gentle breeze moved the foliage, but always the same way. This branch had moved the opposite way. Peering at the bush he made out the faint tawny blur six feet above the ground. From the previous day he recalled the fox fur trapper's hat on the rider's head.
  877. He was carrying his preferred weapon of choice, the M-16 carbine: short-barrelled, light and utterly dependable. His right thumb slipped the catch silently to 'automatic' mode and then he fired. Half a magazine tore into the bush; the tawny blur vanished, then reappeared on the ground where it had fallen.
  878. Only then did Max break cover.
  879. The Cheyenne never used stone war clubs. They preferred hatchets, with which they could slash sideways and downwards from a horse's back, or throw with accuracy and speed.
  880. The flying axe hit the major in the right bleep, shearing through the muscle and shattering the bone. The carbine fell from a nerveless hand. He stared down, white-faced, and pulled the axe from his own limb and when the bright red blood gushed, clamped his left hand over the gash to staunch the flow. Then he turned and ran down the path whence he had come.
  881. The scout let drop from his left hand the fifty-foot thong with which he had tweaked the branch, recovered his axe and his hat and ran on to find his horse.
  882. Braddock, his son and remaining three men found the major leaning up against a tree, breathing deeply, when they caught up.
  883. Sheriff Lewis and his party had heard the fusillade of carbine fire, the second that day, but quite different from the fugitive's single-shot rifle, and rode in fast. The senior ranger looked at the shattered arm, said 'Tourniquet' and broke open his first- aid pack.
  884. While he dressed the mangled flesh and bone Sheriff Lewis listened as Braddock told him what had happened. He stared at the rancher with contempt.
  885. "I ought to arrest the lot of you,' he snapped. 'And if it wasn't for the fact we are one hell of a long way from civilization, I would. As of now, you butt right out of this, Mr. Braddock, and stay out." "I'm seeing this thing through,' shouted Braddock. 'That savage stole my son's girl and has seriously injured three of my men ..." "Who should not even have been here. Now, I'm going to bring this boy in to face charges, but I am not looking for any fatalities.
  886. So I want your weaponry, I want it all and I want it now." Several rifles swung in the direction of Braddock and his party. Other deputies collected the rifles and handguns. The sheriff turned to the ranger who had done his best for the major's arm.
  887. "What do you reckon?" "Evacuation, quickly,' said the ranger. 'He could ride back with an escort to Red Lodge, but it's twenty hard miles, with West Fork in the middle. A tough ride, he might not make it.
  888. "Up ahead is the Silver Run Plateau. The radios should work there. We could call up a helo." "Which do you advise?" "Helo,' said the ranger. 'That arm needs surgery without delay or he'll lose it." They rode on. In the clearing they found the discarded carbine and the cartridge. The ranger studied it.
  889. "Flint arrows, a flying hatchet, a buffalo gun. Who the hell is this guy. Sheriff?" "I thought I knew,' said Lewis. 'Now I don't think I do." "Well,' said the ranger, 'he sure ain't an out-of-work actor." Ben Craig stood at the edge of the forest and stared ahead at the shimmering flat plain of rock. Five miles to the last, hidden, creek; two more across the Hellroaring Plateau and a last mile up the face of the mountain. He stroked Rosebud's head and her velvet-soft muzzle.
  890. "Just one more before the sun goes down,' he told her. 'One more ride and we will be free." He mounted up and urged the horse into a canter over the rock. Ten minutes later the pursuers reached the plateau. He was a speck on the rock face a mile away.
  891. Clear of the trees the radios functioned again. Sheriff Lewis made contact with Jerry and learned the fate of the little Sikorsky. Jerry was back at Billings Field and had borrowed a larger Bell Jetranger.
  892. "Get down here, Jerry. Don't worry about the sniper. He's over a mile away, out of range. We have an emergency evacuation.
  893. And that civilian volunteer with the Piper Cub? Tell him I need him and right now. I want him over the Silver Run Plateau, no lower than five thousand feet. Tell him he's looking for a lone horseman heading for the mountains." It was past three and the sun was moving west towards the peaks. When it slipped behind Spirit Mountain and Beartooth Mountain the darkness would come fast.
  894. Jerry and the Bell got there first, clattering out of the blue sky to land on the flat rock. The major was helped aboard and one deputy went with him. The police pilot took off, radioing ahead to Billings Memorial to ask for a landing in the parking lot and major surgery and trauma teams to be on standby.
  895. The remaining riders set off across the plateau.
  896. "There's a hidden creek he probably doesn't know about," said the senior ranger, moving up beside the sheriff. 'It's called Lake Fork. Deep, narrow, steep-sided. There's only one way down and up the other side that could be passable for a horse.
  897. Take him ages to find it. We could close up and take him there." "And if he's waiting in the trees, with that rifle sighted on us?
  898. I don't want to lose one or two of you guys to prove a point." "So what shall we do?" "Hang loose,' said Lewis. 'He has no way out of the mountains, not even down into Wyoming, not with air surveillance." "Unless he marches through the night." "He has an exhausted horse and a girl in white silk wedding slippers. He's running out of time and he ought to know it. Just keep him in sight at about a mile and wait for the spotter plane." They rode on with the tiny distant figure in their view. The spotter plane came just before four. The young pilot had had to be called from his work in Billings, where he had a job with a camping store. The tops of the trees that clothed the steep banks of Lake Fork came into view.
  899. The voice of the pilot crackled out of the sheriff's radio set.
  900. "What do you want to know?" "There's a lone rider up ahead of us, with a blanket-wrapped girl mounted behind. Can you see him?" The Piper Cub, high above, winged off towards the creek.
  901. "Sure can. There's a narrow creek over here. He's entering the trees." "Stay clear. He has a rifle and he's a crack shot." They saw the Piper climb and bank over the creek two miles ahead.
  902. "Right. But I can still see him. He's off the horse and leading it down into the creek." "He'll never get up the other side,' hissed the ranger. 'We can close up now." They broke into a canter, with Braddock, his son and his remaining three gunmen with empty holsters coming behind them.
  903. "Stay out of range,' warned the sheriff again. 'He can still fire from through the trees if you get too close. He did it to Jerry." "Jerry was hovering at six hundred feet,' the pilot crackled over the air. 'I'm doing one hundred and twenty knots at three thousand feet. By the by, he seems to have found a way up. He's climbing out onto the Hellroaring Plateau." The sheriff glanced at the ranger and snorted.
  904. "You'd think he's been here before,' said the bemused ranger.
  905. "Maybe he has,' snapped Lewis.
  906. "No way. We know who moves up here." The posse reached the rim of the canyon, but the screen of pines blocked the vision of the exhausted man tugging his horse and its burden out on the other side.
  907. The ranger knew the only path down into the creek, but the hoof marks of Rosebud showed that their quarry knew the same. When they emerged onto the second plateau the fugitives were again a speck in the distance.
  908. "It's getting dark and fuel is low,' said the pilot. 'I have to go." "One last circle,' urged the sheriff. 'Where is he now?" "He's made the mountain. He's off and leading again.
  909. Climbing the north face. But it looks like the horse is breaking down. It's stumbling all over the track. I guess you'll have him at sunup. Good hunting. Sheriff." The Piper turned in the darkening sky and droned away back to Billings.
  910. "Do we go on, boss?' one of the deputies asked. Sheriff Lewis shook his head. The air was thin, they were all sucking in the oxygen, night was falling fast.
  911. "Not in the dark. We camp here till daylight." They made camp in the last of the trees above the creek, facing the mountains to the south, so close in the fading light they seemed to tower above the specks on the rock that were men and horses.
  912. They broke out thick, warm sheepskin jackets and pulled them on. Bundles of old dead branches were found beneath the trees, which soon burned bright and warm. At the sheriff's suggestion Braddock, his son and his remaining three men camped a hundred yards away.
  913. It had never been intended to spend the night so high on the plateau. They had not brought bedrolls and food. They sat on horse blankets round the fire, propped against their saddles, and dined on candy bars. Sheriff Lewis stared into the flames.
  914. "What are you going to do tomorrow, Paul?' asked Tom Barrow.
  915. "I'm going to go forward to the mountain alone. No guns.
  916. I'm going to fly a flag of truce and take the loudhailer. I'm going to try to talk him down from that mountain, with the girl." "That could be dangerous. He's a wild kid. He might try to kill you,' said the ranger.
  917. "He could have killed three men today,' mused the sheriff.
  918. "He could have, but he didn't. He must realize he can't protect the girl up there in a siege. I figure he probably won't shoot down a peace officer under a white flag. He'll listen first. It's worth a try." Chill darkness wrapped the mountain. Pulling, hauling, tugging, urging and pleading, Ben Craig led Rosebud up the last stretch and onto the shelf of flat rock outside the cave. The horse stood trembling, eyes dull, while her master took down the girl from her back.
  919. Craig gestured Whispering Wind towards the old bear cave, untied the buffalo robe and spread it for her. He eased off the quiver with its two remaining arrows, took the bow from his back and laid them down together. He unhitched the rifle sheath and laid the weapon beside the bow. Finally he loosened the girth and removed the saddle and the two bags.
  920. Relieved of her burdens, the chestnut mare took a few steps towards the scrubby trees and the sere foliage beneath them.
  921. Her back legs gave way and she sat on her rump. Then the front legs buckled. She rolled onto her side.
  922. Craig knelt by her head, took it on his lap and stroked her muzzle. She whinnied softly at his touch and then her brave heart gave out.
  923. The young man too was racked by tiredness. He had not slept for two days and nights, hardly eaten, and had ridden or marched nearly a hundred miles. There were things yet to do and he drove himself a little further.
  924. At the edge of the shelf he looked down and saw below and away to the north the twin campfires of the pursuers.
  925. He cut branches and saplings where the old man had sat and made a fire. The flames lit the ledge and the cave, and the white silk-clad figure of the only girl he had ever loved or ever would.
  926. He broke open the saddlebags and prepared some food he had brought from the fort. They sat side by side on the rug and ate the only meal they had had together or ever would.
  927. He knew that with his horse gone the chase was almost over.
  928. But the old vision-quester had promised him that this girl would be his wife, and that it was so spoken by the Everywhere Spirit.
  929. Down on the plain the conversation among the exhausted men withered and died. They sat in silence, faces lit by the flickering flames, and stared at the fire.
  930. In the thin air of the high peaks the silence was total. A light zephyr came off the peaks but did not disturb the silence. Then there was a sound.
  931. It came to them through the night, borne by the cat'spaw wind off the mountain. It was a cry, long and clear, the voice of a young woman.
  932. It was not a cry of pain or distress but that wavering, ebbing cry of one in such an ecstasy that it defies description or repetition.
  933. The deputies stared at each other, then lowered their heads to their chests and the sheriff saw their shoulders twitch and shake.
  934. A hundred yards away Bill Braddock rose from beside his fire as his men sought not to catch his eye. He stared at the mountain and his face was a mask of rage and hatred.
  935. At midnight the temperature began to drop. At first the men thought it was the night chill becoming colder due to the high altitude and thin atmosphere. They shivered and drew their sheepskins tighter. But the cold went through their jeans and they huddled closer to the fire.
  936. Below zero and still falling; the deputies looked at the sky and saw thick clouds begin to blot the peaks from sight. High on the side of Mount Rearguard they saw a single speck of a fire; then it faded from view.
  937. These were Montana men, accustomed to the bitter winters, but the last ten days of October were too early for such cold.
  938. At one o'clock the rangers estimated it was twenty degrees below zero, and still plunging. At two they were all up, thoughts of sleep gone, stamping to keep the circulation going, blowing on hands, hurling greater piles of branches onto the fire, but to no effect. The first fat flakes of snow began to fall, hissing into the fire, diluting its heat.
  939. The senior ranger went over to Sheriff Lewis, teeth chattering.
  940. "Cal and me reckon we should move back to the shelter of the Custer Forest,' he said.
  941. "Will it be warmer there?' he asked.
  942. Tt might be." "What the hell is happening here?" "You'll think me crazy. Sheriff." "Indulge me." The snow thickened, the stars were gone, a freezing white wilderness was moving towards them.
  943. "This place is the meeting point of the Crow lands and the Shoshone Nation. Years ago warriors fought and died here, before the white man came. The Indians believe their spirits still walk these mountains; they think it is a magical place." "A charming tradition. But what's with the damn weather?" "I said it sounded crazy. But they say that sometimes the Everywhere Spirit comes here too, and brings the Cold of the Long Sleep, against which no man can stand. Of course, it's just a weird climatic phenomenon, but I think we should move out. We'll freeze before sunup if we stay." Sheriff Lewis thought and nodded.
  944. "Saddle up,' he said. 'We're riding out. Go tell Braddock and his men." The ranger came back through the blizzard a few minutes later.
  945. "He says he's going to pull into the shelter of the creek but no further." The sheriff, the rangers and the deputies, shuddering with cold, recrossed the creek and rode back across the Silver Run Plateau to the dense pines of the forest. The temperature inside the trees rose to zero. They built more fires and survived.
  946. At half past four the white mantle on the mountain broke away and swept down to the plain, a quietly seething tidal wave that moved like a wall over the rock, tumbled into the narrow creek and filled it to the brim. Half a mile into the Silver Run it finally stopped. The skies began to clear.
  947. Two hours later Sheriff Paul Lewis stood at the edge of the forest and looked to the south. The mountains were white. The east was pink with the promise of a bright new day and the sky was indigo, turning duck-egg blue. He had kept his radio next to his body all night for warmth and it had worked.
  948. "Jerry,' he called, 'we need you down here, with the Jetranger, and fast. We've had a blizzard and things look bad ... No, we're back at the edge of the forest, where you evacuated the mercenary yesterday. You'll find us all there." The four-seater came whirling out of the rising sun and settled on the cold but snow-free rock. Lewis put two deputies into the rear and climbed up beside his pilot.
  949. "Go back to the mountain." "What about the sharpshooter?" "I don't think anyone's going to be shooting right now.
  950. They'll be lucky if they are alive." The helicopter retraced the line the posse had ridden the previous day. Lake Fork Creek was marked only by the tops of some pine and larch. Of the five men inside there was no sign.
  951. They flew on towards the mountain. The sheriff was looking for the spot where he had seen the pinprick of a campfire in the sky. The pilot was nervous, staying wide and high; no hovering at six hundred feet.
  952. Lewis saw it first. The inky black mark on the face of the mountain, the mouth of a cave, and in front of it a snow-dusted shelf of rock wide enough to take the Jetranger.
  953. "Take her down. Jerry." The pilot came in carefully, scanning for movement among the rocks, a man taking aim, the flash of a gun using out-of- date black powder. Nothing moved. The helo settled on the shelf, blades turning fast, ready for a getaway.
  954. Sheriff Lewis jumped from the door, handgun at the ready.
  955. The deputies clambered out with rifles, dropping to the ground to cover the cave mouth. Nothing moved. Lewis called out.
  956. "Come on out. Hands high. No harm will come to you." There was no reply. Nothing stirred. He ran a zigzag course to the side of the cave mouth. Then he peered round.