Cantrell reined up with Barlow as the shots rang out. He reached with his right hand and yanked his Winchester from its scabbard. He rested the butt on his thigh as he listened up ahead.
He looked to the others, "Did those idiots blunder into the Indians?"
Quentin shrugged. "If they did, I would think we'd hear more than five shots...The deserters have a Winchester, multiple revolvers, and their carbines. You think the Indians are signaling to each other?"
Earlier the Apache scout had returned to the detachment, confident he had found them. Laid actual eyes on the pair of deserters. But of course he had to come back to the soldiers so for now they could still not be certain of their immediate location but at least they had a direction and they were heartened to know they were getting closer to running these bastards down.
There had suddenly been a short flurry of shots. Now what? Cantrell wondered if it might be Indians signalling to each other.
"No, I doubt that. Every cartridge is hard enough to come by for most Indian tribes, they aren't going to waste them firing signal shots," Benjamin ventured his opinion.
But they might well find out soon. The entire party picked up the pace and headed in the general direction of where the shots seemed to be coming from. In their haste they almost ended up in a cul-de-sac but the scouts noticed it in time. Finally they cleared lower ground and went past yet another patch of trees. Montana was still a hilly forest strewn land. Reaching the crest of yet another gradual ridgeline, there was a lot to be seen suddenly.
Some three hundred at least yards away was a cabin and what looked to be some cultivated fields and even some fencing. A few smaller outbuildings - maybe a chicken coop and the ubiquitous outhouse. But even that did not keep their attention for more than a hurried gaze. A bit further out and overlooking the flatter ground around that small bit of human habitation were mounted figures. Not two like which could well then be their fugitives but a quick estimate might be close to twenty. Hard to make out for certain but Benjamin saw enough he had a strong opinion.
"Indians. Maybe a hunting party.... or a war party. And I'm sure they've seen us now too," the captain raised his hand for the detachment to come to a halt.
He then reached into his saddle bag for his pair of binoculars, US Army issue. That might provide some clarity.
Cantrell waited while Barlow dug out his binoculars. "We'll do a damn sight better in that farmhouse than we will out here on horseback with those Indians. They're the finest light cavalry in the world, present company included..." Cantrell glanced over at the captain. "...No offense."
Mounted and prepared for whatever was about to happen, Ke-Ni-Tay and MacIntosh sat on the outside of the troopers, having their own thoughts about what was happening. The farmhouse would provide better cover and defensive position., But they too awaited the Captain's orders.
Was it Indians, and if so how many? Yes, the Cheyenne were noted as the best light cavalry in the world and had proved it on too many occasions. And yes, they would fare better in the farmhouse if that was the tactic Barlow chose. And that depended on what he saw.
As the veteran captain adjusted the binoculars, he smiled at the ranchers assertion about Indians being the finest light cavalry in the world.
"Well, they can outride anyone I daresay. But I have to go with one of my instructors who once said the ancient Mongols would wipe out the Indians without much trouble at all. Because they not only had speed and firepower but they had great discipline and organization. The Indian, even in a battle, he goes where he wants, their command control is a farce to put it mildly. They are brave men but undisciplined in the extreme."
"But you have a point. Which is why we don't fight the Indians on horseback. We dismount. And, yes, the farm would be a good place to defend," he added even as he studied the Indians on the ridgeline first.
"Estimate about 25-30 of them.......that we can see. They are not wearing war paint. That means they didn't come out here with an itch for a fight. Hunting party maybe.......too many for just scouts."
Next he swiveled his view toward the farm on their left flank.
"Wait, there are bodies. In a field near the farmhouse. Two....not Indians and not our deserters. One is ...smaller than the other I believe. Dammit!"
"Off to one side, I can see a horse tied to the building somehow...I believe it has an army saddle blanket and yes....saddle. No sign of our fugitives but they might well be hiding in that farm," he lowered the binoculars.
"Gentlemen, we have ourselves a quandry. We could be caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place," Benjamin sighed.
Listening intently to the Captain's dissertation on cavalry, Indians, and some tribe called Mongols. of whom he had never heard. Undisciplined? The Captain had never fought the Apache or the Yaqui, or the Commanche. But perhaps he was not at fault as he too found the plains Indians without discipline.
"Rock and a hard place?" The captain said, how so Ke-Ni-Tay wondered? Were there warriors about? Were the deserters in the farmhouse? Or, were lay lying in ambush?
Quentin's eyes widened as he had a sudden thought. "What if I and the scout come galloping up screaming about the Indians? They can count as good as we can. They might let us shelter with them for the extra guns against whatever they might try. Once we get inside, we can jump them. You all come in when the shooting starts..." Cantrell turned and looked at MacIntosh.
"What do you think, Mr. MacIntosh? Two on two seems fair to me."
Benjamin heard the man out but replied, "That wouldn't work, both those men down there were in my company. They have ridden out with these two scouts many times before. They would recognize Mr. MacIntosh easily before you'd ever get close enough to take them by surprise. Nice thought though."
He packed away the binoculars then even as he continued, "Aright, the way I see it and I could well be wrong, but I don't think those Indians are here to kill us. If they were, they'd have war paint on. I can't tell from this distance but pretty certain they are not Sioux. There are minor tribes who never joined Sitting Bull and his bunch. Our latest intelligence says the Indians who wiped out Custer have headed north, probably aiming to cross into Canada to evade the US Army's revenge. They'll break up in the winter, they have to survive. And a Canadian winter can be even worse than ours."
"My goal remains getting these deserters. I have decided we are going to head down to the that farm. If they're in there, we will ask them to give up, which I don't think they will, they know they are facing a hanging. Then we shoot'em out or even burn 'em out if we have to," he now explained his course of action.
"There are a couple of bodies down in the field by the farmhouse, I'm betting those were the poor farmers. One way or the other, gentlemen, we are going to end this today."
"Sir, what about the Indians?" asked his veteran sergeant in a rare inquiry, normally he only spoke when spoken to. But it was a fair question.
"We go about our business, pretend they don't exist, and hope for the best. But....I'd like for you, Mr. MacIntosh and Ke Ni Tay, to keep your attention fixed on them. If they look like they are planning to attack or closing with us, you give me a shout. Then and only then do we deploy to fight them. But I won't have fear stop us from doing what we have to do."
"Questions, gentlemen,"he looked them all over, the sergeant had none. Giving orders was the captains job, his was obeying them.
Quentin half opened the chamber of his rifle and made sure it was ready. The Mare's Leg and his revolvers had been checked before leaving camp. "You're the boss. You want me to help watch the Indians or deal with the deserters?" Quentin was watching the farm intently, hoping to catch some movement to indicate where the murderers were hiding...
While MacIntosh moved off to his right to flank, Ke-Ni-Tay made his way a bit closer, using every bit of cover to inch closer to the farmhouse. He stayed low and eventually got down to where he could crawl forward, with a plan to maintain a distance.
What had these two done to the inhabitants? The bodies of the man and a teen aged boy were clear enough what their fate had been but was there a wife, and perhaps other children inside with them, and if so, what was the best way to approach the building? What would the Captain do, and the soldiers with him? He was close now.
He paused in the tall prairie grass. They must know that the cavalry was following close behind, or, did they even care?
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McIntosh made his way off to the right of Ke-Na-Tay, his thought concerned the party of Indians, no there was no warpaint that they could see, his experience was that some tribes would wear their paint under their hair so it would be worn but not seen. Maybe that was true of these. It was a big party, but if there were buffalo, then a large hunting party would be followed by the women and children to do the dressing of the buffalos killed.
He hunkered down within rifle range of the Indians. If they made a move toward the farmhouse, he would have little choice but to open fire. That would bring the Troopers hell-bent, but also, it could mean that the deserters would have a chance to make a run for it. This was not good as the Indians had made to move to reveal their intentions.
