The Ferguson Rifle by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page B

hides,” I said, “and half the meat.”
    â€œWe can take our cuts,” Talley said. “They’ll eat everything but the horns.”
    Hand high, palm outward, I rode toward them, with Davy beside me. The hunter had returned to the others, and as we drew near, they waited. There was only one warrior among them able to stand. Two young boys and an old man were all that was left aside from the women and children.
    â€œI come as a friend,” I said, and Davy translated, using sign talk. “We are strong in war, and we have hunted. We would share our meat with our friends.”
    Now that we were closer we could see the hunger among them. Another brave, whom we had not seen, was stretched on a travois, obviously badly wounded.
    Talley came riding up. “We’ve taken our meat,” he said. “Let ’em have what’s left.”
    They followed us to the two buffalo and at once began butchering their remains. The one strong brave remained near us, watching but still wary.
    â€œAsk him what happened,” I suggested.
    Davy went to work, and the warrior told the story swiftly and in sign talk. I marveled at the gracefulness of the gestures, the ease and poetry of the hand movements.
    â€œDuring the last full moon, some Utes hit them. Killed four braves and three women, drove off their horses, and would have killed them all, but they fought them to a standstill.
    â€œThe Utes pulled off, taking their horses along. Eight of their braves left alive followed to try to steal the horses back. Since then, they’ve had one antelope, wild onions, and that’s about all.”
    â€œLast full moon?” Ebitt muttered. “That’s close on to three weeks.”
    Soon we had found a camping place in a hollow near a slough. Within minutes the Indians were roasting the meat, some of them eating it raw. They were an attractive people, with strongly cut, regular features and fine physiques.
    True to my nature I had taken the time to study what was known about the western Indians as well as the country itself. Much was supposition, but James Mooney had gathered for the Bureau of Ethnology estimates on the various tribes. In 1780 the Cheyennes numbered about thirty-five hundred … which would figure out to some seven or eight hundred warriors, although it might be much less.
    I said as much to Talley. “That could be right,” he commented, “although you rarely see many in a bunch. The country won’t support them, so they split up into small bands like this.
    â€œThat’s why they keep moving. The game drifts away from their villages and soon they’ve collected all the roots, seeds, and berries there are to be had. We feed several hundred people on land that will support maybe one Indian family.”
    â€œTalley,” I suggested, “these Indians need help, and we can use the company. Why don’t we stay with them if they’re going our way?”
    â€œAll right,” Talley said. “I figure it was that same party who attacked us who stole their horses. There aren’t apt to be two bands of Utes this far from their home country.”
    The warrior had come over to where we sat our horses, Shanagan with him. “He’s worried,” Davy said. “His folks should have been back.”
    â€œTell him his people need meat. We will stay until his young men return if they move west with us.”
    Davy’s fingers grew busy, and the reply came quickly, on the brave’s eloquent fingers. “They’re going west, and he thanks you.”
    What would my friend Timothy Dwight think of me now? Riding west with a band of Indians?
    Remembering the man, and what he knew of me, I smiled, for he would not have been surprised. The others, perhaps, but not Dwight.

CHAPTER 6
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    W HEN WE HAD come upon the cheyennes, they hoped to kill a buffalo to relieve their hunger while on the march. Now with the fresh meat we