Sam Platte 2

***

The horses nuzzled the ground about them in search of any remaining grass, movement inhibited by their hobbles. Dohosan looked to the night sky and sniffed. The cowboys’ fire had no trace of cooking in it, just coffee. Strong coffee. He grunted, nodding to himself. So, they knew they were being watched and were staying awake. Likely they would have at least one of them up to keep watch, maybe all three. He sighed. Most of the five with him were young and impatient. It had already been a struggle to keep them from leaving or charging in that day. The likelihood they’d sit through another night and day of shadowing the other party was unlikely. He’d promised them horses and guns, maybe food and trade goods. The men’s saddles alone were worth an abundance of cartridges at one of the outposts but only if they were patient.

“When?” Apiatan, the loudest of his companions gestured. “The other two are asleep.”

Dohosan shook his head. “No. The other two are not asleep.” He pointed to the camp. “Look. See how the Buffalo Man sleeps with his rifle on one side and his thunder gun on the other? The other does the same. See how he still wears his gun belt?”

Apiatan peered through the darkness to the camp, squinting. “I see nothing.”

Dohosan shrugged. “Even if you do not see, it is so. Even the one at the fire knows we are here. See how he looks around like a mouse in search of the owl?”

“He is afraid,” Apiatan mused. “That is all.”

“They have weapons and they have fire,” Dohosan observed. “What is there for him to be afraid of?” He shook his head. “No. They know we are here. If not us, someone.

“Phah!” Apiatan got to his feet. ”I am going down into the camp and I am going to take everything. Their guns, their horses, their supplies. Everything.”

Dohosan sighed. “That is a bad idea. We have waited this long, we can wait a little longer.”

“Wait if you want, I am going now.” Apiatan's voice was loud to ensure the others heard him. “Anyone who wants may come with me and share in what we take. Guns, horses…gold.”

Dohosan made a face. “How do you know they have gold?”

One of the others nodded. “Whites are crazy for gold. Even a little can be traded for many guns, horses, whatever they have to give.”

Someone else added, “Even if they do not have gold, they have money, guns and horses.” He pointed back over the hill, down into the draw where the camp lay. “The Buffalo Man’s horse alone is worth three. Good trading I say.”

“You cannot trade if you are dead.” Dohosan’s words, spoken so quietly, floated on the air driving away the enthusiasm of just a moment earlier away.

Apiatan hocked and spat. “Spoken like a frightened woman.”

Dohosan smiled, gesturing into the darkness. “Go then. Go and take from The Buffalo Man and the whites. I’ll wait here and keep the horses. And,” he shrugged, “if you do not return I’ll be sure to take care of them.” Some of the men chuckled.

Apiatan looked around the group, sneering at all who’d laughed. “Phaw! I go now and all who do not follow are women and will get nothing.” He pointed. “I will ride back on the Buffalo Man’s horse and all will know who took from him and who did not.”

Dohosan gestured toward the camp again. “Are you going to go or are you going to talk? If not, we should sit and listen. It will help us sleep while you talk of robbing the Buffalo Man.” Again there was light laughter.

Apiatan scowled at Dohosan who looked back, a mischievous glint in his eye. Spinning on his heel, Apiatan stalked from the little clearing the other warriors trailing after him. Dohosan looked on, shaking his head already considering who wouldn’t return.

***

Cherry pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, reaching down to pour himself another cup of coffee, some of the liquid splashing over the rim of the cup to sizzle on the rocks encircling the fire. Kilkenny and Platte were bundled in their bedrolls on opposite sides of the encampment, half hidden by the darkness and so far away from the fire it was doubtful its warmth could even reach them. Both men were snoring so loudly there was no doubt they were unaffected by Platte’s earlier declaration regarding their situation.

“Dumb bastards,” Cherry muttered. If both were cut down when the savages attacked it would serve them right. Killed and their bones left to bleach in the God cursed sun. He slurped his coffee, grimacing as he swirled the liquid around in his mouth, blowing to cool it. He peered off into the dark unable to see anything but blackness beyond the ring of light except a snatch of the starlit sky peeking between the trees. A nighthawk called from the distance. Or was it a nighthawk? Talk of Kiowa and being trailed had him so jumpy he couldn’t even trust his ears now. If that weren’t bad enough, having nearly drunk the pot empty by his lonesome, he had to piss so bad he could barely stand it. Cherry actually considered doing it right then and there but the thought of doing so with Indians poised to attack flat out terrified him. “Here lies David Charles Cherry,” he muttered, “scalped dead with his pecker in his hand.”

***

Apiatan pointed. “See how he squeezes his legs together? Soon he will move away to make water. When he does, we take him. Quickly,” he drug his finger across his neck. “Quietly.”

“Then the Buffalo Man?” It was one of the younger ones named Zotom. “There would be great honor in killing him and taking his horse.”

“I don’t care,” Apiatam’s eyes didn’t leave the campsite, “but the packs and saddles are mine.” No one responded to this. Custom dictated any plunder would go to the finder but the force of his personality cowed the others into silence and, as a result, their unspoken assent.

“What about the other?” It was the Gomda, the eldest in the group and the one most loyal to Apiatan.

Apiatan looked at his friend, barely visible in the darkness. “What about him?”

Gomda shrugged, the glint from the campfire reflected in his eyes. “I like his shirt.”

Apiatan snorted, nodding. “He’s yours. Remember what Dohosan said. He sleeps with his gun.”

Gomda nodded. “I remember.”

Apiatan hissed, getting everyone’s attention. “We go now. No more talking.” They started out then, moving in a roundabout path due to a fissure bordering the campsite. The rockwall to the rear of it was too risky to attempt to clamber down in the dark offering no cover to hide their approach or cover in a retreat.