Native Wind Page 12

  Trey shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to ask McNair when we find him. Anyone who could create Copperpot is incredibly powerful. Maybe having the dragon’s daughter has something to do with power.”

  “Could be.” The idea of the infamous Rockwall McNair gaining even more power than he was already rumored to have was not something Gray Talon wanted to think about. He shuddered.

  “Guys, could I get a hand?” Sarah called from the cabin, interrupting any further discussion about Copperpot. The two men walked toward the cabin.

  Inside, Sarah stepped aside. She’d wrapped her Daniel’s remains in a brightly colored quilt. She’d even tied it closed with heavy cords. It didn’t look like she’d done anything else to set the cabin to rights.

  “How is Copperpot coming on the grave?” she asked, her voice cold.

  “He should be done in a few minutes,” Trey replied. “He’s really fast with the shovel on his hand.”

  Sarah stood in the middle of the room, glancing around like she was trying to find something else to do. “Good. Then we can be back on the trail quickly.”

  “So are there any things you want to take with you?” Gray Talon asked, not seeing anything but chaos in the one-room structure.

  “No. Anything I might’ve wanted, they either took with them or defiled beyond what I would care to have. Let’s get Daniel in the ground and ride on. I want to be far away from here before we stop for the night.”

  If the wood hadn’t been so green, Gray Talon would’ve suggested they burn the cabin to the ground to release any negative spirits or energy that might reside in it, but he knew the cabin wouldn’t burn. They’d need to let nature reclaim the structure. He wanted to take the body and get back outside as quickly as he could.

  Trey looked calm. “Talon, if you’ll get the feet, I’ll get the shoulders.”

  Gray Talon reminded himself that they were honoring a dead man they had never met, but who had been close to a woman who was becoming their friend, with their actions. He bent down and picked up the feet at the same time Trey lifted the shoulders. The animals that had been at the body had carried off enough that either of them would’ve been able to lift Daniel Daily’s remains with ease, but it seemed more dignified for them to carry him out together.

  As they cleared the doorway, Copperpot hoisted himself out of the grave. The construct looked at them carrying the quilt-wrapped body toward him but didn’t say anything.

  “I couldn’t find anything long enough to lower him in with,” Sarah said sadly when they were alongside the fresh grave.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Trey said. From out of nowhere, a wind blew up. It coalesced around them and lifted the body out of their hands. The brightly colored form hung there in front of them for a moment before it slowly descended into the opening in the earth. After the wind died down, they stood there in silence.

  “Do you need to say anything?” Gray Talon asked when he couldn’t take the quiet anymore. “Are there any songs you need to sing?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I said good-bye as I wrapped him up.” She turned and walked toward the waiting horses. “I’m ready as soon as the hole is filled. I guess, out here, it’s better to leave it unmarked.”

  “It makes it harder for the spirit to try to return to the body that way,” Trey said. “Comanche never mark their graves.”

  “I guess I’ve become more savage than I realized.” Sarah sighed as she squared her shoulders.

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Gray Talon replied, amazed by the speed at which Copperpot refilled the grave, burying Sarah’s past. He wondered what the future would hold for all of them when they found Rockwall McNair and the dragon that was with him. How many more of us will end up going to our next lives?

  16

  THE CHEYENNE townsfolk stared as Trey and Sarah rode into town with the pack horse ponied behind Spot. The bags holding the severed heads had soaked through with blood to the point that it was obvious what was in them by the stains and the lumps. Trey knew where the sheriff’s office was from his and Gray Talon’s previous visit. He glanced up and watched his partner, in eagle form, land on the roof peak above him. Since Copperpot had killed a man in town, they’d presumed there was a price on his head and left him in the camp they set up several miles to the west.

  The weathered gray sheriff’s office had obviously been around longer than most of the other structures in town. It wasn’t exactly in the middle of town, but newer constructions, many with fresh paint, were lined up to the west of it, while buildings that appeared of similar age ran to the east a bit before newer ones became common.

  They tied the horses to the hitching post alongside a strange iron horseless carriage with steam billowing out the back of it. The metal thing quivered like a horse wanting to run away. Trey couldn’t recall seeing anything like it before when he was in town. A metal man that looked a bit rougher than Copperpot stood at the door to the sheriff’s office. Trey looked at the construct. The details in its construction weren’t as refined as their friend’s were. It looked like something that someone hadn’t put as much time into. The magical glow around it wasn’t as strong either.

  “So those things are finally making their way west,” Sarah said, looking at the carriage.

  “You’ve seen those before?” Trey asked, moving to tie the pack horse to the hitching post.

  “I have. Some of the inventors back in Illinois were working on building them. They often came to my father to get him to bore out metal tubes for them. Most of them look a lot less flashy. I’d say whoever made this one took a lot of time on it.” She turned away from the device and moved to help him get the sacks of heads off the pack horse.

  The door to the sheriff’s office slammed open. An average-looking man in a brown suit, with a brown stovepipe hat, stormed out. “I want my property back, sheriff!”

  A tall, slender man with a star pinned to his white shirt followed him out. “I’m sorry, Mr. McNair, but you lost that thing in a poker game. Mister Jenkins won him fair and square. Half the town was there that night.”

  “But Mister Jenkins lost control of it, and it’s out wandering alone. I demand you send a posse out looking for it. It’s already killed one man. Find it and return it to me!” McNair demanded as he climbed onto the horseless carriage. He didn’t wait for a further reply. Grasping a stick that came out of the iron box, he touched his feet to a couple of pedals. The thing belched more steam and took off down the dirt street heading east out of town. The construct jogged along beside the contraption.

  The horses nervously pulled on their reins, forcing Trey and Sarah to set the bags of heads on the ground and calm the beasts before turning toward the sheriff, who now watched them from the boardwalk in front of his office.

  He moved his white hat back on his head, revealing a swatch of black hair. “So how can I help you folks today?”

  “We’d like to turn these heads in for the bounty on them,” Trey replied. He’d been trying to figure out how to say what they wanted and just figured on being direct.

  “Heads, you say?” The sheriff stepped off the boardwalk and strolled toward them.

  Trey stepped away from Spot and back toward the sacks on the ground. “I believe most bounties are dead or alive?”

  “Would you like me to follow McNair?” Gray Talon asked from the roof.

  “No,” Trey replied as the sheriff moved closer. “Stay with us in case there’s a problem. At least we know which direction to search without having to ask anyone in town.”

  The sheriff looked dubious. “This looks like you took out a whole gang. We’ll have to check the wanted posters and make sure that these are all wanted men.”

  “If not, Sheriff, we’ll want to file complaints about them,” Sarah replied harshly. “These men are responsible for the death of my husband.”

  “Well, let’s take these inside and see who you have in here,” he said, glancing around at the people beginning to gather on the street
. “Don’t want the folks around here getting too upset at the site of a bunch of cut-off heads.” He reached for a sack before Sarah could and lifted it up. Trey lifted the other sack, and the two followed the sheriff back inside.

  “Lock the door, Toby,” the sheriff said to the lanky young man sitting on the desk just past the door. The younger man also had a star on his chest. He jumped off the desk and dropped the bar across the door, securely locking them all in and the townspeople out.

  The sheriff set the bag he’d hefted on the floor near his desk. There was a soft squishy sound as it came to rest on the wooden floor. He looked at Trey with hard brown eyes as the mage set his own bag down.

  “Now before we take a look at these heads, why don’t you start by telling me who you are and how you came by these heads,” the sheriff said gruffly.

  “I’m Trey McAlister. I’m from Colorado near Bald Peak. I came up this way to meet up with Sarah Daily here as she and her husband Daniel were traveling to Oregon. I thought it might be time for a change of scenery.” They had known they’d be asked why they were in the area. He and Sarah had come up with the story to cover them. It was close enough to the truth that they could both remember it easily.

  The sheriff looked at both of them for a moment.

  Toby looked at Sarah. “Hey, weren’t you with some tall guy, red hair I think, back in the general store a couple weeks back?”

  She frowned. “I was. That was my husband, Daniel.”

  The deputy nodded. “I never forget a pretty lady.” He smiled. “I’m sorry to hear that your husband’s dead.”

  “He was killed by this gang when they attacked us. I barely escaped with my life. I might not have if Trey hadn’t come along when he did.”

  “So the two of you managed to take out this entire gang?” the sheriff sounded dubious.

  “No sir,” Trey said. “We had some help from the Crow up the mountain. They were on the warpath ’cause some metal men, maybe like that one that was at the door when we arrived, had attacked their camp. They saw the attack on Sarah and helped us track down the outlaws.”

  “Damn, I told Dabinshire and McNair not to start another Indian war,” the sheriff muttered. “So you thought to bring these heads to me for bounty? Are you going to take part of it back to the Crow? We can’t have good money that could be turned into guns getting into the injuns’ hands.”

  “We aren’t, sir,” Trey said. “Them Crow were just happy to get rid of the outlaws. They said Sarah could have the bounty since they killed her Daniel and all.” He tried not to get angry; they’d decided he’d play a little dumb on several facts to try to make things more believable. It grated on his nerves, the overwhelming attitude of whites toward the People.

  “Well then, let’s take a look at these heads and see who we have here.” The sheriff opened the bag at his feet and pulled out the first head. “Dear God, that’s Rusty Cooper. He’s part of the Front Range Gang.” The sheriff recognized each head as various members of the gang without even consulting his wanted posters. When he was done, he straightened up and looked at Trey and Sarah with a deep gratitude. “You and the Crow have done a great service for multiple states. Most of these men are wanted from Montana down to Mexico. I do see that several of the gang are missing, but you made one hell of a dent in it.”

  “A couple of them were too cut up to be recognizable, plus some of the Crow wanted scalps,” Trey said, not wanting to explain that the first four men, the ones who had been chasing Sarah when they met her, had been left to rot where they fell. “We think one got away. He had a scar across his face and a hole in one ear.”

  The sheriff paled. “So Rick ‘Smiley’ Clemmons got away. That’s a shame, and potentially a big problem, especially if he saw you folks. Smiley can hold a grudge like nobody’s business. I’d bet he’s out recruiting for a new gang as we speak and will be hunting you good people down. You’d best get out of the territory as quickly as you can. You say you’re heading to Oregon.” He frowned. “Not sure you can make it over the mountains before winter sets in. But then, it will probably be spring before he’s on your trail. If you’re friendly with the Crow, you might think about wintering over with them. Then at first thaw, get your butts over the nearest pass and disappear into the west.”

  Trey was stunned. He knew the gang had a reputation, but to put this kind of fear into a sheriff? But maybe it would be easier to kill Smiley Clemmons if he was looking for them too.

  “We’ll talk it over a bit, Sheriff, and decide,” Trey said. “I think Sarah was pondering going back to Illinois to be with her family there.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone in town,” he replied. “Cheyenne might not be a tiny spot, but most everyone knows most everyone else, and with you two riding into town with these bags out for everyone to see, you’re going to be the talk of town for weeks. I’d even recommend doubling back once you set out. Confuse the trail so that gossip has you traveling the opposite direction from where you’re really going.” He paused and looked at the deputy. “Toby, get those heads back in the sacks. Take ’em down to Charlie at the blacksmith’s shop. Tell him we need ’em burnt up. I’ll take these good people over to the bank and get them their bounties. From my figuring, we owe you two twelve hundred dollars. It’d be twice that if you’d have brought Smiley in with them. Would’ve been even more if they’d been alive.”

  Trey’s head reeled. He wasn’t sure what he and Talon would do with over a thousand dollars. Actually it’d be less since Sarah was to get a third.

  “I feel safer with them dead,” Sarah said sternly, turning from the sight of the deputy putting the heads back in the sacks.

  “Well, at least the folks around here can rest safely, at least for the winter.” The sheriff walked to the door. He lifted the bar Toby had dropped and pushed the door open. On the other side, several people scattered to get out of his way.

  Folks crowded the boardwalk as they walked out. They parted for the sheriff, but it made Trey nervous. He wasn’t used to people crowding in, especially when there wasn’t a festival going on. Comanche had an understanding of personal space that seemed to be lost on the people of Cheyenne. Several people shouted questions to the sheriff as they walked toward the bank, but the man ignored them and hurried Trey and Sarah along. About a block from the sheriff’s office, they cut through the crowd and across the street.

  “You guys all right?” Gray Talon’s shadow passed over them as he changed perches.

  “Yeah, just going to the bank to get the bounty,” Trey replied.

  “Well, it looks like the deputy just carried a bag of heads down to the smithy. The crowd is following you guys and totally missed him.”

  “I wonder if that’s what the sheriff had in mind by walking us down to the bank.”

  “Could be. There’s even more people coming this way. Looks like you guys got the whole town’s attention.”

  “How often do two people ride into Cheyenne with sacks full of heads?” Ahead of him, the sheriff opened up the bank doors for him and Sarah.

  “We should’ve thought of that. So much for low profile.”

  Trey didn’t respond. He’d never been in a bank before. The room was small. Bars in front of the man behind the counter reminded him a bit of a jail, but another man in a fancy suit walked up to them from a desk near the far wall.

  “Sheriff Derr, how can I help you today?” asked the man in the suit.

  “I need to get these fine folks some money from the city and state account,” he said. “They just brought in the heads of most of the Front Range Gang.”

  “The Front Range Gang?” The man whistled through perfect teeth. “That’s quite the accomplishment.”

  “We had a bit of help,” Trey said, trying not to stare at the shiny brass fixtures around the room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it hadn’t been this grand.

  “Undoubtedly,” the banker replied. “But the folks around here will rest easier for your efforts. So, Sheriff
, how much do we owe these good folks?”

  “Twelve hundred dollars.”

  The banker paled for a moment, then swallowed. “So could we interest you in opening an account here at the bank?”

  “I’m heading to Oregon,” Sarah said sharply before Trey could think of a response. “I doubt you have a branch that far west.”

  “We are working on an agreement with Wells Fargo, but it could be a while,” he replied.

  “Then I think we’d best take the bounty now,” she said. “What do you think, Trey?”

  “It would probably be a good idea,” he said, and then he remembered what the Comanche were always saying about white money. “And in gold or silver; the greenbacks aren’t stable.” The way the people in Cheyenne felt about the tribes, he didn’t bother adding that paper money wasn’t accepted among the People.

  Sweat ran down the banker’s forehead as he hurried around through a heavy door to the back of the counter. The bald man behind the counter moved out of his way so he could reach the large safe sitting behind the window.

  “That’s an awful lot of money,” the banker mumbled, more to himself than them. “I’ll need to see if we have enough.”

  “You just had that stage arrive a few days ago, Argus. Surely you haven’t given out everything that was on it yet,” Sheriff Derr said.

  “It’s not just that,” the banker replied. “We’ve got to make sure that those railroad men get their payroll taken care of at the end of the week. The railroad won’t be happy if their people don’t get paid.”

  “I thought I heard that the railroad was working some deal with Dabinshire,” the sheriff said. Trey wasn’t sure if he’d just changed subjects or not, but since it pertained to Dabinshire, he listened closely for the response.

  The banker paused in his counting. “From what I hear, old Rockwall has come up with a new method of making tracks that’s going to save the railroad a fortune, not to mention they’re going to have a big demonstration day after tomorrow, out near the edge of town, of those metal men of his, showing the railroad how well they can work. They claim it will be much cheaper for the railroad to just buy a bunch of those things from them than hire workers to lay track.”