Free Wolf Creek by Ford Fargo Page B

big man found his arms bound at the wrists and tied to a
low hanging beam. Two separate ropes held wrist and arm and he
dangled several feet above the barn floor. Someone had torn his
shirt from him and he hung there, helpless, and at the mercy of the
many warriors who stood around him. Kelly turned his bleeding head
and looked awkwardly about, counting at least forty Kiowas. The
many painted braves stared back at him with passive faces. Their
features showed no expression, except for the burning hatred that
came from dark eyes.
    “Big man from the stone house, we will see
how you like pain—and then you will die.”
    Kelly didn’t know it, but the chief of the
Kiowa was named Stone Knife, and it was he who spoken.
    Kelly stared at the leader and thought hard
on what response to give. It irked the big man to have come so far,
survive the famine, the war, and so many other hardships, to die
like this. To have this come at a time in life where he had so many
desires filled, was especially hard to take. Kelly knew with
certainty that he would die here, trussed up like a hanging pig,
and he would never again be able to ride across his wonderful
ranch. Worse, he never would have a chance to tell Elizabeth how he
cared for her, and to ask her to be his wife. He had waited too
long, and now there would never be time to tell her more.
    “You better get to it, then,” was all Kelly
could think of to say.
    “You speak to me?” replied Stone Knife in
pretty good English, his voice deep and resonant. “I hear nothing
you have to say. White men like you promise, but never keep their
word. The blue soldiers came and attacked our village. One of the
survivors saved a horse and rode out to our party to tell us what
happened. They killed our people without warning, without reason,
while the men were away on a hunt. It makes no difference to them
if it is women or children they kill. So we will kill, too. We take
as we please, as your people have taken from us.”
    With that comment, Stone Knife pulled a
narrow sharp blade from a sheath at his waist and, with the tip, he
reached up and slowly carved a long deep furrow across the chest of
the man who hung suspended from ropes. Kelly winced with the pain
of it but said nothing.
    Stone Knife’s eyes blazed fire, as did many
of the warriors Kelly was able to see.
    “White man says nothing, but we will see.
Before my men finish, we will hear your screams. Long and loud,
they will…”
    “Stop!” spoke a stern voice.
    It was said three times, once in English,
once in Cheyenne, and once in Kiowa. The speaker was Strong Horse,
the Cheyenne Chief. The older dignified man came forward to greet
Stone Knife. Behind their chief followed a group of armed Cheyenne,
each carrying a Henry rifle or an older Springfield.
    “You dare to tell me to stop?” questioned
Stone Knife in English.
    “This man is under my protection,” replied
the Cheyenne chief. “I gave him an amulet the day he saved my
daughter, Little Spring. I gave him my word.”
    “I see no such sign,” replied Stone Knife.
“This man will die.”
    “No!” replied Strong Horse, and with that he
gave a wave of his hand. The Cheyenne behind him raised rifles to
the ready, but did not point them directly at any Kiowa.
    “We agreed in counsel that we would…” began
Stone Knife.
    “We did, but this is different,” replied the
Cheyenne chief. “Let no trouble come between us in this matter.
What brave took my amulet of protection from this man? Many of your
men do not speak English. Ask, and…”
    Stone Knife, the Kiowa leader, spoke sternly
and loudly in his own language. There was brief silence and then a
young warrior came forward holding the amulet in his hands. Stone
Knife took it, struck the warrior across the face with the back of
his hand, and then handed the necklace to the Cheyenne chief.
    “Cut him down,” said Strong Horse.
    Another order was given by the Kiowa chief
and Kelly saw two of his men carry a ladder