Free Powder River by S.K. Salzer Page A

mind’s eye, he saw the terrible line of death wagons Billy had described, and bodies rotting in the trees. His people did not deserve this. When the U.S. Infantry had first come to this country, the Crows had been kind to the bluecoat soldiers and their families, sometimes fighting shoulder to shoulder with them against their mutual enemy, the Sioux. The whites had rewarded their friendship by imprisoning them on reservations and shorting their rations. Now the Crows were suffering and dying in their villages while the white world turned a blind eye.
    Dixon would go to them in their mountain village. Chances were there was little he could do, but it was his duty to try.

Dixon
    The morning sky dawned clear, promising a sunny day and a warmer one. Dixon was impressed when Lorna, unasked, fried up a breakfast of the salty ham and eggs Mrs. MacGill had packed, while Cal toasted slabs of corn bread between a pair of green sticks. Billy struck the tent as Dixon made coffee. He was glad Mrs. MacGill had thought to include a can of condensed milk and packets of sugar. She teased him about the way he took his coffee—“white and sweet, just like a wee child”—but Dixon could not tolerate it any other way. He marveled at those who drank the stuff as it came, black and inky. Rose had taken hers that way, as did Billy Sun.
    After breakfast he took Billy aside. “I want you to take the twins home. I’m going north to the village. If I can’t do anything to help, at least I can triage the situation, see what’s needed.”
    Billy said, “The people may be gone when you arrive. You might need me to help you find them.”
    â€œI need you to take Cal and Lorna back to Buffalo. If I don’t return in three days, go to Fort McKinney and ask the post surgeon to come to the village with you. If he refuses,” and he will, Dixon thought, “then come alone.”
    Dixon expected the twins to want to accompany him—after all, Biwi had been like a mother to them—but neither did. Cal kneeled by the fire toasting himself another piece of corn bread while Lorna helped Billy break camp. He fashioned a travois from tree branches, rope, and blankets, to pull the gear so the twins could ride double on Dixon’s pack mule. Lorna was working industriously, Dixon noticed, something she never did at home. He threw the saddle over Alice’s back and bent to tighten the cinch, wondering if Biwi was truly the reason Lorna took off for the village.
    â€œI don’t like Buffalo,” Cal announced from the fireside. “I wish we’d never moved there.”
    Dixon straightened. “Why’s that?”
    Cal turned his toast. “Everybody’s afraid.”
    â€œWhat are they afraid of?”
    â€œThe cattlemen, especially Lord Faucett and his riders.” Cal fixed his eyes on his father. “Don’t you know that?”
    â€œI’ve met Faucett; he seems all right,” Dixon said. “What do people say?”
    Cal settled back on his heels and popped a bit of toasted corn bread in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke, not looking at his father. “If they think you’re stealing from them, they send one of those cowboys to hang you or shoot you.”
    Dixon said, “Are you talking about Gus Schmidt?”
    Cal nodded. “Him and others. They hung a woman and her husband a while back. Left them swinging till their faces turned black and the birds were eating them.” He took another bite of toast.
    Dixon had heard about the hanging of a woman, though he didn’t give the story much credence. No one seemed to know anything about her, or the man who died with her, or even if there was a man. Dixon did not want to believe he had put down stakes in corrupt soil, though the murder of Gus Schmidt did trouble him. The crime was still unsolved. There were rumors Lady Faucett had given Doriselaine a certain amount of money, how much no one knew.