Free A Man Called Sunday by Charles G. West Page A

my money, and one of ’em ain’t a head like you’re totin’ on your shoulders this mornin’.”
    â€œDamn,” Jake replied with a forced chuckle, “next thing I know, you might take up preachin’.”
    â€œI might,” Luke said in the emotionless tone Jake was becoming accustomed to, “if somebody offers to pay me to do it.” He turned the paint’s head toward the column of wagons that had now begun to pull out, and nudged the Indian pony into a comfortable lope. Jake sighed and followed.
    Luke returned David Freeman’s nod when the two scouts rode past his wagon. He had not given the couple in the wagon much thought beyond wondering what they were doing in Medicine Bow. It appeared now that they were going to Fort Fetterman with the train. It didn’t concern him, so he didn’t waste further speculation on it as he loped past on his way to the head of the column.
    â€œYou know a better way back to Fetterman than hauling these wagons through those mountain passes?” Lieutenant Findley asked when the two scouts pulled up beside him.
    â€œThe only easier way is to go around those mountains,” Luke answered, “but it’ll be a sight longer trip.”
    â€œHow much longer?” Findley asked.
    â€œTwo days, maybe,” Luke said.
    Findley took a moment to decide. He wasn’t sure how much he could rely on the new scout’s knowledge of the country. Deeming it better to trust that the wagons could make it back the way they had come, he decided not to venture farther west in an effort to bypass about fourteen miles of canyons and peaks. “We’ll go back the way we came,” he told his two scouts, and sent them out ahead of the column. It was all the same to Luke.
    * * *
    The column proceeded with little trouble through the Little Medicine country, slowed down only by the multiple river crossings. Trailing along behind the army wagons, which were pulled by four-horse teams, David and Mary Beth Freeman were able to maintain their position with their two horses. Once, however, at a particularly difficult crossing, they were hesitant to commit their team to the water after the army wagons had churned up the riverbed so badly that their wheels were sunk almost to the hubs. It was at this time that they had their first encounter with the sandy-haired scout dressed in animal hides.
    Watching the river crossing with minimal interest, Luke sat his horse on the far bank while the teamsters, encouraged, complained, and cursed the horses as they struggled to pull their loads to the other side. He let his gaze wander to the small farm wagon, pulled by two horses, that was waiting its turn to enter the water. His advice had not been solicited by the lieutenant as to the best place to ford the river. Instead, Findley had chosen to ford where wagon trains had always crossed this particular river. If Luke’s opinion had been asked, he would have suggested a crossing about fifty yards upstream where the river bottom was firmer. Seeing David Freeman hesitating now as the last army wagon descended the bank to follow those before it, Luke guided his horse toward the smaller wagon.
    â€œI ain’t so sure my horses can pull us across,” Freeman volunteered when Luke came up beside him.
    â€œI ain’t, either,” Luke replied. His dry comment did little to encourage Freeman to act. Both husband and wife stared at the rangy scout, the uncertainty shining in their faces. “Follow me,” Luke said, and started upstream along the riverbank. When Freeman hesitated, Luke looked back and prompted, “Come on.” David hauled back on the reins and pulled his team around to follow the man on the paint Indian pony, not sure if he should or not.
    About fifty yards upstream, Luke wheeled his horse to a stop on a sandy stretch of the bank. “Just follow me and you won’t have no trouble,” he said, then guided