Free Silver City Massacre by Charles G. West Page A

muffled by a ridge to the northwest of them.
    â€œI expect we’d best keep a sharp lookout to make sure we don’t ride up on a huntin’ party,” Joel said. They continued on the same track they had been following since morning.
    They had just entered the edge of the broad, open valley that Riley said was called Soda Springs when Joel spotted smoke rising lazily in the distance. Without speaking, he pointed. Riley nodded.
    â€œYeah, I saw it, too,” he said.
    Cautious now, they continued to ride along the valley, angling slightly south of the fire until they could identify the source, leaving room to retreat to the hills if necessary. Gradually closing the distance, they were at last able to make out two wagons set ablaze, the obvious explanation for the gunshots they had heard earlier.
    â€œInjuns,” Riley said. There appeared to be none around at the time. “Looks like they’ve done their deviltry on some poor folks and left the wagons to burn.”
    â€œThere ain’t no sign of anyone,” Joel said, fearing the worst. “From the look of that fire, it couldn’t have happened too long ago.”
    As they drew closer, they could see several lumps on the valley floor that were no doubt the bodies of the unfortunate owners of the wagons.
    â€œKinda risky business, ridin’ this trail with just two wagons,” he remarked solemnly.
    â€œThey musta got hung up somewhere back along the trail. Maybe they were tryin’ to catch up with the rest of their wagon train. Let’s ride on in and take a look. Might be somebody left alive.”
    He turned the paint’s head toward the burning wagons. Joel followed.
    They had approached to within a hundred yards when they were suddenly surprised by the sharp snap of a rifle ball as it passed between them. It was followed almost immediately by the report of the weapon.
    â€œWhoa!” Riley exclaimed loudly, and jerked hard on the reins, almost colliding with Joel’s horse. “Hold on!” he yelled, when the shot was not followed immediately by a second. “We’re friends. Hold your fire, damn it!”
    â€œAll right, friends,” a suspicious female voice came back, “come a little bit closer, so I can get a better look at you.”
    â€œWell, don’t go shootin’ that rifle at us,” Riley answered. “We just wanted to see if we could help. If you don’t want any help, then, hell, we’ll just be on our way and leave you be.”
    â€œCome on in,” the woman replied.
    There was still a hint of caution in her voice. When they approached within thirty yards of the burning wagons, she stepped out from behind the front wheels of the one wagon that was only halfway consumed by the flames. Dressed in a man’s trousers and shirt, and wearing a heavy woolen coat, she held a breech-loading, single-shot Remington rifle ready in case her visitors made a suspicious move. She relaxed her stance a little when they came closer.
    â€œI couldn’t tell for sure,” she said. “Dressed up in those animal skins like you are, I thought you were some more of those damn Injuns comin’ back for another try.”
    Joel looked around the scene of the attack, astonished that the woman had been able to survive. The lumps they had seen from a distance were, in fact, the bodies they had suspected. And there were more on the other side of the wagons, most of them white, but there were also two Indians among the dead.
    â€œMa’am,” Joel said, “looks like you’ve had some awful bad luck. Are you the only one alive?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she answered, with no hint of emotion in her voice. “Those red devils killed my sister and her husband and my uncle. They killed Peter Ferris, his wife, Ethel, and their two boys. They snatched up Ethel’s daughter, Ruthie, and ran off with her.”
    â€œMy God,” Joel said, amazed by the