Free Blood Dance by Joe R. Lansdale

had to, and then another and another and another till I tracked down that double-crossing, murdering sonofabitch.
    Gold had brought Bucklaw and me to this country, and in an indirect way, it had killed Bob. With luck, it would do the same for Carson. That which he worshipped would see him dead.
    Gold did strange things to me. I could still remember that newspaper and the ad that got me and old Bucklaw going.
STRUCK IT AT LAST
Rich Mines of Gold and Silver
Reported Found by Custer
     
PREPARE FOR LIVELY TIMES!
Gold Expected to Fall 10 Per Cent—
Spades and Picks Rising—The National
Debt to Be Paid When Custer Returns.
     
    Yeah, I remembered it. I had read it enough times. It sure had hooked me and Bucklaw. And now even more gold had been found. The Hills would soon fill with white men, greedy and ready for gold. I hoped that greediest of all sonofabitches, Carson, was with them. If so, it would damn sure be his last camp.
    I found a creek a little later on, one with the signs of having been heavily panned. There were tracks all around it and a lot of the bank had fallen into the water from being torn down by boot heels.
    It was cold, but I’d carried my stink around long enough. I tied up the horse. Stripping off, I carried the Winchester out toward a rock in the middle of the creek. I put the rifle on the rock, balancing it within easy reach. Then I sat down in the icy water and washed. After about ten minutes I was used to the chill, and another ten or fifteen minutes had me clean. I got my Winchester and walked out of the water.
    I squatted on the bank and washed my shirt and pants. While they were drying on a pine limb, I stretched out my blanket and lay naked in the sun with the Winchester at my side. It felt good, as good a feeling as I’d had in ages.
    My clothes were just the slightest bit damp when I finally dressed, and I was thinking about stretching out on the blanket again and letting the sun finish the job when I heard gunfire.

3
    Gunfire wasn’t too uncommon around Deadwood Gulch, but I guess I’m part busybody. As my pa used to say, “I knew it wasn’t any of my business, so I checked into it.”
    I saddled up quickly and rode toward the sound. Not fast, just easy. I was curious, not stupid.
    I came upon a place where the land sloped off pretty steep. Down about four hundred yards away I could see a party of men riding in my direction, in such a way that they would cross in front of me by about two hundred yards. If they saw me, they didn’t show it, so I figured they didn’t. Not from that angle. There were just enough trees to the right to make that difficult">hat dift.
    I got off the rented horse and tied him back in the trees a bit, took the Winchester, went over to where the ground sloped and lay down.
    The riders were Indians. One was just a bit out in front of the others, and he was riding like hell. Behind came about a half dozen whooping Sioux. The man in front was a Crow, and even from that distance I knew it was Dead Thing. In a moment, his name was going to be more appropriate than ever.
    I balanced the Winchester on the ridge and took aim at the Sioux in the lead. I owed Dead Thing and I was about to make a down payment.
    Dead Thing turned halfway, swung down to the side of his horse and fired an arrow back at the leading Sioux. Got him in the chest before I could bead in my shot.
    I picked out the next one, took my time, and fired.
    It was a head shot, and it knocked the Sioux off his horse. Wasn’t any doubt he was dead.
    I shot another of them, and that left three.
    Dead Thing wheeled his horse, and like a madman he rode back toward the Sioux.
    I had heard that the Crow would fight like hell one day, and run like hell the next. I had also heard that they are terrified of the Sioux.
    Either that is all lie, or Dead Thing was damned different. It took quite a man to ride back toward three men with rifles when he himself had nothing but a bow and arrows.
    If Dead Thing felt like I had