Leadville by James D. Best Page B

shot.
    “Come on!” McAllen yelled, as he leaped to his feet and bolted down to the meadow.
    When I rose, my legs felt shaky, but I forced myself to run after the other three. Then I saw McAllen’s concern. The only moving body was the youth. He seemed determined to crawl to the same point that was the focus of the second Ute I had shot. He was going for a weapon. McAllen ran thirty yards ahead of me, but he would not reach him in time. I stopped and fired two shots into the ground ahead of the boy, but he didn’t stop. If he reached a rifle, he would be killed. I hesitated just a moment, and then shot him again in the leg. He uttered no sound that I could hear, but thankfully he quit crawling.
    When I caught up, the three men had formed a rough circle around the youth as Red talked to him in a quiet tone. I saw the knife. He may have been crippled, but he still had fight. Red said a few more words, and the youth finally flipped the knife away. McAllen and Sharp immediately left to check the other Utes. While I kept my rifle on the boy, Red picked up the knife, went over to a shelter, and cut a long strip of leather from a hide the Indians had used to cover the branch structure. He brought it back and used it as a tourniquet on the boy’s leg. The hip wound would be more difficult. Red was cutting open the dress when McAllen returned.
    “What are you doing?” McAllen demanded.
    “Making a compress,” Red said.
    “Not with my daughter’s dress. Find something else.”
    “Captain—”
    “No, goddamn it!”
    Red looked about to drop the dress on the ground, but he quickly curbed the impulse and handed it to McAllen. Then he walked off, evidently to find other material.
    McAllen turned his wrath on me. “I told you I wanted two alive.”
    “Well, you got one. Better make the most of it.” The fight had made me edgy as well.
    “Damn it. I meant to threaten to kill the boy if the brave didn’t answer my questions. Now, I gotta get my answers from that child.”
    A child he was. From a distance, I had guessed he had reached his teen years, but up close he looked as young as ten or eleven. I felt ready to explode, but suddenly fatigue, and perhaps the relief of still being alive, washed over me. “Captain, I tried.”
    McAllen’s hard face softened. “I know … sorry, Steve.” He looked at the ruined dress in his hand and sadness seemed to overwhelm him. “Things don’t always go the way you want in a fight.” If possible, his expression became even more forlorn. Before I could think of any words of comfort, he turned and walked away. As I watched him retreat, I saw McAllen smell the berry-stained dress.
    “Ya know about treatin’ wounds?” Sharp pulled me back to our situation.
    “Not much.”
    “Then I’ll help Red. Why don’t ya check those shelters for any sign of the girl?”
    I started off toward the first shelter, thankful for something to do.
    Just as I stepped away, Sharp added, “Be careful. Enter rifle first. Could be more’n we thought.”
    I found no more Utes. Of the four partially built shelters, two were living quarters, and the other two held supplies and food stores for the winter. When I returned from searching the camp, McAllen and the others stood talking about ten feet away from the wounded youth. The captain waved me over. “Find anything?”
    “I found her saddle and bridle. No personal stuff. No shoes, hat, coat.” I shrugged. “Nothing.”
    Red and McAllen looked at each other. “You look everywhere?” McAllen asked.
    I was about to give a snippy answer but caught myself. “Yeah, all four shelters. Other than her gear, no other sign of your daughter.” McAllen looked puzzled so I added, “I found some things that might be normal, but they struck me as odd.”
    “What?” McAllen demanded.
    I pointed at the two far shelters. “Inside I found canned goods, tobacco, sugar, whiskey.” I thought a second. “A couple pots, a saw, an axe … stuff I didn’t