The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole by Eric Pierpoint

him!” Caleb shouted from the rocky cliff above. Julie waved from the wagon below. She held Tilly and bathed her forehead gently, trying to keep her cool. Caleb said a silent prayer as he hurried back down the steep, rocky slope toward his sisters, grateful that he had finally caught up to Henderson. They hadn’t seen Pride for over an hour. The big warhorse had disappeared down a ravine. Finally they picked up its signs. Tracking had been difficult. The barren landscape had afforded them little cover in their flight along a little-used road miles south of the Oregon Trail. They had lost Henderson several times during the past day and a half, but Caleb was able to make the right decisions tracking Henderson. Sometimes it was a blood trail left on a bush, or a hoofprint in the mud. He had noticed Pride had part of his right front hoof missing. More and more, Caleb’s senses came to life on the trail. He knew they had turned west and his guess was they were headed toward the craggy rock peaks far off in the distant sun, so he kept driving the wagon to where he figured Pride was taking them. The guess paid off.
    A half hour later, Caleb pulled Dusty through the sagebrush and into a circle of scrub pine trees that guarded what looked like a pass between the low hills. He guided Dusty through the pass, following Pride’s hoofprints in the sand. There stood Pride, in the middle of a clearing. Henderson lay unconscious across the saddle, still lashed to his huge black horse.
    â€œCaleb,” asked Julie breathlessly. “I don’t like it.” She pulled Tilly to her and cradled her in her left arm. Then she took out the Colt.
    â€œI don’t like it either.” Caleb grabbed his Sharps. Suddenly the CLACK CLICK of many guns cocking filled the air. Caleb whirled around and aimed his rifle at the sounds.
    All at once, they were surrounded by Indians on horseback who emerged silently from the scrub trees and rocks. Several ponies were loaded with game from a hunt. They slowly circled around the wagon, rifles and bows pointed at the O’Tooles. Caleb decided to drop his gun and raise his hands. He nodded to Julie and she dropped her Colt. They were no match for a dozen or so rifles, and offering themselves peacefully was perhaps their only chance of staying alive.
    A barrel-chested Indian Chief, dressed in an old U.S. Army coat and wearing a single hawk feather in his long black hair, rode slowly from the boulders. He got off his horse and held his hand out to Pride. Pride pawed the earth and, to Caleb’s amazement, walked slowly to the man and sniffed his hand. Carefully, the Indian checked out Henderson, talking low to the gunfighter and gently shaking his shoulder. Henderson finally managed to turn his head to the Chief. Caleb could hear him mumble something. Then he said something to the rest of the Indians. The Chief gave a signal and one of the hunters leaped off his horse and walked to the wagon. He held out his arms to Julie.
    â€œGive us the child,” said the Chief. “Have no fear. We will help you. This Henderson and I are old friends.”
    Julie looked to Caleb, her desperate eyes searching her brother’s. “It’s our last chance, Caleb. They’re Pawnee, so it should be all right.” Caleb nodded and she handed little Tilly to the hunter, who quickly mounted his horse. The others grabbed Pride’s reins and they disappeared through the winding pass with Henderson. Then the Chief leaped onto his horse and advanced to the wagon.
    â€œI am Blue Hawk,” said the Indian. “Come.”
    ***
    Caleb and Julie followed Blue Hawk through a series of cuts in the ravine. They rode along a river for a few miles until they came to a modest cluster of scrub pine trees. As they entered the grove of trees, the chattering of voices could be heard. Gradually the sound grew until they came to a clearing overlooking a peaceful Indian village. All around were earth