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    A Man Called Sunday
    A Man Called Sunday
    A Man Called Sunday
    Ebook282 pages4 hours

    A Man Called Sunday

    By Charles G. West

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    About this ebook

    A good man finds himself in bad trouble in this thrilling tale of the American West.

    Strapped for cash, Luke Sunday takes a job as a scout for the army’s war against the Sioux. Raised by the Cheyenne and Crow, he runs afoul of the army when they attack a peaceful Cheyenne village, believing it to be Sioux leader Sitting Bull’s camp. When he accuses them of wrongdoing, the outlaw Bill Bogart leads the charge to oust him from the campaign.

    Set adrift, he happens upon the Freemans, who need a guide to the Gallatin Valley. When they meet the sinister-looking Sunday, they’re hesitant to hire him. But when Mr. Freeman is killed in a Sioux attack and the reckless Bogart shows up, Mrs. Freeman must put her trust in the man called Sunday.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPenguin Publishing Group
    Release dateJun 5, 2012
    ISBN9781101586730
    A Man Called Sunday

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      A Man Called Sunday - Charles G. West

      DEAD MAN

      Luke listened when the captain returned to tell the skinny corporal that there was nothing that could be done to learn the fate of Foster and Rivers. The news was not well received by the small group of soldiers gathered about the fire, with some faintly subdued grumbling about the responsibility of their officers to recover the wounded and dead after every battle. The Indians’ penchant for mutilating bodies of their enemies was well known among the troopers. I don’t like it, either, Captain Egan told them, but we were ordered to move on.

      I reckon I could go back and see if I can find out what happened to your two men, Luke volunteered. His announcement brought forth looks of surprise on the faces of those gathered around the fire. He had made no comment up to that point.

      That might not be such a good idea, Egan said, riding back into that swarm of Indians. The minute they see you, you’re a dead man.

      I don’t plan on lettin’ ’em see me, Luke replied.

      A MAN CALLED SUNDAY

      Charles G. West

      Signet%20logo.eps

      A SIGNET BOOK

      SIGNET

      Published by New American Library, a division of

      Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

      Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

      Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

      Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

      Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

      Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

      Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

      Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

      Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

      80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

      First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,

      a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

      First Printing, June 2012

      Copyright © Charles G. West, 2012

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

      Signet%20logo.eps REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

      Printed in the United States of America

      PUBLISHER’S NOTE

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

          The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

      Pearson Logo

      For Ronda

      Contents

      Cover

      Title Page

      Copyright

      Dedication

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Special Excerpt

      About the Author

      Chapter 1

      Chief Scout Ben Clarke looked over the group of Crow Indians who had volunteered to act as scouts for General George Crook’s winter campaign against the hostile Sioux. Principal among the hostile leaders, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse had refused to obey orders from Washington to report to the reservation, and it was now up to the army to punish them. As Clarke scanned the line of warriors standing before him now at Fort Laramie, his gaze was captured by one among them, and he paused to study the lean features of a lone white man. Dressed in buckskins from head to toe, the man would have passed for an Indian had it not been for the shock of sandy hair, tied in a single strand between his shoulder blades. A closer look revealed deep-set gray eyes that locked, unblinking, on Clarke’s. You’re Luke Sunday, ain’t you? Clarke asked, certain the man could be no other. He received a single nod in response.

      Ben Clarke was as informed as any white man in the territory, but this was the first time he had come face-to-face with Luke Sunday. He knew him only by tales he had heard from others who had chanced upon the man the Crows called Dead Man. He would have dismissed the rare sightings as nothing more than tales the Indians had created, had it not been for verification by John Collins, the sutler at Fort Laramie. Collins said there was such a man named Luke Sunday who had come in his store a couple of times to buy .44 cartridges. He said the man was short on conversation and never lingered once his purchases were made. He didn’t know where Sunday got his money to pay for the ammunition for the Henry rifle he carried, but he supposed it came from the trading of furs. Ben couldn’t help being fascinated by the chance encounter with an Indian legend, so while the Crows were being issued ammunition and weapons, he called Sunday aside. You speak English? Clarke asked, not sure whether the man had been raised from childhood by Indians, as some folks believed.

      Again, Luke nodded, then spoke. I do, he said, somewhat surprised that Clarke had to ask.

      It was Clarke’s turn to nod thoughtfully. Well, I wasn’t sure since you came in with the Crows, he said. I’ve hired on close to thirty white scouts for this campaign, some of ’em the best in the business. All of ’em claim to know the Powder River country like the back of their hands. What about you? You know the country between here and the Yellowstone?

      About as well as the next man, Luke answered.

      I reckon there’ll be plenty of opportunity to find out, Clarke said. I’ve been runnin’ scout details for the army for a helluva long time. How come I ain’t ever run into you before?

      I wasn’t this low on money for cartridges till now, Luke stated frankly.

      Ben took another few moments to study the man’s face before deciding. I reckon I’ll take a chance on you even though I’ve already got more scouts than I’ll probably need.

      Although Luke’s shrug in response might have seemed indifferent, he was genuinely grateful for the employment. It had been a hard winter so far, and what little money he had managed to accumulate was rapidly running out. He had no real quarrel with the Oglala Lakota. It was a Hunkpapa Lakota war party that had killed his parents. Now the Sioux were at war with the United States, so he felt no qualms about scouting for the army against them. He did find it odd, however, that Clarke said he was going to take a chance on him, as if he was going to interview each of the Crow scouts who volunteered. It didn’t occur to him that Clarke meant to measure him against his proven senior scouts.

      I’m gonna send you out with Bill Bogart, Clarke continued. He’s worked for me before. Sometimes he’s hard to get along with, but if you just do what he says, you’ll be all right, I reckon. He turned and pointed to a large man with a full beard the color of pine straw. He’ll be scoutin’ for Colonel Reynolds most of the time. You might wanna go on over and tell him I said you’ll be ridin’ with him and his partner.

      Luke nodded, but hesitated for a moment. All right if I collect my cartridges first? he asked. Judging by the arming of the Crow scouts, he was concerned that the soldiers might run out of cartridges before he got his.

      I reckon, Clarke answered. Then out of curiosity, he motioned toward the ash bow strapped on Luke’s back. You any good with that thing?

      I get by, Luke replied.

      * * *

      Ben Clarke told me that I’ll be ridin’ with you, Luke announced as he approached the large man standing by one of the campfires, talking to a smaller, dark-complexioned man.

      Is that so? Bogart replied, not particularly impressed by the sandy-haired man clad in buckskins. What might your name be?

      Luke Sunday, Luke replied.

      Luke Sunday, Bogart repeated, trying to recall. He turned to his friend and asked, You ever hear of Luke Sunday? His partner shook his head. Bogart turned back to the stranger. This here’s Sonny Pickens. Me and him has scouted for the army for the last five years. How come we ain’t ever run into you before? I expect I know, or know of, every scout hired for this campaign, but I ain’t never heard of you. Where the hell have you been scoutin’?

      Round about, Luke answered without emotion.

      Round about, Bogart repeated, obviously amused. Then he glanced at Pickens and smiled. Looks like we got us a greenhorn to break in, Sonny. Turning back to Luke, he said, I’ll let you ride with us, but the best thing you can do is keep your eyes open and do what I tell you, and maybe you’ll learn somethin’. Luke shrugged in response. He wasn’t out to impress the man or his partner. He had simply signed on for the pay and the supplies. Bogart continued. We’re fixin’ to get goin’ here as soon as the colonel gets his soldier boys in the saddle, so, Sunday, you can get started by saddlin’ them two horses yonder. He pointed to a gray and a sorrel tied by the stream.

      Luke figured that was about as far as he intended to be buffaloed. How about if I shine up your boots before we go, too? His deep-set gray eyes locked with Bogart’s, so that his next statement would not be misunderstood. I signed on as a scout. The sooner you learn that, the easier it’ll be for us to get along.

      A brief silence followed before Bogart responded. He was accustomed to throwing his weight around, especially with new hires, but this one had a lethal look about him that warned of potential trouble—much like the sensation of cornering a bobcat. Bogart was bigger by half than the rangy stranger, but he wasn’t sure the contest would be worth the pain. After thinking about it, he forced a wide smile and, with an exaggerated wink for Pickens, said, Damn, Sonny, he ain’t as green as I thought. I expect we’d best get saddled up. We’re ’bout to pull outta here, headin’ to Fort Fetterman. He let it pass as a harmless incident, but Bogart still smoldered inside. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone showing that much backbone when he stared them down. I’ll be teaching you a hard lesson before we’re done, he promised silently.

      Designated the Big Horn Expedition, the campaign was under way, with General Crook’s troops marching two days to arrive at Fort Fetterman. The fort was known as a hard-luck post by the troops stationed there, because of its desolate location. The fort was situated on a high bluff on the south side of the North Platte River above the valleys of the river and LaPrele Creek, where it was subjected to heavy snows and freezing winds during the long winters. Water had to be carried up the bluffs from the river, and the soil was unsuitable for growing fresh vegetables. So all supplies had to be brought in from Fort Laramie or Medicine Bow Station on the Union Pacific Railroad. Desertions were common.

      Upon arriving at Fetterman, Crook was informed that Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse had been reported to be in camp somewhere near the headwaters of the Powder and Tongue rivers. Anxious to catch the Lakotas in their winter camp, General Crook left Fort Fetterman on the first of March and headed north. Luke Sunday found that he was little more than a forward scout for the column, along with Bill Bogart, Sonny Pickens, and a few other scouts. His excellent knowledge of the country was not really needed since the column followed an oft-used government road through eastern Wyoming.

      Five more days found the expedition at the ruins of Fort Reno, where Crook established his supply depot. Pushing on from Reno, the troops continued their march through the freezing country until the scouts came upon frequent travois trails left by many Indians, and all of them heading toward the Powder River. Convinced that he had found Sitting Bull’s camp, the general divided his command and ordered Colonel Joseph J. Reynolds on a night march with three hundred men and rations for one day. Out in front of the column by about two miles, Luke and the other scouts searched for the hostile camp.

      * * *

      It was shortly before dawn when the scouts found a large Indian village on the west bank of the Powder River. From their position, high on a plateau that stood about five hundred feet or more above the village, it was difficult to see clearly through the fog that had settled upon the river. Bill Bogart had seen all he needed to see, however. We’d best get right on back to tell Colonel Reynolds we found them Sioux he’s been lookin’ for, he said, his breath forming a white cloud as it struck the frozen air.

      Luke Sunday wasn’t ready to assume as much. From where the small party of scouts now stood, and it not yet daylight, he couldn’t be sure whose village it was without a closer look. When the others immediately started to act upon Bogart’s opinion and turned their horses back toward the way they had just come, Luke felt it his duty to speak. Hard to say who that is down there on the other side of the river, with it being so foggy. Might be old Two Moons’s village—Cheyenne—and he ain’t at war with anybody.

      Horse shit! Bogart responded. I don’t need to get no closer to know that’s a Lakota village. Hell, I can smell ’em. We already know Sittin’ Bull’s camp is on the Powder, him and Crazy Horse, and that’s sure as hell a big village down there. Couldn’t be nobody else, so let’s get ridin’ and tell the colonel we found ’em, so he can hit ’em before they wake up good. He glared impatiently at Luke, halfway expecting his disagreement since he didn’t know how far the newly hired scout would push the issue.

      No one he had talked to really knew much about Luke Sunday, and this bothered Bogart. Sunday had not volunteered any information about his past, and he was the kind of man a person would hesitate to question. Had he been inclined to ask, Bogart would have found that no one in General Crook’s column knew much about the man—and only a few outside his command had rumored knowledge. There were a couple of different stories—both hearsay that came from the sutler’s store at Fort Laramie—about his prior life before he arrived that day at the fort and signed on as an Indian scout. One story had it that he was kidnapped by a band of Cheyenne warriors when he was a baby. Others were certain that he was born to a Crow mother and father. That version failed to explain why, up close, he didn’t look like an Indian, especially when you considered his light, sandy hair.

      He had spent some time with the Cheyenne as well as the Crows. That much was obvious, because he spoke both languages well—when he spoke at all. A tall, rangy man of few words, Luke made no effort to fit in with the other thirty-odd white scouts hired by General Crook at Fort Laramie that February. With the exceptions of chief scout Ben Clarke, Louis Richaud, Frank Grouard, and a few others, most of the white scouts were little more than cutthroat drifters, cattle rustlers, bank robbers, and probably murderers. Luke had little in common with any of them, and seemed to be more comfortable with the Crow scouts, who called him Dead Man because of his seemingly lifeless gray eyes that looked at a man as if seeing right through his skull and reading his thoughts. That lifeless gaze was fixed now on the likes of Bill Bogart as the lumbering bully insisted to Luke and the other two scouts that they had found the combined camps of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse.

      I reckon I’ll move in closer to get a better look at that camp, Luke said after he thought the situation over. It made no sense to him to attack a village before you were certain about who you were attacking.

      You’re a hardheaded cuss, ain’t you? Bogart retorted. When Luke made no reply, Bogart said, Suit yourself, but we’re ridin’ back to get Colonel Reynolds. You go nosin’ around close to that village and get yourself caught, and the colonel will most likely have your hide for givin’ away his surprise—if the Sioux ain’t already scalped you. And after he’s through with you, I might decide to give you a good ass-kickin’ myself. He hesitated for a few moments to see if Luke wanted to challenge the threat. When he did not, and just remained sitting passively on his horse, Bogart turned to the other scouts and said, Come on, boys, let’s get goin’. Let this jackass go see if he can get hisself scalped.

      Luke waited a moment to watch them disappear into the heavy fog rolling over the bluffs from the river below. When he could no longer see them, he took his horse’s reins in hand and led the paint Indian pony along the snow-covered bluffs, looking for a good place to descend the icy slope. The thought occurred to him that the approach to the village on the west bank of the Powder was not going to be easily accomplished by six companies of cavalry with any element of surprise. The predawn darkness would make a surprise attack even more difficult for the horses to move with any sense of urgency over the broken terrain of shallow ravines and gullies that led down to the river. Picking a narrow ravine that promised a gentler descent, he led the paint down toward the water’s edge to a clump of cottonwoods with a thick undergrowth of plum bushes. Leaving his horse there, he moved even closer to the edge of the water. From this point, he could see more of the village, as well as a large pony herd of maybe a thousand or more. Though it was sizable, he could not believe the village was big enough to be the combined Sioux camp the colonel searched for.

      As he knelt there, an old man appeared on the opposite bank and settled himself to offer his prayers to Man Above. It struck Luke that he knew the old man, a Cheyenne chief called Old Bear. His instincts had been correct. This was Two Moons’s village, as he had suspected. Knowing there was little time to stop Reynolds before he attacked a peaceful Cheyenne camp, Luke called out to the old man, Old Bear!

      Startled, Old Bear looked right and left before spotting the tall, sandy-haired scout across the foggy river. He recognized him at once. Ah, Dead Man, he called back. What brings you to our village?

      Luke wasted no time in warning the old chief that a large column of soldiers was right on his heels. Old Bear assured him that his village was on its way back to the reservation and had no quarrel with the soldiers. The soldiers think they have found Sittin’ Bull’s village and are plannin’ to attack. I’ll try to stop them, but you must prepare your people to defend themselves in case the soldiers won’t listen to me. Old Bear was immediately alarmed, and quickly left to return to his village to warn the others. Luke hurried back to his horse. There was little time to tarry.

      Within a mile, he met Reynolds’s forward scouts, led by Frank Grouard with Bill Bogart by his side. You need to tell the colonel that that ain’t no Sioux camp, Luke sang out as he approached. It’s Two Moons’s village—Cheyenne.

      He don’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about, Bogart said.

      Grouard was not overly concerned one way or the other. It don’t make no difference, he said. It’s too late now, even if the colonel did give a damn. He’s already split the column up to take positions in front and back of the village. He’s gonna fight ’em. Won’t make no difference if they are Cheyenne. They’re sidin’ with the Sioux, anyway.

      Well, that don’t make a helluva lot of sense, Luke protested. These Cheyenne ain’t headin’ toward Sittin’ Bull’s camp. They’re goin’ the other way. Two Moons ain’t lookin’ to fight the soldiers, but if the soldiers attack his village, he sure as hell will—and I expect he’ll figure he ain’t got no choice after that but to join up with Sittin’ Bull if the army ain’t got no better sense than to attack him. So you’re just gonna have that many more Indians to fight.

      Like I said, Grouard repeated, it’s too late to stop it now. We’re gonna end up fightin’ all of ’em, anyway, Sioux, Cheyenne, Arapaho. Hell, they’re all hostiles. He turned to look at the column of troopers already approaching. These boys is primed and ready to fight after so many days freezin’ their hind ends off in the saddle.

      Colonel Reynolds had divided his six companies into three battalions of two companies each. One battalion was sent to take positions on the ridge behind the sleeping village to cut off that avenue of escape. The second battalion was to be held in reserve, while the third was to descend the bluffs and launch the primary attack. This battalion, headed by Captain James Egan and Captain Henry Noyes, made up the column just then arriving at the edge of the bluffs. Luke could see that Grouard was right; there was no chance of stopping the ill-advised attack on the Cheyenne camp. Still, he knew he had to try.

      Leaving Grouard and Bogart, he rode back to meet Captain Egan. The captain was no more prepared to consider Luke’s assessment of the Indian camp than the two scouts had been. He was frank, in fact, to inform Luke that, since this was his first expedition with a full-scale cavalry attack, he would do well to listen to the experienced voices of Grouard and Bogart. I don’t think there’s any doubt that we’ve found the combined camps of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, he said, and now we’ll go about the business of teaching them a lesson.

      Luke pulled his horse aside to watch as Egan led his company down the icy bluffs. Enraged by the deaf ear given to him by Egan, he felt a heavy sense of guilt for not preventing the attack on Two Moons’s camp, but he realized there was nothing more he could do. As he had predicted, the horses had a difficult time maintaining any sense of purposeful progress as they slipped and slid down the icy gullies and ravines. By the time they had gained secure footing at the base of a deep ravine that stood between them and the Cheyenne camp, the Indians had been alerted to their presence, although with little or no time to prepare a defense. Consequently, they were forced to flee in the face of a cavalry charge through their village. Grabbing their rifles and ammunition, the Indians hurried their women and children to the ridge behind the camp to take cover. This was what Reynolds had anticipated. However, the battalion charged with the responsibility to cut off the hostiles’ escape was unable to negotiate the rough terrain in time to be in place. As a result, the warriors were able to move up into the gullies and take command of the ridge. Soon they were able to lay a heavy barrage of rifle fire down upon the troopers who had now taken control of their village. The momentum of the battle changed at once as the Cheyenne snipers began to pick off the troopers from their vantage points above the village. Before very long, Colonel Reynolds was forced to withdraw his troops from the village to prevent further casualties. He ordered the village burned, including all supplies and weapons.

      A disgusted witness to what the colonel

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