Action-Packed Western Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 single question seeming to ask a thou- sand. “That’s right, Bard. And, Bard, we're all in a mess. Sergeant White's dead; those yelling devils are pulling his entrails around the camp like a string of meat. Bleeding Arm and Sag- sawan are raving.” “Where’s Jeb?” And suddenly Bard remembered. He remembered the dead- ly attack. The shouts of the taunting Indians as they emerged over the hill behind the woodlot. Their grisly whoops as they sank their lances into Riley’s quivering body. He recalled the shock of the bullet as it tore the flesh from his own neck. “Jeb’s dead,” he said flatly. _ Captain Keel nodded. “Ten days ' dead and, we’re in the Arapaho camp. While the chiefs decide in just how many sections our bodies can be dis- jointed—” he smiled bitterly, “before we die.” 7 “Ten days? Where—where have I been? Have I been here ten days?” “No, maybe three days.” Quickly, the captain explained the corpse strewn trail of the man before him. Of the lost dispatch and his own entry into the Arapaho camp under a white flag. “But they wouldn’t listen!” Keel’s voice filled with bitterness. ‘Sagsawan was a madman. Bleed- ing Arm tried to interfere but he was jostled aside; until the squaws had torn the sergeant apart. It’s that damned coup stick of yours.” The cap- tain reached behind Bard and drew forth the willow shaft. ‘Seven scalps, six Arapaho and one Pawnee.” He flipped the flowing black hair from the top scalp, exposing its drying ear. The ear was flattened at the lobe. “It seems they recognized this one as Sagsawan’s son! _ “Don’t ask me why you’re still in one piece,” the captain continued. “There’s only one possible explanation ~—tmaybe two. First, the Indians re- - Spect and fear a crazy man. They body a: think the spirits have control of his d are afraid to offend those spirits. Or...” | “Or,” interrupted Conrad Bard, “they just saved me until I was able to feel. Sagsawan wouldn’t have any fun less’n I knew how bad it hurt, eh, Captain?” Ces KEEL nodded solemnly and a-long pause fell between the two men. Bard struggled to a sitting position, waited until the lodge poles stopped whirling then asked a ques- tion. “But, why’d they skip you, if White is...?” “Bleeding Arm respects a truce flag,” answered the captain. “He thinks of his people. He knows they’ll starve—are starving—because they fight instead of hunting. He wants a respite,-but Sagsawan...” The cap- tain shrugged. “Can you get Bleeding Arm alone?” “I tried.” The captain spread his arms hopelessly. ‘“He’s a merciful old man, but—well listen for yourself.” The angry shouts came clearly from the council tent. The booming voice of Sagsawan rolled through the skin walls. : “When they come,” Conrad Bard Was staring at the coup stick, “ask only one thing. Ask that Bleeding Arm be merciful and kill you with a pistol.” He glared into the captain’s startled face. “Tell them this. Tell them that they can butcher me any devilish way _ they want—even skin me alive—but ask that you be killed with a pistol ball—in the hands of Bleeding Arm.” Bard raised a weak hand, then lay back and added quietly. “If you do this, we'll live to see Fort Kearney again.” A threshing shuffle of feet at the opening interrupted Captain Keel’s protests. He whirled and stared at the painted faces of three warriors sent to escort the captives to the council tent, Each carried an unsheathed blade, and the foremost man a-¢ha}- Revd