Clair Huffaker - The Cowboy and the Cossack

As the last of them disappeared over the distant rise, the sun was a little time gone and the sky was beginning to darken. But a moon that seemed to have grown a lot since the night before was already looming bleak and cool in another part of the clear evening sky.

With those three kegs of gunpowder blowing the hell out of that last charge, I didn’t think the Tartars had gotten close enough for any of us to be hurt.

I was wrong.

A bullet had smashed into Link’s right shoulder and passed on through, shattering the bone inside. He was in so much shock he couldn’t feel hardly anything, which was just as well. Shiny and Shad got the bleeding stopped and took what care of it they could. Then we put Link’s arm in a firm sling and bound it tightly against his body so that it wouldn’t move around too much and do more damage to the bone. Before the job was finished, Link had mercifully passed out cold, without ever saying one word.

By then it was full night. But it was one of those damned clear nights where you could read by the bright, silvery light flooding down upon the earth from the huge Siberian moon.

The measured, booming roar of the Tartar war drum started to slowly roll out again as Rostov turned quietly to Shad. “Their next charge will be the last.”

Shad nodded. “We was talkin’ b’fore about cuttin’ the head off a serpent.”

“The moonlight is against us. But Nick and I are going to make that attempt.”

“Let’s say the two best-suited men from each outfit.”

“All right,” Rostov agreed.

“Shad,” I told him, “I’m goin’.”

“Like hell you are,” he said. “I’m takin’ Chakko.”

WHEN THE four men were about to go up the moonlit slope I spoke once more to Shad, just between the two of us. In a low voice I said, “I never went against you before, Shad, but this time I am.”

He looked at me for a quiet moment, and then he said, “Okay, Levi. You c’n come, but only partway.”

So it was that the four of them, Shad, Rostov, Nick and Chakko, started up the slope as silent as death, and I followed right behind, making as little sound as possible. Luck was with us, for some clouds began to drift across the face of the moon, giving us more dark to move within.

At the far top of the slope the five of us lay flattened out against the ground and looked over on to the flats beyond. There were a few mounted Tartars scattered out on guard not far away, but it’s doubtful they really expected any visits from our small group in the hollow. And a distance beyond the guards, strung far out on the flats, were fifty or sixty small fires, each one with a handful of men bunched around it. Toward the center of all those fires was a bigger fire near a large kind of round and flattish-topped tent. Several men were gathered around that fire, but it was too far away to be sure in the dark if Kharlagawl was among them. Next to that fire was the big hanging drum that was twice as tall as the fella who was slowly pounding on it.

Shad whispered, “This is as far as you go, Levi. Try t’ keep ’em off us durin’ the retreat. But don’t hang around forever.”

I readied my rifle and the other four moved as soundlessly and hard to see as shadows out onto the flats and toward the Tartar camp.

In no time at all, no matter how hard I strained my eyes, they were invisible off there in the dark. I found out later that they’d split up just outside the camp. They figured that way, sooner or later, somebody would get a shot at Kharlagawl.

Then, after what seemed a hundred years or so, I saw a big man stand up by that central fire and tent. Just from his size I guessed it might be Kharlagawl. Then there was the sound of a distant rifle shot and the big man fell down.

All hell broke loose instantly down there, and at that moment a large dark cloud completely blotted out the moon, making the night as dark as a bat’s wing. From out there on the flats there were the mingled sounds of men screaming, guns going off, and running hooves thudding against the ground. The only sound that stopped was the beating of the drum.

Finally I saw a deeper shadow materialize on the dark flats and realized it was a man running swiftly toward me. When he was about fifty feet away I knew from his size and shape that it was Nick, and racing after him was a Tartar on horseback. Just guessing more than aiming, I pointed my rifle and fired and the Tartar disappeared off the suddenly rearing horse. A moment later I stood up as Nick got to me.

There were some other dim, running figures farther along at the top of the slope and then the sounds of many horses galloping toward us.

“Back!” Nick said.

I hesitated, straining to see in the dark, but as the charging horses came nearer, Nick grabbed my elbow and spun me back and down on the slope.

“Now!”

And we ran like hell.

Going downhill, especially in the dark, my speed tended to get out of control. I almost went sprawling down half a dozen times, and then the cloud passed away from the bright moon, which helped a little. From below, now able to see, our men started shooting to discourage the Tartars behind us on the slope.

My lungs bursting, I sped down to the edge of the breastwork, and I was going so fast there was no way in the world to put on any brakes. So I just lunged on over and went rolling down into the hollow.

Nick landed right-side up, but the jar of it damnere broke both of his legs. When I got up and we stepped back to the breastwork Chakko was just leaping down, and even that tireless Indian was out of breath.

Looking up the moonlit slope, Slim said, “Cover ’im!”

Another shadowy figure was running down toward us, a bunch of Tartar horsemen behind him. Slim and the others put some rounds into the Tartars. Two of them went down and the others backed off.

The man racing down the hill was almost to us, and from his size and build, and that flowing, cougar grace, I knew it was Shad.

But for just that minute, I’d forgotten how much alike Shad and Rostov were.

And it was the captain.

Rostov leaped down beside us and I said, “Where’s Shad?”

He frowned at me, and then we all looked back up the slope, but there was nothing moving on it.

“Likely,” Slim said, “he’s just layin’ low out there somewheres.”

“No.” Chakko said finally and quietly. “He shot Kharlagawl.” Chakko was having real trouble going on. “The sound a’ his gun brought ’em to ’im.”

“You saw?” I said.

Chakko nodded.

“An’ ya’ didn’t go t’ help ’im?”

Chakko shook his head. There was no fear in his face, or guilt. Just common sense and sorrow. Then, slowly, he turned and walked away.

That left the rest of us just standing there silently, looking off at nothing, or maybe looking at the ground. Looking at anything but each other.

And then the drum started again.

Finally Rostov said, “Levi?”

I just looked at him. I didn’t yet feel quite up to saying “What?”

“Would you like every man here to mount up and charge the Tartar camp, on the possibility that we may still be able to help Shad?”

He meant it, and it was the hardest question anybody ever asked me. But after a long time I managed to say, “No.”

And Slim said in a low, gruff voice, “If them Tartars didn’t kill us, Shad would.”

Looking far up the slope now, Nick muttered something in Russian to Rostov.

At the distant top of the slope some Tartars were doing something, but even with the bright moonlight it was too far away to tell what.

Watching them, and listening to the boom of the Tartar drum, Slim muttered, “One thing. Losin’ their boss don’t seem to’ve slowed ’em down much.”