SEPTEMEBER 11, 1861

The "Devil" Texan
by Michael Quebec
Original characters created by Ella Davis and Michael Quebec
Alias Smith and Jones and related characters were created by Glen Larson
The Lone Ranger and related characters were created by
Fran Striker and George W. Trendle

"Get them out...quickly!"

The rusted metal from the iron door creaked loudly as the box was slowly forced open.  Lights from the outside intruded upon darkness of the box, blinding Thaddeus Jones and Justin Calhoun.

The outlaw and the half Sioux put their hands to their eyes. Both captives were resigned to expect the worst.

Calmly, Thaddeus said, "Well Justin. It's been a real pleasure gettin' to know ya. Even if it was in a metal outhouse like this here."

Justin responded, "Maybe the Great Spirit has got a nice saloon up in the Happy Hunting Grounds."

The two captives grasped each other by the hands, in a final effort to comfort each other as "brothers"...before dying.

Justin closed his eyes and said to himself, "Good-bye Samantha. Sis, I wish I could've gave you a better life the way ma wanted for us."

Strong hands seized the two men and pulled them from the box.

"What the hell is that smell?"

Thaddeus recognized the voice. "Link! Link, thank God!"

"Sshh! Quiet, willya?" said Link as he pulled the two men out of the box.

Thaddeus felt his legs buckle underneath him.  Justin rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to get them to focus.

"You got to snap out of it!  Get a hold of yourselves if you want any chance of livin''!" commanded Link.

"Don't want to sound ungracious, but we been in a box for three days! We're just a bit out of it!" retorted Thaddeus.

"We need time...to recover," said Justin.

"We don't have that time!" said Link. "We're breakin' out now!"

"What?" Thaddeus was caught off guard. "What about the guns?"

Sim came forward and handed Thaddeus a rifle. "I ain't the best thief in Coswell County for nuthin'."

"Can you focus enough to use it?" asked Link.

"You kiddin'?  I pick my teeth with the damn things!" bragged Thaddeus as he struggled to awaken his muscles, weakened as they were by days within the cramped confines of the iron box.

"Oohh.." Justin stumbled to the ground as his legs refused to support his weight.

Sim knelt beside Justin, putting his hands on Justin's arms and shoulders. "C'mon, get up, man! This is the only chance we got!"

Justin looked up, trying to focus his eyes. The pupils were dilated, but fortunately, it was the beginning of night and the darkness of the outside was not much less thick than that of the iron box. The lights of the guard towers were all that intruded upon the blackness of the night's dark cover.

As the blurriness faded, Justin saw a figure approaching them. It was a guard, a thin, young man not much more than twenty years old.

The young guard nervously approached the four men, raising his rifle with a shaking, jittery twitch.

"Ha...halt! Halt! Pa-prisoners-!" The young guard's cry of alert was enfeebled by his fear, which in turn was born from his lack of experience. The young guard would not live to gain that experience needed to become a professional soldier.

Justin reached for a knife that was sheathed at Sim's side belt. As Justin pulled out the blade from Sim's leather scabbard, the metal made a slick, sliding sound, "Shikkk!"

To himself, Justin silently uttered the Lakota battle cry, "Tonka hey! It is a Good Day to Die!"

Somehow, the half-caste Sioux lad forced his leg muscles to push against the soft Earth, propelling his body forward with the force of a bullet.

With his left hand, Justin seized the rifle barrel, forcing the gun upward, the hot lead spewing into the night air with a bright flash and loud booming explosion.

The gun's discharge alerted the guards at the towers. Lights flashed in the direction of the gunshot, upon the four determined men.

The knife in Justin's right hand found its mark. The young guard screamed in agony and pain. Justin felt the warm, red liquid bathe his right hand.

Two more guards came forward, their rifles threatening to send hot lead that would cut down anyone standing before them.

Link and Thaddeus didn't give the guards the chance. Both men, now armed, squeezed the rifles' triggers, calmly, accurately. Two cracks of Link and Thaddeus' guns and the guards fell to the ground with loud "thuds"...dead.

The raucous of guards running around, hastily shouting orders, and preparing themselves, could be heard around the four captives.

However, the shots had also alerted the other prisoners in the camp. Men came running out of the workers quarters, brushing aside the guards at the doors like leaves before a thunderstorm. White, red, and black men, all desperate to break free, fighting as one. 

The prisoners rallied around Thaddeus, Justin, Sim, and Link.

"The hour of our deliverance, brothers, is now!" shouted Link, knowing full well that the guards were already alerted. The need for stealth was no longer a concern.

"We're with ya, Link!" shouted one of the men.

"Take out the guns!" shouted Link. Sim and one of the other men dragged out a box of rifles from behind one of the sheds. The men hurriedly grabbed for the arms. 

One of the workers however, brought out by the others, had his head bowed down and his shoulders hunched over. He was reluctant to fight.

"You gonna follow this black boy to your deaths?! We're all gonna be slaughtered!" 

Link responded to the panicked worker's tirade. "Anybody not with us, that's your choice."

Holding his rifle close to him, Link then said, "I was a slave in South Carolina. I fought to make it out West, for freedom. I ain't gonna be a slave no more! If I'm gonna die, it'll be on my feet, with a rifle in my hands, fighting! Better that, than dying a little bit each day.

The men, now armed, nodded their approval. The frightened worker kept quiet.

"If we are to die, let it be as men, not slaves!"

The workers, Indians, white miners, ex-black slaves, all raised their guns and cheered.

Thaddeus looked on as the guards closed in above and around the would-be escapees. Thaddeus tried to reassure himself. "The Lord does favor fools. I hope."

*****

The summer night air of the Sioux Territory was cooler than usual. 

The sergeant, galloping on his black mare, thought the air was "downright chilly", as the white puffs of chilled breath blew out of his nostrils and his horse's.

The broken up ground upon the grasslands made for a bumpy ride and though the sergeant put his boots into his stirrups, he could still feel his horse's back "slamming into his ass."

Near a clutch of trees at the foot of the Lakota's sacred Black Hills waits Little Big Man.

The small-statured and quite unimpressive-looking Lakota warrior sat upon his painted brown horse. The white handprints upon the horse shown brightly in the dark light.

Little Big Man could smell the white man's tobacco upon the sergeant as he rode up close to the bare-chested, breach cloth wearing Little Big Man.

The sergeant wondered how the Sioux warriors could go around "half naked" in this cold, night air.

"A' ho, kola," said the sergeant as he raised his right hand in a greeting gesture.

In English, Little Big Man responded, "No man who wears the white's blue soldier coat is a brother of mine. Tell me something, He Who Walks Between Two Worlds, would the whites accept you as one of their own . . . if they knew of your mother's Indian blood that flows through your veins?"

"You and I both know that the old ways will soon come to an end, Little Big Man," responded the sergeant. "As soon as the Civil War ends in the East, the whites will swarm over your lands. Only those smart enough to see this change is coming will hold power over our people. My mother's people."

"And you would pass for your father's?"

"I don't see what your complaint is. You Little Big Man will lead the Lakota once Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull are killed. I do what I must."

Little Big Man looked on with contempt at the half-breed sergeant.  

The sergeant then said, "The soldiers from the fort will soon be upon your camp."

Little Big Man responded, "I found the boxes of repeating rifles where you said they would be."

"The guns will make you a hero in the eyes of your people, when you give them to the warriors," said the sergeant.

Little Big Man knew that the sergeant's flattering prediction was his way of saying that it was time to pay.

"I could never understand the white man's need for digging into Mother Earth . . . or his fascination with this yellow metal."

With that statement, Little Big Man took out a huge, chunk of yellow ore from his medicine pouch and handed it over to the half-breed sergeant.

The sergeant took the huge rock. It's jagged edged poked into his palm while its heavy weight strained his hand.

The sergeant's eyes bulged and a sinister smiled creased itself upon his lips.

"It's true. There is gold in the Black Hills."