“Ain’t we goin to run?” Werth asked.
“Better to get it over with, boys,” Potter said. “Just hope that they kill us fast.”
None of the lance thrusts was fatal, though all three men went down grievously wounded.
Mean To His Horses and the other Indians yelled out in the excitement and thrill of taking an enemy, and leaping down from their horses, they charged the helpless men with raised tomahawks.
Potter saw an Indian raise a war club, which was actually a hatchet, and he saw the beginning of the swing. That was his last conscious thought, because the blow to his head killed him instantly.
For the next several minutes the Indians hacked and slashed at the bodies of the hunters, then they set fire to the wagon, before taking the staked horses and leading them away. Behind them lay the scalped and mutilated bodies of their victims.
When Mean to His Horses and the others returned to the village they were carrying large chunks of meat from the more recently killed buffalo the white hunters had left in the field.
“Meat!” Mean To His Horses shouted triumphantly as he rode into the village.
Wild Horse displayed the scalp of one of the white hunters.
“We found the white hunters and we killed them,” Wild Horse bragged.
“Did you find the men who stole our horses?” Quanah asked. Forty-three horses had been stolen, and beyond the loss of mobility, was the loss of face, for to the Comanche, horses were the symbol of their power and prestige.
“Are you not pleased that we have brought back meat for the People?” Mean To His Horses asked.
“I am pleased.”
Mean To His Horses laughed rather jeeringly. “And so now the great Quanah Parker, who did not come with us on this raid, must fill his belly, and the bellies of his wives and children with the buffalo meat that I, Mean To His Horses, have provided for him.”
“It is good to have meat,” Quanah said, without taking the bait put out by Mean To His Horses.
As Quanah returned to his tipi feeling a bit discomfited by having to feed his family with meat provided by one of the most self-aggrandizing and irritating warriors in the village, he happened to encounter White Eagle.
“Do not feel put out, Quanah,” White Eagle said. “Mean To His Horses seeks the approval of others, and not finding it, heaps it upon himself.”
Quanah had made no open display of irritation, though White Eagle had read it in him. White Eagle was like that. He was a man who could see things, and make magic happen. He was also Quanah’s friend.
“We, and our wives, will eat well tonight. Think only of that.”
“Yes,” Quanah agreed with a smile. “Yes, I will think only of that.”
5
By mid-morning of the second day, the Dodge City wagon train reached the Cimarron River, and there, it stopped. Cade and Jacob rode up to the edge of the river to find that James Hanrahan and several others were standing there, looking out at the yellow, wind-whipped current.
“This looks like a good place to ford,” Hanrahan said. “The banks are low on both sides, and that sand bar in the middle would be a place for the teams to rest if they needed to.”
“I don’t know,” Cade replied. “I’m guessing it’s at least 200 feet across—maybe more. It might be better if we moved back to the main trail before we cross.”
“I don’t see the point in doin’ that,” Shorty Shadler said. “One place is as good as the other. Anyways, if the Indians are a watchin’ don’t ya think they’d be a watchin’ where other wagon’s have went?”
“We ain’t seen no Indians,” Bermuda Carlisle said. “I say we go where McCall says we go. He’s the one that makes them runs to Camp Supply all the time.”
“Yeah, but we ain’t a goin’ to Camp Supply,” Shorty said.
“What do you think, Billy?” Jacob asked. “You’ve spent more time down this way than any of the rest of us.”
Billy Dixon shook his head. “This is not a place where I’ve ever made a crossing. We all know that white sand can be treacherous and fatal.”
“Well, I’m in charge, and I say we cross here,” Hanrahan said. “There’s a whiskey ranch at the Cimarron Crossing, and they’re not takin’ my whiskey.”
There was murmuring among the men as more than one questioned how Hanrahan got to be the leader.
“All right. If it’ll make ya feel better, I’ll go across first, and you’ll see it ain’t no worse or no better than any place else,” Hanrahan said. He started back for his wagon.
“No, you don’t,” Bermuda Carlisle said. “You ain’t a takin’ that whiskey across, till we know it can get across.”
Everybody laughed at Carlisle’s comment.
“All right, get me one of them Indian ponies,” Hanrahan said. “Those little ponies will know how to do it.”
“Here, take mine,” Mike Welch said. “I got him for $50.00, and now I know why nobody bid on ‘im. He’s nothin’ but trouble.”
Hanrahan mounted the spotted pony and urged him down to the river. He balked when he got to the water, but James forced the horse to enter. He moved ahead, taking quick short steps, knowing that his safety depended upon his quickness. When he reached the sand bar, James turned to address the men on the bank.
“Nothin to it. Shepherd, you bring my wagon down and let’s get this parade on the move.”
Shepherd moved to the whiskey wagon that was pulled by twelve lumbering oxen.
“Hold up,” Cade said. “Let’s wait ‘til James reaches the other side.”
“Hell, McCall, you’re too damned cautious,” Fred Leonard said, as he turned and started back for his own wagon.
Hanrahan and the pony had reached the other side of the sand bar.
“That’s not good,” Billy said. “Look how that horse has his nose on the ground. Almost like he’s trying to smell where he’s supposed to go.”
Cade took a deep breath. “Anybody got a rope?”
“I’ll get one,” Jacob said as he turned his horse and headed back for the train.
Watching the horse, each foot seemed to be slipping into the quivering mass of sand.
“James, turn back,” Billy Dixon yelled.
Hanrahan tried to wheel the horse around, but he couldn’t make the horse turn. In an instant the horse plunged forward into water that wasn’t more than three feet deep. Everyone knew the horse and rider were in trouble. The Cimarron quicksand was a notorious killer, the bones of buffalo that had succumbed were often uncovered in the raging waters of a flood. Trees, wagons, cattle, horses, and yes, men, were known to have perished in this innocent looking water.
“Do something,” Hanrahan yelled. “Get me out of here.”
By now the horse had sunk up to its breast and the hind legs up to the stifles. The horse was straining to get loose, but the more he struggled the deeper he went.
Sand was now inching up Hanrahan’s legs.
“Get out of your boots if you can and get off that horse,” Cade yelled.
James struggled to get his boots off, then flung himself off the horse. When he landed he attempted to crawl toward the other bank which was now no more than 20 feet in front of him, but as he did, he began to sink farther and farther into the oozing sand. He could feel the pressure surrounding his body. He looked back toward the horse, to see that the pony’s rump and the saddle were already mired in the quicksand.
“Help!” Hanrahan shouted again.
“James, I’m going to try to get this rope to you,” Cade yelled as he began twirling the lariat over his head. With a fling of the noose, he tossed it forward, but it came up short.
“Damn,” Cade said as he began to reel the rope in.
“Here,” Jacob said. “Take this one.”
Cade and Jacob exchanged ropes and Cade repeated the throw. This time it got close enough that Hanrahan could reach it. Cade let out more rope as James pulled it over his head.
“Under your arms,” Cade yelled. There was barely e
nough space between the sand and James’s armpits. He wished that he would have told James to slip out of his clothes, because the clothes as they filled with sand would act as an anchor.
When the rope was in place, Cade made a double half-hitch as he tied the rope to his saddle horn, then turned the horse and began to take up the slack in the rope.
Hanrahan let out a scream when the rope tightened around his body. He held on to the rope and inch by inch, he began to creep out of his sandy tomb. When he was back to the gravel bed near the center of the river, Cade did not slow down. He continued to pull the man across the gravel and the next prong of the river.
When James was pulled up on the bank, he lay there panting as he realized just how close to death he had come. He looked toward Cade but couldn’t speak, as tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Where’s that other rope?” Cade asked.
“Do you think you can get my pony?” Mike Welch asked.
“I’m going to try.”
Cade watched the horse, now showing only his head and neck. As his head bobbed, Cade timed his toss, and this time his throw was true. The loop settled around the horse’s neck, and Cade pulled it tight. Again, he turned his horse and slowly began to pull. In his heart, Cade knew this was hopeless. The horse was pointed away from him, and if he could move him, more than likely he would break his neck.
The horse was still sinking, and now he began to make a sound that was almost human. His eyes were filled with torture and his breath was coming in gasps.
Suddenly, Cade’s horse plunged forward falling to his knees, as Cade struggled to keep from flying over his head.
Cade looked back, startled as to why the sudden lunge, then he saw why. The rope had been cut, and Mike Welch had raised his gun. In a moment, there was the report of a rifle as the struggling horse dropped his head onto the sand.
All looked in horror as red blood began to pool on the white sand.
“I had to do it,” Mike said. “No man or beast deserves to suffer like that little pony was a doin’.”
“You did the right thing,” Cade said. “I couldn’t have pulled him out.”
As they were watching, the horse disappeared and even the red stain was no more. The sand around him began to settle, and soon, there was no sign of what had just transpired.
“Now what?” Fred Leonard asked, looking toward James Hanrahan.
“Well, the first thing, I’m gonna find me some new clothes.” Hanrahan tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t support him.
Cade and Billy Dixon, one on each side of the big man, got him to his feet and walked him back to the wagon. “You two pick the best spot to cross.”
Cade and Billy scouted the Cimarron. They found a place about two miles east that they thought would support the wagons. But as a precaution, they sent those men who were on horseback out to collect buffalo bones. They drug them back on hides and filled up a narrow prong of the river. Then they unhitched the oxen that had been pulling Hanrahan’s wagons and drove them across the river as many times as it took to make a satisfactory bed.
When they were all safely across they made camp.
“This is it, men,” Charlie Myers said. “Now we’re in ‘No Man’s Land’.”
“I can’t rightly say I agree with ya,” Ike Shadler said. “If I was to guess, there’s plenty of Indians in this place.”
“But we ain’t seen none yet,” Bermuda Carlisle said. “I think they’re scared of us. They know we got guns, and we know how to use ‘em.”
“I think that’s the wrong attitude,” Cade said. “Technically, this is their land and we’re the intruders,”
“This here belongs to the United States of America,” Ike said as he picked up a handful of sand. “We have as much right to be here as any Indian ever did.”
“Not according to the Medicine Lodge Treaty,” Bat said.
“Hell, them things are made to be broke. Didn’t that paper say we couldn’t go south of the Arkansas?” Ike asked. “The answer is it did, but here we are. We just have to show them bastards who’s boss.”
Cade raised his eyebrows. “All that is true, but none the less, we’d better be prepared for Indians to come calling.”
“If they do,” Billy said, “we should treat them like they are friendly. No shooting.” He looked directly at Ike Shadler. “I’ve had many a meet up with Indians and most of the time, if you don’t bother them, they don’t bother you.”
“Tell that to Halen Johansson and his wife,” Mike Welch said. “And he’s not the only one. Them savages’d rather kill ya’ than spit in your eye.”
“I think Cade and Billy are right,” Fred Leonard said. “We can’t get bogged down fightin’ Indians. We’ve got to get down on the Canadian and find us a place to set up before the buffalo start moving.”
The train moved south going through the breaks of the Cimarron, then to the Beaver, one of the branches of the North Canadian. To go east would take them to Camp Supply, but they continued to the Palo Duro where they found plenty of water.
“This seems like it would be a good place to stop,” James Hanrahan said. “It’s got water.”
“But no buffalo,” Bat said. “We need to be down in the Panhandle.”
Billy nodded his head. “Yes, I think that’s the best place. On the Canadian, we’ll have water, grass, and not too far from trees. If we’re going to be building, we need wood.”
“Hell, let’s just build a dugout, right there in that rise,” Bermuda said.
“We probably will use some sod,” Myers said, “but we’ve got to have something to hold the roof up. I say we move on tomorrow.”
“You’re the boss,” James Hanrahan said. Since the crossing he had relinquished his wagon-master status, and no one had taken over the position, although Cade and Billy had become the de facto leaders.
At Billy Dixon’s suggestion, the train started down Moore’s Creek toward the South Canadian. On the way they passed a few camps established by buffalo hunters who had stayed out for the winter, in hopes of getting a jump when the herd began to move north.
“Hello, Billy. Me ‘n Tommie ‘n Dave was wonderin’ when you’d get back down this way,” one of the hunters said.
“Cade, this is Joe Plummer, Dave Dudley, and Tommie Wallace,” Billy said, introducing the hunters. “Are you finding any buffs?”
“A few. We come up on a stand a couple o’ days ago,” Joe said, “but it ain’t nothin’ like it used to be.” He looked at all the wagons that were now in sight. “Lordee, what’s all this about?”
“It’s the making’s for a new outpost,” Billy said. “You won’t have to be going all the way back to Dodge for your powder and lead.”
“And there’ll be plenty of beer and whiskey,” Hanrahan said. “I’ll bet even money, my saloon will be the first thing built.”
“Are you saying real whiskey ‘n real beer?” Plummer asked.
“There won’t be none better in a hundred miles.”
“Try tellin’ that to Smith ‘n Jones. They say the swill they’re a peddlin’ is as good as it gets.”
“And who are Smith ‘n Jones?” Cade asked.
“They say they’re buffalo hunters,” Tommie said. “But they ain’t took so much as one hide they kilt their selves. Just stealin’ ‘em from some Injun who wants to get liquored up.”
“See what they’re a doin’ is makin’ apple jack. Hunters get a swig, now and then, but most of the rotgut goes to Injuns,” Dave added. “It makes ‘em crazy drunk, ‘n there ain’t nothin’ meaner than a crazy drunk Injun.”
6
The next day the train came across Moore’s Creek where there were two men who greeted them with ingratiating smiles.
“Howdy, boys, howdy,” one of them said. He stuck his hand out. “John Smith’s the name, ‘n this here’s m’ partner, Jim Jones.”
“Smith and Jones,” Cade said. “We’ve heard about you.”
“Well then I ‘spect you boys have come to the
right place if you’ns is all thirsty. Some o’ the best apple jack you ever tasted,” Smith said holding up a bottle. “Let me get a tin cup.”
“Where you gettin’ your apple jack from?” Shadler asked.
“Right over there,” Jones said, pointing to a nearby camp that was midway up a rise. Two Indian women were bent over a trough.
“Soon as we get us a good mash from them dry apples, all we got to do is cook it up so’s we can separate the alcohol from the water, ‘n we got us some liquor as good as anythin’ you can get in a saloon,” Jones said. “Say you don’t have any raisins with ya, do ya? We’d be mighty proud to trade for some good raisins. Them’s what really makes it good.”
“Why don’t we just see what you got?” Old Man Keeler said, as he grabbed the bottle and took a drink.
“Not so fast” Welch said, as he took the bottle from Keeler.
Smith raised his hands. “No need to tussle, gents. I don’t expect you got any hides to trade, so it’ll be six bits a swallow.”
“Six bits! Ain’t that a little rich?” Shorty Shadler asked as he, too grabbed for the bottle.
Cade didn’t like what he was watching, but he knew no one could stop the men from drinking once they got started. Looking around he saw that Jacob Harrison, Billy Dixon and Charlie Myers were not partaking. Billy Ogg and Shepherd were still standing guard over Hanrahan’s wagons while James was matching drink for drink with anyone. Cade was disappointed when he saw that his own drivers were joining the rest.
Cade did not join the abstainers, choosing instead to sit alone resting his back against a wagon wheel. Seeing the two Indian women was disturbing. He couldn’t believe they were in this camp by choice. Who, if anyone, was looking for them? He recalled the months he had spent looking for Arabella and Magnolia, and it made him sick to his stomach.
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 64
