Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement behind him. Jerking his head around, he saw a child creeping toward him. The child looked to be about the age of Chantal.
Cade smiled, trying to disarm the child.
“Hi, little buddy. What’s your name?”
The child didn’t answer, but he moved closer. Cade could see that it was a boy.
“Is that your mama over there?” Cade asked.
The boy nodded his head.
Cade was pleased that the boy seemed to understand English.
“Do you live here all the time?”
The boy didn’t answer, but his eye brows lifted, telling Cade that the answer was yes.
“Come sit beside me,” Cade said patting the ground beside him.
The boy moved closer and just as he was about to sit down, the man called Jones came over and jerked him away.
“Get the hell back where you belong, boy,” Jones said as he put out his foot in an attempt to kick the child.
Cade grabbed the foot, and twisting it brought the man to the ground.
“What the hell, mister?” Jones jumped to his feet and came at Cade with his hands balled in fists.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Cade said as he drew his pistol.
Jones stopped, raising his hands. “I wasn’t gonna do nothing. It’s just that kid’s supposed to stay out of sight when I’m doin’ business. He don’t much mind like a white boy does.”
For the rest of the evening as the men got drunker, several fights broke out. Smith and Jones were yelling at the women to get more and more of the whiskey, as each succeeding bottle was extended by adding what Cade supposed was water. As the whiskey got weaker, the two men charged more, until now it was a dollar a cup. When one of the women, in her haste, dropped a bottle, Smith slapped her across the face and ordered her out of his sight.
She picked up the boy who was now asleep and headed for a dugout that was built into the rise behind the camp.
Cade, who had been napping by the wagon wheel, heard the exchange and followed the woman to the dugout.
The woman sheltered the child, and in a heart wrenching voice said, “No, no, don’t beat.”
Cade shook his head. “I’m not going to hurt you or your child. If you understand me, do you want to get away from these men?”
She shook her head.
Cade didn’t know if she didn’t want to go, or if she didn’t understand.
She tapped her finger on her chest.
“Gentle Horse,” she said. “Find Spotted Wolf. Give him.” She withdrew a silver medallion that was encrusted with small turquoise stones. “Take.” She thrust the medallion into Cade’s hand.
“Well, well, well,” Jones said as he stepped into the dugout. “You no good son-of-a-bitch. You’re too good to drink my whiskey, but my woman’s good enough to dip your dobber. Now get the hell out of here, before I kick your ass.”
Cade made eye contact with the woman who had said her name was Gentle Horse. He nodded his head as he raised his fist containing the medallion. He hoped she knew that he would find Spotted Wolf.
Cade knew that most of the next day would be lost as a lot of the men were suffering from last night’s revelry. Bat Masterson, however, was up early, even though he had been drinking just as much as anyone else.
“You didn’t join us last night,” Bat said as he came over to the fire and filled his tin cup with coffee.
“You know I can’t do that anymore,” Cade said. “Who knows what I’d do this time if I got on a drunken binge.”
“Jacob Harrison wouldn’t let you get away with signing away his business. He’d knock you cock-eyed if you did that to him,” Bat said.
Cade smiled as he rubbed his chin.
“It seems to me like I remember Jeter doing just that when I lost the Red House for him.”
“Ah yes,” Bat said, “it was a sight to see when he came out to our railroad grading camp. He was fit to be tied.”
“I’m glad he got the Red House back,” Cade said. “That little incident taught me never to get that drunk ever again.”
“If you stay around these galoots long enough, you’ll be knockin’ ‘em down more’n you ever did before,” Bat said.
“Not me. As soon as Charlie finds a spot, and we get his freight unloaded, I’m heading back to Dodge.”
“You’ll be back. You haven’t done enough hunting to make any real money,” Bat said. “Last winter I was out with Tom Nixon and I saw him shoot a hundred twenty buffalo, before breakfast. Now at $3.00 a hide—you figure it out.”
“Is it true that last year Tom killed 3,200 buffalo in 35 days?” Cade asked.
“I wasn’t with him until January, but if he says he killed ‘em, I say he killed ‘em. Say do you happen to have a can of tomatoes?”
“I’m sure there’s a can in the wagon,” Cade said. “Break out several cans. These men are going to need to sober up, if we’re going to get this train moving.”
As Cade drank his coffee, he saw the two Indian women off in the distance. They were starting a fire under the trough where they would cook off the apple mash. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion Gentle Horse had given him. Last night, in the dark he had not inspected it closely, but now he saw that in addition to the turquoise stones, there was also the head of a wolf etched into the silver.
A wolf to be given to Spotted Wolf.
There had to be a family connection. He wished that he could tell Gentle Horse that he knew Spotted Wolf. He would make sure he got the medal, or at least he would give it to Agent Miles to pass on.
The train finally got underway reaching the Canadian River late in the day. It had been eight days since leaving Dodge City, and everyone was excited at arriving at their destination. After camp was established, and the meal was served, the men stretched out the biggest buffalo robe they could find. With the skin side up, they staked it to the ground, and the fiddlers and the French harp players got out their instruments. Soon men were dancing either alone as in a Scottish Highland Fling or together in a promenade or allemande left that any woman back at Fat Tom’s dance hall would be proud to partner.
“Well, we’re here,” Jacob said.
“Not quite,” Charlie Myers said. “I want to make sure we’ve pick the best possible spot. Even though we’ve not been bothered by Indians so far, I’m sure they will come calling.”
“Maybe that’s it,” James Hanrahan said. “You didn’t taste that rotgut Smith and Jones were passin’ off as whiskey. When them Indians get a taste of my good stuff, they’ll be as quiet as little lambs.”
“Sure. Whiskey and Indians,” Jacob said. “What could go wrong with that?”
“Do you have any idea where you want to set up shop?” Cade asked.
“I’ve been talkin’ to Old Man Keeler. He says he thinks the place where Kit Carson fought off 3,000 Comanche is somewhere around here,” Charlie said. “Do you think that old fort is still here?”
“Not according to George Bent,” Cade said. “He’s the interpreter at the Cheyenne Agency and he says the fort was built by his father. He says he burned it to keep the Indians from taking it.”
“Billy, have you ever seen an old fort?” Jacob asked.
“I haven’t, but there’s a creek called West Adobe Walls Creek about a dozen miles from here,” Billy said. “That could be it.”
“Then I say, we try to find that place,” Charlie said. “If Kit Carson held off 3,000 Indians, it’s a good enough spot for me.”
Cade smiled. “According to George, Carson had two howitzers that might have helped him out.”
“But did he have any Sharps fifties?” Myers asked. “Why, I’ll bet Billy, here could stand off a thousand Indians all by himself.”
“Let’s hope I don’t have to try,” Billy said.
The next day the train followed the Canadian about a dozen miles until they reached West Adobe Walls Creek. About a mile back they saw parts of walls, some as high as f
ive feet.
“This has to be the place,” Cade said as he dismounted and picked up one of the displaced bricks. “I wonder if George’s father made these.”
“Nope,” Old Man Keeler said as he walked up the slope. “Comancheros did it. That’s what I heared. Them Mexicans—now they knows how to get along with Injuns.”
“I guess so,” Cade said. “They buy or trade for anything the Indians have, no matter who they had to kill to get it.”
“Well, I like it,” Charlie said. “It’s close to water, there are trees across the river, and there’s rising ground behind it. An outpost here wouldn’t be hard to defend.”
The next morning Cade, Jacob and Billy went out to shoot some wild turkeys that were roosting in some trees across the river. When they returned, they reported that they had found a spot on another stream about a mile and a half farther down. It had the same attributes as the original site except there was a broader valley that would accommodate the buildings, and the breaks of the Canadian rose behind it, making the spot easier to defend. In addition, there was a good supply of cottonwood and hackberry trees about six miles away. After Charlie Myers, James Hanrahan, William Olds and Thomas O’Keefe looked it over, they decided the new site was a better choice. The wagons were pulled up to the valley and the unloading began.
Within a week, everything was unloaded and lying in an orderly fashion upon the ground. Jacob and Cade left their canvas coverings in order to give more protection to the freight they had hauled.
Most of the men were busy dragging logs up from the river. James Hanrahan was the first to lay out his building, cutting sod to form walls that were three feet thick. Before a roof was even thought about, he set up a bar by putting a flint buffalo robe over two whiskey barrels. Soon everyone had stopped for a long-anticipated drink.
“If the bar’s open, I think it’s time we headed for Dodge,” Jacob said.
“All right,” Cade said, “but I think I’m going to make a little detour. With empty wagons you and the boys should make good time once you get to the Dodge-Supply Road.”
“You’re not coming back with us?”
“Not right now. I’ve got a little business to attend to. I’m going over to the Cheyenne Agency.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” Jacob said. “You know someone riding alone is asking for trouble.”
“And what do you think would happen to our drivers if they stop at one of the whiskey ranches?” Cade asked. “No, it’s better you stay with the wagons.”
“All right, but I’m going to hold up at the Cimarron Crossing, and I expect you to be there in no more than six days.”
“Yes, sir,” Cade said effecting a sharp salute. “I’ll be right behind you.”
7
The next morning Cade was up before sunrise. He had taken a packet of salt and some hardtack and was preparing to leave when he heard footsteps coming up behind him. He expected to see Jacob, but it was Bat.
“You’re up a little early, aren’t you?” Cade asked.
“I was wondering if you could do something for me,” Bat said.
“Sure, that is if I can.”
Bat withdrew some papers from inside his vest pocket. “I want you to deliver a message for me, but I don’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Ah, ha. I’ve seen you sniffing around Frankie at the Red House, but I didn’t know you missed her enough to send her a secret letter,” Cade said, barely able to contain his laughter.
“It’s not to a woman,” Bat said, “and if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll not give it to you.”
“All right, who’s it going to?”
“Alonzo Moore.”
“Alonzo Moore? You mean the guy who just started the Dodge City Messenger?”
“Yes. I’ve written a piece for him, and I’d like him to put it in the paper.”
“Well now, Bat, if he publishes the story, don’t you think everyone is going to find out about it?”
Bat smiled. “Yes, but you don’t understand. If he publishes it, I’ll want people to know. But, if I give him something and he doesn’t publish it, then I don’t want anyone to know that I tried, but was turned down.”
Cade nodded. “Give me the secret message, and I’ll carry it through the enemy lines.”
Cade intended for the comment to be a joke, but Bat didn’t take it that way.
“You think that’s funny, but it’s not. Jacob told me you’re going through ‘No Man’s Land’ by yourself,” Bat said, “you know that’s stupid, don’t you?”
“Then why do you trust me to get this to Alonzo Moore?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
Cade traveled east following the Canadian until he cut across to the North Canadian, where the agency was located. When he arrived, there were several Indians milling around, many dressed in the plain black suits that were supplied by the Quakers. He saw George Bent sitting on the porch of the Lee and Reynolds outpost, and he moved toward the interpreter.
“Howdy, George, do you know if Spotted Wolf would happen to be here?” Cade asked.
“I’ve not seen him,” George said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not here. Have you checked with Miles?”
“I’m on my way there, now.”
“No, he isn’t here,” Miles said. “Why are ye looking for him?”
“Oh, no particular reason,” Cade said, not sure why he didn’t share his mission with Miles.
“Ye didn’t come here just to see him, did ye?”
“No, Jacob and I took some freight down to the Canadian and we’re taking the empty wagons back.”
“Freight? To the Canadian? Thee wouldn’t have rations for the People, now would thee?”
“I’m afraid not. We were hauling for Charlie Myers and Fred Leonard,” Cade said. “They’re putting an outpost down in the Panhandle.”
Miles furrowed his brow. “That cannot be good for my people. Surely, they do not intend to trade whiskey for hides.”
Cade laughed. “I suppose they’ll be trading whiskey for hides, but Indians won’t be their intended customers. Several hunters spent the winter in Dodge, and since they’ve killed off most of the buffalo in Kansas, they decided to move their camps south.”
“Oh dear,” Miles said. “My poor people. Can’t someone stop this? Thou knowest what a state of depredation my people are enduring. If more buffalo are slaughtered, what will they have to eat?”
“Either you do a better job of teaching them to farm, or the government had better send more rations,” Cade said.
“When President Grant signed the Indian Appropriation Act, he did not intend for the buffalo to be decimated,” Miles said. “According to treaty, the white man cannot hunt south of the Arkansas, and yet they encroach. First the Cimarron, and now the Canadian. They cannot go there.”
“I’m afraid it’s a situation of preemptive domain. The white buffalo hunters are there, and that’s it,” Cade said. “When I left, the buildings were going up and the bar was open.”
John Miles looked at Cade, with a dire expression on his face. “This means war. When last thee were here, thou heard Spotted Wolf say that the Kiowa had raised the pipe to the Cheyenne. The Cheyenne will accept that pipe, and no government will stop them.”
“I remember hearing him say that,” Cade said. “I do need to see him. If he’s not here at the agency, do you know if he’s on the reservation?”
“I think he is. If the white hunters cannot find buffalo, then the Indians cannot as well.”
“Where does he stay?”
“Magpie will know where to find him,” Miles said. “Ask her.”
When Cade left the agency office, he went back to the Lee and Reynolds outpost looking for George Bent. Magpie was his wife.
When he walked in, he saw W.M.D Lee, himself, behind the counter. George was there as well, as several Indians were bartering for supplies. Cade did not speak Cheyenne, but he did know hotoa meant buffalo, ma’aatano’e meant g
un, and heovohkoome meant whiskey. In the side yard, beside the store, Cade saw thousands of hides stacked up. If there were no buffalo for food, where had the Indians been getting the hides?
“McCall,” Lee said as he raised his hand. “I didn’t see your wagons roll in. Did you bring in more food?”
“No, I’m on my way back to Dodge,” Cade said.
“If you’re comin’ from Camp Supply, isn’t this a little out of your way?”
“It is. I’m sort of looking for somebody,” Cade said.
Lee laughed. “Lost your stock, did you?”
“No, it’s not that. Jacob and the boys are taking the wagons back.”
“Back from where?”
“Down on the Canadian. Charlie Myers is opening up an outpost down there.”
“Yeah,” Lee said. “Yeah, I heard about that, though why in the hell would he put an outpost in the middle of nowhere, is beyond me.”
“Haven’t you heard? The buffalo hunters have moved into the panhandle, and Myers has gone there too, so he can buy hides from them,” Cade said.
“You don’t say.” Lee turned away and disappeared in a small room in the back of the store.
“Oh, oh,” George Bent said. “The boss isn’t going to like that. He’s pretty much got this whole area tied up, and mark my words, he’ll do what he can to shut down the competition.”
“It seems to me like his pile of hides is pretty high without any white hunters,” Cade said. “By the way, I’m looking for Magpie. John said she may know where Spotted Wolf is. Is she around?”
“She is. My house is the biggest one on the top of the rise.”
“Spotted Wolf not come for long time now,” Magpie said. “Last time he come to get food for his people, but there was no food.”
“I know I saw him when he came in. Is there a chance you’ll see him anytime soon?”
“Why you want to know?”
Cade pulled out the medallion Gentle Horse had given him and held it out toward Magpie. “When you see him, will you give him this?”
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 65
