The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “No, no, no. You can’t do this,” Cade said, but as he protested, all the Indians came toward him, each one holding a knife.

  George chuckled. “Well, Dad, I guess you’ve got a son. You know this is the greatest honor they could pay you, and if you refuse, they’ll kill you.”

  9

  Dodge City, Kansas:

  Cade left Mulberry Creek with the child settled in front of him. Stone Forehead, as he was named, had brought nothing with him except the deerskin pants and shirt he was wearing. The day was cool, and a drizzle was beginning to fall making Stone’s hair smell like a wet dog who had rolled in the ashes of a campfire. Cade would have liked to put his horse in a fast trot to get back to Dodge as fast as possible, but without any coat, he thought Stone would be cold. Instead, Cade got his own coat from behind the saddle and put it in front of the boy to block the rain.

  As they rode along, Cade tried to communicate with the child, but he said nothing in return. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the stoicism of the young boy, who had neither cried, nor even protested when he was taken from his mother.

  All Cade could think about was what he had seen in the camp at Moore’s Creek. Jones and Smith. Those two outlaw whiskey peddlers were undoubtedly the only white men, Stone had ever seen. Cade’s mind raced. What was he going to do with this child?

  He hugged the boy closer, hoping to reassure him that he would keep him safe, as he contemplated the immediate future. He couldn’t take a four-year old half-breed Indian to the Dodge House to live with him, any more than he could have taken Chantal to live with him.

  Magnolia. She would know what to do.

  “Stone, you stay right here beside the porch,” Cade said, as he dismounted and lifted the boy off the horse.

  Cade stepped up onto the porch of the Willis’s house, and because Stone stayed where Cade had put him, he could only be seen from the shoulders up. Cade smiled at him, trying to reassure him, but he stared at Cade with wide, brown eyes which showed neither fear, nor anxiety.

  When the door was opened, Jeter’s mother was standing there.

  “Cade,” Mary Hatley said as she embraced him. “I always worry so about you when you’re gone, even when it’s just for a little while. Do you have to make those trips? One of these days, you’re going to run into an Indian that has an arrow with your name on it and you won’t come back.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Cade said extracting himself from her embrace. “Is Magnolia here?”

  “No, she’s not. It’s downright unchristian for her to be out and about right now,” Mary said, shaking her head. “Why, she could drop that baby at any minute, but still she thinks that Red House can’t run without her being there.”

  Cade smiled. “You know, Mary, nobody—not you, not Jeter, not me—not anybody can tell a Cajun what to do.”

  “I know, I know, but Jeter so wants this baby to be a boy. If anything happened . . . oh, Cade, I’m so sorry. I forgot . . .”

  “It’s all right. But right now, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “You don’t have to ask,” Mary said. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it for you.”

  “I need you to look after someone for me while I go find Jeter and Magnolia.”

  “Look after someone?”

  Cade turned toward Stone and signaled for the boy to come up onto the porch.

  “Oh, my!” Mary’s eyes widened when she saw the child. “And who is this?”

  “This is Stone. Actually, it’s Stone Forehead, but I think Stone will be enough.”

  Mary furrowed her brow. “Is he an . . .?”

  “Yes, he is, at least his mother is.”

  “Well, where is his mother? What’s he doing with you?”

  “He was given to me,” Cade said. “And now he’s mine.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mary held her face in her hands. “Do you want me to hide him someplace?”

  “No, I want you to introduce him to Chantal and Bella. I know he can speak some English, but I haven’t heard him say anything since we left Mulberry Creek. Maybe the girls can make him feel more comfortable.”

  “All right, Cade, I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself in to.” Mary shook her head. “A man takin’ on a child, and not just any child—an Indian. Come on—what did you say his name was?”

  “Stone.”

  “You’ve got to call him something else,” Mary said. “Even if we can make him look like a real boy, if you call him that everybody will know what he is.”

  “No. His mother, Gentle Horse, gave him the name Stone Forehead, and that will be what he will be called. Now, I need to go find Magnolia and tell her about this new development.”

  As Cade walked to the Red House, he thought about Mary’s reaction to Stone. He hadn’t been prepared for her attitude, but he supposed many in Dodge City might have the same reaction. Most had some negative experience with an Indian, either personally or through someone they knew. But how could anyone have such hate for a four-year old boy?

  Mary had said he needed to look like a real boy. By that, she must have meant a haircut and new clothes. He would have Magnolia see what she could round up for him.

  When Cade stepped into the Red House, Cetti was the first to see him, and she greeted him with a wide smile.

  “We’re all glad you’re back, Cade. Let me go get Jeter. I think he’s working on the books.”

  “I’m glad it’s him who’s juggling numbers and not me,” Cade said as he took his usual seat.

  “Well, how was your trip?” Jeter asked as he joined him a short while later.

  “Interesting,” Cade said.

  Jeter chuckled. “That’s a rather cryptic response.”

  “Cryptic?”

  “It’s one of Bat Masterson’s words that I picked up. It means that it’s a very short answer and you probably have more to say.”

  Cade nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. Cade drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before he spoke again. “I need some help.”

  “All right. I was just counting out the receipts. How much do you need?”

  “It’s not money I’m after.” Cade took a deep breath while he thought about how he was going to broach this subject. “You know how you and Magnolia are looking out for Chantal?”

  The smile on Jeter’s face was replaced by a look of concern. “Wait a minute, Cade. We just signed the papers for us to be her legal guardians. You haven’t backed out, have you, because if you have, it will break Magnolia’s heart, to say nothing of my mother and Bella. And me, too,” he added.

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Cade responded quickly, putting his hand on Jeter’s wrist. “In fact, it’s quite the opposite.”

  “Opposite? What are you trying to say, Cade? I’m not following you.”

  “I know,” Cade said, “it’s going to get complicated. Can you and Magnolia go back to your house for a little while? I have something I want to show you.”

  Ten minutes later Cade, Jeter, and Magnolia stepped into the house and there, sitting in the middle of the floor was a number two galvanized tub filled with water. Mary was on her knees bathing Bella, and Chantal was running around the room in her underwear, having removed her clothing.

  “What happened?” Magnolia asked, as she caught Chantal and attempted to pick her up.

  “Don’t do that,” Jeter said. “I’ll take care of Chantal.” He started to take the child to the bedroom, when he saw Stone sitting under the table. “Mom? Who is this?”

  Mary wiped her brow, getting soap in her hair. She glared at Cade. “You’ll have to ask your friend.”

  Jeter turned to Cade. “Does this have something to do with your cryptic answer to my question? Interesting?”

  “Well, yes it does.” Cade went over to the table and tried to get Stone to come out, but he wouldn’t budge. “This is Stone Forehead. He is the child of Gentle Horse who is Spotted Wolf’s daughter. I think I told you about her being a captive of two outlaws
that were down on Moore’s Creek, and more than likely his father is one of them. She gave me her ‘medicine’ and I got it to Spotted Wolf. When he rescued her, he wanted to thank me, and that was what my trip to Mulberry Creek was about.”

  “That woman gave you her child?” Mary asked. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t going to take the little fella?”

  “If I would have refused, I wouldn’t be here,” Cade said.

  “All right, that’s how you got him,” Jeter said. “So, now what are you going to do with him?”

  “Don’t even ask him that, Jeter. The child is going to stay with us, of course.”

  “Magnolia,” Cade said. “I can’t . . . I mean,” he made a gesture with his hands. “You already have Chantal and . . .”

  “Tell me this, Cade. What else can you do with him, besides leave him with us?” Magnolia asked.

  Bella was now out of the tub, and was running around the room without any clothes on. Soon both girls were circling the table, getting closer and closer to Stone and finally sitting beside him getting as close as they could.

  For the first time, Cade saw Stone smile. The two little girls laughed happily.

  “Look at that,” Magnolia said. “They love their new brother.”

  “Wait a minute, Magnolia,” Jeter said. “Don’t get them thinking that Stone can stay.”

  “He will stay,” Magnolia said. “He can’t help what has happened to him, but now he has a home with us. Get me three cookies. I’ll bet this little fellow is hungry.”

  Mary rose from the floor as she moved toward the kitchen. “Jeter, he has to have a bath. The whole house will smell like . . .”

  “A wet dog,” Cade interjected quickly. He did not want the girls to hear the word Indian, at least not yet.

  After a while Cade left the Willis house satisfied that Stone was in good hands. Tomorrow he would see to it that the boy got some clothes and that he got a haircut. With his hair cut shorter, and with the dark coloring of the girls, it would be hard to tell that he was not their brother.

  So much had happened since returning from Adobe Walls, Cade had forgotten the promise he had made to Bat. He felt his pocket and pulled out the packet of papers that Bat had given him.

  When he reached the newly built building, he read the sign painted on the door: Dodge City Messenger, Alonzo Moore, publisher. A bell affixed to the door jingled as he pushed it open.

  “I’ll be right with you,” someone called from the back. A moment later a rather smallish man, with a bald head and wearing a canvas apron came up. There were black ink stains on the apron, and the man greeted Cade.

  “Oh, heavens, Mr. McCall, I hope you and Mr. Harrison aren’t wanting to make any changes in your ad. I just got it set,” Alonzo said.

  “No, the ad for the freight company is just fine,” Cade said. “I’m here on a different matter.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a young man that I know, a very good man, and a good friend, who wants to be a writer. He’s written an article that he’d like for you to publish in your paper, if you think it’s good enough.”

  Alonzo laughed. “What do you mean good enough? I generally publish any letter to the editor that I receive, regardless of how good it is. Of course, I’ll correct the spelling, and I do remove any curse words, but other than that, I publish the letter just as it was written.”

  “No, this isn’t a letter to the editor. My friend wants it published as an article.”

  Alonzo stroked his chin, and left a little smear of black ink. “In other words, he’s looking for validation of his writing.” It wasn’t a question, it was a declarative statement.

  Cade paused a moment before answering. “I suppose that’s about right.”

  “Very well, let me see what Mr. Shakespeare has written for his debut into the world of letters.”

  “No, I told you, not a letter to the . . .”

  Alonzo held up his hand. “A figure of speech, my good man. Merely a figure of speech.”

  Cade gave Alonzo the paper that Bat Masterson had given him. Cade had read it, and believed it to be quite good. But he also knew that he was no judge in the matter.

  Alonzo read through the piece, reading so quickly that Cade was certain he was just going through the motions to satisfy him.

  “Damn,” Alonzo said. “Damn.”

  “Is it that bad?” Cade asked. “I thought it was good, but I have to admit that I’m not the proper judge of such a thing.”

  “Oh, but you are, my boy,” Alonzo replied. “Any reader is the proper judge of literature, for without the reader, there would be no literature.”

  “Oh. But about this piece, do you think . . .”

  “It’s magnificent. Who, may I ask, is the author? For I intend to publish it, and I would like, also, to give the author a byline. That is, assuming I have the author’s permission.”

  “Oh, you do, you do!” Cade said happily. “He gave me this letter for you to read, if you made the decision to publish it.”

  Dear Mr. Moore

  I submit herewith for your perusal, my observation of a new community, built and occupied by men of action and adventure. I have chosen Mr. Cade McCall as my personal courier, and have sworn him to secrecy as to the authorship of this piece.

  Should you choose not to publish it I would appreciate that same courtesy, for I do not wish to be humiliated by a vain attempt. However, should you deem it worthy of your fine newspaper, then I would be most grateful, and proud to have the byline.

  Yours truly

  Bat Masterson

  Alonzo read the letter, then laughed. “I think you can tell your young friend that his writing is, indeed, worthy of publication.”

  A Message to the Readers of the Dodge City Messenger:

  A short time previous I wrote in this newspaper an article about a wagon train departing Dodge City, the purpose of which was to follow the buffalo. One of the participants in that operation was the brother of our own Ed Masterson. This young man, known by his friends as Bat, has already established himself as an excellent marksman and proficient buffalo hunter.

  He is also, as I have so recently learned, a most talented writer, and I am proud to include, in this edition, an article that readers will find most informative and interesting.

  Birth of a Town

  By

  W. B. “Bat” Masterson

  As did the Mayflower when, just over 250 years ago it braved the Atlantic Ocean to bring courageous settlers to start a new settlement, so too did 33 wagons under the leadership of Jim Hanrahan brave the wilds to begin a new settlement.

  These “wagon pilgrims” departed the town of Dodge City, which fears not the Indian, and proceeded south, including a hazardous crossing of the Cimarron River into Indian Territory. The crossing accomplished, the adventurous group went even farther south into that part of Texas where the Comanche, Kiowa, and Cheyenne reign.

  With little concern or fear of the war-like savages who indeed have the new settlement surrounded, the brave merchants and intrepid buffalo hunters have built the village of Adobe Walls, known by the residents as the Walls. And it is not by a stretch that one would call it a village, rather than a mere encampment, for there are present among the new businesses thus established, a blacksmith, a store selling groceries and various items of clothing as well as guns and ammunition, a restaurant and a saloon, all being substantially built structures, making use of sod and adobe bricks.

  The reader may well ask: “What is the economic enterprise that has given birth to the Walls, and what supplies the source of income by which the merchants may prosper?” The answer to that question is the same that has, for some time now, oiled the economic engine of Dodge City. Adobe Walls will prosper from the hide of the buffalo, for Adobe Walls both supports, and is supported by, the buffalo hunter.

  And why, you may ask, is the scribe who pens these words, at the Walls? Is it merely to observe, and report upon the activities of the brave men, and one woma
n who have made this their new home? That would be partially correct, for it is my intention to, from time to time, write my observations of the activity here conducted, but my primary reason is the same as the motive that propels all other residents of this new community. I am a buffalo hunter, and I intend to make my fortune through the procurement, and selling of buffalo hides.

  10

  The Quahadi Village of Quanah Parker:

  James McAllister was driving a six-mule team and two wagons as it rolled into Quanah Parker’s encampment. W.M.D. Lee, the sutler at Camp Supply, and Amos Chapman, his interpreter, led their horses alongside as dogs and children announce their arrival.

  Quanah Parker, the accepted leader of the band, came out to meet the wagon.

  “Ho, Lee,” Quanah said, recognizing the sutler from Camp Supply. “We have few hides to trade. The great herd has not yet begun the migration.”

  “I know, it is early,” Lee said, “but I have brought you something that may help. Come let me show you.” He lifted the canvas cover of the small trailing wagon that was loaded with kegs of lead and powder and several cases of fixed ammunition.

  A smile crossed Quanah’s face. “It is good that you come to us with this much ammunition. I do not think the Quaker agent would like it if he saw this load.”

  Lee chuckled. “How are the People going to bring robes to me, if there is no ammunition?”

  “If only more of the People had guns, we could bring you many thousands of robes. Thirty thousand, fifty thousand, maybe a hundred thousand,” Quanah said as he exaggerated the possible numbers. “That would be much money for our friend.”

  “That it would.” Lee walked to the big wagon. “Have a look.” Parting the back cover, he exposed case after case of the newest Spencer carbines, Winchester rifles and .45 caliber Colts.

  Like a child, Quanah ripped back the wooden top that covered the rifles and lifted one to his shoulder.