Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  The same story was happening all across the West; Indians pushed onto reservations and crowded together in the least coveted and least productive patches of land available. Joe’s own people were being pushed onto the San Carlos Reservation and their land stolen.

  Now Joe had money. He had a white man’s education, and he had a cause to fight for.

  When Balum found it he rode in close and stopped to let his eyes take in the fort. The sod structure was pitiful to look at. Were it not for the horses, wagons and supplies all laying all about, Balum would have figured the place to be abandoned.

  As he was tying his horse to a gate a soldier came outside to greet him.

  ‘Afternoon,’ the man said. ‘Not too often we see civilians here. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I won’t waste your time,’ said Balum. ‘I’m looking for a man. Half white, half Apache, goes by the name of Joe. Nasty scar, right here,’ Balum stuck a finger on his throat.

  ‘Aw hell, ain’t a goddamn soldier here who doesn’t know Joe. What do you want with him?’

  ‘I need to speak with him.’

  ‘Can you get him the hell outta here? Come with me, the Captain is gonna want to talk to you.’

  Captain Davis sat behind a well-polished oak wood desk, his head hovering over a ledger. The quality of the piece of furniture contrasted sharply with the bleakness of the sod structure.

  When the soldier introduced Balum to the Captain and explained he was looking for Joe, the man lost all interest in the ledger and stared wide-eyed at Balum.

  ‘I don’t care what you want him for, just get him out of here. He’s been badgering me for god knows how long, on and on about San Carlos, writing letters to Washington. I can’t take it.’

  ‘So I take it he’s talking?’ said Balum.

  ‘Talking? He won’t stop talking. Says he’s an advocate for rights or some such thing. I don’t know.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  ‘Stay put right here. He comes by twice a day. You never know when. He learned real quick to change up the timing of his visits so we can’t avoid him.’

  A strip of shade three feet wide ran along the northern edge of the fort. The temperature was noticeably cooler, and Balum sat with his back against the sod wall and stuck a plug of tobacco in his cheek while he waited for Joe to arrive.

  He enjoyed moments like these; bits of time all one’s own. Time to think, to contemplate the journey through life, or time to simply let the mind sit empty, the light buzz of tobacco loosening the tightness in the body. Time for action, for stress, for violence, that would come. That was unavoidable. But to watch the wind hurl a dust devil across the earth from the comfort of a shaded spot; that was pleasure.

  Sleep nearly overtook him. His eyes had begun to glass over when he heard Joe’s familiar voice.

  ‘I recognized that roan from a mile out. Now where’s Balum, I thought to myself. I should have guessed it. Sitting in the shade working on a plug of tobacco.’

  Balum rose and the two men clasped hands.

  ‘It’s good to hear your voice Joe. Word came to me that you’d lost it.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how life changes when people think you can’t talk. More peaceful.’

  ‘The Captain here has certainly heard it.’

  Joe laughed. ‘Yes, he’s heard plenty.’

  ‘The San Carlos Reservation?’

  Joe nodded.

  ‘You getting anywhere?’

  ‘The wheels of government move quickly when they want your land. To give it back, they move more slowly.’

  Balum nodded and spat tobacco into the dust.

  ‘Nobody comes to Fort Junction,’ said Joe. ‘But you’re here now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  The story only took a minute to tell. The Eastern folk, Nelson and the Farro brothers. Cafferty’s plan. Joe’s black eyes looked deep into Balum’s as he told it.

  ‘And you want me on that wagon with you,’ said Joe.

  ‘I need you on that wagon.’

  ‘What I’m doing here is important. It’s about my people.’

  ‘What you’re doing here isn’t getting you very far.’

  ‘That is also true. Only more reason to stay longer. To keep trying.’

  ‘You know that Captain can’t stand you, right?’

  ‘You could put it more nicely.’

  ‘Here’s the deal. Cafferty can pull some strings for you if you get on board. He’s connected in high places. And Captain Davis here is set to move the earth for you just so long as you agree to get out of his hair. That’s your leverage.’

  Joe didn’t say anything. He looked at Balum and turned and looked out away from the fort, at the dust devils dancing across the land.

  ‘That true about Cafferty?’ he said finally.

  Balum nodded.

  ‘Let’s go visit the Captain.’

  6

  Night had fallen over Denver by the time they arrived. They stabled their weary horses in the livery and directed themselves straight to the Berlamont Hotel. It was one of the nicest in town, and Cafferty, true to his word, set Joe up in one of its finest rooms.

  ‘Tomorrow’s the last day to register with Nelson,’ said Cafferty. ‘Jonathan Atkisson will be there to make introductions. As for me it’s best I stay out of the picture. I have a wagon arranged, and you can supply it however you see fit. Care for a nightcap before you leave?’

  ‘I care for my bed,’ said Balum. ‘Besides, you and Joe have some talking to do. I got him to Denver, but he won’t be on board until you sweeten the deal. You’re going to have to pull some strings with San Carlos.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Just remember,’ said Balum. ‘If he doesn’t go, neither do I.’

  When he left Pete Cafferty at the Berlamont Hotel, Balum had no plans but to go straight to his hotel and sleep. The ride to Fort Junction and back had totaled over sixty miles. He was hungry, tired, and the hour was late.

  But no sooner had he exited the Berlamont lobby, than the notion took him to mosey on up the street in the opposite direction. Straight to the Rendezvous Hotel.

  His feet had already started in its direction, and his will gave in without a fight. He had no expectations. A hope maybe, of seeing Leigha on the front balcony. Perhaps she would have an insult lined up for him. He would receive it, he knew, with a smile.

  A string of lanterns hanging from the balcony trusses threw light onto the two women lounging in rockers. Neither was Leigha Atkisson. Balum could have spotted the young beauty from a hundred yards out.

  As he neared the hotel the two women rose from the rockers and approached the front door. The woman in the back paused before crossing the doorway and glanced up the street. She and Balum recognized each other in the same instant. Suzanne Darrow.

  ‘Why hello there,’ she exclaimed, placing a hand against her enormous bosom. She let the door swing closed and walked to the edge of the balcony.

  ‘Good evening Ms. Darrow.’

  ‘Please, call me Suzanne.’

  ‘Alright Suzanne.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering if I’d lay eyes on you again. Tell me, have you decided to join up with the expedition?’

  ‘It turns out I have,’ said Balum.

  ‘Oh how wonderful!’ she said, and extended her arms; hands clasped together in front. Her breasts were so large that they were squeezed together by the motion. They heaved up and the cleavage she was already revealing increased by several inches.

  Balum’s eyes were drawn to it. Her skin was taut and smooth. The tops of her breasts jiggled slightly with the movement.

  He made no attempt to dissimulate his gaze. He was not concerned with playing the role of gentleman. Besides, on each occasion he had seen her she had worn attire that drew attention to her chest. Very well he thought, he would give her the attention she desired.

  She saw where his eyes landed, and leaned slightly against t
he railing with her arms crossed in front of her to allow him a better view. Her breasts rested snuggly in her dress, level with Balum’s eyes.

  ‘It’s very comforting to know a man like you will be amongst us. I’ll admit, I feel safer already knowing you’ll be close by.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you Suzanne. And I’ll admit something to you,’ he took a step closer so that only a few feet separated his head from her exposed chest. ‘I’m pleased to have you with us as well. There is a lot of empty land to cover, and a man yearns for something beautiful to look at now and then.’

  She smiled. ‘Why Balum, you certainly know how to flatter a woman.’

  ‘A woman with the qualities you possess deserves to be flattered. I’ll see you with the wagons.’ He tipped his hat and turned and left. He would have preferred to smash his face into her soft tits hanging so close in front of him, but no matter how flirtatious she was, a public street was by no means the place to do it.

  7

  The wagon arranged by Cafferty measured fourteen feet long and was built solid. The frame and suspension were made of wood, the wheels iron-rimmed. Tar had been stuffed into the wagon’s seams to protect it during river crossings, and a white canvas cover was stretched tight over metal hoops that reached a height of nine feet off the ground.

  The team of four oxen that had pulled it from a neighboring village stood calmly grazing, their necks still yoked, the harness and straps still attached.

  ‘These beasts will pull you to Oregon without breaking a sweat,’ said Cafferty.

  They stood in the morning sun beyond the livery corrals at the edge of town; Balum, Pete Cafferty and Joe.

  ‘That’s a hell of a wagon,’ said Balum.

  ‘It is. And you two can fill it with the supplies you see fit, on my tab. I’ve spoken with Atkisson, you’ll meet with him at the Rendezvous Hotel at noon and head to Jackson Stables to register and pay your dues with Frederick Nelson.’

  There was a moment of silence as the three of them realized how quickly this was all happening.

  ‘I’m still wondering how I let you talk me into this nonsense,’ said Balum.

  ‘You’re a good man for doing it. You remember to keep the affidavit granting you authority as U.S. Deputy Marshal tight in your pocket. It’s the only card you’ve got. And Joe, you keep an eye on him.’

  The Marshal shook the mens’ hands. His boots made no sound on the trampled grass as he walked away from them.

  Jackson Stables was the largest stable in Denver, yet still not big enough to contain the growing number of wagons that creaked in by the day. The expedition numbered over two hundred and thirty individuals once children were accounted for. They filled over sixty wagons, and with the expedition leaving the following morning, the wagons had overtaken the stables, corrals, and pastures of the company grounds.

  Frederick Nelson had sectioned off a corner of the equipment barn to act as a temporary office. A desk, table, and chairs, were arranged together, and it was there where those of all stripes came to part ways with a hundred dollars and officially join the Nelson expedition to Oregon.

  When Balum and Joe arrived with Jonathan Atkisson, they found they were not the only ones signing up at the last possible moment. Two parties were lined up in front of them, and with the commotion and lack of space they were glad they had left their oxen and wagon at the livery on the far side of town.

  Balum watched Nelson from his space in line. Although he sat at his desk, the man was clearly tall, with wide shoulders and a thick body. He was handsome, with a ready smile, and his voice carried over the equipment barn in a loud and deep rumble.

  The Farro brothers stood behind their boss. If Nelson was big, these two were giants. They shared the same flat, square-shaped face that gave the impression of having been smashed in with a flat pan. Balum’s gaze drew their attention and they measured him up with their eyes.

  Balum had never seen Gus or Saul Farro in his life. He knew them when he saw them though. He had thought the descriptions he had heard of them over time might be exaggerations, but the two of them were as massive and ornery looking as their reputations suggested.

  He looked away. Men like these hunted trouble with their eyes, and Balum needed to get on that expedition without raising suspicions.

  When their turn came, Nelson recognized Atkisson and smiled broadly.

  ‘Jonathan Atkisson, why how are you sir? All set for tomorrow?’

  ‘Close, close. Frederick, I’d like to introduce you to Balum and Joe. Two good men looking to join up with us.’

  Nelson looked at the two men. His eyes lingered on Balum. He didn’t like what he saw, and his face was not a poker player’s. His eyebrows came together in a frown and the eyes under them sharpened slightly.

  ‘Balum,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that name before.’

  ‘Gunfighter killed Lance Cain. That’s where you heard it,’ spoke up Gus Farro.

  ‘Is that right?’ said Nelson.

  ‘It is,’ Balum said shortly.

  ‘We don’t need any shootists on board. This is a peaceful expedition. There’s no way I can allow that.’

  ‘Mr. Nelson,’ interjected Atkisson, ‘Balum comes recommended from the U.S. Marshal himself. Pete Cafferty.’

  ‘What the hell is a Marshal getting mixed up in this for?’

  Nelson had raised his voice, and the men around the barn took notice. They edged in closer.

  Atkisson continued. ‘We both know the journey is dangerous, and the majority of the party are folks like myself from back East. We need men like Balum and Joe, who can handle a gun, and understand the frontier. Now I don’t know this business about a shooting, but if the Marshal recommends him then he’s a solid man.’

  ‘I know about it,’ spoke up one of the men listening in. ‘Heck, everybody’s heard that story. Lance Cain was a killer, plain and simple. Half that town in Bette’s Creek witnessed that shooting, and not a soul will tell you it wasn’t fair. Cain had it coming. A man who can stand up to that is the kind we want with us. Plenty of hostile Indians we’ve got to get through.’

  Frederick Nelson found himself backed into a corner. He didn’t like it, and it showed. He was not a man accustomed to getting ramrodded into a decision not his own. He looked at Joe, standing there mute, staring at him with his black eyes. Nelson’s lips curled inwards, as if about to spit, then he relaxed. He brought himself together.

  ‘It’s a hundred dollar fee for each wagon.’

  No sooner had he said it than Balum drew the billfold from his pocket and placed the hundred dollars in cash on the desktop.

  Nelson’s hand hesitated a moment before he grabbed it.

  ‘There’ll be no violence on this expedition,’ he warned them for the second time. ‘Anyone steps out of line you’ll answer to Gus and Saul.’ He motioned to the brutes standing in back of him.

  Balum held his tongue and nodded. Joe said nothing, his face expressionless. Jonathan Atkisson, naturally a businessman, reassured Nelson that all was proper, and departed with a string of well-rehearsed pleasantries.

  They spent the afternoon stocking the wagon, Balum and Joe in such accord with one another it was as if they had made this trip before. In a way, they had.

  After parting ways for the night Balum set out to visit Chester. He said his goodbyes and when offered a drink he refused, knowing his vices well enough. It occurred to him that he might seek out Randolph and play a game of faro, but found the resolve to resist this urge as well.

  The sun had only just dipped below the horizon, and dusk had settled in. It gave the wooden slats of the buildings a purplish tinge. He walked amongst them into an alleyway, en route to his hotel, his mind absently touching on the aspects of what lay ahead, when he heard the whistle of a bullet pass inches from his face, followed instantly with the smashing and blowing apart of a slat of wood from the building beside him.

  The splinters exploded outwards, stinging him in the face. He ducked, running before hi
s mind had caught up, and spun himself out of the alley and onto a main street.

  The night was not too far along for there to be several pedestrians ambling through town. They stopped short as he came barreling into the street.

  Out among people, he regained his composure and crossed the street. Under the awning of a seed store he stopped and turned to observe the alleyway from where he had come. His eyes traced the likely spot of the shooter based on the trajectory of the bullet, but there was nothing to see. Nothing out of the ordinary and no one who raised suspicion.

  He waited anyway, patiently, until dusk had left and night had settled in.

  It could have been a stray bullet, he thought. Some drunk. But not likely. He thought back to Nelson and the Farro brothers, and shook his head. He wondered what Cafferty had offered Joe, and wished he had thought to ask for something as well. But in all honesty he knew half of what he wanted was already right there on that wagon expedition, and she’d be in Jonathan Attkisson's wagon, driving it like hell was on her tail.

  8

  White canvas covered all types of buckboards, prairie schooners, and slope-sided wagons, each yoked to teams of cloven-hoofed beasts. The morning sun reflected off the cloth and lit them up like massive loaves of bread, dozens of them, amassed in a chaotic army of pioneers.

  There were smaller uncovered wagons as well, handheld carts in need of repair, and men on horseback weaving amongst the swarm. Women and children were left on foot, chickens flapped and squawked from the interiors of wagons, and a herd of thirty cattle stood bunched at the rear.

  Such was the scene outside of Jackson Stables on the morning of departure.

  At the sound of a bugle the wagons at the front began to roll. Dust rose under the plodding steps of the oxen, and as the entirety of the expedition party set itself into motion, it formed a cloud thick enough to reduce visibility down to a stone’s throw.

  Balum and Joe sat atop their wagon and watched the crowd from the livery corrals. They had tied their horses with lead ropes to the back of the buckboard and yoked the team of oxen before sunrise. The wagon was already loaded, and they had worked quickly that morning to tie off the final steps of preparation.