Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  ‘Wha…’ she began. She didn’t finish. Her mouth hung open in disbelief.

  ‘And that, young Ms. Atkisson, is what you should be focused on.’

  ‘You crude...pig,’ she said, and lashed out with him with the riding whip.

  It was not a motion that had any power to it. Her hand had flung out reflexively towards him, the whip only happened to be present.

  Balum reached an arm out instinctively and let the braided thong wrap itself around his arm. He bent his wrist around and grabbed it, just before the ring knot and only inches from where her hand held the handle.

  He pulled and she came toppling off the wagon bench and into his body. He caught her in his arms. Her hair spilled over his face and the soft warmth of her body pressed into him.

  She gripped him tightly for a moment, in reaction to the startle of leaving the wagon in such a way. But only for a moment. Her composure regained, she pushed herself away from him and he let her drop to the ground beside the roan.

  ‘Run down or lashed by the whip,’ said Balum. ‘The outcomes of sharing your company are harsh, are they not?’

  ‘Why don’t you go share someone else’s company then?’ quipped Leigha, looking up at him. ‘Go talk to that Darrow woman. It’s obvious you can’t take your eyes off her.’

  ‘Well I’ll be damned if that doesn’t sound like a touch of jealousy.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish. Why would I be jealous of a man like you cavorting with a woman like that? There are plenty of worthy gentleman on this expedition. You do not figure among them.’

  Balum smiled. ‘Would Mr. Nelson figure among them?’

  ‘He most certainly would. He’s a gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady.’

  Balum nodded. ‘He’s a fine talker.’

  ‘He’s a fine man.’

  ‘If you say so. Would you like a hand back atop that wagon?’

  ‘No I would not.’

  Balum laughed. It came out spontaneously, a gregarious throttle from deep inside. Leigha stared at him with her fists pressed into her hips. He tipped his hat to her, chuckling all the while in a good-natured manner that sapped some of the anger out of her.

  She looked at his face. The broad smile changed its appearance drastically, and when the thought struck her that it was in its own way a handsome face, she averted her eyes and turned to her buckboard. When she had climbed aboard she turned and took her seat. Balum was riding away, the smile out of sight but the sound of his laughter still ringing across the open fields of grass.

  11

  Tall was the grass through which he rode. It was tall for the roan, and tall for the settlers wading through it on foot.

  Many of them were women and children. The easterners had laden down their wagons so mercilessly with goods that the wheels cut deep into the earth and strained the traces of the teams pulling them. The luggage was simply too heavy, let alone the weight of human bodies.

  They walked alongside the wagons, lifting their knees high through the grass as if it were hip-deep water. The effort sapped them of energy and left their faces drawn and joyless.

  They were little more than an hour out from the lunch break and already the caravan had stretched itself nearly two miles long. He rode past wagons and walkers, lone riders on horseback and others in carriages. He passed a man standing between the handles of a hand-pushed cart. His face was grey and blank, and he stared at the burden in front of him, arms lifeless at his sides. He wore a suit of eastern cut, in no way practical for the journey west. How he had ever thought he might push a handcart from Denver to Oregon by the strength of his own back alone, Balum could not imagine.

  Nelson’s wagon led them all. It moved at an easy pace through the grass, and it was this detail that struck him first. The wagon was covered, of medium size and pulled by a team of four oxen. In these respects it was like any other. The difference was that it held no weight. Not only was it not overburdened, but by the tracks the wheels left in the ground, Balum wondered if it held anything at all. The oxen walked with their heads upright, no sense of struggle like the others.

  As Balum approached it he swung wide so as to get a glance at the driver and to study the scene from a distance. The Farro brothers sat on the bench. Gus held the reins and Saul sat beside him. The two massive bodies took up all the room the driving bench provided.

  A black mustang walked a few yards from the wagon. Atop it sat Billy Gunter.

  Balum let himself fall back a bit. There was no advantage in being noticed. He wanted to know what was in that wagon. Could he ride up behind and flip aside the canvas flap?

  He turned the idea over in his head. To be caught doing so and without an explanation would mean trouble. Still, the longer he watched that wagon bounce along the ground without cutting ruts, the more he suspected the wagon might be nearly empty.

  He nudged his heels into the roan’s sides and set him to a trot. Normally Balum liked to think things over for a while before making a decision. Right now though, he didn’t feel much like thinking. He felt like taking action. Maybe his blood was worked up after cavorting with Suzanne and Leigha. He didn’t know or care. He needed to see inside that wagon and he set himself to doing so.

  He rode closer, his blood pumping hard in his neck. Billy Gunter stared ahead in the saddle, daydreaming. Balum cut behind him by twenty yards and turned in line with the wagon.

  Being that close opened up the view of the other side. Frederick Nelson. He rode his horse alongside another rider Balum did not recognize. The two had been riding on the opposite side of the wagon the entire time. Suddenly, Balum found himself within yards of them.

  Being that close all the sudden, the men could sense it. Nelson turned his head and his companion did likewise. They jerked their mounts to a stop and pulled them around to face Balum.

  ‘You need something?’ growled Nelson.

  ‘Thought I’d take a ride to the front and say hello,’ said Balum. ‘Find out who’s all running this party. Young Mr. Gunter introduced himself to us this afternoon. Seems we should all get to know each other sooner rather than later.’

  When he finished speaking he turned his eyes to the older man beside Nelson. His beard was long and grey and his face pockmarked under the brim of his hat. He wore a confederate jacket, two rows of solid brass buttons stretching along his torso down to a faded red sash at his waist.

  The man eyed Balum silently. Nelson did the talking.

  ‘This is Major Shroud. He’s in charge as much as the Farro boys. And Gunter for that matter. Anything he tells you to do you snap to it. Major,’ Nelson looked at his partner, ‘this man here goes by Balum. Atkisson vouched for him so we took him along, but he’s got a checkered past. He’s a known killer. Isn’t that right Balum?’

  Nelson meant for his words to cut into Balum, and they did. It was no way to introduce a man, and Nelson had made sure to set the tone as to who held the power.

  Balum swallowed. He was worked up, just as Nelson intended. It would do no good to quarrel. As much as he would have liked to pull the man from his saddle and have him taste a couple blows from his knuckles, Balum knew full well what tune he needed to play.

  ‘I’ve had my share of troubles,’ said Balum. ‘As much as any other man. Now we’ve got a long trek ahead of us from here to Oregon, and I aim to see that what I’ve learned from those troubles can help us get through anything rough we encounter here.’

  It seemed a diplomatic thing to say. Major Shroud said nothing in response. He kept his gaze aimed at Balum from under the shadow of his hat brim.

  ‘You got anything else Balum, or are you through here?’ said Nelson.

  ‘Seems introductions have been made.’

  ‘Then you can ride on back to your wagon.’

  ‘I’ll do that. They’re quite a ways back. If any of you boys took an interest in seeing how these folks are getting along you’d notice they’re strung out for over two miles. Seems that would concern you, seeing as how you’ve already
lost one wagon train.’

  ‘How I run this company is my business Balum. You fall in line or get out of it, either way. If you’re so concerned with those greenhorns you can tell them to hurry it along.’

  ‘They’ve got overloaded wagons. Each one of them. They won’t be moving any faster until they unload some of their junk. Not like you boys. Seems you packed mighty light. That wagon hits a bump and it nearly leaves the ground.’

  Nelson and Major Shroud glanced around to the wagon moving away from them. When Nelson turned his head back to face Balum his face was flushed red.

  ‘You keep your goddamn nose out of my business Balum. Get back to your wagon.’

  Balum held his gaze for a moment. He looked over to Major Shroud and met the two hard eyes unflinching from beneath the hat brim.

  With nothing left to say he swung the roan around and left them there, well aware of their eyes on his back.

  12

  Joe stopped the wagon long enough for Balum to tie the roan to the trailing rope.

  ‘You must have a heavy load on your mind,’ said Joe, once Balum had taken his seat beside him.

  ‘How you figure?’ said Balum.

  ‘You wasted a good half hour flirting with the women on your way out. They didn’t get as much as a look and a smile on the way back. So as I said, you must have something heavy on the mind. Either that or those Eastern women got tired of your charms and told you to scram,’ Joe laughed.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘So let me have it.’

  Balum leaned against the backboard.

  ‘You ever hear of a Major Shroud?’

  Joe slid the leather reins from his fingers and passed them to Balum.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘That’s the fifth man.’

  Balum went into the details of his encounter with Nelson. He wished he had stuffed a plug of tobacco in his cheek before wrapping the leather loops through his fingers. Joe listened silently beside him. When Balum had finished he looked at his partner, but Joe said nothing.

  ‘You go mute for real this time?’ said Balum. ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘Five bad men and an empty wagon,’ said Joe.

  ‘Means they don’t plan on traveling very far.’

  ‘Or they thought ahead and decided not to buy supplies until Cheyenne. We’ll be there in a week.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You really think he massacred that entire expedition? No one got away?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How would he have done it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Take us right here,’ said Joe. ‘Two hundred people, easy. Greenhorns yes, but a fair amount are carrying weapons and they can all pull a trigger. How are five men going to get rid of that many people?’

  ‘Damn it Joe, I don’t know. But something's not right. Those men aren’t trail bosses or scouts or anything of the sort. They’re killers. No one’s making it to Oregon.’

  They rode in silence. Before evening settled in, the caravan stopped. Men, women and children slumped on the ground, finding it difficult to summon the energy to begin their nightly chores.

  Those in the extended Atkisson party fared little better. They had loaded their wagons just as heavily as the others, but had several spare horses so no one was made to walk. Still, their faces revealed their misery.

  Balum and Joe were quick to unhitch and care for the oxen. They led them to water and staked them in open grass. The two of them had been mindful to collect deadwood when they passed by it, and had gathered enough to begin a strong fire once they stopped. Of the more than seventy wagons present, none aside from Nelson’s had done the same. The beaten and weary bodies of the settlers were forced to walk far and wide to gather enough material for the dozens of cook fires needed.

  Joe and Balum worked efficiently. So much so that the Atkissons, Darrows, Ventons and Stantons could do little more than watch open-mouthed as fire was made, water boiled, and food prepared. The two had done it countless times before, albeit for a smaller group. They could see the fatigue in their companion’s faces and understood their hesitation in assuming tasks. They did not mistake it for laziness, knowing full well it was for lack of knowledge. They would learn soon enough.

  They also knew they were being watched, and enjoyed putting on a show. They had bacon frying, beans heating, cheese sliced and buttered, and even fried up some corn dodgers in a large skillet.

  ‘Alright,’ said Balum when the food was ready. ‘Quit your gawking and come and get it before it’s cold.’

  They filed in and piled their plates with food. Sitting together in a circle around the fire they made their appreciation to the two men known.

  Even Leigha. It perplexed her that such a rough man could also work so hard and do so much, and all of it seemingly with ease. It bothered her too, that her mind and her eyes kept returning to him throughout the day. They turned to him again once she had sat with the women to eat. They talked of what they might find in Oregon, the fashion they would miss from back East, and gossiped about other members of the expedition. But Leigha could not focus on the conversation. She glanced over to where Balum sat with her father. They were engaged in serious conversation, for she recognized the face her father made when dealing in important matters.

  Balum had made it a point to sit next to Jonathan Atkisson. His mind had been turning all afternoon over what he had seen earlier; Billy Gunter, Major Shroud, the light wagon. The more flags that went up the more he wondered just what the hell Pete Cafferty expected him to do. He wished he was back in Denver. At a card table, a whiskey shooter in front of him, and a woman on his lap.

  To stop his mind from churning he decided he would talk it out with Atkisson. Maybe the man would see things clearly if they were pointed out to him.

  ‘Eat till you’re stuffed Jonathan,’ said Balum, giving the man a bump with his elbow. ‘And no shame in throwing out the fork. You spend as long on the trail as Joe and I and you’ll be eating with your fingers.’

  Jonathan chuckled. ‘It would save on the washing up, would it not?’

  ‘Damn right. The going is hard enough already. And it won’t get any easier. About that, how confident are you in Nelson?’

  ‘Frederick? Why, what do you mean?’

  ‘That boy Billy Gunter that swung by earlier. He’s built himself up a reputation. Shot a couple men that weren’t hunting trouble. And the Farro brothers. Those are bad men, plain and simple. Murderers.’

  ‘Balum, I…’

  But Balum wasn’t through. He’d let his mind lose, and now his tongue was afire. ‘And have you ever heard of a Major Shroud? Did you know he was part of this expedition? What kind of a group has he got together? Nelson’s wagon is half empty--’

  ‘I have the utmost confidence,’ interrupted Atkisson. ‘He’s done a fine job as far as I can see, and I trust he knows how to pick his men. You say they’ve shot people. Ok. So have you, from the stories I hear.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘I don’t see that it is. If Nelson has done something worthy of concern I’ll hear it. But if all you have are complaints about the men he’s chosen, you’ll find my attention limited. It’s late. I thank you for the dinner, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Balum watched him as he left. The man was tired. Balum could see it in the way he walked. Tired or not though, he’d be wise to listen to the facts. Balum had said his peace though. And Atkisson was right; so far Nelson had done nothing wrong.

  He ate the last corn dodger and stared across the fire. On the other side sat Suzanne Darrow. She smiled at him.

  She could take his mind off things he thought. Just as it crossed his mind he noticed Leigha steal a glance at him as she retired to her wagon. That glance and Suzanne’s smile set his mind to burning in a whole different direction. Suzanne was voluptuous and willing. The fun he could have with her was not in doubt. But Leigha was something else. She was a beau
ty of independent temperament, and if she was ever to end up in his arms he knew the advances of Ms. Darrow, enticing as they were, would need rebutting.

  He stretched out in his blanket roll that night with Frederick Nelson far from his conscience.

  13

  They started the wagons moving at first light, with no more than coffee and dried biscuits for breakfast. It was Billy Gunter again who came through on his black mustang, his face pinched and ornery, harassing and cajoling the settlers to begin the march north.

  Balum and Joe paid him little mind. With a crack of the reins the team of oxen dug into their traces and set the wagon wheels to turning.

  Once set to motion, Balum leaned back on the driving bench and dug up a spot of tobacco. He offered the pouch to Joe and the two spat over the sides of the wagon as the early beams of sunlight cut through the morning fog and gave everything in their path an orange hue.

  To pass the time they set to debating at what point the settlers would begin lightening their wagons. It was not a question of if, but when. Balum, a gambler through and through, harangued Joe into placing a wager. Before the terms could be set however, the moment arrived.

  A wagon over eighteen feet long, its sides reinforced with iron rods, had started that morning near the head of the pack. A team of four mules pulled it. They were strong animals, well sized and accustomed to work. Their present task however, was too much.

  The family in ownership of the wagon had received no advice on how or what to pack. They had boxed every last item of their eastern lives into chests, and these chests had been loaded onto train cars and carried west over a thousand miles by steam engine. Arriving in Denver they had purchased the largest wagon for sale, and piled their massive chests into its bed. It took but one day to realize their error. By that second morning the wagon wheels were half buried in sod and the mules had stopped in despair.

  The chests began to drop. A few at first, and as the mules continued to struggle, more were pulled from the wagon. They fell to the ground; on their sides, upside down, their contents locked away inside.