Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  The decision proved contagious. Nearly every wagon in the party was overloaded, and that first day had injected the realization into all of them that their possessions were too great in number and would need to be culled.

  Where the day before they had left nothing more than hoofprints and wheel ruts to mark their passing, the expedition now left a trail of refuse visible from a mile out. Cast iron stoves, pots and pans, pictures in frames, tables, chairs, childrens’ toys. They discarded clothing, shoes, books, until all that was left were those items essential to life, and small items of large value such as jewelry and coin money.

  Such was the minefield of discarded goods that Joe had to weave the oxen team through a crooked maze of abandoned memories. Discarded lives. There was no turning back now. The members of the Oregon Expedition, men, women and children, matured that day. They turned older, wiser, and their faces reflected the seriousness of their conviction. They were headed west now, the east forever behind them.

  Their days were not filled with boredom; they were filled with struggle. Those who had nursed visions of a tranquil ride atop a wagon, time in abundance to marvel at the beauty of nature, were quickly castigated. Time, it turned out, was short.

  Men and women, even children, found themselves in a constant state of labor. Things broke. Wagon wheels, harnesses, collars, girths and belly-bands. Wagons would sink into soft earth and become stuck, or run up against rocks the driver had not seen. They would need to be dug out by hand, pushed from behind and the animals urged forward.

  Preparing food, setting up and breaking camp, making fire, boiling water, bathing, washing, these actions took time that the day was reluctant to give. For those who had not banded together into small groups like the Atkisson party, their toil was eased by no-one. For the Atkissons, the Darrows, Stantons and Ventons, they found Balum’s advice that they stick together to be invaluable.

  On a particularly hot afternoon still several days outside Cheyenne, the mule team on the Stanton’s wagon stopped walking. They simply came to a standstill and put their heads down. By the time Balum and Joe had pulled up alongside, the rest of their party had already dismounted and ran through all the tricks they knew. They tried pulling at their bits, stinging them with a whip, and tempting them with water. They tried other tactics, none of any utility. The larger body of the expedition pulled away, and the Atkisson party was left stranded behind.

  ‘Hell of a wagon master he’s turning out to be,’ snapped Jeb Darrow. ‘You’d think someone would stop and lend a hand.’

  ‘I’m sure if he had seen us he would have sent help,’ Atkisson said in Nelson’s defense.

  ‘Well he can’t see too good from the front of the caravan, I’ll tell you that.’

  As Darrow let his thoughts be known, Joe took a length of rope from the wagon and walked to the front of the team. He ran a hand down one of the mule’s coats, then unhitched them and let the shafts fall to the ground on either side.

  He stood on the left side of the lead mule and crossed the reins over its neck. He tied the rope around its pastern and picked the right rein over the mule’s wither. He pulled it across her neck, pulling up on the rope at the same time, as if telling her to neck rein to the left. Immediately the mule was pulled off balance and dropped to the ground. He did the same with the rest of the team, and once they were all lying contently in the grass, he held his hand out to Michael Stanton for the whip.

  He cracked it once over the mules’ heads and jerked up one’s bridle. They stood as one, and with another crack of the whip he led them out from between the fallen shafts and away from the wagon. He walked them a short distance and turned them back around and marched them backwards between the shafts again. All of this he did in complete silence, and silently did the onlookers observe.

  The mules back in place, the men put their hands to work and in short time the team was hitched again. Joe put his hand through the lead bridle once more and again snapped the whip, this time giving a sharp tug to the bridle. The team lurched forward, jerking the wagon into motion. He handed the whip back to Stanton.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ said Stanton. ‘Thank you Joe.’

  They climbed aboard their wagons and put the teams back to a strong pace to catch up with the caravan.

  ‘Now there’s something I’ve never seen before,’ said Balum once they were moving again.

  ‘You know who taught me that? Will.’

  ‘That boy knows more about livestock than anyone I know. I’d like to stop by and see him and Charles. See how their ranch is doing.’

  ‘Seems like us being so close to Cheyenne you’d rather pay a visit to Angelique.’

  Balum didn’t respond. Joe looked over at him.

  ‘Fine by me. I’d like to see what those boys have got themselves into anyway.’

  14

  Less than a day out from Cheyenne, Nelson made an announcement. They had stopped near a river for lunch when he sent Billy and the Farro brothers to round up the men from each wagon. When they were gathered together he spoke clearly and to the point.

  ‘Cheyenne isn’t far from here, I’m sure you’ve realized by now. I want to make one thing clear. No matter how much of an itch you have, or how much your womenfolk pester you, there’s no need anyone going in. You stay put right here. If you need something urgent for the trip you can let Saul or Gus know about it and we’ll get it in one wagon.’

  Several voices raised in complaint. Nelson cut them off.

  ‘No is final. You go into town and you’ll be getting drunk, buying things you don’t need, getting homesick and slowing down the expedition. We find anyone in town and they’ll catch hell. We’re not moving any farther today, so enjoy the shade, stock up on water from the river, and rest up. Tomorrow we move out early.’

  There was plenty of grumbling, but nobody was going to buck Frederick Nelson. The men drifted back to their wagons and related the news to the women and children.

  ‘How about we take that ride,’ said Joe. ‘We’ll be a sore sight for Charles when we ride up.’

  They left the oxen staked and free from their harnesses. The wagon they left with the group, and rode north away from the caravan.

  Charles had bought land just west of Cheyenne. Neither Balum nor Joe knew exactly where it lay, but when they spotted cattle with a CW brand they knew they were close.

  What they rode up on they were not prepared for. The house was framed in but not yet fully constructed. A bunkhouse large enough to hold twenty men and a stable of twice the size however, were. A well had been sunk, and it was there they found Charles pulling water out of the bucket and wetting his throat.

  ‘Save some for us, would you Charles?’ said Balum. ‘It’s hot out there.’

  Charles dropped the water from the ladle and stared dumbfounded at the two riders in front of him. Then he grinned.

  ‘It ain’t cold, but it sure is wet. How the hell you boys doing?’

  He threw his arms open and when they dismounted he hugged them both in his jovial, open-hearted way.

  He gave them the tour of the ranch. As they rode he explained his reasoning, how he and Will had decided to buy land and cattle and start ranching as partners. They were close to the railheads, the land was good, and they had the capital to start something big.

  ‘It’s a hell of a feeling,’ said Charles, sitting proud in his saddle. ‘I can feel it all happening, right now. Times are changing, and if a man don’t put down roots and start building, he’s lost. Now have you two boys come to your senses and ridden out here to join up?’

  ‘I wish it were the case,’ said Balum. ‘We’ve got our heads dunked into a barrel of trouble.’

  ‘What do you say you tell it to me over supper? The house ain’t finished, but there’s a table inside and a stove that works. Will should be up soon, he’ll want to hear it.’

  They ate liver and onions topped with eggs. All washed down with whiskey. Charles wasn’t much of a drinker, nor Will or Joe, but the occasi
on was a special one.

  Balum explained Cafferty’s request over the dinner table. He laid out the details, as much as he knew them, and summed up what had happened since Denver. When he finished, Charles threw up his hands.

  ‘That’s the god damndest notion I’ve ever heard of. What the hell does Cafferty expect you to do? Prevent a massacre?’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Balum.

  ‘Why don’t you just arrest them all now? The whole gang of ‘em.’

  ‘They haven’t done anything illegal yet.’

  ‘Shit. Someone took a shot at you in Denver you say. That ain’t enough?’

  ‘No telling who it was.’

  Charles shook his head. ‘Be careful you two. Those wagons are going nowhere, and it’ll end bad. Wish I had better advice for you.’

  They poured their whiskey glasses full again, and in short time the conversation turned to merrier things. The kitchen filled itself with the noise of laughter, and men reminiscing of times gone by.

  By nightfall the whiskey was gone. Joe and Balum climbed inebriated into their saddles, and Charles slapped their mounts on the rumps and let out a drunken yell that filled the black night sky of the Wyoming Territory as the two galloped into its darkness.

  Less than a quarter mile out, Balum swung the roan eastward.

  ‘I’m going to Cheyenne,’ was all he said. He shouted the words, though Joe was right by his side. Joe pulled his horse up and watched his partner disappear across the rolling hills, then pointed his own horse back toward the wagon party. He did not worry for Balum. Drunk as he was, he could handle himself.

  Balum wasted no time. He had not set out for Cheyenne to drink, or to gamble, or to raise any hell at all.

  He went for Angelique.

  15

  He left the roan tied at the back door, just like old times. He slapped his palm against the wood frame. The sound of music and laughter could be heard through its cracks.

  It was Else who opened it. Just a crack, through which she peered, and when she saw who was on the other side she swung it open and stood open-mouthed in surprise.

  ‘Else!’ cried Balum, ‘Come here.’

  He grabbed her in his arms and lifted her up, kissing her on her mouth. When he set her down she slapped him with an open hand and laughed.

  ‘Balum,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘Goddamn, where’d you learn so much English all the sudden? I didn’t know I was coming either. Angelique here?’

  ‘Inside,’ she pointed down the short hallway.

  He gave her a pinch on the waist and pointed himself towards the curtain. He knew what to expect on the other side. He could hear it already. Angelique’s place was the only whorehouse in all of Cheyenne, and it was booming. The girls were plentiful, they were beautiful, and when a man found money in his pocket he was more than apt to spend it there.

  Pulling the curtain aside he stepped into a mass of people. There was no sitting room, and almost no standing room left either. The noise the crowd generated caused them to speak louder, which created more noise and formed a circle that had no end.

  A group of men directly on the other side of the curtain looked up at him when he stepped through. Their faces showed disappointment on seeing him, as they had each been hoping a girl would appear instead. Upon realizing who it was, however, they brightened up.

  ‘Look who it is!’ smiled one of them. Balum recognized him, but drunk as he was he couldn’t place him. The man raised his glass of liquor. ‘Our own town savior.’

  They raised their glasses to him and reached out to grab his shoulders and welcome him. It gave him a good feeling to be welcomed in such a way.

  ‘You come back to stay, Balum?’ asked the man. ‘You need any more dynamite it's on me, friend.’

  At this Balum looked at the man again. The shopkeeper from the munitions store. This man had risked his life when he had sold Balum that dynamite, and it had paid off.

  ‘Afraid not,’ said Balum. ‘Angelique around?’

  ‘Not staying?’ said another. ‘Where you off to this time?’

  Balum looked over the heads crammed into the bar room. ‘Huh?’ he said.

  ‘Where you going?’ they asked in slurred speech.

  ‘Wagon train to Oregon,’ he slurred back.

  ‘You’re part of that group?’ said the munitions shopkeeper. ‘Where were you for all the heavy lifting earlier? We could barely load that thing up. And those two brothers are some big boys.’

  ‘Where’s Angelique?’ Balum asked. His mind had locked onto one track, and it was there his attention stayed.

  ‘What do you folks need something like that for anyway,’ continued the munitions shopkeeper. ‘You planning on starting a war?’

  ‘Ain’t that her up at the bar?’ one of the men belched.

  ‘Hey, Balum’s got an itchin for Angelique,’ another shouted, and they laughed clumsily in their drunkenness.

  The man was right. She was there, behind the bar, her silken hair tied above her head. He pushed through the crowd away from the munitions shopkeeper and his friends. He squeezed through tables and past plump women and fought his way to Angelique.

  Her back was turned to him. He leaned against the bartop and watched her stack glasses on the shelving. He watched the sashay of her hips and the movement of her arms and shoulders, and felt a rush to hop the bar and take her there in his arms.

  When she turned around and saw him she snapped back, startled, and covered her mouth.

  ‘Balum,’ was all she said.

  She circled round the bartop to meet him on the other side, and there they embraced as if they were alone. As if the mass of drunkards shouting and belching and grabbing at the women had disappeared and left the two of them by themselves in the barroom, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  ‘You never told me you were coming,’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t know I was.’

  ‘Are you alright?’ she reached a hand out to touch his face with her fingertips.

  ‘I am now.’

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘Damn right.’

  She laughed. ‘Come with me. Let’s get away from these people for a moment.’

  She took his hand and led him towards the staircase. Her flesh was soft and warm and when he squeezed her fingers she squeezed back.

  He was lost. Oblivious to the townsfolk pressed together on all sides of him. His eyes had room only for Angelique in front of him, her small waist and neckline and the feel of her hand gripping his. So mesmerized was he by her backside as he stumbled drunkenly behind her that he failed to notice the Farro brothers as he passed by them. They, on the other hand, recognized him instantly.

  Gus’s hand shot out. The giant paw landed on Balum’s shoulder and pulled him backwards. His hand was ripped from Angelique’s.

  ‘Look what we got here,’ shouted Gus above the hum of the bar. ‘You see this Saul?’

  ‘Boy thinks he’s too good to follow orders,’ responded his brother. ‘Didn’t we tell you not to come into town? You was there at the meeting. You heard what Nelson said.’

  ‘What the hell you doing here?’ said Gus. ‘You following us?’

  ‘You been spying on us?’ said Saul. ‘What’d you see, huh? What’d you see?’

  Balum stared at them stupidly. The Farro brothers were not part of his plans that night. After Charles and Will and the whiskey, and Angelique’s soft whisper in his ear, he scarcely remembered the Oregon Expedition. It was removed from him, a fractured segment of his reality.

  He turned his head to look for Angelique. His mind was still occupied on the wrong point of focus. Gus rectified that.

  The man’s massive hand curled into a fist and swung into Balum’s gut like a cannon ball plowing into potash. It dropped him. He caught a boot toe in the same spot after he had spilled to the floor. The force of it threw him onto his back. He rolled with it and came up on his feet in just enough time to sides
tep Gus’s fist driving towards his face.

  The blow passed inches from Balum’s ear and he planted a foot and countered with a right hook of his own. It struck Gus Farro in the eye, but lacked the force to do lasting damage. Balum was drunk, and the punch to the gut had sapped him.

  The blow managed to send Gus backwards, but the man’s giant frame was only replaced with that of his brother; equally large and just as intent on crushing the man in front of him. He grabbed him in his hands, Balum’s punches landing with no effect, and threw him to the floor.

  They beat him, kicking their boots into his ribs and thighs. They stomped on his back and tripped over each other in their eagerness to destroy him. Balum brought his hands up to cover his skull, and rolled where he could to avoid a bootheel to the head until consciousness left him.

  The patrons of the establishment let the fight play out until his body lay still. Not a one enjoyed seeing the beating. Each yearned to stop the fight, but no one dared interfere with the Farro brothers until Balum lay limp, at which point they moved as one, putting bodies between the brothers and Balum. Men grabbed hold of him by the extremities and carried him back behind the curtain, through the short hallway, and into the kitchen at Angelique’s orders.

  Before lying him down to strip his bloodied clothes from his body, Angelique ordered the men out of the kitchen and out of the bar. The night was over.

  Else and Helene covered their half-naked bodies with coats and shawls and ran to fetch Doc Fryer. The other girls set water to boil, found what bandages were to be had, and brought lanterns and candles to cast light into the dark kitchen.

  Doc Fryer arrived in silence. When the girls began to jabber at him he waved them off. He placed his hat and bag on the table and set to inspecting his patient. It was not the first time he had been jarred awake by frantic pleas in the dark of night. In fact, it was all too common. But Balum was a familiar face, and though he would rather have spent the night asleep in his bed, he knew the debt Cheyenne owed the man.