Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Whitcomb walked among the dead, nudging them with his boot. “I reckon that’s why they wouldn’t give up. If we took ’em back across the state line and throwed ’em in jail, they’d have lost all this stuff.”

  “They considered it worth the risk,” Grant said. “That was really stupid.”

  “How much more patrolling do we have left to do?” Grover asked.

  “We’re due back in Kansas day after tomorrow,” Grant replied. “I expect we’ll round up a few more Sooners before this is all done with.”

  The rest of the detachment was given permission to wander down and examine the macabre scene. They, like Sergeant Whitcomb, were saddened by the dead mules.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grant Hollings left the cavalry detachment to ride over to the McCracken wagon that stood among others lined up along the border between Kansas and the Medicine Bundle Grasslands. He held out his hand to his father-in-law. “Good luck, Luther.”

  “Thank you, son,” Luther replied. “This is the dream we brought with us all the way from Missouri.”

  Fionna added, “We’ve asked for a special blessing from the Lord on this day.”

  “I hope your prayers are answered,” Grant said, thinking that those of the Cherokees certainly hadn’t been.

  Luther nodded confidently. “This is the Lord’s will. It was destined to happen.”

  “Maybe so,” Grant remarked.

  Luther, with Fionna on the seat beside him, was among hundreds of people arranged in a single rank that stretched for five full miles. In less than an hour they would be turned loose to charge into the Medicine Bundle Grasslands to stake out claims for land.

  “They’s certainly lots of folks waiting to go,” Fionna said, glancing around.

  “Too bad they ain’t enough land for ever’body,” Luther remarked.

  “That’s why it’s going to be a virtual stampede,” Grant said. “I’ve been riding up and down the line here. There’re all sorts of vehicles, horses, and mules. Would you believe it? One fellow even has a bicycle.”

  Luther laughed. “I reckon he thinks the streets is already laid out in town.”

  “He’s going to have a bad day,” Grant said. He showed a serious expression. “Now you to be careful.”

  “We sure will, don’t you worry none about that,” Fionna assured him.

  “I’m going to try to keep an eye on you,” Grant said. “Rebecca is very concerned and she made me promise to stick as close as I could. She’s back at Widow Richardson’s worrying herself sick.” He looked at Luther. “She’s quite upset with you because you made her stay behind.”

  “I didn’t want her to come along for good reason,” Luther said. “This mule has enough to haul without another hunnerd pounds. We even stored some of our things in one of the sheds in Clarkville. We’ll come back for it later.”

  “I’ve also told Sergeant Whitcomb and Corporal Rawlings to check on you whenever they get a chance.”

  “Now, Grant, I ain’t so old yet that I cain’t take care of myself.”

  “I’ve seen bloody murder down there, Luther. And I’m afraid it won’t be coming to a stop for a while.”

  “The place I want to go is in a wide-open area,” Luther informed his son-in-law. “They ain’t no woods or gullies for bad folks to hide in.”

  Fionna gave her son-in-law a fond smile. “It’s nice of you to think of us, Grant. If any of your soljers come around after we’re camped, I’ll give ’em a good supper. You tell ’em so, hear?”

  “They’ll appreciate that, Mother McCracken.”

  “We were real sorry to hear about that poor soljer boy getting killed,” Luther said. “It musta been quite a fight.”

  “That goes to show you just how dangerous the situation can get, Luther,” Grant said. “When a group of armed soldiers can suffer a casualty, it means lone civilians will be even more vulnerable.”

  “Did you have a funeral for him out there?” Fionna asked.

  “We held a memorial service, Mother McCracken,” Grant said. “The men took the loss real hard. They bid goodbye to their friend by singing some of those moving spirituals they do so well. After that, we sent the remains back to Fort Gibson under escort for burial with honors.” He checked his watch. “Less than an hour to go.”

  “What’s the signal going to be?” Luther asked.

  “My bugler is going to sound Charge,” Grant said.

  “Wouldn’t a pistol shot be better?” Luther asked.

  Grant shook his head. “Somebody might take it into his head to start things a bit early with his own firearm. I doubt if anyone has a bugle and can blow Charge.”

  “What’s ‘at sound like?”

  Grant whistled the call. “When you hear those notes, whip that mule into a run.”

  “That I’ll do, son, even if that bugler is playing Turkey in the Straw. I don’t want to waste a minute heading for that place I picked out for our farm.”

  “I’m not surprised you’ve already chosen the exact spot you want,” Grant said. “I know from personal experience you’ve spent a lot of time on the Grasslands, so you must know the choicest parcel in the whole of the area.”

  Luther laughed aloud. “I won’t keep a secret from you.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward Grant. “I’m heading straight for a claim on that creek.”

  “It’ll be nice to be able to call on you down there without arresting you,” Grant said with a grin. “It makes it a lot easier to be a son-in-law.”

  Fionna laughed lightly, saying, “Well, arrest us or not, you and Rebecca is gonna be our first guests.”

  Marshal Nolan Sinclair, riding back and forth in front of the line of potential landowners, waved at Grant and the McCrackens as he passed by. He and a dozen marshals, including some specially sworn in just for the Run, had been keeping people from sneaking across onto the Grasslands throughout the previous night.

  It had become a sort of game when someone lost patience and crossed over. One of Grant’s troopers or Sinclair’s marshals always chased them back amid hoots and laughter from the others along the waiting line. It was good natured and harmless at that point, but the soldiers and lawmen were serious about keeping interlopers from entering the Grasslands too early.

  The shouts and loud conversation that had been going on all morning gradually lessened as mid-day approached. Everyone on the starting line was nervously restless, and they nodded to their neighbors, exchanging smiles and waves with calls of “Good luck!”

  In reality they were competitors and much of the old camaraderie of the Boomer camp was rapidly evaporating. They instinctively kept away from each other to avoid any squabbles with old friends who might want to claim the same plots of land.

  As the sun eased into a position directly overhead, an apprehensive stillness settled over the scene. The occasional stomping of a mule’s hoof or a horse’s snort were the only things breaking the silence. Grant checked his watch again. This time he kept it in his hand as he rode up to where Trumpeter Jones sat his horse just in front of the line. The field musician held his bugle with the bell resting on his thigh. Jones wet his lips. “Sir, this is gonna be something to see!”

  “I agree,” Grant said. “The big moment is drawing nigh.” He continued to study the face of his timepiece. Now he felt the tingling excitement that had become contagious. He turned his gaze to Jones. “Trumpeter, sound Charge!”

  The urgent notes of the bugle call echoed through the sky. A roaring shout and jolt of wagons ripped over the scene and the ground shook from the shock as hundreds of homesteaders leaped into the Run. They crossed into the Medicine Bundle Grasslands as a roaring mob.

  Now Grant and Jones were alone in an area that was rutted by tracks of vehicles. Jones shuddered. “That was kind of scary!”

  “It sure was,” Grant concurred. “Well! There’s no sense in staying here any longer.” The two cavalrymen galloped off to link up with the rest of the small command. It was going to be a long day for
the troopers.

  The Run continued as a mobile riot. Several horses were caught up in the insanity, and the crazed animals galloped through the mob. The vehicles they pulled eventually turned over to spill both humans and cargo to the ground. One man on horseback was thrown flailing onto the grass when his frightened mount bucked him off. He tried desperately to get to his feet, but a wagon rolled over him, crushing his legs. He was left shrieking his agony as he lay horribly maimed and ignored as the crowd swept past. By the time a couple of cavalrymen got to him, he had already died.

  Luther McCracken cracked the reins over the back of the old bay mule, heading for that parcel of land he had already picked out. Fionna, frightened witless by the roaring anarchy around her, held on and desperately prayed for their safety. Many of the land seekers had no idea where to go. They veered right and left, deciding to halt before considering that choicer parcels might be available farther on. All the stopping, starting, and changing of directions put them behind the mob.

  Those in the lead, like Luther McCracken, thundered past the area officially designated as the only new town allowed to be established on the Grasslands. The ,streets and blocks were already staked out. A half-dozen soldiers standing by in case of trouble recognized Luther’s wagon. They waved their wishes for good luck as he rolled past.

  Luther had hoped the new community would be called Boomer City as Ed Byron had named it before dying during the confrontation with Harknell’s cowboys. But the United States Government had already officially identified it as Medicine Bundle, Oklahoma Territory.

  Luther hauled back on the reins and turned in the direction he wanted to go. The old mule, as stubborn as could be expected from his species, was normally inclined toward slowness. But the hybrid had been caught up in the odors of fear and excitement. He strained in his traces, pulling the wagon like an animal half his age as he bounded across the prairie. The vehicle bounced, shook and rolled. The contents inside tipped over and slid from side-to-side with each wild maneuver. Fionna, expecting the conveyance to roll on its side at any moment, continued to grasp the seat, closing her eyes tight in fear.

  “There it is!” Luther yelled. “Thanks be to the Good Lord we still got a chance at it!” He turned again, following the course of the creek until he reached the place he had been looking for. A few other faster homesteaders had laid down stakes, but the exact spot he wanted was still standing empty to his direct front. He rolled to the top of a knoll and stepped down hard on the brake, fighting the mule to a complete stop.

  He reached down and grabbed an armful of stakes. Leaping off the wagon, he hit the ground running. One-by-one he drove the flagged devices into the ground as he ran around his claim. Although he had marked off no more than a farmyard, the law would recognize that the one hundred and sixty acres around it belonged to him. Fionna, still up on the wagon seat, looked down at her excited husband babbling to himself and laughing like an insane man. She was more than a little frightened by his behavior. “Is ever’thing all right, Luther?”

  “Ever’thing is wonderful! Wonderful!” he shouted. “This is it, Fionna! Our claim! Our property! Our farm! Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus!” He whirled around, dancing a little jig. “Where do you want the house? You just name the place! That’s for you to decide! Just point where you want it! Any place a’tall! Just let me know! Tell me where you want the house! Over there? Right here? Where? Tell me where you want the house!”

  “I want to catch my breath,” Fionna said. “That’s all I pray for right now.”

  Luther continued scampering around until his excitement could not contain the fatigue that suddenly swept over him. He stopped, still breathing heavily and grinning insanely. The combination of weariness and the realization he had finally gained what he wanted the most in the world drained his energy. He sank to a sitting position on the ground.

  “Luther! Are you all right?” He looked up at his wife, waved and nodded, then forced himself to stand. He staggered back to the wagon, waving happily at people going past on their own individual quests for good parcels of land. “Are you all right, Luther?” Fionna asked again. “Your face is as red as a beet.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, leaning against the vehicle. “I just went kind of crazy now that we’re here. Did you see the town? Wasn’t that a sight?”

  “I couldn’t see nothing,” Fionna said. “My eyes was shut tight.”

  “I think the first crop is gonna be corn,” Luther said. “Me and Silsby can —” He stopped talking, the realization that his son would not be there cutting deeply into his wild enthusiasm.

  Fionna smiled sadly at him. “Help me down, Luther.” He reached up and steadied his wife as she stepped to the ground. She dusted at her clothing, then walked slowly around the claim. “Where is the best place to sink a well?”

  “At the higher point,” he said indicating a rise. “We’ll put the outhouse farther down that other way so’s it’ll be a good ways from our water.”

  “Then our house should be right here.”

  Luther grinned slightly as the exuberance returned. “You’re standing in the parlor, ain’t you?”

  “This is the kitchen. The parlor is over yonder.”

  “Whatever you say, Ma!”

  “Well, we’re still gonna be living out of the wagon for a spell,” Fionna said. “We’ll need the tent too.”

  “I’ll set it up,” he responded with the sad feeling easing back a bit. The chore was something he and Silsby normally did together.

  Luther struggled with the tent for a half-hour before he finally asked Fionna to help him. All she could do was to keep the center pole from falling over as he ran around driving in the stakes. Because of the wobbling, Luther had to make a half dozen circuits adjusting and readjusting the tension on the ropes before the canvas dwelling stood properly taut.

  While the couple labored at establishing their preliminary abode on the claim, other land seekers went by in all directions as the last parcels of available land began to be filled. Those final bits of the Grasslands were the least desirable, but the slow or unlucky people who missed earlier opportunities had to take what was left.

  The long day eased to a close and the early evening found the Medicine Bundle Grasslands quiet and subdued. The wildlife disturbed by the invasion of settlers, tried to return to their normal routines. But many a campsite now forced timid birds and rodents to seek new nests and burrows while abandoning offspring that had only recently begun life on what would never again be an empty prairie.

  Grant Hollings and Marshal Nolan Sinclair had their hands full during those final moments in the proceedings. The two enforcers of the law and the men under their command were busy dealing with the desperate spasms of violence that occurred in almost every part of the Grasslands. Disagreements among the antagonists were settled on the spot through swift decisions by Grant and Sinclair. If it was impossible for a pair of belligerents to prove which one really had the legitimate claim, the representatives of Federal law kept the peace by guessing who the rightful owner was. On one occasion, Marshal Sinclair settled a dispute with the toss of a coin. But whether by decision or chance, any protesting loser was run off or arrested if his objections took on a threatening or dangerous tone.

  ~*~

  The dawn made its gradual appearance, and the initial dark pinkness faded away in the growing sunlight. The Medicine Bundle Grasslands were heavily dotted with hundreds of new farms on which their owners would soon be busy building houses, barns, and other structures. But at that moment the people had to live in wagons and tents rather than houses, and the smoke came from campfires not chimneys.

  Overnight the new town of Medicine Bundle, Oklahoma Territory had exploded into a population of 3,000 citizens. Lumber and other building material had come in with the new business entrepreneurs made up of lawyers, merchants, barbers, carpenters, bricklayers, and others who saw the new settlement’s great commercial potential. Arnold Blevins, the former sheriff of Clarkville, stuck to
his plans of seeking a more peaceful profession. He would be opening a general store with the backing of his brother in Newton.

  Medicine Bundle even had a bank, thought it consisted of no more than a single safe, a hired guard, and a tent. It sat on the corner of a staked out street in the new community’s business section.

  One fellow had quickly sunk a well on his residential property and began selling water for fifty cents a bucket. He made several hundred dollars before other new wells finally forced the price of his product down to nothing.

  Before the first week was out, permanent buildings began to appear in Medicine Bundle. Farmers like Luther McCracken established credit with what were now three local banks. They secured loans to provide the money to purchase goods needed to build on the farms. This badly needed material was hauled out to the new properties by the wagonload.

  Grant Hollings turned his command over to Lieutenant Bernie Glover. Grant, with authorization for a short furlough in his pocket, went to Clarkville to pick up Rebecca for the railroad journey to begin her new life as an army wife in Fort Gibson.

  It would be quite an experience for Rebecca who had never traveled in anything but a wagon. She and her husband would first take a stagecoach to Wichita, from where they would go by rail to Vinita in the Cherokee Nation. One more railroad trip down to Muskogee in the Creek Nation would mark the end of that mode of travel. That was where an army wagon would be dispatched to pick up the newlyweds for the short journey to Fort Gibson.

  Chapter Twenty

  The first time Rebecca McCracken Hollings became seriously upset with her husband occurred two weeks after their arrival to take up residence at Fort Gibson, Indian Territory. It wasn’t so much what he had done that earned him the ire of his new bride; it was what he had failed to do. Rebecca was also unhappy because she felt she had inadvertently shamed Grant in a social situation, although she had behaved in what she considered a most polite and proper manner.