The Last River

by Leon Loy

  “Thank you, Mr. Rath. There’s one more thing; Sparrow has no idea that I am going to Fort Griffin. When it’s done, she can’t know about it.”

  “Well, she won’t hear it from me. I won’t be back in Dodge for months. My plan is to come back here for a spell after fetching my furnishings from the house in the Flat.”

  Rath turned, and started toward his store, then stopped. “I’m glad to know you’ll take more than an ax handle with you to Fort Griffin. But you might need more than that Smith & Wesson. Let’s add some artillery.”

  He watched for Caleb’s reaction, then added, “Ten gauge.”

  6

  O’Riley grunted as he rolled over to the edge of the bed. It took two tries to sit up, his large belly making it a chore. With his bulk out of the way, the woman who had been lying beside him jumped out of bed, clutching a stained towel between her legs.

  “Where are you goin’?” he growled. “Get back in bed.”

  She obeyed, head down, eyes avoiding his. “I thought we was done,” she said.

  “You can leave after I do,” he said, reaching for his trousers on the chair. He stared at them for a second and added, “Come over here and help me.”

  She slipped out and came around the end of the bed. Taking the trousers, she worked them over his feet and each huge leg. When she got them over his thighs, he pushed her away and pulled them up himself, thumbing the suspenders in place over his shoulders.

  “Put something on,” he said curtly.

  She hurried across the room, feet pattering on the wood floor. She turned away from him as she slipped on her dirty dress. The mirror over the night stand revealed a woman she no longer recognized. Once, she had been plump, and pretty. The gaunt figure she now saw in the mirror looked like an old woman.

  “You said you’d give me something to eat, after,” she said. She was hungry all the time, being fed only twice a day, and not much, when it came.

  He didn’t say anything, just buttoned his shirt, and looked around for his boots.

  “O’Riley, you said after we did it, you’d...”

  “I know damn well what I told you,” he snapped. “Go on back to your crib. I’ll have Eb bring you something.”

  She started for the door, then turned and forced a smile. “You was real good, Sir. Real good.”

  O’Riley grinned, showing uneven yellow teeth. “Say it like that every time, Rachel. Might make a real whore out of you yet. Go on, now.”

  “You won’t forget to send Eb with that food?” she said, then darted out of the room before he could say anything else.

  He finished stepping into his boots, already breaking into a sweat even though the morning was cool. He walked to the night stand and splashed a palm full of water from the basin over the top of his bald head.

  A thin, small-faced man appeared in the door. “You up, boss?” he said.

  O’Riley cocked his head sideways and looked at Eb like he was stupid.

  Eb laughed nervously. “Oh. You ready for breakfast, boss?”

  O’Riley wiped water from his face with his fingers and said, “Take Rachel a biscuit, and slap a little jam on it. I promised her something.”

  “It ain’t yet feeding time,” Eb said. He didn’t approve of special favors for the women, especially Rachel, whom he despised.

  O’Riley came to the door, and Eb stepped back. “What did I just tell you to do?” he said.

  “Yes, Sir, boss. One biscuit.”

  “With jam,” O’Riley said, walking past Eb and into the hallway.

  Eb hated all the whores O’Riley kept in the three cribs behind the cabin. It gave him pleasure to see them suffer. Whenever O’Riley wasn’t paying attention, he fed them less food than was allotted. He used to kick the girls around when he fed them, until the one in crib two told a customer that was how she got bruises on her legs. The customer told O’Riley, and O’Riley worked Eb over good. It wasn’t like O’Riley didn’t beat the whores himself. But he could do what he wanted, he owned them.

  Still, Eb found that holding back on the portions of food he brought them was having its effect; he was gradually starving the girls. So far, O’Riley hadn’t caught on. The way Eb figured it, the women were good for about two years before their condition weakened, and sickness of one kind or another took them. The lot behind the cribs already held the graves of three whores. That one last month didn’t wait to get sick; she drowned herself in the river.

  He went to the stove where he had laid out the skillet of biscuits, and dug one out. O’Riley had said to put some jam on it. The big man went out the door to relieve himself, so Eb skipped the jam. As he walked toward Rachel’s crib, he hawked and spit on the biscuit.

  Like Front Street in Dodge City, there was new construction all along Griffin Avenue, the main street in the Flat. In the twilight, Caleb counted seven saloons and two dance halls as he rode down the wide street on the chestnut stallion he’d borrowed from Charles Rath.

  The town spread out on a flat plain between the Clear Fork of Brazos River, and Fort Griffin on the hill. Most of the buildings had been erected along the Avenue, with a scattering of structures on a few side streets. Though more prosperous looking than Sweetwater, the Flat was not on the scale of Dodge City.

  He had noticed a dozen or so teepee lodges at the base of the hill below the fort. That would be where the Tonkawa scouts and their families lived. It would be good to see Job again. His plan was to seek out the Tonk scout alone, and give him the money he had promised to pay for the horse the scouts had provided Sparrow. That would have to wait until his mission was accomplished. Though he had let his beard grow long, and put on a little weight, Jefferson Miller’s scouts might still recognize him, and one of them might be tempted to let his true identity be known should they run into him—not something Caleb wanted to happen. The rangers from South Texas, who had let him go free on his promise to leave Texas, were not likely to be in Fort Griffin. At any rate, he didn’t intend to linger in town any longer than his purpose demanded.

  Down a side street he could see a hotel, and a livery barn across from it. He stabled the chestnut at the livery and entered the hotel, carrying his saddlebags. A woman with red cheeks and a double chin, wearing a wig of long blonde curls, sat behind the desk in the lobby. She was at least fifty, but the wig gave her an exaggerated girlish demeanor. She gave him a thorough looking over as he registered and paid for his room.

  “Haven’t seen you here before,” she said.

  He smiled and waited for her to hand him a key.

  “I don’t forget faces,” she added, “Ever.”

  “May I have the key to my room, please,” he said.

  She huffed, and found the key in its slot and handed it to him. “You don’t have to be short, mister.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, “It has been a long ride.” She made a little smile at his apology. “Is the dining room open?” he said, looking around.

  “Yes, Sir, it’s down the hall there. Just follow your nose.”

  Caleb found his room upstairs and unloaded his saddle bag. He took the porcelain bowl on the nightstand downstairs and asked for water. The receptionist said to leave it and that she would have someone fill it and take it to his room.

  There was a middle-aged couple seated at a table in the dining room. They looked at him with interest as he found a seat at a separate table. He nodded at them, and set his hat in the chair beside him. A delicious aroma filled the room.

  The shuffling of pots and pans came from behind a door opposite the one he came in. A minute later, a large woman with reddish hair dangling from under a bonnet came out and asked him what he wanted to order.

  “Whatever you have ready,” he said, trying to sound cheerful.

  She looked back at him. “But you don’t know what I have ready.”

  “Ma’am, whatever I s
mell will work just fine.”

  “That’s a venison roast you smell cooking,” she said. “And cabbage in bacon fat.”

  “That’s what I’ll have,” he said.

  “But that ain’t ready, yet. What is ready is beef stew from dinner, with potatoes and turnips.”

  Caleb said, “That will be just as good. I’ll have that.”

  She put a fist on her hip and said, “Those two are waiting for the venison.” She tossed a chin toward the couple.

  “We had the beef stew at dinner,” the man explained.

  “When will the venison roast be ready to eat?” Caleb said.

  “In about fifteen minutes, if you like it well done,” she said.

  Caleb turned toward the couple. “You folks like it well done?” he asked. The woman looked at the man, and shrugged her shoulders.

  “We like it cooked any way, as long as it ain’t beef stew,” the man said.

  “Then I’ll have some of the venison, too.” Caleb said. “You can bring it out now.”

  “It ain’t well done,” the cook said.

  “We’ll have it just like it is. Now.”

  She blew at a wisp of hair that had sprung loose from her bonnet, turned and went back through the door. They could hear her moving around in the kitchen, rattling plates and pans.

  The woman leaned toward Caleb and said in a low voice, “We have been waiting here for nearly an hour.”

  The man held up a pocket watch, and tapped it with a finger. “Fifty-six minutes, to be exact,” he said. “I would have ordered the damn roast raw, if I’d known how long it was going to take to cook it well done.”

  He put the watch away and introduced himself, “My name is William Redding, and this is my wife, Martha.”

  “Fred Green,” Caleb said, using his mother’s father’s name.

  “You new to Fort Griffin, Mr. Green?” William Redding asked.

  “Passing through,” Caleb said.

  “Martha and I live in Albany,” William said, “I’m on the county organization committee. We’re meeting with Sheriff Larn and some of the locals about making Albany the seat of Shackelford County. They aren’t very excited about it, seeing as they want it here. We were treated rather rudely today.”

  Caleb nodded politely. He really didn’t want to be pulled into a lengthy conversation, or reveal anything about himself.

  “Where are you passing through from?” William asked.

  “New Mexico Territory,” Caleb lied. “Headed back home to Arkansas.”

  The couple seemed fascinated by this information. “I came from Arkansas,” the man said. “Where ’bouts are you from?”

  “Pulaski County.”

  “Martha, did you hear that?” William said. “Mr. Green, that’s where I am from. There were some Greens near Little Rock. Had a grist mill on the Arkansas River. Any of your kin?”

  “Not likely,” Caleb said. He didn’t want to carry this on any longer than he had to. “We had a small farm. Small family.”

  The cook emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate in each hand, and one balanced on her large forearm. The plates were piled high with steaming chunks of roast and cabbage. She set two plates down in front of the couple, and one on Caleb’s table.

  “It ain’t cooked as much as it ought to be,” she said. “But you wanted it in a hurry.”

  He stood, picking up his plate. “Thank you. I’ll just take mine to my room. Please excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Redding.”

  “We were just getting acquainted,” Mr. Redding said. “Won’t you stay a bit longer?”

  “I am sorry,” Caleb said, “I have to get an early start in the morning. Good evening.”

  After he left the room, Martha Redding said, “Well, he wasn’t much friendlier than the rest of the folks around here.”

  Her husband nodded, and said loud enough so the cook could hear, “At least he got us our supper served before midnight.”

  7

  She left the McCartys’ and walked over the hill toward her house on the edge of town. Sparrow had not spent the night alone since Caleb left Dodge City with the Rath supply train. Dr. McCarty had arranged to have her horses fed, and on the occasions she went to check on them, he always drove her in his buggy. On this evening, she insisted on walking alone, against the McCartys’ advice.

  In the month Sparrow had stayed with them, Thomas McCarty had learned that it was not easy to win an argument with the young woman. Not that she was argumentative; determined was more accurate. When she set her mind, she was not easily dissuaded. He also understood why Caleb loved her so much. She was strong willed, yes, but she could soften in the blink of an eye when something moved her. It was not weakness, but a firm tenderness. When Sallie contracted bronchitis, she waited tirelessly on her, as well as tending to young Claude.

  It had surprised Thomas when Caleb volunteered to go with the supply train to Texas. Since Buck Hester’s assault on Sparrow in front of Rath’s store last fall, Caleb had hardly let her out of his sight. He had made the doctor promise that he would keep a close eye on his wife while he was gone. So, after waiting several minutes, Dr. McCarty set out on foot to follow her to ensure that she made it to her house safely.

  He caught sight of her where Second Avenue crossed Pine Street, keeping enough distance between them to not be discovered. There was brisk wagon traffic, as new houses were under construction on nearly every block. Some residents camped on the lots where their houses were being built. Sparrow walked briskly up the slope, and Thomas had to work to keep up. Though the sun was setting, the sky was still bright with violet light.

  As she reached Cedar Street, the doctor became aware that two men were also following her. He had not noticed them at first, but as she drew closer to her house, these men closed the distance behind her. Dr. McCarty didn’t like the look of it, and quickened his pace. Though the men had their backs to him, he thought there was something familiar about one of them.

  Sensing someone behind her, Sparrow glanced over her shoulder. Even from a distance, the doctor could see the alarm on her face. When she saw the two men, she started running, and they immediately launched after her. The doctor looked around. There was no one near enough he could call to for help. He set out at a run to catch up to them.

  One of the men reached toward Sparrow and grasped her arm, swinging her around. She demanded he let her go, and kicked at the second man as he drew near. Despite numerous blows from her fists and feet, the men wrestled her to the ground. One of them loosened a cord from his belt, and started tying her wrists behind her back. She screamed for help.

  Dr. McCarty caught up to them as they were cramming a bandana into her mouth. “Get away from her!” he demanded, grasping one of them by the arm.

  When the man turned to face him, the doctor recognized him as the drover who had assaulted Sparrow on the boardwalk in front of Rath’s store. He remembered his name was Buck Hester. He wished now he had let the man bleed to death, instead of removing the bullet from John Henry Holliday’s gun. The troublemaker was thought to have gone back to Texas. But here he was.

  “Hello, doctor,” Buck said, pulling a revolver from his belt and pointing it at Dr. McCarty’s chest. “Stand back, now, or I’ll shoot you.”

  This stopped the doctor in his tracks. His face warmed with anger. “Have you got a death wish, you fool? Harm Caleb’s wife and all kinds of hell will descend on you, not the least of which will be John Henry Holliday.”

  “That lunger ain’t half the hellion ya’ll think he is. I ain’t afraid of him.”

  “Never mind Holliday. If you don’t let her go, her husband will beat you senseless, and when he’s done, I will whip you to within an inch of your life with a bullwhip.”

  “That ain’t nice talk, doctor. Didn’t you take some kind of oath to help people?”

  “I wish I had let th
at bullet fester in your arm, oath be damned!”

  On the ground, Sparrow’s screams were muffled by the gag in her mouth. “Get her to her feet, Joe,” Buck said. Joe pulled her up roughly, and held onto her as she struggled against her bindings.

  “You best go back home, doctor,” Buck said.

  Dr. McCarty could see the desperation in Sparrow’s eyes. He thought he’d better try a different tactic.

  “She is my wife’s nurse,” he said. “I need her to help take care of our child.”

  Buck scoffed. “You let a half-breed red nigger around your young’n, you ought to be the one whipped.”

  “What are your intentions with her?”

  Buck laughed. “My intentions ain’t none of your business. But I can promise you this: I’m goin’ to love every minute of it.”

  “Damn you, Buck Hester,” Dr. McCarty said through clenched teeth. “You will regret the day you ever laid hands on Mrs. Thomason.”

  “I done paid a price for layin’ hands on her. My arm still ain’t right, and that was just for a kiss. Now I aim to get all that’s comin’ to me.”

  A rider leading a string of three horses approached from the open prairie, beyond where the street ended. Buck read the look on Dr. McCarty’s face.

  “Go ahead, call for help,” he said. “That’s my brother Harold. I don’t think he’ll be much help to you.”

  Despite his disappointment, Dr. McCarty set his jaw, and gave Buck Hester a defiant glare. “What’s next?” he said.

  “This,” Buck said, then struck the doctor over the head with the barrel of his gun. The doctor went down to his knees, stunned. He tried to get back on his feet, and Buck hit him again. He fell forward, unconscious.

  Sparrow fought frantically against Joe’s grip. She thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as the terror of being abducted once again tore through to her very core.