“By luck, I think. I came down here to the Indian Lands, trying to find a white boy carrying a lot of guns. No one knew anything, until a trader about forty miles west of here had come across a band of Cherokee carrying Springfields. Then another trader about ten miles west of where I got captured actually traded with you for some pistols.”
“Mmh, Davis. He traded us a lot of cans of food for the two guns, a blanket, and some directions for Fort Gibson. I’m surprised he went west, not south.”
“I don’t know. He seemed nice enough, though. Just glad he was able to point me in the right direction.”
They reach the tent that Josh was staying in and he starts gathering his gear. “You said Liz got hurt. How, and how bad?”
Johnny explained what had happened in the intervening weeks since they'd seen each other while they gathered gear and saddled their horses.
Josh was just as surprised about the revelation of Liz’s family. As they ride out of the camp, Josh turns in the saddle and sighs. “For some reason, it feels like this will be the last time I will ever see them. Is it bad that I feel homesick already?”
Johnny and Josh ride hard for the next week, using back trails and going straight through the forest. They reasoned that they would be able to avoid anyone that is looking for them by not going down the established roads and paths.
It is close to the end of December, just before Christmas, that the two saddle-weary teenagers straggle into Springfield. Both boys still have enough gold on them to be able to rent a room at the Springfield Inn. According to how Johnny figures it, he left Pleasant Grove about a month earlier. They go down to Ma’s and inquire if anyone has asked after them. Johnny leaves a message with Ma herself, for anyone looking for him. Josh and Johnny spend the next three weeks there in Springfield. They celebrate Christmas in the hotel, since they get free wassail. They celebrate New Year’s at the saloon that Josh had spent so much time in.
Johnny checks in three times a day at Ma’s, every day. There’s still no word. After the first week, Johnny is nervous. By the end of the second week, Johnny is a wreck, a bundle of tension, nerves, and stress. Half-way into the second week, the weather turns sour. In the middle of the night on Wednesday, the snow starts falling.
Johnny and Josh originally decided to wait until the weather cleared up, but by the middle of their third week in Springfield, the snow has piled up to the rafters of most of the houses. It is the end of the third week when Johnny and Josh agree they needed to leave. They leave a note at Ma’s in case they miss Liz in the crossing.
They leave on a Saturday morning close to the middle of January 1861, with the wind and snow blowing wildly around them. They ride as best they can to the west in near white-out conditions. By the end of the morning, both boys are frozen. Their misery with the cold is seconded only by their concern that something may have happened to Liz. They are bundled up in their wool coats and keep moving, but are constantly afraid of freezing to death. They are on the trail for three days before they arrive at a town that looks quite familiar. It is a defeated couple of teenagers that check back in to the Springfield Inn.
It is just a few minutes before they ride back up to the inn that Johnny understands that they had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Especially considering that rather than coming in from the west to town, and they came in from the east. Johnny, while perplexed by this turn around, is more angry at himself that he wasted three days wandering around in a blizzard than anything else.
By mutual consent, the boys check back in to wait out the snow storm. They end up getting the last room. Johnny continues to check Ma’s three times a day, when the weather permits. They stay in Springfield for another two weeks without any word whatsoever. Without hearing from either Liz or her grandfather, Johnny becomes convinced that the world is out to keep them apart. He becomes increasingly despondent. His world has become so dark, in fact, that Josh begins worrying that Johnny would hurt himself or someone else. It was a last ditch effort that Josh took Johnny down to the saloon and got him roaring drunk after their third night back in Springfield.
The blizzard continues, but thankfully, the Saloon is next door to the hotel. The town marshal in Springfield helps string up lines helping people to not get lost. The world is muted by all the snow. This is, according to many of the people they spoke to, the worst blizzard in memory. It is during this time that Johnny experiences his first real hangover. The first morning of it, he awakes with the feeling of pounding and heat radiating from his head. He is certain he is going to die. He is violently ill all day and after swearing never to have another drink, or set foot in the saloon again. The following morning, Johnny feels worse, but knows a little better how to handle it. The hours start blending together so badly that Johnny can't tell what day it is by the end.
Josh wakes him on the final morning with the simple statement. “Well, I’ll be. It stopped snowing.”
Johnny rolls over and noisily vomits into the chamber pot. Several minutes after he stops, he realizes it has been a couple of days since he checked in at Ma’s. Guiltily, he resolves to feeling better, and to go check in once more. The two boys spend all morning drinking cold water and hot coffee. After a couple of hours, and a pot of coffee each, both are feeling as if they may be able to survive the interminable snow storm.
Johnny alleviates his feelings of guilt by checking in, and there is still no word. When he gets back to the room, the two boys sit down, and make plans as to how to proceed with the reunion with Liz. It isn't until the following morning, that they pack up and leave once more, the fear of the unknown gnawing at Johnny’s belly.
They ride out early in the morning toward the west. Without the sun being obscured in the clouds and the wind-driven sleet stinging their faces, they are able to tell where they are going much more easily. After being on the trail for three days, the boys come to the edge of the lands covered in snow by the blizzard.
The following day, they cross over the border into Kansas and back into the drought. Now that they know about the roadside wells, they are able to go from well to well, taking less than half the time that it took Johnny and Liz to get there.
Chapter 18
They arrive in Pleasant Grove on a chilly Sunday afternoon, close to the middle of February 1861. The first thing Johnny notices is how quiet things are in town. The next thing is how small the town looks compared to the last time he was here. As they ride through, many of the building look burned, as if there was a massive fire, but not massive enough to burn down the town entirely. Johnny sees where many of the buildings seem to have actually burned to the ground.
When they ride up to the burned outer shell that used to be Doc Bakker’s office, Johnny’s heart sinks. They immediately dismount and Johnny runs to the back where the doc kept his horses and saddles. He reaches the tack shed and sees it is burned down as well. As he is looking through the rubble, he spots the remains of two saddles in the room, one of which has the silver that he knew was on the back of Liz’s saddle.
Johnny’s heart sinks lower. Gorge rises to his throat. This was her saddle. He needs answers now. He needs to find his fiancé and her grandfather. He needs to track down whoever set this fire and make them understand what kind of grief they are putting him through. He goes back to where he left Josh with the horses and says, “We need answers. Something is obviously not right here and we need to know what happened.”
Josh nods. They both mount and ride over to the saloon located in a partially-burned building down the street. The saloon is bare. It is far more empty of décor than any other Johnny has ever seen. It’s also empty of people, save for the barkeep, cleaning behind the bar.
“Sorry, boys, unless you got gold up front, we don’t got anything to drink.” The bartender goes back to wiping down the bar and cleaning the glasses. The look of surprise on his face as the two boys walk up holding a gold twenty dollar piece each is almost comical. “Well, then! Gold is rare around here anymore, at least, that is, since the s
oldiers left.”
“We want a beer each, and some information, if you don’t mind,” Johnny replies, seating himself on one of four barstools that look like they might hold his weight. “You just said 'since the soldiers left'. Was there a garrison here?”
The bartender hands the boys their drinks and says, “Nah, just the Red-Legs. They were planning on wintering here, but after several of them got murdered, they arrested the town doctor, set fires that almost burned down the town, and left.”
Johnny is stunned at the statement. Josh sees the look on Johnny’s face, leans over a little bit and asks, “Well, is there a doc in town at all? Our ma is real sick and we need one.”
“Sorry, boys. This town hasn’t had one for nigh on two months now.”
Josh puts his elbow on the bar, and lays his chin on his palm, “Can ya tell us what happened? Why did they take him away, and did they take anyone else with him?”
“You seem real interested in the doc, why?”
“Truth is,” Johnny replies, hoping to draw the man out just a little more, “he’s part of my family and we just found him. We are hoping you can help us, since our ma really is sick, after all.”
At hearing the connection, the bartender blanches. He stops cleaning and looks to the two boys, trying to determine if they are telling the truth. Johnny, guessing what the bartender is trying to do, steels himself as best he can.
“You said he’s family? Last I heard, Doc Bakker had only one family member left and that was his granddaughter.”
“We’re from his wife’s side of the family. We come from Arkansas. His wife was our ma’s cousin, so it’s a little distant, but we would like to know what happened, if you could.”
“Well, I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come right out and say it. Doc Bakker was arrested and tried for murdering several of the Red-Legs. He was convicted by a military tribunal and hanged immediately after. His granddaughter was found guilty of being an accessory and shot. At least that’s what I heard.”
Johnny is stunned. She was gone. GONE! His love, his mate, gone! He can’t believe it. If there ever was a God, then damn him for doing this to me yet again. Why can’t I just be allowed to live and be happy?
Josh shrewdly looks at the bartender and says, “What do you mean, that's what you heard? Didn’t they do it here?”
“Nope. Once they arrested him and his granddaughter, they set fire to his office and it spread through town. Several of these animals stood just at the edges of town and pointed and laughed as our homes burned. This is all I could save after they busted my place up for a week, then torched the town. Anyway, they took the doctor and his granddaughter out into the prairie, where they held the tribunal, passed sentence and carried out the executions.”
Josh’s eyes narrow. “Did you see their bodies? Do you know for a fact they were killed?”
“See them myself? No, but Matt, the town blacksmith, did. He is at the western edge of town.”
Unable to help himself anymore, Johnny starts trembling, rage coursing through his body. Tears streaming down his face, he slams his fist down onto the bar. He holds it there for several moments before he lets loose a bellow, feeding his pain, anguish, and rage into it. Johnny takes his knife out and slashes his palm, to force some of his pain to become physical. Josh stands and tries to stop him but is too slow. Johnny clenches his fist and allows the blood to drip from it, fascinated by the sting of the pain. Physical pain is good. Mental pain is a sickness that needs to bleed out. It needs to bleed out of those that are causing him this anguish.
If only he had been here to keep Liz from being killed. There’s only one thing to be done. Johnny holds his bloody fist to his lips and mutters, “I swear on my blood, I will see every one of those bastards dead for taking her from me.”
Chapter 19
John is sitting in the chair, staring at the scar on his palm, tracing the line of it with his thumb, when he hears the noise. It sounds like a shuffling of feet coming up to the office door. The shuffling stops just in front of the door and John hears a timid knocking on it. “Mr. John? My name is Rebekah and I was sent by Doc Bakker with food for you and Jacobson.”
John warily stands and draws his gun. He cracks the door open to be presented with the sight of a beautiful young blonde in her twenties, carrying a large pot, several coffee cups, and spoons. John smells an inviting stew coming from inside the pot. He opens the door and allows the young lady in to set the pot down. He motions over to the side table. “I don’t trust the desk enough to set anything on it. That food smells way too good to waste on spilling it.”
“Sorry, it took me so long, but Doc Bakker said I needed to bring enough food for the two of you, for a couple of days. He also said I could settle up with you after he gets back, so don’t worry about the money.”
“Well, tell him I said thanks. It’s more than appreciated.” John starts dishing up both cups with stew. “This food smells heavenly. Did you cook it?” A nod is his answer. “Well, thank you. I will make sure you are well paid for this, Rebekah.”
Seeing this as her cue, the young lady flashes an endearing smile, gathers her skirts up, and hurries outside. The girl, beautiful as she is, reminds John of Liz. His heart aches at the memories of the shared sweetness. In fact, the girl could be Liz’s daughter, were Liz to have lived long enough to have birthed her.
Still leery of random acts of kindness, John takes the prisoner’s cup in to him. “Food is here,” John says as he enters, waking the surly prisoner. He places the cup by the bars of the cell as he had with the water. “You have Doc Bakker to thank for this. Eat up, I won’t have you saying I’m starvin' ya.” John turns around and goes back to the office to have a seat once more. After about five minutes, he hears the man in the cell slurping at his food. After another five minutes he hears the cup clatter against the cell bars. John waits for several more minutes before starting to eat his own stew, in case he hears the man gasping and choking from being poisoned. Even the most beautiful of honey bees hides a stinger after all.
Once John finishes his cup of delectable stew, he cleans out his cup and moves the pot over to the stove to make sure it stays warm. He walks back to the cell and once again sees Jacobson sound asleep. John picks up the coffee cup and goes back to the office. So much going on, it has to be nigh on midnight, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that by me. He is still so wound up, he doubts he will be able to sleep this night at all. At least he has food on his stomach now.
John places the cup by the others and sits back down at the desk. He stares at the stove once more, allowing the flames to dance for a long time before he closes the door and vent enough to allow the room to darken. He closes his eyes for a little while, giving them time to adjust to the lower lighting.
John puts his feet up on the rickety desk and leans back in the chair. He wonders how things are going with Red-Feather, or if Quan ever made it to the homestead. He knew Red-Feather’s plan for a buffalo ranch, but with all this claim jumping, as well as the lack of buffalo, the future perched precariously on a knife’s edge.
His musings are interrupted by the sound of a rooster crowing in the distance. John looks out the windows, hardly able to believe he has sat here all night. He hopes things are okay and the troops arrive quickly. He stands up and stokes the fire.
While he is crouched down by the stove, he hears a couple of knocks on the door. John stands and draws his gun as the door cracks open.
“Don’t shoot, it’s me, Doc Bakker,” John hears a low voice say from the door.
“Well, come on in.” John sees a rather bedraggled, sooty looking man enter the office. “What in tarnation happened to you?”
“I was on my way to go pick up that body, like I said I was, and saw a stake burning close-by.” He walks over to the water pail and rinses his hands, forearms and face, then shakes the water clear of his arms. “I’ll get you some more water in a bit. I rode over to the claim that was on fire. Don’t worry, it wasn�
�t your friend’s. It was the one to the north, the Johnston’s.” Doc Bakker seats himself at the desk. “They were attacked by bald-knobbers and had their claim papers stolen.”
“Just like the Ling Family. At least the bald-knobbers thought they got the Ling’s papers. I stopped by there a few days ago and they were real edgy. Did anyone die?”
“The father, Thomas. He tried to shoot them off his land. He might have gotten a couple of them before they killed him, but they took the bodies. A couple of the bald-knobbers took liberties with his wife, they beat his son to within an inch of his life and then they burned everything they could get their hands on. I was with Heart-of-Falcon and she says she will have the victims stay with her. She says Red-Feather will agree when he gets back from Norman, hopefully later today.”
“So Quan made it through to them? Good. Is he on his way back? I could use some help with watching my prisoner, after all.”
“No. He said something about needing to make sure everyone stayed safe. I see Rebekah has been here. Mind dishing me some of that grub up? Lunch was a long time ago.”
John nods and goes over to the stew and dishes one of the cups up with the steaming food.
“I asked Rebekah to drop this off for you, since I knew you weren’t going to be willing to leave for any reason. She has, as usual, outdone herself.” He moans to himself in delight at the food.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that? Not that I am complaining, mind you, but I have been on edge lately after all.” John rubs his face. “Did you want me to settle up with you or her on paying for the food?”
“Mmh. What?” Doc Bakker, who was staring into space blankly, comes to, eyes still unfocused. “Sorry, what was that you said?”
John asks, “How do you want me to pay for the food?”
The Marshal of Denver Page 9
