The men went to Collier for orders and he made most of the decisions. Collier was quiet but it was a different sort of silence from Coolman's. While Coolman seemed sullen, Collier was pleasant and conversational. Collier liked and respected McKnight. He was brought to laughter often by the big hunter's humor.
The men replenished their water supply at Upper Spring and made their way to Middle Spring at a place called Point of Rocks, nothing more than a limestone outcropping on the Santa Fe Trail, it was come upon suddenly from the north. Both springs consisted of small ponds but Anson knew instinctively that they were important landmarks on the trail. After all of the talk he had heard about the Cimarron River during their time after the group had left the Arkansas, it was a pitiful body of water to be called a river. No more than ten feet wide and a few inches deep this stream hardly appeared important.
It was dark and the men settled into Middle Springs camp for the night. Collier suggested it was probably time to start having a night guard and suggested Anson take first watch. He eagerly accepted the duty and walked out to the edge of camp with his shotgun. After thrity minutes he heard someone approaching him from the camp.
"How are you doing, son?" Collier was smoking a pipe he usually reserved for evening camp.
"Fine, Mr. Collier, it seems real quiet."
"Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"
"No sir, not really."
Collier chuckled. "Well, at least you're honest."
Anson smiled. It was nice to have the company.
"You need to watch the mules and horses more than anything else. Indians aren't real fond of mules but they'll steal them if they get the chance. The men will usually say something and not try to conceal their movements when moving about during the night. With Injuns it'll be totally different. It will be more of a presence felt than any kind of noise. Don't shoot unless you feel you're really in danger if you should happen to think one is around. Back your way into camp and say something softly to either McKnight or me."
"Why don't you want me to shoot?"
"Several reasons, son. First, I don't want you to shoot me or one of the other fellows by accident. Second, I don't want any Indians shot unless it's an attack. Horse stealing is kind of a game with most of them and I would much rather lose an animal than have to deal with a bunch of pissed off redskins out for revenge over a killing. More often than not I can get an animal back by doing a little parlaying."
"You don't sound like you think they're very dangerous."
"Don't get me wrong, son. I know they are. But I also think foolish actions on our part are just as dangerous. We're on their land. We really have no right to be here. Most of them don't want to die any more than you or me. They'll deal if they can."
"Deal for what?"
"Whatever they think they can get. A little salt pork or beans will often go a long way toward keeping things peaceable."
"If that's the way you feel, Mr. Collier, why didn't we go with the Meyers group? Wouldn't that have been safer?"
"I don't think so. Too many men in that outfit I didn't know. One hothead can get the whole bunch scalped. No, I know these men in my crew. They'll do what they're told and won't push a fight. We're here to kill buffalo, not men."
"What about Mr. McKnight? The way he talks I figured we would be in a fight anytime now."
"Abraham talks a lot but don't take some of that stuff too seriously. He likes to hear what things sound like when he says them. Usually it's nothing more than that."
"You like him, don't ya?"
Collier knocked the ash from his pipe on the heel of his boot and smiled. "Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know. You seem so different."
"Abe McKnight is, in his own way, the most honest man that I have ever known. He's just what he appears to be. No secrets, no lies. If he thinks something, he says it. If we don't make more than five dollars off this trip, Abe will be satisfied with his twofifty. I have never known a more unselfish man. He won't blame or accuse. He'll just shrug his shoulders and make some crack about how his whores will go hungry this winter. The next year, he'll be ready to try it again. You won't meet many like Abe McKnight in your lifetime."
"What keeps people from pushing him around?"
"Don't get him wrong. Abe will fight. Especially if he thinks he's being treated unfairly. I've seen him send several men to their maker. Just as he won't lie, he won't tolerate liars. Just as he won't steal, he won't put up with a thief. It's just that he sees the world in a sort of childlike way. His feelings can get hurt easily, especially if he thinks he's been betrayed by a friend. When that happens, Abe McKnight can be a force to be reckoned with. God help the man who crosses him or someone he considers to be a friend."
"You like that in a man?"
"What better kind of man could you want?"
"I don't know," Anson said after some thought.
"I don't either. Well, enough of this. I'll have one of the men relieve you in an hour or so. Stay sharp and use your head."
"I will."
Collier turned and started back toward the fire. "I know you will.”
As he cradled the shotgun, Anson stared off into the partially moonlit landscape. He heard a coyote howling far in the distance. He thought hard about the conversation and it wasn't long before he wondered if he had just been given the lowdown on Abe McKnight or if it wasn't Collier he had really gotten to understand. He decided it was a little bit of both.
CHAPTER X
It was more than thirty miles southwest from Point of Rocks to Willow Bar. Early spring showers were beginning so water remained plentiful. At Willow Bar they turned straight south and ventured onto a featureless landscape of open plains. For several days there was virtually nothing on which to orient position. Collier positioned the tongue of the lead wagon south in relation to the north stage each night before settling down for the night. The land was laced with thousands of narrow buffalo traces, narrow trails made by eons of usage.
After several days, the land broke away into canyons and they crossed the North Canadian River. After that they spent several days of following Carrizo Creek south until it linked with the Canadian River. It was becoming a grueling journey and no buffalo were sighted. The valley of the Canadian was steep and narrow. They had some trouble getting the wagons across. They made camp on the south bank.
As evening fell, Anson found himself gazing mindlessly toward the vast horizon of featureless grassland to the south.
"Watch out, Spud, or you'll get eaten by the giant!" McKnight said.
"Giant? What giant?"
"It's said a man shouldn't let his mind wonder out here or he'll get swallowed up by the giant,” Stub Moore answered. “You were well on yer way."
"It's just that the whole thing is all so big. Just look at it!"
Collier walked to the boy's side. "It's the beginning of the Staked Plains, the Llano Estacado. It got it's name when the early Spanish and Indians drove stakes in the ground just so they could find their way across it. Hundreds of miles of nothing. Come on, boy, it's time to eat."
Moore handed the boy a plate of beans laced with a small amount of salt pork and a biscuit. Anson sat on the ground next to Tobe, and began eating.
McKnight made his way to the Dutch oven next to the fire and fished out another biscuit. "Yeah, it's all here. The giant, Starving Woman Flats, Tres Sangre, the Spanish Canyon, more legends than most any three of anywhere else. Better cover yer head when you sleep tonight, Spud, this yers a land of legends and ghosts. Why, even old Collier has a ghost wondering around out here somewhere."
Anson looked toward Collier sitting against his saddle. "What's he mean by that?"
"This is where my father disappeared almost forty years ago."
"Disappeared? How did he do that?"
Collier set his plate on the ground and got up to pour another cup of coffee from the boiling pot hanging from a tripod situated over the fire.
"My father was traveling wit
h a Santa Fe trader named David Waldo when he ran freight from Independence to Santa Fe. It was in '36', the year of the bad drought out here. His wagon broke an axle and the rest of Waldo's wagons went on because they were so short of water. Waldo left three men to help my father repair the wagon and follow on when the job was done. Waldo didn't find any water until he reached the Canadian Crossing, almost a hundred miles west. I guess it got so bad they killed their dogs and mules for the blood just to stay alive. He sent two riders back with pack mules loaded with water rations so my father could come on in with his wagon. When the riders got to where they should have been, they found sign that, for some reason, the wagon had veered south, right into the Llano. They searched for them but couldn't find anything. Waldo came back on the return trip and searched again. He found the wagon just sitting out there, full of freight and as good as new, but there was no sign of any of the men. I guess that's when the legend of the giant really started. The Llano or the giant, whatever you'd like to call it, just seemed to swallow them up."
“Gosh!"
"Collier's daddy and those men weren't the only ones to just disappear out here without a trace," McKnight said. "There's been a many an hombre come out here and never be seen or heard from again. Most of them were searching for Spanish Canyon."
"What's Spanish Canyon?" Anson asked.
McKnight tipped back his hat. "You mean to tell me you never heared of Spanish Canyon? Where ya been?"
Stub Moore plopped a heaping spoonful of beans on McKnight's plate. "Just tell the kid the story. We can do without the dramatics."
McKnight got down on one knee and stared at the boy. There was a moment of silence. McKnight's eyes gleamed the reflection of the fire. "They tell that the Conquistadors found it by accident when they got lost out here. They had been in a fight with Injuns and, during their getaway, they got all twisted around, sort of. Well, they came upon this canyon right smack in the middle of the Llano. They were part of ole Coronado's bunch and they had some gold and jewels fer tradin'. Anyhow, they came upon this canyon right where there shouldn't a been one. Told of a river that started and ended right in the canyon. They said it were a wonderful place, full a trees and game and fish and such. The river ended in a deep lake the was crystal blue and clear to the bottom! Well, they held up there fer a while to nurse their sick and hurt and ta get some eats. But they were so done in they decided ta leave that treasure, I guess worth millions, because of the weight and try to find some help. A few a them finally found ole Coronado. But damned if it ain't the way a things, they couldn't find their way back to the canyon."
"And? And what happened next?" Anson asked.
"Next! Damn, boy, ain't that enough? It's still out there, the canyon and the treasure! They say the Injuns know where it's at but none a them will go near it or tell it's whereabouts. I guess the canyon is sacred or something. Anyhow, the damn thing's full a ghosts of them that died there; them conquistadors that were hurt too bad ta go on. And they're out there protecting that treasure from anybody with the gumption to go a lookin' fer it."
"Gollee! I'd sure like to find that place."
McKnight screwed his hat down on his head. "That ain't the only story that's good. There's the time a bunch a Mexicans found this naked woman wondering about the Llano yelling and singing. She was a white woman so they say, though ya could hardly tell, cause she was burnt by the sun so bad. And, I guess when they found her, she was so grateful that......"
Collier interrupted. "I think that's enough fairy tales for one night, Abe. I saw some turkey sign down in the valley last night and I want Anson to take his shotgun down there early in the morning and see if he can get us one for our supper. You'll fill him so full a horseshit he won't get any sleep at all tonight."
"Horseshit is it? Well, horseshit or not, those are the stories, straight from the horse's mouth!"
"Horse's mouth or horse's ass, Abe?" Leo Grimes said.
The men started laughing, McKnight hardest of all.
Tobe placed his hand on Anson's shoulder. "Come on, let's get you into your blankets. It'll be a long day tomorrow and a turkey supper sounds just fine to me. Collier tells me you're death on them turkeys back in Missouri."
Anson smiled. "I guess I had to be. There was a lot a times that was all we had ta eat."
Tobe laughed and pulled the boy to his feet. "Well, that ain't all we got to eat, but if I don't get some solid food in my gut, other than beans and salt pork, I ain't a gawing to be able ta keep my trousers up!"
"What about my guard duty, Mr. Collier?"
Collier took out his pipe. "Don't worry about that, you just get us a turkey in the morning. Good night, son."
"Good night, Mr. Collier. Good night, fellows."
Tobe led the boy to his bedroll and bedded down next to him.
Anson folded his hands and rested them under his head as he stared into the stars. "Tobe?"
"What you want?"
"This is great. This is the greatest thing, I've ever done."
Tobe turned on his side, facing the boy. "You may not feel that way, once you start working them hides."
Anson smiled and closed his eyes. "I bet I still feel this way when it's all over."
Tobe smiled and pulled Anson's blanket a little farther up on him. "Maybe so, maybe so."
The rest of the men sat around the fire and stared into the dying flames. Coolman rose from his place and checked his revolver. "I'll take the boy's watch."
Collier knocked his empty pipe on his heel. Stub Moore sat down clumsily as he negotiated his peg leg out of the way. "McKnight?”
"What?"
"Just how grateful was that naked woman?"
CHAPTER XI
It was well before sunrise when Anson rolled out of his blankets. Stub Moore was just beginning to start a coffee fire. Axoll Mapes was standing guard by the mules and horses. Anson went straight to his wagon and fished out his powder horn and shot bag. He stuffed a handful of percussion caps in his pocket, picked up his shotgun and started out of camp. "I'm leaving camp, Mr. Mapes."
Axoll waved him on and went back to gathering up the hobbled stock.
Anson heard Stub Moore's voice. "You be careful. It's still pretty dark out there and that canyon's steep in places."
"I will," Anson said just before he stumbled over a choya. He had trouble finding a place to make his way down to the river bed. Once at the bottom he started upsteam working his way quietly along the edges. He had always hunted turkey in the timber and scrub forest of Missouri and wasn't sure how the birds would roost on this treeless plain. The best he could figure was most turkeys spent the nights along the edges of the cliffs. He hoped to find the birds while they were still roosting.
The sun was breaking the horizon he was able to see clearly when he heard the familiar gobbling and clucking. He edged against the canyon wall and scanned across the canyon. He strained to make out shapes along the river. He waited for more light as he listened to the rustling and scratching of the foraging birds. As the sky began turning from gray to a dark blue, Anson saw them. Barely perceptible black forms were moving among some scrub brush and sage along the river. The birds were moving downstream toward him so he decided to wait for a shot. He wished for his homemade slate call from Missouri. He took a comfortable position then eased his gun up to wait for a shot. His movements were slow and deliberate, those of an experienced turkey hunter who knew any sudden movement would alarm the wary birds. After a while he saw a Tom go into his strut. As the big turkey fanned his tail and stretched golden wing feathers to the ground, Anson placed the bead of his shotgun sight on the turkey's head. He pulled the trigger and thumbed back the hammer making none of the clicking noises of normal cocking. When the hammer was all the way back, he released the trigger and locked the hammer into firing position. He shot and as the smoke cleared he saw the large Tom flopping about on the ground.
The old Tom was dead by the time Anson had reloaded his gun and made his way down to it. It wasn't near
ly as large as back home but he was sure it was the largest in the flock. He picked up his turkey and realized just how far he had walked. It was at least two miles upstream and the bird was going to get pretty heavy before he made it back to camp. He heard horses coming down the canyon. He felt his heart pound as the fear of Indians grew in his mind. He looked around for a place to hide but there was nothing! He ran for the canyon wall. He was almost there when he heard a man call out. "Hold on there! Where yer gawing?"
Two men rode up with several dozen horses. Both were long haired, heavy bearded and dressed in ragged clothing. A boot of the larger man had the toe out of it and a dirty set of bare toes poked through. Anson stopped and smiled.
"Look yere, Syph! This yer feller's got himself a turkey bird!"
The second rider, a smaller man, pulled a revolver. "Yea, looks like we gonna have ourselves some fair vittles fer our breakfast."
" This turkey is spoken for. It's for some fellows," Anson said.
"Who says we was a talking about that turkey bird? Maybe we was a talking about you."
The larger man looked around and along the top of the canyon. "Now wait a minute there, Syph. Where'd ya supposen this feller came from?"
Syph stepped down from his. As he got closer, Anson noticed that under the layers of dirt on his face, there was a red rash covering his face and ears. He pointed his pistol in Anson's face. "I think it'd be best if'n ya dropped that there scattergun."
Anson let go of the gun and the bird.
Syph laughed. "I didn't a tell ya ta drop that there turkey bird! You must be stupid er som'um. Burdett, I'm a gonna kill this yer feller fer being so stupid."
Burdett laid a large hammered muzzleloader across his saddle. "Well, don't use yer pistol. Use my hatchet. He may have kin er somethin about."
"Yeah! That there's a good idea. Toss it to me.”
“ First, I want ya ta make him take them there clothes off. I don't want a bunch a blood all over em."
"You can't wear these clothes. They're too little even fer me."
Dodge City Page 5
