Ralph Compton Brother's Keeper

by Ralph Compton

  “Well, I never,” Ursula said. “I’d be ashamed to run around in public with a name like that.”

  Just then an officer and a sergeant approached, along with a pair of enlisted men. Between them was someone in buckskins. At first Thal thought it was a scout. Then whispering broke out, and an emigrant near them declared, “I don’t believe it. That there is Martha Jane Canary.”

  “Calamity Jane?” another said.

  “The very same,” the man confirmed. “I saw her over to Cheyenne once when she got drunk and caused a ruckus in a saloon.”

  “She looks like a man,” Ursula said.

  Now that his sister mentioned it, Thal reflected, Calamity Jane did. Her hair was cut short and her baggy buckskins hid whatever curves and other female attributes she might have.

  “You’re definitely prettier than her, Miss Christie,” Ned spoke up. “No one would ever mistake you for a man unless they were addlepated.”

  “There’s a lot of that goin’ around,” Jesse Lee said drily.

  The officer and Charley Utter conversed. Utter kept shaking his head until finally the officer motioned at the sergeant and the sergeant motioned at the pair of enlisted men and they brought Calamity Jane up and left her standing beside Wild Bill, who ignored the fawning looks Jane gave him.

  “What do you reckon that’s all about?” Ned said.

  “Looks to me as if the army is passin’ her off to the expedition,” Crawford said, “and our leaders don’t want any part of her.”

  “The rest of this trip should be interestin’,” Ned said.

  Charley Utter had been elected train captain and did a superb job of riding up and down the line and keeping everyone on their toes against a possible Indian attack. Some thought it unlikely the Sioux would try anything, not when their party numbered over one hundred and thirty. Thal remembered Custer and the Seventh Calvary, and wasn’t so sure.

  They came to another ranch at Sage Creek, and some excitement was generated when it was discovered that Buffalo Billy Cody and some others had stopped there as well. Thal would have liked to meet the famous scout, but Cody spent all his time with Hickok and Utter and their entourage.

  Thal was more excited by something he witnessed the day before they were to enter the Black Hills proper. When the wagon train nooned, Wild Bill and a younger man known as White-Eye Anderson moved off a ways and Anderson commenced to set up empty bottles and other targets.

  Jesse Lee nudged Thal. “Let’s go have a look.”

  “Butt into Wild Bill Hickok’s business?” Thal said. “Are you loco?”

  “He’s only shootin’,” Jesse Lee said. “I’d like to see.”

  “So would I,” Ned said. “We could sort of drift over without makin’ nuisances of ourselves.”

  Others from the train were venturing near, so Thal gave in.

  Hickok didn’t pay any of them any mind. He appeared to be giving White-Eye Anderson instruction on how to shoot. Then it happened. Hickok faced the targets. His hands blurred, and he drew both pistols simultaneously. He preferred the reverse draw, or flip draw as some called it, and there was no one slicker.

  His Colts cracking, he fired without aiming. Bottles shattered and cans went flying. When he was done, applause broke out.

  Jesse Lee clapped the loudest. “Did you see?” he marveled. “Did you see how quick and sure he is?”

  “You’re quick too,” Crawford said.

  “I’m no Wild Bill,” Jesse Lee said.

  Ursula had folded her arms and was tapping her foot. “So he can squeeze a trigger and hits what he aims at? I’ll never understand why men make such a fuss over shooters.”

  “We do it for the same reason you females make a fuss over a handsome fella,” Crawford said.

  Ursula snickered. “Because you think shootists are handsome and you’d like to marry one someday?”

  Crawford turned a wonderful shade of red. “I never suggested any such thing, Miss Christie.”

  “Not all shootists are equal,” Ned said. “The best ones earn our respect because they’re so good at it. That’s all it is.”

  “Oh, pshaw,” Ursula teased. “Jesse Lee here practically worships Wild Bill Hickok.”

  “Not true, ma’am,” Jesse Lee said, sounding hurt. “The only one I worship is the Almighty.”

  “Let’s hope he’s watchin’ over us,” Ned said. “Tomorrow we reach the Black Hills, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

  “Amen to that,” Thal said.

  Chapter 15

  The Black Hills.

  From a distance they did indeed appear to be black, the result, Thal learned, of the heavy timber that covered their slopes. Word had it that the hills in their entirety encompassed some five thousand square miles. That was a lot of territory.

  Steve Utter mentioned to Thal that the highest of the hills was about seven thousand feet. The average was much less.

  To Thal they had a sinister air, but he told himself it was probably just his imagination.

  The Sioux had long claimed the Black Hills as their own. Not that long ago, the government had signed a treaty with them that had agreed, formally assigning the hills as Sioux territory. Whites under no circumstances were supposed to settle there.

  Barely eight years later, a Custer expedition found gold. No sooner did word get out than a horde of gold seekers swarmed in, so many that the army couldn’t possibly keep them all out, and gave up trying.

  The Sioux saw their sacred hills overrun, and didn’t like it one bit.

  There was irony in the fact that George Armstrong Custer, who in a sense brought about the ruination of the treaty, was slain by the Sioux and warriors from other tribes in the massacre at the Little Bighorn.

  For the Sioux, it was too little, too late. The Black Hills had been overrun. Dozens of camps and towns sprang up, and there was no stopping the influx of whites.

  The army went from protecting the Sioux from whites, to protecting the steady stream of inpouring hordes from the Sioux.

  From a legal perspective, though, the Black Hills were still Sioux territory. This meant that they weren’t part of the United States. They weren’t under the rule of common law. Or any law whatsoever. Which explained why the hills had become synonymous with lawlessness.

  Greed seldom brought out the best in people. Those flocking to the hills weren’t what churchgoers would call respectable. The prospectors and miners only cared about their precious yellow ore. The saloon owners and gamblers and doves who followed were out to take the gold that the prospectors found and the miners dug out of the ground, and make it their own.

  Thal’s mother had been right when she compared the Black Hills to Sodom and Gomorrah. Anything went, as the saying had it. Thievery, shootings, and knifings were commonplace. No one trusted anyone else, with good reason.

  All of this was on Thal’s mind as the wagon train lumbered deeper into the haunts of the godless.

  From a prospector, Thal and his friends learned that American City was in the north part of the hills, to the west of Deadwood, which was where the Utters and Wild Bill Hickok were bound.

  A lot of people and wagons left the train at Custer City. That was as far as they were going.

  Since the train arrived late in the day, Utter informed those going on that they would rest the night and head out early the next morning. He warned everyone to keep their purses and pokes close, and whatever they did, to not become drunk, or they might never leave.

  “That fella sure does exaggerate,” Ned said as the meeting broke up.

  “Do we stay with the wagons or do we take in the sights?” Crawford asked. “Me, I could go with a drink or three.”

  Thal wouldn’t mind at least one himself. But there was Ursula to think of. “You boys go ahead. I’ll stay here with my sister.”

  “Like Hades
you will,” Ursula said. “I won’t be the cause of spoiling your fun. If you want to go, go. I’ll be perfectly fine. I’ll visit with a few of the ladies and turn in early.”

  “I don’t know,” Thal said uncertainly. The notion of leaving her alone worried him.

  “Mr. Utter has posted a guard over the wagons,” Ursula mentioned, with a nod at a man with a rifle. “No one will bother me here, I assure you.”

  “I have an idea,” Crawford said. “Hold on a minute.” He turned and went to their horses.

  “What’s he up to?” Ned wondered.

  “With him it will be somethin’ practical,” Jesse Lee said. “That’s how he is.”

  The older puncher reappeared carrying the Henry he’d taken from the family of cutthroats on the prairie. Smiling, he held it out to Ursula. “For you,” he said.

  “You’re lending me your rifle? I doubt I’ll need it.”

  “It’s not mine,” Crawford said. “And I’m givin’ it to you, as a gift. I trust you can shoot? Or didn’t you ever learn?”

  “Pa taught me when I was knee-high to a calf,” Ursula said. “But I can’t take it.”

  “You’d refuse a present?” Crawford said, and shoved it into her hands. “It’s loaded. Anyone tries to trifle with you, show him that and he’ll make himself scarce.”

  “But, Mr. Soames—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer. Thal, help me out here. Tell your sister she shouldn’t be unarmed. If I had a spare revolver I’d give her that, but I don’t.”

  “Listen to him, sis. It can’t hurt to have it handy.”

  “What will the other women think? You don’t see any of them carrying guns,” Ursula argued.

  “Don’t fool yourself,” Crawford said. “A lot of doves carry derringers or pocket pistols. Those that don’t usually have knives. You need protection, and there’s nothin’ better than a gun when it comes to discouragin’ a bad man.”

  “That’s settled, then,” Ned said, even though it wasn’t. He nudged Jesse Lee, and the Southerner walked off with him but gave Ursula a look of regret. Crawford tagged along.

  “I’ll be right there,” Thal said to them, and touched his sister’s arm. “Be careful, you hear? Don’t leave the wagons, no matter what. We won’t be more than a couple of hours.”

  “Go have your fun,” Ursula said.

  Thal hesitated. That tiny voice was at work again, warning him not to. He silenced it and hastened to catch up to his friends.

  “Quit chewin’ on your lip,” Ned said. “She’ll be fine.”

  The sun had set, and lamps and lanterns were being lit all over Custer City. The first town to be formed in the hills, it didn’t have the reputation others did for thievery and bloodletting. Its main street was unique in that when they laid out the town, they made the street wide enough for a wagon with a full team to wheel completely around. Most of the buildings were wooden frame affairs, with false fronts and boardwalks, and there were a lot of log cabins.

  But precious few people.

  Thal had noticed on the way in that not many folks were out and about, and figured it was because it was the supper hour. But now the first saloon they came to was practically empty. An old man sat at a table playing solitaire, and that was it. They ambled to the bar and ordered drinks, and as the bearded bartender poured, Thal cleared his throat.

  “Where is everybody?”

  “You gents must be from that train that pulled in not long ago,” the barman said.

  “If we are, what about it?” Jesse Lee drawled.

  “It explains why you don’t know where everyone got to.” The barman finished filling their glasses and poured one for himself. “My name’s Jim, by the way.”

  “Did they all come down sick?” Ned joked.

  Jim shook his head. “A couple of months ago there were pretty near ten thousand people here, if you can believe it.”

  “I can’t,” Ned said.

  “Then they found gold up to Deadwood Gulch, and by the end of the week there weren’t twenty men and women left in all of Custer,” Jim related. “We’ve built back up some, since. Even got a school going. But we’re still short on citizens.”

  “That many left all at once?” Crawford said.

  “You had to be here to believe it,” Jim said. “They couldn’t pull up stakes fast enough. All they cared about was the gold. They left their cabins, their businesses, some of them. It was a stampede, I tell you.”

  “All because of the gold?” Ned said.

  “Mister, to most of these folks, gold is their god. It’s all they think about. All they dream about. They want to be rich, and they’ll do whatever they have to in order to make that come true. They’ll lie. They’ll cheat. They’ll kill.”

  Crawford chuckled. “Pardon my sayin’ so, but you don’t seem to have a very high opinion of your fellow man.”

  “Not high at all,” Jim replied. “Not after the things I’ve seen, and heard about.” He patted the bar and fondly gazed about the saloon. “I’m just glad I ended up here and not in some of the other camps and towns. Compared to places like Deadwood and American City, Custer City is tame.”

  Thal’s interest perked up. “American City? That’s where we’re bound. The four of us and my sister.”

  “Tell me it ain’t so,” the barman said.

  “We have to go,” Thal said.

  “And you’re taking your own sister? Don’t you care for her? You might as well put a gun to her head and squeeze the trigger. You’d be doing her a kindness.”

  “Here, now,” Ned said. “There’s no call for harsh talk like that.”

  “Harsh?” Jim said, and uttered a bark of a laugh. “Let me set you gents straight.” He paused. “American City is the worst place in these hills. All that greed I was telling you about? American City is rabid with it. The few good folks who have gone in never came out again. I should know. I had a friend who went there thinking to start his own saloon. The next time I saw him, he showed up here, a beaten man.”

  “I’d like to hear about it,” Thal said. The more he learned, the better he could protect his sister, and the sooner he might find his brother.

  “In American City it’s every man for himself. It’s run by a man who used to ride with William Quantrill, the Confederate guerilla.”

  “You don’t say,” Jesse Lee said.

  “So I’ve been told. But I’m not about to go up to the man and ask if it’s true. Trevor Galt surrounds himself with men as hard as he is. Nothing goes on in American City without his say-so. My friend who wanted his own saloon? When he first got there, Galt was friendly and cordial. He even helped my friend find the workers to build it. Then, when the saloon was ready to open, Galt told my friend he wanted fifty percent of the earnings. My friend refused, and Trevor had him beaten and thrown out of American City. When I saw him, his face was still swollen, his eyes were black and blue, and his nose had been broken. I offered to have him work for me, but he was so scared of Galt he was leaving the Black Hills and never coming back.”

  Thal mulled the information. “If this Trevor Galt is so terrible, why does anyone go there?”

  “Most don’t know how he is. They think American City isn’t any different or worse than any other camp. He’s clever, and doesn’t lord it over them where anyone can see, but he lords it just the same.”

  “I gather it’s not a safe place for women,” Thal said.

  “Haven’t you been listening? It’s not safe for anyone. If she was my sister, I wouldn’t take her anywhere near there.”

  Thal had a lot to ponder. Foremost was how to persuade Ursula not to go. She’d undoubtedly refuse to stay behind. He was still contemplating all that when they left the saloon and headed up the overly wide street.

  “You’ve been awful quiet for a while now, pard,” Ned mentioned.

 
“My sister,” Thal said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “We’re goin’ on to Deadwood, aren’t we?” Crawford said. “Why not put her up at a hotel or a boardinghouse, and the rest of us will go find your brother?”

  “I refuse to leave her by herself.”

  “Then one of us should stay with her,” Crawford said. “Problem solved.”

  “It would have to be me who stays,” Thal said, “and I’m the only one of us who knows my brother on sight.”

  “Why you?” Ned said. “You don’t trust your own friends?”

  “We’d never hurt Ursula,” Jesse Lee said. “Not in a million years.”

  “Flip a coin to decide which of us it will be,” Crawford proposed. “Another problem solved.”

  “I see what Jesse Lee means about you,” Thal said. He liked the older cowhands’ idea. Now all he had to do was convince Ursula.

  As if Crawford were reading his thoughts, he said, “It’ll take us a couple of days to get there. We’ll have more than enough time to convince her if all of us work on her together.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Jesse Lee said.

  “Not even when it’s for her own good?” Crawford said. “Which would you rather have? Her breathin’? Or six feet under?”

  “Breathin’ it is,” Thal said. “Whether she likes it or not.”

  Chapter 16

  Deadwood Gulch swarmed with human ants. No sooner had word spread about the gold that was found than the gulch was inundated in a flood of greed-spawned industry.

  Deadwood itself was a riotous confusion of growth that made Cheyenne seem tame by comparison. Tents and cabins were everywhere, while buildings sprouted right and left in a frenzy of construction.

  The Utter-Hickok expedition had no sooner arrived than it disbanded. Charley Utter and Wild Bill decided to take up residence in one of the sprawling tent cities, with Utter giving a parting wave as their wagon rolled off.