by Peter Grant
Walt whistled appreciatively. “That’s a good profit in anyone’s language. I wish you luck.”
The other cocked his head. “You sound like a Southern man—middle south, maybe? I heard that accent in Virginia when I served in the Texas Brigade under General Hood during the war.”
“You’re right. I’m Walter Ames from Sparta, Tennessee. I served with the Second Tennessee, and later with the First Virginia Cavalry.”
“I’m Tyler Reese from Gainsville, Texas. Put ’er there.” They shook hands. “Any chance y’all might want to buy some beef? Biggest problem I got right now is that we’re short of spendin’ money. I need supplies for my cowboys, but the towns round here won’t let me sell cattle to get cash money to buy what we need. They keep tellin’ us our cattle carry disease. They look healthy enough to me, so I reckon it’s just another excuse for jayhawkers to make life difficult for us.” There was real anger in his voice.
“I may be able to help you there.” Walt glanced at the train boss. “What would you say to beef steak for supper?”
He could almost hear the waterfall of saliva in Jones’s voice as he replied, “I wouldn’t say a damned thing. My mouth would be too full to talk!” They all laughed.
“All right.” Walt looked back at the cowhand. “How much would it cost to buy, say, three yearling beeves from you, young enough to be tasty and tender?”
“How about five dollars a head?”
“Done. If you’ll point your herd to the east of our wagons, you’ll find good water by those trees.” He indicated a clump of trees in the distance. “If one or two of your cowhands can drive the three beeves over to us, I’m sure Mr. Jones here can arrange to slaughter them.”
“You bet I can!” Jones agreed. “Let me head back and set that up. I’ll also have our teams moved to grazin’ on the west side of the wagons.” Without waiting for a reply he whirled his horse and started back to the wagon train.
Walt waited until the company owner was out of earshot, then added, “I understand your need for ready cash. A lot of us Southerners have that problem these days. How many people do you need to feed?”
“I’ve got fifteen cowhands, two hoss wranglers and a cook. Fresh meat ain’t a problem, but all the other fixin’s are.”
“Uh-huh. Come over yourself when you deliver the cattle. I’ll take you on one side and give you two hundred and fifty dollars. That should buy you enough supplies to get you to Nebraska, where you can sell some cows to buy more. Do your shopping in Salina, just east of here. Don’t wait until you reach the railroad. Prices are much higher there.”
The man stared at him, astonished. “Ames, you don’t know me from Adam. Why would you give me so much money for no reason? I ain’t earned it, an’ if I don’t get this herd through, I can’t repay you, even if I can find you again.”
“Reese, a man from the Texas Brigade needs no further introduction. We both fought for what we believed was right. We lost. We’re going to have to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. You’re doing your best with what you have, just like me. One way or another, I’ve made a lot of money off the Yankees since the end of the war. I’m using it to head for Denver City in Colorado Territory with my wife, to make a fresh start out west. It seems fitting to me to try and help others who wore the gray. Don’t worry about repaying me. Instead, use the money to help other veterans in Texas when you get back. Help them get back on their feet too. If enough of us do that for each other, maybe one day the whole South will be able to get back on its feet again.”
The Texan heaved a long, low sigh of relief. “There ain’t enough words to thank you. I’ll do as you say. Here’s my hand on it. My cowhands will sure be grateful to you. I’ll try to send word to you in Denver City to let you know if we make it through an’ get home safe again.”
“Thanks. You can write me care of General Delivery at the Denver City post office.”
“I’ll do that. Iffen you want, you can get word to me at my spread, the TR Ranch outside Gainesville. It’s a small place, but I got plans for bigger things, iffen I can make enough money to afford ’em.”
As Walt rode back to the train, he saw that some of the teamsters were already moving the grazing teams across to the far side of the circle of wagons, out of the way of the approaching herd. Tom Jones rode out to meet him. “That was mighty generous of you, buyin’ those cattle for us.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m going to enjoy those steaks just as much as you are.”
“Yeah. Fresh cut, they’ll be tough, but we’ll cut ’em thick, then beat ’em between two rocks until they’re tender. It’s an old trail trick. You ever eaten sonofabitch stew?”
Walt stared. “What did you say?”
Jones laughed. “Range cooks make it out of all the bits of a cow you can think of, and some you can’t. They reckon to use everything but the horns, hooves, hide an’ holler. It’s pretty good. I’ll have some of my teamsters whomp up a few pots out of what’s left after we butcher those beeves for steak. We’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow afore we pull out.”
“I’ll look forward to it, but do please think of a better name for it. I can’t imagine what my wife will say if I ask her to eat something called that!”
The haulier laughed. “I’ll think of something. Son-of-a-gun stew, maybe?” He paused for a moment, looking reflectively at the approaching cattle. “I can’t blame the farmers in east Kansas for not wanting those cattle around them. They really do spread sickness, y’know. It’s what they call tick fever. The Texas cattle are mostly immune to it, but they carry the ticks with ’em. When the ticks drop off, they infect local cattle that ain’t immune. Several places are talkin’ about laws to keep ’em out.”
“That won’t work. The Texans aren’t going to stop bringing cattle north, if that’s the only thing they can do to earn money.”
“There’s a Chicago man, name of McCoy, who figures he’s found a way around the problem. He’s talkin’ about building cattle yards at Abilene, between Salina and Junction City, once the railroad reaches that far. He’s gonna advertise in Texas, encouragin’ ranchers to drive their herds to Red River Station on the border with Indian Territory, then north to Kansas. That way they’ll stay clear of the farmlands in east Kansas. As soon as they arrive at Abilene he’ll load their cattle onto trains headed for Chicago. That’ll free up space for more herds to take their place. He reckons if it catches on, he’ll move tens of thousands of head every year.”
Walt said soberly, “I hope his plans succeed. I’d hate to see another war break out over cattle ticks!”
―――――
Fort Ellsworth proved to be a dismal place, its buildings mostly sod huts and dugouts. The troops manning it gave the impression of being dispirited and demoralized by their living conditions, as well as the pressure they faced from Indians in the area. “They’re getting more active now summer’s here,” the garrison’s commanding officer explained to Tom Jones, who had called on him with his scouts and Walt in attendance to get the latest information about what lay ahead.
“Yeah, we saw those two groups camped next to the western side of the Fort,” Jones acknowledged. “Why are they here?”
“They’re Cheyenne an’ Arapaho huntin’ parties. They’re allowed to leave Indian Territory to hunt buffalo, so there’s nothing I can do about them. They camp here partly to avoid trouble with other tribes. They know the others won’t come too close to us.”
“I thought those tribes were fightin’ the army after the Sand Creek massacre?”
“The northern ones are. There are still groups of ’em in the south that aren’t. About the only way you can tell the difference is that hunters will pitch camp. Warriors on the warpath pitch into you instead.”
Jones grimaced. “Funny how their buffalo huntin’ often ends up with stock goin’ missin’, or a settler here an’ there raided by hostiles who never seem to get tracked down.”
“You said it, mister. There’s talk of getting their chief
s together here later this year, to try to make ’em see sense an’ keep their young men from raidin’. I’d guard your camp carefully if I were you. They may try to steal your horses an’ those of your escort. They’re real good at it.”
“Yeah, we’re used to that from last year. We’ll set watch every night to try to keep ’em out, but they’ve been known to sneak in between our pickets an’ get out again with a horse or two, right under our noses. It’s the damnedest thing.”
The officer nodded. “I’m told people are startin’ to use it as a verb—to ‘Injun up’ on somebody.”
“That’s not a bad way of puttin’ it. Say, what do you know about them closin’ Fort Fletcher?”
“They’ll be reopening it as Fort Hays, with new buildings and a much bigger garrison. The army is building up its presence to protect the railroad. There are plans for this place as well. It looks like it’ll be moved sometime in the next couple of years, and probably renamed as well, with a proper fort built to replace these dugouts and sod buildings. Can’t happen too soon, if you ask me. We need something more defensible. Injuns have raided us more than once. One time they stole all but two of our horses. How are we supposed to keep the area safe when we can’t even secure our own mounts?”
“Can’t argue with that. Any chance you can give us an escort through to Pond Creek Stage Station an’ back again?”
“Sorry, I can’t. It’s too far from here. They’d be gone for over a month at the peak of raidin’ season. I can’t spare them that long. I’ve got to escort the Butterfield stages through my area of responsibility. You’ve got that platoon from Fort Riley, though.”
“Yeah, but it’s only twenty men, an’ raw recruits to boot. Last year, when Butterfield’s big convoy pushed through from Atchison, he had two hundred and fifty men in the escort. Twenty ain’t much compared to that. I feel kinda naked.”
“Can’t blame you, but Butterfield had a couple o’ hundred wagons to take all the way to Denver City. You’ve only got thirty to take from here to Pond Creek. Also, part of that escort’s job was to improve the road an’ pick sites for more way stations. You won’t have to do any of that.”
“What about Injun trouble further out on the plains?”
“I figure it’s going to be a bad year. Satank’s already out raidin’. There’s also another young Kiowa buck who’s tryin’ to make a name for himself as a war leader. Apparently he got all swell-headed in the council one night an’ told Satank to his face that he an’ the other old chiefs were too soft on the whites. Said the old man’s medicine had gone bad. Seems Satank just sat back an’ listened, then told the youngster that if his medicine was so good, he should show them all, not just talk about it.”
Jones sniggered as the scouts smiled. “It’s not a good idea to tell a war chief like Satank to his face that you think he’s past it. Now that boy’s gotta produce the goods, or else!”
“Yeah, but that puts you in a spot. The Kiowa might figure that a thirty-wagon train will be easier pickin’s than a bigger army convoy later in the year, or an emigrant train with lots o’ armed men. Also, you offer a lot more loot than one of the regular stagecoaches from Atchison to Denver City. I’d say you’ll be a prime target.”
“Thanks for nothin’! What’s this young buck’s name, an’ how many men does he have?”
“Hunting Wolf. He’s said to be within a few days’ ride of here with thirty to forty men. Satank’s probably got twice that many. He’s ridin’ further west. As you get closer to Pond Creek, there may be Comanche bands roamin’ around lookin’ for trouble, too, just like they do every summer.”
“Looks like it’s gonna be an interestin’ trip.”
“Yeah. If I was you, I’d take along some of the teamsters you’d normally leave here to drive their wagons back once we’ve unloaded ’em. You might need their guns.”
“Yeah, but if we do that, their teams will be targets for thieves here. I’ll have to think about it.”
As they walked back to the wagons, Tad warned Walt, “If those Arapaho or Cheyenne come after hosses tonight, they’ll likely come after yours. You’re a softer target than the cavalry, to their way o’ thinkin’, an’ you’ve got seven. The train’s hosses are scattered around the circle, but yours are bunched together near your wagons. Makes them a prime target.”
“Yeah. I’ll warn Samson and Elijah to be alert tonight.” Walt gestured in frustration. “What gets me is that to those Indians, this is like a game. It’s a rite of passage, a stepping-stone for their youngsters on the way to becoming warriors.”
“That’s about the size of it. Their warriors will steal hosses too, but that tends to be on a raidin’ party where they’ll take anythin’ of value to ’em. If we see hoss thieves tonight, it’ll most likely be youngsters from them two huntin’ camps.”
“And it’s a game to them, even if they could get killed playing it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Damned if I can see it that way. I mean, if I kill one of them trying to steal a horse, won’t the rest of his people paint for war in revenge, and come after me an’ the wagon train?”
“You never know with Injuns. They might. Best to discourage the youngsters without killin’ ’em, if you can.”
“How can I do that?”
“Throw a hell of a fright into them. Do somethin’ that’ll scare the loincloths right off ’em. That’ll also make the others laugh ’emselves silly. Injuns have a pretty good sense of humor when it comes to seein’ someone make an ass of themselves.”
“Hmm… you know, that gives me an idea.” Walt turned to Tom Jones. “We’ll have the animals inside the circle of wagons tonight, won’t we?”
“In Injun country? If we put ’em out overnight to graze, we wouldn’t have any left by mornin’! I’ll have sentries on watch all night, too, an’ every night until we get to Pond Creek.”
“In that case, would you tell your teamsters to make sure the ropes between the wagons are properly rigged, to stop the mules getting out? The sentries should stand by for gunfire during the night, with some real big muzzle flashes. Their animals will probably get spooked, an’ they’ll have to calm them down.”
Jones stared. “Now just what have you got in mind, Ames?”
Walt explained, and the haulier’s grin grew broader as he listened. “Well, hell!” he exclaimed. “I jus’ might have to join in the fun myself!”
“Me too!” Tad volunteered with a laugh.
“You’re both welcome to help out. I have enough to go around. Of course, we don’t know if they’ll try anything, so we may be wasting our time.”
“If they do, it’ll prob’ly be round about midnight, to give ’em the rest of the night to get clear,” Tad advised. “If they leave it too late, a patrol might be able to catch up with ’em in the morning. We’ll find out soon enough.”
―――――
Samson and Elijah watched in astonishment as Walt pulled the buckshot from the first of the six short-barreled shotguns at his side, then reloaded it.
“Be dat a double charge o’ powder, suh?” Elijah asked.
“Yes, it is,” Walt answered as he rammed home a wad on top of it, then used one of Rose’s measuring cups to scoop up half an ounce of dried peas and pour them down the barrel.
“But, suh, peas ain’t gonna stop a hoss thief,” Samson pointed out, mystified.
“We don’t want to kill them, or even wound them. We just want to throw a good scare into any Indians that come calling tonight. Dried peas won’t do much damage, but they’ll sting something fierce.” Walt rammed a double wad down onto the peas to hold them in place, then leaned the shotgun against a wagon wheel and picked up the next one.
“Is it safe to double-charge them?” Rose asked dubiously.
“Safe enough. Don’t forget, these were originally muskets. Their barrels are much thicker than shotguns, so they can take the pressure. They normally fire an ounce of birdshot or buckshot, or a musket ball weighing a bit more, but
tonight they’ve got only half that weight of peas. They’ll kick a bit harder than usual, but they’ll also throw a great big muzzle flash.”
She began to smile. “And make a noise like a thunderclap?”
“I see you’re getting the idea.”
In the last of the light, Tad came over to join them. He was carrying a ball of thin twine and some old tin cans. “Ready?”
“Yes. Is that for what I think it’s for?” Walt asked.
“Yeah, it’s a warnin’ tripline. You used ’em afore?”
“Colonel Mosby’s people sometimes used ’em at night on the trails to some of their hiding places. I saw ’em do it when I carried messages to and from them. They’d run twine between bushes or branches, tie cans to it and put stones in the cans. Anyone stumblin’ around in the dark would disturb the twine and rattle the cans.”
“That’s right. We do the same thing, but in thick long grass like this it works even better. We tie the twine to clumps of it. If someone’s crawlin’ around on his belly, or his hands and knees, he’ll disturb the grass even if he don’t touch the tripline. That’ll make the cans rattle. When we hear the noise, we know where they’re comin’ from.”
“As long as it ain’t one of the soldiers from the fort or our escort, wanderin’ around.”
Tad shrugged. “If it is, he’s gonna learn real fast not to do that again! You pulled the buckshot outta your shotguns?”
“Five of them. I’m going to leave the buckshot in the last one, just in case.”
“Fair enough, but don’t mix it up with the others!”
“Nope, we just want to send them a message they’ll hear loud an’ clear.”
As soon as the light had faded completely, Tad went out to stretch the twine about ten yards from their wagons. At Walt’s request he took Samson and Elijah with him, to show them how to do it in case they needed to do so in future. They were back within fifteen minutes.
