Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1)

by Peter Grant

  “What do you mean?”

  “Way we heard it, Hunting Wolf challenged Satank to his face. You finished that once and for all when you killed him, ’specially by killin’ his medicine first. Once word gets out about what happened, the other young bucks are gonna get the message loud an’ clear: it just ain’t healthy to challenge Satank. They’ll shut up an’ stay shut for at least the next year or two. I reckon he’s grateful to ya for that, even though he’d never come out an’ say it. I daresay that’s the real reason he gave us free passage. It’s his way o’ thankin’ you.”

  Walt shrugged. “Well, let’s take advantage of it. The sun’s getting high already, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

  ―――――

  They rolled into the Pond Creek Stage Station five days later. It was late afternoon by the time they formed the wagon circle beside its buildings. The commanding officer of the army garrison, Captain Gordon, came out to meet them, rubbing his hands in satisfaction.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you,” he told Tom Jones. “We’ve been getting low on ammunition, and that just won’t do. We send out more escorts for wagon trains and stagecoaches than any other army post on the Smoky Hill Trail, and have more trouble with Indians too. They already call this ‘the fightingest fort in the west’, even though we aren’t a proper fort yet. They’re about to build one a short distance from here. It’ll be called Fort Wallace. It can’t happen too soon for me. Most of my men are still living in tents.”

  “I guess that’s why they sent us out with fast mule wagons ahead of the regular ox-drawn summer wagon trains,” Jones replied. “We’ve got rifle an’ revolver ammunition for you, plus a lot of other supplies.”

  “We’ll start unloading it all first thing tomorrow morning,” the captain promised.

  Walt said, “Sir, my wife and I will be going on to Denver City. D’you know when the next wagon train is due? We’d like to join it while crossing Colorado Territory. I hear tell the Cheyenne are raiding there.”

  “They are. They’ve never forgiven or forgotten the Sand Creek Massacre back in ’64. Trouble is, they blame us for it even though Federal troops weren’t involved—it was Colorado militia. As far as the Indians are concerned, a bluecoat’s a bluecoat. If that damned Colonel Chivington hadn’t roused the northern Cheyenne and Arapaho to seek revenge, we might be at peace with them today and you could have travelled to Denver City in perfect safety.”

  He looked for a moment as if he wanted to spit in frustration, then visibly controlled himself as he shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Ames, I didn’t mean to sound off like that. I don’t know when the next wagon train will get here, but it shouldn’t take long. I expect you’ll be welcome to join them. If you’d like to pitch camp to one side of the stage station to wait for it, that’ll be in order. There are already a couple of others doing likewise.” He nodded to two wagons parked out on the grass, about a hundred feet from the nearest building.

  “Is it safe to have our animals out there at night, Sir?”

  “Not always, but at present we don’t have much Indian trouble nearby. That can change overnight, of course. If it does, you can move closer in.”

  Walt and Rose spent their last night in the circle of wagons talking with Tom Jones and Tad, reminiscing about the adventures of the journey. They all laughed as they recalled the incident at Fort Ellsworth that had led to Walt getting his new Indian name. Jones said with a grin, “I wonder if those Cheyenne are still running?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Tad agreed, chuckling. “I’ve never seen so much muzzle blast before! I’ll bet only half that double charge of powder burned in those short barrels. The rest must have kept on burning after it went out the muzzle.”

  “I’m real glad you had those Henrys along,” Jones remarked. “They saved our butts when you an’ your teamsters opened up on those Injuns. First time I’ve heard a few of those rifles firing together like that. I reckon the three of you put out as many rounds as all the rest of us put together by the time the Injuns broke off their attack. Matter of fact, I’m worried about headin’ back without you. Reckon I’ll have to buy some Henrys for my wagon trains as soon as I get back to Topeka. They’re expensive, but they make a hell of a difference in a fight.”

  “Yeah,” Tad agreed soberly. “I may have to ask you for an advance on my pay, boss. I don’t want to do another scoutin’ trip without one.”

  Walt glanced at Rose, raising his eyebrows. She immediately divined what he was thinking, and nodded, smiling. He came to his feet, walked over to their ambulance, and took the spare Henry rifle and four boxes of ammunition from beneath their bed. Walking back to the fire, he handed them to Tad. “You’ve taught me the ways of the plains, and helped keep all of us alive. I reckon Rose and I owe you for that. It’s yours.”

  Tad’s jaw dropped. “I can’t take this! You may need it.”

  “Naw, we can spare it. Between us we have five; one apiece, and that spare rifle. There are only four of us, and we’re well over halfway to Denver City, so I reckon we probably won’t need that one.”

  “I… I dunno how to thank you, Ames. This might just make the difference between livin’ an’ dyin’ out here.”

  “You can thank us by staying alive, and teaching others what you’ve taught us.”

  Jones grinned. “I’m thankin’ you, too. It’ll be good to have a Henry on hand for the journey back. I’ll give you some extra oats for your hosses. We got plenty left, thanks to that midnight resupply at Fort Riley.” They all smiled at the memory.

  “Thanks. I like to give half a nosebag-full to each horse at least twice a week, to keep their strength up. It’s hard work for them, pulling our wagons or carrying riders every day for weeks on end. They’re going to be pretty tired by the time we get to Denver City.”

  Next morning, while the freight wagons were offloaded into the stage station’s storehouses, Walt, Rose, Samson and Elijah went through their wagon and ambulance, checking their supplies. “It’s better than I’d thought,” Rose observed as she paused for breath, rearranging a wisp of hair that had come loose and was waving over her forehead. “We’re almost two-thirds of the way to Denver City, and still have half the food we brought. I just wish we could get some fresh fruit and vegetables.”

  Walt shrugged. “There’s none grown around here, I’m afraid. Everything’s dried or pickled. I hope we’ll be able to find some at towns in Colorado Territory.”

  “We still got plenny o’ bullets, suh,” Samson pointed out with a grin. “You shootin’ dat med’cine bundle out o’ dat Injun’s hands sure saved us a lot o’ fightin’ de rest ob de way. It was harder las’ year over dat same stretch.”

  “It sho’ was,” Elijah agreed fervently. “We had to fight to get here, an’ fight to get back again, too.”

  “I’d better make sure Tad has plenty of ammunition for his Henry, then, just in case,” Walt decided. He set aside another two hundred rounds to give to the scout. That still left them with the best part of two thousand .44 rimfire cartridges for the trip to Denver City.

  Tom gave Walt two fifty-pound sacks of oats for the horses. He waved aside his offer of payment. “We probably wouldn’t have made it through that Injun raid without takin’ casualties, but for your help, an’ you gave Tad that Henry. I’d say you’ve earned this an’ more.”

  Rose visited the army’s kitchens in search of fresh food, but returned looking disgusted and outraged. “I don’t think they’ve ever even heard of basic cleanliness!” she fumed. “There’s rotting food in the storeroom, the kitchen floor hasn’t been cleaned in weeks, the pots and pans are filthy, and the cooks stink of stale food and sweat! Their clothes are sticky with dirt and grease, and their hands are filthy. No wonder the soldiers here have problems with the flux!”

  “Better tell Tom not to let his teamsters eat there,” Walt advised. “He needs them all in good shape for the return journey.”

  “I’ll do that right now!” She d
id, and the company owner duly warned his drivers to eat only at their own fires.

  Fires proved to be a problem too, as fuel was in very short supply. Captain Gordon offered Tom Jones a lucrative contract to send the first ten wagons to be offloaded to cut firewood twenty miles away, as most of the trees closer to the station had already been cut down. He couldn’t pay in cash, but offered a US Government note to be paid at Fort Riley. Jones accepted, and sent the wagons off under military escort. Walt didn’t know when the next wagon train would arrive, and knew that they might have a long wait, so he unloaded his wagon, storing its contents in and underneath the ambulance, and sent Samson and Elijah along to bring back a load of wood for their own use.

  While they waited for the return of the wood party, Walt was summoned to Captain Gordon’s office. He found Sergeant Buell there. They grinned at each other as they shook hands.

  “Sergeant Buell has good things to say about you,” the captain began. “He’s been telling me how you helped him whip his recruits into shape on the journey here. He says you supplied him with all the ammunition he needed to train them, and helped instruct them as well. He speaks well of your fighting skills. He also says you were a sergeant with the rebel cavalry during the war, and a scout and courier.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Walt waited expectantly, curious to know what the captain had in mind.

  “Have you ever considered enlisting in the US Army? We need experienced men, and a number of former Confederates have already joined us. I can offer you corporal’s rank right away, based on what Sergeant Buell tells me, and I’m sure you’d earn sergeant’s stripes again in a matter of months.”

  Walt couldn’t help laughing. “Thanks, sir, but no, thank you. What would my wife do if I enlisted out here?”

  “I suppose that would be a problem. We have no other families living here yet. Very well, I’m sorry you can’t accept, but in case you ever change your mind, I’m going to give you this letter.” He handed over a sheet of paper. “It states that you’ve rendered valuable assistance to the US Army in training and equipping its recruits, and that you helped them to fight off an Indian attack while on the way here. If you ever need assistance from the army, show that to the officer in command.”

  “Thanks very much, sir,” Walt acknowledged, genuinely grateful. “I’ll keep it safe.”

  When he showed it to Rose that afternoon, she couldn’t help chuckling. “What is it?” he asked, bristling slightly.

  “I was thinking of that letter of recommendation you showed on the riverboat. At least this one’s real!”

  He grinned. “Yeah. If anyone checks up on this, it’ll pass muster.”

  “The other one won’t. You’d better burn it, just in case.”

  “I did that back in St. Louis before we left.”

  “You never told me that!”

  “Didn’t think it was important.” He still hadn’t told her about his second encounter with the gambler and his accomplice, either. He figured he probably never would.

  “Oh. All right… but to think of you in Union blue!” She shook her head. “I’m glad you turned them down, Walter Ames. I wouldn’t want to be married to a blue-belly.”

  He nodded. “That captain surely meant it kindly, but I’ll join the Kiowa and go half-naked before I’ll ever wear that uniform.”

  “And I’ll go with you!” Rose said, fiercely.

  Walt couldn’t help but smile at the Southern pride burning in her eyes. If ever he’d wondered if he’d done the right thing by marrying her, he didn’t anymore.

  ―――――

  Five days after Tom Jones left with his wagons and Sergeant Buell’s platoon on the long journey back to Fort Ellsworth, a patrol came in with news that a big ox-wagon train was only a day out, headed through to Denver City. “They’re loaded down with heavy equipment for the mines,” the sergeant in charge of the patrol told Walt. “They’re havin’ real trouble with one big boiler. It’s got to weigh three, maybe four thousand pounds if it’s an ounce, and the wagon carryin’ it is founderin’. It’s already broken two axles and a wheel. It just can’t take the load.”

  “Can’t they fix it?”

  “They have, three times already, but it keeps breakin’ down. I reckon they may have to abandon it here. I don’t think that wagon will last another fifty miles, let alone make it all the way to Denver City.”

  Sure enough, when the long train of over a hundred wagons rolled into sight the following afternoon it was moving very slowly, held back by the lumbering wagon carrying the boiler. It creaked and groaned with every revolution of the wheels, and sagged visibly. Samson and Elijah shook their heads in unison as soon as they saw it.

  “Ain’t gonna make it,” Elijah said flatly.

  “No way, no how,” Samson agreed. “Dat’s an old wagon to start wit’, an’ dey loaded it too heavy. Only way dey gonna move dat boiler outta here is on a new wagon, properly bedded down an’ braced to spread de load across bot’ axles.”

  “I’d forgotten how much you’ve learned about the wagon trade,” Walt remarked. “You’ll not lack for work in Colorado Territory. Skilled teamsters are hard to find.”

  “Yassuh,” Samson agreed. “Mistah Jones, he gib us letters to a haulier he know in Denver City. ’Lijah an’ me, we gonna talk to him if you ain’t got work for us once we get dere.”

  “We’ll see how things look when we arrive. I don’t yet know what I’m going to do there to earn a living.”

  All was bustle in and around the stage station as the newcomers drew their wagons into two circles of about sixty wagons each, and put out their oxen to graze. They’d brought some more cargo for the army, which was offloaded into storehouses at once. Walt noticed a couple of men staring at his wagon as they passed to and fro, but he thought nothing of it.

  That night Rose made stew from a deer Walt had shot a few miles from the fort. They’d just finished eating and cleaning up when a voice hailed them from the darkness. “Hello, the fire! Can we come up an’ talk with you?”

  “Come ahead,” Walt called, turning to face the voice. “Who is it?”

  A burly man emerged from the darkness, followed by another. “I’m Mike Harkness, boss o’ this here wagon train. This is my deputy, Wade Felton.”

  “Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. I’m Walter Ames. This is my wife Rose, and Samson and Elijah, my teamsters. Would you like some coffee?”

  After greetings were exchanged and coffee poured, Harkness got right to the point. “We’re in a spot of trouble. We gotta get that big boiler to Denver City. There’s a mine waitin’ to open a new, deeper level operation, an’ it needs the boiler to do it. You saw that wagon under it as we rode in?”

  “Yeah,” Walt agreed. “My men say it won’t be going much further.”

  “They’re right. I couldn’t help noticing you’ve got a strong-built wagon here, almost new too. I reckon it could carry maybe half the cargo of one of our heavy freight wagons. We could spread the other half across our other wagons; there’s space for it now that we’ve delivered some cargo here. That would free up one of our best wagons for the boiler. We can build a new cradle for it out of the wood from the old wagon, load it up, an’ make much better time the rest of the way. The team from the old wagon can pull the new one, while its team could pull yours. Would you be interested in selling? I’d pay you top price.”

  Walt shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. Our wagon’s drawn by horses. You couldn’t harness the oxen from your wagon to our wagon’s tongue.”

  “The tongue on the broken-down wagon’s still workin’ fine. We’d simply unbolt it from that one an’ attach it to yours, takin’ off your horse tongue, an’ lock an’ reinforce the front axle to handle the stronger pull.”

  “And how would I get my goods to Denver City? That’s where we’re headed.”

  “So are we. Your wagon ain’t heavily loaded. If you’d like to come with us, I can put some o’ your things in our wagons. You got that ambulance, too.�
�

  Walt scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Trouble is, it’s pretty full already. A Rucker ambulance was never designed to carry cargo. Samson, Elijah, what do you think?”

  Samson looked doubtful. “I dessay de ambulance take two, mebbe t’ree hundred pound more weight, but it ain’t got room for big t’ings inside.”

  “I t’ink de same, suh,” Elijah agreed. “One t’ing, t’ough. You got de four hosses from your wagon team. Dey ain’t as strong as mules, but wid pack saddles dey could each carry up to a hundred pound or more.”

  “Where would we get pack saddles?”

  “Mistah Jones, he lef’ some of de pack saddles he got at Fort Riley at dis place, suh. He didden’ take dem all back wid him. Mebbe de captain here let you use some, if Mistah Harkness promise to bring dem back.”

  “Maybe.” Walt thought for a moment. “Here’s what I’ll offer, Mr. Harkness. I paid three hundred dollars for that wagon. If you’ll pay me that amount, and also provide me with four pack saddles, with good thick pads to protect my horses’ backs, in exchange I’ll give you my wagon plus all its spares. We’ll load what we need on the journey into the ambulance and on our pack horses. You’ll load our bigger, heavier items into one of your wagons, and let us travel to Denver City with you. How does that sound?”

  Harkness held out his hand. “Sounds like a deal to me, Mr. Ames. I don’t mind telling you, I need your wagon badly to make this work. I’ve got to get this shipment to Denver City intact, or Mr. Holladay will fire me. This is his first big shipment on the Smoky Hill Trail since he bought out Butterfield’s stage and freight line earlier this year.”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Butterfield had sold out,” Walt confessed, surprised. “When did this happen?”

  “Earlier this year. Wells Fargo’s talkin’ to Mr. Halladay about buyin’ all his stage an’ freight lines across the whole country. I guess he wanted to tie up this stretch too, so he could control all the routes across Kansas an’ get a better deal out of Wells Fargo.”

  “I see. All right, when do we make the exchange?”