by Joe Corso
The following morning, after a breakfast of fresh coffee and a hard biscuit, he saddled Sable and trotted back onto the road leading west. He was in K aw Indian territory and if they spotted him they might decide to kill him. He knew that these Indians were territorial and didn’t want palefaces passing through their land. In most cases they would extort something from the intruders, usually a steer or horse, but there were cases when they killed trespassers without remorse.
Charlie grabbed his canteen and took a long pull. That was when he noticed buzzards circling above a crop of trees up ahead. He nudged Sable with his knees and at the same time pulled the Winchester repeater from its scabbard. He pumped the lever, putting a cartridge in the chamber. He dismounted, tied the reins to a tree and walked silently into the woods, not knowing what to expect. One thing for sure, there was something wounded or dead in there. He hoped it wasn’t someone from one of the wagon trains.
He traveled no more than fifteen feet into the underbrush and was surprised to see an Indian lying face down, with a bullet wound in his shoulder. It bothered Charlie to see anyone hurt, even an Indian. He had killed his share of Indians, but it had been either him or them. This Indian had done nothing to hurt him and he wasn’t about to cause him any further pain. Instead he turned the Indian over to examine the entry wound.
But as Charlie turned him, all the Indian could see was a white man hovering over him. He thought Charlie was going to kill him, but he was too weak from loss of blood to protect himself and he slumped back, resigned to his fate.
Charlie propped him against a tree and pulled him forward to examine the exit wound. He had to make sure the bullet wasn’t still in him. Satisfied that the bullet had passed completely through the shoulder, Charlie examined the entrance wound again to make sure no cloth or metal was lodged in the wound. Again he was satisfied. Now he had to close both the entrance and the exit holes. He didn’t have a needle or thread so he had no choice but to cauterize the wound. Charlie took his canteen and put it to the wounded Indian’s lips, tilting it up so water would flow into him. The Indian drank deeply and gratefully, but Charlie pulled the canteen away.
“Not too much, partner, drink it slowly.”
He lifted the canteen again and the Indian drank more slowly this time. Charlie started a fire and waited for it to grow in intensity. Once he was satisfied that the flame was hot enough he pulled his large hunting knife from its scabbard and the Indian’s eye’s flared angrily. Charlie shook his head and motioned with the knife against his own chest, indicating to the Indian what he intended to do. He touched his shoulder and then he touched the Indian’s shoulder. The Indian’s eyes widened in recognition. Charlie looked into hi s eyes and waited. He nodded expectantly and waited a little longer. Then the wounded man gave a slight nod. As soon as the Indian acknowledged Charlie ’ s intention, Charlie put the knife into the fire until it glowed an orange red, then he removed it and without any warning he pressed it against the Indian’s wound, causing the flesh to burn and singe, creating a pungent vapor of burning flesh. The smell made Charlie want to gag. He looked the Indian in the eye.
“You all right, partner?”
The Indian seemed to understand the intent behind Charlie’s words and he nodded. Charlie put the blade back on the fire and the Indian braced himself for what was to come.
After tending to the Indian, Charlie went hunting for some game and came back with a rabbit. He cleaned and skewered it then put it over the fire and waited for it to cook. The Indian had passed out when Charlie put the knife to his exit wound. Now the scent of cooking meat revived him. Charlie cut some meat from the rabbit and gave it to the Indian, whose strength had returned a little. The wounded man took it greedily and ate it quickly. Charlie cut another chunk of meat and handed it to the Indian with a motion of his hands to suggest he eat more slowly.
The following day the Indian had color in his face and Charlie knew his body was busy healing itself and replenishing the blood he had lost. Charlie gave his patient a cup of coffee but the Indian spat it out. Charlie laughed and instead handed him the canteen, a piece of beef jerky and a hard biscuit, which the Indian devoured. Charlie kneeled beside the Indian and pointed to himself. “Me Charlie. Charlie.” Then he pointed to the Indian. “You?”
The Indian placed his hand against his chest and he said proudly, “Wild Eagle and I speak the white mans tongue.”
“Wild Eagle? Well, I’m glad to meet you, Wild Eagle.” He was surprised that the Indian spoke and understood English, and he patted Wild Eagle gently on his good shoulder.
Charlie stayed with Wild Eagle for a few days while he became stronger. Every day Charlie hunted game so the Indian had nourishment. On the fifth day Charlie sat beside Wild Eagle as they were eating rabbit and said, “Now that you’re stronger, I’ll be leaving you, Wild Eagle.”
Wild Eagle spoke a little of the white man’s tongue and asked Charlie, “Before you go, Wild Eagle wants to know why white man save Indian.”
Charlie looked directly at him because the words he was about to say were powerful. “Wild Eagle, I’ve killed many Indians but only because they tried to kill me. I have nothing against the Indian and if they don’t mean to harm me, then I won’t ever harm them. You were hurt and I didn’t see you as my enemy. I only saw a man who was hurt bad , and if I could help save him it was my Christian duty to do so. I know that when I put the hot blade to your flesh it hurt more than words can describe, but you earned my respect because you didn’t utter a sound. Do you understand what I just said?”
Wild Eagle nodded, apparently thinking how to answer him in the white man’s tongue. “Yes, I understand what you say. I know that the pain from the fire was to help Wild Eagle.”
The Indian rose to his feet, took Charlie’s knife and sliced the palm of his hand. He handed the knife back to Charlie who understood the Indian’s intention. He cut the palm of his hand and held it out to Wild Eagle, who took Charlie’s hand and eagerly clasped it in his. Blood flowed between them. Wild Eagle’s look held respect when he gazed into Charlie’s eyes.
“From this moment on we are blood brothers, because our blood flows through both our body ’ s as one.”
Charlie felt Wild Eagle’s sincerity and clasped the Indian’s shoulder. “Wild Eagle, I am proud to be your brother. It makes me proud to have a warrior like you as my brother.” Charlie’s words seem to please Wild Eagle.
“Maybe we meet again someday, Charlie.”
“I’d like that, Wild Eagle. It would make me happy to see my brother again.” Then Charlie realized that Wild Eagle didn’t have a horse. “Wild Eagle, what happened to your horse?”
“Wild Eagle shot, ride horse many miles until too weak to ride, then fall off.”
“Well, come on then. I’ll take you back to your people. Is it far from here?”
Wild Eagle placed his hand over his eyes and looked east. “Maybe twenty, thirty miles that way.”
“My brother is a long way from home,” Charlie said.
“We ride long way. Attack Paiute.”
“Why attack Paiute, Wild Eagle?”
The Indian grew tense and his anger flared. “Paiute come to K aw land and steal many horses. Wild Eagle and many K aw braves go in the night and steal horses back from Paiute. Wild Eagle shot while escaping Paiute village. Our braves run to Paiute village and ride horses back but Wild Eagle shot and fall off horse.” Wild Eagle suddenly tensed. “Paiute near. They track Wild Eagle here. Soon they kill us.”
“Not if I can help it,” Charlie said as he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun around and in one motion pulled his gun and fired three quick shots, killing three Paiute braves as they leaped from the cover of the thick foliage.
Wild Eagle smiled. “Wild Eagle pick brave warrior for his blood brother.”
Charlie looked around. “There may be others.” He slid stealthily into the brush. “Wait here while I see where they picketed their horses. They may have someone watching them. I’ll be bac
k shortly.”
“Give me knife.” Wild Eagle held out his hand. Charlie pulled out his knife and handed it to his blood brother.
About twenty minutes later Charlie came back and saw that Wild Eagle had scalped the three dead Indians.
“Come on, we might as well get you back to your tribe. I found their horses. Now we can travel to your village comfortably, and you now own three more horses.”
Charlie didn’t rush getting back. He knew Wild Eagle was still weak, so they took their time. About an hour before sunset they approached Wild Eagle’s village. Indians have eyes like a hawk and they saw horses approaching in the far distance. The braves in the tribe were surprised to see Wild Eagle ride in to their village with a white man leading two horses. The braves clamored around Wild Eagle, anxious to hear how he escaped the Paiutes. Wild Eagle turned away from the braves and pointed to Charlie.
“You stay tonight. Not safe to ride alone at night. We eat and smoke pipe and then you sleep.”
He took Charlie by the arm, much to the surprise of the many braves waiting to find out what happened to him, and led Charlie into his teepee. The braves were confused by Wild Eagle’s respect for the white man, but they recognized that this man meant something to their chief.
The following morning Wild Eagle sat with his braves and told how he was shot and tracked while escaping on the Paiute horse. He described how he was near death when this white man came to him as if in a dream and saved his life. The Indian opened his soft, leather, elk-skin shirt and showed his braves the terrible scars on his chest and back. All his braves murmured approval of his bravery and how he endured much pain and survived. Wild Eagle described how his brother killed three Paiute braves who were there to kill them.
Charlie didn’t understand their language so he had no clue what they were saying, but Wild Eagle suddenly raised his bandaged hand and pointed at Charlie. Then he said something to his braves that made them stare at the palm of Charlie’s hand, still wrapped in a strip of white cloth . Wild Eagle stood and gestured to Charlie to approach him. The Indian chief removed a necklace he wore and placed it around Charlie’s neck.
“You wear this necklace, my brother, and no K aw, Shoshone, Pawnee, Shawnees, or Snake Indians will harm you when you pass through their lands. But beware of the Apache and the Comanche. They will kill you and hang your scalp on their lodge pole.”
Chapter 5
Charlie remained in the Indian village for three weeks, but he was anxious to leave while it was still warm. He had begun to get his gear in order when Wild Eagle approached him.
“You will be leaving soon, my brother?”
“Yes, Wild Eagle.” He pointed at the sky. “I must get back to my people before the winter snows come.”
Wild Eagle frowned with a dark expression on his face. “My heart is sad, Charlie. I will miss our talks.” The Indian became pensive and took Charlie’s shoulder. “Charlie, Wild Eagle asks his brother a question that has been on his mind since the night you saved my life.”
“Go ahead, Wild Eagle, ask your brother whatever question you want and he will answer it.”
“I saw how you used your gun. Have you killed many men with it?”
Charlie looked down as he spoke. “Yes, Wild Eagle, I have killed many men both in the great war and in my travels.”
Wild Eagle whooped a number of times and smiled at Charlie. “I kill many men too. Too few men like us. We are warriors, you and me, Charlie. I say again, I am proud that you are my brother. I will miss you, Charlie. Give me your word that you will return here some day. Promise that you will not forget Wild Eagle.”
Charlie was touched by those words. He put his arm around the chief. “Wild Eagle, I see how your people love you. I didn’t know you were their chief until the day we entered your village, but my feelings for you are greater than the feelings your people have for you. You are part of my family now—and you will always be here.” Charlie pressed his fist against his heart.
Wild Eagle motioned to one of his braves, who led a horse packed with provisions. “You take horse, Charlie. Is good horse. My gift to my brother.”
Charlie couldn’t leave now without giving Wild Eagle a gift in return. He’d have liked to leave him his Winchester repeating rifle but he might need it. Instead he reached into his saddle bag and pulled out his old Colt 1851 Navy, which was a cap and ball revolver. He handed it to Wild Eagle, who had never owned a handgun before. Charlie spent the next hour showing his brother how to load and fire the weapon.
Wild Eagle whooped and danced, holding the gun high in the air. “Thank you, my brother. I have never owned a weapon as fine as this one.”
Charlie patted his friend on the shoulder. “When I return to your village I will bring you a new repeating rifle for hunting buffalo.”
Charlie’s heart was sad as he rode from the village and into the wilderness. At dusk he found the wagon trail leading west and rode along it, looking for a safe place to make camp. He found it about a half mile ahead. He made camp beside a small stream fed by the snow thawing from the mountains above. When the fire was lit he put on a pot of coffee and ate some of the bread the Indian women had made for him.
Charlie broke camp, and was saddled and on the road at daybreak. He rode without incident for another week until he hit the Santa Fe Trail, just bordering Oklahoma. But he took the right fork, which wound around in a wide arc into Colorado, where he planned on taking the Mormon Trail to Denver. He heard gunshots, and when he put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun he noticed smoke rising from a stand of trees about a mile in the distance. He rode into the trees ' and dismounted. He tied his horses to a branch, pulled his Winchester from it ’ s scabbard and a box of ammo from his saddlebag, and he walked with quiet, careful steps toward the gunfire, which was now very close.
He found himself on a rise looking down at two wagons positioned in a wedge formation, which offered a modicum of protection from the withering gunfire and arrows sent by the Indians. He took careful aim and began firing, taking down an Indian with each shot . The people behind the wagons were as surprised as the Indians when they heard the gunshots. They figured that when they ran out of ammunition, it would be over for them and they would all be killed by the savages. The Indians didn’t know how many men were firing at them. They thought they could be surrounded so they did the tactical thing and retreated into the woods. Although the Indians couldn’t see him, Charlie saw them flee into the dense woods, and watched as they leapt onto their horses and rode away. If they had decided to remain in the woods and attack the wagons again, he would have killed as many as he could before running to the safety of the wagons.
Once he was sure the Indians were gone he mounted Sable and led his packhorse down into the clearing. “Hello wagons,” he yelled loudly.
“Hello, stranger, come on down.” Two men, two women and five children rushed to greet him. “Are we happy to see you! You saved our lives. We were running low on ammunition and thought we were goners. What’s your name, stranger?”
“Charlie.”
“Just Charlie?”
“I’d be obliged if you just called me Charlie.”
“Well, Charlie it is then. I’m Obadiah Clark, but everyone calls me Obie. And this is my wife, Millie. That’s my brother-in-law Micah Peterson and his wife Barbara. These are our children, Susan and Andrew; and that young fella over there is Jonah Peterson.”
Charlie smiled, relieved to find everyone unharmed. “Howdy. I’m glad everyone’s all right. How did you people wind up here?”
“Our wagon lost a wheel and I had to stop to fix it, but the rest of the train continued on to Denver.”
“Is Denver your final destination?”
“No, California is where we’re heading. We figure on catching up to the wagon train in Denver. We’ll stock up there, rest a while and when the train leaves we’ll join them and continue on to California. Barbara and Millie are sisters so they decided to wait here with us, figuring t
wo guns were better than one. Just as we finished fixing the wheel we were attacked by those Indians.”
“Probably Cheyenne or Arapaho. They’re at war with the whites,” Charlie added as he tended to the horses.
“Say, isn’t that an Indian pony?”
“Yes. It was a gift from Wild Eagle the chief of the K aw’s.”
“What did you do for him that he gave you this fine pony?”
Charlie was taking the saddle off Sable when he said, “Oh, the same as I did for you people. He was shot up pretty bad when I found him.”
“White people shot him?”
“No. Paiute’s crept into his village and stole his horses, so the K aw braves ran the sixty miles to the Paiute village, cut the horses loose and rode them back; but he was shot as he rode away. You see, the K aw ran instead of taking their horses because horses tire, but Indians don’t. The Osage Indians would run eighty miles, fight a battle and win it, then ride the enemies horses back to their village.
“Anyhow, the Paiute’s were going to kill him, but instead I killed them and took care of Wild Eagle until he was strong enough to ride. Then I took him back to his people. This pony is one of the horses the three Indians I killed were riding.”
While Charlie was talking, Micah Peterson took notice of the way one gun was tied down and the other gun was sitting low in a side holster. Having read Buntline’s book, The Adventures of the Lone Jack Kid, recognition set in. He was sure Charlie was Charles Longstreet, the Lone Jack Kid.
