by Lou Bradshaw
By the time the first full week was up, we realized that we were in open country that sort of sloped up toward the west and then fell off only to start a new slope upward. Those slopes and drops made me think of waves of water lapping at the bank of a slow running river. We had no way of measuring such things but we got the impression that those drops weren’t deep enough to make up for the upward slopes. In other words we were getting higher and higher. From the top of one of those slopes, you could see forever. The country was spreading out. We were becoming cautious; if we could see for miles then maybe we could be seen from miles. Trying to avoid the hilltops and stayed close to gullies and ravines when we could.
We had just skirted one of those wave-like slopes and were getting ready to move out into the open to gain the cover of a small wooded stream when I spotted movement through the trees. I motioned Andy to stop, and he did. We moved back into a nest of rocks and boulders, quietly dismounted, and pulled out our rifles and waited. There was movement among the trees for sure – horse movement and man movement. Without speaking or even breathing, we waited. Andy watched while I moved the horses back farther and made sure they were secure. Then I made a slow and thorough examination of the surrounding territory. I didn’t want someone moving up on our rear while we were watching the trees.
In due time, five men on horses, leading two pack animals came through the trees and moved on to our right. If they kept the course they were taking, they would miss our trail, but if they swung around hard to the right they’d cross it. The men were Indians, but we had no idea from what tribe. We didn’t know one from the other, so it didn’t matter. What mattered was that we almost bumped right into them. A fight was the last thing we wanted, we didn’t even want to be seen. We weren’t supposed to be here.
Moving on farther upstream seemed to be a good idea just in case that was a regular stopping and crossing place for their people. So we took a little detour. One thing stuck in our minds though, and that was caution at all times. I’ll never forget the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach when I spotted that movement. I made a vow to be alert at all times and I planned to keep it until I was ninety, then maybe I would ease up a little… maybe. I remembered what Jasper had said about looking over the landscape. He said, “Look to your immediate surroundings first, then look far off and work your way back. Look for something that doesn’t belong there, and look for movement.
Once we heard a shot. It came from more than a mile away and echoed through the hills for a while. We didn’t move for several hours, and when we did, we moved real slowly and carefully. Another time we were just coming around the shoulder of a slope that had quite a drop into a nice little valley. There in the middle of that valley was a small herd of those long horned cattle and three men driving them. They were dressed like white men, but with the biggest hats, I had ever seen.
Still climbing, we left the rise and fall waves behind, and we moved into really open country. I mean to say it was the openest, flattest, and emptiest country ever. In my wildest dreams, I could never imagine that much sky and grass. The land looked flat, but it was broken by gullies, streams, and humps. Still, it made us think we were sitting right out in the open for all the world to see. Only, we were the only ones out there to see us. We took to following some of those east west gullies when we could. I began to see why those fellas driving those cows had such wide hats because it was hot and not a cloud anywhere to be seen.
Our horses were taking a beating, so we found a place to hold up where there was water, grass and shade. One of those gullies was washed out on one side and a small stream was emptying into it. From the looks of it a cut bank had collapsed, and most of it had washed away, probably during some long forgotten flood. What it left was a nice stream with fresh water and about two acres of grass and trees.
We made camp in the gully itself because the overhanging trees made a nice shady place to rest. Also, the stream pooled as it entered the gully, so it was easy to fetch water and to water the horses. At that point the gully was about twenty yards wide and ten or twelve feet deep. We were settling in for a couple of days rest.
I’ll have to admit that we were getting just a little bit lazy and not as vigilant as we were a few days earlier. We were sitting near the fire in the afternoon shade with a cool breeze coming down the gully, when I looked across the gully. I found myself looking at two long ears and the longer face of a mule. Now that was definitely something that didn’t belong there. My eyes went left, right, up, and down. Down was where I saw him. He was squatting there calm and cool, chewing on a piece of grass.
He was about a hundred years old wearing buckskins from toe to top. He didn’t move, just stayed sitting on his heels with a big old muzzleloader in his hands. I raised my hand slowly to touch the brim of my hat and nod. He said, “Afternoon pilgrims.”
Andy came up like a shot with a gun in his hand looking for something to shoot. The old man swung that muzzleloader around in our direction, and he did it right quick. I said, “Easy, Andy. I don’t think he means trouble.”
The old man bobbed his head and said, “No trouble – That’s me – No trouble – No siree.” I had to chuckle, and he went on, “Sittin you are in the bottom of a ditch – it rained in the hills you’re a wet son-a-bitch.”
Andy said, “What are you talkin’ about mister?”
He pointed to north and said, “Them gullies, them canyons they’s full of rain carryin boulders and trees and lots of pain.” All the while, he kept wagging his hand to the north.
“You mean a flash flood? Why didn’t you say that, fool?” Sometimes Andy wasn’t real patient with people.
We grabbed what was layin on the ground around the fire and scampered up the mouth of that washed out creek bed. By the time, we had the horses back away from the bank and tied, we could hear it coming. It sounded like a freight train dragging a courthouse across a gravel road. At least that’s what it sounded like to me. When it came roaring through it was churning and pushing trees, boulders, mud, and about ten foot of water from bank to bank. It turned into that washout and shot muddy water into the treetops along that creek. It was something I’ll never forget but never want to see again.
As we stood and watched the muddy water rush by, we were startled once again by the old coot’s voice – this time from behind us. “A splashin like that –makes a feller wanta scat.” We turned and saw him sitting on a rock not twenty feet behind us. I had to laugh again, and this time Andy got caught up in it and so did our visitor.
I said, “Mister, you sure have the darnedest way of poppin up on a fella.”
“I guess I do – and you would too. If you lived alone – all skin and bone.”
Andy asked, “And how come you rhyme everything? You talk in poetry.”
Now I knew enough about poetry to know that what that jaybird was sayin wasn’t none of it, but I didn’t offer an opinion. The old boy laughed and said, “You know, I been out here so long, just me and Clancy that I kinda spend too much time roamin around in my own head. And I kinda think Clancy favors rhymin’ talk. Least he don’t object to it.”
Andy and I both looked around and I said, “Who’s Clancy?”
“Oh, that’s him.” as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Him, with the long ears and long legs – my mule. I suspect he’s over there givin’ your horse critters a lesson in respect about now. He figures he’s about a step or two better’n horses.” Sure enough, I looked over to the animals, and that mule was nudging and bumping the horses around. They just stepped aside and snorted.
“I’m Jim.” He said, “Just Jim. Can’t remember any last name. The Injuns call me crazy Jim. That’s why they leave me alone. Any white folk that come through don’t never see me lest I wanta be seen. I had you boys in sight since yestiday.”
I didn’t know about Andy, but that made me feel pretty uneasy and I said, “You mean you’ve been followin us for almost two days? That’s hard to believe.”
“Yep,” h
e said, “I picked you up when you hunkered down and let them yay-hoos drivin them cows git past. I almost bumped into you.” and then he laughed.
“You followed us all that time and didn’t show yourself – why?” I asked.
“Well, mostly just for fun, and to make sure you didn’t git in no trouble. Then I saw you settin up camp in the path of all that water I figured I better git you out a there.”
“But, how did you know about the flood?” I asked.
“I seen them clouds hangin over the hills yonder and figured there was a good rain fallin up there. It was jist a matter of time. Hee hee…I almost cut it too fine…hee hee.”
“What hills are you talkin’ about?” I asked, “We ain’t seen any hill for nearly a week.”
“They’re sure enough there. You jist ain’t seen em fer the haze and the clouds. They’s jist about fifteen miles to the north. You could see ‘em plain on a clear day.”
Crazy Jim helped us set up another camp, this time back from the gully. He had some fresh buffalo hump and we had coffee with lots of sugar. Jim said he hadn’t had either coffee or sugar for over a month. I asked him how he got by out here aside from just feeding himself. He told us that he just picked up stuff that the wagons had dropped off to lighten they loads and traded with the Indians or the government men. “Some a them pilgrims strayed nigh a hunnerd miles off the old Santa Fe Trail.”
Later, after we had eaten and settled in, Andy and Jim lit up pipes. I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it, but I didn’t seem to miss it, so that was okay. Andy had a good sized bag of tobacco that Mr. Thompson had grown and he shared it with Jim. They both seemed to like it. I asked Jim the best way to find the town of Mobeetie. He said to just go north to the Canadian River and follow it on to River Town, and that Mobeetie wasn’t much to the west of there. He figured about two-day ride to the Canadian.
After thinking about it for a little while, Jim said he just might ride along with us for a ways – just to keep us out of trouble – hee hee. That was fine with me, and Andy just looked into the fire. It was a funny thing about Andy, he didn’t seem to have much to say when other folks were around, or maybe I just never gave him much of a chance. Talking was something that came easy to me
Later, when the old man had crawled to his blankets, Andy said in a voice just above a whisper, “Ben, I don’t like that old coot taggin along. He gives me the jeebies, and he even admits he’s crazy. Why, he might just be waitin for us to go to sleep, so’s he can slit our throats.”
“Andy, I think he’s harmless. He’s had more than one chance to stretch our hides over the last two days. And besides, we can learn a lot from him. He knows the country and how to live in it.”
“Ben, you learn all you want from him. I ain’t takin my eye off him for a second.”
Well, I was sure enough going to learn all I could about living in the plains and desert. If he knows anything about mountains, I planned to learn that too.
Over breakfast the next morning, I asked Jim if he had ever run across Coleman and Frazier and gave him the description I had gotten from the preacher. One was tall heavy and dark with black hair and a big mustache, but more importantly, he had heavy black eyebrows that connected in the middle to make up one eyebrow. The other fella, Coleman, was also tall, but he was thin and fair-haired. And, he had a scar on his neck that looked like it was made by a rope. I remember how Puckett had laughed when he told me about that scar.
“Oh, I seen them two a plenty.” Jim said, “Every couple of months I either see ‘em or cross their fresh trail.”
Andy looked up from his coffee and asked, “Now, how can you be sure it’s them if all you see is their tracks?”
“Well, I damned sure can, Sonny. You get to know a critter’s foot size and his gait. That black-haired gent has a big horse with a nice walkin stride. It also has a worn down cleat on the left rear shoe.”
“I don’t believe that.” Andy bristled, “You’re just makin that up to cover your lies.”
“Young fella, you got a lot to learn about out here. For one thing, recognizing horse’s tracks is somethin that every other cowpuncher in the west can do. And, if you stay alive long enough you’ll learn it too. Another thing you need to learn is when you accuse a man of lying, and then you had better be ready to kill or die.” We both looked at Jim and saw him holding his big Sharps rifle pointed at the center of Andy’s chest. We froze.
“Out here there ain’t much law and no courts. If a man makes a deal it’s signed with a handshake; a man’s word is got to be good. If he gits a reputation of lyin he can’t make no deals. He’s done.” He lowered his rifle and we all relaxed. “I warn’t gonna shoot you son, but there’s plenty that will. Let it be a lesson.”
“Sorry.” Andy mumbled, “I didn’t know.”
“No harm done.” the old man said, “Another lesson to be learned. Don’t take no one for granted. Keep your eyes on them around you – specially if you don’t know em. I’d say this hyere big red haired boy is the onliest one you can trust for now.” he said as he pointed his thumb in my direction. “Now, am I still welcome to ride along with you?”
“I’d say you’d better.” I told him, “What d’ya think Andy?”
Andy nodded and mumbled, “I reckon.”
I just knew that old Jim could teach us more by accident than Miss Pritchett did on purpose. Our job was to take notes in our heads and study them. Andy wasn’t happy about being in the wrong, and he still didn’t like Jim, but he was smart enough to listen. We spent that whole day feeding sticks into the fire and listening. Most of what Jim had to say was just yarns, but each story had a message. The way Jim put it was, “Son, always listen to the crazy old men. Mostly it’s just geezer gas, but ever now and then, they’ll drop a pearl on you. Be ready to ketch it.” I asked a rain barrel full of questions, but Andy mostly just listened – I hoped he was soaking it up.
Two days later, we were camped on the banks of the Canadian.
Chapter 9
“Well, boys, this is where I leave you.” Jim said, as we crawled out of our bedroll the morning after we reached the Canadian. He had himself a long and dandy stretch, which I thought was going to pull his rib cage loose but didn’t. Then he shook himself like a dog just climbing out of the water. That was followed by some good old-fashioned scratching. He was a happy man.
“I hate to part company with you boys, but they’s just too danged many people over in Texas. Why they must be five or six hunnerd people between here and New Mexico.”
He walked around in his knee high moccasins and long johns kicking up the fire and rattling some pots and pans. Andy went down to the stream with the coffee pot while I gathered up some sticks. Before long, we had breakfast cooking.
As we sat there eating Jim said, “Now, when you get into River Town you be real watchful and respectful of Josh Murdock, the town marshal. He’s a good man, a fair man, but he don’t take no nonsense. If old Josh locks you up you might be chained to that hitch rail for a couple months or more afore the circuit judge sets you loose or hangs you. That’s why most of the troublemakers hang out around Mobeetie.”
He thought and chewed for a few minutes then added, “Them two you was askin about might be at either place or at one of the other settlements around. You’ll just have to sniff em out.”
After we got things cleared up, Crazy Jim straddled his mule shook his rifle to the sky and rode off spouting poetry. We just watched him go. Andy stared after him and said, “Durned old fool.” But, he had one of his rare smiles when he said it.
The sun was high in the sky when we caught sight of the town. It didn’t stack up to be much. There were two streets and they crossed roughly in the middle of the town. A couple hundred yards in any direction from that cross roads you would be out of town or in the middle of the Canadian River. Where those streets crossed there were a dozen or so shacks pretending to be buildings. All of them were clustered as close to the crossroads as possible. There were no b
oardwalks like in Ft. Smith, the shacks just sat at street level. I would have bet a dollar that not more than two or three had anything but a dirt floor. It wasn’t a pretty town.
We found the livery stable and put our horses up. The man turned them into his corral with some other critters. We took our saddlebags and rifles and asked the man about rooms. He pointed out one of the larger shacks and called it the ho-tel. We walked down to it, and sure enough, there was a small sign in the window reading, “Ho-tel”. We got us an eight by ten room with a dirt floor and two cots. By that time, I was getting hungry, so we went looking for a meal and found a pretty good one at the cafe next door.
With a full belly, all I wanted to do was sit and doze in the sun, but Andy had different ideas. He was chompin at the bit to find Coleman and Frazier, so we headed for the nearest of the two saloons. Walking through the bat wing doors it took me a couple of seconds to get used to the change in light. There were several windows, but it was still down right gloomy in there. I didn’t care much for saloons because they were dark, smoky, and smelly. There was always at least one drunk saying things I couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Oh, I understood the words all right, but they didn’t mean anything. Drunks were usually falling against a fella, talking or singing loud, or looking for trouble, and I didn’t want any kind of trouble.
So, we made our way to the bar and found a place to rest our elbows. The bartender asked us what we were having and Andy told him, “Two beers.” He always ordered two beers. I’d take a sip or two, and he’d wind up drinking them both. I’ve yet to find a saloon that had cold buttermilk. I got laughed at so many times in Ft. Smith that I just quit asking. Anyway, we stood there at the bar with a mug of beer in front of each of us when a fella moved up on my right hand side. Andy was on my left. I had my express gun hanging by a leather strap attached at the end of the grip. That fella seemed to take a great deal of interest in it.
