by Joe Corso
“Leave the worrying to me, Jeremiah. I’ll get your train safely across and I promise you, you won’t pay any tolls and you won’t have any trouble. Let’s keep the wagons rolling. At the rate we’re traveling, it will be another two hours before we get to the crossing.” The Kid nodded to the men and he kicked his horse and rode away.
Jeremiah turned to Ezra. “I am sure glad that boy decided to remain with us a little while longer.”
Ezra chuckled. “He sure is a hellion, ain’t he/”
Jeremiah agreed. “Never seen the likes of him before. That boy’s a natural born hero - and he don’t even know it.”
Charlie pulled up to Abby’s wagon and asked her if she’d like to ride a little ways with him. She gave him a warm smile and fluttered her eyelashes coyly the way women do when they want something from a man, and she asked playfully, “Would you bring my horse here for me, Charlie?” The Kid slowed his horse and guided it to the back of the wagon where he reached down and pulled the reins free. He led Lollypop (the name Abby gave her horse) around to the front. Abby slid onto Lollypop and Charlie led her away from the train to a secluded grove he found earlier while he was out scouting. They guided the horses into the grove deep among the trees and dismounted - and within two minutes, they were locked in each other’s arms, and within minutes, they were lying on the soft grass, making love.
An hour later, Charlie checked the time on his pocket watch. “The train will be approaching the stream soon and I have to be there to handle the toll negotiations. We need to start back.”
Abby was in love. She had a boyfriend back home and they had made love up in their hayloft a few times, but that was nothing like making love to Charlie. Abby felt that she was like a fine instrument that Charlie could play to perfection and in those moments of bliss, she experienced passions she never knew she was capable of. She was in love with Charlie. She felt that she couldn’t live without him and she wouldn’t know what she would do if she never saw him again.
The cloud of dust in the distance that was created by the wheels of the wagon train told the toll collectors that the wagon train was approaching. They watched Charlie ride past the tollbooth, and then ease his horse into the water beside the bridge.
A man called out to him, “You can’t cross there; your horse will get stuck in the mud.” Charlie tested the water and the man was right. He couldn’t cross here, so he backed his horse out, tried a little further downstream, and he discovered that the water wasn’t deep and that there wasn’t any mud there. He rode back to the Jeremiah and told him to have the wagons stay in line and follow him. Jeremiah mounted up and went from wagon to wagon, passing the word that they were to cross the stream where Charlie would be waiting for them. The toll collectors were ripping mad when they saw their profits riding past them and they began to hurl threats at Jeremiah. Charlie overheard the threats and he whipped his horse around and rode to the unhappy men, who were ready for a fight. Everyone in the wagons watched Charlie rush over to the toll collectors and they held their breath. Charlie looked the men in the eye and pointed his finger at them.
“If you men weren’t so greedy, you would have had money in your pockets, but now you get nothing. Do you hear me? NOTHING! And if I hear one more threat from any of you, then there will be a shooting - and I promise you it will not be me lying dead on the ground. So if you’re hankering for a fight, then go for your irons like men - and stop whining like little girls. You’re not talking to one of those sodbusters. You’re talking a man whose faced better men than you and is more than a match for any of you. So if you want to open the ball, I’m your huckleberry.”
Charlie’s fighting words stung them like a bee, but none of the men moved a muscle. The Kid waited for them to make a move. He watched their eyes, looking to shoot the first man who went for his gun, but they didn’t back their talk with their guns, so he slowly backed his horse toward the stream while keeping his eyes on the men. He backed Comet into the shallow water where the first wagon was waiting to cross. He motioned to the lead wagon to come ahead and then he pointed to the other side. He watched the wagon drop into the shallow water and make its way across the stream. Then the rest of the wagons followed. When all of the wagons had safely crossed the stream, Charlie rode back to the toll collectors, who were still fuming because they felt cheated of their tolls. “If you miserable excuses for men weren’t so greedy, you would have had a good profit today, but because of your greed you got nothing, and if you follow us, I’ll kill the lot of you.” They looked into the Kid’s eyes, then they noticed the way he wore his guns and they knew that he wasn’t just another sodbuster. This young man sitting high in the saddle was a man of action.
One man asked, “Do you have a name, kid?”
By this time, the whole country knew who the Lone Jack Kid was, so he figured he might as well let it work for him. “My name is Charles Longstreet.”
The men looked at each other as recognition set in. “You’re the Lone Jack Kid?”
The Kid smiled. “The one and only.” He pulled his hat off of his head and waved it in the air, then he gave the Rebel yell. “See you money grubbers in hell, boys.” He jerked the reins, and nudged Comet with his heals. She turned her head and leaped into the bubbling stream with water as high as the stirrups, and dashed across, splashing tendrils of water high in the air on both sides of her. It was an impressive display of horsemanship, and the toll collectors watched with grudging admiration. The Kid emerged on the other side of the stream. He turned his horse to face the toll collectors and then he pulled the reins on Comet, causing her to rise on her rear legs. He waved his hat high over his head, and once again, he gave the Rebel yell while spinning Comet around, before leaving a trail of dust as he galloped away.
For the last twenty miles, the dust on the trail had become a big problem because it was knee deep in some places. But even with the dust problem, the wagon train still made excellent time, traveling twenty-two miles before Jeremiah called a halt beside a fine spring, which he called Barrel Spring, although he couldn’t tell them exactly why it was called by that name.
When the wagons were arranged in the circle, mothers handed their sons bars of soap and towels and told them to go down to the spring to wash up. A chorus of, “Make sure you wash your face and hair real good, now. I’ll be down to check to see if you cleaned yourself good. So you do a good job, you hear?” could be heard coming from every wagon.
The boys were much dirtier than the others were because they walked or rode alongside the wagons and were subjected to much more road dust than the girls. Every boy’s face was covered in dust and sand so thick it could have been painted on their faces. Only their eyes and nostrils could be seen, so thick was the mud.
After stripping, the boys jumped into the stream naked and used the soap to scrub their bodies clean, to wash the sand out of their hair, and to wash the mud from their faces. The boys made sure they did a good job because if they didn’t, their mothers would hand them the soap back, point to the water, and tell them to get back in there and clean themselves proper this time.
Then the rest of the folks took their turn in the water to wash the trail dirt off, but they washed with their clothes on, which was the custom in those days because you could clean both yourself and your clothing at the same time.
Six weeks after leaving Missouri, the wagon train arrived at a major way station on the road west; Fort Kearney, Nebraska Territory that was situated along the Platte River at the mouth of Table Creek. The Fort was named after Colonel Stephen W. Kearny of the U.S. Army. The wagon train was now safe, even after seeing the eleven bodies that were massacred by Indians. The post commander noticing the concern on their faces after viewing the bodies assured the wagon master that he would assign a company of cavalrymen to escort the wagon train safely out of Indian territory.
The Kid stopped by the Saunders family to tell them that now that they were safe, he was leaving them. He said he could make better time riding alone tha
n if he stayed with the train. Abby was crestfallen. It was as if a part of her soul was leaving her.
“Don’t worry, Abby, when you get to Virginia City and settle in, look me up at my brother’s store, ‘cause that’s where I’ll be staying. I’m going to ride around the camp now and tell the folks that I’m leaving, but I’ll be back in a little while to say goodbye.
Comet was tethered to a low branch near the wagon; He patted her on her neck a few times. “Don’t worry, old girl, when we get to Virginia City, I’ll have you groomed and brushed, and you’ll be the prettiest horse in the stable.” He swung his legs up and over her in one move and seated himself lightly on his saddle. He walked Comet to each of the wagons, leaning over, shaking hands and saying his goodbyes to the folks he had come to know. When he came full circle and was back at the Saunders wagon, Charlie dismounted. He shook Ezra Senior’s and Junior’s hands, he kissed Mildred and Abby on their cheeks. He thanked them for everything and said he’d see them in Virginia City. He didn’t know what else to say, so he swung gracefully onto comet and waved goodbye one final time before pulling the reins and riding away.
CHAPTER 9
Longstreet rode the dusty trail from sunup to sundown, traveling fifty miles a day for six days, remaining in the saddle most of that time. He kept vigilant, knowing that he was still in Indian territory, and although he slept lightly, he slept with a gun in his hand. A twig snapped somewhere behind him and jarred him awake, but he pretended to be asleep. He turned his head and made a snoring sound as if he were still asleep, but he squinted his eyes open a little and looked toward his horse. He wouldn’t last long in Indian country without his horse and he knew it. Luck was with him because the moon was full, and in its soft glow, he saw a shadow lurking close to his horse. He didn’t stir, but due to instincts developed from the war, he sensed rather than saw a form approaching. The Kid didn’t hesitate; he acted immediately. He spun around with his gun in his hand and fired once at the Indian kneeling close beside him, who was just about to gut him. A heartbeat later, he whirled and fired a second shot, killing the Indian that was trying to steal his horse. The Kid rolled over a few times and slid into the brush until he was completely hidden by the blackness of night. He quieted his breathing to hear if there were any others lurking nearby. When in combat mode, his senses were alive; he could practically point to anyone near him just by their body heat and that was what he was feeling now. But he felt no danger, not any longer, so he got up slowly and began a check of his surroundings, which confirmed that his instincts were correct and there was no longer any danger hiding in the shadows.
After he killed the two Indians, the Kid’s adrenaline was pumping through his veins and arteries like a steam engine and he was too tense to sleep, so he dumped the left over coffee on the fire and placed his usual belongings in his saddlebags. He saddled Comet, tied the two Indian horses to his saddle horn, and rode west into the night. Morning came about an hour later, but he didn’t bother to stop to make coffee or eat a piece of hardtack—that could wait until later— he just kept riding. Four more days of traveling brought him to within 60 miles of Virginia City and to a fenced-in section of land. He rode for about a mile, trying to get around it, but it seemed to go on forever. He thought that he might find a break in the wire where he could pass through, but there was none, so he rode in the opposite direction until he came upon a group of rough-looking men sitting in makeshift chairs by a large gate. The Kid rode up to them. “Would you fellas open the gate and let a traveler through?”
One of the men called to someone called Tim. “Hey, Tim, we have a stranger who wants us to open the gate for him.”
A burly-looking man stepped out from behind a tree and Charlie could only guess he interrupted him while he was taking a leak. He walked up to Charlie. “Cost you six dollars to for us to open that gate, two for you and another two for each horse. Do you have six dollars?”
Charlie didn’t say anything. He just looked at them and counted four men. He looked beyond the men, trying to determine if there were more men out yonder somewhere. Four men were rough odds. He knew he could take two, maybe three of them, but he knew he wouldn’t come out of this without some serious difficulty. He had seen enough. Without showing any fear, he looked Tim in his eyes. “I don’t have six dollars, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give my money to the likes of you scoundrels.”
Charlie dismounted and said, “Boys, you might as well know it now. I’ll kill any mother’s son of you who tries to stop me from going through that gate. Now you better open the gate, or go for your shootin’ irons.”
The four men were a little taken back at the brazen manner in which the Kid addressed them. They figured he either was crazy or very, very sure of himself. “Do you really think you can kill all four of us?”
Charlie nodded. “I’ve shot better men than you four. I know that I’ll kill at least three of you and if I get real lucky I’ll get the fourth one too.”
“That’s a lot of talk for one man to say. I think you’re bluffing. But before we kill you, we’d like a name to put on your grave marker.”
Charlie had a ghost of a smile on his face as he looked at them. “The name is Charles Longstreet.” The Kid waited for his name to sink in. Then he saw it in one, then two men’s eyes. Recognition. Then a third man turned to his pals.
“This guy’s name is the same as the Lone Jack Kid’s. But it couldn’t be him. Not way out here.”
The Kid saw confusion setting in and he barked an order. “God damn it. Open the gate. I have business in Virginia City.” One of the men spun around while jerking his revolver in the same motion. The Kid pulled his weapon out as fast as lightning and he shot the man. Then, he turned and, without breaking his motion, he shot two others before running out of bullets. He had fired six bullets to kill three men, but he didn’t bother to holster the gun. Instead, he let it drop . . . and without waiting to hear it hit the ground, he reached to his shoulder and fired at the fourth man who fired a shot at him at the same time. The Kid’s shot killed the fourth man, but he took a bullet in the left shoulder and the impact of the 44-caliber bullet hitting him knocked the Kid off of his feet.
Charlie didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but when he opened his eyes and looked around, he saw four dead cowboys. Through blurry vision, he spotted the gun he dropped and managed to holster it, then he reached up and hooked his arm around the branch of a tree and managed to pull himself upright. Once he was on his feet, he opened his shirt to look at his wound. He was bleeding badly and he didn’t know if the bullet was still in him. He wrapped his red bandanna around the wound in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. With that done, he staggered to the gate. He walked in slow motion and his hands felt like lead as he labored to open the gate. With the gate open, he managed to get to his horse without falling, but he had difficulty mounting her. He put one foot in the stirrup and with a desperate burst of waning energy, he pulled himself up onto the saddle. The Kid was weak and it was difficult for him to stay on his horse and not fall off, but he knew that if he fell, he would most likely die. He swayed and rolled, but he managed to remain on his horse - at least for a while. The loss of blood weakened him to a point that without realizing it, he fell off of his horse. But in his weakened state, he thought he was still in the saddle. Instead, he lay unconscious on the ground beside a large tree.
He opened his eyes and he was in darkness. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t move.
“Stay still or you’ll hurt yourself,” he heard a voice say.
“Where am I?”
“You are safe with me,” the voice said.
“Who are you?” Charlie gasped.”
“I’m a monk on my way to Virginia City to join my brothers in their church. Only now, I’ll be a little late in joining them. But they will forgive me when I tell them I had to tend to one of my flock. I can’t let a man die, even if he is a gunfighter.”
Charlie coughed and rasped. “I’m an ex-soldie
r . . . Not - not a gunfighter.”
“Yes, my son, I realize that. Only I found four dead men that I had to bury before I found you. Facing four desperados shows me that you are a man of courage. Either that or you’re a damned fool.” The padre made the sign of the cross and looked up to heaven. “Forgive me, Father, for my poor choice of words, but you may hear more such words while I get to know this man a little better.” Charlie felt his arm and found that it was bandaged. “You’re lucky, my son. The bullet passed right through your shoulder. You lost a lot of blood, but we’ll fix that. Here; take some of my hot broth. It will give you strength.” The monk lifted Charlie’s head and spoon-fed him the hot nourishing broth.
Charlie tried to look around, but he was too weak to move his head. The padre noticed the confused look on Charlie’s face. “We are in a deserted cabin most likely used by a settler before Virginia City became what it is now.” The padre smiled at Charlie. “Now, no more talking. You need your strength, so finish eating your broth.” Charlie finished eating the soup, laid his head back, and closed his eyes. The padre looked at him and then towards heaven. “The good lord provides for those who know how to ask.”
The monk was a godsend. He fed Charlie, dressed his wound, cleaned him, helped him do the necessities, and, day-by-day, Charlie became stronger. The day finally came when Charlie could sit outside on the cabin’s decaying porch, talking with the padre. In one of their conversations, the priest asked Charlie if he believed in God.
Charlie looked toward the heavens and said, “Hell, padre, someone or something made all of this and I guess it must have been God.”
The padre looked at Charlie and said, “Do you know why I became a priest?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, padre, but I’m interested in hearing your answer.”
