by Jim Cox
"Captain, what is she saying?” asked Douglas.
"They're Navajos. The old man's a chief and the women are his daughters. They were traveling to their camp in the mountains to meet up with other tribe members when their father became ill. He's running a fever, can't get warm, and doesn't have the strength to move. They've been stuck in this place without food and haven't eaten in four days.”
"What did the woman say about me?" asked Bart. "I saw her touch her cheek as she looked at me."
"The chief has named you Scarface, Bart. His daughter says he's an important man among the Navajo tribes. He's a great chief and to be given a name from him is an honor. He likes you because you act like an Indian. You don't wear shoes, and you threw rocks to confuse them, which is an old Indian trick." All eyes turned to Bart's bare feet.
"I've promised we won't harm them and they don't have to move. We might as well head back to camp," the captain said, shouldering his rifle.
Bart retrieved his boots before walking back to the wagons but felt uneasy leaving them with no food when he was about to have a feast. It didn't seem right. Instead of going to the Douglas' wagon, Bart sought out the captain near the fire. "Captain, may I speak to you about the Indians? I’d like to take some meat to them. I don’t feel right eating while they’re starving. They can have my portion if it’s all right with you. I won’t eat anything today. "
The captain looked at Bart with a slight smile and a nod. "Half of the meat is yours, Bart. You can do with it as you please. You were half of the hunting party, remember? If you want to give them a full quarter, it's fine with me."
"How about the hide, Captain, it could help keep the old man warm?"
"That's fine, Bart, and take the liver and tongue too. It's a favorite of theirs—they’ll eat the liver raw." Bart was considering the best way to get the meat and skin to the Indians when an idea came to him. The Kaisers had a horse that was to be sold when they settled—why not sell it now? It was the horse that had carried the Douglas items when he was laid up in their wagon. He presented his plan to the Kaisers, and they accepted his twenty-five-dollar offer. Bart got the money from his stash with Mr. Douglas.
When Bart approached the Indian camp with the meat and hide hanging from the horse, the women rose with guarded expressions. After Bart handed the reins to one of the women, smiles grew on their faces as they looked from one to another. Bart was walking back to the wagons when he heard the chief speaking to one of his daughters, who in turn, shouted for Bart and waved for him to return. The chief was now standing, and Bart stood before him. He witnessed a man of stature who stood with dignity in spite of illness and age. The chief’s long, gray hair hung past his shoulders, and his coal black eyes fastened themselves on Bart without a blink. He motioned for Bart to come closer, and with only a little hesitation, Bart obliged. The chief reached for Bart’s hand and positioned it on his weathered left cheek. Then he placed his fingers on Bart’s scar. Bart could feel a long scar running down among the dark, deep wrinkles on the chief's cheek. They stood in this position for nearly a minute, and then the chief took a step back and raised his right hand with an open palm, and Bart made the same gesture to the chief. They held one another’s gaze, and then the chief nodded. Bart knew it was time to return to camp.
He was only halfway back to the wagons when he saw smoke rising from the Indian camp. There'll be two parties tonight, he thought, one at our camp and one at the Indians’.
It was an hour before sunset when a line started forming by the fire pit. The captain filled plates with large slices of meat but left room for beans, peaches, and corn muffins. Mrs. Kaiser and her husband helped the captain by pouring coffee and keeping the bowls filled. A never-ending line of folks came for seconds, and a few men came for thirds. Everyone seemed happy. It was a good evening.
Before total sunset, the women carried dirty dishes to the stream for washing, and the men placed more logs on the fire. Mr. Dubia uncased his fiddle and started tuning. In no time, favorite songs filled the air while folks hummed and sang along. The stars twinkled in full array, the moon shone down like a beacon, and a western breeze cooled the night air.
One by one, couples rose and started to dance. Pretty soon, ten couples were keeping step with the music. Some were clumsy, seeming to have two left feet; a few of the men stood nearly still while their wives did the moving, and some danced in perfect rhythm. Everyone was laughing and enjoying themselves.
Liz and Bart sat on a log observing the fun. Liz’s long hair was pulled back away from her face and hung to the middle of her back, tied with a white bow that matched her dress. The flickering fire made her hair appear darker red than it really was. She didn’t say much as she sat there with a straight back and a perky little smile. Bart knew she was waiting for him to ask her to dance, but he wasn't about to.
When a new tune started, Mr. Douglas motioned for his daughter to join him. Shortly afterward, Mrs. Douglas approached Bart with an outstretched hand and asked him to dance. He was reluctant but took her hand. "You're a good dancer, Bart. I can tell you've had a great deal of practice," Mrs. Douglas said.
"Thank you. My ma taught me. We used to dance together nearly every week at church socials when Pa was off to war."
After a couple tunes, Mr. Douglas interrupted and asked for his wife's hand, saying to Bart, "Here, you can finish the dance with Liz."
Liz didn't say anything, and neither did Bart. They simply held hands and started the movements to the music. At first, they were a little stiff, but after a minute or two, they got along pretty well. Finally, Bart said, "You're a good dancer, Liz, you're very good."
She looked into his eyes with a smile and said, "It's because I'm with someone who knows how to lead." No other words came between them until it was time to say goodnight.
Bart wanted more sleep when he woke to morning noises, but he rose, pulled on his pants, and tucked in his shirt. He reached for his boots and then turned them upside down to shake out any unwanted pests. It was a wise Western habit because spiders or snakes would crawl inside them during the night seeking warmth. When Bart shook his left boot, something fell out. It was a necklace made of four claws hanging from a strip of rawhide.
Bart was showing the necklace to some people during breakfast when the captain asked to see it. "The Indians must have slipped this into your boot while you were sleeping last night. There’s an eagle claw, a claw from a bear, one from a wolf, and one from a mountain lion. It’s very special. Necklaces with claws signify importance to Indians. It's kind of like stripes on a soldier's uniform. Indians who wear a claw necklace must have caught and killed the animal. The number and type of claws signifies their importance. I've seen a few necklaces with two claws worn by respected Indians. I even saw a necklace with three claws once, worn by an extremely powerful chief, but I've never seen or heard of one with four claws. The old Indian you helped yesterday must have been the head of a nation when he was younger."
Later, Bart approached the captain.
“Will you go with me to the Indians’ camp? I want to thank the chief." The two set off, but when they got there, the camp was empty, and no one was in sight.
"Look here, Bart. See these two lines in the dirt? They're from a travois. I'd bet the women made one for the chief with the buffalo hide. With his daughters’ help, he'll be able to travel to his people now.”
"What's a travois, Captain?"
"It’s two long tree saplings fastened to each side of a horse and drug on the ground with a skin or blanket between them. Old or sick people lay on the skins when traveling. I imagine they used most of the buffalo hide you gave them to make a travois for the chief. They probably used the other part of the skin for a blanket to help stop his chills."
Bart was looking down at the claws hanging around his neck when the captain spoke. "Wear that necklace with pride, Bart. That old chief must have really seen something in you."
"Maybe,” replied Bart, “but he named me Scarface."
Chapter
Fourteen
On the fourth day after leaving the Deep Springs stop, the wagons moved parallel to a ridge of mountains. The trail had become somewhat steeper, but at the same time, the surface became hard with only a few rocks, which eased the workload for the teams. The dust from the wagons subsided and the humidity dropped, but the temperature remained hot.
That evening after supper, while people were gathered around the central fire, the captain made some announcements. "El Pueblo is within a day’s ride if we start early. It’s on this side of the Arkansas River. We'll camp a mile north of town by the river tomorrow night and spend the following morning in town replenishing our supplies and buying any necessities. You'll find the town to be friendly and the people willing to do business. When the Gold Rush was in full swing a few years back, the prices in El Pueblo were outrageous, but now they're back to normal.
“Four wagons will be leaving us at that point. They're heading south for the Texas Panhandle. Let’s all lift our cups and wish them the best of luck." Most folks had known for weeks the routes people would be taking, but they made a big to-do about their companions’ departure anyway. Saying goodbye was difficult. After all, families had been traveling together for weeks; relationships had been formed.
During a break the next afternoon, Bart found Mrs. Douglas and asked, "Would it be all right if I go to town with you tomorrow to buy some new clothes, or should I stay here and tend the camp?"
"I think you should go, Bart. It'll be good for you, but remember, people will probably stare and say hurtful things about your scar. Are you up to that? Can you control yourself and put people's rudeness aside?"
"I'm pretty sure I can. At least, I'm going to try. It's like you said, Mrs. Douglas, I need to mingle with folks. I might as well start tomorrow."
The wagons were stationed at the edge of town while the travelers went to the shopping district. El Pueblo was a fair-sized town, although not nearly as large as Cairo, Illinois. The buildings were of adobe construction and somewhat crude in their design. There was a general mercantile, a gun store, and a feed and grain outlet. Farther down the street was a hotel, a restaurant, and two taverns for those seeking such services. On the north side of town was an army outpost surrounded by a high log wall. The soldiers’ barracks, mess hall, and other buildings were along the western perimeter. The barns and horses were situated on the east. The post had been created to protect the town folks and travelers in the area from Indians.
Bart walked with Mrs. Douglas and Liz to the mercantile store, passing several women who turned their heads to stare and whisper behind raised hands. "How are you doing, Bart?" asked Mrs. Douglas.
"I'm doing fine. Their attitudes don’t bother me as much as I thought they would."
Before they entered the store, a girl of Liz’s age came by and taunted, "I'd wear a mask if I had a face like yours." Liz turned with her hands clenched into fists and was about to slug the girl when her mother pulled her back and eyed her with a scornful look.
"Don't let it upset you, Liz. They'd be more understanding if they knew my story," Bart said to calm her.
The store was sparsely stocked with a limited selection. Bart gathered two pairs of pants, some underdrawers, and a couple of shirts—one dark blue and the other light brown. As he was laying the items on the counter to pay, he saw a display of hats behind a pile of sacked flour, and on the rack was a hat almost like the one he’d left at Luke’s house—the one his Pa had bought. The price was two dollars, which seemed expensive, but he needed one. He went to ask Mrs. Douglas' advice.
She and Liz were in the yard goods section when Bart found them. "Don't you think this material would make a pretty dress?" Liz quizzed, as she whirled around holding the fabric in front of her.
"I guess so," he said with a shrug. "Mrs. Douglas, could you help me when you get some time?"
Mrs. Douglas folded the roll of material and turned to Bart. “What is it, Bart?”
“I need a new hat,” he said. “And, there’s one on the rack over there I like, but it costs two dollars. Do you think I should buy it?”
Mrs. Douglas looked into Bart’s questioning eyes for several seconds before answering him. “It’s your decision,
Bart,” she answered, as she turned back to the material selections.
After paying for his goods, Bart pulled his new hat in place and fetched Liz from her mother to find Mr. Douglas. He wanted to show him his new hat. As they were leaving the store, Bart saw an older couple struggling to carry a large bag of flour. "May I help you with that? It looks awfully heavy."
"Thank you, young man, that's very nice of you," replied the lady. "Our wagon is outside the door." After the sack had been loaded, the lady stiffened as she saw two young boys coming down the boardwalk toward them. With a frown, she whispered to Bart, "Be careful, here come the Miller brothers. They're a couple of no-accounts who pick fights and cause trouble all the time. The tall one is Bill, and the other is Bob."
"Thanks for the warning. I'll avoid them if I can," acknowledged Bart as he turned to Liz and said, "Ready to go?"
She hesitated and then suggested, "Bart, maybe we should go back inside the store until they pass? We don't want to get into a confrontation."
"Let's go, Liz. I'll not cause trouble, but I won't run from it either."
They didn’t get very far before the Miller brothers stopped ten feet in front of them, blocking the boardwalk. Both looked to be about Bart’s age but much larger in height and weight. Bill was close to six feet tall with long arms and legs. He wore ragged, homemade overalls over his bare chest and his boots had holes, exposing his bare toes. Bob was shorter but weighed as much as his brother. Bart knew he was in trouble when he saw the smirk on their faces. Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop as she whispered, “They want to start a fight, Bart. Let’s go back to the store.”
"I'm fine, Liz, they don’t scare me."
"Hey Scarface, how'd you get so ugly?" shouted Bill Miller. He wanted everyone along the streets to hear his challenge.
"If I was as ugly as you, I'd stick my head in a mud hole and leave it there," said Bob with laughter.
Bart only smiled.
"I'll bet you could start a stampede with that scarred-up face of yours," interjected Bill.
"Why don't you hold a horse turd on your face? It'd improve your looks," Bob said.
Bart smiled again. But it only made things worse.
"You ain't much of a man, are you? I'd never let anyone talk to me the way we're talking to you. You're plumb yellow, through and through, ain't you Scarface? The only person who’d be seen with you is that no-count girl holding your arm. She's homelier than that long-eared, ugly mule you came in on.”
Bart's fist hit the tall boy's nose with a full swing, knocking him to the ground. Splatters of blood covered the boy’s face. Bill jumped up and dove for Bart, but Bart sidestepped his lunge and landed a hard uppercut, causing the boy to slow down with a surprised look. Bart was thinking how his school fighting experience was paying off when Bill stepped forward and threw a roundhouse punch, knocking him to the ground. Immediately, the boy straddled Bart’s chest and landed several hard blows on his chin. Bill thought he had beaten his opponent, but Bart did not give up. He grabbed Bill’s overall straps, pulled him backward, and got his head in a scissors lock between his legs. When Bill was unsuccessful in pulling his head free, he bit Bart's right thigh and got loose. Bart quickly jumped up in spite of the pain from the bite. His shirt had been torn, leaving his back exposed. "Hey," said Bob staring. "He's got scars all over his body, not just his face. We’ll call him Scar."
Bart lunged for Bob, but the boy raised his knee and found Bart's groin; he doubled over in agony. Then Bill waded in, and with several uppercuts to Bart’s jaw, sent him to the dust. Somehow, Bart found the strength to pull himself up once again and start throwing punches, but they landed nowhere. Then Bob grabbed him from behind, and his brother hit him over and over. Liz ran for her father.
Douglas was carrying Bart to the town's water trough when Mrs. Douglas came running up. She kneeled over him, and then cried out, "Oh my goodness. He's been beaten. Herb…wet your bandana and hand it to me."
Bart's eyes were nearly swollen shut, his lips were split open, and his nose looked broken. Luckily, the old whip injury was not affected. He had several lacerations, and blood covered most of his face. But in spite of his injuries, Bart lifted his head with as much pride as he could muster, and said, "I'm fine. Does anyone have my new hat?"
"I've got it, Bart," Liz said between sobs.
By this time, most of the wagon train folks had made their purchases and were standing around the water trough gawking as Liz helped Bart wash up and put on one of his new shirts.
Then the captain rode up. "It's time we get started," he said, eyeing Bart. "We'll have to hurry, or it'll be dark before we reach our scheduled stop." Everyone headed for their wagons. Bart reached down cautiously to feel his ribs while the captain pulled Douglas aside and said in a low voice, "The Indians have been on a rampage the past few weeks, Douglas, especially in the area we're heading. The Army post commander told me three wagon trains have been attacked in the past month, and all the passengers—men, women, and children—were killed. He said nine wagons pulled out yesterday heading along the same trail we’ll be taking. The commander said he warned them of the danger, but they continued anyway. Are you sure you want to go on, Douglas? It’ll be dangerous.”
"We've come too far to stop now, Captain," Herb said with a nod. “We’ll keep a close lookout and try to be prepared for an attack.”
As Liz and Bart were walking back to the wagons together, she said in a belittling tone, "Bart, you shouldn't have started that fight. You didn't have a chance. You totally lost control of yourself when they started saying bad things against me. It didn't mean a thing. You don't have to fight for me. Don't you think I can take care of myself?"
