A Man Called Scar

by Jim Cox

  “I don’t know, Liz. I think I’d like to become a rancher, raising cattle and horses. I know it sounds like the dream your Pa outlined the other night, but ranching in this beautiful country would make for a good life, a good environment to raise a family. I doubt if I’ll ever accumulate enough money to afford a ranch, but maybe I’ll strike gold.” They both laughed.

  Sitting in silence, they listened to the stream and watched the sky change colors as the sun went behind the last mountain. Bart reached for Liz’s hand, and she obliged. A short while later, they strolled back to camp, taking their time.

  Bart was up early the next morning. He gathered firewood and moved the hobbled livestock to a fresh patch of grass. That is, he moved them all except Maude. She was allowed to graze on her own and was now a couple hundred yards up the creek. Bart whistled, and she came ambling toward him, stopping occasionally to eat more grass. After a good rubdown, he scratched her forehead and returned to the wagon. Mrs. Douglas had a hearty breakfast ready when he arrived. After eating, he washed his plate and utensils and started for town. About halfway there, he saw Jug walking toward him at a fairly rapid pace.

  “I need to talk with you, Bart. It’s about those questions you were asking me yesterday afternoon. You thought I was too drunk to understand what you were asking, but I wasn’t. I’d been drinking a lot and was drunk but not so drunk I didn’t know what you wanted.”

  “Forget it, Jug. It was a crazy thought I had, don’t let it bother you.”

  “Well, it got me to thinking, and I believe I’ve come up with a good idea.”

  “Jug, forget it, I don’t have the money it takes to buy a ranch.”

  “Hear me out, Bart. Listen to my plan. I think it’ll work.” They found a log by the stream and Jug asked, “Have you got five hundred dollars, Bart? If you do, I think we can swing a deal.”

  “Between me and the Douglases, we can raise that much,” Bart said with a puzzled look. “Tell me your plan.”

  “Three years back, a young couple by the name of Vincent came out from Ohio with two children. Shortly after their arrival, they let it be known they intended to purchase a ranch and had money to pay for it. Within a week, a seller came forward with four thousand acres that was in their price range. It was vacant land with no living accommodations or other facilities for operating a ranch. Folks around here were afraid to settle and live on the land because of Indian activity in the area. You see, the property runs along the base of the mountains, and that’s a common travel route for Indians. The Vincents were warned of its dangerous location and that it would be subject to Indian attacks. They could have waited for other property to become available, but they bought the ranch anyway.”

  “Do they live on it now?” Bart asked.

  “No. They built a homestead a couple years ago. A house, a barn with a corral and some other outbuildings. Then they brought in two hundred mamma cows, fifteen white face bulls, and several broodmares. Things went fine for the first six months, but then the Indians struck and killed both of their children.”

  “That’s terrible,” Bart said. “How did it happen?”

  “The Vincents left the kids sleeping in the house one morning while they went to the barn to do chores. By the time Mrs. Vincent smelled smoke, the house was engulfed in flames. The Indians had slipped in and torched it, probably thinking the entire family was in the house sleeping. She tried to go in after the children, but Mr. Vincent held her back, knowing the fire had already taken them.”

  “How do you know it was Indians who started the fire?”

  “There were unshod hoofprints in the yard, according to Mr. Vincent.”

  “So what’s this got to do with me?” Bart asked.

  “After losing their children, the Vincents moved to town and rented a house by the church. Mr. Vincent now works for the blacksmith at low wages. His wife has never been able to forgive herself for coming west and subjecting her children to the dangers here.”

  “I bet she blames herself for leaving the children in the house unattended,” interrupted Bart.

  “I suppose that’s true. Anyway, she’s in a deep depression and is determined to go back East. Actually, they both have been saying for over a year they’re going to sell their ranch and return to Ohio.”

  “Why haven’t they left, Jug? Why haven’t they sold their land?”

  “There’s been no buyer, Bart. Ranchers around here have been holding on to their money the last couple of years, due to low beef prices, but the main reason there’s been no interest, no one wants to take a chance on that ranch. People are afraid of the Indians, and I can’t say I blame them.”

  “So you think the Vincents want to leave bad enough they’ll take five hundred dollars for their ranch and with my Indian connections, we wouldn’t be bothered, we’d be safe living there?”

  “You’ve got it,” Jug said with a big smile.

  “I knew it would be like Pa said, ‘there’s always a way.’”

  “What’s that, Bart? What did you say?”

  “Never mind, Jug, let’s go find Mr. Douglas.”

  Mr. Douglas and Liz were drinking coffee when the men arrived.

  “Where’s Mrs. Douglas?” Bart asked. “Jug has a plan that may interest all of you.”

  “She’s over to Mrs. Kaiser’s,” Liz said. “I’ll go get her.”

  “How’s Mr. Kaiser?” Douglas asked when his wife returned with Liz.

  “I don’t think he has more than a couple days left. It’s Mrs. Kaiser who needs our help. She’s strong, but I can’t imagine what she’s going through. It would be terrible to lose your husband after a trip like this.”

  Everyone collected their thoughts and filled their cups before Mr. Douglas said, “Jug has a plan that may interest us. Bart says it sounds good to him.” For the next thirty minutes Jug outlined the plan he had recited to Bart earlier, but in greater detail. Mr. Douglas asked a few questions, but Jug answered them satisfactorily.

  With an excited voice, Liz chimed in. “What do you think, Papa? Isn’t it a great plan? When do we get started?” Mrs. Douglas looked around, gauging the reactions, and then asked, “What do you think, Herb?”

  Mr. Douglas fiddled with his cup, giving the matter some serious thought before answering. “I appreciate you coming to us with this plan, Jug, but there are a few problems that concern me. First, we don’t have five hundred dollars to spare.”

  Bart hurriedly butted in, “You can use my money, Mr. Douglas. I’d be pleased.”

  “I thought you might say that, Bart, and I thank you for the offer, but in addition to the money, I’ll need help rebuilding the house and getting the place back in condition. We don’t have the money to pay wages, and unless you’re willing to stay on with us for at least two years, Bart, I can’t consider the purchase.” All eyes went to Bart as he lowered his head, contemplating the proposition Mr. Douglas presented.

  Liz jumped up. “Two years is not long, Bart,” she said with a great deal of enthusiasm. “It’ll be over in no time.”

  Bart studied on the matter for several minutes and then nodded to Mr. Douglas and said, “I’ll stay, Mr. Douglas if that’s what you want. I’d be honored to help you out.”

  “Thank you, Bart.” But while the others had begun celebrating, Mr. Douglas was giving the matter further thought. His face became sober, and he wore a tight-lipped expression. Shaking his head, he said rather firmly, “I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry, but I won’t expose my family to the potential danger. How can we know for sure the Indians won’t attack us? I can’t take the risk.”

  The camp was subdued for several minutes before Mrs. Douglas said to her husband, “Herb, I respect your decision and will abide by whatever you say, but we have been taking risk after risk for the last six months. We knew we were taking a risk when we decided to settle in the West. We certainly knew the travel here from Carolina could cost us our lives, and more than once, I thought it had, but we made it through against all odds.
I believe risk is a way of life in the West and I think we’re capable of becoming true Westerners. Can’t we at least go see the ranch?”

  Everyone’s eyes were again on Douglas. He turned his back on them all and walked to the camp’s edge, looking at the far-off mountains. Hesitating there for a few minutes, he returned and asked, “How far is it to the Vincent Ranch, Jug? How far to their homestead?” Faces smiled, and eyes lit up.

  “About twelve miles, Mr. Douglas. It takes a good three hours to get there.”

  “We’ll leave in the morning at first light,” he said with a slight smile.

  “Thank you, dear. We only have to look,” Mrs. Douglas said, as her face changed to a smile.

  The next morning, when the Douglases woke, Jug and Stu had the fire built and coffee made. Shortly after, Liz and Bart dressed and joined the others for coffee at the fire. Mrs. Douglas passed out salt pork breakfast sandwiches she and Liz had made the night before. They also had prepared the day’s lunch basket, which was in the wagon.

  The eastern sky was coming awake when they left the camp. They rode in partial darkness, but the sun’s rays had already reached the high-up, snow-covered mountains, reflecting a view of their destination. Bart rode Maude, and the others rode in the wagon. Liz and her parents were in the driver’s seat, and Stu and Jug sat under the canvas. There was a chill in the air and coats were drawn up tight, but the rising sun would soon warm things up.

  “Jug, I thought you said the Vincent ranch was at the foot of the mountains, twelve miles from camp? It can’t be that far…the mountains look like they’re only a couple miles off.”

  Jug laughed. “I know it looks that way, Liz, but believe me, the mountains are nearly twelve miles away.” Anticipation about seeing the Vincent place was high, but travel over faintly marked trails made the progress extremely slow. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful. For some, the far-off mountains covered with snow and trees held the most attraction. But for Mr. Douglas, it was the rolling land they were riding through. Land covered with a thick carpet of grass that could fatten hundreds of cattle.

  They topped a small rise and then descended into a valley about two hundred yards wide. At the floor of the ravine, they saw a well-used trail nearly twenty feet wide. “Where does that trail go, Jug?” asked Liz. “Looks like herds of cattle have been driven through there.”

  “It’s the main, east-west Indian route going across this part of the country, Liz. This trail is probably the major reason the Vincents were burned out. Indians don’t like white men infringing on their territory.”

  “Are we close to the Vincent’s ranch?” asked Mrs. Douglas.

  “We’ve been on their land for the last hour; their homestead is beyond the next ridge.”

  “You mean it takes more than an hour to cross their ranch?” asked Liz.

  “That’s right, and it would take twice as long if we were traveling an east-to-west route.”

  They stopped on the valley floor to examine the Indian trail. There were no fresh tracks, but the passageway was covered with the marks of unshod hoof prints not more than three days old. A look of hesitation passed among them, but in spite of some reluctance, they climbed back into the wagon and continued on. The steep hill out of the ravine caused the horses to strain, but in a matter of minutes they topped the hill and were pulled to a halt by Mr. Douglas.

  All eyes fell on the Vincent homestead about a half mile farther on toward the mountain. Its setting was simply beautiful. They climbed from the wagon and stood admiring the sight. Herb put an arm around his wife’s shoulder and firmly squeezed her. She, in turn, stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

  The homestead site was elevated nearly two hundred feet above where they stood. A cliff running north and south rose three hundred feet straight up, bordering the west side of where the ranch house had stood. The cliff itself was part of a mountain ridge that rose another five thousand feet and was covered with pine and spruce trees. A stream from the mountains flowed over and around rocks next to the cliff at a fast, downhill pace. The stream made a hundred-yard curve away from the cleft. It was between these boundaries—the cliff and the stream—the Vincents had built their homestead. The blackened remains of the house were within fifty feet of the cliff. The barn, which was still standing, was built north of the house, closer to the brook. East of the stream the land was flat and covered with trees.

  When they arrived at the building site, they stopped for a closer look and were amazed at the precise layout of the homestead. Even the bridge crossing the stream looked professionally constructed. “Vincent sure was handy with tools,” Douglas commented. “He spent a lot of time getting this place in tip-top shape. It’s a shame he had to leave.” Alice nodded in agreement.

  After crossing the bridge, folks went in different directions. The men went to the barn and were surprised to find a superb layout of stalls, an equipment room full of tools, and a loft large enough to store the winter’s hay. On the north side of the barn was an attached, open-sided lean-to shed with a forge, horseshoeing supplies, and other large equipment. Even a dredge for clearing stones. Liz and Mrs. Douglas walked past the house site to find mounds of dirt that had once been flower beds. Walking farther, they saw a few young apple trees with several shriveled-up apples hanging from the branches.

  Features of the property attracted each onlooker differently, but everyone had the same conclusion. This would be a wonderful place to live if the Indians left them alone.

  On the return journey, it was midafternoon when the outline of Flat Peaks came into view. Twenty minutes later, Douglas could see folks stirring around the Kaiser wagon. Mrs. Douglas was in a daydream and not paying attention to the surroundings, so Herb said to her, “Honey, something’s going on at the Kaiser wagon.”

  She immediately focused. “Mr. Kaiser must be worse,” she said.

  “Or perhaps he’s died,” her husband said, completing her thought.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mr. Kaiser’s body was buried in the church cemetery the next morning. The Flat Peaks’ parson conducted the graveside service, eulogizing with stories he had obtained by interviewing Mrs. Kaiser and other members of the wagon train. Most of the wagon folks, including Captain Willard, were present along with a few of the townspeople.

  Women tried to comfort Mrs. Kaiser after the service, but she asked to be alone. Everyone went their way in solitude, especially Bart, who had memories of his own father’s lonely burial not so long ago. No one had been present to honor his pa’s life, no one but Bart.

  Jug was already in the Douglas camp when Bart and the Douglases returned from the funeral. “I know it’s not an appropriate time to discuss business, you just coming from a burial, but maybe it’ll perk everybody up and get your minds onto something happy. Have you talked over the ranch situation? Have you made any decisions?”

  Mr. Douglas spoke up. “I think our whole family fell in love with the place, Jug, but I don’t think we should move out there and risk our lives.” Douglas saw heads and shoulders droop. A few shook their heads in disbelief. “Now wait a minute,” he said. “You didn’t give me a chance to finish. I believe we should purchase the Vincent place if it can be bought for five hundred dollars or even a little more. I think it’ll be a good investment at that price, but I don’t think we should move until we’re certain it’s safe. That might be a month from now or five years from now, but I’m confident we’ll be living there at some point.”

  Liz and Alice rushed to their hero and drew him into a tight hug. Bart started toward them, too, but backed off. Mr. Douglas saw his hesitation and called, “You, too, Bart. Come ahead. You’re part of this family.” Jug stood drinking his coffee, grinning from ear to ear as he watched the family celebrate.

  Douglas and Bart headed for the blacksmith shop to meet with Mr. Vincent in the early afternoon. He was bending over shoeing a horse and didn’t see them approach. “When you’re through with the horse, I’d like to talk to you about your ra
nch,” said Douglas.

  Vincent dropped the horse’s hoof and stepped toward Bart and Mr. Douglas. “If you’re interested in buying my place, I’m available to talk right now.”

  “Thanks, my name is Herb Douglas, and this is Bart Carter. We came in with the wagon train a few days ago.”

  “You’re the boy called Scar, aren’t you?” he said nodding to Bart.

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “I understand you want to sell and go back east, Mr. Vincent. If that’s true, I’d be willing to make an offer,” Mr. Douglas said.

  “What can you offer?” Vincent asked. “The sooner we’re out from under that hell hole the better.”

  Douglas hesitated and rubbed his chin, pretending to be in great thought before he spoke. “I’ve got to be very conservative, Mr. Vincent. I figure we’ll have to live in town and travel back and forth to work the ranch. My expenses will be high. I won’t risk settling my family on the place due to the Indian problems. Besides, we don’t have much money.”

  “I wouldn’t advise anyone to move out there, especially if they have children. I suppose you heard what happened to my family?”

  “Yes, sir, we did,” acknowledged Douglas. “I’m sorry for your loss, and sorry things didn’t work out for your family here.”

  “You’ve got me over a barrel,” reflected Vincent. “I’ve been trying to sell for over a year, and you’re the first person that’s shown any interest. My wife hasn’t gotten over the death of our children, and I’ve got to get her away from here before she totally falls apart.”

  “I understand the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps moving back home will help ease some of her problems. How soon can you be ready to travel, Mr. Vincent? Captain Willard says he’ll be guiding a train to St. Louis in ten to twelve days.”

  “We can be ready in a few days.” Vincent paused for a long minute before asking, “Mr. Douglas, I don’t want to beg, but I need enough money to purchase a traveling rig and a little extra to get started when we arrive back home. What can you offer?”