by Jack Martin
Flightless-Eagle turned his horse and kicked it into a gallop, back towards Brady and the men.
Ten
Arkansas cursed.
They had been making good time and already entered the valley but he would have preferred to cover another couple of miles before nightfall, maybe even make the outskirts of the forest, but they had been forced to stop because the wagon had thrown a wheel.
‘Maybe we’d better make camp here,’ Arkansas said, examining the wagon. The wheel could be repaired but it would take a little time and darkness was not that far off.
Jake nodded, knowing that with his injury he would be next to useless in helping to repair the wagon. It looked as if the low humidity and high temperatures had caused the sleeve that held the wheel on its axle to shrink and split. A new sleeve would have to be carved and then the wheel reattached and coated in grease and tallow. The wheel itself looked fine but the axle had split and caused the wagon to tip onto its side.
‘We’ll have to find something to lever the wagon up while I repair the axle,’ Arkansas said and looked around. There were a few scattered trees here and there and he was sure he’d be able to find something suitable among them. ‘Guess I’d better find a strong enough branch and get chopping.’
‘Obliged,’ Jake said and slid from his horse. He leaned against the beast, keeping his injured foot off the ground while he slid his crutch from the straps that held it to his saddle. ‘There’s an axe in the tool box on the wagon.’ He turned to look at his son. ‘Go get it boy.’
‘I’ll fix a fire,’ Ellie-May said. ‘Get some coffee brewing.’ The girls, seeing this as another chance to run around, work the cramps from their young legs, bounded past her.
‘Don’t go out of sight, girls,’ Jake said. ‘It’s all too easy to get lost in this thicket. You don’t want to get gobbled up by a bear now.’
Little Jakie jumped from the wagon, axe in hand and took it over to Arkansas.
‘I can help you,’ the boy said.
Arkansas took the axe from the boy and then nodded. ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s find us a suitable lever.’
Jake watched his son follow the man called Arkansas into the thicket and remained watching until they had vanished from view. He looked up at a sky already darkening with the coming of night. There was certain freshness about the air as if in anticipation of the coming storm and Jake felt that the storm might be closer than they had previously imagined. If the rain, when it did come, was heavy and sustained for any length of time, it would turn the trail into a mud bath, making their already difficult progress more arduous still.
As Jake stood there, using the crutch for support, watching Ellie-May fix a fire while the girls, Lucy holding onto the ever present rag doll she called Miss Sally, ran about chasing each other he, not for the first time, doubted the wisdom of leaving Wyoming in the first place.
True they had done well enough thus far – with the light wagon and the small team pulling they had been able to cover ten to fifteen miles a day, keeping up a mostly constant speed of around two miles a hour. And until the bandit attack the journey had been largely uneventful. They had run into Indians at Lusk but they, a wandering bunch from the Blackfoot tribe, had been friendly enough even trading one or two items with Jake and his family. The buffalo hides that kept the girls warm as they slept had come courtesy of the Indians and cost only two imitation pearls and a leather canteen. It made Jake feel like a cheat but the Indians had been pleased enough with the smooth balls that he had snapped off Ellie-May’s neck chain.
Leaving Wyoming though, had been the correct thing to do and Jake knew that. Deep down he knew that. There was not a single tangible doubt in his mind, least not one that lasted, and the anxieties he felt on occasion were, he supposed, only natural.
The farm he and Ellie-May had built up from nothing was failing and had no hopes of competing with the big corporations who were now farming what little land was left available. They’d made a living but nothing more and were able to feed and clothe themselves but never able to indulge in even the most meagre luxury. Working the farm was a constant battle against the elements; days spent in the fields from dawn to dusk for precious little reward. And what crops they did produce were then sold to the market at too low a price in order to compete in an increasingly aggressive environment. The grasshopper invasion a few seasons ago had all but finished them off and Jake still shuddered when he recalled the sight of the untold millions of grasshoppers, a column of the things a hundred and fifty miles wide and almost that in length. There had been so many of them in that pulsating storm that they had turned day into night. Those critters had eaten crops across territories. Damn near chewed their way across the entire West and folk still called it, The Great Grasshopper Year. It was a year that Jake’s farm had never really recovered from.
The offer to take up a position in Kansas City couldn’t have come at a better time. Jake felt it offered the entire family a future that was beyond their grasp in Wyoming. It had been Jake’s brother, William who made the offer for Jake to join him in Kansas City and take up a position with the thriving Preston Cattle Company.
William had initially made his money trading along the Missouri River before becoming involved in the cattle trade. And after making a handsome profit on his first outfit the entrepreneurial William Preston invested in a bigger herd and never looked back. The Civil War had been good to William and he had secured an army contract that allowed his organisation to grow and continue to do so after the war. William, by now wealthy, had then become an important figure and his involvement in politics seemed a natural step for him. When the Missouri Pacific Railroad reached Kansas, William had been in a perfect position to ensure his own business interests benefited from the influx of activity that the railroads brought and would continue to bring. These days Kansas City was one of the busiest train centres in the entire United States. It was all a far cry from Jake’s own farm that seemed to produce nothing but blood, dirt and blisters.
William’s offer had been a lifeline to Jake and had not taken much thinking over. It was a good offer; a generous offer and not one Jake could afford to turn down. After all, as it had said in William’s letter – These days my political duties occupy the bulk of what little time I seem to have and I am neglecting my business interests. I need someone I can trust at the top, as there are many who would conspire against me and line their own pockets disproportionately to their labours on my behalf. Who better to trust than one who shares blood? Should you accept the position, my dear brother, I am sure it will be of mutual benefit.
Jake had accepted the offer but insisted on making his way to Kansas overland and under his own steam. His brother had offered to pay the train freight but Jake wouldn’t hear of it. One offer was generous enough, but he certainly wasn’t going to accept charity. He may not have much in the way of material possessions, but he had his pride and whatever rewards he found in Kansas would come from his own hard work even if it was on his brother’s behalf. And besides, Jake had told Ellie-May, it’ll be nice to see what’s left of the country before it’s all gobbled up by progress. He spat the word progress as if it were dirty, and perhaps, to Jake’s way of thinking, it was.
Eleven
Brady grinned and ran a hand across his mouth. There was juice from the beans he’d just eaten encrusted in his beard and he scraped this away with his fingers. ‘Land of many trees,’ he said, smiling at Flightless Eagle, crusty dandruff falling from his beard and floating on the air like blood soaked snow. ‘You mean the Great Forest?’
Flightless Eagle nodded. ‘The land of many trees. One more sun and they shall be there.’
‘Heathen,’ Brady muttered and stood eye to eye with the Indian. It made the outlaw a little uneasy that the brave didn’t flinch in the slightest, but he smiled and slapped Flightless Eagle on the back.
‘You did well, red man.’
‘The Land of many trees,’ Flightless Eagle repeated, impassively.
‘One more sun.’
Brady paced for a moment, lost in thought. From what Flightless Eagle had told him, Brady figured it would be easy to ride out ahead of the wagon and conceal his men amongst the trees, spread out and then ambush the wagon as it approached the forest. Neither the sodbusters nor Arkansas Smith would have any chance since there was only the one trail through the forest that could accommodate a wagon and Brady and his men would be spoilt for choice as to concealing themselves.
This time the ambush would work – earlier when Brady and his men had ambushed the posse along the cliff face there had been too many variables, too many places to run and the posse only had the one frontal attack to face, but this time Brady would be able to surround the wagon and pick them all off one by one, the children too would perish under the merciless hail of lead Brady and his men would send their way. The bandit intended on leaving no witnesses to the attack and he knew they would all have to die, no matter how young.
He himself had already lost too many men and he wasn’t going to take any more risks.
Arkansas Smith and those that travelled with him would have to pay a high price for getting in his way. The bandit didn’t particularly relish the thought of gunning down women and children but he had no other option. He didn’t intend on running forever and he would do what he had to do in order to keep his liberty. If he killed the men and allowed the women and children to continue on their way they would eventually tell their story and then even more posses would ride out after The Brady Gang.
Brady was tired of the constant chase.
‘Mount up,’ Brady ordered. ‘We’ve no time to waste. Let’s get this over and done with.’ Kicking Horse had not yet returned which Brady figured meant that the remainder of the posse were many miles back.
‘It’s about time,’ Jim Carter said. ‘ I’m getting mighty tired of all this hiding away. Ain’t no profit in it.’
‘All things will come,’ Brady said and spurred his horse forward, taking up the lead, while his men followed behind. Though in truth the bandit didn’t feel much like a leader and all he wanted was to disappear somewhere and rest up for a month or so without anyone looking to him for guidance. He was bone weary and was starting to feel his age. In his profession reaching old age was a rarity but he could feel it coming on him.
As soon as Arkansas and the sodbusters were dealt with Brady planned on splitting up the gang, going his own way, finding somewhere peaceful to live and changing his name, his appearance. For longer than he cared to remember he had worn the thick facial hair and he guessed he’d look like a different man without it. All it would take to transform Sam Brady into an anonymous nobody was a sharp razor and some hot water.
The country was changing, the old bandit may not have had any schooling but he was smart enough to realise that the end was coming for him and his kind. Civilisation was approaching on even the most remote country and with it came the politicians and their laws, and then would come the sheriff’s, the marshal’s, the lynch happy posses and one by one the old outlaws would be run into the ground and hung under the name of a vengeful law.
There was a time when a man could ride for days, weeks, even months, without any trace of another living soul but all that was changing. These days the railroads crisscrossed the country, swallowing and mutilating once virgin ground and destroying habitats of critters that had been there before men had even set foot in the country, chug-chug-chugging a song of despair as it went by. A few months ago Brady had been in California and he’d watched the railroads bringing the endless trains into the once gold rich country. He imagined that one day there would be no land left, every inch of ground from ocean to ocean covered in the dull coloured rails that carried the iron monsters and it wasn’t a prospect he relished. The endless trains would spew their black smog into a once clear blue sky and choke all those that lived beneath it, smother them in the thick cloud of civilisation.
‘What’s the plan?’ The speaker was Blade. He had galloped up to Brady. The Mexican skilfully slowed his horse to a trot that perfectly matched Brady’s pace.
‘Kill them all,’ Brady said without looking up from the trail ahead.
‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
‘Women and kids too?’
‘All of them.’ Brady insisted.
‘Men might want to have some fun with the woman,’ Blade said with a tight grin. ‘That is before putting a bullet through her head.’
Then Brady did turn to face the Mexican and there was a look on his face that silenced the other man.
‘No one touches the woman,’ the bandit leader snarled. ‘They all die but they die quickly and cleanly, none will be molested. We are men not animals.’
Twelve
‘Get some more grease on that axle,’ Jake said, his injured ankle meant that he was beyond offering true aid with the repair to the wagon, but he made himself useful by supervising. Well he considered his input useful but to Little Jakie and Arkansas, who laboured in refitting the wheel, he was a hindrance but neither of them said anything.
Arkansas dug his hands into the tin of animal fat and smeared it liberally along the axle, taking particular care to cover the newly constructed sleeve that held the wheel in place. The grease would help protect the wood from the elements and as long as fresh grease was applied regularly Arkansas felt the wagon could make the rest of the journey without further mishap.
‘Stand back, boy,’ Arkansas pushed Little Jakie back slightly while he gripped the pole they had used to lever the wagon up so that they could make the repair. The fifteen foot long pole was placed securely beneath the wagon with the other end resting on a large rock and then tied down to the ground with strong rope to create a kind of seesaw, which lifted the wagon just high enough to give clearance to carry out the repair.
‘Be careful there,’ Jake said and hobbled over to Arkansas. He gripped the end of the pole and winced when he felt a stab of pain in his ankle, but he ignored it. The wagon had to be lowered down gently to prevent further breakage. If the wagon was dropped too forcefully to the ground the axle could snap in two.
Arkansas pushed his weight down onto the pole and looked Jake straight in the eyes. ‘You ready to take its weight?’ he asked.
Jake nodded, gritting his teeth.
‘Okay boy,’ Arkansas said to Little Jakie. Release the securing ropes.’
Ellie-May and the girls came from the campfire to see if they could be of help but Jake ordered them to stand back, adding a command to his wife to get some more of that delicious coffee ready.
‘Foods gonna’ taste mighty good after our toil,’ he hinted with a tight grin.
Afterwards they all sat around the campfire, their bellies full, their bodies relaxed. The threatened storm had held off and it was a mild evening but Arkansas didn’t think it would remain this way for too long. He could smell the distant rain in the air and he knew it would come, a lifetime spent outdoors told him so. By dusk tomorrow they should reach the Great Forest and if the storm held off until then it shouldn’t hinder them too badly but riding across the valley towards the forest would be a nightmare with a storm blowing in their faces.
‘Come on, girls,’ Ellie-May said, clapping her hands. ‘You two need your sleep.
Lucy and Sarah’s faces dropped somewhat but they never said a word and promptly stood up, kissed both their mother and father, and then smiled at Arkansas and Little Jakie. Lucy then stepped closer to Arkansas and bent and pressed Miss Sally’s face against Arkansas’s, as if the doll was kissing the man.
‘Miss Sally like you,’ she said and then followed her older sister to the wagon. They climbed up into the box and Ellie-May went after them to settle them down for the night.
‘You’ve got a fine family,’ Arkansas said, smiling at Jake and rubbing the side of his face as if the doll’s kiss had left moisture upon his skin.
‘I sure think so,’ Jake said and with a groan bent to the fire and pulled out a twig, which
he used to light a quirly. He tossed his makings to Arkansas.
Arkansas quickly made himself a smoke and like Jake lit it from the fire. Little Jakie, not yet old enough to smoke, sat there staring into the fire, content to be with the men. The boy clearly felt that he had grown up somewhat and was on the verge of becoming a man himself.
‘You bed down with your family in the wagon,’ Arkansas said, addressing Jake. ‘Rest that ankle because we’ve got some hard riding come dawn. I’ll bed down out here and keep watch.’
‘I’ll take a watch,’ Jake said.
‘No,’ Arkansas shook his head. ‘Not tonight. You rest up and I’ll keep an eye on things.’ Arkansas stood up and arched his back and rolled his shoulders. ‘In fact,’ he added. ‘I’m going to take a look around but don’t worry. I’ll be close by.’
Jake knew it was no good arguing with the man and he nodded and sat there with his son and watched Arkansas walk leisurely over to his horse. The man had done a full days work and should have been plumb tuckered out but he moved with the agility of a mountain cat.
Arkansas mounted up and then tipped his hat to the man and boy before spurring his horse into a gallop.
‘Where’s he going?’ Little Jakie asked.
‘Like he said,’ Jake said and smiled at his son. ‘He’ll be close by.’
‘Lucy thinks he’s that fellow Tumbleweed.’
‘I know son. I know.’
‘He ain’t though,’ Little Jakie, being too old to believe such fancies said and then added: ‘Is he?’
Jake didn’t answer the question immediately but remained silent, thoughtful for some time and when he did eventually answer it was with a smile.
