Snake Oil

by Fenton Sadler

  The little girl appeared to be used to the rocking motion of the horse as they made their way up the slope. Morton kept an eye upon her, but she seemed to know what she was about. Mercifully, Robert was asleep, which meant that Morton could concentrate on holding the reins and making sure that he would be able to take control of the beast if it became spooked by the gunfire and cannonade.

  At length they gained the heights and found themselves on the edge of a plateau. Morton paused for a moment and looked back at the network of canyons that they had left behind. It was a vision of hell. Fires were raging in a dozen spots and the flashes of artillery fire continued. In between the booms of the cannon and the explosions that followed he could hear the cries of men and the screaming of women and children. Those Yankee bastards were clearly making quite sure that the Indians got the message. Morton had an idea that the shattered remnants of the clans might be quite willing to be herded into reservations after a day or two of this slaughter.

  ‘Well, child,’ he said to the girl, who was also gazing down at the carnage below, ‘for good or ill, looks like you and me are stuck with each other for a spell. I’m not altogether certain how I came to end up like this. Still, it can’t be helped. I guess we will all of us have to make the best of it.’

  Although he was convinced that the Indian girl could not understand a word of what he was saying, Morton found that it helped him to formulate his plans when he spoke out loud in this way, so he continued: ‘Here’s what I propose, little one. We head north along this ridge, keeping out of sight of those below. I don’t want those idiots to get it into their heads that we are scouts or some such, else they will be firing their damned cannons up at us. When we find a track descending, we will take that and do our best to reach Claremont in that way. I should be able to unload this infant there on his kin, but as for you, the case is not at all clear. I can’t just abandon you, but I really can’t take responsibility for you for the rest of my life, as your father seemed to think. It’s a thorny question.’

  Perhaps the girl had slept before the attack began, but she showed no signs of weariness as the night passed. By dawn Morton was dog-tired, but the child sat on the horse, looking curiously from side to side. Not long after the sun rose a slight indentation to the left gave Morton reason to hope that there might be a way down from the plateau: a track, which might join the road to Claremont.

  He lifted the little girl down from the horse.

  ‘You sit here and wait,’ he said. He emphasized these words with gestures until she was seated. Then he handed her the baby and crept cautiously to the edge to see what was going on on the plain below. The answer was, to his great relief, nothing at all; the road lay like a ribbon, quite clear. He went back to his little group of dependents.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘The way is clear. We’ll move down as quick as we can.’

  With the girl mounted once more on the horse and with him clutching Robert in his arms, they made their way down the narrow trail and eventually reached the road. There, Morton paused for a moment.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I reckon we’re on the right trail now. With a little good fortune we might have a clear journey now to Claremont.’

  As he finished speaking Morton became aware of a very faint rumbling, far off to the south. He stared in that direction, then his heart sank when he realized that a column of cavalry was moving smartly towards them. They weren’t out of the woods yet; not by a long sight.

  ‘Listen,’ he said to the Indian girl, ‘you need not be afeared, but these fellows might not be well disposed to you. Or me neither, if it comes to that. Just you stand there, looking as helpless as you are able, get it?’

  As the troops came onwards the rumbling and creaking grew more distinct and Morton knew that there were not just horses in this unit, but also heavily laden wagons. Artillery, most likely, he thought to himself. So it proved as the column came abreast of them. It struck Morton that the smartest move that he could make would be to try and make himself and his fellow travellers as significant as possible. There was no point in trying to hide; that would only invite attention. Rather, he moved to one side and gave the road to the troops, just walking along by the side of the road, leading the horse with the little girl sitting in the saddle.

  It very nearly worked. A squadron of cavalry passed them by without incident, then a gun carriage and limber. Morton was congratulating himself on his cunning when a mounted officer called to the team of horses pulling a field gun behind him.

  ‘Halt! Pass word back, we’re halting.’ There was shouting and swearing as the message was transmitted along the length of the column. Morton thought that it might be wise if he were just to continue plodding ahead, but the officer called to him: ‘You there. Stand to. I want words with you.’

  Morton turned round, contriving to assume an expression of bewilderment and surprise.

  ‘Who, me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, you. Who else did you think I meant?’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Where have you come from?’

  ‘We’re just making for Claremont.’

  ‘I didn’t ask where you were going. I want to know where you’ve been.’

  Morton could see that the entire column of cavalry and artillery had now halted and that this was wholly on account of this damned officer’s interest in him. It was a complication that he could well have done without. While he was framing what he thought might be a suitable response to the artillery captain’s question, that individual spoke again, saying: ‘Do you know what I think?’

  ‘I couldn’t begin to guess,’ replied Morton.

  ‘I think you’re one of those comancheros whose nest we just burned out back in Palo Duro.’

  ‘Me, a comanchero? Nothing of the sort. It was those boys who waylaid me on the road a while back. I got no reason to love them.’

  ‘Then how come you’re travelling with an Indian child?’

  Racking his brains frantically for a suitable answer, Morton finally said: ‘After I was bushwhacked I took to those hills over yonder. I found this child wandering there and couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. So I brought her down with me.’

  That his life was in peril Morton knew very well. These men were on active service and he imagined that martial law had been declared across this part of Texas. If they truly believed him to be a comanchero, perhaps a spy for them, then the best he could hope for would be a drumhead court martial and probably a firing squad at the end of it. The captain was staring hard at him and Morton wondered if he was trying to decide what size he took in coffins.

  ‘What about the baby? Where does that fit into the scheme of things?’

  ‘It’s by way of being a long story. I’m sure that a busy man like you has more important things to attend to than my doings.’

  ‘You let me decide for myself what I have time for. What’s your name?’

  ‘Morton.’

  ‘Is that your given name or your surname?’

  ‘Surname. My Christian name’s James, though mostly I’m known as Jack.’

  ‘And you give your oath that you aren’t connected with the comancheros over in the canyons?’

  ‘I’m no comanchero.’

  ‘Well then, for the sake of the children who are with you, I’ll lend a hand for to get you to Claremont. You and those two can ride in one of the supply wagons and you can eat with us. Your horse can walk along of the wagon.’

  ‘That’s right good of you, Captain. You’re a real Christian.’

  It was a great relief to be able to sprawl at his ease in the open wagon, and it struck Morton that the girl was also pleased not to have to hang on there, stuck up on a horse. Now that they were relaxing it occurred to him that he didn’t even know the child’s name.

  He pointed at his own chest and said clearly, ‘Morton.’

  Then he pointed at her and made a dumb show of bewilderment. It took her a second to catch his drift, but when she did she jo
ined enthusiastically in what she obviously regarded as some species of parlour game. The girl pointed at Morton.

  ‘More-ton,’ she said. Then she touched her own chest and said something which sounded very much to Morton like ‘Keyhole’.

  He pointed at her and said, ‘Keyhole?’

  This time, she smiled brightly and said definitely, ‘Keyhole.’

  ‘Well,’ said Morton, ‘I dare say as I ain’t pronouncing it precisely in the Comanche way, but if you’ll answer to “Keyhole”, then “Keyhole” it shall be.’ He stretched out his hand and engulfed her tiny one in his.

  ‘I’m very glad to know you, Keyhole,’ he said.

  The captain still had some kind of reservations about Morton, for he rode back along the column once or twice to speak to him. The first time he did so, he remarked: ‘You’re more lacking in curiosity than any man I ever yet met in the whole course of my life, Mr Morton.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘You encounter a column of troops on active service, who have quite clearly been in battle lately and you don’t ask me a single question about what we’ve been up to. Anybody would think that you already knew all about the action.’

  This was very close to the bone and so Morton prevaricated skilfully.

  ‘Why, I don’t take much heed of military matters these days. Had my fill of such things during the war.’

  ‘I’ll warrant from your accent that you weren’t in the Union Army.’

  ‘Shall we make Claremont tonight?’ asked Morton, not wishing to enlarge upon his activities on behalf of the Confederacy.

  ‘No, we’ll camp up at dusk. Should get there tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your assistance. I don’t know how I would have managed unless you boys had chanced to come by.’

  The officer looked at him and replied sardonically, ‘I’ve an idea that you would have got along pretty well if left to your own devices, Mr Morton. You have that air about you of a man well able to paddle his own canoe.’

  ‘It’s kind of you to say so.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be in the nature of a compliment.’

  Chapter 10

  The temporary camp that the artillery train set up when the sun had set reminded Morton very much of those he recalled from the war. The only difference was that these men were not really in a state of war. They went through the motions of posting sentries and so on, but this was done more to comply with the requirements laid down in textbooks on military tactics, rather than because they seriously expected an attack.

  The reason being, thought Morton, that these bastards had been waging war upon peaceful villages containing women and children, rather than fighting an honourable war against an opponent who was also armed with artillery.

  The rations the troopers shared with him were adequate, but not luxurious. The men showed little interest in Morton and his two young companions. They had been told to offer him hospitality and that was what they were doing. Like their captain, these men entertained their own suspicions about this Southerner and the circumstances that had led to his being on the road here. Did they too think that he was an escaping comanchero who had somehow acquired those two children and was using them to help him project a tender and caring image and so cause others to help him on his way?

  It didn’t especially bother Morton to be cold-shouldered by the men who had so recently been butchering peaceful villagers, so he moved a little out of the way with his two young charges and began talking to Keyhole. She had the advantage of not understanding a single word that he said, so he was able to unburden himself of his hopes and plans, confiding in her the way that people sometimes unravelled their thoughts by talking to a cat or dog.

  ‘You know, Keyhole, it’s taken these last few days to show me how weary I’ve grown of this travelling life. Last two or three years I don’t think I’ve stayed in one spot longer than three nights. First the riverboats, then that ridiculous van. I’ve forgot what it is to be settled and secure in one place.

  ‘But I reckon I’m going to give it a try now. I’ve got better than six hundred dollars to get me started and I never was afraid of hard work if that was what was needed.’

  While Morton talked to her, the little Indian girl played with the baby, who gurgled and smiled at her.

  ‘Does that child’s diaper need changing?’ asked Morton. ‘I guess I should do that before we sleep. What a mercy that I was able to wash those diapers in the river, back near your village.’

  The girl he called Keyhole looked up at him and smiled. She seemed to take pretty much everything in her stride, that one.

  ‘I should be able to rid myself of young Robert there,’ Morton continued, ‘but you’re another study altogether, child; you know that? The good Lord alone knows what I’m going to do with you.’

  To Morton’s great surprise the girl reached out her hand and touched his cheek lightly. Then she carried on amusing herself with the baby. So the three of them sat, talking and playing, until it was time to sleep.

  When he awoke the next day Jack Morton had a sense of foreboding which, as far as he was able to tell, was not founded upon any rational thought. On the face of it, everything was going just fine, but Morton had the distinct sensation that things were about to take a wrong turn. Lying there as he came to, Morton tried to work out what had caused him to feel so. Had it been a bad dream, something he had eaten the night before? Try as he might though, he could not think of anything to explain his anxiety.

  When the Indian girl woke up and stretched, Morton watched her unobtrusively. Like a startled fawn, the child looked around uneasily, almost as though she was sniffing the air for something. She too had caught the scent of danger.

  ‘You feel it too, don’t you?’ Morton said. ‘I didn’t think I was imagining it. You keep close by me, you hear what I say? I’ll take care of you, but you mustn’t go wandering off or anything.’

  Even if she couldn’t understand his words, the child picked up Morton’s mood and moved a little closer to him. He put his arm around the girl and hugged her.

  ‘Don’t you fret none,’ he told her. ‘We’ll make it through all right, you, me and little Robert here. You let me know if you see or hear anything, yes?’

  The artillery captain came by to see how they were before the column broke camp. Morton was intrigued to see that this man also was a little more alert than he’d been before. Was he too expecting trouble?

  ‘God willing,’ the officer said, ‘we should be in Claremont a little after midday. I don’t aim for to write you into my reports, Mr Morton. Do you now give me your solemn assurance that you mean us no harm and that you aren’t a spy or something of that sort?’

  ‘I’m no spy. I just want to get these children to safety, nothing more. Without wishing to appear ungrateful, I’ll say this though, I don’t think much of soldiers who make war on civilians.’

  ‘I was only obeying orders,’ said the captain, reddening slightly. ‘I don’t see as you have cause to complain. If not for us, I don’t think you’d be doing so well now.’

  ‘Like I say, I wouldn’t wish you to think us ungrateful.’

  The column moved off after a light breakfast which consisted of nothing more than dry bread and watery coffee tasting of the tins in which it had been prepared. It was better than nothing, but Morton was beginning to look forward to a proper meal; preferably one served in a decent restaurant and accompanied by a drop of liquor. He’d had just about enough of roughing it.

  Keyhole had also picked up the sense of something in the air. It had quite a different effect upon her, though, from what it had on Morton. For him, it was feeling of dread anticipation; for the little girl it was something exciting. Her eyes were bright and she chattered incomprehensibly to Morton, as though they were going on a Sunday School outing or something of that nature. He was glad enough to see her cheerful, but began to find her excitement a little wearing after a time.

  ‘You
know something we don’t?’ Morton asked the girl. ‘I wish you could speak English, Keyhole. I’ve an idea that you might tell a rare story. Anyways, let’s get up on the wagon now. With luck we should all be sleeping in proper beds this night.’

  Young Robert was inclined to be a little grizzly, so Morton applied a liberal amount of snake oil to the little boy’s gums. The bottle was all but empty and Morton said: ‘I hope we can find something in Claremont that works as well as this on your teething pains.’ He laughed, shook his head and then said, ‘All that time I’m peddling this stuff and pretending it’ll cure anything from the ague to smallpox and there I was, sitting on the best patent remedy for infant teething pains that the world has ever known! If only I’d o’ known.’

  Morton was still finding it something of a novelty to be riding with a unit of the Federal Army. Not so long ago, these had been his deadly enemies and a band of artillery like this would have been a prime target for him and his men. It was slow moving, unwieldy and almost impossible to manoeuvre in battle. Yes, these field guns and their crews would have been like shorn lambs before him and his comrades during the war.

  While these thoughts were going through his head, Morton noticed that little Keyhole’s attention had been caught by something. She was staring intently to the right of the wagon.

  ‘What is it, child?’ asked Morton. ‘Seen some animal?’ He peered in the same direction that she was looking in, but could see nothing.

  That the captain in charge of the column was feeling a little more nervous than he had been yesterday was shown by the fact that he had put out flankers when they set out: men riding a half-mile along either side, whose job was to keep an eye out for any ambush. After two hours of peaceful travelling it was beginning to look as though this had all been a needless precaution.

  The land through which they were travelling was fairly flat and uninteresting. To the right were the red sandstone cliffs, behind which lay the canyons that made up the Palo Duro complex. Ahead were some low hills, topped here and there with wind-carved pillars of rock. The road was sloping down now, heading into a narrow defile that led between two rocky masses.