by J. R. WRIGHT
“Now, if I want to. I’ve already put in my hours and then some.”
“Bring up my horses then. You can ride the bay.”
“Where are we going?”
“To buy a mule. That bay keeps throwing her shoes. I think it’s time I had a mule for pack. Snively told me of a farmer down trail that breeds a bigger animal. He bought one and likes it better than a horse. Is it here?”
“The red one in stall fourteen.”
Luke sauntered over to take a look while Kinney went for the horses from the corral in back. They had been there on double rations since last he was at Kearny, a month and a half previous. The red mule was at least a hand taller than the average sized horse in the same stall. No doubt Luke was impressed, at least with its size, but he wouldn’t be fooled. They could be very stubborn and temperamental. Such an animal he had no use for, which was the very reason he hadn’t switched to mules upon the advice of other army scouts over the years.
“A mule can smell an Indian for twenty miles,” Pierre had told him once.
A small sign on the trail five miles from the fort read, “Amos Jantz, Mule Trader.” This, Luke was told, marked the trail to the farm, a half mile distant. Obviously, this was one of the squatter farms Luke had been complaining about earlier to Colonel Snively. But, upon reaching it, it became apparent the place wasn’t much. The house was made of cottonwood logs, large with a low sod roof, where half a dozen goats grazed. In the garden a large woman was giving them her full attention while leaning on a stick. Luke, seeing no one else about, rode up to her.
“I’m looking for Mister Jantz?”
“He’s down in the barn,” she pointed the stick she had been using in place of a hoe to a building down below the hill. All they could make out from where they were was green grass that took on the shape of a roof.
Once below, it became clear the barn was a dugout with a rather large opening to the south, and no windows. Inside was Amos, a smallish, bearded man of middle age, covered in horse and/or mule shit from hat to shoes. He had a large mare backed into a narrow stall, and behind her was a donkey, standing on at least two feet of compacted manure. It was immediately clear to Luke now how this man bred such large mules. He simply used larger mares, then elevated the stud donkey so as to reach her otherwise impossible height.
The mare was definitely in heat, switching her tail violently from side to side. It was the donkey that didn’t want to cooperate. Amos had a rope under the donkey’s rump and looped around a huge cottonwood pole that held up the roof. He was pulling, foot against the pole, with all his might. But the stubborn animal would not advance into position.
Luke quickly grabbed on to help Amos while Kinney Hardy threw his slight frame against the animal, then delivered a couple good slaps to its rump. Before long the donkey leaped and rested his front legs over the mare. Then, once Amos had taken up the slack in the rope, he tied it off to the pole. Now, the stud donkey had no choice but to remain in position for what he was intended to do: breed the mare. And he would remain there until making up his stubborn head to do just that.
“Thanks for the hand.” Amos wiped his brow. “I’ve been working to get that little bastard on top of her all afternoon.”
“Now what?” Kinney asked, not seeing anything happening.
“He’ll rest a little, then do his job. Seems the only thing they can do timely is eat and shit,” Amos said. “Who are you fellas? Come to buy mules?”
“We came to look. The name is Hill, Mister Jantz. And this here is Kinney Hardy.”
“Howdy.” Amos extended a dirty hand. “Got a bunch ready.”
Luke and Kinney in turn took the hand.
“They’re out here in the corral.” He headed for the door. “These here are ridin’ mules. I don’t sell many wagon mules, unless they’re ordered up special.”
“They are certainly big enough,” Luke said as he climbed the rail fence for a better look. “Are all these broke to ride?”
“Yes, sir! Broke ‘em myself. They’s better broke than most horses you’ll come across,” Amos said proudly.
Luke looked the bunch over, maybe twenty head in all, with a practiced eye. One caught his attention several times as they circled the pen. It was a multi-colored pinto that seemed to carry herself with a spryness none of the others seemed to have. She still had the homely roman nose and the big ears that all mules possessed, but was quicker and lighter on her feet.
“How about that calico paint jenny there?” Luke pointed.
“Don’t make any difference if it’s a she or he, with mules. They’ll never make more mules, or horses, or donkeys, or anything else. They’re duds.”
“I know, but I prefer females. They seem to be gentler, at least in horses.”
“You coulda picked any of the others fer seventy-five dollars. But that’n I’ll haft to have a hundred.”
“What makes her so special?” Luke asked.
“First off, she’s the only spotted mule I ever raised. Or even seen. The dam was that ruby red Morgan, there in the pasture; the donkey sire was white. How it happened I’ll never know,” Amos said, scratching his ear. “But that ain’t all – she’s smart too. Does tricks. She’ll lay down if ya tell ‘er to. Won’t get back up, till ya tell ‘er to. Jumps a fence sideways, she will. Rears on command – backs up too.”
Luke was near ready to give up on the calico, the way Amos bragged her up. But he saw something in this mule’s eyes. It told him she was worth the extra money. If eyes were windows to the soul, then he saw nothing but brilliance and compassion in the twinkling depths of that one.
“Come look at my horses. Perhaps we can make a trade,” Luke said and came down from the fence.
“Whatya got?”
Luke walked directly up to the chestnut, loosened the cinch, and pulled off the saddle. Kinney Hardy gave him a glancing look. He was sure it was the tender footed bay Luke wanted to be shy of.
Amos looked the chestnut over only for a few seconds before throwing his attention to the bay. It was just as Luke expected, having dealt with more than a few horse traders over the years; the man was crafty. It was clear Amos had learned that the better horse was always the one the owner least wanted to part with. So Luke made it appear as though it was the bay he preferred to keep of the two, when in truth it was just the opposite.
Luke hadn’t bothered to remove the saddle from the bay, making it even more likely he intended to keep her.
Amos looked the bay over closely. Felt her legs, rubbed his hand over her withers, checked her teeth, and even lifted her tail and took a good look. After all this he spoke.
“Might be interested in this here filly. She may make a breeder. A little small in the behind – could have trouble in foal – but I’ve pulled ‘em before. For her, I’ll give you thirty in trade on the calico, twenty-five on any of the others.”
Luke thought for a moment. “Let’s put a saddle on the calico.” He wouldn’t haggle until he had at least ridden her. Maybe she was rough in the saddle. The chestnut was hard enough on his back with her skittishness of everything that moved. A jack rabbit would send her abruptly sideways without warning.
The saddle from the chestnut fit the mule well. However, Amos insisted he use the hackamore bridle, one without a bit in the mouth, of which she was accustomed to.
After a ride around the pasture at a lope, Luke found the mule quite comfortable. And she neck-reined promptly with little effort. Back at the barn, Amos signaled him to say, “Down.” Luke did and was surprised when the mule went down like a camel, allowing him to step off.
“See,” Amos laughed, “now say, ‘Up.’” Luke did so and up she went.
Totally impressed, Luke had no desire left in him to haggle. He just had to have this mule. “Swap out the bridles and we have a deal.”
“I made that one. I guess I can make another. Okay,” Amos poked out a hand to seal the deal. “You owe me seventy dollars, Hill.”
“Yes, I guess I do,” he
went to the saddle bag from the chestnut and came away with seventy in gold.
“You’re a clever man, Mister Hill. The chestnut is your favorite, isn’t it? A man always keeps his money…”
Luke smiled broadly. “The bay will make the best mare.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Other than going along on a few meaningless cavalry patrols, Luke had little to do over the next month until the one hundred and ten wagon Indian commodities train finally arrived in mid-August. Luke was then put on point to guide the train the remaining three hundred miles to Fort Laramie and the plains Indians who desperately awaited its arrival. Colonel Henri Snively himself, along with a company of cavalry from Kearny, would provide an escort the entire way. Eight days out, though, a courier from Laramie brought horrible news. There was an Indian uprising, and the fort was under siege.
Snively wasted little time at informing Indian Agent John Whitfield of his intentions. He would ride on to Laramie with hopes of staving off an all-out Indian war. The train would be left without protection. Whitfield had a choice: he could risk continuing, or turn back for the safety of Fort Kearny. He chose the former. If this matter was caused by the delay in delivery of the commodities to the Indians, then perhaps the arrival of them would put an end to it.
Luke was quick to ask Colonel Snively for permission to go on ahead of his detachment, and it was granted. He was concerned on many fronts: first, for the safety of his good friends, James and Cola Bordeaux, and second, for Bright Moon. He had promised Chaska she would be kept safe. But that wasn’t the extent of his worries. Strangely enough, he was concerned for the Indians. No matter who was at fault here, surely the tribes involved would be punished.
Kicking the calico mule to a lope, Luke soon saw the chestnut move up along beside. She was not yet accustomed to the pack and seemed to find it demeaning to trail behind the mule.
If there had been a battle at Laramie, there was no evidence of it as Luke approached three days later, seeing it from a half mile away. The fort there was intact and so was Bordeaux’s store. The only thing missing were the Indians. The twelve hundred tepees that sat east of the fort were no longer there. This gave Luke an uneasy feeling as he scanned the rubble that remained after a hasty departure and saw buzzards circling high in the sky above. It seemed even they weren’t certain it was safe to settle in.
Focusing back on the store, Luke walked the exhausted mule toward it. Seeing no life about it, or at the fort further up, he wondered if anyone remained here. The gates of the fort were closed, as were the big doors of Bordeaux’s store. But just as Luke was gazing at it, the doors of the store flew open and Bright Moon came running out. Seeing him she charged in his direction, screaming hysterically.
“Down!” Luke ordered the mule and quickly stepped off to receive Bright Moon into his arms. Now that he could clearly see the expression on her face, it appeared she was merely happy to see him, enough so for a false alarm that set his heart to racing. Looking again at the store, he saw James and Cola Bordeaux appear at the open doors.
“White man, Tom Dawn, see Chaska?” She hugged him quickly, then dropped to the ground. “See,” she poked out her belly, revealing a sizable bump in the loose fitting store bought dress. “Chaska be father. Bright Moon have baby,” she said excitedly.
“He hasn’t come yet?” Luke was surprised. It had been nearly four months since he and Bright Moon had left Chaska behind at the cave.
“Noooo,” Bright Moon said sadly and drooped her head.
“What happened here?” Luke asked, now that Bright Moon had gotten out what was most important to her.
“Indians come and break in store, steal everything. Bordeaux make us go in hole under store. We safe, but Bordeaux hurt… bleed.”
Luke glanced back at the store and saw James still standing there. He said “Up” to the calico mule and walked toward him. Closer to the store, he saw the interior in shambles.
“What happened, James?” Luke asked the same question of him, as he came up.
“They got me, Tom.” He looked back into the store. “They got me bad. What they didn’t steal, they broke. I didn’t think they’d ever do that. I’ve been friends with those people for over a decade now.” He paused, looked back, and received Cola when she came up. “I guess I ought to be thankful. They spared our lives. And they didn’t burn the building.”
“Cola,” Luke tipped his hat. “Sorry for your loss.”
“We’ll be okay, Tom. We’ll start over. It’ll take time to resupply, but we’ll be open for next year.”
“What’s going on at the fort?”
“What’s left of the soldiers are out on patrol,” Bordeaux said. “Twenty-nine of them died down there.” He glanced east to where the village was. “Lieutenant Grattan, Sergeant Summerville, along with twenty-seven others. You knew Lucienne Auguste?”
“Yep, but not well. Interpreter, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but not a good one. The Indians hated him. Well, he’s dead for it.”
“What caused it?” Luke asked.
“It all started over a stupid cow. A god damn lame cow!” Bordeaux touched the bloody bandage on his head as if the wound beneath it pained him. “There was a wagon train here bound for salt lake. A cow from it strayed during the night. The following morning, the mormon who owned it found where it had been butchered down by the village there. Of course he went to the fort and complained, demanding twenty-five dollars for the cow. Lieutenant Fleming sent for Chief Conquering Bear. They parleyed for most of the morning, but no agreement was reached. Conquering Bear offered a horse in exchange for the cow, but that was refused by the mormon. He wanted his twenty-five dollars, and that was that. Hell, I came near to paying it myself just to shut the man up and put an end to the matter. Then Grattan got involved. He took the side of the mormon and began pressuring Fleming to let him go to the village and arrest whoever was responsible. Finally, Fleming, not wanting to be outdone by Grattan, went to the village himself. He didn’t stay long, once he saw young warriors already painted for battle.”
“You were there?” Luke asked.
“They needed an interpreter. Auguste was off drunk somewhere,” Bordeaux said. “He wouldn’t have been much good anyway. He knew broken Dakotah, but not much else. Certainly not Brule, or even Oglala.”
“Will you be okay?” Luke asked out of concern for his old friend, seeing him touching the wound on his head again.
Ignoring that, Bordeaux continued. “Hell, I thought that was the end of it. Nothing more happened that day. I even went down to the village the following morning to appraise some furs offered for trade. Everything was peaceful as usual. Then all hell erupted. Me and the whole village watched as Lieutenant Grattan installed artillery on the hillside yonder. Then, cocky as they come, Grattan and Auguste rode directly into the village, demanding the surrender of the ones responsible for killing the damn cow. Conquering Bear refused. That’s when Auguste, drunk as usual, started calling the old chief a woman. Of course, this went over like a bomb in the shit house. The warriors went wild, running for their horses. I know it didn’t take me long to see what was about to happen. When I got back here, I ordered the women to the cellar and told my traders to take up their guns. I just knew we were going to get it too.
“Next time I looked, it was over. The soldiers were all dead, and the warriors were heading for the fort. Then they came for us. We didn’t put up much of a fight. After I got knocked unconscious, my people hightailed it. The looting went on most of the night. Come daylight, they were gone. All of them. And this is what I have left.”
“Where do you reckon they went?”
“Don’t know for sure, but I would say they’re heading for their hunting grounds in the Powder River country. They would have been there already had they not been waiting for the annuities. That trail they left is a mile wide.” Bordeaux pointed to the far hills where the trail was visible from where they stood. “It won’t be hard to find them.”
; “Any Indians killed?”
“Conquering Bear and a few others. Little Thunder came by later to run off the ones plundering my store. He was heart broke. According to him, one of Grattan’s soldiers shot Conquering Bear in the back just as they were leaving the village to go man the artillery. He died a few hours later. You knew Conquering Bear?”
“And I know Chief Little Thunder. Good people, as far as I could see.”
“You should have been here, Tom. You may have been able to head this thing off. They all respect you.”
“I doubt it.” Luke pushed his hat back and wiped his brow. “Grattan was a brash West Pointer, still wet behind the ears. I met him when he first got here last fall. Who brings artillery to an already angry village and doesn’t expect a fight? Who starts a damn war over a lame cow? It appears to me Grattan was looking for a fight.”
“That’s how I see it.”
“Now, that’s arrogance. A detachment of twenty-nine men up against a village of near five thousand! Who led the charge against Grattan?”
“Red Cloud,” Cola spoke up. “He came into the store occasionally. Always bragging he was a chief.”
“Oglala?” Luke asked.
“Yeah, but I doubt he is a chief. Little Thunder tried to head him off, but maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t get the job done. No telling what Grattan would have done had he got to those cannon,” Bordeaux said.
“Colonel Snively is on his way with a calvary unit,” Luke offered. “He’ll want to know what happened here first hand, if you’re up to it, James?”
“I’ll be here. We have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
“White man, Tom Dawn, take Bright Moon to Chaska?” Bright Moon popped out of the store.
“No honey,” Cola went to console her, taking her back into the store.
“I’m sorry, James. I don’t know what to do with her. Now I see she’s pregnant.”
“You’ll do nothing with her. Take her away now and you’ll break Cola’s heart. That little gal is the daughter she never had. You just leave her be.”
