by J. R. WRIGHT
“You sound as though you don’t trust him?”
“He’ll be someone to contend with in the future, I’m sure. Little Thunder, however, is a good sort. A bit too principled for his own good. He just can’t understand why Grattan did what he did. And because he feels it was wrong, regardless of the retaliation, he plans to hold his ground and fight.”
“He won’t stand a chance!” Twiss said, shaking his head disappointedly.
“That’s what I told him. Didn’t change his mind. I guess he’s destined to become a martyr.”
“So where did they all go – the ones that took your advice and left?” Twiss asked.
“North, mostly. Some went to the Powder River Country, some across the Missouri, some to Canada.” Luke knew this because he had crossed several trails left by various tribes as he traveled to and from the Black Hills to warn the Lakhota of the impending danger.
“Canada? Why Canada?”
“Well, sir, you can never tell frightened Indians where they should run. They’ll decide that for themselves. The best you can hope for is they don’t group up in one place. That would make it too easy for them to join forces and conduct that war you’re so worried about.”
“I understand,” Twiss said, fingering his chin hair. “Well, I guess that about takes care of that. I commend you, Hill, on your sound judgment in this matter. You did well.” He put out a hand again.
“Well, sir, I’ve spent a lot of years out here trying to convince the Indian peoples they ought to trust in the white man’s government to, for the most part, do the right thing. I just couldn’t stand by and watch it all get tossed into the fire. Not over the expected actions of some crazy man with nothing better on his mind than war and whatever personal glory he can garner from the press.” Luke took the hand for a firm shake.
“Well said, Tom. I can see now I don’t need to tell you what Harney is capable of.”
“No, sir. I am worried though about him going north if he can’t find enough action in these parts.”
“Then we’ll just have to see to it that doesn’t happen,” Twiss said in a stern tone.
“I don’t believe I understand, sir?”
“You will, if it comes to that. I haven’t played all my cards yet.” Twiss turned to walk away, then thought better of it. “Say, I’m heading for Laramie tomorrow. Would you care to ride along?”
“No, sir, I just came from there. Otherwise I’d consider it.”
“Just thought I’d ask.” Twiss continued on, arms waving merrily at his side, as he strutted toward the officer’s barracks. “Thanks again, Hill,” he said over his shoulder.
“You bet!” Luke returned and headed back for the stable. Kinney was waiting just inside the huge open door when he arrived. “I’ll be going back to that mule breeder’s farm tomorrow. Care to go along?”
“I’ll ask. Why are you going back there?”
“I want him to break two of them big mules to harness for me. I’ll be needing them in the fall.”
“What for?”
“Scouting about for a good place to squat, start a ranch.”
“You quittin’?”
“Yep,” Luke responded, heading off toward the mess kitchen. From there he planned to find a bunk for some much needed rest.
“Can I go with you?” Kinney asked, running up.
“When’s your enlistment up?”
“Not till next year. But can’t you talk to the colonel?”
“I don’t have any sway with the military. You know that.” Luke kept walking while young Kinney Hardy fell back. “Okay, I’ll talk to him. But don’t count on it happening.”
“Yahoooo!” Hardy tossed his hat into the air, caught it, and ran back for the stable, filled with promise. If Tom Hill could pull this off, no doubt he would be forever in his debt. If that happened, no more sixteen hour days forking shit for him. It would be fresh air and sunshine from then on out. Or would it? Tom Hill was his friend, but he could be a bit bossy at times too. And what would he have him doing to earn his keep? What was he getting himself into, exactly? At least he wouldn’t be imprisoned, as he felt he was now, hundreds of miles from civilization. That had to be an improvement, he reasoned, and happily went back to work. He had another barn to work his way through, pitching shit and bedding stalls, before the day was out. If he got that done before dark, maybe the sergeant in charge would grant him permission for time off tomorrow. That would be necessary if he was to accompany Tom Hill to that mule skinner’s place once again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sarah had been busy since Luke left. She bought huge trunks one at a time and packed them with things she wanted to take along. This continued until the small back room of her shop was near filled with them. And she wasn’t finished yet. She expected Luke to return any day now and wanted to be ready when he did. She wanted no excuse remaining for him to leave again without her. She would be ready this time, even if she needed to buy the wagon and load it herself. Which she may do anyway, if he stayed away much longer. It would serve as a place to store all those trunks back there that seemed always to be in the way of something she needed.
Now that the first of the spring riverboats had arrived over from St. Louis, Sarah received an enormous bundle of mail this morning. As was usual with the first mail of spring, it contained a backlog of catalogs from eastern merchants and wholesalers from whom she purchased the majority of her shop’s materials and other supplies. They often contained real swatches of the actual cloth glued to the pages for her to feel the texture. She ran her fingers over some of them now, admiring the colors and sensations.
Hardly ever did Sarah receive personal mail, only an occasional letter from a pleased customer, or maybe one now and again from a relative back home in Ohio, informing her of a death in the family. This day, however, there were two letters. A quick look proved that one of them was from Luke. Actually, the sender name on the envelope was Tom Hill. It had been posted at Bordeaux Store, Fort Laramie, Nebraska Territory. Excitedly, she opened it. Having never received a letter from him before, she had mixed feelings about what to expect.
Surprisingly the huge folded page contained only three lines of writing: “Dear Sarah. As I am detained longer than expected, I felt it only right that I let you know. I know how you worry. It seems now it will be late summer before I return. Luke.” That’s it, she fumed! How dare he do this to her again, she fumed as tears filled her eyes.
Finding a chair, she sat glaring into space. Eventually she read the letter again. This time, however, having gotten over her initial anger, she found something she hadn’t seen there before. Obviously he cared for her, or he wouldn’t have bothered to write the letter in the first place. There was compassion there as well; he didn’t want her to worry. And he did want her to know when to expect him: late summer. That alone told her he was still expecting to leave west yet this year.
Thinking it over some more, Sarah realized nothing really had changed. Delayed, but not changed. They would still be together, eventually. Instead of June, it would be July, or maybe August. And if it became later, he could winter here again. That was pleasant, being together every night for the few months it lasted. A longer stay would be even better than before.
Feeling at ease about it now, Sarah set Luke’s letter aside, picked through the mail again, and came up with the other letter. It was from a person the name of which she didn’t immediately recognize. Anne Budd? Fearing what may be inside, she reluctantly opened it and began to read.
“Oh, my!” she said aloud, shocked to discover after all this time, the letter was from Breanne McKinney. Instantly a wave of guilt came over her, as it always did when Breanne’s name came up. But this was worse. Now she knew where Breanne was! There was her address, plain as day, on the return line of the envelope – Hanisville, New York! Oh, God! What would she do? How could she, in good conscience, ever keep this from Luke?
Reading on, Sarah discovered Breanne had married that missionary, Harry B
udd, two years after leaving here. And she had two daughters by him, one twelve and another ten. Breanne was still under the belief that Luke was dead, as Sarah had been until he showed up at her shop last year. Breanne seemed happy, Sarah read between the lines, and openly admitted she was at peace with herself now. She asked her to write, which was nice, but what would she say? Luke’s alive – too bad you’re re-married?
And what would Breanne do, if she did tell her that? Come running here? Leave her husband and daughters behind? Ruin their lives?
And Luke, what would his reaction be?
“Oh God!” Sarah screamed and fell to her knees, the crumpled letter in her hands. “Why me, Lord? Why did this have to happen to me…?”
Several minutes later she gathered herself off the floor, turned the open sign to closed, and locked the door. She made her way through the maze of trunks in the back and collapsed on her bed. There she planned to remain until she had a resolution to this most unfortunate turn of events, no matter how long it took.
The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, she sat down at her desk, pulled some stationary from a drawer, dipped her pen, and prepared to write. She would compose a letter. Not just any old letter, but perhaps the most important letter of her life. Her entire future hinged on what she put to paper now. Could she do it without weakening, breaking down, and spilling tears over the pages? She hoped so. She desperately hoped so. Here goes. She took a deep breath.
Dear Breanne,
I find it hard to believe it has been fifteen years since last I saw you. It was so good to hear from you and learn about your life after all this time. I just knew when you left here you and Harry would eventually find happiness together. And you have two lovely daughters! What a blessing from heaven.
I, on the other hand, am much the same. I still have the shop to keep me occupied in my otherwise bland life. There has been no other man since my Frank passed and, of course, no children. It appears now I’ll have no one to comfort me in my old age. That is, unless, by some miracle, the right man happens along before it’s too late for that to happen. In the meantime, though, I’ll keep hoping.
I’m surprised you mentioned Luke McKinney with all the happiness you have going on in your life. I hardly think of him anymore, but you’re right, he was a wonderful man. Too bad he had to die the way he did. But then, God does work in mysterious ways. What you have now must have been part of His plan. I’m pleased to hear you are finally at peace with it.
Spring is here in Independence, and that means an increase in business for the shop, as well as the hotel across the street, of which I own a part interest. Maybe if I make enough money over the coming years, I’ll be able to afford to come visit you someday when I’m old and gray.
Again, it was so good hearing from you, Breanne. Or would you prefer I call you Anne? Say hello to Harry on my behalf and kiss those girls. I would love to see them some day. God bless you, my friend.
Sincerely,
Sarah Martin
Sarah then pulled an envelope from the drawer, quickly addressed it, inserted the letter, sealed it, and affixed a stamp. Hurriedly she put on her coat, left the shop, locked the door behind her, and headed for the post office a block away. She feared if this didn’t get done now, she would weaken, and that just wouldn’t do. Her future happiness was at stake here, and no way was she about to give that up for someone who already had everything.
It was then the tears started coming. By the time she reached the post office, she could hardly see through the perpetual flow. She rushed in, wiped away the tears, and slid the envelope through the slot. That’s when it gripped her the hardest.
‘I’ll answer for this someday,’ she told herself. ‘God will surely punish me for this most evil deception.’ She knew that because it had already begun. Her legs refused to move.
Realizing people were crowding around, Sarah, with the help of a bystander, got weakly out of the post office. Then, staggering like a drunk, she made it back to the shop and once again took to her bed.
The following day Sarah went wagon shopping. She found what she was looking for at the livery just down the street. It was a near new Murphy wagon like the one Luke and Pierre had at the cabin in the North Country. The one they left behind.
Sarah would be ready when Luke returned. No doubt of that now. She couldn’t wait to get underway and put the misery of the past few days behind her. Perhaps where they ended up there would be no mail service. That would suit her just fine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It was mid-June when the largest wagon train ever assembled, over fifteen hundred wagons, reached Fort Kearny. The plan was to rest the animals here for a week before moving on to Fort Laramie. The problem with having a train this large was finding enough grazing. In this case, they totaled over ten thousand head, including draft animals: oxen, horses, and mules, plus riding horses and milk cows. And they couldn’t travel single file or they would be strung out for nearly twenty-five miles. Even traveling at five abreast, they cut a swath a mile wide, were five miles in depth, and left not a single blade of grass in their wake.
Already some of the travelers had had enough and were pulling away from the group to find their own trail where the grass was more plentiful. This proposed a problem for the military, that could only stretch their numbers so thin. One can imagine a thousand troops spread out over an area of twenty square miles when camped for the night.
Colonel Snively brought his cavalry detachment into the fort as soon as the first wagons of the train arrived there and immediately sent for Tom Hill. Luke was with Indian Agent Thomas Twiss in the orderly room going over maps when the messenger arrived. Ten minutes later he and Twiss arrived at the commander’s office.
“Twiss! I’m surprised to see you here,” Snively said, glancing at the two of them. “I figured you to be at Laramie.”
“I was, but now I’m back. I like the food better here,” he laughed and went in to shake the colonel’s hand.
“I’m glad you’re back. Close the door, Hill. We have a situation. General Harney wants me to gather a detail to go on west and buddy up to the Cheyenne.”
“Buddy up to the Cheyenne?” Luke said. “You and I both know the Cheyenne aren’t that lovable.”
“Yes, we do. That’s why I need you to handle this. If anyone can talk some sense into them, you can. You’ve done it before with the Arapaho.”
“Arapaho are not Cheyenne. Maybe I should know what Harney has in mind, before I mouth off anymore.”
“Safe passage.”
“For that wagon train?”
“Exactly.”
“Won’t happen,” Luke said, “and for good reason. That train is too large! Lays fallow to a ribbon of earth miles in width. Migrating buffalo won’t cross a barren space that wide, and that will affect their livelihood. Without those buffalo coming onto their lands each season, they cannot survive. That being the inevitable, I can’t say as I blame them.”
“What’s the alternative?” Snively asked.
“I don’t know as there is one. Wagons single file like the smaller trains are made to do, maybe? They allow that for a price.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. That’s what Harney doesn’t want. He can’t adequately protect the train when it’s stretched out for twenty miles or more. And paying is completely out of the question. He thinks these Indians out here are getting more than enough in annuities as it is.”
“I don’t know what the general has in mind,” Twiss injected, “but the Cheyenne rejected the treaty of 1851. They don’t get annuities in exchange for safe passage of immigrants across their land. Therefore, they don’t have to allow it. It is their land as legally tendered by God only knows how many treaties, going all the way back to Thomas Jefferson.”
“This may be true, but just try telling Harney that. He’s hell bent on having it his way.”
“He’s hell bent on having a war!” Luke said. “I believe that’s what he’s after.”
/> “He thinks he can handle the Cheyenne,” Snively said. “What do you think, Tom?”
“Maybe initially. But once they have united with their friends the Arapaho, the Crow, and the Shoshone all hell will break loose. Together they must have a couple thousand warriors. Now, that would be hard for Harney to handle and still protect those travelers.”
“Maybe he doesn’t care about the travelers,” Twiss said bitterly. “Many of them must be women and children.”
“Of course he does!” Snively barked. “What would that look like, if he lost the largest wagon train ever assembled to travel the Oregon Trail?”
“Then I guess he’s just plain stupid,” Luke said, glaring at the colonel. “I think those wagon masters, Meek and the others, ought to know what General Harney has planned for them. If there is a battle, it won’t be pretty, I guarantee you that.”
“That’s why he wants you to parley with them first,” Snively said. “See what can be worked out.”
“What should I tell them? We’re bringing a wagon train across your land so big the dusty miles wide trail left behind will surely stop buffalo migration for years to come? And we’re not going to pay a red penny for the damage done? That should get me killed!”
“Didn’t they kill Jeremy Boggs a few years back?” Twiss asked.
“Yeah, well, Boggs had a problem with liquor,” Luke said. “He also had a habit of getting a little too friendly with the women, wherever he went. He probably cozied up to the wrong one. Some jealous buck cut his throat.”
“And speaking of killing, I heard up at Laramie you barely made it away from Little Thunder’s camp with your life a few months back,” Twiss said.
Hearing that, Colonel Snively turned away from the map on the wall behind his desk and asked, “What the hell happened, Tom?”
“I made the fool mistake of chasing after a kid that snatched my rifle off the mule. Took an arrow in the chest and one in the leg.”
