Will lifted his slouch hat and shielded his eyes from the sun with it. “Yes, sir.”
“Set up your remuda picket line over there.”
“Yes, sir.” Will slapped his mount’s flank with his hat and headed down the slope with his string of horses.
Dodge called after him. “Tomorrow’s the Fourth of July, Will. We’re going to have a celebration!”
CHAPTER 16
* * *
General Dodge and his guests sat around the campfire next to Clear Creek and puffed pipes and cigars while Rawlins read poetry to them. The Laramie Mountains loomed above the encampment in the shadows following the setting of the sun. Twilight still illuminated the peaceful valley.
“Halloo the camp!” The call reverberated from the wooded hillside beyond the creek. Everyone around the fire turned toward the shouted greeting. A buckskin-clad figure rode down the slope. An unled packhorse trailed behind. The Pawnee Scouts on guard around the campsite made no attempt to stop the rider.
He rode with stooped shoulders, his face obscured by an oversize, broad-brimmed hat. His white beard would’ve made Moses proud. He wore a faded, buckskin shirt. Leather-clad legs grasped his horse over an Indian blanket saddle, his moccasins jammed into homemade wooden stirrups. He cradled a rifle in the crook of one arm.
The man’s mount splashed across the shallow creek. The packhorse, laden with a pronghorn antelope carcass, followed along like a dog. The mountain man rode up the slope to the campfire, swung a leg over his blanket saddle, and slid to the ground on the right side—Indian style. He walked up the slope with a wiry step, belying the stoop.
“Evening Gen’ral.” The mountain man’s voice boomed.
“Bullfrog Charlie,” Dodge said. “Long time, no see.”
“By golly, has been that, I’ll grant ya.”
Will’s mouth dropped open. Bullfrog Charlie Munro. Lone Eagle’s father.
“Join us, Bullfrog.” Dodge motioned to the log beside him. “Sit a spell and have some supper.”
“Don’t mind if I do. First, though, I reckon I’d like to trade this here antelope for a couple bottles of rye whiskey.”
Dodge laughed. “I thought that might be what you had in mind.” Dodge motioned one of the Army cooks to come forward. “Corporal, haul that antelope off that packhorse and dress it out for tomorrow’s feast.”
Bullfrog helped the corporal unload the antelope. Dodge walked to a supply wagon and returned with a bottle in each hand. “Here . . . two bottles of rye whiskey. I consider that a good trade. You remembered how partial I am to antelope steak. Come, sit. Have a bite and enjoy your rye.”
Will listened with fascination to the tales with which Bullfrog entertained the dignitaries. “I joined up with Jim Bridger’s Rocky Mountain Fur Company back in twenty-four. Old Gabe . . . that’s the name what Jedediah Smith give him ’cause Bridger reminded him of the angel Gabriel . . . anyways, Old Gabe and me had set beaver traps out in a creek up in the Wind River Range and I was bending over the water’s edge to check one of them traps when we was jumped by a band of Blackfoot. Now don’t ya know, one of them savages shot me in the butt with an arrow and I went tumbling into the creek. Old Gabe said I come up sputtering and croaking like a giant bullfrog landing on a lily pad. Ever since, I been called Bullfrog.”
Between stories Bullfrog devoured two plates of food and drank half a bottle of whiskey. Will thought an ordinary man would’ve passed out from that much liquor. With each drink Bullfrog’s voice grew louder and his laugh more raucous.
The mountain man took another swallow of rye. He wiped the sleeve of his dirty buckskin shirt across the mustache that concealed his mouth. His lips remained hidden when he talked. The mustache jiggled up and down as the words came out.
“I ever tell you fellows ’bout the time Ole Gabe and me rode through the petrified forest? Well sir, this here petrified forest was full of them petrified trees, and sitting on them petrified branches was dozens of petrified birds . . . singing petrified songs.” Bullfrog howled. The listeners laughed with him.
After being regaled with tales for two hours, the men seated around the campfire drifted away to seek their bedrolls. Will waited until the last of the lingerers departed. Finally, he was alone with Bullfrog Charlie.
“Sir?”
Bullfrog looked around at the empty logs that had served as seats. “Sir? I reckon them gen’rals done gone to bed, son. Who you calling sir?”
“You, sir. Mr. Munro.”
“How’d you know my last name? I don’t recollect hearing nobody call me by my last name.”
“I know who you are, sir. Lone Eagle told me.”
“Lone Eagle, you say. Now just who might this Lone Eagle be?”
Will told him how he’d encountered Lone Eagle at the quicksand.
“Hmm.” Bullfrog’s gravelly voice caressed the sound deep in his throat. “So he’s changed his name from Little Eagle to Lone Eagle. I heard tell he’d gone through the Sun Dance. His ma would be proud of him, even though he didn’t take to white-man ways like she’d hoped. Can’t say’s I blame him. Don’t like most white-man ways myself. Too confining, if you get my drift. At least Little Eagle . . . I mean Lone Eagle, will be a better Indian than some. I don’t reckon he’ll go murdering folks just for the fun of it, like that heathen Black Wolf.”
Bullfrog tipped the bottle and sipped from it. “What’s your name, son?”
“Will Braddock.”
Will withdrew the thong from beneath his shirt and showed Bullfrog the eagle talons. “Lone Eagle gave me these. He told me they would bring me good luck.”
Bullfrog reached out and ran his fingers over one of the talons. “He said they’d bring you good luck, did he? Well, I reckon he might think that. He used one to pick the lock at the boarding school the night he run away from there. He give them to you, did he?”
“Yes, sir. Said it was for saving his life.”
“He tell you how he got them?”
Will shook his head.
“Well, when he was little, three . . . four years old as I recollect, there was an eagle nest atop a big tree back of our cabin on the North Platte. Junior . . . that’s what I called him . . . was fascinated watching the adults raise a chick. One day a band of Shoshone come through and shot one of the adult birds. I reckoned they wanted the feathers for their warbonnets, don’t ya see. Well, now, Junior decided to help raise that chick. He took scraps from our table and dropped them under the tree. The big bird gathered up that food and fed it to the young one. Star Dancer, his ma, was so proud of him, she give him the name Little Eagle. We didn’t call him Junior no more. I found the carcass of the eagle the Shoshone had dumped and I made the necklace of talons for him.”
Bullfrog reached again for the talons and held one up before Will’s eyes. “See that marking along the edge? The tiny letters? I carved them real small like.”
Will studied the talon, and although worn, the initials LE were visible in the firelight.
The old-timer sat quietly sipping his rye, staring into the flames. Will decided it was time to leave the mountain man to his thoughts. “I guess it’s time for me to turn in, Mr. Munro.”
“Call me Bullfrog. I reckon we’ll run into one another again afore long. Railroad’s heading right through the country I trap. This country ain’t been much good for trapping lately, truth be told. Beaver been all trapped out of this here Laramie Range for years.”
Will rose from the log and slid the eagle talons back inside his shirt.
“You’ll be passing my cabin one of these days. Place is on the North Platte, just this side of the Continental Divide. Drop in anytime.”
“Thanks. I hope I can stay out here long enough to do that.” Was he going to be able to go farther west to find his uncle? Would General Dodge keep him on as a wrangler now that they’d reached their destination? “You staying for the Fourth of July celebration tomorrow?”
“No, reckon I’ll be gone afore sunup. Too big a crowd here
for my likings. Besides, I got to go hunt up another antelope. Might be able to make another trade with Gen’ral Dodge afore he leaves.” He tipped the bottle for another sip. “Good night, Will . . . and good luck.”
“Good night, Bullfrog.”
CHAPTER 17
* * *
General Rawlins rose from his camp stool and nodded in turn to those seated around the fire. Dodge leaned back in a folding chair with his feet extended toward the flames, even though it was a warm day. Silas Seymour sat on a log between General Jack Casement and Jacob Blickensderfer. Will stood off to one side with Lieutenant Moretti.
Rawlins motioned the soldiers scattered around the perimeter to step in closer. Those Pawnee Scouts who weren’t assigned sentry duty around the outskirts of the camp lounged on the far bank of Clear Creek, showing no interest in the proceedings.
“General Dodge, General Casement, Mr. Blickensderfer, my fellow Americans. It is appropriate that we pause on this glorious day of our nation’s independence and give thanks for the blessings that God has bestowed upon our country and its momentous endeavors.” Rawlins pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, speckling it red.
“My superior, General Ulysses S. Grant, will, I assure you, be the next President of the United States, and he would want me to convey his personal greetings as we celebrate the Fourth of July.” Rawlins paused to glare at Seymour. “Notwithstanding the fact that Colonel Seymour’s cousin Horatio Seymour, presently the governor of New York, has been nominated by the Democratic Party to oppose General Grant, the Republican Party will prevail.”
A smattering of applause came from some of the audience.
Rawlins coughed into his handkerchief again. “We are all aware that the transcontinental railroad will join the two oceans of our expanding country. No longer will a traveler have to spend four months sailing around Cape Horn, or stumbling through the mosquito infested swamps of Panama, to reach San Francisco. He will make the trip in a matter of days. The railroad will provide for increased commerce between the East and the West. It will bring civilization to the savages, who are trying to block its construction. This is the greatest engineering achievement undertaken by our nation since its founding ninety-one years ago.”
More scattered applause came from the gathering.
Rawlins rambled on for an hour. Will found it difficult to concentrate. Mouth-watering aromas from the roasting beef and antelope drifted up from the creek side where the cooks prepared the special meal. More than one head snuck a look in that direction.
Rawlins paused and sniffed the air. “My, my. Smells like I need to end this speech so we can enjoy what promises to be a truly memorable meal.”
All of the officials applauded. The soldiers burst into a round of hurrahs. One trooper strummed a banjo. Another sawed on a fiddle. The soldiers formed a line to partake of the food and joined the two musicians in singing the strains of a familiar tune.
Have you heard tell of sweet Betsy from Pike?
She crossed the wide prairie with her lover, Ike.
With two yoke of Oxen, a big yellow dog,
A tall Shanghai rooster and one spotted hog.
A short time later, Will filled his plate with a second helping of beef and antelope. He was ready to heap on more beans when a shout from the Pawnee sentries caused him to pause with the serving spoon poised above the iron pot. He, along with all the others, looked to the west. Down the far slope, into the meadow, raced four men on horseback. Their horses, blown and lathered, showed evidence of hard running.
At the commands of their sergeants, soldiers raced for their stacked rifles. The Pawnee Scouts along the creek bank ran up the slope, beyond the shelter of the surrounding trees. The officials rose and turned their attention to the approaching riders.
“Why that’s Corcoran,” Dodge said. He strode down the slope and waded across the shallow creek to meet the arriving horsemen.
Uncle Sean? Here? Will focused hard on the riders. Could it be? He hadn’t seen his uncle since the war ended two years ago—but sure enough, he was the lead rider. Two white men and a black man rode close behind him.
Will dropped his plate to the ground, spilling its contents into the grass. He ran to catch up with Dodge, reaching his side just as the four horsemen reined up before them.
“Corcoran,” Dodge said. “You look bad. What happened?”
“General Dodge, I’m glad to find you here. We were ambushed by Cheyenne about ten miles back. Lost all our supplies and surveying instruments. We managed to outrun them . . . but it was a close call. Closer than I’ve had before.”
Corcoran dismounted and pointed to an arrow lodged in his saddle. A trickle of blood oozed down his horse’s flank where the arrowhead had penetrated the leather saddle skirt.
“The supplies and equipment we can replace,” Dodge said. “You and your men we can’t. We’ve lost too many surveyors to the hostiles already. It’s fortunate we’re camped here in strength. That should dissuade them from further attacks.”
Will’s uncle cocked his head to one side and leaned forward. “Will? Is that you, Will?”
“Yes, Uncle Sean. It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Me?” He glanced quizzically at Dodge.
“He stowed away in Omaha,” Dodge said. “If he hadn’t saved General Rawlins’s horse from rustling, twice as a matter of fact, I’d probably have ignored him. He kept insisting he had to find you, so I let him come along. He can fill you in on the details.”
“What brings you out here, Will?”
“Ma died.”
“Annabelle is dead?” His uncle stepped back and fixed his gaze on Will. “I didn’t know.”
“Will,” Dodge said, “take your uncle to get some of that grub before the soldiers eat it all. He looks like he could use a good meal.”
“That I can, General.”
Will’s uncle turned to his companions. “Homer, Otto, Joe. Take care of the horses, then get something to eat.”
“Yes, suh,” the Negro he’d called Homer responded. The other two riders touched their hat brims, acknowledging their instructions.
Homer kept looking back up the slope. He must be afraid the Indians were still chasing them.
A raucous hee-haw once again drew everybody’s attention to the top of the slope. A gray mule trotted down the hill, braying at the top of its lungs, dragging the remnants of a pack beneath its belly.
“There’s Ruby,” Homer said. “I knowed she’d follow. She always does. Ain’t no redskins gonna get her.”
“Ruby’s been Homer’s mule all the time we’ve been out here,” Will’s uncle said. “She thinks she’s part of the team.”
Will and his uncle sat apart from the celebrating group. While his uncle ate, Will gave his uncle the details on his mother’s death and explained why he’d snuck away from the Iowa homestead in the middle of the night.
“I don’t want to be a blacksmith apprentice, Uncle Sean. I don’t want to be under Klaus Nagel’s guardianship. You’re the only family I have left. I had to come looking for you.” He felt moisture in his eyes. He blinked fast. He didn’t want to cry in front of his uncle.
“I’m sorry about Annabelle’s death, Will. But I’m not sure you can stay with me. This is no place for a boy.”
“I’m not a boy, Uncle Sean.”
His uncle stared at him—then nodded slowly. “Maybe . . . maybe not. You’ve grown since I last saw you. But that doesn’t make you a man.”
“I want to work on the railroad, Uncle Sean. I want to be a tracklayer, maybe even a gandy dancer.”
Dodge walked over from the campfire and joined them. “Get enough to eat, Sean?”
“Yes, sir. That restored my energy. I’ll need it. I have to get back to Casement’s warehouse to pick up a new surveying instrument. Unless you brought an extra one with you?”
“Only brought one and I plan to use it to lay out Che
yenne, starting tomorrow.”
“Cheyenne?”
“That’s what I’ve named this meadow.” Dodge indicated the surrounding area with a sweep of his hand. “This will be the UP’s last staging yard before trains head up over the Continental Divide. Plan to build a roundhouse here, and maintenance shops.”
His uncle looked around the valley and nodded. “Good choice, General.”
“I can use your surveying expertise to help me lay out the town and railroad facilities. It’s actually fortuitous you arrived. We’ll find somebody else to go back to Julesburg.”
“I’ll go,” Will said.
“You?” his uncle said.
“Sure. We just came from Julesburg. I know the trail. All I have to do is follow the survey stakes. I’ve been to Casement’s warehouse. So I know where to go when I get there.”
“Will,” his uncle said, “that’s not a good idea. There are Indians out here who’ll do anything to stop our construction efforts. I learned that firsthand today.”
“Uncle Sean, just yesterday I overhead General Dodge say that most of the hostile Indians are north, west, and south of us. Heading to the east won’t be that dangerous. The grading crew is not much more than a day’s ride back from here. Once I get there, I’ll have lots of protectors.” Will raised his eyebrows in Dodge’s direction, seeking his confirmation.
Dodge shrugged. “Oh, the route to the east of here is generally safe. A detachment of soldiers from Fort Sedgwick rides the survey line every few days to make sure the stakes are still there. The Indians knock them down. But, it’s not a good idea to go alone. If we had someone to ride with him, Sean, I’d agree.”
Will faced his uncle. “Please, Uncle Sean. Let me help.”
His uncle stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “I guess I can send Homer. He knows the other supplies we need to replace. Otto, Joe, and I can take our meals with your outfit, General . . . so I won’t need Homer to cook.”
Eagle Talons (The Iron Horse Chronicles: Book One) Page 8
