Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  They had staggered onward for a mile or two when Buck started seeing various kinds of animal tracks crossing his route, all going in a southwesterly direction. He pulled Black to a stop for a better look. I wonder if they’re heading for water. Buck’s eyes brightened, and a smile came to his parched lips.

  After following the animal tracks for several minutes, the horses quickened their step, and soon a small tree-lined river of swift flowing water came into view.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The horses beat Buck to the water, but he wasn’t far behind, running on wobbly legs. Buck didn’t stop when he reached the river’s edge but jumped in head first, quickly taking in a few long swallows. He remembered he’d been told it was best to drink a little at a time if you’d been without water for a long period, so he restricted himself. After another drink, he waded into waist-deep water and submerged himself. When he rose, he saw his hat floating downstream. He grinned ear-to-ear as he started for it, but the grin was short-lived because across the river, not over twenty-five yards away, two Indians, sitting on painted horses, were watching him.

  Buck stopped for a second or two and then continued on for his hat, only a few feet away. After letting it drip, he put it on and remained standing facing the natives with a raised palm—a gesture he’d heard was a sign of peace. The Indians didn’t move or make a gesture of any kind. Are they hostile? Will they attack and try to take my horses. Maybe even try to kill me. Buck thought of his holstered handgun. Would it fire or had the water damaged it? He stayed focused on the natives. They were young with painted faces. A leather band circled their heads with coal black hair hanging to their shoulders. Both bands supported a feather. They wore leather pants and moccasins but were bare-chested. They were holding rifles.

  It felt like a standoff as Buck, and the Indians held their ground. However, after several minutes, the Indians turned and started walking north. Buck watched them until they topped a rise and disappeared. He bent down for another drink.

  Standing up, he took another look in the direction the natives had gone as he wiped the dripping water from his tender lips. Wonder if the Indians will return and cause me trouble. Then he turned and got busy with his horses. He removed their gear, took them to a thick patch of grass close to the river, and hobbled them. Not long afterward, he had a fire burning with coffee water on and bacon cooking. Looking skyward, he figured the sun was in its mid-afternoon position, maybe a mite after three o’clock.

  While the water heated, Buck went after a good-sized flat rock from the stream, put it close to the fire, and laid his knife and handgun leather holsters on it to dry. Getting gun oil, a box of shells, and a piece of cloth from his saddlebag, he wiped both weapons dry and oiled them, reloading the gun with dry shells.

  After eating and drinking a few cups of coffee, Buck removed his water-soaked boots and set them by the fire. He then stripped off his wet clothes and hung them on tree branches to dry before going to the river with a bar of soap and a towel in hand. The water was a bit cool as he submerged himself, but refreshing, so he sat down on the sandy bottom with water circling his shoulders as his dehydrated body came back to life. Several minutes later, he worked up a good lather over his body and then submerged himself again. After toweling off, he put on dry clothes.

  Buck moseyed around for the balance of the afternoon. He filled his water skin and canteens, made a second pot of coffee, and sliced and cooked an entire slab of bacon in preparation of future travels. He was sitting cross-legged studying his map when he heard Bell whinny. She and Black had their heads raised high, looking east with their ears forward. Maybe the Indians have circled back. There may be more of ’em now. He hurried after his rifle and hid behind a cluster of trees by the river.

  The horses stayed tense, but Buck couldn’t see or hear anything. He stayed well-hidden with his loaded rifle pointing in the direction the horses were looking. He was nervous, his palms were sweaty, and he expected any minute to hear and see a swarm of Indians descending upon him with arrows flying and bullets zinging by.

  “Hello the camp,” a shout came as Buck saw a covered wagon topping a ridge. The wagon moved on to within fifty yards of Buck and stopped. “We’re friendly and hope you are, too. Can we come on in?” sounded a voice with a Southern slang.

  Buck thought briefly and then shouted back, “Come on in, but don’t be trying nothing, I’ve got my rifle pointed your way.”

  The wagon looked badly worn when it pulled up, and the team didn’t look much better. Actually, the team was a mismatch of two mules and two horses. An old timer who had clearly seen better days tied the reins to the brake lever, climbed down and looked around at the empty camp. “I know you’re hiding, trying to figure me out, but I’d like to tell ya’ I’m obliged to ya’ for taking me in. I ain’t got a mean bone in me and wouldn’t hurt a flea. I’m hoping you’re tolerable, too.”

  Buck came out of hiding still holding his rifle and walked up to the old man. “What are you doing out here in this god-forsaken land, traveling with that team and wagon? You’re lucky the Indians ain’t killed ya’ or you ain’t died from the lack of water or food.”

  The old man grinned, showing what was left of his tobacco-stained teeth, and responded in a slow Southern drawl, “I expect you’re right, young man, but we made it this far in spite of a few setbacks, and I’m aiming to make it the rest of the way to Colorado. By the way, my name’s Sidney, but folks call me Seth.”

  “Glad to make your acquaintance, Seth. I’m known as Buck. You said ’we’ a minute ago, Seth. Whose we? Are there other wagons coming behind you?”

  Seth grinned and turned toward his wagon. “You can come out now. I’m thinking he’s all right,” the old man called out. It wasn’t long before a boy jumped out of the wagon’s tailgate and came to the front where he helped an older woman climb down.

  “This here’s my wife, Nance.”

  “Glad to meet ya’, Mrs.…” Buck stopped. “What’s your last name, ma’am. I ain’t gonna call you by your first.”

  “Thank you,” she said with the same kind of Southern drawl as her husband’s. “My name is Nancy Hastings.” Buck nodded.

  “And this here young man is our grandson, Scott,” Seth interjected. Buck reached for his hand.

  Buck started to invite them to a cup of coffee when the old man spoke up again, “There’s one more,” he said looking at Buck with a smile. “She’s my granddaughter, and her name is Margaret. Come on out, honey.”

  Margaret was a full-grown young lady of medium height, a bit on the skinny side with dark brown hair. She wore a blue dress with a bonnet to match. When she faced Buck during the introduction, he saw a pleasant looking girl who had large blue eyes, well-rounded lips, and tanned skin. He guessed her to be seventeen. When her grandfather introduced her to Buck, she nodded solemnly.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made a fresh pot a few minutes ago,” Buck asked. “You’ll have to furnish your own cups. I only have one.”

  “Mighty nice of ya’,” Seth said. “We ran out of coffee nigh-on a week ago.” He turned to the boy, “Scott, get four cups from the wagon.”

  While the coffee was being poured, Buck asked, “How about your food? How’s it holding out?”

  The four newcomers eyed one another with blank stares. “We had us some porcupine meat two days back, but we ain’t had nothing to eat since then,” Seth said with tight lips while shaking his head. When Buck looked around, their eyes were on the ground.

  “Why don’t you park your wagon close to the trees and after watering your team, take ’em to the patch of grass over there where I have my horses,” Buck said, pointing to Black and Bell. “I’ll get us some vittles out and start cooking our supper.”

  The newcomers brightened, and Mrs. Hastings said, “Thank you, Buck, we’re grateful for any food you can share. Margaret and I can do the cooking using our own pots and pans from our wagon since they’re apt to be bigger than yours.” Buck accepted her offe
r with a nod. While Buck went after the food, Seth sent Scott to take care of the team. Then Seth fetched a cooking grate from the wagon and had its corners resting on large stones with a fire burning under it by the time Buck got back. “I brought us five potatoes, a quart of hominy, some cornmeal to make cornbread with, and a half slab of bacon,” Buck said while looking around at beaming faces. “I’ll cut the bacon for you while someone else peals and slices the potatoes.”

  Mrs. Hastings spoke up, “Margaret and Scott can peel and slice ’em while I fry the bacon and make the cornbread. I may not have all of the ingredients normally used, but I can make-do. They’ll taste fine fried in the bacon grease.” Mrs. Hastings hummed as she flew about cooking supper.

  The men had dragged up a couple of fallen logs and placed them ten or twelve feet from the fire. Soon the food was ready, and folks sat with filled plates and cups. Buck noticed the newcomers were hesitating and figured they were accustomed to saying a blessing before eating, so he asked, “Would you do us the privilege of blessing our food, Seth?” Heads were bowed, and hands were clasped. The meal was delicious, and every pan was scraped clean by the hungry travelers.

  Mrs. Hastings and Margaret went to the river to wash the dishes. Scott went exploring, and Seth started a conversation. “Buck, I try to keep upbeat with my family and let on everything will turn out all right, but the truth is, we’re in trouble. It’ll take us another three weeks to get where we’re going in Colorado, maybe a little longer, and we ain’t got any food left. On top of that our wagon wheel irons are getting loose and our horses and mules are getting awful gaunt—the horses more so than the mules.” The old man lowered his head and through broken words said, “Can you help me out, Buck? I wouldn’t be begging to you if I was the only one involved, but I’ve got Nance and the kids to think about. They’re the only thing that matters to me in this whole world, the only ones …” Seth couldn’t finish saying his thoughts.

  Buck let a minute or two go by for the old man to collect himself and then asked, “How come you came this far south going to Colorado from South Carolina, Seth?”

  “We’re heading to Golden, Colorado, where my youngest brother lives. I realize it would be a lot closer going through the Oklahoma Territory or Southern Kansas, but I was told to avoid those areas under all circumstances because of the Indians, and travel north or south of that part of the country. We came the Southern way, not wanting to get mixed up with those Blue Bellies in the north.” Buck felt a pang in his stomach as he listened.

  “I’ve seen a lot of deer and buffalo tracks in the last few days, Seth, and where there’re tracks, there’re animals. Have you tried to hunt?”

  “I ain’t got a gun that works, Buck. I had one when we left home, but somehow the firing pin got broke off during our travels.”

  “I understand your problem, Seth, and it sounds to me like you’re up against a wall. I ain’t sure how much help I’ll be, but let me think on it for a while. Maybe between us, we can work something out.” The old man nodded.

  Time passed, both men lost in thought. Buck broke the silence, “It might be my imagination, Seth, but Margaret seems awful quiet and seems to be carrying something burdensome beyond worrying about provisions.”

  The old man looked his way. “That’s why we’re coming west, Buck. To get her away from the hurtful surroundings back home. Margaret’s ma died in childbirth when Margaret was nine, and her pa got shot-up in the war and died. He was our only child. On top of that, she was engaged to be married to a young man she grew up with, but about a year ago he was killed, shot by a Blue Belly. She ain’t got it out of her system yet.”

  Buck was about to say something more when the women stepped up. Apparently, Margaret had heard part of the men’s conversation because she asked, “You mentioned Blue Bellies, Grandpa. Were you talking about me and what they did to my fiancé?”

  Seth nodded. “Yes, we were, Margaret. I was explaining the situation to Buck.”

  “Aren’t those Blue Belly devils the worst people who ever lived on the face of the earth, Mr. Buck? They all deserved to die for what they’ve done,” the girl said with fear-filled eyes.

  Now was not the time for a confrontation with the distraught girl, so Buck simply said, “Maybe so, Margaret.”

  The girl turned and accompanied her grandma to the wagon with the clean dishes.

  It wasn’t long after the women had rejoined the men at the fire when Scott came walking in. “Find anything interesting?” Seth asked his grandson.

  “There’s a deep hole in a river bend about a hundred yards downstream. Be a mighty good place to swim,” the boy said with a grin.

  “Are there trees around the hole, Scott?” His grandmother asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s trees all along the banks. How come you asked that, Grandma?”

  “I thought maybe your sister and I could wash off some of this prairie dust and take a good bath.” Margaret spoke up, “While we’re there, we could wash some clothes. It’s been a while since we had a place to do any washing and I’m tired of wearing dirty clothes.” Everyone smiled.

  “Did you see anything else, Scott?” Buck asked. “Did you by chance see any tracks along the bank?”

  “Lots of ’em,” he answered. “Some of the prints were huge, as big as your hand. I even saw three deer running from the river.”

  Buck smiled. “Seems like a good place to get some much-needed meat. I’ll get up there before daylight in the morning. You can come along, Scott, and show me where you saw the tracks if it’s all right with your grandpa.” All eyes went to Seth who gave his consent with a nod and a big smile.

  The next morning Buck and Scott heard the deer coming through the brush toward the water before they saw the deer a hundred yards upwind from them. Buck had already given instructions to be extra quiet and not move if they saw an animal approaching, so both hunters were motionless. It was a big mule deer with a huge rack. He stopped with a raised head, sniffing the air, and then lowered it as he continued walking very slowly toward the water. He was close enough for Buck to shoot, but the thick brush he was walking through was a hindrance, so Buck waited. Finally, the deer broke out of the brush and stood broadside in the clearing at the river bank. He didn’t have a chance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mrs. Hastings was in the process of stirring up fried potatoes and turning over venison steaks in her iron skillets that evening when Buck motioned for Seth to follow him to the river. Buck said, “I’ve been wallowing your situation around in my mind since yesterday, Seth, and I believe we can work things out if we stay here for a few days and work on your problems.” The old man’s eyes brightened.

  “What do you have in mind, Buck?”

  “First off, we need to tend to those loose wheel irons on your wagon. I’ve been looking at ’em, and I think they’re loose because the wheel spokes have dried out and shrunk in this dry climate. I think if we gave ’em a good soaking in the river for two or three days, they’ll expand back out and tighten-up on the irons.”

  “That sounds likely, Buck, but do ya’ think we can raise the wagon high enough to get the wheels off?”

  “I believe we can. After we unload the wagon, we can pry up the back end with a long sapling and set the axel on piled-up flat rocks. After we have the back wheels off, we’ll do the same to the front ones.

  “As far as supplies are concerned, I’ll give you part of my potatoes, and we can kill another deer or two for your travels. The nights have been getting cooler, which will help keep the meat from spoiling, and the farther north you go into high country, the nights will get even colder. I have another rifle with shells I’ll let you have, so you can kill more meat if needed. It’ll also offer some protection.”

  “I ain’t got but a couple of dollars to my name, Buck, but I’ve got a pocket watch if that’ll help any.” Buck shook his head, “I’m giving you the gun, Seth. It’s an Army issue and didn’t cost me anything. And I don’t need your money or pocke
t watch.”

  “You’re a life saver, Buck,” said the old man in a choked voice. After Seth paused to collect himself, he asked, “When do we get started, Buck?”

  “We might as well get started first thing in the morning.” Seth nodded.

  “Come and get it,” shouted Mrs. Hastings.

  »»•««

  The wheels had been in the river for three days when two bonnet wagons topped the same hill Seth had come over. It was an hour or so past the noon meal. Buck had already given Seth the rifle they had spoken of, so both men had their guns close at hand. Mrs. Hastings, Margaret, and Scott went into hiding among the river trees.

  “Howdy,” said the driver in the first wagon when he pulled up to the campsite, “we’ve been trailing your wheel tracks since yesterday hoping you knew the country and was heading for water. We’re out and have been for two days.”

  “Climb down and sit while I put coffee water on,” Buck said.

  “I’m obliged, but if you don’t mind we’ll head for the river first,” the driver said as he stepped down. He said ’we,' Buck thought, wonder how many there are? Just then, the other wagon pulled up, and its driver started climbing down, but before his feet hit the ground, three boys and a girl jumped from the tailgate and ran for the water. Not far behind were two girls from the first wagon. Buck looked at Seth and his wife with an unspoken question. How are we gonna feed all of ’em?

  It was a little over half an hour later when the horses were watered, and everyone circled the fire. Buck started, “Why don’t we get to know one another while I pour coffee? Folks call me Buck.” After him, Seth introduced his family and then the first wagon’s members were presented. The parents were Don and Karen Joshling, who looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Their two daughters were twelve and ten. The parents of the second wagon, John and Dorothy Maylan, looked to be just short of forty, had a twin set of ten-year-old boys, a seven-year-old son, and their youngest was a daughter, age five.