by Jim Cox
The folks from both wagons were well dressed in eastern style clothing. Their garments had a few dirt spots but were in pretty good shape considering the environment they’d come through. Both families were from the South and seemed to have a degree of education and wealth, evident from their slow drawl speech and fancy clothes. Later in the conversation, they indicated they’d been neighbors in a small town in Southern Georgia and decided to come west together to get away from Georgia’s war-torn atmosphere.
Both wagons seemed to have been recently built, which had helped them to make their long trip without incident. Each of their four horse teams were in fair shape, in part due to the wagons’ light loads and grain that had been brought along to supplement the grass the horses were eating.
The wagons were parked by the river close to Seth’s, and after the horses were brought to water for another drink, they were taken to the grass field with the other stock. The adults gathered around to get acquainted, and they talked the afternoon away while the children went exploring. Margaret stayed with the adults, but she didn’t say much.
The sun was starting to cast long shadows when a mild breeze came up, bringing with it a drop in the temperature. “I believe it’s time to dig out our coats. It’s starting to get cold,” Mr. Joshling said. The folks went to their wagon and in a few minutes returned wearing coats.
Mr. Joshling cleared his throat and said, “You folks go ahead and cook your supper if you want to, don’t wait on us. We’re short on food to cook and will be eating hardtack and jerky.”
Buck quickly interjected, “How long have you been on that ration?”
Heads were lowered. “This is our third day,” one of the newcomers said. “We were planning on killing our meat, but we haven’t seen the animals we expected since we came to this dry country.”
“You’ll be our guest tonight, we have plenty of food,” Buck said rather enthusiastically. Mrs. Hastings looked at him with questioning eyes and then started giving out instructions to the other women about preparing their evening meal. An hour later all the travelers sat down together to a delicious meal of fried potatoes flavored with wild onions, hominy, cornbread, and plenty of fried venison. A blessing was said.
As folks sat around the blaze holding cups, they watched the sun paint a beautiful picture in the west. The overhead, large clouds were floating eastward in various shades of red and pink, laced with silver onto the background of the darkening sky. It was a lovely setting.
After the women had washed the dishes at the riverbank and were preparing the children for bed, Buck pulled Seth aside and said, “Those are rain clouds in the west coming toward us, Seth. It looks to me like they’ll be here sometime in the night, and I’m thinking we’d better be ready. I’ve got a large tarp we could use to build a canopy over the fire, but we need to cut some poles to hold it up. Would you and the other men start cutting while I dig out the tarp?” Seth started off.
The rain hit a couple hours after people went to bed, but they were ready. Rain slickers had been unpacked and laid close at hand, articles meant to be kept dry were placed inside the wagons and the bonnet flaps lowered. The horses had been hobbled and tied to a rope line to prevent them from running in case of lightning and thunder.
In case the storm brought high winds, Buck and the other two men helped Seth lower his wagon to the ground from the unsteady stones it had been set on. Afterward, Buck crawled under the wagon and spread his sleeping gear.
The rain had stopped when Buck rolled out of the sack the next morning, but by the time he had a fire going under the tarp and coffee water on, it had started up again. Not a wind-blown, drenching rain like the one in the night, but a steady drizzle coming straight down.
Buck was holding Seth’s coffee when the old man scampered under the canopy in his slicker. Minutes passed without words, and then Seth spoke, “Sure am glad we set my wagon down, the wind was mighty strong, could’ve blew it off of the rocks.” Buck nodded with a slight smile.
It wasn’t long before folks started filling the canopy. First the newcomer men, then the women, including Margaret, but the children were left to sleep. Soon the women were preparing breakfast. Bacon was frying, sliced potatoes were cooking, and hardtack was warming.
Mrs. Joshling was turning the potatoes when she said gently, “You must’ve had a bad dream last night, Buck? Your yelling woke me up three or four times.” She paused. “Do you have bad dreams very often?”
“I’m sorry I woke you, Mrs. Joshling. I have dreams quite often about my war days and Andersonville.” Buck didn’t mean to mention his confinement at Andersonville, but it had slipped out.
“Andersonville?” Mr. Maylan questioned. “It’s not far from where we lived. I never fought in that area myself, but I understand it was the largest Confederate prison camp in the South. Were you a guard at the prison, Buck?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why do you have bad dreams about Andersonville?”
All eyes were staring at Buck. He knew what was coming. “I was a prisoner there.”
It took a minute for his answer to soak in, but then Margaret took a couple steps toward him with tears streaming and yelled, “If you were a prisoner there, that means you’re a Blue Belly, and you ain’t fit to be alive! You need to be strung up!” Seth hurried to his granddaughter and pulled her away from the cooking area where he tried to comfort her. It wasn’t long until his wife came and escorted her to their wagon.
The food was ready, but no one ate. No one was in the mood. Suspicious glances went to Buck, who the camp now considered to be their enemy, and one-by-one folks went to their wagons, leaving Buck and Seth sitting alone with coffees in hand. Words were not spoken.
Chapter Seventeen
By mid-morning Seth’s wheels were back on his wagon, all three wagons had been loaded, and folks were boarding for their departure. Buck was sitting by the fire with a lowered head. Why can’t people accept me for who I am and credit me for standing by my beliefs even though they’re not the same as theirs? Why can’t folks put this terrible war behind us and be neighborly again, no matter where we’re from or what our beliefs are?
Seth was the only one to tell Buck goodbye. He was on his way back to his wagon to leave when he heard Margaret ask, “Where’s Scott, Grandma?”
“I ain’t seen him for an hour or so,” Mrs. Hastings said. She motioned to her husband, “Seth, you’d better go to the river and call for him.” Seth was calling as he headed for the river, but he got no response. Several minutes passed.
Buck heard the alarm and joined Seth in the search. “You walk down this side of the river, Seth, and I’ll cross over and walk down the other side.” Buck was careful not to let his knife and handgun get wet as he crossed the waist deep water.
A hundred yards downstream Buck came to fresh, unshod hoof prints in the soft sand, but he waited to tell Seth. Continuing on for another thirty yards, he came to an area where it appeared a scuffle had taken place. As best he could make out, two sets of moccasins prints were intermingled with small boot tracks near where two horses had headed northwest. After studying the signs a bit longer, Buck crossed back to the other side and informed Seth of the situation. “Why would they kidnap someone like Scott? He’s only a young boy?” the grandfather asked in a choked voice.
“I understand Indians consider a boy of Scott’s age to be a man and to capture a white man and bring him to their camp is a great honor,” Buck answered, leaving out the torture and death part of the capture. The old man nodded and then broke down crying behind raised hands.
“We don’t have time to lose, Seth,” Buck said trying to get the old man’s mind back to the urgent situation. “You go explain the situation to your wife and granddaughter while I follow the natives and get your grandson back.”
The old man nodded and wiped his eyes, as Buck ran for Black and his rifle.
Within ten minutes he had saddled Black, checked to make sure his rifle was fully loaded and was on t
he trail of the unshod horses. Seth, his wife, and granddaughter clung together in tears as they prayed for the boy’s safe return.
It seemed as though the Indians were on a straight path to a known location, leaving pronounced tracks in the sand with no attempt to hide them. Two hours later the tracks turned straight north toward what Buck thought was Oklahoma territory—the land belonging to the natives, where no white man was safe. He continued following the tracks.
When Buck had left the camp that morning, there was enough chill to the breeze to wear a coat. However, as the day passed, the bright sun sent down its heat waves through the clear Texas sky, warming things up considerably. Buck eventually removed his coat and pulled his hat lower to shade his eyes from the bright sun.
He crossed several unshod horse paths and at one point the trail of the two horses he was following went down one of the matted sand paths for several yards before the trail took a turn. Buck immediately recognized the prints of the horses he was chasing continued north. The sun was an hour or two past its noon location when Buck topped a rise and saw two horses standing inside a line of trees in the distance. He quickly retreated into a shallow prairie valley not wanting to alert the captives.
There must be a river or stream of some kind beyond that row of trees where the Indians are taking a breather. I’ll ride east in this draw and then slip through the trees on foot and surprise ’em. I should be able to walk barefooted in the sand without making any sound.
It took time, maybe forty-five minutes, for Buck to get back within eyesight of the natives. He slithered from tree to tree only when the kidnappers weren’t looking. A technique he’d learned in the war.
The two Indians were in a relaxed mood, joking with one another as they chewed on a piece of meat, while their captive sat against a tree with his hands bound behind his back. At every opportunity, Buck crept forward.
He was now standing behind two large adjacent trees, less than twenty yards away from the Indians. Their horses were even closer but remained quiet. He wanted to get Scott’s attention, but he had to be careful not to be seen by the kidnappers. He waited. After several minutes, the Indians rose with their backs toward Buck and headed for the river. Buck waved, trying to get the boy’s attention, but Scott’s head was down, and he didn’t see the signal. Shortly afterward, when both Indians had squatted down with cupped hands for water, Buck tossed a small rock at Scott. He looked up to see Buck with his finger on his lips, a signal to keep quiet. The boy’s eyes brightened. Scott seemed to be okay except for stained cheeks from crying.
While the Indians were squatted at the river, Buck eased from behind the trees with his rifle pointed. “Hold it right there,” he said. Of course, the natives didn’t understand all the words, but they did understand the seriousness of the situation and quickly turned. Buck saw one of the Indians look toward his rifle leaning against a tree a few yards away but Buck shook his head signaling against any attempt. The natives didn’t move.
With his rifle trained on the Indians, Buck went to the boy and severed his bindings. “Are you all right, Scott?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, but I sure was scared before you got here. I thought for sure I was a goner.”
“We’ve got to be careful, Scott. Indians know every trick in the book. If they make a move out of the ordinary, I’ll have to shoot ’em.” The boy’s eyes widened as he eyed the captors. Buck continued, “If we’re gonna get away from these savages, Scott, I need your help. Are you up to it? Can you follow my instructions?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said, “just tell me what to do.”
“I want you to go after Black and my boots. He’s tied in the trees, a couple hundred yards east of here, but be careful. There may be other Indians in the area.” The boy headed off.
The natives might try to get away while the boy is gone, in spite of me holding a gun on ’em, Buck thought, but they didn’t, and in a matter of minutes Scott was back holding boots and leading the horse. “Leave Black standing beside me,” Buck said stomping on his boots, “and go untie their horses. On your way back fetch their rifle leaning against the tree.” When he returned, he told the boy to put the Indian’s rifle into the saddle’s gun boot.
“I’m gonna mount up now, Scott, and when I get settled, I want you to climb up behind me. Think you can do that?”
“Yes, sir. Black’s awful tall, but I’ll get up somehow.” The two were soon mounted without Buck’s eyes or rifle leaving the Indians.
They were a fair distance from the trees riding at a fairly fast pace with the natives’ horses following when a gunshot rang out. Scott saw a blood spot appear on Buck’s left shoulder just before he slumped forward on Black’s neck. “They must’ve had a second gun,” Buck muttered. The boy leaned forward, grabbing Buck’s hat when it fell off and put it on his own head, then he leaned back over Buck holding him in the saddle. “Take my rifle, Scott, and head for our camp as fast as you can,” Buck said in a tone almost inaudible, “let Black have his head.” Several more shots sounded but none hit.
Even though Black was nearly drained of his strength after a day without water, and today’s travel, chasing the unshod tracks without rest, the big horse kept to a fairly fast pace toward their camp, in spite of carrying a double load.
The sun was getting low in the western sky when Black started to slow, his head down. By this time Buck could no longer support himself, and the boy had to exert a greater amount of strength to hold them both in the saddle. Scott knew if they stopped he’d never be able to get Buck back into the saddle, so he struggled on. He was about ready to dismount in open country, which would totally expose them to the Indians when he saw a buffalo wallowing hole ahead.
He got Buck down from Black and helped him lie at the wallow’s edge where a nearly three-foot-high embankment circled it. He took Black’s saddle off and forced him to lie down by pulling up on his left front leg, a trick his grandpa had taught him. The horse fell gently on his side, and the boy kept the horse down by not letting him raise his head. Scott planned to stay in this position until darkness, which was only a half-hour away. Peaking over the rim, he saw Indians in the distance on two occasions, but obviously, they’d not crossed his path. The boy was in tears not knowing what to do. Once he thought about leaving Buck and riding Black back to camp but decided he needed to stay with Buck. Time lingered.
Chapter Eighteen
“I’m sorry, Grandpa. I should’ve watched him better,” Margaret said through sobs.
“Don’t go blaming yourself, honey. No one’s to blame but the Indians who took him. It’s just one of those unfortunate things.”
“What if Buck can’t find him, Grandpa? What if he doesn’t come back? What’ll we do?” the granddaughter asked.
“We’ll deal with that when we come to it if need be. Let’s give Buck a little more time to show.” Seth pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s only a little after one o’clock, Margaret. If Buck ain’t back in an hour or so, I’ll ride out and try to find him.” The girl nodded as she wiped her tears.
At two o’clock Seth got edgy and couldn’t wait any longer. It’s time I’m going after ’em, he thought. He went to his wagon, told his wife he was leaving and asked her to comfort Margaret. Then he got his saddle from the back of the wagon and carried it to tack up Bell. Just as he was stepping into the stirrup, Mr. Joshling and Maylan walked up.
“We’ll keep an eye out for Mrs. Hastings and Margaret while you’re gone, Seth, and don’t worry about a thing here in camp,” the men said. “We’ll send our wives over to be with your misses.” Seth nodded.
As Seth was crossing the river, Mr. Joshling shouted, “Ride with wide eyes, Seth, There’re Indians out there!”
Seth found it easy to follow the northwesterly tracks pointing toward Indian Territory. Those of the unshod horses and those of a shod horse who was chasing after them. Seth eyed the tracks occasionally, but mostly he looked for dust clouds, which most likely would have been made from traveling In
dian horses. He thought he saw one in the far distance.
The rolling terrain seemed to stretch on and on as far as the eye could see. The heavens above were nearly cloudless, only an occasional feather cloud in the east. A soft, cool breeze had come up, brushing Seth’s face and reminding him it was the first week in December. The temperature would be getting colder, especially the nights. Time passed, but it passed very slowly. The tracks continued.
The old man had watched the sun go into hiding and darkness appear, but visibility was still good because of a nearly full moon. Seth considered stopping his search and returning back to camp, but the image of his grandson propelled him on.
It was a couple hours after sunset when Bell stopped and looked east with pointed ears. “What is it, girl?” the old man asked. “Is it Indians?” Seth pulled his rifle out from the gun boot. Without any command from her rider, Bell turned and started walking eastward at a faster than normal pace—Seth let her have her head. It wasn’t long until he heard a horse whinny, which made Seth grin, it sounded like Black. As he approached the wallow minutes later, he saw an outline of a large horse appearing black in the moonlight.
“Don’t shoot, Buck! It’s Seth,” the old man called out toward the wallow, hoping he’d found Buck.
“He ain’t able to, Grandpa. He’s been shot and ain’t with it.” The old man rode on in.
“How did he get shot, Scott?” Seth said as he kneeled beside Buck.
“Buck slipped up on the two Indians and got ’em cornered, Grandpa. He cut me loose and then sent me after Black who was a ways off. When I returned, I untied their horses and fetched up their rifle leaning against a tree and put it in Black’s gun boot. Then we both climbed aboard Black and headed out in a gallop thinking we’d made a clean get-away. But then, when we were a little ways from the trees, a shot rang out—they must have had a gun we didn’t know about. Buck slumped forward and nearly fell, but I held him in the saddle, and we rode on ’til we came to this buffalo wallow. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I knew I couldn’t get Buck back in the saddle, so we’ve been here since before dark.”
