“I reckon it depends on which you’d rather do,” Joel told him. “Maybe we’ve got some things you could use.”
“Like what?” Seth asked.
“Like some brand-new Sharps carbines and cartridges to go with ’em,” Joel said. When he noticed a definite spark of interest in Seth’s eyes, he continued. “I expect you could do a lot of tradin’ with your Arapahos for a weapon like that.”
“That’s a fact,” Seth allowed. “But you might be lookin’ for a helluva lot in trade for a new rifle like that.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Joel replied. He had been eyeing Seth’s fringed buckskin trousers and shirt with some interest. “What would it take to get a buckskin shirt like the one you’re wearin’?” Riley cocked an eyebrow at that, surprised by Joel’s interest in the trader’s clothes.
Seth shrugged. “Why, it wouldn’t take much. I’ve got a right sizable stack of skins already dried and softened. My wife is a Jim Dandy seamstress.” He spread his arms to show them. “She made this shirt, and every other’n I own. Just take a couple of days, dependin’ on how much fancied up you wanted it.”
“How long would it take her to make me one without all the fancy fringes?”
“Both of you?” Seth asked, glancing then at Riley.
Joel shifted his gaze toward his partner also. The idea sounded sensible to Riley, so he nodded. Joel turned back to Seth and said, “Yeah, both of us.”
Seth turned to his wife, who was standing on the porch, watching the discussion. He spoke to her in Arapaho, after which she took a step to the side, better able to estimate the extent of the project. When she advised her husband, Seth turned back to his customers.
“Little Robe says two days, maybe three. She says she’s got some nice soft doe hides all ready to make me a new shirt.”
“Whaddaya think, partner?” Joel asked Riley.
“Hell, fine by me—sounds like a helluva idea,” Riley responded. “While we’re at it, maybe he’s got some buffalo robes, too.”
Enthusiastic over the prospects of a good trade, Seth said, “Well, come on inside and take a look. I might have some other things you need. Little Robe can make some coffee, and maybe find you a little somethin’ to eat. You can camp right here on the creek.” He turned to lead the way inside. “Maybe you can show me one of them carbines you’re lookin’ to trade. Where are you fellers headin’, anyway?”
“Silver City,” Joel said as Riley went back to fetch one of the Sharps.
“Where’s that?” Seth asked, having never heard of it.
“Over on the Snake River, Idaho Territory,” Joel replied.
Seth turned his head to level a questioning gaze. “Damn, that’s a fur piece. Kinda late in the season to be startin’ out for that country, ain’t it?”
“You could say so,” Joel said. “I reckon we’ll get as far as we can—see how our luck holds out.”
“Well, your partner is right, you’re gonna need some good buffalo robes where you’re headin’.”
• • •
They made their camp a few dozen yards upstream from Seth’s store while they waited for their buckskin garments. Little Robe was a cheerful soul, who seemed to enjoy sewing the clothes for the two white men. In addition, she took time out to prepare food for her guests. The evenings were spent exchanging tales between Riley and Seth.
“How’d you pick this spot to build your store?” Riley asked one afternoon.
“Until a year ago, I had a place on Dry Creek,” Seth said. “One day a couple of white fellers came ridin’ in with a fifteen-man soldier escort. I thought they was lookin’ for some wild bucks that raided a white settlement on the South Platte. But they said they didn’t know nothin’ about no Injun raids. Them two civilians said they worked for the Union Pacific Railroad, and they was scoutin’ the best route for the railroad they said would be comin’ this way in two or three years. Well, they picked this spot on Crow Creek for a crossin’, so I figured the thing for me to do was move my store right here, and if the railroad showed up, I’d have me a front-row seat. Even if it don’t show up, I like this spot better.”
After the bargaining was concluded, and the sewing job done, Joel and Riley said farewell to Seth and Little Robe and set out from Crow Creek, clad in new buckskin outfits, riding well-rested horses. The clothes just recently purchased in Denver City were stowed away on their packhorses, hardly broken in. Seth Burns was content with his acquisition of two new Sharps carbines and two boxes of cartridges.
The trading took a total of four days out of their already tight travel time, but they considered it worth the delay. They used the time to saddle-break the two Indian horses to the cavalry saddles. Both horses seemed faster than their regular horses and they accepted the strange new saddles without much of a fuss. Joel decided to ride the gray and lead his chestnut. Feeling a slight guilt for choosing the unshod horse over his longtime partner, he justified it in his mind by telling himself that Will deserved the rest. For his part, the gelding showed no sign of complaint, and probably appreciated the rest, for Joel was a sizable man.
A trip that Riley had estimated to be about six days turned out to take a full week. But they finally reached South Pass, a thirty-five-mile-wide saddle of sagebrush and open prairie between the Wind River Mountains and the Oregon Buttes. They made camp beside the Sweetwater, a river that many wagon trains had followed across the country’s midsection on their way to Oregon. They had had no contact with anyone, nor seen sign of any Indian activity during the whole trip from Seth Burns’s trading post. But Indians were unpredictable. They might be friendly one day and set on destruction the next, so Joel was happy not to have encountered any hunting parties.
Upon reaching the Sweetwater, they saw the obvious ruts from countless wagons to confirm Riley’s claim that he could find the Oregon Trail. They figured their trip to Silver City to be at least halfway accomplished, even though Riley warned that there was some rugged country ahead of them after they reached the Snake River. As if to emphasize his warning, a light dusting of snow roused them from their bedrolls the next morning.
“Not enough to worry about,” Riley said. “It’s just the Rockies lettin’ us know we ain’t that far from winter.”
Leaving South Pass, they pushed on away from the mountains with Riley pointing the way. Joel couldn’t help noticing the air of excitement in his elder partner, as Riley relived the first time he followed that trail. Although quite a few years ago, there were wagon ruts still evident along the way. The next five days found them following a path through a series of shallow valleys with mountain ranges in the distance that seemed to be lined up one behind the other. But the threatening snow never came and the horses were all in good shape, so they made good time while the weather cooperated. Actually, Joel worried very little about the possibility of bad weather. Like Riley on his first journey across the Great Divide, he was too awed by the majesty of the rugged mountain peaks to worry about winter closing in. He enjoyed the confidence of knowing that whatever befell them, he would deal with it.
With the mountains behind them now, they ascended to a wide, almost flat plain, and Riley said that the traveling would be easier for a good spell, at least until they reached the Snake River Plain.
“We’ll be comin’ on Soda Springs,” he said. “We stopped to rest up here. There’s hot springs all over the place, bubblin’ up like you ain’t never seen.”
Joel agreed that the prospect of a hot soak wouldn’t be bad at all. Within a short time, however, his thoughts were directed toward another confrontation with hostiles, for he suddenly heard gunshots in the distance. He reined the gray back and he and Riley stopped to listen.
“They’re a fur piece off,” Riley said, and Joel nodded his agreement. “Could be a huntin’ party—huntin’ buffalo, maybe.”
It was difficult to tell exactly which direction the shots came from, becau
se they were partially muffled by a ridge to the northwest of them.
“I expect we’d best keep a sharp lookout to make sure we don’t ride up on a huntin’ party,” Joel said. They continued on the same track they had been following since morning.
They had just entered the edge of the broad, open valley that Riley said was called Soda Springs when Joel spotted smoke rising lazily in the distance. Without speaking, he pointed. Riley nodded.
“Yeah, I saw it, too,” he said.
Cautious now, they continued to ride along the valley, angling slightly south of the fire until they could identify the source, leaving room to retreat to the hills if necessary. Gradually closing the distance, they were at last able to make out two wagons set ablaze, the obvious explanation for the gunshots they had heard earlier.
“Injuns,” Riley said. There appeared to be none around at the time. “Looks like they’ve done their deviltry on some poor folks and left the wagons to burn.”
“There ain’t no sign of anyone,” Joel said, fearing the worst. “From the look of that fire, it couldn’t have happened too long ago.”
As they drew closer, they could see several lumps on the valley floor that were no doubt the bodies of the unfortunate owners of the wagons.
“Kinda risky business, ridin’ this trail with just two wagons,” he remarked solemnly.
“They musta got hung up somewhere back along the trail. Maybe they were tryin’ to catch up with the rest of their wagon train. Let’s ride on in and take a look. Might be somebody left alive.”
He turned the paint’s head toward the burning wagons. Joel followed.
They had approached to within a hundred yards when they were suddenly surprised by the sharp snap of a rifle ball as it passed between them. It was followed almost immediately by the report of the weapon.
“Whoa!” Riley exclaimed loudly, and jerked hard on the reins, almost colliding with Joel’s horse. “Hold on!” he yelled, when the shot was not followed immediately by a second. “We’re friends. Hold your fire, damn it!”
“All right, friends,” a suspicious female voice came back, “come a little bit closer, so I can get a better look at you.”
“Well, don’t go shootin’ that rifle at us,” Riley answered. “We just wanted to see if we could help. If you don’t want any help, then, hell, we’ll just be on our way and leave you be.”
“Come on in,” the woman replied.
There was still a hint of caution in her voice. When they approached within thirty yards of the burning wagons, she stepped out from behind the front wheels of the one wagon that was only halfway consumed by the flames. Dressed in a man’s trousers and shirt, and wearing a heavy woolen coat, she held a breech-loading, single-shot Remington rifle ready in case her visitors made a suspicious move. She relaxed her stance a little when they came closer.
“I couldn’t tell for sure,” she said. “Dressed up in those animal skins like you are, I thought you were some more of those damn Injuns comin’ back for another try.”
Joel looked around the scene of the attack, astonished that the woman had been able to survive. The lumps they had seen from a distance were, in fact, the bodies they had suspected. And there were more on the other side of the wagons, most of them white, but there were also two Indians among the dead.
“Ma’am,” Joel said, “looks like you’ve had some awful bad luck. Are you the only one alive?”
“That’s right,” she answered, with no hint of emotion in her voice. “Those red devils killed my sister and her husband and my uncle. They killed Peter Ferris, his wife, Ethel, and their two boys. They snatched up Ethel’s daughter, Ruthie, and ran off with her.”
“My God,” Joel said, amazed by the woman’s composure with no sign of the grief he would have expected. “I’m right sorry we couldn’t have gotten here a little sooner. Maybe we coulda helped.”
“How did you manage to come outta this alive?” Riley asked. As it did to Joel, it seemed to him an unlikely happening.
“I don’t rightly know,” she replied. “They came up to us like they were real peaceful, so they could see what we were carryin’, I reckon. David—that’s my uncle—said he knew Injuns, and we could give ’em some food, and they’d leave us alone. It looked like he might be right, but all of a sudden, one of ’em pulled a pistol out of his belt and just started firin’ away. The others cut the horses loose. My sister and her husband tried to run to the wagon to stop ’em, but they shot both of ’em before they got more’n three steps. Then all of ’em started shootin’. Some of ’em cut Peter and Ethel down, and when the boys tried to defend their folks, the Injuns shot them. One of ’em tried to shoot me, but his rifle misfired, and I grabbed my uncle’s rifle and killed that son of a bitch. I crawled under the wagon and reloaded. When another’n tried to grab me by the foot and drag me outta there, I let him have it right between the eyes. I reckon they decided it wasn’t worth it tryin’ to get me, so they backed off, yellin’ and howlin’ like a bunch of coyotes. I held the rifle on ’em, like I was goin’ to shoot if they came near me again, and I was hopin’ and prayin’ they didn’t, because my rifle was empty. The cartridges were inside the wagon and I was afraid to make a try for ’em. I don’t know when they set the wagons on fire, because they looked like they were in a hurry to get away from here.”
“Damn, lady,” Riley softly exclaimed. “You’ve been through a terrible time.”
“The thing that hurts my heart,” she said, “was I couldn’t save Ruthie. I called for her to crawl under the wagon with me, but before she could, one of those devils snatched her up and rode off with her.”
“Maybe we can still catch up with ’em,” Joel said. “Might not be too late for the girl.” He looked up toward the sun. “There ain’t all that much daylight left. They oughta be stoppin’ to make camp, if they ain’t got a village nearby.”
“Easy enough to track,” Riley said, examining the hoofprints leading away from the wagons. “How many were there?”
“We counted seven when they first caught up with us,” she said, “so that leaves five not countin’ those two.” She nodded toward the bodies.
Riley finally asked the question that had first occurred to him. “What in God’s name were you folks doin’ out here by yourselves?”
“When we left Fort Laramie, we were part of a train with twenty wagons. Two days out, the Ferrises’ wagon broke a wheel, so they had to take it back to get it fixed. The rest of the train wouldn’t wait, ’cause we were already so late in the season, so we volunteered to wait with them, figurin’ on catching up with the others later.”
“That was bad luck,” Joel said, and then he thought to introduce himself and Riley. “My name’s Joel McAllister and this is Riley Tarver. We’re on our way to Silver City, but we’re gonna see if we can follow those Indians first, and hope we’re lucky enough to find the girl unharmed.” He glanced at Riley to make sure he was thinking the same, and he quickly nodded his agreement. “How old is the girl?”
“She’s goin’ on thirteen.”
“That might explain why they rode off with her. If she was a little older, they mighta killed her on the spot. Sometimes they keep the young children captive.” He looked at Riley and shook his head. The old sergeant nodded in return, signifying that he was ready to ride after the hostiles. Joel looked back at the woman. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Elvira Moultrie,” she answered.
“Well, Elvira, we can’t ride off and leave you by yourself. Can you ride bareback? We’ve got a horse for you, but we don’t have an extra saddle.”
“Hell yes, I can ride bareback. It was how I learned to ride on my daddy’s farm in Nebraska.”
“Good,” Joel said. “I’ll put you on that chestnut there. He’s gentle enough, and I expect he’d like to have the company. I think we’d best not tarry if we wanna catch up with those Indians.�
��
He watched while she gathered the few possessions she had managed to save from the Indians, at the same time paying more attention to the manner of woman they had picked up. She looked strong physically, and there was no doubt that she was mentally tough as well. Otherwise she would have been weepy and in despair after what she had just gone through. He suspected there was much more to learn about the fiber that ran through Elvira Moultrie, but at a later time. Now it was time to go after the girl.
• • •
The tracks left by the Indian raiding party led off across the valley floor in the direction of a range of mountains to the east. Riley wasn’t sure he remembered what mountains they were, but the fact that a good portion of the hills were covered with pine, fir, and spruce made him guess they were the Caribou Mountains. It was reasonable to assume the Indians sought a place to camp with good coverage where they wouldn’t be discovered. This caused further speculation that the party was raiding in territory claimed by some other tribe. Joel thought at once of the Blackfoot.
“Those two Indians Elvira killed back there,” he asked Riley, “could you tell what they were?”
“Damned if I know,” Riley answered. “I don’t know one Injun from another.”
“Blackfoot,” Elvira said, overhearing the question. “At least, that’s what David said they were.”
“It don’t much matter, does it?” Riley said.
“I reckon not,” Joel answered.
By the time they reached the foot of the mountains, the sun was already perched atop the higher peaks of a distant mountain range to the west.
“In an hour or more, we’re gonna be trackin’ in the dark,” Riley speculated.
Silver City Massacre Page 6
