Frontier America

by William W. Johnstone

  The others were willing to go along with that, especially Big Thunder, who said that he needed a new buffalo robe.

  “You are so large, it may take two buffalo to make a robe for your lodge,” one of the other men joked.

  Big Thunder crossed his arms over his massive chest, scowled, and said solemnly, “You should not make sport with Big Thunder, Swift Water.”

  “I mean no insult,” Swift Water assured him, grinning. “But they call you Big Thunder for a reason, my friend.”

  The hunting party moved on, leaving the foothills and riding out onto the grassy plains. They scared up some prairie chickens, which took awkward flight and fled, but no buffalo. When the middle of the day had passed, Broken Pine brought his pony to a halt and the others did likewise. The Crow chief said, “We should start thinking about turning back.”

  “But we have found hardly any game!” a warrior protested.

  “We have enjoyed our friendship,” Broken Pine said with a shrug. He looked over at the mountain man and added, “I believe this is what Preacher really sought to find.”

  “You’re right about that, Broken Pine,” Preacher said, nodding. “But I’ve got a hunch we might find something else after all.” He raised a hand and pointed. “Look over yonder.”

  A yellow haze hung in the air in the direction Preacher indicated.

  “Dust,” Hawk said, recognizing the sign.

  “Yep. Somethin’s on the move over there, and to kick up that much dust, it must be a mess of buffalo.”

  “We will go and see,” Broken Pine decided. He heeled his pony into motion again, and the others followed suit as they all rode toward the rising dust.

  * * *

  Several days had passed, and there had been no sign of the Pawnee or any other hostiles as the party of U.S. army dragoons continued their journey toward the mountains. The weather had been good, and the sun shining brightly each day had dried the ground and made it easy for the wagons to travel along in the wake of the riders.

  If anybody thought about Private Clarence Hodgson, lying now beneath the sod in a lonely grave miles behind them, they kept those musings to themselves.

  Jamie rode at least half a mile ahead of the troop most of the time and avoided Lieutenant Edgar Davidson except to report to him a couple of times a day. Jamie took advantage of any opportunity to talk to Hayden Tyler, though. The young second lieutenant impressed Jamie with his intelligence and levelheadedness. Tyler had the makings of an excellent officer. He just needed experience, and he was getting that on this trip.

  One evening at supper, Jamie was hunkered on his heels, drinking coffee and chatting with Lieutenant Tyler, when Corporal Mackey came over to him and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Sure, Corporal. Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir, not really. It’s just that we haven’t had any fresh meat for several days, and I was thinking the men might really like some.”

  Jamie smiled and said, “I reckon they would. Nothing perks up a fella quite like a good steak.”

  “I know. That’s why I asked Lieutenant Davidson if he could send out a hunting party tomorrow.”

  “And you figured maybe I ought to take charge of that hunting party,” Jamie guessed.

  Mackey grinned and said, “You’re the famous frontiersman, sir, not any of us. You’d know what you were doing.”

  “You don’t have to flatter me, Corporal. I think it’s a good idea, and I’ll be ranging out away from the wagons, anyway. I don’t mind taking a few fellas along with me so they can haul back some meat if we run across any game.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, sir, and I have just one more question for you.” Mackey paused. “Is it all right if I come along with you?”

  Tyler spoke up for the first time, saying, “I didn’t think anybody could pry you away from that wagon, Mackey.”

  “That’s just it, sir. My rear end’s spent every day for a week planted on that hard wagon seat. It’s getting a little tired!”

  Tyler laughed and said, “All right, Corporal. If Mr. MacCallister is agreeable, I don’t see why you couldn’t go. One of the other men can drive that wagon for a day.”

  “It’s fine with me, Corporal,” Jamie said. “I’ll be happy to have you along.”

  “Should I ask Lieutenant Davidson, too, sir?” Mackey asked Tyler.

  “B Troop is still my troop,” Tyler responded, his voice hardening slightly. “I think I can make decisions as to who should handle which job. If Lieutenant Davidson doesn’t agree, I’m sure he’ll let me know about it.”

  “I reckon you can count on that,” Jamie drawled.

  * * *

  The next morning, as Jamie was getting his horse ready to ride, Lieutenant Davidson came over to him and said, “I know that you’re taking several men with you today to form a hunting party, MacCallister.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It was my idea, you know. Something to improve the men’s morale.”

  That absolutely wasn’t true—the hunting party had been Corporal Mackey’s suggestion—but Jamie didn’t point out that he knew better. If Davidson wanted to be that petty, he could go right ahead.

  Davidson continued, “I’m sending along Sergeant O’Connor as well.”

  Jamie straightened from tightening the cinch on his saddle and frowned as he turned to face Davidson. He said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lieutenant.”

  “I can’t order men under my command away from the column and into potential danger without at least a noncommissioned officer along to take charge of the detail.”

  “What about Corporal Mackey?”

  “A cook and a wagon driver.” Davidson’s dismissive wave of his hand matched the tone of his voice. “He has no command experience.”

  “Anyway, I sort of figured the troopers would do what I told them.”

  “You’re not an officer.” Davidson’s voice made it sound like Jamie was a lunatic for even suggesting such a thing. “You’re not even a soldier.”

  “But I know what I’m doing out here. I reckon that ought to count for something.”

  “Nevertheless, my decision is that Sergeant O’Connor is going along,” Davidson insisted, “and I expect that you’ll treat him with the appropriate respect a civilian should display to a noncommissioned officer.”

  “The fella’s tried more than once to stove my head in,” Jamie said tightly.

  “According to the sergeant, he was simply protecting himself from your aggressive actions.”

  “And you believe him.”

  Jamie’s words weren’t a question, but Davidson responded to it as one, anyway, saying, “That’s right. I’ll take the word of a soldier over that of a civilian any day.”

  Jamie didn’t like the idea, not one little bit, but he could tell by the expression on Davidson’s face that the lieutenant was going to be stubborn about it. So he nodded and said, “All right. But if O’Connor does something foolish and gets himself in trouble, I’m not going to be responsible for it.”

  “Just do your job,” Davidson snapped. He turned on his heel and stalked away.

  Jamie scowled but finished getting his horse ready. When he was done, he led the mount over to where Corporal Mackey and three more troopers stood waiting with their horses.

  “I saw you talking to the lieutenant, Mr. MacCallister,” said Mackey. “Is there some problem?”

  “You could say that,” Jamie muttered, but before he could explain, Sergeant Liam O’Connor strode up with the usual sneer on his rugged face. He was leading a horse of his own.

  “Mount up,” O’Conner snapped at the men. Their faces fell as they realized what this development meant.

  “You’re coming with us, Sergeant?” asked Mackey.

  “That’s right. Lieutenant Davidson knows he can’t trust a bunch of numbskulls like you to do what you’re supposed to. Hell, if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you get anywhere near a rifle, Mackey. You’re not
fit for any job that doesn’t involve jackasses or pots and pans!”

  Mackey looked like he wanted to take a swing at O’Connor. Jamie caught the corporal’s eye and gave a little shake of his head to let Mackey know he shouldn’t lose his temper. That wouldn’t accomplish anything and would just get Mackey in trouble.

  Anyway, O’Connor had moved on to another target for his wrath. He swung toward Jamie and said, “As for you, MacCallister, don’t try giving me any orders out there. As a matter of fact, I’m in command of this hunting party. The lieutenant said so. So you’ll do what I tell you, not the other way around, understand?”

  “Don’t push your luck, O’Connor,” Jamie said in a flat, hard voice. “Let’s just go out there and see if we can find some game.”

  “You didn’t agree to obey my orders.”

  “That’s right,” Jamie said. “I didn’t.”

  O’Connor glared at him for a moment longer, then swung up into his saddle and jerked his horse around.

  “Come on,” he barked at Mackey and the other troopers. “MacCallister, you can come with us or go to hell, I don’t care either way.”

  As O’Connor rode off, Corporal Mackey said quietly, but with a note of desperation in his voice, “Mr. MacCallister, you’re still coming with us, aren’t you?”

  “I reckon I’d better,” Jamie said.

  Otherwise, he thought, this hunting party might not ever come back.

  CHAPTER 16

  Jamie rode with Corporal Mackey beside him. Sergeant O’Connor was off to the right of them about twenty yards, and the other three troopers—Privates Albright, Jenkins, and Stallworth—trailed behind. Jamie had advised the men not to talk too much and to keep their voices down when they did. Voices carried out here on the prairie, and Jamie didn’t want to spook any game they might come across.

  O’Connor hadn’t looked happy about that. Not because he disagreed, necessarily, thought Jamie, but rather because the sergeant didn’t like the idea of anyone else giving orders. O’Connor had gone along with it, though, and stayed relatively quiet during the morning.

  So far they hadn’t come across any wildlife except rabbits and prairie chickens, and as Jamie explained to the others, such small game wasn’t worth messing with when they were after fresh meat for a whole troop of hungry dragoons.

  “Yeah, I reckon you’d have to kill a bunch of rabbits to satisfy those appetites,” Mackey commented with a smile. “Nobody can eat like soldiers.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jamie said. “I’ve known some fur trappers and bullwhackers and keelboaters who can really put away the grub.”

  They rode on mostly in silence. At midday they paused to make a skimpy meal on some salt pork and biscuits they had brought with them. Then, to let the horses rest and graze some, the men sprawled on the ground and took it easy themselves for a while.

  “I wish we’d brought along some coffee and a pot,” Private Albright said. The Platte River was still in sight, about a quarter of a mile to the south, so they could have gotten water there.

  Jamie sat there with his knees drawn up and his forearms resting easily on them. His eyes narrowed as he gazed to the northwest.

  Corporal Mackey noticed the big frontiersman’s intent look and asked, “Is something wrong, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Nope. Maybe something right.” Jamie lifted an arm and pointed. “Look yonder.”

  O’Connor was lying on his back, a ways apart from the other men just as he had ridden during the morning. He sat up now, looked in the direction Jamie was indicating, and said, “I don’t see a damned thing.”

  “Look closer,” Jamie advised.

  O’Connor’s frown deepened as he peered toward the northwest. All the troopers were sitting up and looking now. After a moment, O’Connor shook his head and said, “I still don’t see it.”

  Jamie stood up, slapped dirt and grass off the seat of his trousers, and said, “There’s dust in the air, a good-sized cloud of it. It’s a little thin, and that makes it hard to see, but it’s there.”

  Corporal Mackey scrambled to his feet as well and asked, “What’s causing it, Mr. MacCallister?”

  “Only thing I know of that would kick up that much dust is a herd of buffalo.”

  That brought excited exclamations from the other three troopers. O’Connor didn’t look as impressed. He said, “We’ve heard all about how these plains are supposed to be covered with buffalo, and we haven’t seen any of them yet. I’m starting to think they’re not really out here.”

  “Oh, they’re here, all right,” said Jamie. “During the winter, the herds drift pretty far to the south, where the grazing is better and the weather’s not as bad, and then during the spring they start meandering back up this way. What you’ve got to remember about a buffalo is that he hardly ever gets in a hurry.” Jamie grunted. “Of course, when he does get upset about something and starts to run, you don’t want to be in his way.”

  “Are we going to try to find that herd?” Mackey asked.

  “Buffalo’s pretty good eating. And if we bring down a few of them, we can skin them and have plenty of meat ready to roast by the time the wagons and the rest of the troop catch up with us.”

  “What if they stampede?” Private Jenkins asked nervously.

  “We’ll try to make sure they don’t come in our direction,” Jamie replied with a faint smile. “Let’s get ready to ride.”

  “Hold on a minute,” O’Connor snapped. “I haven’t said we were going after any damn buffalo.”

  “I am,” Jamie told him bluntly. “You can make up your own mind.”

  O’Connor looked like he wanted to argue, but after a couple of seconds, he jerked his head toward the horses and told the troopers, “Get mounted.”

  The five men rode toward the area where Jamie had spotted the dust. As they came closer, the grayish-yellow cloud became easier to see.

  “Are they stampeding?” Corporal Mackey asked.

  “No, if they were running, they’d be kicking up a heap more dust than that,” Jamie replied. “You wouldn’t have had any trouble spotting it. I think they’re just ambling along, looking for a good place to graze.”

  “Are our rifles powerful enough to kill a buffalo?” asked Private Stallworth. “I’ve heard that they’re enormous creatures.”

  “Twelve feet tall at the shoulder, that’s what I heard,” Private Albright added. “And their heads are so big, you need a wagon to haul one in.”

  Jamie couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He said, “Buffs are big, all right, but not that size. A middling big one would run about half that.” He grew more serious as he went on, “But don’t let that make you take them lightly. Like I said, you don’t want to get in their way. They’ll hit you like a runaway locomotive on one of those railroad lines back east.”

  “What about the rifles, though?” Corporal Mackey pressed. “Can we use them to kill buffalo?”

  “Just don’t shoot the varmints in the head,” Jamie advised. “Their skulls are thick enough that most bullets will just bounce off. They’re like any other kind of game animal. You want to target your shots so you take ’em in the heart or lungs. Heart’s better.” He paused. “That’s a quicker kill. I’d just as soon not see any creature suffer any more than necessary.”

  O’Connor let out a harsh laugh and said, “I wouldn’t think a big, bold frontiersman like you would care about such a thing, MacCallister. They’re just dumb animals.”

  “That’s right,” Jamie said. “That means they hadn’t done anything to deserve to suffer. Not like some two-legged critters I’ve come across, who had whatever they got coming to them.”

  O’Connor drew in a sharp breath and scowled. He asked, “You’re talkin’ about me, are you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  But Jamie didn’t deny it, either.

  O’Connor subsided into a sullen silence as the hunting party rode on. After several minutes, Jamie pointed again and went on, “Look how the d
ust cloud is thinning and breaking up. That means the herd has stopped moving. They’ll be grazing for a while now. If nothing disturbed them, they’d probably settle down for the night right where they are.”

  “But we’re going to disturb them, aren’t we?” said Corporal Mackey.

  “That’s the plan,” Jamie agreed.

  More time went by, and a large, dark mass came into view up ahead, unmoving and low to the ground.

  “That can’t be the herd,” Mackey said. “It’s too big.”

  “That’s it, all right,” Jamie said, nodding. “Some of those herds have millions and millions of buffalo in them. I’ve heard men talking about sitting on a hill and watching a herd go by all day and all night, and it still hasn’t all passed by the next morning.”

  “There can’t be that many buffalo in the whole world,” Private Albright said in awe.

  Jamie looked over his shoulder with a smile on his rugged face and said, “That’s just one herd I’m talking about, son. There are a lot of different bunches out here, scattered from up in Canada almost all the way down to Mexico. All the Indian tribes live on them, using the meat, the hides, the bones, the guts, everything about them.”

  “Then we should get rid of the buffalo,” said Sergeant O’Connor, “because that’d make it easier to get rid of the filthy redskins, once and for all.”

  “I don’t reckon the buffalo will ever be gone,” Jamie said, “but if that ever happens, it’ll be a sad day.”

  And the same was true of the Indians, he thought.

  As the riders came closer to the herd, Jamie motioned to the others and said quietly, “All right, it’s more important than ever not to make much noise now. Buffalo can’t see very well, but they’ve got good senses of hearing and smell. The wind’s blowing toward us, so they shouldn’t catch our scent, but we don’t want them to hear us sneaking up on them, either. Let’s get down and go ahead on foot.”