“I’ll tell it wherever I go,” said Trinity, “to anybody who will listen.”
“Speaking of going,” Mac said, “it’s time to move these wagons. It’s a good two days from here to the Canadian River.”
“The water barrels is all full,” said Port Guthrie. “We’re good for at least one night in dry camp.”
“If we don’t get rolling, it’ll be more than one night,” Mac said. “Move ’em out.”
Russ didn’t have to wonder what had happened, for the bodies of his comrades fairly bristled with arrows. Not a horse, scrap of food, or arms and ammunition remained.
“What I can’t figger,” said Russ aloud, “is how them two from the wagon outfit got loose and escaped the Indians. You can count on one thing, Mister Wagon Boss. You ain’t shut of me. We’ll meet again, and when we do, you’d best have your iron in your hand.”
The Canadian River. October 10, 1873.
“I’d reckon us to be a hundred and twenty-five miles north of the Red River,” said Port Guthrie. “That’s two weeks, if we can hold to ten miles a day.”
“I’d say we can rule out any threat by the Comanches,” Mac said, “so that leaves only the renegades.”
“After we just got rid of one gang,” said Trinity, “you’re expecting another?”
“Maybe more than one,” Mac replied. “The trouble we had gettin’ these wagons out of Kansas City to Dodge, I can’t believe there isn’t a Judas of some stripe in Washington who hasn’t telegraphed ahead.”
“You’re more right than you know,” said Port Guthrie. “We’re in more danger from the army itself than from Indians and renegades combined.”
“My God,” Buck said, “how do you figure that?”
“Remember Jernigan, from Fort Dodge?”
“Yes,” said Buck. “He wore the gray.”
“Well, I’m tellin’ you Union ranks is shot full of former Confederates who took the pledge, just like Jernigan,” Guthrie replied. “They was beat, but they ain’t bowed. They’re short on hope but long on hate. I ain’t sure we should even stop at Fort Griffin.”
“But we’re going to,” said Mac. “Hell, we can’t pick up these wagons and put ’em in our pockets. If everybody knows we’re out here, it’s just a matter of time until they find us.”
“I got an idea that’s why Mr. Yeager didn’t recommend us stoppin’ at any of the outposts,” Guthrie said.
“He didn’t recommend it,” said Mac, “but he didn’t forbid it. This is the kind of thing where Yeager can’t sit in Kansas City and call the shots. If he didn’t know it already, he got the message after what happened in Dodge. Success or failure depends almost entirely on our judgment.”
The wagons crossed the Canadian without difficulty, and spirits rose, for it seemed that much of the trouble might be behind them. But it was time for the elements to again take a hand, and big gray thunderheads began stacking up on the western horizon.
“There’s gonna be one hell of a snowstorm blowin’ in off the high plains,” said Saul Estrella.
“It won’t reach this far south,” Port Guthrie said, “but there’ll be rain. We might as well find us a place to rest for two or three days, until the sun’s had a chance to dry up the mud.”
“Perhaps we can find a place like the arroyo, near the Cimarron,” Elizabeth said. “It’s nice to have shelter and a fire.”
“I’ll ride south a ways,” said Mac, “and look around. Port, before we leave here, see that the water barrels are all filled. Red, why don’t you ride along the Canadian and see if there might be an overhanging bank or cave we can use for shelter? That’s in case there’s nothing suitable ahead of us that we can reach before the rain begins.”
“May I ride with you?” Trinity asked.
“I reckon,” said Mac, “but you know what happened the last time you rode with me.”
“I know,” Trinity said, “but I’d rather have been with you than left behind, worrying about you.”
“Come on, then,” said Mac. “See if Haze will allow you to ride his horse.”
“I already did,” Trinity said. “He’s saddling it now.”
Mac and Trinity rode south, while Red rode eastward, along the bank of the Canadian.
“What will we do for water between here and the Red?” Trinity asked.
“We’ll have to depend on springs and creeks,” said Mac. “I believe that’s one reason Yeager routed us through western Indian Territory. After leaving the Canadian, I know of no sure water until we reach the Red. But when I say that, I’m thinking of Texas. Here in Indian Territory, the terrain is entirely different. It’s the kind of country where there’ll be springs, maybe artesian water. I reckon that’s why it’s such a haven for renegades.”
“I can feel a dampness in the wind,” Trinity said. “How long until the rain begins?”
“It’ll hit us sometime tonight,” said Mac. “If we don’t find shelter today, we’re in for a soaking. The weather—rain and snow—is one of the real hardships on the plains. It’s difficult to keep a fire for food and coffee, and nobody sleeps much. When there’s snow on the ground or the water and mud is deep, there’s nowhere to spread your blankets.”
“It seems like the freight lines would allow room in each of the wagons for teamsters to sleep,” Trinity said.
Mac laughed. “You don’t know freight lines. They begrudge the space it takes for the two hundred pounds of grain each wagon must carry to feed the mules. When it comes to consideration, the teamster’s three or four notches below his mule teams.”
Mac and Trinity had ridden almost fifteen miles before finding water. Following a runoff, they reached a more-than-adequate spring.
“Good water,” said Mac, “but the trees and rocks surrounding it won’t offer decent shelter. Not even for a cook fire. We might as well ride back and see if Red’s found anything.”
Red rode along the river, keeping to the south bank, where vegetation was sparse. He soon gave up finding a decent riverbank overhang. While there was some overhang, and the water was low, a day or two of continuous rain would raise the water level dramatically. Their shelter—if they had any—couldn’t be anywhere near the river. Even along the bank where he rode, Red could see debris and signs of flooding. When he turned in his saddle and looked westward, the thunderheads seemed bigger, blacker, and closer than ever. The wind had a bite to it, and while there likely wouldn’t be any snow, there would be a cold rain which might continue for several days and nights. Red realized he was riding deeper into Indian Territory, but riding westward would have taken him to the virtually barren plains of the Texas panhandle. He reined up, studying the ground. There was just a hint of a trail that angled off to the southeast. Long unused, but a trail of sorts, and for the lack of a better choice, Red followed it. Something or somebody had used the trail to get water from the river, for the bank had angled down to the water.
“Deer trail, maybe,” said Red aloud.
But it was considerably more than a deer trail. Beyond a stand of mostly leafless trees Red could see part of a shake roof. Dismounting, he looped the reins of his horse around a pine limb and continued on foot. From the outside, the cabin appeared substantial, with a mud-and-stick chimney. A leather-hinged door stood open, moving in the wind. Shutters over the windows were closed. There was no sign of life. There was a stoop sheltering the entrance, and dead leaves had piled up beneath it.
“Hello the cabin,” said Red. “Anybody here?”
Only silence greeted him. His Colt in his hand, he kicked the dead leaves away from the door and swung it inward. The cabin was even larger than it appeared from the outside. Red could see an entrance—without a door—into another room. He stepped inside and was greeted with a musty odor. There was firewood stacked on both sides of the fireplace, and a dozen crude bunks—six upper and six lower—anchored at intervals to three walls of the room. There was only a dirt floor, and no furnishings of any kind. His boots crunching on blown-in fallen leaves, R
ed made his way to the curtainless, doorless opening that led to the next room. Suddenly he halted, the macabre thing on the dirt floor drawing from him an involuntary gasp of surprise.
Lying on its back, arms outflung, lay the skeleton of a man. The bony fingers of the right hand still gripped a Colt, and just above the eyeless sockets of the skull, there was what could only be a bullet hole. The gruesome thing still wore the clothing in which the man had died. There were scuffed, run-over boots, faded Levi’s, and a red flannel, out-at-the-elbows shirt. A tattered black hat lay partially under one bony leg. The only other item in the squalid room was ripped-open saddlebags. They appeared empty, but when Red picked them up, a piece of paper fluttered out. It was a strip that banks used to band their currency, and on it was printed “Bank of Wichita.”
“Looks like a fallin’-out among thieves,” Red said, “and pardner, you was ridin’ with some damned sorry companions.”
Red had seen enough. He left the cabin, returned to his horse, and rode back the way he had come. By his estimate, the cabin was maybe two miles from where the wagons had crossed the river.
“Well?” said Haze, as Red dismounted.
“I found a cabin,” Red replied, “as long as none of you are superstitious. In one of the rooms there’s the bones of a dead man. There’s a bullet hole in the skull.”
Hattie shuddered. “Let’s wait until Mac and Trinity return. Maybe they’ve found us a shelter somewhere up ahead.”
“Oh, I don’t aim to make a move until Mac’s had a look at this,” said Red. “This had to be a fallin’-out among thieves. I found a strip of paper that says ‘Bank of Wichita.’ It’s the thing banks use to band currency.”
“A cabin used by outlaws,” Buck said. “There’s always a chance they could return.”
“I reckon there’s always a chance,” said Red. “Somebody put an almighty lot of work into that place, just to ride away and leave it. But the gent they left behind has been there a good six months, I’d say. It looks like his pardner or pardners in crime took the money and vamoosed.”
There was more speculation, but they were all of the same mind. They would wait for Mac and Trinity to return, and an hour later, they did.
“The nearest water’s a good fifteen miles,” said Mac, “and as for shelter, there’s only an occasional stand of trees. Find anything, Red?”
“Yeah,” Red replied, “but before we all go rushin’ downriver, you might want to have a look at the place.”
Red quickly told Mac what he had already told the others.
“I’ll ride down there with you,” said Mac, “and we’ll dispose of Mr. Bones before the wagons arrive. If outlaws built the cabin and they return, there’d better be enough of them to throw us out.”
“Port,” Red said, “follow the river until you come to a dim trail leadin’ off to the southeast. From there you can see part of the shake roof of the cabin. You may have to fell a few trees to get the wagons up close.”
“We’ll be along, then,” said Guthrie.
Without further ado, Mac and Red rode out.
“God,” Rachel said, “I’ve had enough of outlaws.”
“Honey,” said Trinity, “you haven’t had nearly as much of them as I have, but I feel the same way Mac does. Until enough of them show up to run us out, then that cabin will belong to us.”
“Amen to that,” Buck said. “I’ve never slept worth a damn, standin’ in the rain, and I purely don’t like it waterin’ down my coffee. That is, if there’s a fire, and we have coffee.”
Port Guthrie’s wagon led out and the others followed. Trinity’s wagon came last, with Haze and Buck riding behind it.
With Red leading the way and Mac following, they soon reached the cabin. Everything was as before. The open door swayed in the rising wind, and dry leaves swirled at their feet.
“Well,” said Mac, “it’s plenty big enough, and there’s a bunk for us all.”
“The skeleton’s in this next room,” Red said.
But when they entered the back room, Red was more shocked than when he’d found the bones. The skeleton was gone! So were the saddlebags, the tattered hat, and even the scrap of paper with “Bank of Wichita” printed on it.
“By God, that tears it,” said Red. “He wasn’t in no shape to get up and walk away.”
Mac looked at his friend with some concern. “Are you sure there was a pile of bones in here?”
“Why, hell yes, I’m sure,” Red growled. “You think I don’t know a skeleton when I see one? The damned thing still had a Colt in its hand.”
“Well, either it wasn’t as dead as you thought,” said Mac, “or it’s got friends around here close by.”
“I doubt they’re friends,” Red replied, “but for some reason, they hauled what was left of him out of here. How’s that going to affect us usin’ this cabin?”
“We’re still going to use the cabin,” said Mac, “and to avoid fanning the fires of anybody’s superstitions, we’re not goin’ to tell them your skeleton disappeared. Let them think we dragged it away and got rid of it.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Red replied. “Hattie’s eyes got big as tin plates when I told ’em about the bones.”
“I may have to confide in Haze and Buck,” said Mac, “because we don’t know what all this means. I think one of us will always have to be waitin’ just inside this cabin door with a cocked Winchester.”
“Well,” Red said, mollified, “I’m glad you’re takin’ me serious. This could be trouble.”
“Anytime there’s an unexplained dead man, it means trouble for somebody,” said Mac. “I expect there’s been a lot of hombres who came to Indian Territory and never left, and I don’t want us addin’ to their numbers.”
There was the thunk of axes as the teamsters felled enough of the smaller trees to get the wagons to the cabin. There was a clearing around it ample enough to secure the wagons, and beyond that, decent graze for a few days. Once the wagons had reached the cabin, it was time to seek firewood.
“Buck, Haze, and Red, come with me,” Mac said. “We’ll take some axes and cut us a supply of firewood while it’s still dry. There’s plenty of room for all of us in the front room of that cabin. We can pile our wood in the second room, and not have to drag it in during the storm.”
It was good that they wasted no time, for the rain began well before nightfall. There was a chill, driving wind, and the horses and mules took shelter in a stand of pines that were within sight of the cabin. The chimney drew well, and a roaring fire did wonders to lift the spirits of the outfit.
“One thing is certain,” Port Guthrie said, “if it’s rainin’ to the south of us anything like it’s rainin’ here, we won’t have a water problem from here to the Red. There’ll be a blessed plenty of wet-weather springs and streams.”
Mac had a few candles in his saddlebags, and when he lighted one, they all looked at him curiously.
“There’s plenty of light in here from the fire,” said Buck.
“Not in the back room,” Mac replied. “I aim to poke around back there.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Red.
They got no argument from any of the others, for they all knew that Red had found the bones of a dead man there. Some of the firewood had been piled just beyond the door to the room, but not enough to hinder their search.
“I don’t like things left dangling, where there are no answers,” Mac said. “There may be no answers here, but it won’t cost us anything to look around. That strip of paper you found from the Bank of Wichita tells me there were some thieves here, and that they must have had a saddlebag full of stolen bank greenbacks.”
“Yeah,” said Red, “and the gent I found had a fallin’-out with the others. He bought more than he could pay for. Somebody else was a dead shot, and a hell of a lot quicker. I just wish I’d had the sense to go through the dead hombre’s pockets while I still had the chance.”
“I doubt you’d have found anything of value,�
�� Mac replied. “Whoever shot him would have picked him clean before leaving him.”
“Maybe,” said Red, “but they left him his Colt. It was still in his hand. When he was left here, they must have figured he’d never be found. Now I’m wonderin’ why they came back, and why they went to the trouble of takin’ him away from here. Nobody’s lived in this place for months, yet the minute I discover it, they show up and take his bones away. Where have they been, and why have they returned?”
“I have a powerful hunch we need to know the answer to that last part,” Mac said. “I got a notion they’ve returned because there’s somethin’ here that they want. Or at least they believe there is. But you showed up before they could accomplish what they intended to do.”
“While I don’t take kindly to the thought,” said Red, “they could have just shot me.”
“If they knew or suspected you weren’t alone, that wouldn’t have solved anything,” Mac said. “They were likely gambling that you wouldn’t return, and just on the off chance that you might, they took the skeleton away. If you did come back, maybe bringin’ somebody with you, there’d be no evidence of what you had seen. You might have some trouble convincin’ anybody else that you hadn’t had too much red-eye, that you wasn’t just seeing somethin’ that wasn’t there.”
“I ain’t had a drop of nothin’ stronger than coffee,” said Red, “but I’m about ready to admit my eyes was playin’ tricks on me.”
“No,” Mac said, “I believe you found a man’s bones in here, and that for reasons we can only suspect, those bones were taken away. The hombres who took the bones may be watching this cabin right now, waitin’ for us to leave. I think we’ll have a look at these log walls, and if we find nothing there, we’ll check out the dirt floor.”
“We don’t know that what we’re lookin’ for is in this room,” said Red. “It may be in the next room.”
“Maybe,” Mac replied, “but we’ll start our search in here. There’s no point in getting the others involved in this, if we don’t have to.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Red conceded. “It’d scare hell out of the women, if they got the idea a whole new bunch of outlaws was lurkin’ around here.”
The Winchester Run Page 13
