by A. W. Hart
“Miss Sara, I would have you by my side anytime in a gunfight,” the handsome scout with his long auburn hair and drooping mustache said. “I’ve fought with fine ones, like my scout friend Bill Cody. They are calling him Buffalo Bill now. He wants to be famous. I just want to get by and generally be left alone.
“And you, Reno. You are quick with your guns. Don’t let your religion slow you down. If it’s time to draw, the time to think about it has already passed.
“I consider both of you to be new friends. If you ever need help, contact an Army post and tell them to find James Butler Hickok for you. They will, and I’ll come running.”
He stooped and kissed Sara on the hand. She actually let him without shooting him. He shook Reno’s hand and said, “Do hard work with your left hand, so you keep your primary gun hand free from injury and pliable. Think of it as your life-and-death hand.”
They temporarily attached the travois to Grace and entered Dodge with the spirited black pulling. There was already a hotel on a now-muddy thoroughfare called Front Street. Reno pulled up the horses and tied them to a hitch rail out front. He helped Sara up, and she leaned against the rail while he unhooked the travois and slid it out of the road.
Reno helped his sister in, and they asked for a room. They climbed the stairs very slowly and opened the door. The bed linens were surprisingly clean. There was a washstand with water in the pitcher and some clean folded towels nearby. The only other piece of furniture beyond the bed and nightstand was a small wardrobe in the corner.
Reno put their saddlebags and rifles in a corner and went down to put the horses in a livery and have them fed, brushed, and their shoes checked.
On the way back in, he asked if there was a doctor in town. There was. Knowing the quacks who claimed a medical degree in the West, Reno decided to check Sara’s wound for infection before calling him in. If it was healing well after less than two days, he would use the rest of Hickok’s black walnut salve on her. It seemed to be working.
He was hesitant about having some sawbones he knew nothing about looking at his sister’s bare rear end.
He stopped at a restaurant and ordered a takeout dinner for thirty minutes later.
Going back to the hotel, he climbed the stairs. Reno tapped on the door and said, “It’s me, Sis.” He heard the hammer gently go on one of her revolvers before unlocking the door. Smart girl, he thought.
Sara was laying on her stomach still and was scowling.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’ve got two pains in my ass,” she replied.
“I know what one is. What’s the other?”
“Walk over to the mirror by the wardrobe,” she ordered.
He did.
“Now, look in the mirror.”
Falling for it, he did.
“Gotcha. I love you more than anything, but you really can be a pain with all this narrow-minded preaching,” she said.
Shaking his head, he walked over to her and said, “I want to check your wound. If James’ salve has prevented infection, I recommend we don’t have some sawbones looking at your womanly parts.”
“Sounds like a reasonable approach,” she said as she pulled up her skirt.
He did not see any redness, so he gently pulled the skirt down.
“You have a lot of trail dust, Sister. If I had a tub brought in, could you sit in it for a bath?” he asked.
“I am not ready to sit in or on anything, Reno. If you could get some hot water sent up, a sponge bath would be nice. It’s been weeks since I was clean. Hard to sit in creeks and bathe while it’s sleeting,” she said.
He nodded, went downstairs, and ordered hot water to be delivered outside the door. It came about an hour later, after they had eaten fried chicken, biscuits, and potatoes.
He gathered the towels and brought in the two buckets of hot water.
“I think you need to stand and wash. If you do it in bed, you will be sleeping on wet sheets,” he said, “I will go outside for a while. Call me when you are done.”
“Uh, no. It’s cold in here, and it hurts too much for me to twist and bend. So, dearest brother, you are going to have to do it,” she said.
He opened his mouth, but she wagged her finger at him. He knew better than to protest from long experience. She gave him one of her rare sweet smiles.
I have made a covenant with my eyes; how then could I gaze at a virgin? from Job 31:1 was in his thoughts, but prudently, for once, it did not escape through his lips.
The next day, he left her locked in, armed and with a dog who would kill for her if demanded. Reno went looking for a tombstone-maker. He started with the undertaker and was sent down by the Arkansas River to a stonemason who did tombstones. He ordered one Bass stone to denote their plot and five smaller ones with the names of his parents and siblings. He was promised they would be ready in a week. The timing was fine with Reno. He doubted Sara would be able to ride to the ranch much before then anyway.
Since his sister could not sit in a restaurant, he picked up lunch to take back to the hotel with the news about the tombstones.
“What should we do about the ranch?” she asked during lunch.
“I been thinking about the ranch. I guess we need to have it put in our names as next of kin. We may have some taxes to pay. Maybe we should stop by the county seat and see about the legal matters on the way in.”
“Yes, I think you are right. How about after? Should we rebuild the house? And have you thought about how we are going to get one big and five smaller stones to the ranch with two horses?”
“Ugh, no. Carrying them could be a problem. We could use a base for our bounty hunting. Is the ranch central enough? If so, we could build a small cabin. What worries me is if we sell, what about the graves? There is no church cemetery there like back East.”
“How about this? We keep the farm. The taxes on the land alone can’t be much. And we look for a perfect base of operations as we travel around the West. Maybe one with some land but near a railroad or stage line, or both. I believe railroads are going to connect everything one day.”
“I guess. How about this also? We buy a packhorse or mule with a sawbuck saddle and some heavy bags. We can carry more food and water and better shelter. I think we learned our lesson coming here,” he said.
“What about the stones? Rent a buckboard and swing back through here to return it when we’re done?” Sara asked.
“I guess. Not like we can send them home by way of the railroad. Wonder if there is a freight wagon going in our direction from here?” Reno thought out loud.
“Sounds like something for you to look into tomorrow,” she said.
The next morning, the two made a mental list of things they needed for the trail if they had a pack animal. It included a small spade, an axe, an iron grill, a small iron Dutch oven and a tripod to hold it, and their coffee pot. They doubled their existing ammunition supply from the previous village. The livery had a mule they could buy, and they added a sawbuck packsaddle to the list.
Sara’s arrow wound began to itch, so she figured it was the next stage of healing. Another sponge bath would assist the healing process. After all, there would not be much hot water on the trail to the ranch or after.
But she was to go without the sponge bath, sadly.
The mason finished the stones early, and Reno found a freighter heading through Kiowa Springs, the village nearest the Bass Ranch, and the one where the church and school were. They made ready to depart Dodge in two days.
Those plans were canceled by word of Cheyennes, Arapahos, Kiowas, and Comanches variously on the warpath, attacking all over Kansas. The state had become Bloody Kansas once again, just like before and during the war. They heard James Hickok had been the lead scout for a cavalry troop going out to escort ranchers into Fort Dodge for a safe haven from the attacks.
It was three weeks before an all-clear was given by the army for civilian travel. Even then, it was chancy. The good news was Sara was o
kay to ride. And to bathe.
They packed and left for the ranch, which was several days’ ride. The freighter would leave the stones with the livery in the village close to their ranch. The two thought about having them delivered to the Lutheran church, but decided to keep things private.
Sara led and Reno backed her up, trailing the mule. They had much discussion about naming him. Reno leaned toward calling him Moses. Sara voted for Thunder. And won, of course.
They had ridden a mule double to and from school at home. Their experience made them fully aware of why “stubborn as a mule” was more than a hackneyed expression. But Thunder was not unduly burdened and managed to keep up with the horses at a long-distance gait, and for now, he seemed a cooperative critter.
Sara smiled secretly, her back to her brother. She cataloged mule-related expressions she could use on the often-gullible gunfighter who trailed her.
After several stops to rest and water the humans and beasts, they spotted another stand of cottonwoods off the trail. Reno gave Thunder’s long reins to his sister, and unsheathing his Winchester, rode over for a closer look.
He circled the stand of trees and rode through. Reappearing, he waved her on.
They worked together unloading, and Reno led the three animals off to hobble while Sara took the new spade and dug a firepit. Apache watched with obvious approval, likely dreaming of bacon.
The sleet had stopped a day ago. The Kansas wind had not let up at all.
Reno searched the cottonwood stand for dry tinder to kindle a fire. He found enough and used the short axe to cut up some fallen branches for fuel.
With a match, he lit the fire and put increasingly larger branches, then small logs on it. It burned down sufficiently in an hour to put the grill across and lay bacon strips in a small cast iron fry pan. He placed potatoes in the coals and let them bake. When they were almost done, he gingerly handled them, slicing and placing them in the bacon fat to fry. The coffee was brewed, and the aroma of coffee and bacon were about as pleasing as one could wish.
Sara stood stiffly. He watched as she looked at Thunder chewing. Then she pointedly looked at him as he stood proudly by the best camp dinner he had fixed for a long while.
“Well, look at you, Reno Bass. Standing there grinning like a jackass chewing briars.”
He stood for a second, then responded, “Doggone, Sara. I knew when you were so quiet all day, you were pondering something deep. Now it’s apparent what it was. So, you’ll squat down on your sore butt and chew a few of these bacon-and-tater briars, will you?”
They finished and cleaned up, scrubbing with dirt instead of the soap they didn’t have. They put the bacon grease in a screw-top can and saved it. Reno gathered more and larger pieces of wood to keep the fire stoked through the night. It was already getting colder. He was glad they had added another tarp for a shelter. They would use the original one for a ground cloth they could wrap around their bedrolls.
“You know, Reno,” Sara began. “James Hickok was a real gentleman. He did not look while you were tending to my wound, although I suspect he would have liked to. And he gave us good advice about riding the trail in rough country. About cutting sign with aging tracks and all. It was a worthwhile week. I hope he stays safe out there scouting.”
“I do, too. Did you hear what he said about sending for him as a friend if we ever needed anything?” he said, and she nodded.
“I heard him say the two of you were about the same speed with your cross-draw revolvers, too. He said the second you drew on each other would be the second of both of your deaths. A scary way to put it, dear brother, but it got the point across,” she said.
“I ‘spect we’ll hear more about James Butler Hickok in the future. He seems like a man heading for fame. Maybe he’ll be a great scout or a buffalo hunter. Who knows?” Reno said.
Before it got dark, Reno dug a trench on the sheltered side of the firepit. He took wooden stakes and branches and built a windbreak on the opposing side. The trench and break pushed the warmth of the fire into the shelter.
They climbed into their bedrolls, the girl in the middle, and her two- and four-legged protectors on either side. It was too dark to read, so Reno recited from the Scriptures. He ignored the light snoring from the beautiful strawberry-blonde and the black dog with the white ring around his left eye. He knew they were tired and figured their spirits would absorb the reading, even if their brains did not.
They diverted from Kiowa Springs for a fast stop at the county seat in Baxter. The clerk of the court told them they needed to prove they were the next of kin to have the ranch deeded over to them.
“Everybody in the area knows who we are and what we did to the Devil’s Horde after they burned out ranch and killed our family,” Reno exclaimed, getting madder by the minute.
“Well, you have to provide birth certificates showing you are the son and daughter of Mr. and Mrs. John Bass,” the clerk said.
“Who would have those?”
“The clerk of the court.”
“Aren’t you the clerk?” Reno asked.
“Yes, but I’m acting in my tax accessor capacity now,” the small, bespectacled man explained.
“Do you think you might put the right hat on and take us wherever the birth certificates are?” Sara asked.
“Of course.” He hurried across the room, still behind the counter. They followed on the other side of the counter.
“When were you born?”
They told him.
“What are your full names?”
“George Washington Bass and Sara Marie Bass.”
He verified Reno, then turned to Sara.
“You sure look enough like your brother to be his twin, but I don’t see any proof of your birth, Miss Bass. You sure it was the same day and time?
“I am quite sure. Where could it be?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s probably here somewhere. How about, for now, I move the deed to your brother and put a note on it we are pending putting you on it upon finding your birth certificate?”
“What would speed the process up?” she asked.
“Were you baptized?”
“Of course,” Reno interjected. “Our father was a lay minister at the Lutheran church in the village near our ranch.”
“Well, a signed statement of your sister’s birth with dates and parents from the preacher would allow us to issue a duplicate birth certificate.”
“Okay. We’ll get the letter one day, then,” Sara said.
They paid the minimal property tax and rode on. Stopping at the livery, they found the stones had not arrived by freight wagon yet.
The sad part was next—going to the ranch and seeing the graves for the first time since they left almost two years ago.
“Hey, Brother. Keep up. I know this is gonna be tough for you, but we have to be able to set foot on our land. We need to see where we buried our family.”
He did not answer, but Apache, recognizing familiar territory, charged ahead.
The scene before them was stark—five graves with the sapling crosses Reno had tied with rawhide and hammered in with the butt of his father’s Colt Navy. He had hardly been able to touch the gun Sara had used to fulfill his father’s dying request to end his horrible pain. He had been shot and burned badly, but the two children knew it was the pain in his heart hurting him the most.
John Bass had handed Reno the gun, but his son just could not do it. Sara took it and said, “You will be avenged, Pa.” She pressed the trigger and ended his pain. She never spoke of it again. Reno wondered how much it ate at her, holding it inside without the religious convictions he had.
They had left the gun with their father’s Mexican War friend, Ty Mando. Reno saw the tear forming in Mando’s one good eye before the older man brushed it away. Afterward, Mando had outfitted them, including Jack and Grace and a gold grubstake.
They had ridden away, hell-bent on vengeance, but Reno had left his book of John Keats poems and his heart with Is
abelle Mando. She was Mando’s beautiful half-white, half-Lakota daughter. He carried the ambrotype of her face and form she had given him, and the determination to return one day and bring her to wherever he and Sara called home.
They dismounted and walked to the graves. They stood silently for a while, each lost in his or her thoughts.
Finally, it was Sara who spoke.
“Pa, I ‘spect you know this, but just in case, I thought I better mention it. The whole Devil’s Horde is dead. Dead by Reno’s and my hands. A bunch more depraved animals who preyed on innocent folk are dead, too. We are following your wishes. We go after those the law seeks—ones who don’t deserve to ride upright. We bring ‘em back over the saddle. We take the bounties to cover our expenses to kill others, like you said. There are more left to die by our hands, and they will.”
Reno was surprised at the vehemence and passion in her words. He spoke softly.
“Ma and Pa, your youngest daughter is usually the one who don’t say much. She says I fill the air with words. Today, it seems like it will be the other way around, so I will say words from Scriptures so close, they are already bringing a tear to my eye.
From Isaiah 43: 2-3 it is said, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire,” and his voice caught at the memory, “you will not be burned, and the flame will not scorch you. For I am Yahweh your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.”
He stood, head lowered, sobbing. His sister, though dry-eyed, could always feel his pain. She walked to him and hugged him. Apache stood with his shoulder against Sara’s knee and was silent.
After a while, Sara said, “Come on, Reno. We have to pitch camp before it gets dark. At least we know we have good fresh water, and there’s game about for hunting tomorrow. I fear we should take turns standing guard. The Indians are attacking all over Kansas. I won’t have any more Basses killed on this land, especially not you.”
The corral still stood and had grass for grazing. Reno unsaddled all three animals and turned them loose in it. He lashed the gate, then pulled the water bucket up from the well and tasted it. It seemed as pure and fresh as he remembered. He was pretty sure the Devil’s Horde had not taken time to taint it. He found a metal trough in the rubble of the barn, washed it out, and put it through the bars of the corral to water Jack, Grace, and Thunder.