by A. W. Hart
“They sound like deserts,” he said.
“So was a lot of Arizona, but we liked it.” She continued, “You want lots of wanted dead or alive outlaws, four reasonable seasons, trees, and rivers running all year, not just the rainy season. Hills but no mountains. From what I’ve read, sounds like you want Tennessee or Kentucky or somewhere like those states,” she said.
“But they aren’t the West,” he said.
“Okay, then. How about Oregon? It has what you demand. So does California.”
“I just don’t know,” Reno admitted.
“Well, finally, we have one thing we can agree on, Reno. You don’t know. But you know what? I don’t either.
“We have a big, diverse country, but it just got over a hellacious war. People still are holding grudges on both sides because brothers killed brothers and some butthole generals burned down farms and cities and everything in their paths.
“And out here, Indians are on the warpath. It’s not just Kansas; there are constant wars in Wyoming. We just experienced it in Arizona Territory. Look at the lady defending her ranch with a young kid near Point of Rocks,” Sara pointed out.
“Maybe James will have a suggestion, Sara,” Reno said.
“He might. He’s never steered us wrong yet. Let’s ride down to Dodge tomorrow and look him up.
They packed Thunder and saddled up in the morning. The ride to Dodge was fast, with careful lookouts all the way for hostile Indians.
They did not see him in the small village that was soon to become Dodge City, so they went to Fort Dodge to inquire. He was on patrol and due back shortly. They left word they would like to have dinner with him and went back to the village.
Hickok was scouting for a company of thirty cavalrymen, one officer, and two sergeants. The officer had a cavalry saber and a Colt .44. It was the Army model of 1860. His troopers had the same plus single-shot carbines.
They were down toward Bluff Creek when a group of forty Comanches hit. The Comanches had a variety of weapons, including Spencer repeating rifles, single-shot carbines not unlike those of the army troopers, and bows and arrows.
At short range, under forty yards, it was the arrows the cavalrymen dreaded the most. They could shoot a lot of arrows between the shot and reload of a single-shot carbine. The Indians were superb riders, and their mounts were better than the Army’s. The braves could shoot whatever weapon they were carrying, leaning down and shooting around the front of their ponies, sometimes even underneath.
The troopers were stuck with sitting in one position, high in their McClellan saddles. The officer would have been better served with two revolvers and leaving the saber at home. Too used to tactics from the recent war, he turned his men into the oncoming Indians and charged. Luckily for the army, their first salvo of shots had the desired effect of unseating half the Indians, some because their ponies had been hit, and others had taken the round themselves. As they closed, it became close-order combat, the troopers using their carbines as bludgeons or firing their Colts. The officer swung his saber with good effect until he was shot off his horse from close range.
Hickok fired both Navies until they were empty, then holstered and drew his Bowie. With only a twelve-inch blade, it made the fighting very close and personal. The thirty cavalrymen were down to twenty-five and the Indians were down to ten before deciding to regroup and fight another day. The sergeants loaded the wounded lieutenant and several troopers on their horses. The dead were left for recovery later, with the knowledge they would be found scalped and naked upon their return with reinforcements.
The survivors rode the five miles back to the fort. Wild Bill returned to quarters and saw to his guns. He would not be needed to lead the heavier group back out for casualties. The location of the skirmish was well known to all the scouts.
He got the Basses’ message and was glad to clean up and meet his friends for dinner in the village. He had a surprise for them, including buying their dinner. He wrapped a walnut box in a burlap bag and placed it in the saddlebag of a fresh horse., then rode toward Dodge.
Sara and Reno saw the scout riding into the village. The thoroughfare was called Front Street, though nobody knew what it was supposed to be in front of. They came down and met him at the door, noticing he was drawn and tired-looking.
“You look like you have been through it, my friend,” Reno greeted him.
“Hello, both of you. I have been through hell today. We just had a skirmish with a big war party. They took more casualties than we did, but we still had too many. This damn Army is run by accountants and idiots in Washington who think a repeating rifle is wasteful in the hands of a soldier. They have no idea what it’s like to fight close in with Indians who often have better and faster-firing weapons than we do. The Army is like the overall government. It’s run by idiots,” Hickok said.
“But there is good news. Dinner is my treat. The cards have been really good to me since we parted last. I have turned the nine-hundred dollar bounty on my old enemy Holmes into four thousand dollars,” he said.
Both caught a view of the ivory-gripped Colts under his buckskin jacket. He noted their glances and smiled.
“More on these shortly. Let’s find a restaurant and look for the biggest steaks in Dodge.
They found a restaurant, although it was several years too early for it to be a good one. Nonetheless, the roast beef was good, and they had a more than passable bison steak, which all chose. Bowls of potatoes and other cooked vegetables and good rolls and butter rounded out the meal. Wild Bill ordered a bottle of red wine. Sara and Reno had lemonade.
“I said I won big, and I did. We were playing five-card draw. I had two pairs. Two aces, clubs and spades and two eights. My hole card was a queen of hearts. There was four thousand dollars piled in the middle of the table. I ended up pulling it all over to me.
“Aces and eights will always be my lucky hand. It will be Wild Bill’s hand.
“You noticed the engraved, ivory-gripped Navies? I could not help myself when I saw them. Their actions are as sweet as their looks, so I got them and this red sash to wear over my holsters for flair.
“And this, my dear friends, is for you.”
He reached under the table and removed a something wrapped in a burlap bag they had seen him deposit there when they were seated.
Wild Bill withdrew a walnut revolver case. He set it on the table and opened it.
His two Colt Navies sat in the case with a line of .36 conical bullets, an oiler, a screw-top metal can for grease, a powder flask, and a small set of tools.
“These are my Colt Navies of newspaper and dime-novel fame, the ones I used in Wickenburg and Hays and during the whole war. I have never carved a notch in the grips for the credits the guns have earned, but I can tell you the wood would be about removed by now if I had.”
Reno sat aghast. “You are giving us your famous Navies?” he asked for confirmation.
“I am, Reno. You and Sara. One each, and the case with the accouterments. For my friends to remember their old Wild Bill by,” said the thirty-year-old scout and sometime lawman.
Sara rose, walked around the table, and hugged the scout.
“We realize how special these are, Wild Bill. Perhaps one day your new ivory and nickel ones will be as well-known, but I cannot imagine how. Thank you so very much. We will treasure these guns forever and think of you fondly each time we see or hold them. You can be sure of it,” Sara said.
“Those are my feelings exactly, James. I can’t think of a more wonderful gift. Thank you, friend.
Wild Bill smiled contentedly and poured another glass of wine. It had been a trying day, followed by a wonderful evening.
“I have one more thing of interest for you. I went by the provost marshal’s office and picked up a shopping list for you.” He handed a sheaf of papers to them. All were wanted posters from varying states and territories.
“They are not all dead or alive. Sometimes it is better to bring a few in on the hor
se instead of over it. The people who put the ‘or dead’ heading on are sometimes bankers or railroad executives who have no authority to make such a determination. I am not trying to tell you how to do something you have been very successful in doing, but I encourage you to read the crimes carefully. If they are not capital crimes, you should only use deadly force in self-defense.”
“I think you’ve given us more good advice, James. I notice one here from Des Moines. Have you ever been there?” Reno asked.
“It was a nice place. Worth checking out. They have something a lot of Western towns don’t have yet. They have train service, as well as the telegraph. Trains and wires could be helpful instead of riding everywhere and camping out a lot,” Hickok said.
Sara nodded.
Wild Bill continued, “I picked up some posters for Omaha, Des Moines, and Kansas City. It’s a triangle, maybe connected by rail lines. I’m not sure, but check to see. It’s also a lot easier to bring a prisoner back by train instead of by horse or mule. Some of these people may not be desirable camping companions, especially for a young lady,” he said.
“What do you have in mind for yourself?” Sara asked.
“I’m not sure. I have about had it with scouting for the Army. My friend Cody has set up some hunting trips for bigwigs from back East, and even from across the ocean. He wants me to guide some. Big-game guiding could be interesting and some pretty good money.
“I might pin on a badge again. There are a couple of places in Kansas needing more of a fast gun than a peace officer. As I said when we parted in Prescott, let me know when you select a base, and I will write to you there. My brother Lorenzo and I write about every week.”
“We will, Wild Bill. Nobody knows how important family is more than we do,” Sara said.
They parted, Hickok heading for Fort Dodge and the Bass twins for their rooming house.
“Well, it’s been quite a day,” Sara said once they returned to their room. Apache ate the several big pieces of bison steak they brought him from their dinner with Wild Bill.
“It has,” Reno said, taking out and opening the case. Both looked at the historic revolvers and handled them. They were carrying duplicates, and still had their heavier Remington revolvers packed in their gear. Somehow, these two revolvers felt handier, their actions slicker. Sara said it was just their imagination, but Reno was not so sure.
“Ask Tutt, McCandless, and Holmes their opinion. As far as we know, Wild Bill had only killed several men in gunfights so far. Add the number killed in the war and in Indian skirmishes like today, and the number soars,” Reno thought aloud.
“But,” Reno said, “the famous ones all died by a shot from one of these two revolvers.” He hefted both and handed them to Sara, who did the same.
“Maybe you are right,” she said. She handed them back, and he wiped them down and put them back in the wooden case. She took off her blouse and black pants and climbed into bed. Apache followed immediately, snuggling up against her and immediately going to sleep.
Reno sat in the room’s single chair, looking out the window. He thought about Isabelle Mando, the beautiful hazel-eyed half-Indian girl in Colorado. He guessed he had done her wrong by not writing and reaffirming his intentions. He felt bad about it.
He thought about his father’s dying order to his teen children. Had they fulfilled his request? How far did it extend? How many people had to die?
There was a poster for a stage robber in Topeka. It was not far off the route to Kansas City, Omaha, and Des Moines James had recommended. The wanted man was not a murderer, just a stage robber. Was he another Calvin Lamb who deserved a pass in life? He wished there was an easy way for Sara and him to determine who was evil and deserved to die under his father’s command to them and who was just trying to get by.
He thought about his sister asleep in the bed several feet away. How was he to protect her? She had been kidnapped, shot at hundreds of times, and hit by an arrow and several bullets. Could he always save her? Nobody else in the world counted, just his sister.
He moved the chair over by the bed and took her hand as she slept. He sat and held it as he tried to map out their trail from this point on.
Reno fell asleep in the chair. In the middle of the night, Sara awoke. His head was on his chest, and he was sleeping soundly. He was still holding her hand. She eased out of the bed and nudged him over into it. Sara was glad he had at least removed his high-heeled rider boots. She crawled in between her sleeping brother and her sleeping dog. Reno put his head on her shoulder, still asleep. She hugged him. How could she always protect him from harm? she wondered.
The family of three slept soundly in the village due to become the city of the most famous lawmen of all—Bassett, Earp, Masterson, Tilghman, and Garrett, to name a few. They were not there yet, but they were coming. And the sulfur and fire of gunpowder and the thud of bodies hitting the ground and the smell of rotgut whiskey. All those things were coming soon, and they were going to bring a lot of hell with them when they got there.
Reno awoke before dawn. He felt someone staring at him intensely. He was not sure how he had gotten in bed. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the chair. Therefore, he was not sure where his revolver was. He eased one eye open in the dark room. He saw a shadow beside him. A large black dog was staring at him with an uncomfortable look on his face.
Reno got up, tucked a Navy in his waistband, and took Apache outside to relieve himself in the alley around the corner from the rooming house’s front door. It was such a good idea, he joined the dog. The two quietly walked in and back up the steps.
He lightly tapped on the door. Reno heard the hammer snick back on a revolver within.
“It’s Apache and me,” he said in a low voice. He heard the hammer uncock, and man and dog slipped in the door.
“Don’t stand there all night, you two. It’s cold in here,” Sara said sleepily.
Both returned to bed and were asleep in a moment. The woman smiled and was asleep in another moment.
The sun was coming up when the three awoke.
“What do you think of Topeka for the first bounty, then on to Kansas City, Omaha, and Des Moines?” Reno asked.
“What do you think of taking our coffee mugs somewhere and getting them filled? I can catch up on beauty sleep until you get back. Apache can, too.”
“Apache can use some. You don’t need any more,” Reno responded.
“Any more coffee?” she asked indignantly.
“Beauty. I was looking at you while you were sleeping. You aren’t half-bad.”
“Neither is Apache. Get some coffee, okay?” She rolled over in the other direction and hugged the sleeping dog.
Reno pulled on his boots, stuck the Navy back in his waistband, and covered it with a jacket. He got a couple of coins out of the bag he kept suspended inside his pants and walked out of the door.
“Watch her, Apache,” he said as he left. The dog made an indecipherable noise. Or Sara did. He was not sure.
He did not hear a revolver cock when he got back. He tapped on the door and said: “It’s me.” He heard a soft “Okay,” and went in. The coffee disappeared out of his hand.
They looked at the supplies on hand. The rough village at Dodge would be a bad place to try to re-provision. There was a general mercantile near the fort. They would get more coffee, beans, and bacon there. Maybe some cans of fruit. Certainly some more ammunition for the revolvers and the Winchesters. Their ride would be long. Roughly as long as to Prescott from here, but broken up by cities and bounties.
It was summer, and with the exception of rattlers being about, the trip and camping would be pleasant. Reno hated snakes with a passion.
They ate breakfast, got an extra ham steak, and cut it up a bit for Apache. They filled their canteens and the small wooden water barrel they carried on Thunder’s sawbuck saddle.
The sun was almost fully up when they left Dodge. It was fully up when they left the general store near Fort Dodge.
Two riders, a dog happy to be on the trail again, and a pack mule turned east. The road was not bad. It had originally been made by huge herds of bison, then Indian ponies, and later, wagon trains.
They were able to make good time. The trip to Topeka should take five days, barring Indian attacks or other delays.
“You know, Reno, if we are going to capture outlaws, we are going to have to get some nippers. It’s so much easier to shoot them. Where do you get nippers?” Sara asked.
“I have no idea. We’ll have to stop at the first sheriff’s or marshal’s or other lawman’s office and ask. They have to get them somewhere.”
They rode along, watching in all directions for threats. The trail was really dry from the drought the area had experienced for a month. They left a dust trail but virtually no tracks. Not leaving a trail was a good thing.
Sara spotted a large dust cloud behind them, several miles back.
“Horsemen coming, Reno,” she exclaimed. “There’s a grove of trees we can hide in if we pick up to a fast canter.”
“Thunder can keep up. His load is light. Let’s go.” Reno said, and they picked up the pace. They ducked behind the trees ten minutes later, rifles out and supplies for a fight laid out within easy reach.
The cloud grew bigger. It was a company of cavalry with a lieutenant at the front. They were moving at a fast walk to save their mounts. The cloud was formed by numbers more than speed.
Reno rode out, rifle back in its scabbard. He stood Jack in the road and sat in a non-threatening fashion.
The lieutenant held up his hand to halt the company.
“Howdy. I’m Reno Bass. We are friends of Scout Hickok. Mind if my sister and I ride along for safety?” he asked.
“We won’t turn you down, mister,” the lieutenant said. “How far are you going?”
“We are going to Des Moines, but need to stop in Topeka first,” Reno said.