Wagons to Nowhere

by Orrin Russell

  Balum let his breath out in a long exhale. The aches and pains from his wounds had disappeared. He closed his eyes and remembered the feel of Suzanne Darrow’s breasts in his face. He could invite her back. The pleasure he could have with her was limitless. He also knew though, that any time spent with Suzanne would close the doors on Leigha. And it was Leigha he wanted most.

  19

  Time was what it took to heal the cuts and bruises left by the Farro brother’s beating. Time and the numbing boredom of lying in the back of the wagon with nowhere to spit tobacco. It was these incentives that brought Balum out from the back and onto the driver’s bench with Joe. Riding in the open air with the sun on his face and a plug tucked in his cheek was enough to satisfy him.

  Camp had a different feel however. Jeb and Suzanne Darrow had clearly taken his side. Jeb made a point of sitting next to Balum and Joe around the campfire, and Balum quickly took a liking to the old man. He was an Easterner, but he’d lived a life of uncommon struggle and had turned out the better for it.

  The others were another matter. Atkisson held Frederick Nelson in high esteem. He saw the man as a leader; a man of success. When the man spoke he did so with authority, and Atkisson’s past gave him no footing to judge Nelson accurately. He looked up to him, and it showed.

  His politeness remained intact, but a distance had clearly opened itself up between them. The Ventons and Stantons seemed indifferent, and having to choose a side they chose Jonathan Atkisson’s.

  Leigha was left in the middle. Until the night of the fight, she had started to warm up to Balum. He was competent and good-humored, and though he teased her about her driving, he was also kind to her.

  But she too had fallen for the bravado of Frederick Nelson. He was handsome and tall, and there was no denying his power. He dressed well, he had money, and he had manners. He treated her as a lady. At times her mother would drive the smaller buckboard and Leigha would ride to the front where Nelson would tell her stories that never failed to cast him in a good light.

  These dynamics within the group did not go unnoticed by Balum. Nor by Joe. They knew they were on the outside. It was an unexpected crossing of the North Platte River that exposed to them how little power they held in the group.

  They had followed the Platte for several days, and had plenty more ahead of them when Billy Gunter came riding down the line. He delivered the message with a snarl, eager to wield authority.

  ‘Look sharp now,’ he shouted. ‘We don’t need any stragglers holding us up. Get those animals moving, and don’t go letting your wagons get soaked.’

  Joe glanced at Balum and muttered under his breath. ‘Why would we be crossing here?’

  Billy’s shouting grew louder as he neared them. When he reached their wagon he drew up his mustang and curled his upper lip.

  ‘We’re crossing the river. That clear?’

  ‘What’s the point of crossing to the north side?’ asked Balum. ‘There’s no way through the Continental Divide except South Pass. They call it that for a reason.’

  ‘You getting smart with me?’ Billy said, his head cocking to the side.

  ‘It’s a fair question.’

  ‘What’s fair is you saying yes sir to the orders. Nelson’s about had it with you. If’n it weren’t for your friend Atkisson, Nelson would’ve run you off,’ he leaned forward over the mustang. ‘Now me, I got less tolerance. I got an itch to run you off right now, you give me any cause. Now you got something to say?’

  Balum looked at the young man on the mustang. He was young and stupid, and doing the best he could to get himself killed. He’d either grow up quick or get a bullet in him. Balum had no interest in engaging him. He kept his hands in clear view, far from the Colt Dragoon revolver on his hip. He spat tobacco over the wagon and nodded at Billy.

  ‘You’re the boss.’

  ‘Damn right. I’m the boss. Now cross that river. And tell your Injun friend if he keeps looking at me like he don’t cotton to me then I’ll give him a reason not to.’

  Balum did not respond, and Joe’s black eyes did not waiver from Billy Gunter. The young man looked at the two atop the wagon seat then gave the mustang a nudge.

  ‘Kid’s looking to raise a tombstone,’ said Balum as they watched Billy Gunter continue down the wagon line.

  ‘What he doesn’t realize,’ said Joe, ‘is he’s no kid anymore. He straps that gun to his hip and he’ll be treated as a man. No matter if he ain’t.’

  The section of river where the caravan chose to cross was wide and shallow. The current slowed down to a slow meander, presenting small risk for the inexperienced drivers.

  They arrived safe and dry on the northern side; wagons, carts and animals. Not one questioned the purpose of their crossing.

  Nelson’s lead wagon wasted no time. He put his team to a walk and the caravan followed behind. They held the course of the river for no more than a hundred yards before turning nearly due north. The wagons followed in his tracks.

  Balum and Joe said nothing to each other. Crossing to the north side was bizarre in itself. Leaving the river completely held no logic. The maneuver turned the spokes in their minds, and they rode in silence that afternoon, each conjecturing silently to themselves on the motives of the wagon master.

  Several miles off the Platte River the wind turned cold. It blew in light and easy, but carried a bite from the tops of the mountain ranges lying to the west. Firewood that evening was easy to find, for they were approaching the foothills where pine and sycamore grew. The settlers built their campfires high that night, and edged up closer than usual to the warmth of the flames.

  Over the crackle of burning hickory Jeb Darrow spoke up.

  ‘I’m tired of eating beef. Thought I’d never say it.’

  Traveling with the caravan were thirty head of cattle. Every fourth day an animal was butchered and the meat shared evenly amongst the expedition. It didn’t add up to much once it was divided, but it stretched the settler’s rations out and was a welcome break from salt pork.

  The children from the Venton and Stanton wagons chimed in once Jeb Darrow made his feelings on the beef clear. Perhaps they were only bored and looking for reasons to complain, but it caught, and each of them gathered round the fire looked upon their plate of beef with little enthusiasm.

  ‘How does fresh antelope sound?’ Balum spoke up.

  ‘Antelope?’ said Jeb.

  ‘They’re moving southwards, getting out of the cold. You look down at the ground and you’ll see their tracks. I think I’ll take the rifle out tomorrow.’

  ‘How will you find them?’ asked Leigha.

  ‘It won’t be hard. Herds number into the thousands.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, that must be amazing to see.’

  ‘It’s a sight. Never gets old.’

  Jeb clapped his hands together. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I’d be to see you ride in with anything other than beef. I’d eat rabbit if I had the chance. Why ain’t we seen them yet?’

  ‘We’re just getting into their territory. We won’t see too many more though if we keep moving north. Antelope are headed south.’

  ‘Are we headed much further north? It’s getting cold already,’ Jeb said looking over to Jonathan.

  Atkisson stared blankly back. He hadn’t a clue. Jeb turned his eyes to Balum.

  ‘You been over this trail before, Balum?’

  Balum paused a moment before answering. He wanted to choose his words carefully. ‘I’ve never been over it. Neither has Joe. But the way west is straightforward. We’ve been following the Oregon Trail up until today. Same trail folks have been using for decades. And it’s the only one there is. You follow the Platte up to the Sweetwater, cross it several times, and cut through the Rockies at South Pass; just after Independence Rock. You all might have heard of it. Anyway, it’s the only way through. Everybody from here to Texas knows that.’

  The faces of his party peered back at him, lit by the light of the fire. Each held a bit o
f confusion on processing his words. Suzanne was the first to speak.

  ‘What did you mean when you said we were following it up until today?’

  ‘Today we crossed to the north side of the Platte. Then we left it entirely. We’re off any known trail, headed into rough country and no known way of getting across those mountains.’

  He pointed his hand to the west, and the faces turned from the campfire and stared out into darkness.

  ‘You saying that Nelson doesn’t know where he’s going?’ said Jeb.

  ‘I’ve been wondering that all day,’ said Balum. ‘I don’t know if he’s lost or if he’s taking us off route for a reason. Either way he has some explaining to do.’

  ‘Now hold on just a moment,’ cut in Atkisson. He had been sitting silently listening to the discussion, but now his voice was raised. ‘I’m sure Frederick knows exactly where he’s going. He’s doing a fine job and there’s no need you pestering him. You’ve given him enough trouble as it is, and that reflects on me. I vouched for you to get you on this expedition, and he took you on. You might have some axe to grind with him, but I see no reason to doubt him.’

  ‘You don’t need to raise your voice Jonathan,’ said Jeb. ‘Balum’s done nothing wrong, and I think his opinion carries some weight.’

  ‘Done nothing wrong? Why, he’s out starting fights with Nelson’s men.’

  ‘You don’t believe that, do you Jonathan? Come now. Balum was beat half to death. You would have known that if you’d taken the time to check in on him whilst he was laid up in that wagon.’

  Atkisson looked down, away from Balum. ‘Both Farro boys say that’s what happened,’ he said. ‘And Major Shroud saw the whole thing. Gives the same story.’

  ‘You start that fight Balum?’ said Jeb.

  All the members of their party were gathered about the fire. The Ventons, Stantons, the women and children. Balum looked out on them. He saw the faces of Leigha and Suzanne, and Jonathan Atkisson, reluctant to meet his eye.

  ‘I’ll tell you all exactly what happened. I’m sure you’ve all been wondering. But before I do I’d like to remind you that out here things are different than back East. Out here a man’s word is all he has. And my word is good.

  ‘I went to Cheyenne. Yes, we were told not to, and I went against Nelson’s orders to stay with the wagons. I’ve got friends in Cheyenne. It’ll be a long time till I see them again. Well, I went in, and I got drunk. I’ll tell you that right now. I’m a sinner. I like a good drink time to time.

  ‘Those two Farro boys came out of nowhere. Truth is, I don’t know what had them so worked up. But they wanted to give me hell and they did. Beat me till I was unconscious, and most likely would have beat me dead if the townsfolk hadn’t stepped in and intervened.

  ‘That’s the story. And while I’m at it I’ll tell you what I think of Frederick Nelson. He has a reputation and it ain’t no good. He claims the last expedition he led was attacked by Indians. There’s plenty of folks who doubt that story, and I’m one of them. He’s done a poor job leading this expedition, the men he’s got working for him are either outlaws or close to it, and now he’s taken us off route. There you have it. All out in the open.’

  The fire had died to glowing red coals. The outlines of bodies could be distinguished, and though their faces were concealed in the darkness, there was no denying the tension weighing heavy upon them.

  Jonathan Atkisson was the first to move. He stood with his plate in his hands and turned his back to the coals. The rest moved as if given permission, each back to their wagons and bedrolls.

  Not another word was spoken.

  20

  Balum couldn’t sleep. He lay in his blanket roll under the wagon as he did every night, safe from the morning dew. Joe did not suffer from the same problem. His rhythmic breathing betrayed the depth and peacefulness of his sleep, and it gave Balum envy.

  He pulled his boots on, then rolled out from between the wagon wheels and stood up straight in the cool night air. He needed his mind off things. He wished Suzanne were awake. He had been avoiding her advances for days now, and it was starting to feel futile. Sooner or later he was going to succumb to her charms; he knew himself too well.

  Try as he might to distract himself with thoughts of women, the more poignant stresses of the moment bored their way into his mind. Nelson had a plan. That was clear. Something was in that wagon, something that wasn’t there before, and now they were headed off trail and into the foothills of the Rockies. It was no accident.

  Balum wondered how much time they had. But what was the plan when time ran out? He had to figure out what was inside that wagon. That was the key. Whatever was in there would answer questions.

  A thought occurred to him. What if it wasn’t something, but someone? His mind spun. Possibilities were bottomless. Balum liked to take his time with problems. He liked to sit down in a shady place in the heat of the day with a wad of tobacco in his cheek and work a problem over in his mind. With the cold wind coming off the mountains he felt that time was in scarce supply.

  He walked to the back of his wagon and stuck his head in. From inside he grabbed a pair of knee-high moccasins. They were of fine quality, Arapaho made, and he had traded dearly for them several months ago. He pulled the boots off and laced the moccasins up his calves.

  The campfires were dead. The hazy glow of dying embers marked their spots. Occasionally a low voice could be heard through a wagon canvas. Otherwise, no sounds but the crickets and bullfrogs and occasional howl of a coyote as he worked his way through wagons and carts and sleeping bodies.

  Nelson’s wagon was tucked behind a stand of trees, away from the others. Balum didn’t know what he would do once he reached it. He was tired of thinking though.

  His footsteps made no sound in the night. The soft leather of the moccasins made no scrape against rock, and allowed for the feel of twigs and branches beneath his feet.

  He saw no sleeping bodies as he approached. That stopped him. They should have been under the wagon and up by the trees. The horses were there, tied and brushed down for the night. It was not until a distance of only a few feet separated him from the wagon that he heard the voices. They were there, all of them, inside the wagon.

  He drew closer, crouching along the wooden sideboards.

  ‘I thought you two said you checked it over before you loaded it,’ came Nelson’s voice.

  ‘We did,’ said Saul. ‘But we didn’t know what we was looking for. We never seen one of these before.’

  ‘Goddam it. Shroud, can’t you work on this?’

  ‘Not in the dark,’ said the Major.

  ‘Tomorrow then.’

  ‘Not while we’re bouncing around either. I need this wagon still for a few hours while there’s light out. Four or five hours should do it.’

  ‘Five hours? How the hell are we going to explain that? What’s the problem again?’

  ‘The crank’s been bent. It won’t rotate the shaft. I’ll need to file it down.’

  ‘How do you know it will work?’

  ‘I’ve seen it before. In the war. Happens now and again, but once it rotates it works.’

  ‘Eight, maybe ten days,’ said Nelson. ‘That’s all we’ve got. Then we hit our spot.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ said Shroud.

  ‘You’ve made promises before, Major. You said you could take care of that man Balum back in Denver.’

  ‘That was a rare miss. I still aim to make up for that.’

  ‘He was trying to give me a pile o’ shit today,’ Billy Gunter’s voice piped up. ‘Asking why we was crossing the river. I told him to shut it.’

  ‘You see that?’ said Nelson. ‘That’s why I wanted him dead in Denver. I could take this whole goddamn group of eastern dandies into the belly of Satan and not a one would make a peep. Those fools have no idea where they are or where they’re going. That Balum though, he’s trouble. He’s too smart.’

  ‘I don’t trust that Indian he’s got with him
either,’ Gus’s voice came through the canvas. ‘Don’t matter if he can’t talk. He’s got eyes. They’re always looking around.’

  ‘That Indian is dumb as a muskrat,’ said Billy. ‘Just like all the rest. And I don’t like him niether.’

  ‘Is that right Billy?’ said Nelson.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How would you like to add another notch to the belt?’

  ‘What, Indian Joe?’

  ‘That’s right. You take care of that mute half-breed and I’ll make it worth your while. Give you a little bonus on top of your stake.’

  ‘Hell yes I’ll do that. That damn redskin makes me itch.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid about it Billy. These eastern folks don’t like violence. You’re not just going to shoot him down in the light of day.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘And that goes for you too Shroud,’ said Nelson. ‘You take care of that Balum fellow and you make sure it’s out of sight. Now move aside. I’m getting out of this wagon and going to sleep. Cramped up in here you realize how much you all stink.’

  The sound of movement came from within, and Balum retreated into the stand of trees. He squinted as they filed out of the wagon, but there was nothing to see in the black of night.

  21

  ‘What has a crank that rotates a shaft and weighs a lot?’

  Joe rubbed his thumbs along the leather reins and looked at Balum.

  ‘Is this a riddle?’ he asked.

  The two men sat next to each other atop the wagon. Thick blankets wrapped around their shoulders kept the cool morning air at bay. The tension from the night before had not yet dissipated, making the morning routines awkward within the group. Nobody protested skipping breakfast and starting their wagons moving.

  As they rode, Balum recounted to Joe the details of the night before. When he was finished Joe unlooped the reins from his fingers and wiped his palms on his pants. The action was not necessary; his palms were dry.