“Let’s make sure we both live through this first, then we can deal with the money.”
“When did you last sleep, Doc? You look to be sleep walkin’.”
“David, if you would, and I think four o’clock yesterday morning.”
“It’s getting on to about seven in the morning. You need sleep, David.”
“You’re just as bad, but I think I need to keep my appointment I missed anyway.” David yawns wide.
“Oh? What appointment is that?”
“With my bed. I grew up on the res and growing up sleeping on a pallet on the ground is not fun. I have definitely been spoiled since going to medical school down in Texas.” He stands and yawns again. Still yawning, he walks outside, apparently on his way home.
What a random event. I think I could learn to like that boy. John goes back to check on the prisoner. He cracks the door open and looks in. Good. Still sleeping. Thinking he might be able to sneak a few winks, John locks both doors to the office, puts his feet up and nods off.
Chapter 20
He is awakened by Jacobson yelling, “Hey, don’t I get any food in here? I’m starving!”
John sighs as he stands up. He stretches, joints creaking and popping, groans and wishes he was able to get just a little more shuteye. He looks outside and notices the sun has only gone up about a hand-span. Looks like it should be about nine or so. Well, I guess I may as well give him some food after all. John goes over to the pot and dishes up a cup of the stew. He could tell the meat was fresh, but how the devil did Rebekah get fresh carrots and potatoes?
After he dishes up the stew, John goes back to the cell to see Jacobson standing by the cell door, holding onto the bars. John approaches the cell, then says, “Stand back away from the bars. I’m not afraid of you, just don’t want you to try anything stupid.”
Jacobson scowls and moves back. John places the stew on the ground just inside the bars. He stands and starts going back to the office, then stops just inside the door. He turns and says, “Be careful. I killed a fiddle-back in the office earlier. You don’t wanna get bit.” Jacobson gives John a look that is nothing but pure hatred in response. “Suit yourself. I just thought you might want to be careful not to get bitten is all.”
John moves back into the office and dishes himself a cup of the stew. He sits at the desk and sips at it, trying to make it last as long as he can. About halfway through, John hears a light knock on the door and then the door handle rattles for just a moment.
John sets down his cup and unlocks the door. He opens it slowly, to see an attractive young black woman, in a plain brown dress there wringing her hands in nervous anticipation. “Can I help you?”
“You Missa Cardwell?”
John nods.
“Can I come in? I’s sent by Heart-of-Falcon.”
John opens the door and allows her to walk in. The girl is in her early teens, quite attractive in her features and obviously distraught in her demeanor. What did Doc Bakker say? Oh yeah, her father was just killed. Poor girl. John motions her to the chair, since it’s the only one in the office, pours her a cup of coffee and asks, “How can I help you?”
“My pa’s done been killed. Heart-of-Falcon said somethin' about needing to come tell you about it. Said somethin' about you tellin the law what happened.”
“Well, I may not be the law, but I have called the cavalry out and I expect they will be interested in hearing about what you have to say. Can you write down what happened?”
“I’s sorry, but I can’t read or write.”
“Then I’ll go ahead and write it out for ya.” John gets the pen and paper, kneels onto the back of his heel, giving him the height needed to write at the desk, and asks, “Okay. First, what is your name? Secondly, what happened?”
“My name's Sara Johnston. My brother, Junior and I goes out after breakfast to go check the snares. We try to gets momma some fresh rabbit. We was outta sight out by the creek. We had just cleared out a snare, when we heard pappa’s gun ring out.” She starts crying lightly. “We was getting close to camp when we saw the fires. Bubba tole me to hide, so’s he could go check out what was goin' on. While I’s hid in the brush, I could hear momma screamin’. After a few minutes, I heard Junior yelling and then pappa’s gun done rang out a few more times.” She starts trembling violently. From what, John guesses, is suppressed emotion. “I couldn’t go anywhere. I’s finally heard the sound of horses leavin'. I’s waited a little while longer, then checked the camp.” She begins crying harder and trembling uncontrollably.
John finishes writing and stands up to comfort her.
She shies away from him and wipes away her tears. “I’s be ok. Just membrin what I saw. Bubba was on the ground, bleedin', but breathin'. Momma was a bloody mess, breathin, lookin' around, but still not sayin' nothin'.” She wipes her tears away again. “That’s when I checked pa. He’s starin' at the sky and not breathin'. It weren’t that long ‘til I hears a horse comin' up. She got close enough to talk. She say her name Heart-of-Falcon and she say she has a doc close by. I started cryin', real hard. She’s jus' come down and say, ‘I’ll help ya, but ya need to tell me what’s gone on.’ I’s told her and she say, ‘Stay here.’ She whistles and here come several riders. One’s the doc. She say the others are her kids. They’s help me get everyone to their place and we’s bury pappa. While we was packin' up, doc found a hood with horns. He says you’s know what that means.”
Unfortunately I do. This area’s not known for a lot of Bald-Knobber activity, why are they so active now? John nods his acknowledgement of what she was saying. “Did you happen to see any of the attackers?”
“No, I’s too scared.” She starts crying again. “I don’t know what to do. With pa gone, and ma just as good as.”
John sits back down and finishes the report quickly. “Okay, so I have it all down and ready to turn over to the law. Did you borrow a horse?” She nods in reply. “I don’t know for a fact, but I would recommend heading back out to the ranch. I haven’t been told this town is a sundowner town, but with all the Bald-Knobber activity lately, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Sara squares her shoulders. “I’s darin anyone to try sumtin.”
John smiles at the girl’s temerity. She’s got guts enough, I doubt anyone will get the drop on her. “Okay, I still wouldn’t dilly-dally about it. I will have a rider head out to the ranch when the cavalry gets here.”
She looks a bit crestfallen. “My pa’s the blacksmith here. Thinkin I’s able to stay there? I don’t wanna ride at night.”
“I can’t blame ya for that, but I also can’t protect you, if you do. I will be here making sure stupid back there doesn’t cause any more trouble.”
“I’s knowin' that. It okay, I’s got’s my gun.” She lifts the front of her blouse a little and pulls out of the waistband of her skirt what looks to be a snub-nose .38.
“Okay. Fair warning then. Would you like a little bit of the stew I have here?”
“I’s be ok. We’s got some food at the shop.”
“If you want, I can make sure you get there safely.”
Sara nods, then turns for the door. “I be ok, but if you’s wantin' to, I can’t stop ya.” She mounts her horse and rides down the street to her father’s shop. She dismounts and guides the horse inside. Once she has the animal in and is starting to close the door, she waves to John, telling him all is well.
John pulls his head in the door to the office before closing it. He smiles in amusement. He doesn’t think she could be more than twelve or thirteen. Once she grows a little more, John expects Sara will be quite the handful for her parents. Mmh, mother. Somber once more remembering the tragedy in her life.
John sits back down at the desk and re-reads the reports. So much has happened and so much more is going on that he doesn’t know anything about. If only he could know most everything going on around here. His musings are interrupted by a banging on the door as if someone were kicking it.
When he answers th
e door, John is treated to the sight of Doc Bakker standing there, holding a cast iron lidded pot in one hand and balancing a plate with bowls of steaming meat pies in the other.
“Think you can help me with these?” The exasperation in Doc Bakker’s voice is apparent.
“Um, sure?” John grabs the plate of pies and sets it down on the desk.
Doc Bakker takes the handle of the pot in both hands, lumbers over to the stove, and sets it down with a grunt. “Let’s eat before these pies get cold. Rebekah will kill me if she finds out we let her cooking to cool before we ate it.” He looks around. Spotting the spoons sitting in the coffee cups, he moves over and gets two of them. He grabs one of the bowls with the meat pie in it and mutters a prayer over it.
“Why do you do that?” John asks, disturbed by the man’s actions. He was beginning to like the young man until this display of faith. Now he has to reconsider if this man’s faith is going to cause him to betray John’s friendliness towards him.
“Do what? Say a prayer over my food?”
“Yeah. Why do you believe in that nonsense?”
“It isn’t nonsense to me. I have seen the hand of God at work in my life more times than I care to count. That is beside the point, though. I believe in what I do and follow my heart. If you don’t want to participate, you don’t have to. I’m not sure what your complaint against being a Christian is, but that’s not really any of my business. Whatever is between you and God is truly between you and God.”
“You’re right, it isn’t any of your business. Either way, thanks for the food.” John sits back down at the desk. “So, what brings you out here? You seem to be an accomplished enough doctor, why are you in a backwater like Denver, Indian Territory?”
“I originally had a town lot down in White about ten miles west-southwest of here, but I decided to pick up and move to be closer to Rebekah when she decided to come here a couple of weeks ago. White already had a hotel and running her own place has always been a dream of hers.”
“I see. So you are following a woman then.” John shakes his head in disbelief. He didn’t think the doc was that foolish, but apparently, he was wrong. “So, are you two even engaged? Not that I am being nosy, just curious more than anything else.”
“Not yet. We decided we are going to take things a little slowly. What brings you here? I mean, I know why you’re here in the office right now, but what brings you to this area in particular?”
“Helping Red-Feather and his family fulfill their dreams in starting a buffalo ranch.”
“Ah. I see. Are you planning on moving on then, once this trouble goes away?”
“I haven’t stayed in one place this long since the war. Once I can finish this business here, I’m gone.”
“Hm.” Doc Bakker finishes his pie in silence. He licks his spoon and bowl clean. “You know, I’ve never really had the wanderlust. You would think growing up with the Cherokee that I would, but I have often felt comfortable wherever I settled. At least, every place except medical school. They made sure I wasn’t comfortable at all there. What does it feel like?”
“It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. Almost as if the only place you feel at ease is in a camp in the middle of nowhere. Some of my oldest friends come out to see me every night. Even though our time is limited, they never leave me for more than a day. They aren’t like people. They don’t leave you, not permanently. Looking at and talking to them is the only time I have ever felt at peace. At least since my fiancé died almost thirty years ago.” John stares into space for a little while. “Sometimes, I think the stars are truly my only friends.”
“Isn’t Red-Feather your friend?”
“Yeah. We’ve been friends for about fifteen years. Just like everyone else, he too will leave me though. Sooner, rather than later, I will move on. He has put down roots here now. I won’t be able to stick around too much longer.”
“So instead of putting down roots yourself, you decide to leave before things become uncomfortable? Isn’t that running away?” Doc Bakker looks at John shrewdly. “So the question is, what exactly is it you are running away from?”
John shifts in his seat, uncomfortable at the astuteness of the younger man’s comment. “I’m not running away from anything. I just don’t like being tied down anywhere.”
Doc Bakker looks at John again as if to say something, but then apparently decides against it. He gets himself a cup of coffee from the stove and sips at it thoughtfully. He dishes up a cup of the stew on the stove, grabs a spoon and goes back to the room with the cell. In less than a minute, he returns grinning. “Looks like our friend in there is not happy. How did this feud between you two start?”
John smirks. “He tried to claim jump me, but I got the jump on him instead. He seemed rather put out about the whole experience if I do say so myself.”
Doc Bakker smiles ruefully. “I can imagine he is. Now that you have gotten the jump on him several times, he is becoming more and more dangerous.”
“You’re telling me?” John shakes his head. “That’s why I am making sure to watch over him now. It keeps me from having a knife sticking out of my back.”
“Well, I for one am glad someone has decided to stand up to Jacobson, finally. He has been running roughshod over a lot of the people around here for far too long. One of the things I have been hearing about is that he was in this area for more than a year before the land run. Some tell that he came with the last set of Payne’s Boomers.”
“Huh. Makes sense why he would feel he owns all the land here abouts. That’s something to consider at the least.”
“After all this gets cleared up, if we survive, I may have a job for you.” He looks thoughtfully into the distance. “That will have to wait until later though. I still have a few things to work out between now and then.” Doc Bakker leaves after several more minutes. Neither direct questions, nor indirect prompting proves sufficient enough to for him to divulge any more details about the possible opportunity.
Right at dusk, John hears in the distance a bugle playing Cavalry commands. It reminds him of the first time he heard that particular sound.
Chapter 21
They had been searching for the Red-Legs for more than a day when they chanced upon the camp. Josh reins in and motions for silence. They both dismount and crouch-walk closer to the camp.
The camp has thirty or so tents in it. There’s a picket line on one side, and a necessaries trench on the other. From the smell of the trench, Johnny guesses this camp has been here for about two weeks. At first, the camp looks deserted, but there are several campfires burning.
As the two boys approach, a soldier wearing an apron comes out of one of the tents, holding a platter of food, and moves to one of the campfires. The boys, silent as ghosts, split up and move in opposite directions, toward the soldier.
Johnny pulls his belt knife and steps up behind the soldier. He puts one hand over the man’s mouth, and with his other hand, puts the knife against the man’s throat. “Two questions. One, where is everyone? Two, was this unit one of the ones wintering in Pleasant Grove two months ago?”
The soldier, startled by the attack, straightens and grunts. Johnny slowly moves his hand from the man’s mouth keeping the knife to his throat. “The boys are out drilling. No, we’s just formed up a couple weeks ago.” The man looks at Josh and noting the rough looks of his Indian clothing, says, “You boys ain’t from round here is you?”
Josh looks at Johnny and nods. The man is speaking the truth. Josh looks at the soldier and says, “Nope. We ain’t from round here. You with Jennison’s Red-Legs?”
The soldier replies, “Do I look like a Jayhawker?” He points to his lower legs, and the distinct lack of red gaiters.
Johnny grits his teeth and asks, “Do you know where to find them?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. They ain’t soldiers. They murderers. I’m not. How am I supposed to know where they are? Not like I’m their keeper.”
Josh looks once m
ore at Johnny and nods. Telling the truth again.
Johnny, thwarted in his revenge, smiles. “Then what am I doing allowing you to live?” Deliberately, he rakes the knife across the man’s throat, freeing his life’s blood to spray all over the pot and fire. He allows the body to slump to the ground. While Josh looks on in amazement, Johnny stares at his blood soaked hands and starts laughing.
“What do we do now? You killed our only source of information you idiot!” Josh yells.
Johnny, still laughing hysterically, only stares at his blood covered hands.
Josh moves around the cook-fire and the pool of blood spreading from the dead body. “You listenin' to me? Johnny!” Josh shakes Johnny by the shoulders.
Johnny can only continue to laugh. He looks at Josh, not seeing his friend. Josh slaps him in the face as hard as he can. Johnny just continues to laugh maniacally. Josh continues to slap him several more times. Finally, after the tenth one, Johnny’s hand knocks away Josh’s attempt at the eleventh. “Enough! What are you doing?” Johnny looks at Josh.
“We gotta go. They will be back anytime now. Have you any idea where to go?”
Johnny shakes his head. He still has no idea what has happened. He goes to the water bucket hanging on the frame of one of the tents and cleans off his hands and forearms. The water instantly turns pink.
Both boys turn at the brassy sound of a bugle. “Time to go.” Josh runs over to the horses. “C’mon, we may be able to handle a few soldiers, but a whole company? Yeah, we got to go!”
Johnny runs over to his friend. They both mount and urge their horses into a full gallop, just as the cavalry detachment comes over the rise. Keeping their horses at the fastest pace they can maintain; they manage to make it almost a half mile away before the company arrives at the camp.
They are able to make it past the next rise by the time they hear the shouts of the soldiers having discovered their cook's body. Since they have no time to conceal their tracks, they leave a trail a mile wide. It takes the cavalry troop less than five minutes to pursue.
The Marshal of Denver Page 10