A Dream Unfolding

by Karen Baney

  He couldn’t pin all the blame on Snake for his lack of sleep. Too many thoughts of home—of his former home—consumed his mind.

  Leaving the ranch two days ago was more difficult than Will expected. The brief picnic with Julia in his last days on the ranch warmed his heart. It gave him a chance to say good bye and encourage her that God would work things out in her life. It had been so easy to dispense the advice which seemed much harder to believe when it came to his life.

  Those last few days, he also spent a fair amount of time reminiscing. He had so many fond memories of his father. He remembered the joy that shown in the senior Colter’s eyes when Will successfully roped his first steer. The fun joking between them when Will started to inch taller and taller, eventually surpassing his father’s height. He recalled the many Christmases around the hearth listening as his father read the story of Christ’s birth.

  The memories of his mother were equally poignant. Ah, the first time he fell off a horse his mother had set and bandaged his broken arm, seeing no need to take him to the doctor since it was a clean break. Then there was the way she conspired to make every birthday a surprise, even in adulthood. For his twenty-fifth birthday, four years ago, she and father had purchased Jackson from a renowned horse breeder. It was his mother who arranged to stable the animal at a nearby ranch for the few days prior to Will’s birthday.

  And there was little Julia. Such a sweet and unexpected joy for her parents. Will easily recalled most of Julia’s childhood, since he was thirteen when she was born. At first he was mad that the baby was a girl. A boy would have been much more fun. But as she grew older and followed him everywhere, he just treated her like a boy. He smiled as he thought about the time he taught her how to rope. They practiced with her rocking horse, a gift from their father. She was determined to do well, so she practiced every chance she got, spending more time roping the rocking horse than riding it. Mother was upset one Sunday when she discovered little Julia had brought her rope to church. When asked why she would do such a thing, she just smiled and said that a rancher should never be without two things, his gun and his rope. She obviously listened to the repetitive admonitions of her father.

  Forcing his eyes closed beneath the shade of his hat, Will tried to push the thoughts of home aside. He needed sleep, or he might be the one dozing in his saddle tonight.

  Four short, restless hours later, as Will and his shift finished packing up their bedrolls and selecting their mounts, he heard some commotion near the herd. Looking up, Will saw a rider fast approaching. Miguel waved furiously a hundred yards out, covering the distance to camp in a hurry. Just as he pulled up near Will, a whooshing sound flew past Will’s head. Turning to see what made the sound, he saw an arrow stuck in the chuck wagon’s side board.

  “Indians! Indians!” Miguel yelled the warning in his thick accent.

  In a second, the danger registered, prompting Will to reach for his Sharps big fifty rifle. Letting go of the reins for the horse he was almost ready to mount, Will counted the men as most of the other first shift cowboys rode in. Each man quickly dismounted, pulling their rifles from their sheaths. Arrows fell in showers all around them.

  “Take cover!” Ben shouted as he dove behind a rock.

  Whoosh, thud. Another arrow made contact with the chuck wagon, reminding Will he was still out in the open. Adrenaline kicked in as he ducked behind the closest boulder.

  “Snake, you have a rifle over there?” Will asked as he saw him crouch behind the chuck wagon.

  Rifle fire coming from the wagon answered.

  Propping his rifle on the top of the boulder, Will raised his head just enough to sight in one of the enemy. Squeezing the trigger released the bullet from its chamber, sending the butt of the gun kicking back against his bracing shoulder. The bullet pierced the naked chest cavity of one of the natives, throwing him from his painted horse.

  Peering around the edge of the boulder, Will trained his gun on one of the savages that kept Covington and Pace pinned down some yards away with little cover. Just as the Indian released an arrow, the bullet pierced his arm, causing him to drop his weapon. The arrow made swift contact, penetrating Pace’s arm. As Pace cursed loudly in pain, he shifted his revolver to his other hand, sending the shot of death through the offender’s skull.

  Covington shook violently as he tried to reload his rifle. With no protection, he and Pace remained the primary focus of the attackers. Another arrow flew past the young wrangler’s head, causing him to drop the cartridge from his unsteady hands. The arrow landed in the center of Pace’s thigh, bringing on a new string of insults, followed by the rapid firing of his pistol. By the time Pace needed to reload, Covington finally managed to secure a usable cartridge in his rifle.

  Owens shimmied his way over to Will, sharing the protection of the large boulder. As both Owens and Will fired off another round, Pedro and Whitten took cover behind another large rock near Ben. There was no sign of Jed or Malone, yet.

  As Will tried to pick a target, arrow volleys filled the sky with the deadly projectiles, making accurate aim impossible. Horses galloped in rhythm to the breakneck pounding of his heart. High pitched shrieks from the enemy added to the strained atmosphere. He fired randomly at the nearest sound, hoping his shot connected.

  To his right, Snake flattened himself on his belly under the chuck wagon to get better aim and provide more cover fire for Covington and Pace. Covington moved behind Pace at his command, still unable to control his turbulent shaking. Pace continued firing at buckskin clad savages.

  Pedro, being fast at reloading the mussel-loading rifles, handed reloaded rifles to Whitten. Whitten then fired while Pedro reloaded the next rifle. They continued rotating rifles to get shots in quicker. Will was never more thankful for his breech loading rifle, for he fired off three times between each of Whitten’s shots even though he could no longer take careful aim.

  Still, there was no sign of Jed or Malone.

  As the number of arrows flying around him began to decrease, Will peeked around the rock protecting him and Owens. The smell of spent gun powder hung heavy in the air. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he tried to take a steadying breath. Surveying the area, he noted several dead Indians scattered in awkward positions on the ground. Just as he inched out from the cover, he saw him—an Indian boy, not more than sixteen—with an arrow pointed directly at Will’s heart. He was going to die.

  Before Will could consider his options, the bow and arrow limply slipped from boy’s fingers as he fell forward. A muffled sound—did he say help?—reached Will’s ears as the boy hit the ground hard. Several arrows protruded from the boy’s back. The scene confused Will. Had they hit one of their own intentionally?

  Still uncertain, Will swiped his left hand across his chest, confirming the expected arrow never made contact.

  Two more shots rang out before the remaining renegades fled, taking a large number of cattle with them.

  Letting go of his held breath, Will called out to rally the men and assess the damage, his heart still pumping hard from his close encounter. Ben, Pedro, and Whitten appeared fine; although Whitten looked a mite pale. Covington sat next to Pace rocking back and forth—numb, and clearly in shock. The ornery Pace sat with his teeth gritted, picking the arrows out of his bloody leg. Snake was at his side in an instant with knife and medical supplies ready to relieve him of the unwanted adornments.

  Will snapped his head towards the sound of rapid hoof beats pounding closer. Jed rode toward them leading a horse with Malone slumped over covered in dozens of arrows. A good bit of blood soaked the side of Malone’s mare. Ben hurried over to assist. Shaking his head slightly, his grim expression told Will that Malone was gone. Jed nearly tumbled off his horse. His face pale, streaked with tears. Will was sure this brought back some painful memories for the boy who lost his entire family to an Indian attack.

  Stirring from the dreadful scene before him, Will leaped into action. “Pedro, Miguel, Whitten, and Owens—go c
ontrol that herd! Take the breech loading rifles and extra bullets with you. At any sign of trouble shoot twice and we’ll send more men out,” Will commanded. “After you are sure it is safe, send Whitten back with the head count. Ben, check the wounded Indians. You know what to do.”

  The men scattered into action. Snake appeared to have things under control with Pace, judging by the string of profanity spewing from his mouth as each arrow was extracted. Will ushered Jed over near the group and began to look for injuries. There was a lot of blood on him, but Will could not find any wounds. It must have come from Malone. Jed waved him off, so Will took some time to help Covington.

  “Stand up, son. Let’s get you some water,” he said as he led Covington over to the wagon a few feet away. After Covington took a few sips, he heaved, dumping the contents of his stomach at the toes of Will’s boots. Will sat him down next to the wagon to drink more water, slower this time. Gradually his shaking subsided. When he appeared settled, Will left him to help Ben.

  “Looks like we’ve got six dead Indians, and this wounded one,” said Ben, pointing to the boy that nearly killed Will.

  Still perplexed over why they shot one of their own, Will knelt to take a closer look. The boy had sandy colored hair, much lighter than any Indian he had ever seen. He noticed several bruises on the boy’s arms and his bare back showed several scars. Was it possible he was not an Indian, but a captive? Something just did not make sense.

  As Ben took care of the dead, Will borrowed some whiskey and bandages from Snake. Taking his own knife, he began the slow process of removing the arrows from the boy’s back. He cleaned the wounds with some whiskey before bandaging him up. Not sure where else to put the boy, he left him there for now, kicking any weapons from his reach.

  Standing slowly, Will made his way to the horses. Looked like two of his best horses were badly wounded, so he led them a short distance from the camp. Then, as much as it pained him to do so, he put them down. He already had fewer horses than what was ideal for this length of a drive. Losing two would mean fewer fresh mounts for the rotation.

  As he stepped back into camp, Whitten rode in to report.

  “We’ve been able to account for all but three hundred head. I’m going back out to help the boys in case we run into any more trouble,” Whitten stated as he turned his horse around.

  Mounting his stallion, Will asked Ben to take care of things at camp, including the young Indian. He followed Whitten out to the herd, needing reassurance that things were under control. With Malone gone and Pace injured, that left him with only four men for the first shift and two, plus him, for the second. Even if he assigned only one at flank, that left him one outrider and one drag rider, leaving the point position at the front of the herd unmanned. He would have to shuffle men around so he could pull double duty to cover the gaps.

  Once the cattle were secure and out of danger, he went back to camp to check on things. After dismounting and tying his horse with the others, Will pulled Ben aside.

  “We’re down one man, two horses, and three hundred head,” he confided. “Is there any chance Pace will be able to ride?” The question sounded absurd to his own ears as it left his lips.

  “He ain’t looking so good. Lost a lot of blood. Snake says he passed out before he had all the arrows out. Time will tell, but don’t expect him to be much good for awhile.”

  The losses of the day started gnawing at Will. He refused to listen to the voice trying to tell him he failed and he let down his men. They needed a strong leader, like his father, right now. Will knew he had that same strength within him. He could do this. He had to.

  “We will need to rig up a litter for Pace and for the Indian boy,” he said.

  “Some of the boys are not gonna take to having an injun travel with us,” Ben advised.

  Will struggled to keep the tension from his voice. “What would you have me do? Leave the boy for dead? Did you see his injuries? That bruising and the scars are not a sign of him being a valued member of their party. They fired on him.”

  Ben put up his hands in surrender. “I don’t think we should leave him. Just saying that some of the boys that have had bad run-ins with Indians may cause problems.”

  “Get a litter rigged up for both the boy and Pace.” Will barked out his order, the stress of the situation getting the better of him. “Then we need to start packing up to hit the trail tonight.”

  “Okay, boss,” Ben’s curt answer caused Will to regret his tone.

  Stalking away, Will found Covington and instructed him to help Snake pull camp so they could be on their way by night fall. He had the drivers come in when everything was packed and ready to go. They held a brief burial for Malone, before Will addressed the cowboys.

  “We’ve lost three hundred cattle, two horses, one man, with another severely injured. We were short handed before this, but we will all have to do extra until we can get to Santa Fe for help. We are moving on with the drive tonight.”

  Will paused, no nonsense look planted on his face, “The Indian is not to be harmed. Is that understood?”

  A chorus of “yes sirs” echoed in reply before they resumed their duties. The compliant words from Jed did not match the look of hatred on his face.

  Chapter 6

  Kansas Prairie

  September 16, 1863

  As the wagon master called “catch up,” Drew hurried to round up his team of six oxen. Despite having left from breakfast earlier than any of the other men, he struggled to hitch the oxen to the wagon while a chorus of “all set” sounded around him. He would be last again.

  You better pull your weight. No one’s gonna help you out there on the open plains. The admonition from Eli Jacobs, the assistant wagon master, echoed through his mind, causing his fingers to fumble with the harness. Since he and Hannah arrived at Fort Leavenworth, Eli made his concerns clear. The man did not think Drew capable.

  His first morning in Fort Leavenworth, Drew wasted no time locating the wagon train headquarters. With only a few days to purchase all the necessary supplies, a team, and a wagon, he made the most of every second. Standing in front of the large barn-like doors, he contemplated entering through them, until he noticed a smaller door off to the right. Pushing the squeaky wood door open, he stepped into the seemingly out of place room with a small desk pushed against one wall. The opposite wall housed another doorway, opening to a large barn area filled with sacks of grain, livestock, and gear.

  Drew waited patiently for a few minutes for the owner of the desk to return. When the tall broad-shouldered man entered from the barn, Drew introduced himself, immediately unsettled by the man’s less than welcome reception.

  “Normally, we don’t take inexperienced fellas like you,” Eli stated, as he carefully scrutinized him. Willing his heart to beat in a normal rhythm, Drew feared being turned away before the journey began. “But, seein’ how you’re a doctor, the boss decided it would be okay. I’ll help you get organized and make sure you get everything you need, but once we get on the trail, you’ll be on your own.”

  Drew nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

  “There’s just two of you, right?” Eli asked.

  Drew cleared his throat. “Yes, my wife and me.”

  “Do either of you know how to use a rifle?” Eli narrowed his eyes with the question.

  Embarrassed that Hannah knew how to shoot, but he did not, Drew purposefully kept his answer to a simple, “Yes.”

  “Good, cause you and the missus will have to be able to defend yourselves.”

  “Now, about the supplies,” Eli started. “First, you need to get a wagon and a six-team of oxen. Then, a tent, rifle, pistol, four hundred pounds of bread stuffs, two hundred pounds of meat, two hundred pounds of flour…”

  After that conversation, Drew felt Eli’s patience wear thin as he taught him how to harness and drive the team of oxen. His ignorance continued to strip away his dignity and confidence well into this third day of their journey.
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  You’ll be on your own. We don’t take inexperienced fellas. The words taunted him as he fastened the last part of the gear.

  Drew quickly climbed onto the hard springboard seat of the wagon, calling “all set” as he picked up the reins.

  The man in the wagon in front of him shouted back, “About time!”

  Heat rose to his cheeks as he released the brake. The wagon master shouted “stretch out.” Slapping the reins against the team’s back, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least this was part of the morning ritual he could handle with some measure of confidence. The tight circle of wagons slowly elongated into a line as the cool breeze tickled his neck. When the wagon master hollered “fall in,” Drew directed the oxen to take their assigned place in the line of wagons.

  The past few days on the trail tested him almost to his limit. As the son of a storekeeper, and then as a doctor, the most strenuous physical activity he performed was lifting and unloading crates of supplies. Never before had he worked with livestock. Never before had he hoisted a barrel full of water several feet above ground and into a wagon, much less three barrels. Every task he learned to perform strained his already weary muscles.

  Then there were his hands—most definitely the hands of a doctor and not someone used to driving a team all day. Last night, when Hannah handed him his supper plate full of charred food, he nearly screamed out from the pain as the plate hit his raw, bleeding palms. Hannah saw him flinch and, after giving him a piece of her mind—the long string of words giving him hope that she still must care—she rubbed a soothing salve on the wounds. Then she wrapped them in rags. This morning, Drew dug through their things until he found a pair of gloves to wear over the bandages. He paid dearly for his foolishness in waiting this long to wear the gloves.

  As the wagon crept along the rutted, dusty road, Drew glanced over at Hannah’s rigid posture. She was still angry. He was certain of it. She never had been angry with him for this long before. Of course, he had never tried to uproot her from her home either. Ever since he announced they would be moving to La Paz, Hannah barely spoke to him. When she did, it was with eyes full of disappointment, disdain, or dejection. No smiles graced her lovely face—not in nearly a month. Not in the weeks they spent packing. Nor in the few days traveling by steamboat from Cincinnati to Fort Leavenworth. Nor in the days spent in Fort Leavenworth. And certainly not since the wagon train moved out.