The Bozeman Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Don’t know why you so broke up over it,” Luke said.

  “Because he was our brother,” Revelation said. “Can’t you understand that?”

  Luke and John looked at Revelation for a long moment, then John looked at Luke. “I get the saddle,” he said, completely ignoring his sister’s remarks.

  “The hell you do. That saddle is mine,” Luke replied.

  Realizing that her admonition had meant nothing to them, Revelation shook her head and walked away from her quarreling brothers.

  Twenty miles northwest of the present location of the herd, with the Meechum Party Wednesday, August 13, 1862:

  The wagon train was called the Meechum Party because it was under the command of Captain Louis Meechum. It was quite small when compared to the wagon trains of a decade earlier. Then, trains of more than one hundred wagons were not unusual. This train consisted of only twenty wagons.

  The Meechum Party was one month out of Omaha, bound for Dakota, not for gold but for land. As the steel-rimmed wheels rolled across the hard-packed earth, they kicked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. The wood of the wagons was bleached white, and under the sun it gave off a familiar smell.

  Young Millie Parker sat in the sun on the dried seat of the wagon, reading over the latest entry in her journal.

  The Magnificent Adventure

  of the Parker Family

  by

  Millie Parker, age 16

  Our days begin before dawn. The wagons have been drawn into a circle for the night, because Captain Meechum says this is the most convenient way of encampment. We are greeted each morning with the whistles and shouts of those who have been standing the last hours of the night watch.

  Sometimes I like to wake up early so I can watch as the men and women begin emerging from their night-quarters. It is interesting to watch the new day start.

  Some sleep inside the wagons, but these are mostly very young children. Most sleep under the wagons. That’s where I sleep. Sometimes it is hard to get up in the morning, but we do it for we know we must get to our new homes before winter sets in.

  The livestock spend the night inside the circle of wagons. They must be milked each morning, and that is the responsibility of the children.

  I help the other women prepare the breakfast meal, which is eaten between the hours of six and seven. The men and older boys are busy during that time, too, connecting teams to the wagons, striking the tents, loading the wagons, and getting everything ready to begin the day’s journey. When it is nearly time, Captain Meechum climbs onto his horse, then examines the pocket watch he carries with him. At exactly seven o’clock he lets out with a mighty roar of “Move ’em out!”

  Each day we change around who shall lead and who shall ride at the rear. Today, it is our turn to be the wagon in the rear. I don’t like it when it is our turn to be in the rear. If you are in the rear, dust gets in your clothes, hair, eyes, and in your nose. It is very uncomfortable, but we do it because we know that tomorrow we will go to the front and it will be several days before we work our way to the rear and have to do it again.

  While we are underway, some ride in the wagons and some walk alongside. Captain Meechum rides on a magnificent horse, sometimes alongside, other times at the head, and sometimes way off, somewhere, scouting for us. The wagon train moves at a steady pace until noon. At noon, we stop for a meal and the teams are cut loose from the wagons to allow them to graze. They aren’t unyoked though, and this makes it easier to get underway again when the meal is over.

  By evening, humans and animals are tired. We have been on the move since before dawn, and as the sun is sinking slowly before us, we look for a suitable place to spend the night. Each night we set our guards to watch for Indians, but though we were cautioned about the savages, we have, so far, seen not so much as one Indian.

  Suddenly there was a creaking, snapping sound, and the wagon lurched so badly that Millie was nearly tossed out. She looked up from her journal, startled.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “What was that?”

  “Whoa, team,” Mrs. Parker shouted, pulling back on the reins. The team stopped and the wagon sat there, listing sharply to the right.

  “Mama, what is it?” Millie asked.

  “I think we’ve broken an axle,” Mrs. Parker said grimly. “Clyde! Clyde Parker!” she called to her husband, who was walking alongside one of the wagons ahead.

  The wagons in front of them, unaware that they had stopped, continued on at their same dogged pace and were slowly but surely pulling away.

  “They are leaving us,” Millie said.

  “Clyde!” Mrs. Parker called again, and Millie added her own voice so that her father heard them and looked around.

  “Louis! Louis, stop the train!” Clyde called.

  Louis Meechum held up his hand and the wagons stopped. Clyde trotted back to his wagon and Meechum joined him on horseback.

  “Oh damn,” Clyde said as he saw the broken axle. “I was afraid of this.”

  “You were afraid of it,” Meechum asked. “You mean you knew the possibility of breaking an axle, but you came on without changing it?”

  “I knew that the axle was cracked, but I didn’t want to spend the money for a new axle,” Clyde said. “I was hoping it would hold.”

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “Well, I did pick up a spare axle. It’s used, and is cracked nearly as badly as this one. But at least it isn’t completely broken. And if it will last as long as this one did, we will be there before we have any more trouble.”

  “How long will it take to change it?” Meechum asked.

  “Oh, ’bout half a day, I reckon.”

  Meechum took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t hold up the train for you. If you want to, you can unload your wagon, maybe we can find enough space in some of the other wagons for your things.”

  Clyde shook his head. “You know everyone is packed to the limit. No, I’m going to have to change the axle. It’s going to be a long day for us, but we’ll catch up with you after you’ve made camp tonight.”

  “All right,” Meechum said. He looked around the horizon. “You should be all right, we haven’t seen any Indians, not even any sign of them.”

  Mean To His Horses, an ambitious Cheyenne subchief, lay on the top of a nearby hill. He watched the wagon train pull away, leaving one wagon behind. It was obvious that the white eyes had no idea they were in danger. He slithered back down the hill to where the others were waiting.

  “Did you see them?” one of the others asked.

  “Yes.”

  “When do we attack?”

  “Now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, mile 840

  Wednesday, August 13, 1862:

  After supper, when Revelation had finished all her chores, she saddled a horse and rode out toward the herd. It took but a minute or two of riding, and she was completely away from the camp, swallowed up by the blue velvet of night. The night air caressed her skin like fine silk, while overhead the stars glistened like diamonds. Revelation was aware of the quiet herd, with cows standing motionless at rest. An owl landed nearby, his wings making a soft whirr. He looked at Revelation with great, round, glowing eyes, as if he had been made curious by her passing.

  The hoofbeats made soft thuds in the grass for the next few moments until Revelation came to a small grass-covered knoll. She could hear the splashing, bubbling sound of the river they had been following.

  Revelation dismounted and climbed to the top of the small hill so she could look down at the water just on the other side. Here, the river was fairly swift, and strewn with rocks. The water bubbled white as it tumbled over and rushed past the glistening rocks. The white feathers in the water glowed brightly in the moonlight while the water itself appeared black. The result was an exceptionally vivid contrast, which made the stream even more beautiful at night than it was by day.r />
  Revelation felt drawn to the water, and she walked all the way down the knoll until she found a soft wide spot in the grass. There, she sat, pulling her knees up under her chin. The constant chatter of the brook soothed her, and she enjoyed the contemplative silence.

  “I thought it was you I saw ride over this way,” a voice said.

  Revelation was startled by the sudden intrusion, and she turned to see James standing at the top of the knoll behind her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the herd?” Revelation asked.

  “They’re quiet,” James said. “What are you doing out here so late.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Revelation answered.

  “As hard as you’ve been working and as early as you have to get up, I can’t imagine you having trouble sleeping.”

  “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Are you thinking about Mark?”

  “A little,” Revelation said. “Don’t get me wrong, Mark was certainly no saint. None of my brothers are. But that doesn’t stop me from grieving for him.” She sighed. “Besides, someone needed to. Matthew, Luke, and John didn’t seem to take notice.”

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” James said. He walked down the knoll to sit down beside her. “He turned out to be a pretty good worker. All of your brothers have.”

  “Which was a surprise to you, I suppose,” Revelation said.

  James chuckled. “Yes, it was. I admit it.”

  Revelation looked right at James. “What do you really know about us, Mr. James Cason, son of Colonel Garrison Cason, biggest land owner and wealthiest rancher in Bexar County?”

  “Not much, I guess,” James said. He was somewhat put off by the ire of her question.

  “Let me tell you what you think you know. No doubt you have heard that we are a shiftless and lazy bunch. That we are cattle thieves and worse.”

  James cleared his throat. “I’ve heard words to that effect,” he admitted.

  “I will admit that my father and brothers have made some questionable deals in Mexico, buying cattle very cheaply without regard to how the seller came by the cattle. But they have never actually stolen any cattle, nor bought any cattle that might have been stolen from any of their neighbors.”

  “I guess that’s something in their favor,” James said.

  “My mother and father were from Boston, did you know that?”

  James shook his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “In fact, my mother was a Prescott, an old, proud, fine family. Grandfather Prescott was in shipping. It broke his heart when mother married one of his ship captains.”

  James looked surprised.

  “That’s right. My father was a ship’s captain in my grandfather’s merchant fleet. But when he married my mother, my grandfather was so angry that he fired him. My grandparents pleaded with my mother to allow them to get her marriage to my father annulled, and when she refused, they disowned her. That was when my mother and father came out here.”

  She was silent for a moment. “You have to understand that my father was a man who was used to absolute power, for no one is more powerful than a ship’s captain at sea. He was also used to the respect a ship’s captain received.

  “Here, he had none of that. Here, he learned that power and respect come only to those who possess land and cattle. But my father was an impatient man, as powerful men often are, and he had no interest in building his empire slowly. That is why he took shortcuts.

  “I admit, that doesn’t excuse him from becoming a”—Revelation couldn’t bring herself to say the word cattle thief—“what he was, or causing his sons to follow in his footsteps. But it may explain a little of who he was.

  “My mother died shortly after I was born. My father said she died of pneumonia, but I think she died of humiliation. She was from one of the most influential families in New England. Presidents had dined in my grandparents’ home and yet, here, she was looked down upon. She couldn’t live with the contempt heaped upon her by her neighbors, by people like the Swans, the Murbacks . . .” She paused for a moment before she continued. “And the Casons.”

  “Revelation, I pass no judgment on you or your family,” James said.

  “Oh, but you do,” Revelation said.

  “How so?”

  “I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. You think I’m a pretty woman, and you are a little flattered that I made a fool of myself, by throwing myself at you. But it is very obvious that, no matter how flattered, or interested, or intrigued you might be, you will never allow anything to develop between us, because you don’t think I’m good enough for you.”

  “Now hold on, Revelation, I never said anything of the sort,” James said. He put his hands, tenderly on her shoulders. “Actually, I think you are a rather uncommon woman, and I—”

  “Uncommon,” Revelation said, with a dis missive chortle. “Horned toads are uncommon creatures. You can’t turn a woman’s head using that kind of language.”

  “Revelation, please. You aren’t being fair,” James said.

  Revelation’s face softened. “I know I’m not. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you the way I did.” She held up her right hand. “It was not very ladylike, and I’m sure you found it rather unsettling. I’ll never do it again, I promise you. From now own I’ll just be another one of the hands.”

  Revelation got to her feet and started up the side of the little knoll.

  James waited until she was at the top of the hill before he called to her.

  “Revelation?”

  She turned to look back down at him. Again, her face was illuminated by the moon, so that her skin was a contrast in pearl and shadow. Maybe it was James’s imagination but, at this moment, he didn’t think he had ever seen anyone more beautiful, despite the men’s clothing she was wearing.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to be just one of the hands.”

  “I’m sorry, James,” Revelation said quietly. “It’s too late for that now.”

  James watched as she disappeared down the other side of the little knoll. A moment later he heard the sound of hooves as she rode away. He turned, picked up a handful of small pebbles, then tossed them one by one into the water.

  Revelation was right. He hadn’t thought she was good enough for him. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized what a snob he was. He vowed right there and then, to be less judgmental from now on. It was an epiphany.

  Dakota Territory Thursday, August 14, 1862:

  Kris Dumey had enjoyed a good day in his diggings. Coming out of the tunnel he had dug into the side of the mountain, he was carrying a sack that was filled with gold nuggets. He had no idea how much it was worth, but his head was spinning with the excitement of it.

  It was clear, now, that he was not going to be able to work his claim alone much longer. As he took out the last few nuggets, part of the wall collapsed, covering the area where he was working. At first he was going to dig it out again, then he decided to let the rocks stay where they were. There was no sense in making it too easy for someone else who might try and find his diggings.

  Shadows fell across him as he emerged into the sunlight, and when he looked up, he saw six mounted men. Because the sun was behind them he saw them only in silhouette. Then one of the men spoke, and Kris felt a sense of foreboding, for he recognized the voice. The man who spoke was a dapperly dressed, handsome man, the self-appointed sheriff, Henry Plummer.

  “Looks like you’ve had a little luck there, Dumey,” Plummer said.

  “Not much,” Dumey replied, holding up the sack. “It’s mostly just rocks,” he said. “I thought I might get them out into the sunlight to see if there is any color.”

  “Well, what do you say we look at it together?” Plummer suggested. “Empty your sack.”

  Protectively, Dumey wrapped both arms around the sack.

  “Whether I got any color or not, it ain’t none of your business,” Dumey said in protest.

  “Of course it
’s my business,” Plummer said. “I’m the sheriff, aren’t I? And as sheriff, I am duly empowered to collect taxes.”

  “You aren’t duly empowered to collect anything,” Dumey insisted. “You aren’t really the sheriff.”

  “Not yet,” Plummer agreed. “But someone has to keep order around these parts until a real sheriff can be elected. I expect I will eventually be elected, so why not start serving the people now?”

  “You’re full of it, Plummer. You aren’t serving anyone but yourself.”

  Plummer laughed. “Well, since the job isn’t official, as yet, I have to pay myself and my deputies out of the taxes I raise from good people like you,” he said.

  “How much tax?” Dumey asked.

  Plummer chuckled, then nodded toward the men who were riding with him. “Well, it takes a lot of money to run my office. As you can see, I have several fine deputies.”

  By now Dumey’s eyes had adjusted to the bright sunlight, and he looked up at the men who were riding with Plummer.

  “George Ives, I recognize. Them three I don’t know.” He pointed to the Butrum brothers. “But if they are like the other men you have riding with you, then you ain’t got much.”

  “Sorry you don’t like the quality of my help,” Plummer replied. “But then, you don’t have to like them. All you have to do is pay taxes.”

  Kris glanced over at his rifle. It was lying against a rock, about thirty feet away. There was no way he could get to it in time, and, even if he could, it wouldn’t do him any good. It was charged with only one shot, and there were six men facing him.

  He sighed in defeat. “How much,” he asked, reaching down into his sack.

  “All of it,” Plummer replied innocently.

  “What? All of it? Are you crazy?”

  “No,” Plummer said. “I’m not crazy. I’m maybe just a little greedy. But I’m not crazy.” He laughed, maniacally, then pulled the trigger, shooting Kris Dumey down in cold blood.

  “One of you boys get the sack,” he said. “We’ll divide up the gold later.”