The Bozeman Trail

by Ralph Compton

  Angus Butrum climbed down from his horse, took the sack from Dumey’s dead fingers, then remounted.

  “Take a look inside,” Plummer ordered.

  Angus stuck his hand down into the sack and pulled out a couple of rocks. Both rocks glittered with gold.

  “Damn!” Angus said. “There’s a fortune in this sack.”

  George Ives laughed. “I told you this was a sweet deal,” he said. “Have you ever heard the term ‘license to steal’? Well, my friend, that’s what we’ve got. A license to steal.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, mile 852

  Thursday, August 14, 1862:

  As soon as he saw Revelation, James knew there was something wrong. Her wagon was about a mile ahead, sitting absolutely motionless. Slapping his legs against the side of his horse, he urged the animal into a gallop, covering the mile in just under three minutes.

  When he reached the wagon, Revelation was sitting quietly in her seat, holding the reins in her hands, staring straight ahead.

  “Revelation, what is it?” James asked. “Why have you stopped?”

  Revelation looked over at James. There was an expression of shock and horror in her face.

  “What is it?” James asked.

  Without answering him, Revelation pointed with a shaking hand.

  Though it had been hidden by a small rise as James approached the wagon, now he could see what had stopped Revelation in her tracks. There, just below the rise and not more than fifty yards away, was a burned-out wagon. But it wasn’t the wagon that was holding her attention. It was what was lying on the ground alongside the wagon. There, naked and ghastly white, were three bodies. Each body was pierced by dozens of arrows, and from their scalped and broken heads, spilled brains lay in the dirt, cooked by the sun.

  “Stay there,” James said, swinging down from his horse.

  “Don’t worry,” Revelation replied in a tight voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  James walked over for a closer look. It was a man and two women, though one of the women looked very young, perhaps in her teens. It was difficult to be certain, because the sun was already beginning to have its effect. At first, James thought the Indians had taken everything. Then he saw a small journal lying nearby, its leaves fluttering in the breeze.

  James picked it up and began reading.

  “What is it?” Revelation called. Though she hadn’t come any closer, she had climbed down and was now standing alongside the wagon.

  James walked back over to the wagon and showed Revelation the journal. She looked at it for a moment, then looked back toward the three bodies. Tears were streaking down her cheeks.

  For the first time since leaving Bexar County, James saw a soft and vulnerable side to Revelation. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he reached out to her, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him. She began to cry and he stood there for a long moment, not speaking, just holding her.

  Finally Revelation was all cried out, and she pulled herself away from him then ran her hand through her hair, as if composing herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just such a sad thing to see. A family like that, excited by the future. Then, to have that future taken from them in such a horrible way.”

  “I know.”

  “What do we do now?” Revelation asked.

  “I’m going to bury them,” James said, removing a shovel from its straps on the side of the wagon. “Then we’ll wait here for the others to catch up.”

  “What if the Indians are still here?”

  James looked all around the area. “If they were still here, they would have shown themselves by now. I’d say that, for the present at least, we are safe.”

  “For the present,” Revelation said.

  “Yes.”

  “And what happens after the present?”

  “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” James answered. He took the shovel back over to where the three bodies lay, covered by a swarm of flies. They were already a little ripe, so he moved upwind from them, then began to dig.

  He was just patting down the dirt over the last grave when the others arrived. Seeing Revelation, James, and the burned-out wagon, Bob darted ahead of the herd, then rode quickly up.

  “What is it? What happened here?”

  “A man, woman, and their daughter were killed here,” James explained. “I just buried them.”

  “Indians?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think it was just a few renegades? Or are they on the warpath?”

  “I don’t know if they are on the warpath,” James answered. “But from the number of arrows sticking out of everyone’s body, I’d say that what was done here was done by more than just a few renegades.”

  By now Duke and Billy had joined them.

  “A family, killed by Indians,” Bob said, answering their unasked questions.

  “So what do we do now? I mean, you aren’t planning on turning back or anything like that, are you?” Bob asked.

  “No way. We’ve come this far, we’re going the rest of the way. But we are going to have to be a little more careful.”

  “Careful how?”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t plan to send Revelation ahead of us anymore,” James said. “I think it will be safer for her if she stays back with us. Also, we had better keep our eyes peeled from now on. We may run across Indians, but I don’t plan to be surprised by them.”

  Although it was more efficient for Revelation to travel ahead of the herd, set up camp, and have supper ready by the time the others arrived, she began traveling with the group. James’s idea of having her stay back so she could travel with the rest of them made her feel a lot safer. Most agreed with James that this was the best thing to do, but the agreement wasn’t unanimous. Matthew had argued against it yesterday, when James made the suggestion, and he had grumbled again this morning, just as they started out.

  They had been underway for nearly an hour, when Matthew rode over to plead his case once more.

  “Look here, Cason, keepin’ Revelation back here with us ain’t no good,” he complained. “I mean, hell, drivin’ cows is hard work. Whenever a man works that hard, he has a right to have him a hot meal ready and waitin’ for him by the time he makes camp. And if’n Revelation don’t go on ahead of us, why, it’ll like as not be an hour, maybe two or three, before we get fed. They ain’t nothin’ right about that.”

  “Damn, Matthew, I would think you would have a little more consideration for the danger here,” James said, shocked at Matthew’s total lack of concern about Revelation’s safety. “After all, it’s your own sister we’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s danger and then there’s danger,” Matthew said. “I’ve know’d Revelation a lot longer than you have, and believe me, I know she can take care of herself. Besides which, how do we know there are a lot of Indians out there. Far as we know, them people you found with arrows stickin’ out of ’em, could’ve been killed by no more’n three or four Indians, out to rob ’em, or something.”

  “You could be right,” James said. “Then again, you could be wrong. Take a look up there.”

  James pointed to a low-lying ridge of hills about three miles in front of them. Two twisted-rope columns of smoke climbed into the sky.

  “What’s that?” Matthew asked.

  “Smoke signals,” James replied.

  Bob was riding about fifty yards away from where James and Matthew were having their conversation. When he also saw the smoke, he turned and rode back.

  “You see the smoke?” he asked.

  “I see it,” James said.

  “What do you think it means?” Bob asked.

  “I figure these folks over here”—James pointed to the smoke on the right—“are inviting the folks over there”—he pointed to the smoke column on the left—“to dinner tonight. And they are plannin’ on serving beef.”

  “Ou
r beef?” Bob asked.

  James shook his head. “Uh-huh, it looks that way.”

  “Well, hell, if that’s all it is, maybe we ought to just give them some cows,” Matthew suggested.

  James shook his head. “No, we don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not? You was awful damn quick to give them Indians down in the territories some of our cows. And that saloon keeper back at Fort Larned.”

  “That was different. We gave the saloon keeper a few cows to pay for the damage we did to his saloon. And down in the territories, you and your brothers violated their law, so we gave them cows in payment of a fine. It was a fair and equitable arrangement. If we were to give these Indians anything now, we would be surrendering to them. They understand weakness, so a few cows wouldn’t be enough. They would want more and more until eventually they would want the entire herd.”

  “James’s right,” Bob said. “We can’t give in to them.”

  “So, what are we going to do, fight the whole Indian nation?” Matthew asked. “There ain’t but seven of us.”

  “There’s eight of us,” James said. “Don’t forget Revelation. You just made a big point of telling me how she could defend herself, and I’ve seen enough of her to believe it.”

  “All right, eight of us. But that’s against how many Indians? A thousand?”

  “Could be a thousand, I suppose,” James agreed. “Which means we’d better get ready for them.” James put his fingers to his mouth, then gave a loud, piercing whistle. When the whistle got everyone’s attention he made a circular motion over the top of his head, indicating that they should all gather around him.

  Leaving the herd temporarily unwatched, everyone rode over to hear what James had to say.

  “Bob, you are the best rider and you are well mounted,” James said. “I want you to ride drag. Like as not the Indians will try and hit us from the rear.”

  “All right,” Bob answered.

  James held up his finger, then wagged it back and forth in admonishment. “But if you see them, don’t try and fight them from back there. What I want you to do, is hightail it on back up here and give us the warning.”

  “Right,” Bob said.

  “Billy, you’ll be an outrider over on the left. Duke, you take the right. I’ll take point.”

  “What about me ’n my brothers?” Matthew asked. “Where do you want us?”

  “I want you boys to ride as close to the wagon as you can.”

  “I told you, Revelation can look out for herself,” Luke said.

  “It’s not just Revelation I’m worried about. All our food is in that wagon. If we lose it, it’s going be a long and hungry trip.”

  Matthew stroked his chin for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

  “Let’s get moving,” James ordered.

  The Indians hit in the middle of the afternoon on the next day. True to James’s prediction, they tried to attack the herd from the rear.

  Although Bob had been keeping his eyes open, it was difficult to maintain a constant vigil. As a result his first indication of the presence of Indians, was when an arrow whistled by him, then stuck in the ground a few yards ahead. Twisting in his saddle, he saw a large group of Indians, perhaps as many as twenty, riding toward him.

  The Indians released a volley of arrows and Bob watched in morbid fascination as a cloud of missiles climbed high into the sky, then whizzed down toward him. None of the arrows hit him, but some of the cattle bellowed in pain as the arrows stuck themselves in their flanks.

  Remembering James’s admonition not to try and fight the Indians but to bring warning, Bob slapped his legs against the sides of his horse, spurring it into a gallop. The horse took off like a cannonball, its hooves drumming into the dirt. James leaned forward, not only to urge greater speed from his horse, but also to present a smaller target to the Indians.

  He could hear the animal breathing, feel the horse’s muscles working as he galloped away from the Indians. He saw two more arrows fly by him.

  “Indians! Indians!” he shouted.

  Ahead of Bob, Duke Faglier was sitting calmly in his saddle, aiming his rifle back toward the Indians who were chasing Bob. Bob saw a flash of light, a puff of smoke, then the rifle’s recoil before he heard the heavy roar of the discharge. He heard the ball whizzing past him and, curious, he turned to look over his shoulder. The head of one of the Indians seemed to burst open like a watermelon as the heavy ball crashed into it. A spray of red made a brief halo about the Indian’s head, then he fell from his horse.

  Other rifles roared as well, and Bob saw that the Scattergoods were also firing. From ahead of him, James was riding hard to get back to join the fight.

  Bob pulled up when he came alongside James, then he drew his own rifle from its saddle sheath and turned to face the Indians. He fired and had the satisfaction of seeing the Indian he aimed at go down.

  James got another one, then Duke, his rifle reloaded, got his second.

  The Indians were armed only with bows, and though they had the advantage of shooting arrows more rapidly than the muzzle-loading rifles could be fired, they didn’t have the range.

  Although the cattle didn’t stampede, they did break into a run. That had its advantage and disadvantage. The advantage was that it forced the Indians to come to them, and it tended to keep them out of bow and arrow range while keeping them in rifle range. The disadvantage was that the wagon and the Scattergoods were very close to the edge of the herd, and should the herd stampede, the wagon might easily be overturned. That could be disastrous for Revelation. Concerned for her safety, James found himself looking toward the wagon as often as he was looking back at the Indians.

  Some of the Indians pulled back from the pursuit and when he looked, James saw that they were gathering around a couple of cows that had been killed. That gave him an idea.

  “Bob, Billy, shoot a cow!” James shouted.

  “What?”

  “Each of you shoot a cow! Duke, you keep doing what you are doing.”

  Bob, Billy, and James picked out a target on the outside of the running herd. All three fired at approximately the same time, and three animals went down. Nearly half the Indians still in pursuit broke off the chase to go to the slain cattle.

  Duke killed another one of the Indians still in pursuit and one of the Scattergoods killed another. The remaining Indians suddenly found the odds no longer to their liking, and they turned back.

  The herd continued to run, and by the time it slowed to a trot, then to a walk, the remaining Indians were at least two miles back on the prairie, small black forms bent over somewhat larger forms lying on the ground. It was obvious they were butchering the beef that had just fallen into their hands.

  “Yahoo!” Bob said. “By God, we showed them a thing or two.”

  “I wonder how many of them we killed?” Billy asked.

  “I think we got about eight of them,” James said. He looked over at Duke and smiled. “Half of them Duke got.”

  “I’ve never seen such shooting,” Billy said. “Do all you boys up there in Missouri shoot like that?”

  “We shoot a lot of squirrels,” Duke said. “If you can hit a squirrel, you can hit an Indian. Indians are much larger targets.”

  The others were laughing as the Scattergoods finally worked their way out of the middle of the herd.

  “What was you people doin’ shooting our own cows like that?” Matthew asked angrily.

  “It stopped the Indians,” Bob replied.

  “Me an’ my two brothers was shootin’ ’em down like we was killin’ flies and I figured we ’bout had ’em stopped. Then the next thing I know, I see you fellas shootin’ our own cows.”

  “Like I said, it stopped the Indians,” Bob said again, more resolutely this time.

  “Uh-huh. What it done was cost us a hundred and fifty dollars is what it done. And here after all the big talk about not givin’ them any cows ’cause it would show weakness.�
��

  “We didn’t give the cows to them,” James explained. “They probably think that the cattle were killed accidentally. All they were interested in was a little beef, so I let them have some. But it came at a high enough cost to them, that I don’t think we’ll be seeing this bunch again.”

  James’s assertion that they wouldn’t be seeing that bunch again proved to be premature. The Indians returned again later in that same day, then again the next day, and the day following that.

  While the Indians didn’t attack in force—there were never more than a dozen or so with each attacking party—they did manage to make themselves bothersome. They were excellent horsemen, and they would ride in to bow and arrow range, clinging to the off-side of their horses, launching arrows from just above the backs of their mounts before making a hasty retreat.

  While half the attacking party kept the cowboys busy, the other half would strike the herd. The braves would ride right up to the cows, keeping themselves mounted by squeezing their legs against the horses’ backs. Then, as if they were hunting buffalo, they would shoot arrows into the cows, killing from eight to ten with each attack they launched.

  Mile 1,110, Sunday, August 31, 1862:

  “Indians!” John shouted.

  “Here come the heathen bastards again!” Luke added.

  “All right, everyone get ready!” James said, and rifles were cocked and brought into position to fire.

  “Wait!” Duke shouted, holding up his hand. “Wait, don’t shoot!”

  “What do you mean don’t shoot?” Matthew asked. “Look at ’em, all bunched up like that. Hell, we could kill half of ’em with one volley.”

  “No, wait,” James said, lowering his rifle. “Duke is right. They aren’t attacking.”

  “One of them is coming toward us,” Bob said.

  “Yes, but look, he’s holding his lance over his head. I think he want to parley.”

  “I’ll parley with the son of a bitch,” Matthew said, taking aim. “I’m going to put a bullet right between that heathen’s eyes.”

  “No, don’t shoot!” James shouted.