“I don’t understand Indians,” said Priscilla.
“I’m mostly Indian.”
“Most of the time I don’t understand you either.”
He laughed. “What don’t you understand, about Indians in general, and me in particular?”
“I can’t forget how Sashavado looked when he fought with you,” she said. “I saw death in his eyes, and if you hadn’t disarmed him, he’d have killed you. Yet when your horse fell in front of that stampede, it was Sashavado who saved you.”
“How do you feel about Sashavado now?”
“Although he seems limited to ‘fight lak hell, ride lak hell, and shoot lak hell,’” she laughed, “I like him. I suppose that’s what’s confusing me most of all. I don’t think I understand myself any better than I understand the Indians.”
“In the so-called civilized world,” said Ten, “one man may like another without ever knowin’ what kind of man he is. On the frontier, it’s just the opposite. I couldn’t like a man I didn’t respect, and I can’t fault another man for lookin’ at me in the same light.”
“So it’s not so much the liking of one Indian for another, but a mutual respect.”
He laughed. “Not entirely. Sashavado respects the Comanche, but there’s not a shred of brotherly love between them. I’d say we have a liking for one another, and that he thinks more highly of me than he would a Comanche or a Kiowa.”
“And I suppose you think better of him than you would a Comanche or a Kiowa, although you might still respect the Comanche and the Kiowa?”
“That’s about the truth of it,” he said.
“Ten, I’ve gotten used to Two Hats and his riders. When this trail drive is over, do we have to give them up? Couldn’t they still be our outfit?”
“I’m goin’ to talk to Jess about that. With his standing among the plains Indians, he won’t be hurtin’ for riders. I reckon if Two Hats and his boys are willin’ to stay with us, Jess won’t object. Now, Priscilla Chisholm, do you aim to talk all night, or will you drag me into the brush and have your way with me?”
July 15, 1866. They reached the Chisholm trading post on the banks of the Canadian River. With many families of Cherokees living in the area, it was friendly territory. With the graze good and water plentiful, the longhorns were left strung out along the river. The herd had become lean, mean, and trailwise. Ten found Jesse Chisholm had ridden to Fort Smith and wasn’t expected back for another four days. Chisholm’s Cherokee cook wasn’t very talkative, and volunteered no information.
Chris sighed. “Four whole nights in an honest-to-goodness bed.”
“This is goin’ to be interestin’.” Marty laughed. “These other Injuns are almighty envious of Charlie Two Hats and his riders. Here they are, back from Texas with a dozen extra hosses, and enough pistols, rifles, and shells to fight a war. When we do another trail drive, Mr. Chisholm won’t have an Injun left. They’ll all be goin’ with us.”
When Chisholm returned, he was surprised and pleased. He turned grim only when Ten told him of his plans to return to New Orleans, the result of his promise to André LeBeau.
“I gave my word,” said Ten. “Are you suggesting I break it?”
“I suppose not,” said Chisholm. “I just can’t see the necessity of you having given it. You’d trust a man who would extort money from you under such circumstances?”
“Trust has nothing to do with it,” said Ten angrily. “I wouldn’t trust LeBeau as far as I could walk on water. I only bought his silence until Priscilla turned eighteen. I reckon you think I’m payin’ for something I didn’t need, but you don’t know how vindictive and mean old LeBeau is. Like I told you, I don’t aim to turn my back on him. Harvey Roberts promised I can use his office, and LeBeau will have to come to me. Once I’ve given him the money, why should he come after me?”
“You just said he’s mean and vindictive. You turned Priscilla’s head, and he’ll blame you for his failure with her. If you’re going to St. Louis, why don’t you open an account with a bank there and send him a bank draft?”
“Because he’s over his head in debt,” said Ten, “and wants the money in gold. He’d have some trouble cashing a draft.”
“But with gold,” said Chisholm, “he can take it and run.”
“That’s exactly what I want him to do,” said Ten. “If he’s busy savin’ his own hide, he won’t be after mine.”
“He may save himself and still double-cross you,” said Chisholm. “I’m only suggesting that you expect betrayal. It could save your life.”
Ten nodded somberly. It was good advice.
André LeBeau was furious. He had just learned, through Emily, that Priscilla never reached Louisville. Emily’s mother, whom LeBeau despised, had written a very curt letter in response to Emily’s. The LeBeaus hadn’t bothered letting her know Priscilla was coming, so why should she have been disturbed when the girl hadn’t arrived? From the tone of her letter, LeBeau believed that salty old woman was secretly pleased Priscilla had disappeared. Despite LeBeau’s promise to Tenatse Chisholm, he still hadn’t given up on the possibility he could collect the promised money from Chisholm, and still use Priscilla as a wild card in a high stakes game with Jason Brawn. Of course, Chisholm would have had to die. But now Priscilla was beyond LeBeau’s reach, and where Brawn was concerned, all bets were off. LeBeau hadn’t the slightest doubt the girl was somewhere in Indian Territory, sharing Tenatse Chisholm’s bed. She was now old enough to marry, but would the empty-headed little fool even bother? It didn’t matter; she was already ruined, as far as any bartering with Jason Brawn was concerned. He, André LeBeau, had trusted Tenatse Chisholm, and the damn Indian had double-crossed him. Chisholm had Priscilla, but he was going to pay plenty more for her than he expected. It made no difference when or where Chisholm delivered the money to him. It was only good sense for Chisholm to arrive by steamboat, meaning that he’d be stuck in New Orleans at least until the departure of the next packet. There would be time enough for a hired killer to stalk him, waiting for the right moment.
Jesse Chisholm had misgivings about Ten’s proposed trip to New Orleans. When Priscilla came to him, he realized his doubts were well-justified. Ten, Marty, and Wes had ridden out to check on the herd. It was barely daylight, and Chris and Lou hadn’t yet come to the kitchen. Priscilla found Chisholm there alone, and he could see the girl was afraid.
“He’s going to be talking to you about a change in plans,” Priscilla said. “He’s changed his mind about grazing the herd on the Arkansas. Since McCoy’s cattle pens won’t be ready until November first, Ten says we’ll hold the herd here on the Canadian. He says we can just take the longhorns from here on to Abilene, in maybe three weeks.”
“That much makes sense,” said Chisholm. “What else?”
“We’re two months away from finishing the drive to Abilene. Ten plans on leaving the rest of us here while he goes to New Orleans. He’s going to talk to you sometime today. He’s going to ask for the rest of what you said you’d pay for bringing you twenty-five hundred longhorns. That will be exactly enough to pay what he promised my father.”
“I promised him the money,” said Chisholm, “and he’s delivered the cows. What do you think I should do?”
“Don’t pay him for them yet,” begged Priscilla. “Tell him you need to wait until McCoy’s pens are ready, until the herd’s sold. He won’t have the money to pay my father without your help.”
“Priscilla,” said Chisholm with a smile, “bless you for your intentions, but that won’t work. He’d see through it in a second. He’d get a mad on, ride to every outpost in the territory and sell steers at ten dollars a head until he raised the money he needs.”
“Oh, damn him and his foolish pride!”
Chisholm laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, coloring. “What are we going to do? What can we do?”
“Get him to New Orleans,” said Chisholm, “convince him to leave LeBeau’s money with Harvey Roberts and th
en get out of town.”
“But will he do that?”
“He will,” said Chisholm, “after I talk to him. Just because he gave his word that he’ll pay the money doesn’t mean he has to hand it over in person. I’m going to suggest that he leave the money with Roberts, and that Harvey not send word to your father until Ten’s safely out of New Orleans.”
“Oh,” cried Priscilla, “if he’ll only listen to you.”
“Thank you for coming to me, Priscilla. If he never makes another right decision in his life, he’s made at least one.”
Ten’s decision to leave immediately for New Orleans didn’t meet with anybody’s approval.
“Cow ready,” said Charlie Two Hats, “Injun ready. When ride?”
“You said we were going to St. Louis,” Lou complained.
“Tenatse Chisholm,” said Chris, “you’re an Indian-giver. First you said we could go with you to New Orleans, then you left us behind. Now we lose out on a trip to St. Louis, and you’re going back to New Orleans.”
“But he ain’t goin’ alone,” said Marty. “I’m takin’ my Henry.”
“Me too,” said Wes.
“Cow ready,” repeated Two Hats, “Injun ready. When ride?”
“Damn it,” bawled Ten, “everybody back off!” Angrily, he turned to Priscilla. “You’re almighty quiet. Why don’t you make it unanimous?”
“Would it do any good?”
He knew she was afraid for him. They all were, and he was ashamed for having responded to their concern so rudely.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m obliged to all of you for your loyalty, but I’ve agreed to a plan Jess has. It’ll get me there, get me out, and it’ll end this obligation once and for all. When that’s done, I promise you, we’ll go to St. Louis.”
“Injun ready,” said Two Hats.
They needed to laugh, and they did.
The following morning at dawn, Tenatse Chisholm would ride to Fort Smith, where he would take a steamboat for New Orleans. Alone.
24
A pair of bulging saddlebags held the gold Ten would deliver to André LeBeau. He had timed his arrival so that he would reach Fort Smith several hours before boarding the steamboat for New Orleans. He was in no mood for waiting. The journey itself would be torturous enough. As he rode, he had time to mull over the plan Jesse Chisholm had proposed and to which he had agreed. He would arrive in New Orleans as unobtrusively as possible, go to the Roberts and Company offices, and request the help of Harvey Roberts. He would entrust the gold to Roberts, who, once Ten was safely out of New Orleans, would get a message to André LeBeau. Roberts would deliver the gold when LeBeau called for it, and Ten’s word would have been kept. The only ticklish part of Chisholm’s plan lay in getting Ten out of New Orleans without waiting for the next steamboat bound for Fort Smith. Now that the war was over and some commerce had resumed, there were smaller packets on the river, most of them hauling freight, when they could get it. Harvey Roberts, being in the business of shipping and receiving trade goods, could logically hire one of the smaller boats for a freight run to Natchez. Nobody, including the packet’s captain, would know the “freight” was Tenatse Chisholm; at least not until departure time.
There was just one possible flaw in the plan, Ten thought. While he was arriving in early August, much sooner than LeBeau expected him, there was the possibility the sneaky old devil would have somebody watching the incoming steamboats. With arrivals from Fort Smith only twice a week, it wouldn’t be all that difficult. Sneed knew him by sight, and it wouldn’t take more than an hour of the little gunman’s time, twice a week. While Ten had been aware of this potential danger, he hadn’t mentioned it to Chisholm or Priscilla. Nothing they could devise would be foolproof, and it was up to him to cover his own backtrail as best he could. The Roberts and Company offices were near the river, so the distance he must travel to a hired packet wouldn’t allow much time or opportunity for an ambush. But again, he hadn’t dared tell Chisholm or Priscilla what he considered the real danger. While André LeBeau was capable of hiring a killer, and might, Jason Brawn seemed to have the law in the palm of his hand. Suppose LeBeau had learned of Priscilla’s deception, and had made Brawn aware of it? LeBeau, the conniving old scutter, could safely collect the money he had been promised, and then turn Brawn’s dogs loose. It would be the perfect double cross. The law could search even a rented packet and gun him down on some trumped-up charge. When The Talequah whistled her departure and backed away from the landing, Ten was the only passenger aboard. There might be others at Natchez, but it wasn’t likely. Ten wondered if Drago Herndon had been back to Natchez and received either of the written messages his nephew had left for him. While Ten thought the world of Marty Brand and Wes Fedavo, there would always be a special place in his memory for Maynard Herndon. He didn’t relish the prospect of telling the old mountain man of Hern’s fate, but it was a debt unpaid, the last thing he could ever do for Maynard Herndon.
Sneed’s patience had worn thin. He was fed up with meeting the incoming steamboats twice a week, watching for that damn bothersome Indian that LeBeau believed would soon be returning. He hadn’t forgotten that failed ambush, when the Indian had not only escaped, but had gunned down two of the killers LeBeau had hired. That money should have gone into his own pocket, but every time LeBeau wanted some serious gun work done, he hired somebody else. If he had a stake, Sneed thought bitterly, he could leave New Orleans. Suppose Tenatse Chisholm did return? The half-breed might pay handsomely for information he could supply. Namely, that André LeBeau still wanted him dead, and was making plans toward that end. Sneed had no scruples against selling LeBeau out, and the more he thought of it, the more the idea appealed to him.
While The Talequah took on fuel in Natchez, Ten went ashore long enough to buy a St. Louis newspaper. He found more news about Joseph McCoy’s proposed cattle pens at Abilene. McCoy had already begun negotiating with the railroad for favorable freight rates, and there were unconfirmed reports that the rails might actually reach Abilene by Christmas. McCoy had managed to resolve the tick fever dispute by going to Topeka and appealing to Governor Crawford, who had signed the original law against Texas longhorns being brought into Kansas. McCoy had bought 250 acres of land adjoining the town of Abilene. Besides the proposed cattle pens, he was building a barn, an office building, a bank, a fancy hotel and livery, and a set of livestock scales. A messenger had been hired and sent to spread the word of the new facilities, inviting Texas trail drivers to bring their herds to Abilene. There was speculation that the first herds of big Texas steers might bring as much as thirty dollars a head! Ten became more anxious than ever to be done with this foolishness in New Orleans, to return to the Canadian and complete the trail drive to Abilene. There were still millions of longhorns in Texas, and the railroad was coming!
By the time The Talequah whistled for the landing at New Orleans, Ten was on deck. The sooner he met with Harvey Roberts, outlined his plan, and Roberts hired the private packet, the sooner he could leave New Orleans. He saw nobody on the dock that he recognized. He carried only a small satchel and the gold-laden saddlebags. He had buttoned his coat, concealing his pistol belt, but he could feel the reassuring weight of the Colt thonged to his right thigh. When the gangplank was down, he went ashore, making his way along the river toward the Roberts warehouses. He had gone but a few yards when directly ahead of him a man stepped out from between two buildings. Sneed! Ten had the saddlebags over his left shoulder. He shifted the satchel to his left hand, freeing his right. Carefully, he unbuttoned his coat. He waited, saying nothing. Sneed laughed.
“Always ready, ain’t you?”
“What do you want, Sneed?”
“Money,” said Sneed. “Make it worth my while, and I’ll forget I ever saw you step offa that boat.”
“And if I don’t,” said Ten, “you’ll spill your guts to LeBeau.”
Sneed chuckled. “You Injuns are quick. Figured it right out.”
“Go ahead,�
�� said Ten. “Tell LeBeau. He’s expecting me. After all, he’s my daddy-in-law, and I’ll be gettin’ in touch with him before the day’s out.”
“Some daddy-in-law,” sneered the little man. “He’s goin’ to stop your clock, and you ain’t willin’ to pay to shut me up.”
“Sneed, if I wanted to shut you up, I could do it for the price of one slug. Now back off, or draw.”
Sneed’s thin face was twisted with hate as he back-stepped between the two buildings. Ten approached the alley cautiously, but found it deserted. He doubted LeBeau had taken Sneed into his confidence as to his plans, but the little gunman was no fool. LeBeau had something in mind beyond taking his gold and allowing bygones to be bygones. Jesse Chisholm’s proposal, having Harvey Roberts hire a private boat, made more sense than ever. Ten hadn’t wanted to risk the telegraph, so Roberts didn’t know he was coming. He was crucial to the plan, and there was no one else to whom Ten could turn. He hurried on, hoping Roberts wouldn’t be away. Sadly, Ten remembered John Mathewson. He had liked the man, and regretted there was nothing he could do to expose and punish the killer.
To Ten’s relief, Roberts was there. Ten took a seat in an outer office until the big man could see him. When he was ushered into the private office, he took the chair Roberts offered and wasted no time outlining his plan.
“Old Jake Daimler’s got a little stern-wheel packet,” said Roberts. “I sometimes send him to Natchez, if I’m in a hurry. Fact is, I have a little bit of freight he could take this time, if I can get him. If I can’t get him today, I can tomorrow. I can take you home with me tonight.”
“No, you can’t,” said Ten. “LeBeau knows I’m here, and I don’t want you gettin’ in the way of a slug meant for me.”
The Chisholm Trail Page 26