“Hell’s fire,” groaned Marty in mock despair, “that’d buy 125 cows.”
“Then save yours and buy cows with it,” said Chris. “The rest of us are going to buy Christmas with ours.”
“Is that goin’ to be enough?” Ten asked.
“For today,” said Priscilla. “When McCoy pays us, what are we going to do with all that gold?”
“I aim to leave most of it in the bank vault,” said Ten, “until we’re ready to leave St. Louis.”
“Then you won’t need us along to protect you,” said Priscilla. “Why don’t you go with McCoy to the bank, and turn us loose in town?”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” said Ten. “I need to track down the St. Louis Firearms Company and pay for the guns and ammunition Herndon ordered in his uncle Drago’s name. Then I need to find out where Drago is, and send him the news about Hern.”
Ten and McCoy were in the bank less than half an hour. Except for a few hundred dollars, Ten left the money from the sale of the herd in the bank’s vault. Their business finished, McCoy returned to the hotel, leaving Ten with an invitation to bring another herd in the spring. Ten found that he’d actually missed St. Louis, and taking advantage of the fact that he was alone, he walked past the St. Louis Academy, where he had spent three and a half years. Sixteen months since he’d left there, but so much had happened, it seemed like a lifetime. But one look was enough. He put aside the memories and returned to the business district. Reaching the boardwalk, he had no difficulty finding the firearms dealer from whom Herndon had ordered the guns and ammunition. When Ten told the clerk what he wanted, the man went and got the store manager. His name was Singleton, and he listened while Ten again explained what he wished to do.
“This is unusual,” said Singleton, “but I see nothing wrong with it. You’ll have to wait until I find the ledger.”
When he returned with the ledger, there seemed to be only one current entry in it.
“It’s $185 for the weapons,” said Singleton, “and eighty-four for the ammunition. The price of the Henry rifles increased from forty-three to forty-five dollars, and the ammunition from ten dollars a thousand rounds to ten-fifty. It all comes to $275, including the freight. That leaves a balance of thirty-six dollars. Would you want to take care of that?”
“Why not?” said Ten. “Now, do you know how I can reach Drago Herndon? I have word about some kin of his.”
“Haven’t seen him for a year. He was on his way to Omaha, planning to shoot buffalo to feed the Union Pacific grading and track-laying crews. You could telegraph the Union Pacific office in Omaha and ask them to get a message to him. You’re lucky I wasn’t here the day your telegram came, ordering shells and guns in Drago’s name. I knew he’d left Natchez.”
Ten went to the telegraph office and sent a telegram to the Union Pacific office in Omaha, asking that Drago Herndon telegraph him in St. Louis. Since he wouldn’t know when or if Herndon would receive his message, he’d have to give it a while, so he returned to the hotel. He wasn’t surprised to find that none of his outfit had returned. Not wishing to sit idle in the plush hotel room, Ten returned to the lobby. There was a little shop that sold candy, fruit, and newspapers. Ten bought copies of Chicago, New Orleans, and St. Louis papers. Having had an early breakfast, he was hungry. He took the papers and went to the restaurant. It was too early for dinner, so he took a table of his choice. When he ordered his food, he spread out the papers. He began with the New Orleans paper, and immediately forgot the other two. It was dated October 5, almost two weeks old, and the entire front page had been devoted to the arrest of Jason Brawn by Federal agents. There were related stories on other pages that laid out the whole grim scenario, from LeBeau’s death to the arrest of Brawn. Leaving his papers on the table, Ten returned to the lobby. He rang the bell at the desk until he got the desk clerk’s attention.
“I need three or four back issues of the New Orleans paper,” said Ten. “Got any idea where I might find ’em?”
“We may have them,” said the clerk. “They didn’t send us any papers last week, but of what we’ve received, we may have a copy or two, if they haven’t been thrown out.”
He returned with two back issues, one for August 31 and one for September 7.
“You may have them,” he said.
Ten returned to the restaurant, shoved the other papers aside, and went immediately to the September 7 issue. It was an enlarged edition, eight pages, devoted almost entirely to LeBeau’s death and events leading up to it. Typically, the newspaper had pieced together the last days of LeBeau’s life, attempting to justify his final act. It wasn’t difficult. They had reprinted the story of Sneed’s death, embellishing it with reports of discord within the LeBeau house and the departure of Emily. Following that was news of the impending auction of the LeBeau estate, the sale of everything, down to and including the silverware. The writer speculated that it wouldn’t cover the outstanding debts. Finally, there was a story covering the last hours of André LeBeau’s life. It was told mostly in the words of those who had witnessed LeBeau’s devestating loss at the poker tables. The writer had closed with LeBeau’s writing and mailing of a letter, as told by old Joseph, the butler. The old man recalled to whom the letter had been addressed, and it was the beginning of the end for Jason Brawn. Ten went back to the paper of October 5 and again read the account of Brawn’s arrest. There were few actual facts. The government had admitted only to having received a letter from an “informant,” but the newspaper had quickly tied this back to the letter written by André LeBeau. It was an ugly, depressing story, the kind dear to the hearts of newspaper editors. For Ten, the worst was yet to come. Priscilla had to be told.
Ten’s food had gotten cold, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He gathered up the papers, paid for his meal, and returned to the hotel room. Finally he slept, and was awakened by a thumping at the door. He opened it to find Priscilla, so loaded with parcels and bundles, she hadn’t been able to let herself in.
“We’ll have to leave all this at Fort Smith,” he said, “and send a wagon for it. I reckon the others bought this much or more.”
“More,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t think Chris and Lou have ever been to town before, and Marty and Wes forgot all about going back to Texas and buying cows.”
He hated to diminish her joy, to destroy the mood, but there was no way to lessen the blow. He wanted to be done with it. He led her to the bed and sat her down on it. Wordlessly he spread out the New Orleans paper that detailed LeBeau’s death. She read only the headlines. She paled, the light went out of her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. Ten held her while she wept. There was a lump in his throat, not for LeBeau, but for her.
Finally she looked at him, her eyes still brimming and her throat so tight she could scarcely talk.
“I know what he was,” she said, “but it still hurts. Why didn’t he take the money and go? Why?”
“Maybe because he’d failed at everything else, and he felt the need to win. It’s something that drives a man, whether he realizes it or not, but it don’t always hit us at the same level. It sent a half-breed Injun, kicked out of school, to Texas to hunt longhorn cows.”
“I know he was a loser,” she said, “but he did win, didn’t he, at the last?”
“Yes,” said Ten, “he took the last pot, the big one. He mailed the letter to the customs people in Washington a year to the day after Mathewson was ambushed.”
“It was John Mathewson who sent you to the house that first time, wasn’t it? He used that foolish party to get you in.”
“Yes,” said Ten, “he did, but not to get at your daddy through you. John Mathewson was a better man than that. He was afraid Jason Brawn might do something to get back at your daddy, and that you and your mother might be hurt. He wanted me to become friends with you, so he could help. He had some strong feelings for your mother. But the moment I laid eyes on you, I forgot everybody and everything else. I wouldn’t h
ave cared if your daddy had been the devil himself, with horns and spike tail.”
She smiled. “I believe you. I always have. Now I’ll tell you something that fits what you’ve just told me. Mother and Daddy had been married about six years when I was born. As far back as I can remember, I’ve heard talk that there was another man in Mother’s life, someone from her past. It was gossip, of course, but I believed it. I found a note once, in Mother’s dresser. It was signed only with a man’s first name, and it was John. Now I think I know who he was.”
“It’s all water under the bridge,” said Ten. “Let’s put it behind us. I’ll get rid of these papers.”
“No,” said Priscilla, “save them. Later, when I’ve accepted it, learned to live with it, I’ll read them. But not now.”
29
Despite her heartbreaking news of the day before, Priscilla arose in a better mood than Ten expected. He encouraged her to spend another day in the shops and stores. Ten waited until the afternoon before returning to the telegraph office. He had a reply, but not from Herndon. It was signed by someone in the Union Pacific division office, and read:
Herndon departing Omaha for St. Louis and requests you wait.
To reach St. Louis by rail, Herndon would have to go all the way to Chicago and double back, which didn’t make sense. The shortest, quickest route was by steamboat, through Kansas City. The next steamboat from Kansas City was three days away, and Ten planned to be at the landing for its arrival. He believed he would recognize Drago Herndon on sight, and he found himself anxious to meet the old mountain man. Ten made the rounds of the shops with Priscilla, buying a few things on his own.
“Our first day here,” said Lou, “I never thought I’d get tired of all this, but I’m startin’ to. I’ll be glad when Hern’s uncle Drago gets here, so we can go.”
When Drago Herndon arrived, they had no trouble recognizing him. He wore moccasins and was dressed entirely in buckskin. He wore an old flop hat whose wide brim sagged all the way around, like he’d just come in out of a hard rain. With his hat, he was nearly seven feet tall, and thin as a rail. He had a sweeping moustache that flared out like the horns of a Texas longhorn. His eyes were pale blue, and his craggy face had been burned the deep brown of an old saddle. He had brought his buffalo gun, a .50–90 Sharps Special.
Ten introduced himself and his friends to Herndon and then told him the purpose of the telegram.
“I knowed somethin’ important had took place,” said Herndon. “It was th’ first telegram I ever got.”
“You came a long ways, just to get bad news,” said Ten.
“Wasn’t just that,” said Herndon. “I was in Omaha when I got th’ message. Me an’ Bill Cody’s been slaughterin’ buffalo for th’ railroad, and we about had enough. I was ready to come back here for a spell, so I just had ’em send you a message askin’ you to wait. Hope I ain’t put you out too much.”
“Not a bit,” said Ten. “Maynard Herndon spoke of you often. I needed rifles and ammunition for the trail drive from Texas. We couldn’t find ’em anywhere, so Hern telegraphed the firearms people here, using your name. They shipped the guns and shells to us at Natchez. I’ve already been to the gun dealer and paid the bill.”
“Glad to of been some help to you,” said Herndon. “Now tell me about the boy.”
Ten told him all there was to tell, starting with his and Herndon’s first meeting.
“I’m obliged to you for takin’ him with you,” said the mountain man. “He’d just kinda drifted from pillar to post all his life. His daddy—my only brother—was killed when his hoss fell an’ rolled on him. Maynard—God, how he hated that name—was just a young’un when his mama died. She was always a sickly woman, an’ I don’t think she ever got over birthin’ th’ boy. I just took him in, doin’ th’ best I could for him. When he joined th’ Confederacy, I never expected to see him agin. Not alive, anyhow. But he come back, sick in his lungs, spittin’ his life away. I almost wished he’d died in th’ war; would of been easier on him. He had his daddy’s grit an’ spirit, but his mama’s sickly nature. He seemed like he was scared I was goin’ to be ashamed of him.”
“Remember him with pride,” said Ten. “He was sick, but he was a man who pulled his weight, and more. He died with his boots on and a gun in his hand, fighting for the outfit.”
“It helps, knowin’ that,” said Herndon. “I’ll always be obliged to you for trackin’ me down an’ tellin’ me.”
Herndon took a room in their hotel and joined them for supper.
“This ain’t where I stay usually,” said the old man. “Too highfalutin, but I reckon I can stand it for a night.”
“Tell us about you and Buffalo Bill Cody shooting buffalo,” said Lou.
“Ain’t much to tell, ma’am. You find you a herd an’ get downwind from ’em. You drive a forked stick in th’ ground, lettin’ it support th’ barrel of your gun, takin’ th’ strain off’n your arms an’ shoulders. Then you just start shootin’, killin’ poor brutes that’s too dumb to know what’s happenin’ to ’em.”
“It sounds like a shameful thing to do,” said Priscilla. “It’s so sad.”
“It is, ma’am,” said Herndon. “Whatever th’ eastern writers say, there ain’t nothin’ brave or romantic about it. Me an’ Cody saw it for what it was an’ give it up. Th’ railroad’s got money; let ’em buy beef to feed their men.”
“We’re thinkin’ of buying some Texas longhorns,” said Marty, “and startin’ us a ranch somewhere on the high plains. Tell us somethin’ about the country.”
“It’s a land where a man with some seed cattle an’ some money can build an empire,” said Herndon. “Still some trouble with Injuns. Mostly th’ Arapaho an’ th’ Sioux, but I hear there’s a treaty in th’ works. Was I lookin’ for land, I’d grab me a piece of th’ Sweetwater Valley, in southern Wyoming Territory. Heard talk there’s folks stakin’ claims there already, mostly along th’ Sweetwater River. Th’ Sweetwater Valley’s a good hundred fifty miles long, stretchin’ from th’ Platte River in th’ east to th’ green in th’ west. But there may be a fight brewin’. Bill Cody says there’s a land grab takin’ place, an’ somebody with th’ Union Pacific is involved in it.”*
“We took the four broncs you left at Natchez,” said Ten. “I was to pay for them when our first herd was sold. I promised Hern two hundred dollars.”
“I can’t hold you to that,” said Herndon. “I didn’t make th’ deal.”
“But they were your horses,” said Ten.
“No,” said Herndon, “your deal was with th’ boy, an’ it died with him. How’d th’ broncs work out?”
“The best cow horses we’ve got,” said Ten. “Is it true they’re running wild in Montana Territory?”
“They are,” said Herndon. “I got them four from th’ Crow Indians. I’m tempted to go there, hire me some Crows, an’ trap enough to start me a hoss ranch.”
“I wish we could go with you,” said Priscilla.
“Maybe you can,” said Herndon. “The Union Pacific is buildin’ a town in southern Wyoming, an’ it’ll be a division point for th’ railroad. There’s gonna be a land office, an’ you can find me through that, if I decide to go back an’ settle there.”
October 25, 1866. There would be a steamboat departing for Natchez at two o’clock in the afternoon. It was time to visit the bank for an accounting and division of money from the sale of the herd. On Ten’s first visit to the bank, he’d been accompanied only by Joseph McCoy. This time, he took Marty, Wes, Chris, Lou, and Priscilla with him. The bank officer’s name was Miller, and his little office was barely large enough to accommodate them.
“Don’t mean to crowd you,” said Ten, “but we’re all partners.”
“It’s going to take all of you to carry this money,” said Miller, “if you insist on taking it in gold. We’re talking about $186,000, and that’s ninety-three hundred double eagles. This day and time, carrying this much money could be the death of all of
you.”
“I know,” said Ten, “but fifty thousand of this belongs to my father, and he does his banking in New Orleans. We’re goin’ back to Texas for another herd, and depending on prices, we may need another fifty thousand ourselves.”
“Then let me suggest this,” said Miller. “Deposit your father’s share in his name, and if he chooses not to leave it here, we can transfer it to his bank in New Orleans. Take with you only the fifty thousand in gold that you’ll need for buying more cattle. Let me hold the balance on deposit for you here. If you have further dealings with Mr. McCoy, we can transfer funds from his accounts in Chicago and New York to your account here.”
“Miller,” said Ten, “you’re a convincing man. Set it up like that, but go ahead and get our fifty thousand in gold. There’s a steamboat leavin’ at two, and we aim to be on it.”
When Miller had left the office to get the gold, Ten turned to Marty and Wes.
“Your share gets you twenty thousand of what he’s bringing us. Unless prices have gone up, that’ll buy you five thousand longhorns. I aim to buy another five thousand, if we can find that many.”
“Two Hats and his boys have to be paid,” said Marty, “and what about grub and supplies? We oughta be payin’ our share.”
“You’ll need what you have,” said Ten. “I have extra money for whatever we’ll need. We’ll settle up at the end of the next trail drive. You’ll be better able to do it then.”
They departed St. Louis, reached Natchez, and boarded a steamboat bound for Fort Smith. They found that Chisholm’s riders had delivered a herd of mules to Fort Smith, and that Chisholm had thoughtfully sent along their horses and saddles.
“Well,” said Ten, “we know Two Hats and his boys got back alive, or the horses wouldn’t be here waiting for us.”
30
Ten arranged for two packhorses needed to carry their goods from Fort Smith, and they arrived at the Chisholm trading post on November 11. Ten greeted Jesse Chisholm, and then went looking for Charlie Two Hats. He found Two Hats and several of his riders at one of the corrals, working with some unfamiliar horses. Horses Ten hadn’t seen before.
The Chisholm Trail Page 31