The Trail

by M L Dunn

  Jonas saluted and left. July approached the colonel and asked what offense the corporal had committed that had gotten him a sentence of hard labor.

  “Desertion,” the colonel answered.

  Chapter 16

  The sun was well launched into the sky and the building heat had caused the wind to begin stirring when Corporal Jackson returned carrying his saddle, two canteens, a rifle and a pistol strapped around his waist. A few more belongings he had wrapped in a saddle blanket.

  July watched him head for the corral and chose a bay gelding out from among the mounts he thought were reserved for officers. After the corporal had his horse saddled, the colonel waved him over to where he stood on the porch of his home. The colonel handed him a Henry rifle and seemed to give him instructions that July could not overhear, but that Jonas nodded and seemed to agree to. They disappeared into the colonel’s home for a couple of minutes and then Jonas came out with a slip of paper in his hand. July watched him fold it and tuck the paper into his shirt pocket as the colonel and his wife followed him out.

  July and Caleb sat outside the stone building working on their respective letters. Caleb had added to his how Katherine Campbell had expressed her faith in Mattie’s deliverance and he wrote down the colonel’s opinion of Corporal Jackson, which was that he was an experienced and dependable soldier even if he’d shown otherwise recently. He wrote Allison that he might be gone for some time and that he knew she could secure them a good price selling their crop.

  July also had been working on a letter as well, but up till then had been in no hurry to finish it. Right then though he needed to, because his plans had changed. He tried not to make the letter to Tom Durrant’s parents too brief or concise, but despite his efforts to the contrary it ended up like that. Everything else he thought to put down on the page seemed out of place or insignificant next to informing them their son was dead. He explained Tom had died trying to return a captive child and a woman to their families and he promised them that Tom would be properly buried. He also wrote that he had thought highly of the boy.

  Corporal Jackson walked over. “I guess I’m ready,” he told the sheriff and Caleb.

  “I was thinking I’d tag along with ya after all,” July told Caleb then, surprising Caleb greatly. “Knowing which band we’re looking for makes a difference, but we’re still in need of someone the Comanche would welcome into their camp.”

  “I appreciate that,” Caleb said, wondering what had changed the sheriff’s mind. He didn’t know it, but the Negro soldier had.

  July’s thinking, while he had sat watching the corporal catch and then easily settle down the horse he’d chosen out of the corral, was that a man that could take control of a horse easily could do so just as well with another man. Except for the desertion charge; this soldier seemed to display a wealth of common sense, and the part July thought to be a poor decision regarding his desertion - was that he’d come back. It was exactly these two things that bothered him. Right then the Negro soldier seemed enthused enough to think he could help with Mattie Evan’s return, but a few days out; his enthusiasm would give way to just plain common sense. The corporal would realize that two men alone, on the Comancheria, would not be able to find the stolen child.

  July didn’t think they would be able to find a trader who could usher them through the territory unmolested. The next best thing would be for the soldier and Caleb to just part company. Corporal Jackson off to wherever he had intended the first time he’d deserted and Caleb headed back to his wife and farm. While July did think this actually would be the best thing, he didn’t think Caleb would realize it. July thought Jonas seemed well-meaning enough to grant Caleb the two things he would need most then; a general sense of which direction civilization lay and the advice that his child’s return would best be accomplished through some other means.

  Still, July did not want to risk the chance that Caleb Evans, after being told to go home, might instead wander the Comancheria like Don Quixote, lost out there for years on some futile quest trying to find his child.

  Sam Bartlett had told the sheriff what Mrs. Evans had instructed her husband. She’d made it clear that nothing should stop Caleb from recovering their child and July thought Caleb might be too ashamed to come home without Mattie.

  July had seen plenty of Confederate infantry working themselves up into preparing to charge a well-defended position. Shouting and yelling themselves into a frenzy, thinking they could succeed, when everyone else looking on, except for some general maybe, realized they were going to be shot to pieces.

  July had been a soldier for the Confederacy, a ranger in Texas, a lawman throughout Kansas, a husband in New Orleans, all of which had in common being dangerous work. He’d spent his whole life battling enemies - alcohol, outlaws, in-laws, his father, northerners, and Indians and those moments when it wasn’t opposing something external, his mind liked to turn it’s defeating prowess inwards. The prospect of returning without Mattie Evans or Caleb and seeing Allison Evans about town was as daunting a prospect as crossing open ground in battle. Sometimes, it seems, life narrows down to a single task suited to our abilities and continuing after Mattie Evans became his. He realized then how those poor soldiers were able to make themselves go through with their doomed task.

  The sergeant, who had taken their report, appeared in the doorway then.

  “I’ll bet you run first chance you get,” he said looking out the doorway toward Jonas. “You’d better chain him up at night or he’ll run,” the sergeant claimed, looking at July then like he would be of a like mind.

  Jonas mounted his horse and looked at the sergeant. “I’m sure the colonel would let you come along with us if you like. You could spend some time away from that comfy desk for a while.”

  The sergeant smiled at Jonas, unfriendly like. “Well, unlike yourself, I’m needed here,” he said before turning to the sheriff and Mr. Evans. “Good luck gentleman. I hope you don’t have to come back here in a few days for another man,” he told them before turning on heels and re-entering the stone building.

  Chapter 17

  Steam Carter was on his way over to the fort, walking his horse, when he spotted the sheriff and Caleb returning. They had acquired a fair-sized black man.

  “See that this letter is mailed to Tom Durrant’s parents,” July said holding out a folded sheet of paper towards Steam when they reached him. “Aaron Hilliard can help you with it.”

  “You ain’t coming back?” Steam said reaching up to grab the letter.

  “Not just yet,” July said, “and I need you to get word to the county officials about where I’m at.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to go with ya?”

  “No, we got all the help we need,” July said leaning his head toward Corporal Jackson.

  “Will you take this letter to my wife?” Caleb asked Steam also, holding a folded sheet of paper out toward him.

  “I will,” Steam said accepting it.

  July could see that Steam Carter was curious about the black man who had joined them, but he didn’t think Steam cared to be introduced to him. July knew Steam Carter enjoyed meeting people, always thinking they would like to know why he was called Steam. He’d gotten the nickname from his time spent stoking a freight train, although Steam Carter thought he was also attributed such an interesting and friendly moniker because he was just such a fellow. July did not think Steam wanted to be introduced now though, so he was surprised when Steam held out his hand towards the corporal then.

  “Steam Carter,” he said toward the muscular black man who acted just as surprised as the sheriff when Steam held out a hand toward him.

  People were almost always polite and displayed good manners near Jonas - stepping well out his way, lowering their voices when they spotted him, but seldom did they bother to introduce themselves. “Jonas Jackson,” he said extending his hand to meet Steam’s.

  “Corporal Jackson is Ninth Cavalry,” July told Steam like that was something to
be impressed by.

  “Ninth,” Steam repeated as though he was familiar with it, although he wasn’t. “Well I’ll see these letters are delivered,” he said slipping them inside his saddlebag.

  July shook hands with him Steam then and then Steam Carter nodded at Caleb before riding off. The sheriff nearly called him back thinking he might be useful to have around. He had a reputation as a good cowhand and hunter, but mostly July enjoyed having Steam around because Steam Carter was always agreeable to playing a game of cards or having a drink, but it was important the letters he was carrying were delivered, so July did not call him back. He turned to Corporal Jackson then and asked where they were headed.

  “The tavern,” Jonas said pointing at the sheriff’s cantina. “We need to find someone who’s on good terms with the Comanche.”

  “I already asked there.”

  “Let me try.”

  “Okay,” July said after thinking the idea over, and not finding any reason to object, “but let’s be clear on something –try running out on us and I won’t hesitate to shoot ya.”

  “I believe you,” Jonas said starting towards the tavern.

  When they arrived there, Jonas asked the sheriff if he would mind going inside and asking for Miss Sally to meet him around back of the establishment.

  “Fine,” July said slipping off his horse.

  He went inside then and found Sally to tell her a Negro soldier wanted to talk to her out back for just a moment. She nodded and said she’d be right out, so July went back out front to see Caleb riding off.

  “Where’s he headed?” July asked pointing at him.

  “Mr. Evans went to buy some coffee and other supplies.”

  July told Jonas then that Sally was on her way to meet him around back. “Don’t make her wait for you,” he said.

  Jonas glanced at the sheriff then and held his gaze on him long enough to let him know he didn’t need to be taught any manners by him. He headed around back of the tavern then July followed him there. Neither man spoke as they waited.

  “Thanks for coming out Miss Sally,” Jonas said when she came out a side door.

  “Did you want a bottle?” she asked, holding one up.

  “No, I just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”

  “I haven’t seen you in some time,” Sally said squinting at Jonas in the sunlight. “What is your name again?”

  “Jonas.”

  “That’s right,” she said, nodding her head. “You’re the one that got into some trouble?”

  “Yeah,” said Jonas, “but I’m free now.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Who’s your friend here?” she asked, raising a crooked finger at the sheriff.

  “Sheriff July Ford,” July said taking a seat on a bench that had been placed out back of the building. “You might remember I was here till just a couple of hours ago.”

  “I remember,” Sally said, “but you never introduced yourself. Why your parents name you after a month?”

  “I was born on the fourth of July.”

  “Oh, that’s nice” Sally said. “I was born September 22.”

  July nodded at that information and he was glad the corporal didn’t feel compelled to tell them his birthday.

  “Sheriff taking ya somewhere Jonas?” Sally asked turning back to Jonas, but flipping a thumb back at July.

  “We’re after a Comanche who stole a little girl.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Black Horse.”

  “That’s right,” Jonas said “Any traders been around lately to see ya Miss Sally?”

  “None lately,” Sally said walking over and taking a seat near the sheriff. She smiled at him when she sat down.

  “How about John Pritchett or Big Eye Howell, either of them around?”

  “Pritchett’s went to California,” Sally informed them. “I ain’t seen Big Eye in some time.”

  “Some other trader or scout then –somebody must have stopped by lately,” Jonas said.

  “Why?”

  “We need some help finding them Comanche, someone who could pow-wow with them renegades.”

  “Sweet Time O’Hara was here yesterday,” Sally said. “He don’t trade with the Southern Plains Indians no more though, but he did for a long time.”

  “He left yesterday?”

  “Maybe it was the day before,” she said, “no it was yesterday.”

  “We’d be lucky to get him,” Jonas told the sheriff. “Which way he headed?”

  “Colorado way.”

  “Anybody with him?”

  “Yeah,” Sally said, “his boy and Joe that’s been with him for years, but Sweet Time don’t care to trade with the Comanche no more.”

  “We might have to convince him otherwise.”

  Sally suddenly became nervous then, nearly dropping the bottle she’d been tapping against her leg. “I wish you wouldn’t. It might come to a fight and I don’t want that. Sweet Time’s a good friend of mine and besides Joe that travels with him, ain’t one to go up against. He’s your kind ya know,” she told Jonas.

  “A black man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well then I hope the sheriff here don’t shoot him.”

  “You wouldn’t do that would you?” Sally pleaded with July.

  “Not usually.”

  Sally understood both men were kidding then. She smiled at the sheriff as she seemed to see the benefit of these men taking Mr. O’Hara along with them. “Well if anyone could convince the Comanche into giving up that child it would be Sweet Time,” Sally stated.

  “He’s friendly with them?” Jonas asked.

  “Was. He speaks some Comanche. Sweet Time though can reason with anyone. He has a gift really.”

  “He’s our man then,” Jonas told the sheriff. “Thanks Miss Sally, we’d best get going.”

  “You won’t start any trouble with Sweet Time, will you?”

  “No,” said Jonas shaking his head.

  Sally followed them around front and in the sunlight she looked much younger. She had to shield her eyes to keep the light out. “I would have thought it was much later,” she said, judging the hour of day.

  “I’ll buy that bottle off you,” July offered, pointing at the bottle Sally carried.

  “What’d ya learn?” Caleb asked spotting the sheriff and July coming around the corner of the building.

  “The corporal here thinks we can catch up with some trader named Sweet Time who probably ain’t too keen on joining us. I hope he ain’t half way to Colorado,” July said as he approached his horse to pack away the bottle he’d just purchased.

  “They call him Sweet Time for a reason,” Jonas answered. “I’ll bet we can catch him by tomorrow.”

  “She didn’t seem quite sure when he left,” July said, causing Sally to give him a look.

  “We’ll catch him. The question is how we’re going to convince him to join us. The sheriff’s right about one thing,” Jonas told Caleb as he climbed up on his horse. “He’s not likely to want to come with us.”

  Caleb wiped his hand across his chin thinking. “Can he help us?”

  “He can. He’s speaks Comanche and they know him.”

  “It’s been awhile,” Sally interrupted.

  “Let’s find him then,” Caleb said nodding.

  Jonas gathered up his reins before tipping his hat at Sally.

  “Do you know who Jonas was in the Bible?” Sally asked him.

  “Saint Peter’s father,” Jonas answered quickly, surprising July and impressing Sally.

  Chapter 18

  Sweet Time O’Hara proved not difficult to overtake. He’d stopped to check his wagonload the afternoon before, and had delayed getting underway until he’d repacked his inventory and then he’d decided it was not worth the effort when his string of mules balked at being asked to doing any more work that day. Finally they had gotten rolling again the next morning, but now they were stopped for lunch. When he saw three men on horseback squeezing the distance between the
m, Sweet Time cursed his mules for always being so damn ornery and he blamed them for him never seeming to make good time getting anywhere.

  He alerted Joe to the men approaching and Joe went and found his shotgun in the back of the wagon.

  “Morning,” Jonas shouted as they approached the spot where the men and wagon were stopped. It was a tall, long wagon, made of hickory planks with back wheels that stood as high as a man’s shoulder. The kind of wagon usually used to haul timber or livestock, but still it had the clean white cover of a Conestoga wagon strung over it and they had easily spotted it from a ways off. Jonas climbed down off his horse and took a moment to stretch.

  The black man Sally had warned them about looked about fifty and he followed Jonas movements around with a double-barreled shotgun. Caleb thought the man didn’t want to come off as too unfriendly though, since his aim was leveled at Jonas’ feet. His belly had begun to sag some, but he was still thick and solid.

  Mr. O’Hara was a tall man. He was a bit hunched over from age, probably over sixty. He had large hands, but thin arms and shoulders. What Caleb figured was his son sat next to him on the wagon. He was a young man, but full grown – well over six feet and much heavier than his father.

  “Where ya headed?” Sweet Time asked.

  “South,” Jonas replied. “You haven’t traveled very far,” he told Mr. O’Hara.

  “More than most men,” Sweet Time assured him.

  “I mean since leaving Fort Dodge,” Jonas said. “Where ya headed?”

  “Colorado. Do I know you?” Sweet Time asked squinting at Jonas and wanting to be the one asking the questions.

  “No.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your help.”

  “With what?”

  “This here is Sheriff Ford of Sunfield, Kansas,” Jonas said waving his hand back at July.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “He’s looking for a band of Comanche Indians,” Jonas said.

  “He’s headed the right direction then,” Sweet Time said pointing south. “Just head that way and you’re bound to come across some Comanche or any number of outlaws or types a sheriff might be interested in.”