No Less Than the Journey

by E. V. Thompson

  Unaware that a ten day estimate was likely to prove wildly inaccurate, Wes seriously considered what the old frontiersman had said. He was aware of his shortcomings when it came to using a handgun, but he learned fast and was quickly mastering what Old Charlie considered to be an essential skill.

  Although he believed the ‘frontier’ Old Charlie had known in his young days probably no longer existed, Wes actually enjoyed mastering a gunman’s skills and the old frontiersman was both interesting and knowledgeable about the vast continent over which they were travelling.

  In addition, and despite Old Charlie’s eccentricity and occasional irascibility, Wes had grown fond of him. He decided that, as Anabelita was not expecting him, a few extra days would make little difference.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to find your way to Denver, Charlie?’

  The old man spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dust of the street in disgust. ‘Boy, I guided wagon trains along the Smoky Hill trail before anyone knew there was a trail there – and I’ve fought Kiowa, Comanche, Cheyenne and Arapaho for the right to do it. Not only that, I kept most of Colonel Butterfield’s relay stations in buffalo meat when he was running his stage line to Denver. Then, when the railroad was being laid I kept their gangs fed – though there’s many times now I wish I’d let ’em fend for themselves. It might have meant there’d have been no railroad and we’d all be the better for it.’

  Ignoring Old Charlie’s views on the benefits, or otherwise, of progress, Wes said, ‘If you really do know the way to Denver and it’s only going to take ten days then I’ll go along with you – but if you’re telling me wrong I’ll take off for the nearest railroad station and leave you out there on your own.’

  ‘If that’s meant to be a threat you’re well wide of the mark, boy. I’ve spent more time on my own than I have being crowded by folk and I like it that way. The only reason I’m inviting you to come along with me is because I believe you have the makings of a frontiersman – although you’d never have survived as a mountain-man – and I’d like to make sure you stand a chance of staying alive before I turn you loose.’

  Their cross-country trek began well enough. Old Charlie had Wes practising hard with his revolver and when they came across a rattlesnake Wes drew the gun and shot the snake with an accuracy and speed that so delighted the old man he skinned the snake and made bands for his own battered headgear and for the wide-brimmed hat he had insisted Wes bought in the first store they came across after being thrown off the train in Missouri.

  Nine days after leaving Abilene they arrived at Fort Hays. Declaring that he had ‘had a bellyful of army forts’ Old Charlie ensured they stopped only long enough to replenish their stores and buy more ammunition before setting off again.

  Thirty-six hours later Wes expressed his increasing concern at the lack of signs of civilisation about them. If Denver was the bustling place they had been told it was, there should have been others heading for the town.

  Instead, they had now reached country which appeared devoid of all human life, even though Wes thought it good farming land which should have appealed to settlers in close proximity to such a busy place.

  When he questioned Charlie, the old man avoided giving him a direct answer, saying only that settlers would reach this part of the land ‘soon enough’.

  It was not until the following day that Wes learned the truth.

  They were following the course of the Smoky Mountain River, heading westward, when they heard the unmistakable sound of horses coming along the trail behind them.

  This was uncertain country and, as a precaution, the two men took cover behind some bushes, a short way from the river. They remained in hiding until the riders came into view and proved to be a large troop of cavalry riding at a sharp canter.

  When Charlie and Wes showed themselves, the captain leading the troop brought his men to a halt. To Wes’s surprise the officer and Old Charlie appeared to know one another well.

  Shaking hands with him, the Captain said, ‘I heard you had been to the fort, Charlie. I was sorry to have missed you then but I’m even happier to have met up with you today. You are just the man I need.’

  ‘When the army’s told me in the past that I’m needed it’s always spelled trouble. I don’t suppose that’s changed. What is it this time?’

  ‘Same as it was the last time you and I rode together, Charlie … Indians. A messenger from Fort Larred came riding in hell-for-leather late yesterday. Seems a whole mess of Cheyenne and Arapaho have got themselves het up over something and gone on the warpath. They’ve raided a few farms down Larred way and are heading north hoping to join up with Sioux and Northern Cheyenne who are giving the cavalry the runaround. Fort Larred doesn’t have enough troops to go chasing after them so they’ve asked for help from Fort Hays. I’ve been sent out to try and head the war party off. Trouble is, although we have enough men at Fort Hays, we took over garrison duty there only a month ago and there’s no one who knows the country, but if I remember right, you know the Plains country better than most.’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue with that,’ Old Charlie agreed. ‘Had an Indian woman when I first came this way … this was Cheyenne country in those days and I’d hunt buffalo for her people. Did the same for the army, as you know. Country ain’t the same nowadays though, too many settlers and not enough buffalo. It was better in the old days.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot of old-timers say the same, Charlie, but none of us can turn back the clock – and right now we haven’t got time enough to discuss it. We need to head the Indians off before they get among the settlers farther north. Once there they’d cause havoc.’

  Listening to the cavalry captain, Wes had become increasingly concerned and now he queried, ‘These Indians … are there a lot of them? Enough to attack Denver?’

  The captain looked at Wes with an expression of bewilderment and Old Charlie said hurriedly, ‘He’s a greenhorn, new from England. I’m showing him something of the country.’

  ‘Then I suggest you get him a map – and fast!’

  Turning his attention to Wes, the captain replied to his question, ‘It’s certainly a large party. The largest we’ve had on the loose for some years, but if it’s Denver you’re heading for, then you’ll find the railroad no more than nine or ten miles north of here. I suggest you head in that direction and take a train to Denver. You’ll be safe there from … from these Indians, anyway. Like I said, they’re heading north and Denver is more than two hundred miles to the west.’

  Wes looked at the captain in disbelief before rounding on Old Charlie. ‘Is he right? Is Denver still two hundred miles away?’

  Old Charlie’s embarrassment was evident and he mumbled, ‘Could be … I’m not too good on distances.’

  ‘You told me we’d reach there in ten days,’ Wes pointed out, his anger fuelled by the amusement exhibited by the troopers within hearing of the exchange, ‘That was eleven days ago. Now I learn that there’s two hundred more miles to go. You lied to me, Charlie.’

  ‘It’s just taken longer than it should have,’ Old Charlie said, lamely, ‘Your horse losing a shoe set us back, you know that….’

  He was evading the truth as Wes was fully aware … but the captain cut in on their altercation, ‘You’ll need to settle your difference some other time, there are lives at stake out there on the Plains. You know this country better than any other white man, Charlie, and can follow a trail as well as an Indian. I need you – and those unsuspecting settlers with their women and kids need you even more.’

  ‘I can’t just leave Wes out here on his own, Captain. Like I told you, he’s a greenhorn.’

  ‘You won’t be leaving me, Charlie, I’m leaving you! Point me in the direction of the railroad, Captain, then you can take Charlie to go and find your Indians or to any other place you like. I’m catching the next train to Denver.’

  ‘Like I said, the railroad is due north of here, about eight or ten miles and you should come to the small town
of Lauraville before you get there.’

  Turning to a trooper with a number of yellow stripes on the sleeve of his uniform, the cavalry captain asked, ‘Do you have an issue compass on you, Casey?’

  By way of reply the veteran trooper pulled on a piece of cord hanging from a breast pocket to reveal a compass attached to the end of it.

  ‘Good! Give it to this young man in case he forgets where north is.’

  When it looked as though the veteran cavalryman might object, the captain added, ‘I’ll write you a chit to draw another when we get back to Fort Hays.’

  The sergeant handed over the compass, but now it was Old Charlie who was not happy. ‘The boy’s new out here, captain. I feel responsible for him.’

  The sharp edge of Wes’s anger had evaporated as quickly as it had erupted and now he said, ‘Don’t worry about me, Charlie. You heard what the captain said, there’s no one out here can help him more than you and I believe him. You take care of yourself and come and find me in Denver when you’ve sorted this out.’

  ‘I’ll surely do that,’ Old Charlie promised, but he still had misgivings and, as Wes turned away, he called out after him.

  ‘Don’t forget to keep that fancy six-shooter of yours hidden away when you reach Lauraville. You’re good enough now to hold your own against ninety-nine out of a hundred men you’re likely to meet up with – but the hundredth will always be waiting out there somewhere.’

  ‘Come on, Charlie, we’ve got some riding to do.’ The cavalry captain spoke impatiently. ‘Perhaps you should have given your mule to your pal and taken his horse….’

  Old Charlie was still berating the cavalry officer for his suggestion when Wes rode off, heading northwards, while the cavalry troop cantered off along the Smoky Hill trail.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lauraville was larger than Wes had expected it to be. The reason for its size was that when the railroad was being built Lauraville was founded as a stores depot for goods and material brought from the East for building the railroad and supplying those employed on laying the track.

  But Lauraville’s heyday was in the past. Many houses were tumbling down and others deserted now, although a surprising number were still occupied. Towards the centre of the sprawling town, narrow streets and narrower alleyways spread out on either side of the main street in which were located an over-abundance of well-patronised saloons.

  As Wes would learn, the reason for there being so many men in town was because it was generally believed a branch-line was being planned from here to link the Kansas Pacific Railroad with another to the north of the State. As a result a great many prospective labourers had flocked to the town hoping to find employment when work began on the new railroad.

  Taking over many of the empty and apparently ownerless houses, they spent their time drinking, quarrelling, fighting and stealing anything that might be sold for the price of a drink.

  Wes quickly learned that Kansas Pacific trains no longer called at Lauraville. Instead, they now stopped at the town of Trego, farther to the West, where there was a tank for refilling their boilers. He was also informed he had missed a Denver-bound train by only hours – and the next one would not be coming through for another three days.

  Rather than ride on to Trego, Wes decided he would spend that night, at least, in Lauraville.

  He was riding along one of the alleyways off the main street, following signs to a livery stable, when he heard the sound of men’s raucous laughter coming from an alleyway intersecting the one along which he was riding. It was interspersed with the voice of a young woman pleading to be left alone and allowed to go home.

  Commonsense told him that whatever was going on did not concern him and that he should go on his way and ignore the pleas, but the girl sounded terrified. When her cries continued unabated he suddenly made up his mind and turned into the alleyway from which the sounds were coming.

  Almost immediately he came upon an open space surrounded by broken posts and planks, indicating that this had once been a small corral belonging to a now derelict barn.

  There was also a well-worn path running across it, evidence that it was now used as a short-cut between alleyways.

  Within this space a young girl of no more than fourteen or fifteen was trying to escape the attentions of two horsemen, one of whom had used a lariat to lasso her, tightening the rope whenever she tried to escape the attentions of the second man who was leaning from his horse and attempting to grab her whenever she came within reach. It appeared to Wes they were trying to get her inside the nearby derelict barn which lacked a door.

  At first glance Wes had thought the girl was black, but as he drew closer her features reminded him of some of the Indian women he had seen at Fort Hays. He thought her parents were probably from both these races.

  As he reached the scene the girl collided with one of the men’s horses and fell to her knees. As she struggled to her feet, the man reached down and took a grip of her hair, causing the girl to scream.

  Both the horsemen wore revolvers in open holsters attached to belts which had cartridges nestling in loops for most of their length. Wes realized that these were not ordinary cowboys, but probably experienced gunmen. Nevertheless, drawing his rifle from the scabbard hanging beside his saddle, he said, ‘I don’t think she likes that, friend. Let her go.’

  The two men looked at Wes and although he was carrying a rifle across the pommel of his saddle, they saw he was not wearing a gun belt and both decided he posed no particular threat.

  Without releasing his hold, the man gripping the young girl’s hair said, ‘This is not your game, mister. Back off and mind your own business.’

  As the man was talking, Wes had swung his gun until it pointed in the speaker’s direction and suddenly it fired, the bullet passing so close to the horseman’s head that he instinctively jerked it back, at the same time releasing his grip on both the girl and his lariat.

  Due to the practise Wes had put in during recent weeks, his horse had become used to the sound of a gun being fired at close range, but the horses of the other two men were startled. As their riders worked to bring them under control, the young girl wriggled loose of the noose pinning her arms to her sides and, pushing past Wes, ran away along the alleyway.

  The man who had roped her was the first to bring his horse under control and angrily reached for his revolver.

  Wes fired a second shot from his rifle, but this time he had it to his shoulder and the man’s hat flew from his head, to be trampled on by his still skittish horse.

  ‘That’s the second bullet I’ve wasted on warning you,’ Wes said, more easily than he felt, ‘I’ll not waste another.’

  His rifle moved momentarily to cover the second man and he called out, ‘Keep your horse close to your friend’s – and your hand well clear of your gun.’

  The gunman instantly put his hands out to the side of his body.

  Still watching him, Wes returned his attentions to the man who had lost his hat. ‘Undo your belt and drop it to the ground … with the gun still in the holster.’

  When the man hesitated, Wes peered down the sights of his rifle meaningfully and the man obeyed his instruction immediately.

  ‘Now draw your rifle out – nice and slowly – and drop that too.’

  When the man began to protest, Wes snapped, ‘Just do it – and quick, I’m beginning to get an urge to pull this trigger and put an end to this.’

  The rifle followed the revolver and belt to the ground.

  It was then the turn of the second gunman and while he followed the same routine, his companion said to Wes, ‘You’re going to regret this, Mister. Robbing a man of his guns is as bad as stealing his horse – and they hang men for that.’

  ‘I’m not stealing ’em,’ Wes replied, greatly relieved that the incident had not resulted in serious gunplay, ‘You’ll be able to collect them from the sheriff’s office. I’ll leave ’em there as soon as I’ve found where it is. Now, as we have nothing more to tal
k about I suggest you take yourselves out to the main street. I’ll watch until you get there, to make sure you don’t bother any more young girls along the way.’

  The two men rode away scowling but saying nothing to each other. As they reached the main street one of them looked back and even with the distance between them Wes could see his venomous expression and realized he had made a serious enemy.

  Gathering up the men’s weapons, he led his horse in the direction indicated by the livery stable signs.

  He had not gone far when the girl who had been molested by the two gunmen turned into the alleyway ahead of him. She was accompanied by a black man who wore a silver sheriff’s star pinned to the breast pocket of his shirt.

  Excitedly, the girl said something to her companion who immediately increased his pace, drawing ahead of the girl.

  As he neared Wes, he pulled out a revolver and called, ‘Hold it right there … and drop those guns to the ground.’

  Startled, Wes dropped the guns he was holding. Just then the girl caught up with the sheriff and said, ‘This isn’t one of the men I was telling you about, Pa! He’s the one who came along and made them let me go.’

  The sheriff looked uncertain for a moment, then, holstering his revolver, he said, ‘I’m sorry, stranger, but I was so het-up by what my little girl told me you’re lucky I didn’t shoot you. Instead, I’d like to shake your hand.’

  Putting his words into actions, he introduced himself as Sheriff Eli Wolfe and, pumping Wes’s hand added, ‘I reckon I owe you.’

  Mildly embarrassed, Wes said, ‘I’m glad I came along when I did. They were giving her a bad time.’

  ‘They’re lucky it was you and not me who happened upon ’em. I’d likely have shot first and asked what they thought they were up to afterwards. Would you happen to know who they were?’