No Good Like It Is

  Dobey thought. “Yes. Or maybe sell stuff to the ones that do herd ‘em north. Canadian Fort used to be called Canadian Ford, til the army set up there briefly. It’s probably an old buffalo crossing. Natural place for traffic. Jimmy, you realize we’re about due south of old Vamoosa Station?”

  “You reckon it’s still there?”

  Dobey looked north, as if he could see through the miles and years back to that place. “Hell, it’s probably a school now.”

  ***

  Lieutenant Jimmy Ridges looked up to Bear in both senses of the term, wrongfully believing that the huge man had more combat experience than himself.

  “What is this place you go to, Bear?”

  “Boss Melton tole me it’s called Canadian Fort, but ain’t been no soldiers there for years. He thinks the captain’s mama has a trading post there, with his stepfather and brother. We gone to throw in with ‘em, build it up. See will it s’port seven or eight people.”

  “The Watsons—do they go with you?”

  Bear grinned. “Thought you’d have ast Mandy that. Now, Buck, he wants to go with us, but his fambly, they’s heading on to New Mexico. You ain’t ast Mandy?”

  “Mandy says she will go with me, but she can’t. We don’t keep women in fighting camps, and we’re still fighting. I must go back and report my scout.”

  “Hell, Ridges, the war is over. Y’all gots to quit. If ain’t nobody left fighting but y’all, the whole Yankee army will come against you.”

  Jimmy Ridges shrugged. “I know this. But I can’t give over until my Uncle Stand gives over.”

  “That Mandy, she ain’t gonna wanna hear that.”

  “Do you think she cares for me? Don’t mess with me here, Bear. I’m all messed up over her. Captain Walls said she has been through a bad time, and might not be open to my attention now.”

  “He blind in love with my sister. Blind for sure, if he don’t see that Mandy is watering up for you. Ever’body else knows it. What you gonna do?”

  “I suppose I will come back and look for her, whenever Uncle gives over. Can you keep her from going on to New Mexico?”

  “Me, I can try.”

  ***

  May of 1865 was hot in the Territory. Jimmy Melton’s horse kicked up spurts of dust as he trotted to Anne Marie’s wagon, in response to a shout from Dr. John.

  “What can I do for you, Chucky Jack?” Melton smiled. He knew the dentist had been in the agony of the retreat from the liquor for days now.

  “I will tell you what you can do, you god-damned Cossack. You can get me out of this wagon. Let me borrow this saddle you’ve stashed here, and I will buy a horse from those Cherokees. I see they have several spares.”

  “Think you’re ready for that?”

  “My body has not let me have liquor for four days. I find I don’t sleep so much, and even the swill you serve begins to have taste.” He groaned as the wagon bumped over a rock. “Please, Melton. Help me regain my dignity. Let me ride.”

  “I dunno, Doc. What’s a Cossack?”

  ***

  “Good to see the Doc bright-eyed, sort of, and on horseback,” Dobey noted.

  “Durn sure does, Cap’n,” Buck responded. “Tried to buy that horse, but Lieutenant Ridges give it to him. ‘Spect you recognize that saddle. Don’t know what he’d accomplish with that little fancy Colt, though.”

  “Told me it’s called a Police Model, Buck. .36 caliber, like mine, but smaller, five-shot. Not a bad gun. And he might surprise you with it. That old man was killing men with pistols ‘fore you were born.”

  Buck stared at the dentist with new respect. “Wish we din’t have to go on to New Mexico. Kind’a would like to stay on with y’all, once we gets to Texas.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Cap’n, I can’t let my family go on without me to help look out for ‘em. I know Mandy don’t want to go. As she ain’t needed for fighting, and Jimmy Ridges won’t take her back with him, she might ast to stay on with y’all.”

  “Honey likes her. I’m sure that will be all right, if your Pa says so. You know how you’re gonna get to New Mexico?”

  “Nossir. We don’t know much, ‘cept it’s West and South. Guess we’ll ast questions as we go.”

  “You don’t want to go Southwest from Canadian Fort, Buck—it’s all right, for a ways, but then there’s the Llano Estacado.”

  “Come again?”

  “It means ‘Staked Plain’ in Spanish. It’s so bad, old timers put stakes out there so’s you could find your way across.”

  “Durn, Cap’n. What we gonna do? Daddy’s got a cousin in Santa Fe, and he’s set on going there.”

  “From Canadian Fort, the old buffalo trail goes north and crosses the Santa Fe trail. Should be traffic on that, summertime and the war’s over. Maybe you could hitch up with a wagon train there. Some of us might go and wait with you, if you can wait til we get set up at the store.”

  ***

  Jimmy Ridges poured another cup of coffee, and passed it to Melton as he sat by the fire. “Your men, Bear and Buck, have been riding with my lead scouts.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. I know. They asked me.”

  “Figured that. Well, my men say they are doing well. Buck picked up the track of that deer we are eating. One of my men missed it.”

  Dobey joined them. “Tell us about this Black Kettle we’re heading for.”

  “Cheyenne,” said Ridges. “Was loyal to the Yankees, up in Colorado. Six, maybe seven moons ago, Colorado militia attacked his camp at Sand Creek. Bunch of people killed on both sides, ‘bout the same number of warriors for each, but the Cheyennes lost many women and children. Black Kettle says they was flying the Yankee flag and a white flag, and was where they was told to be, but it didn’t do no good. Moved his camp down here on the Washita after that. Sort of an old woman. Don’t want to fight no more. But he don’t keep a tight rein on his young men, and we worry which way he’d jump.”

  “You mean, if he had to choose ‘tween you and the Yankees?”

  “’Tween us and the Yankees.” Ridges put emphasis on the ‘us’ while drawing a little circle to include Dobey and Melton. “You’re still in this, as you still wear the gray. Anyhow, a couple of days, I’ll break out Uncle’s flag and we’ll show it as we get close. Nobody out here wants to be on Stand William Watie’s bad side, ‘specially no old woman Cheyenne chief.”

  Melton asked, “Speaking of old, what age is that tough old uncle of yours? He’s got more sand than most men I’ve knowed.”

  “This will be his fifty-ninth summer.”

  ***

  “Boss Melton, this little Fort we’s going to. Is they something for me to do there, or does I go to Santa Fe with them Watsons?”

  “Always work for a strong man, Big William, ‘specially can he cook. Even if he is blind as a bat.”

  Chapter Forty

  And the women talked, too.

  As they walked away from the fire, Mandy looked back at the men. “Says he wants me, but he can’t take me now. Says we gotta wait til the war is over. I thought the war was over already.”

  “His war, it is not.” Marie-Louise looked back, too, and unconsciously touched her own breast as her gaze lingered on Melton. “I think he is serious ‘bout his work, your man, like my Jimmy Melton and Dobey.”

  “But they are taking you to meet Dobey’s mother, to work with her, get married. How’s that like my Jimmy? He’s gonna take us to your damn old fort…”

  “Is not really a fort, that place.”

  “Whatever it is, he’s gonna leave us there, and go back to his brother and uncle, and maybe twenny Indian girls, and if I go on to New Mexico, I ain’t gonna never see him again. I just know it.”

  “You mus’ stop the crying, cher. We mus’ think on this. Maybe that Santa Fe is too far. We will ask your mama to help. Maybe we get your Papa to let you stay with us in Canadian Fort. Maybe, if that is not so far, your Jimmy, he will come back. Did you, um, you know, did you yet? With h
im?”

  “Nooo,” Mandy wailed. “It’s like he’s scared to. He ain’t even tried.”

  “Good. You don’t need no baby yet.”

  ***

  For several evenings, Lieutenant Jimmy Ridges put a section of scouts across the Canadian as pickets, while the main force of the convoy camped on the bluffs above the south side.

  “Might have seen you down by the river last night.” Honey was tentative. Though only a few years older, the whore Junebug was so worldly that she could be intimidating to almost anyone, though her nature seemed sweet. “You and Doc, that is.”

  “Seems a few folks is going down by the river,” Junebug smiled. “What made you think you seen us?”

  “Cherokees had a fire, cross the river. Dobey, he said he saw its reflection off of Doc’s head. Maybe.”

  Junebug laughed out loud, as they walked back to the wagon from a toilet trip to the bushes. “Yeah, that’s one time I won’t let him wear that little hat he favors. And if we had a bed, I’d make him take his boots off, too.”

  “He seems to be doing some better now, since he, uh, he slowed down, you know.”

  “Honey, he’s quit. Has to. He picks that bottle up again, it’ll kill him, and I’ll leave him first. I ain’t nursing him no more. Now, lookit him. He’s put on some weight, got some color, got some juice flowing again. Hellfire, he was like a young stallion last night. Only once, but you got to understand, I ain’t been able to get a rise out of him til just lately.”

  “You kind of like him, don’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yeah. And he needs someone to take care of him, but I got needs too.”

  “You have, or had, all those other men. You need more?”

  “Honey, you think them customers had any interest in my needs? Not a damn one of ‘em. But Doc is sweet, and last night was just fine.” She turned, and raised her brows at Honey. “If you was close enough to see his bald noggin, you must’ve heard me. Couldn’t you tell I had fun?”

  Honey blushed. “I was surprised. Dobey, he asked me, why I don’t ever make sounds like that.”

  Junebug stopped walking and grabbed Honey by both shoulders. “Oh, my stars. It’s still all one-sided ‘tween y’all. Honey, child, we got to talk.”

  ***

  “Oh, I just don’t know. My husband ain’t never going to want to leave her nowhere, after he seen what happened to me back there.” Hazel Watson glanced toward her husband.

  “Ain’t nothing we can do to change that, what happened, but maybe she can find a way to be happy.” Marie-Louise kept her voice low as she walked with Mrs. Watson between the wagons.

  Mrs. Watson sobbed, and, as was her habit, bit her thumb. “Mr. Watson ain’t had nothing to do with me since it happened. Says he don’t want to hurt me. Well, he is hurtin’ me. Bad.”

  Marie-Louise murmured sympathetic noises while she digested that, but pressed her case anyhow. “Your baby, she has the same fears—that no man will want her. And she is feared that Santa Fe is too far, and that might keep him from returning for her. You see? She can stay with me and Honey, and our men. And Dobey’s mother. And, cher, if this Jimmy Ridges don’t come back for her, I will make the men bring her to Santa Fe.”

  “But what if he do come back, and marries her, won’t I never see my baby again? Or my grandbabies?”

  “Cher, if he comes back for her, she can make him take her to anyplace. Trust me on that, I guarantee.”

  “Maybe. I could try to convince her daddy to let her stay,” she sniffed.

  “And, cher, maybe you ask that girl, Junebug, maybe she could tell you some ways to get your husband back to doing right by you. You know?”

  “Oh. Oh my.” Mrs. Watson nodded, and smiled.

  ***

  “Honey-Marie, you seem very happy with your Dobey. He still don’t be mean to you?”

  “Oh, Mama, he wonderful. He make me so happy. He say, when we come to his mama’s place, we can be marry, and have babies.”

  “But not now, cher, not on this trail. Non?”

  “No, Mama. We careful. Mama, do you know he thinks you are like his mama?”

  “No! Get away from here. He do?”

  “Oh yes, Mama. He talk about his mama a lot. He told me once they was moving, and his baby sister was playing away from the wagon a little, and had her some fried chicken leg. Well, this ol’ mean dog kind of animal come after it. There was barking and screaming, and what-all, and his mama, Miss Annette, she run out there right at it. She pulling up prairie grass and throwing it and yelling, ‘I’ll kill you! Get away from my baby!’ Like a old she-bear, looking out for her cub. This animal, what do Dobey call it? Oh – coyote. That’s it. Well, he snarling, but he back away. Then Dobey’s papa, he a sergeant, he shoots it dead, and he say, ‘Mama, you done good. I think he believed you!’ And Dobey’s mama, she say, ‘I would have, too. Strangled him dead my ownself, did he touch one of my babies!’” Honey finally took a breath.

  Marie-Louise mused. “I think I will like this woman. If we ever find her.”

  ***

  Junebug squatted by the creek, then asked Marie-Louise to pass her a page from the catalogue.

  “Well, that Jimmy Melton, I ‘spect he’s like a wild horse when he gets going, ain’t he?”

  “Oh, oui—very strong. Powerful.”

  “Ever’ now and then you might just ride him like he was.”

  “Oh. You mean on top?”

  “Yup. He won’t dislike it, neither, specially when he sees how you like it.”

  Marie-Louise, thirty-two years old, mother of two, actually blushed. “Merci. I dunno. Maybe, this I will try. I dunno. Merci.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Buck lowered the lever on the Sharps slightly, and checked the chamber for the third time. It was still loaded. He laid it across the ancient, rock-hard driftwood log, drew the Remington, checked the caps, and laid it on the ground beside the Sharps’ cartridge pouch. He was ready. Corporal William Jumper had told him to be.

  Jumper himself was fifteen yards in front of him, crawling to get a better view of the party of Indians butchering a deer downhill from them, on the riverbank. “Wait here, and be ready to cover me, if they ain’t friendly Cheyenne,” Jumper had whispered.

  They cut the trail of nine ponies one hour earlier; the party had crossed the Canadian and turned west. Jumper said that seven of them carried riders, probably Cheyenne, but certainly Indians as they were unshod. Probably Cheyenne, because they were heading toward Black Kettle’s camp too.

  Bear and Sergeant Strong Branch were scouting about a half-mile south of the river, on a parallel course. Buck wished they were here. His mouth was as dry as sand. He put a pebble in his mouth, and cocked the Sharps as quietly as he could. The snap-click sounded like a cannon.

  Jumper looked back aghast, signaled to be quiet, and turned back toward the seven Cheyenne. They were staring up the bank toward the brushy area where he hid.

  Jumper shouted something that Buck didn’t understand, then stood, holding his short Enfield over his head with both hands. It looked to Buck like a sign of peace. Buck sighed in relief, and started to stand up.

  He was then amazed to see Corporal Jumper’s hat sail back toward him, past him. There was an arrow in it. Jumper dropped to one knee and shot one of the Cheyenne, before scrambling back toward Buck. There was an arrow in his left arm, too.

  The .577 caliber minie ball from the Enfield knocked the Cheyenne over the deer’s carcass. Buck spit out the pebble, shot at a second Cheyenne who had started to charge up the slope, levered open his breech, shoved in another paper cartridge and re-cocked. When he raised up to look for another target, an arrow spranged off the petrified log a foot from his head. He fired at some movement downhill, and ducked to load again.

  Jumper slid in beside him, gasping for breath, and started the drill to reload the Enfield: pull a paper cartridge, bite the bullet, pour the powder down the barrel, thumb-press in the bullet,
draw the rammer, ram the charge, finger a primer cap from the pouch on your belt, prime the rifle, look for a target. Awkward, lying behind a log. Just regular damn-all fun, with an arrow through your left forearm.

  By the time he’d finished, Buck had fired a third time, and reloaded. It was suddenly quiet.

  “Keep a lookout. I will try to pull this arrow on through.” Jumper grunted in pain, but couldn’t budge it. He drew an old Paterson revolver and whispered to Buck, “Have your pistol ready for a charge.”

  “We gonna charge them? They’s five or six left.”

  “No, but they might charge us. Slide around here on my other side, and saw off the tip of this arrow. Try to pull it back through, same way it came in. I’ll watch. Keep your head down.” Another arrow thunked against the log.

  Buck sawed off the eight inches of arrow protruding from Jumper’s arm. Jumper grabbed that piece, put it between his teeth, and said “Now, yank it back out. Put your feet on my arm, and use both hands. I will empty my pistol to keep them back.” He bit down on the piece of arrow, and opened fire.

  Buck did as he said, and by Jumper’s fourth shot, the arrow pulled clear. There was a lot of blood, but no spurting. Buck pulled off his kerchief, and tied it over the wound. Hearing horses thundering up behind them, he grabbed the Remington and spun around. It was Bear and Strong Branch. They dismounted twenty yards from the rim, and crouched forward. Ten yards out, Bear stood up and let fly with his Spencer, four shots rapid fire. As the Cheyenne broke cover to run for their ponies, Strong Branch carefully shot one with his Sharps. Buck saw blood fly off the Cheyenne boy’s head as he was hit.

  “Let the others go,” said Strong Branch. He looked at Jumper’s arm, and changed the kerchief bandage into a tourniquet as he talked.

  “This was just a Cheyenne hunting party. Young boys. Did you fire on them first?”