Dark Journey Home

by Cherie Shaw

  As Olivia felt much compassion for the besotted man, she had at once been relieved to know Henry would not be following her again, at least not in this country. Considering Henry’s mental state, the local authorities had hesitated to prosecute; besides they had confiscated most of the stolen items he had taken. Returning him to British soil had seemed the most likely solution.

  “So now,” Olivia thought to herself, “what to do about Logan Wakefield? Could my life ever be the same without him?” She sincerely doubted the fact.

  The days of travel were long, and tedious, however there were light moments when she and Logan sat together on the stage and were able to converse in quiet tones. He told her again about his pa’s horse ranch, and from his wistful descriptions of a childhood devoted to helping his pa and ma on the ranch and enjoying loving care from those parents, she began looking forward to seeing the colorful place and meeting those wonderful parents of his. The trip seemed relaxing and uneventful across the vast prairies, though from then on, the scenery changed as they passed through various foothills, numerous mountains, and breathtaking passes of eastern Colorado.

  Some of the small inns and trading posts along the way, left much to be desired in amenities, however they were colorful and run by tough, though friendly, folks who were lonely and hungry for news from other parts of the world. Logan well knew the feeling of loneliness, though he had pushed aside memories of his unhappy years at sea. He knew these hardy frontiersmen would lend a sympathetic ear, but he’d hesitated to go into his story, preferring to look forward to a productive future. So now here he was, finally in familiar territory. Wyoming! Nearer to his childhood home.

  A few of the larger towns along the way had provided quite elegant quarters, especially the large city of Denver, and they’d stayed over for one day there to rest up for the rough trip they had ahead of them from then on. Olivia and Amelia had enjoyed the shops, stocking up on a few last minute items. From then on, heading northwest, out of Denver, travel was rough, though the scenery unbelievably magnificent. Wyoming was rugged, and breathtaking, in its magnificence.

  After much sightseeing, they eventually reached the military stronghold of Fort Laramie, a small well-protected garrison in the territory of Wyoming. Also there was a well-established trading post for furs that trappers brought in several times a year. It was there at the Fort that Colonel Winters’ small troop of cavalry soldiers rode in, eyes straight ahead, single file, with Lieutenant Augustus Harrigan bringing up the rear. As the young Lieutenant passed by Olivia, as she stood in the courtyard, he gave no sign of recognition other than the slightest flush to his cheeks.

  At the Fort the travelers were offered lodgings for a few days rest, but were also advised that cold weather and possibly snow was predicted in the near future. All travel, stage lines included, would be non-existent, and they could possibly be at the Fort for the long winter months. However, they still had at least ten days of possible travel, depending on weather conditions. They chose to leave on the earliest conveyance possible, which was a six-a.m. Butterfield stage. They were up and ready to leave the next morning.

  Logan told them that this was a rough part of the country to be in, though most of the outlaws were situated much further west from where they were headed. A place called the ‘Outlaw Trail’ was in western Wyoming. The ‘trail’ led to a place called the ‘Hole in the Wall’, where only those hunted by the law were welcome, and nobody but a fool would venture into that part of the country. Most folks couldn’t pinpoint just exactly where that trail was anyway. Logan had been a fool only once in his life, which resulted in giving him many years to repent. He didn’t intend to be a fool again.

  Olivia shivered as she watched out the stage window at her uncle and Logan riding their horses next to the stage. There were robbers in England too, but they were called various other names such as Highwaymen and Road Agents. Somehow the mention of these western outlaws seemed much more mysterious and dangerous, however, she figured they were well-protected, as she had seen the driver and his partner and these two were definitely a far cry from greenhorn kids.

  The seasoned driver, and owner of the stage line, Texas Jake Morgan, was a salty, weathered old westerner, on the far side of middle age, and still feisty as a young grizzly. The ‘shotgun’ rider, Danny Longtree, was one-fourth Cherokee, one-fourth Comanche, and one-half fighting Irish. Throw that combination into a stew pot, and you get an unheard of breed of wildcat. Longtree toted a sawed-off shotgun, two six-guns, and a wild look about him. There hadn’t been a stage robbery on that run in the three years that Morgan and Longtree had taken over, two attempts at first, but no success on the part of the outlaws. All six who’d made the attempts, were planted somewhere off the trail.

  A few residents of the vast territory had wondered if Morgan and Longtree had some kind of connection, maybe an understanding with some of the outlaw gangs. Other stage lines had been held up, terrorized by the outlaws, while mostly leaving this route alone. However, not one of these citizens dared question the old-timers with their opinions.

  Inside the coach, with no elbow room to spare, Olivia reached into her carpetbag, and pulled out a book of poetry. She might as well relax. Amelia, deep in thought, was not a one to converse with at the present time. There were ten travelers in all, three to a seat, with one lone cowboy sprawled outside, and on top of the vehicle. He had turned his fur-lined collar up for warmth, and then with his wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, he’d fallen asleep with the luggage stacked around him keeping the brisk cold air away.

  Well, Olivia thought to herself, they were making good time, and would soon be at the next side-of-the-road establishment for a change of team, and a quick lunch. She began reading to herself, though at times, would catch a quick glance outside to view the riders a short distance from the stage. Her breath would catch as she eyed the tall-in-the-saddle stature of Logan Wakefield. “If I were a lawmaker in this country,” she thought to herself dreamily, “I would definitely enact a law making it a federal crime for any man to be that breathtakingly handsome causing a woman this much distress.” Then she smiled to herself thinking of such a notion. Amelia looked over at her questioningly.

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  Soon after the morning stage had pulled through the gates of Fort Laramie to head north, Colonel Winters, standing in the courtyard, was giving Lieutenant Harrigan his orders. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” the Colonel began, while holding his anger with firm control. He’d been all over the western frontier for over twenty-five years. Now his patience was wearing thin with this recent graduate of an eastern officers’ training academy.

  Swallowing his impatience, he continued, “I do not believe that you are hearing my orders clearly, Lieutenant. I shall repeat myself for the last time. You are to leave the garrison immediately, with ten of our best men. Once on the trail, follow the wheel tracks of the stage. They will be traveling northwest. When they stop for the night, you camp outside of the towns. Do not under any circumstances let yourselves be seen in the towns you will come across. Have I made myself clear at this point?”

  Harrigan replied cuttingly, his voice reeking of sarcasm, and contempt for his superior officer, “Certainly Colonel. Will that be all, sir?”

  “Not quite. There are rumors of a possible attack on the stage. Although there are capable men handling the vehicle, I want to be doubly sure of the passengers’ safety. There has been no robbery on this line for quite awhile. I want to keep it that way.”

  “Sir, if I may give my opinion. We were taught in military school, which is a well-known and accredited institution, not to follow rumors and not to go out into the field unless there is evidence of immediate danger from an Indian attack, or uprising, so I do not feel that this excursion is necessary.” Lieutenant Harrigan stood erect. His contempt for the small western garrison along with his personal dislike for the Colonel and his orders apparent. He continued talking, feeling that he was gaining ground with the Colonel, making an impress
ion on this frontier officer, with his intelligence and proper training. “I have heard no mention of any Indian problems in this area, sir.” The Colonel was silent for a moment, giving the young officer a false sense of success.

  Colonel Winters smiled, while shaking his head in frustration. Looking Harrigan in the eye, he said, “Your opinion, at this time, is not in the least of any importance whatsoever, Lieutenant, although I always appreciate input from any of my ‘experienced’ men, who have had years of extensive desert training. That, you have not had. You are new to the west, but if you ever decide to drop down from your quarters on a distant planet, just maybe we can make a soldier out of you……..eventually, that is. Also, I hadn’t realized that your obviously limited military training had put you in charge of my troop. Have you conferred with the authority here, or is this rebellion against orders a possible hesitation of meeting up with the stage again? Maybe embarrassment because of a recent encounter with an ‘uninterested’ British lady?”

  Harrigan clicked his heels as he abruptly turned before Winters could catch the color rising on his face, then he said in a haughty tone, “I shall gather the men,……….sir!”

  “Oh, and, Lieutenant, one more thing, aside from the fact that you forgot to salute.” Winters called after the fresh young sprout. “Do not under any circumstances return here with any ‘deceased’ soldiers. That would be ‘your’ downfall. Do not risk even one of my men because of any personal discomfort of your own. Also,” The Colonel’s voice rose, “I do not remember mentioning that there were Indian problems here. The fact of the matter is that we have had word of an unknown gang of outlaws who have come into the area from somewhere east of here. I was not informed that they were Indians. You need to check your facts before jumping to conclusions.

  “If you feel that this assignment would be too much for you to handle, Lieutenant, speak up. I’m sure I can find a more experienced officer to lead the men while you spend the remainder of your assignment here, in ‘locked quarters’. From all the bragging you have done, since I’ve known you, I took you for a much braver young man.”

  Without further word, the red-faced young officer turned to salute, then proudly stalked off toward the barracks.

  Colonel Winters spoke to a tough older sergeant, who had been standing a ways behind, with a puzzled expression on his face. “Sergeant, why do they insist on sending me these ‘green as the desert cactus’ peacocks right out of military school? They want me to train them? Before sending them out on their own with a canteen and a rifle?”

  “I don’t know, sir?” The sergeant scratched his head, then pulled his cap back on. “It could be they know you’ll give good tough training to the ‘little ones’.” The sergeant chuckled at his own humor. Then added, “You want me to trail along a ways behind, to wipe the kid’s nose when he needs it?”

  The Colonel laughed, as the sergeant hid a smile, both knowing that Lieutenant Harrigan had been eyeing the young daughter of an older military officer, who had been stationed at the fort for several years, and had his family living there. This trip would certainly put a halt to any budding romance for the young officer, in that respect. The Lieutenant considered himself to be quite a ladies’ man, and Colonel Winters intended to prove once and for all just what his duties on this western frontier were.

  “I was thinking in that respect, Sergeant. You are the best tracker in my troop, and in case the Lieutenant gets himself lost, it wouldn’t hurt for you to trail a ways behind him. Also I need someone who will give an honest report of what goes on along the trail. You can join up with them after a few miles. I’ll give you written orders for him to return here, only after he has reached the outskirts of Buffalo. I believe some of the passengers will have left the stage before then anyway, some taking a cutoff, shortening their journey somewhat. Just be sure and head back before the snow begins.”

  The sergeant nodded, saluted, and headed off to the corral to saddle his horse. He looked forward to getting away from the fort for a change. Just himself, his horse, and a packhorse with extra supplies. If they run into bad weather, they will be needing all those supplies. He knew the young Lieutenant wouldn’t have thought of such a bother.

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  The small settlement and Trading Post of Comfort, Wyoming, had been run by Silas Comfort for the last six years, ever since the previous owner, and founder of the post, had retired to Boot Hill with the compliments of an outlaw gang that had quickly been run out of the settlement by a few tougher outlaws who had liked the jolly old founder of the town, which at that time was called ‘Devil’s Rest’. The tougher outlaws had resented the atmosphere the newcomers had created, along with higher prices charged for the drinks.

  Silas Comfort was soon elected to take over the ownership of the Post, along with the title of Mayor of the small town. As middle age had, long before, caught up with him, then quickly passed by, he immediately retired from a somewhat shady profession, and decided on the spur of the moment, to make an honest man of himself. Quickly changing the unpopular name of the place, to his own last name, ‘Comfort’. Silas settled in to a ‘Comfort’able position, running the Trading Post, with only one employee to help keep the place in fairly good working order. He’d written a letter to a wife he’d had years before, and who was, when last heard from, living in Denver. He also had a son there, maybe in his teens by now. He’d not heard back from the wife, but hadn’t really expected to.

  Silas had never been sure just how he had acquired the last name of Comfort, figuring he’d picked it up somewhere between toddler age, and then the process of growing up on the back of an old nag horse, but no matter, the name was just as good as any other, so the handle had stuck, and it seemed an appropriate name for small settlement in the middle of no man’s land. The only other town near was called Freeman, about a stone’s throw away, plus ten miles.

  Now the aging Silas was a balding, likeable, though tough, old character, with eyes black as the ace of spades, and never missing a thing. He toted a thick grey handle-bar mustache and his only partner was a Winchester, which many claimed hit what it was aimed at no matter who handled it, though most of the older ones knew better. Two well-oiled old navy colts were close at hand, under the bar and out of sight.

  Silas Comfort leaned back in his favorite chair near the bar facing the door. A chill was in the air, and he knew that they’d be snowed in soon. Well, the place was loaded down with enough supplies to last out the cold months. A huge stack of wood, needed for the large fireplace and one pot bellied stove, filled up a lean-to in back of the place.

  A checkerboard, Silas’s favorite game, was in place on a rickety table in front of him. He motioned to his employee, a half-breed from Arizona named Carlos, to put down his broom and throw another log onto the dwindling fire in the fireplace, as well as one into the stove, then sit down for a game of checkers. A few customers were playing poker, but he didn’t like the game; only provided a place for those who did. Checkers was his only sport, next to the Winchester, that is.

  CHAPTER 22

  The days on the trail had begun to shorten, as the air turned brisk and cold. Logan touched his heels to his horse’s sides, and trotted up to ride next to Claude. “Could I speak to you a moment, sir?” He called over to Lord Beckford.

  “Of course, Logan. You needn’t ask. However, when you refer to me as ‘sir’, you make me feel like a ‘knight’.” Claude chuckled. “Please continue to call me Claude, my name, you know.”

  “A knight? S……..sorry…….habit, I suppose. Claude it is then.” Logan relaxed in the saddle as they slowed their horses even more.

  When they were a short distance behind the screeching wheels of the stage, Logan began, “I’ll get right to the point, Claude.” Steam escaped from his mouth as the frigid air mixed with his breath, and he continued, “A few more days and we’ll arrive in a small town, a stage stop and trading post, called ‘Comfort’. Pa wrote and told me they had changed the name of the place from ‘Devil’s
Rest’ to ‘Comfort’. The name doesn’t matter much anyway, but that’s where we’ll leave this stage to take a shorter route to Freeman, the town nearest Pa’s ranch.

  “This stage we’re on will go on to Buffalo, further west. We’ll either hire a buggy, or wagon, at Comfort to take the shorter route, unless there’s still a stage line running out of Comfort. Used to be one, but not sure if it is still in operation. It hauled passengers and mail up to Freeman, then from there on a bit further north. I guess we’ll see when we get there” Logan pulled his fur lined collar up closer around his ears.

  Claude nodded, his breath showing the frosty air also, and he pulled his hat lower, adjusted his fur lined collar, then said, “Whatever will shorten the trip, Logan. I’m game, and still having the time of my life. Just hope the women are warm enough.”

  “Glad you understand, though I feel maybe it was wrong of me to push you folks into this unpredictable weather. For myself, I always loved the changing seasons, even the blizzards.” Logan gave a laugh here, “I just thought maybe it would be a hard winter for you and the ladies.” He pondered, “We’ll be snowed in at the ranch, you know.”