"You won't be dictating to me!"
"Father! The mules are so weak they're stumbling. We're so worn out, we can hardly walk. We're stopping and resting for as long as it takes for us to recover."
"That's my wagon you're riding on; it's my money that's paying for this trip; you'll do as I say!"
Standing near the wagon now, were her uncles, Clare and Harold Day. Joe and Frank Sparks had left their conveyance to hear what the delay was about. The rain poured down and except for Johnny, who was under canvas, her father, Katy, and the other men were drenched.
"She has a point," said Clare. "I was going to say the same thing. We should stop and rest these poor beasts."
"It would be foolish to push these mules any further until they've rested and fattened up," added Harold.
"Are all of you against me?" bellowed Peter. "Who's leading this party anyway?"
"You are," said Joe Sparks. "But all of us need a rest and supplies. Fort Laramie will be the place to stop."
"I have a mind to take my wagon and money and head out on my own."
"Fine," replied Katy, forever losing fear of her unreasonable parent. "Be a stubborn old fool."
Angrily her father dismounted and stepped up on the wagon and raised a hand to strike his daughter. Uncle Clare admonished him.
"You hit that woman and I'll strike you, Peter. You forget yourself. Now climb back on your horse and lead us to the fort. Enough is enough, brother."
Hand still raised in anger, Peter slowly lowered it. Everyone in the party looked tired, thin of face, and strained.
"I suppose stopping would not be a bad thing," said Peter Day. "But daughter, I won't never forget this here thing you done."
The angry man climbed down off the wagon, and in the fierce downpour mounted his horse. The others went back to their vehicles. Shortly, through wet mud, the tired mules began to slowly pull their loads up the California Trail.
* * *
Red Jennings reined his team forward, following the mule and the mounted old man who was guiding the party of eight wagons. Horntoad Harry had kept up an even pace since leaving Fort Kearny. Now they were traveling slower than they ever had. Other wagon trains and groups of mounted men leading pack mules passed them daily. The members of the St. Louis Gold Association complained. The old frontiersman had them stop early in the evening to graze and rest the mules. Then he insisted on having tied ropes between the circled wagons and placing the mules inside the makeshift corral. All this took time and seemed to delay them further.
One evening before dark, and around the cook fire, a heated argument began among the men, Red Jennings, and the frontiersman.
"We're moving too slow," complained Hezekiah. "How come we got to listen to that old man all the time?"
"Yeah," agreed Jake. "There's prospectors passing us all day, every day, and I'm sick of it."
The other men murmured agreement. The air was thick with their anger.
"I'm tired of all this caution about no fires at night, not crossing a stream when it rains, making camp early, and all the extra work of grazing and corralling the stock," complained Zeke. "Ain't no one else movin this slow."
"We voted to hire the frontiersman to lead us," said Red. "We haven't lost any animals and not one of us has suffered from an accident. You saw those wagons and teams swept away in that flooded river. Horntoad made us wait it out. How many others did we watch cross too soon and lose stock and supplies?"
There was a long silence and one of the men threw a chunk of wood into the cook fire. The wood was wet and smoke billowed up.
"That's what I'm talkin about!" shouted Horntoad angrily. "Wet wood on a fire! A greenhorn stunt like that on this open plain and you're invitin' to be attacked."
"How come you always got some fool order, old man?" asked Zeke. "You don't know everything!"
"I know a heap more than you do about these plains," replied the old-timer. "Bet you didn't realize we're reaching towards the heart of Sioux and Cheyenne country. A fool stunt, a wrong move, a bad decision and every one of you could have your scalp hangin in some warrior's lodge."
"Aww, you're just trying to scare us, old man," said one of the seventeen crowding round the fire."
"This ain't no race!" replied Horntoad, loud enough for each man to hear. "I promised to git you to Californy with your hair on. Tarnation, I helped blaze part of this trail. I lived out here all my life and I knows what's what. Fire me if you like, but you fellers follow my lead, or I leave."
"The men are upset," defended Red. "They don't understand you being so cautious and moving so slow."
"Dang it! Any fool can understand this!" growled Horntoad. "When others have their mules stolen in the middle of the night, ours will be safe behind this here corral. When others push their stock and themselves to the limit, we'll be as fresh and strong as the day we left Fort Kearny. When folks up and get sick from typhoid, cholera, scurvy, bad food, and water, we'll still be healthy. There's Injuns, more rivers, quicksand, fever, storms, thieves, killers, every kind of danger facing us for the next two thousand miles. If you think you can do better than me, then . . ."
"For an old man you sure brag," said someone from the back of the group.
The old man jumped to his feet. He turned his back and headed for his saddle and gear.
"See who the fool is when you push your animals to death and you don't have no way of going forward or back!" shouted the angry plainsman.
Picking up a rope from gear set under a wagon, Horntoad stepped into a circle of animals and threw a loop around his sturdy Missouri mule. Tying the line to a wagon wheel, he began to blanket and saddle the animal.
"Men!" shouted Red. "I vote we still follow Horntoad. Those that agree come and stand beside me."
One of the group came forward immediately and stood beside Red. Slowly, one at a time, others came forward. Zeke, Jake, and Hezekiah remained in the background. Finally, they too reluctantly moved towards the party of men.
"Good!" said Red. "Then it's settled, we'll follow what Horntoad tells us."
The plainsman lifted saddlebags and placed them over the rear of the mule and began to tie them down.
"Horntoad, we want you to guide us to California," Red told the frontiersman.
The old-timer continued tying and did not respond.
"It doesn't mean some of us won't complain at your orders from time to time, being what we are, but we'd be obliged if you would stay," continued Red.
"I'll let no man bad-mouth me," replied Horntoad.
"Whoever spoke was just blowing off steam," explained Red. "We're all anxious to get to California. Being together like we are, traveling all day over this endless prairie, wears on a man. Horntoad, you know we need you."
"You betcha!" said the old-timer, turning and facing the group. "Now suppose you prove it." He leered and then held up a right hand and rubbed thumb and fingers together. Some of the men groaned.
"He's holding us up for more money," complained Jake Vargas, the second leader of the Gold Association.
"What did you expect?" shouted Red. "We insulted the man and now we're begging him to stay.
"What's it going to be?" asked Horntoad, standing firm, one hand on buckskinned hip and the other on the handle of a wide Bowie knife.
"Would you take another hundred dollars?" asked Red.
"Done!" replied Horntoad. "Now, how about if one of you dish me up a plate and bring it over to that wagon tongue. I'm hungry, and I'm eatin’ alone tonight."
Chapter Five
Lance and Fast Eddy walked all night and when first light began to spread across the land, they came upon an odd construction. It was a crudely made building, part adobe, part boards and cut poles. The roof slanted crookedly, round limbs stuck out beneath a covering of buffalo hides. At one time dried adobe mud layered the roof. Rain had eaten through much of this mud, and the large hides were exposed, hairy side up.
"What kind of place is this?" asked Fast Eddy.
"Y
ou two make enough noise for a heard of buffalo," said a bearded, long-haired old man, wearing a fur hat and holding a brand new Sharps. "I heard you two coming for a quarter of a mile."
"We don't want any trouble, Mister," said Fast Eddy.
"Well, boys," said the old-timer, "you found it when you came tearing up to my cabin. Now, suppose you come a bit closer so's I can git a good look at you hombres. What's wrong with that big feller? Looks like he swallowed too many watermelons and grew twice normal size."
"I don't like a man making fun of me," replied Lance.
"Think a giant like you would be used to it by now," said the old man.
"What's that awful smell?" asked Fast Eddy, coming close enough to catch the odor of the buckskinned man.
"It ain't healthy to take a bath all over until the first hot day in August. And near as I figure, it's still June."
"Mister," said Eddy, gagging from the smell. "Don't shoot, I got to back up a ways."
"This here rifle I'm holding is a brand new single-shot, percussion, breech-loading Sharps Model 1849, .44 caliber. You mess with me and I'll drill you in the head, and blow that big feller away with my Colt Dragoon. And boys, that there pistol don't care what size a man is. It'll knock down a horse, a buffalo, and two men at once. I know, 'cause I done it."
"We don't mean harm," said Lance. "We're in a hurry, and we're looking for guns and supplies."
"Being chased, are ya?" asked the old man. "Running from the law? Killed someone, did ya?"
"Mister," began Lance. "The truth is, a man tried to hold me and tell me what to do. When I said no, he drew a pistol and said he was going to kill me. I fought, and he fell and hit his head."
"There were others," exclaimed Fast Eddy. "Five men and a woman, and they tried to kill us. We fought back and some of them ended up shooting each other. We ran, and . . ."
"Nine times out of ten," began the old man, "when there's a killing, there's a woman involved. I can recall . . ."
"Mister," said Lance. "Could you help us? Those men probably found our tracks by now and . . ."
"I believe I can size up a feller and get to the truth of the matter, now give me a moment to think this here thing through."
Noxious fumes were emanating from the body of the old man, and Eddy pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and held it up to his face. Not to rile the oldster, Fast Eddy pretended to blow his nose.
"All right, boys," began the plainsman, "for more than forty years my cohorts been calling me Horse. Now suppose you tell me your moniker."
"What's a moniker?' asked the big man.
"Your name! What you're called!"
"I only have one, it's Lance. This is my . . . err . . . this is Fast Eddy."
"I imagine you're thirsty and hungry. I got some jerky and there's water in the spring out back. You go on take a drink and I'll fetch the meat."
Behind the crude cabin the fugitives found a trickle of water flowing into a clear pond. Surrounding the pond were flowers and a large cottonwood that provided shade. The two bent and drank their fill. From a door in the back of the cabin, Horse returned with the jerky placed on a dirty plate. Eddy hesitated, but Lance hungrily took a piece and began biting and chewing with his large white teeth. Reluctantly, overcoming any squeamishness, Fast Eddy picked up a sliver of dried meat.
"Now you think I stink, Fast Eddy? Wait till you get a smell of staked buffalo hides and bloated buffs covered with flies and filled with maggots. Or dried hides on a wagon, and not bathing for a month, and covered in blood-soaked clothes.
"It sounds pretty gruesome, old man," said Eddy.
"Maybe," declared Lance, "Horse is making some kind of offer."
"That's right," said Horse. "I need two strong fellers, to help me with my trade."
"We would have to leave right now," stated Lance, "before those men from St. Louis catch up with us."
"Come on, I have a wagon, and together we'll hitch horses and ride from here. I've got all the supplies we'll need. I'll teach you two some of what I've learned. With a giant-size man, we can't help but make money and survive."
"First I want to bathe," said Lance. "Do you have soap, old man?"
"What fer? You'll end up stinkin anyway."
"Who buys buffalo?" asked Eddy.
"It's a trade that's just startin," replied the old man."I sell to one of those riverboats. A dollar a green hide—and a salted tongue goes for about fifteen cents, when I can get it to 'em. Sometimes I come across them passels of folks heading west in wagon trains. They're always lookin for fresh meat. We ain't never gonna run out of buffalo and they're free for the takin', but a miserable job it is, skinnin' them hides. I figure you two can escape those fellers, and help me at the same time."
Unnoticed, Lance had removed his shirt, boots, and pants. He walked into the pond and started splashing water around.
"Well, I'll be," said Horse. "That feller's part fish the way he takes to water."
"You could learn a lesson or two about that," said Fast Eddy.
"I told you afore, it ain't August yet, and not near hot enough. I seen many a feller take a fever and die from such foolish excess of exuberance."
"Old man," said Eddy. "Where'd you learn them big words?"
"What else is a body to do all winter long? Books, man! Books is what I got and that's how once in a while I pull up a dollar ninety-seven cent word! Haw! Haw! Haw!"
Lance came out of the water.
"That spring is cold," he exclaimed.
"I told you – " began the old man and then he got sight of the bare back of the large youth. "Lord all a mighty!"
"What?" asked Eddy, and then he too saw the pattern of healed scars, lacerations, welts, and grooves on Lance's back. "What happened to you?"
Lance had forgotten. He was hot and sweaty, and normally he would never have removed his shirt. Now it was too late.
"Never mind," replied Lance, picking up his shirt and covering the evidence of whippings he had received since childhood.
"Tarnation!" exclaimed Horse. "Never saw no white man marked up like that and still be alive."
"What do you mean, never mind?" asked Eddy. "Why Lance, whatever happened to you?"
"Now you know," replied Lance. "So let it be."
"What do you mean? Know what?"
"Can't you see?" said the old-timer. "He don't want to talk about it."
"But how . . ." persisted Eddy.
"There's only one way a feller can have a back like that," said Horse.
"I said," repeated Lance, "let it be."
"What's that?" asked Eddy.
"I remember now," said the old man. "Saw a negro man down at the court house in St. Louis that had a back like that. He was in chains and being sold."
Lance finished dressing and put on his boots. Angrily he walked away and disappeared into the woods. Eddy got up to follow and Horse called him back.
"Don't know how, but your friend's had a heap of whippings over the years. Best you let him be. I reckon a man of his size needs some time to cool off."
"Perhaps you're right," replied Fast Eddy.
"Down yonder, near the river," explained Horse, "I've got some team hosses, and some regular riding mounts. I'll go fetch 'em, hitch up the wagon, and bring it 'round front. Suppose you go in the cabin and start hauling out those sacks of food and supplies. Leave the rifles and pistols alone. I'll take care of those. By the time we go, there won't be nothin left worth stealin."
The old man walked away and Fast Eddy went through the door into the cabin. The smell of the place struck the younger man's senses like a wall and nearly knocked him down. The room was dark and there was no ventilation or windows. Moving quickly, Eddy found objects to block open both the front and back doors of the cluttered shack. It helped bring in light and push out the foul air. There were sacks of rice, flour, and beans; cooking utensils; blankets, and bedrolls. One thing for sure, first chance he got, he was going to wash the bedding he and Lance would be using. The la
st object he carried out was a wooden box of books.
The rumble of the wagon and pounding of shod hooves could be heard coming closer. Eddy went outside to meet the old man.
"You ain't got that stuff hauled out yet?"
"I'm nearly finished, except for the guns."
"Good. You start loadin' the wagon, and try to be neat about it."
"Neat?" asked Eddy incredulously, given the mess the cabin was in.
Horse took one look at his new acquaintance and laughed.
"I been thinkin about your friend," began the old man. "A lad that grew up with them beatings must be almighty strong. I bet he's tough as nails. I'd hate to git him riled. Good thing he's on our side. I bet he's a feller to ride the river with, if you know what I mean."
"I suppose you're right again," replied Eddy. "I've seen him fight. He's mighty tough when he needs to be."
"Now you go off in the brush yonder and call his name," said Horse. "If'n you want to miss that posse, we best be movin onto the prairie. Hard to lose wagon tracks, but I know a few tricks. Sides, they might not want to follow us out to Injun territory. If they jump us, I got plenty of rifles and ammunition. Every night we'll hold up on high ground. Ain't braggin or nothing, but with a Sharps or a Hawken, I can knock down a gnat at a hundred yards."
Eddy walked in the direction he saw his friend go. It took several repeated calls before Lance appeared. He went straight to the wagon, climbed into the back, rearranged some sacks and bedding, and sprawled out. Horse carried out six rifles. Each had its own cover. He laid those on a blanket in the wagon bed. Going back in the cabin he brought out several sacks of ammunition, powder, and lead, and laid them down, along with belts and holsters, holding two more Walker Colts.
"Don't know if you fellers can shoot or not," said the old-timer. "But by the time the week's out, you're both gonna be crack shots, or my name ain't Horse."
The wagon pulled out with Horse at the reins and Fast Eddy by his side. Behind the wagon were tied two mustangs, tethered by rope and bridle. Two beat up saddles rode in the wagon bed. Lance lay against the sacks, his head pillowed by odorous blankets.
"There's a trail not far off," said Horse. "We can add our wagon to the tracks and when we're far enough along, pull off on some hard ground. It'll make it tougher for anyone following us. Now tell me, boys, can either one of you carry a tune, spin a yarn, or tell a good joke?"
West of the Big River: Boxed Set of Eight Western Novels Page 48