“I’m bound for the diggings in Dakota Territory,” said Nathan. “There, it’s possible I could earn three hundred dollars in one day. Or maybe an hour.”
“It’s also possible you could go broke keeping yourself in grub, and end up without a peso,” Hagerman said. “It’ll cost you more than ten dollars a day, just to eat, and in two more months, there’ll be blizzards howling in from the Rockies. The strike in the Black Hills isn’t even three months old, and there’s not a hotel or boardinghouse any closer than Cheyenne.”
“My God,” said Nathan, “I’ve never seen you so fired up. Are you expecting that much business from emigrants?”
Harrington laughed. “He hasn’t quite told you all of it. There’s talk of a twice-a-week stage line from Dodge into Texas, and if it comes to pass, that will add considerably to the amount of mail the AT and SF is able to deliver. While there’s not a whole lot in between, there’s a hell of a lot of soldiers and civilians at Fort Griffin, while Fort Worth’s not that far away. Just delivering government mail to those two outposts could buy Hagerman two or three new locomotives. Just looking at him, can’t you tell he’s hungry?”
“He does look a mite lank,” Nathan said. “I reckon these emigrants will be buying the wagons, mules, and oxen in Dodge. Have you managed to get your hands on the wagon yard and the livery?”
“No,” said Hagerman, “I’ll have to be satisfied with emigrant fares to Dodge and if a stage line comes to pass, the increased mail delivery.”
“Aside from Hagerman needing the money,” Sheriff Harrington said, “you might want to take this on for a while, until they take some of the rough edges off that gold camp. If you went there in the spring—say next April—there might be some hotels and boardinghouses to shelter you from the blizzards.”
“Better yet,” said Hagerman, “you’d have the whole summer to strike it rich and get out of there before the blizzards come.”
“Damn it,” Nathan said, “you varmints just won’t let a man have any peace. Suppose I agree to this pilgrim caravan; when do I start?”
“As soon as you can get back to Dodge,” said Hagerman. “Your first run is to Fort Griffin, and there’ll be three wagons.”
“Hell,” Nathan said, “I thought you were here because you were concerned that I might be strung up, when all you wanted was to get me back in harness, making money for you.”
Harrington laughed. “He was concerned you might be strung up. Then he wouldn’t have had anybody to lead those wagons to Fort Griffin.”
They all laughed together, and then Hagerman got serious.
“I will be grateful if you’ll help me get this off the ground. Washington assures me the problem with the plains Indians has been resolved. Quanah Parker and the last of the Comanches surrendered three months ago.”22
“Then all I’ll have to bother with are the outlaws from Indian Territory,” said Nathan.
“They shouldn’t be that much of a problem,” Hagerman said. “Once a stage line has been established, there may be some valuable shipments, but emigrant wagons shouldn’t be much of a temptation.”
“It sounds safe enough,” said Nathan, “but if there are no Indians and no outlaws, why do you need me?”
“Because I can’t promise you there’ll be no outlaws,” Hagerman said, “and because we are dealing with Easterners who fear for their lives.”
“And you think one man’s going to convince them they’re safe,” said Nathan.
“Not just any one man,” Hagerman replied. “Nathan Stone. Even in the East, you have a reputation.”
“You’re nine feet tall, bite rattlers to watch them die, and so tough you wear out your britches from the inside,” said Sheriff Harrington. “At the very sight of you, grown men cringe and the ladies swoon.”
“By God,” Nathan said, “I have enough problems without such foolishness as that bein’ spread around. I’ll have some damn fool testing me with a gun every day.”
Hagerman laughed. “I haven’t gone quite that far, but it will be a comfort to people who are new to the frontier, knowing there’s a man of your experience guiding them.”
“I’m to be a guide, then.”
“Yes,” Hagerman replied. “In case of outlaws, you would dispose of them, of course.”
“Of course,” said Nathan.
“I can count on you, then?”
“Until spring,” Nathan said. “Then, despite expensive grub, blizzards, and a total lack of hotels, I’m riding to Dakota Territory.”
“I’ve arranged a boxcar for your horse,” said Hagerman. “We leave in one hour.”
Dodge City, Kansas. September 2, 1875
Nathan again had a room at the Dodge House, courtesy of the AT and SF. Hagerman had arranged for him to meet the emigrants whom he would guide south. They were all to meet for supper in Delmonico’s dining room. Taking time to shine his boots and brush his hat, Nathan wore his usual garb. When he arrived, there was Foster Hagerman and eleven emigrants. Hagerman performed the introductions.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your guide, Nathan Stone. Starting at my left, this is Owen and Emma Kilgore. The Reverend Kilgore is bound for Fort Griffin. Next, there’s Tally Dismukes and his sons, Gabe, Cyrus, Lon, and Ellis. They’re going to Fort Griffin. Finally, bound for Mobeetie, there’s the ... ah ... ladies, Mamie, Cora, Winnie, and Eula.”
Nathan nodded, saying nothing. The Kilgores sat there stem and unsmiling, as though their faces might crack like a looking glass and tinkle to the floor. On the other hand, the Dismukes all wore overalls, brogan shoes, and wide grins. Tally Dismukes looked about two-thirds drunk, with the sons at varying stages in between. The four women were all dressed in revealing clothes and looked as though they might have recently departed one of the many whorehouses in Kansas City or St. Louis.
“You will be leaving the wagon yard in the morning at dawn,” said Hagerman. “If you have questions, I’m sure Mr. Stone will be glad to answer them.”
“Yeah,” said Gabe, who looked to be the youngest of the Dismukes. “Is them guns fer show, or can you use ’em for real?”
“I can use them when I have to,” Nathan said coldly, “but sometimes a good spanking or switching is all it takes.”
That struck the rest of the Dismukes as hilariously funny. They slapped their thighs and stomped their feet, drawing venomous looks from the Reverend Owen Kilgore. The four questionable women cast covert glances at Nathan and giggled among themselves.
“If there are no more questions,” said Hagerman, “all of you are free to prepare for an early start in the morning.”
“Damn,” Nathan said, when the unlikely bunch had departed, “where did you come up with them?”
Hagerman laughed. “The three groups are paying a hundred dollars each for your company from here to Texas. It should be an interesting experience.”
Nathan sighed. “I reckon before I get there, compared to this bunch, the Indians and outlaws won’t seem so bad.”
When Nathan arrived at the wagon yard, Empty shied away from the strangers. Much to Nathan’s surprise, the wagons were to be drawn by mules, instead of oxen. Mules had to have grain, and Nathan quickly learned that none of his charges had provided any. The women were the most aggravating.
“Well, now,” said Mamie, “that just don’t make no sense at all. Back in Kentucky, the critters lived on grass.”
“Ma’am,” Nathan said angrily, “those mules won’t pull that wagon from here to Texas without grain. Until there’s a hundred pounds of grain in that wagon, I’m not taking it out of this wagon yard.”
The Reverend Owen Kilgore just looked at Nathan, and he spoke next to the sober but hungover Dismukes clan.
“We can’t afford no grain,” Tally said, “less’n we cut back on our grub.”
“Or the whiskey,” said Nathan. “This damn wagon won’t be going anywhere until you buy some grain for the mules.”
Nathan tied the reins of the grulla to a hitch rail and sat
down on the edge of a water trough. Empty sidled over and sat down beside him, his eyes on the strangers with the wagons. The Reverend Kilgore was the first to comply with Nathan’s request, rearranging the contents of the wagon to make room for the sack of grain. The four women—to the horror of the Kilgores—hoisted their skirts and began removing money from their secret places, while the Dismukes clan looked on in open admiration. Finally, when the show was over, Tally Dismuke arranged for the necessary sack of grain.
“Prepare to move out,” Nathan shouted. He rode out, Empty trotting beside him.
Nathan looked back, and the wagons had fallen in behind him, the Kilgore wagon in the lead. Nathan sighed. At least they seemed capable enough to handle their teams and the wagons. They covered what Nathan believed was fifteen miles, stopping occasionally to rest the teams. Despite the fact they were all traveling together, there were three separate camps, and Nathan felt welcome in none of them. They were near a creek, and Nathan had picketed the grulla well away from the mules. Starting a small fire, he made supper for himself and Empty. The others built larger fires, and Nathan was thankful the Indian threat had been resolved. After supper, he went near enough to the wagons for everybody to hear what he had to say.
“We’ll be moving out at first light. Anybody of a mind to have breakfast, you’d best roll out early enough to be done with it.”
The Kilgores put out their fire and turned in early, but there was no evidence any of the others intended to follow their example. The laughter and shouting at the Dismukes’s fire grew louder. It hadn’t taken long for the four females to make friends with the Dismukes, and Nathan hadn’t even removed his hat. He was dozing when one of the women screamed. When Nathan reached the Dismukes’s wagon, Ellis was straddling a virtually naked Mamie, who was flat on her back.
“Get off her and get up,” Nathan said.
“No, by God,” said Ellis. “She drinks my whiskey, she does what I say.”
Nathan drew his Colt, fired once, and the lobe of Ellis’s left ear disappeared in a spray of blood.
“The bastard shot me!” Ellis bawled, stumbling to his feet.
“The next time I shoot you,” said Nathan, “you won’t be getting up. Mamie, you get up, get back to your wagon, and stay there. Cora, Winnie, and Eula, go with her. Now.”
The four hastened to obey, Mamie grabbing the rag that had been her dress, trying to cover herself. The five Dismukes stared sullenly at Nathan, Ellis holding a bandanna to his bleeding ear.
“Damn you,” said Tally, “we ain’t payin’ you fer this kind of treatment.”
“You’re paying me to get you to Fort Griffin,” Nathan said, “and while you’re with me, you travel under my rules, not yours. The next one of you I find hunkered over one of those women, I’ll kill you. This is all the warning you’re going to get.”
“Hell,” said Cyrus, “they ain’t nothin’ but whores, an’ they drunk our whiskey.”
“I’m not interested in your opinions,” Nathan said, “and it’s all I can do to stand you varmints cold sober. I think we’ll get along better without the whiskey.”
Three quart bottles stood on the wagon’s lowered tailgate. Nathan drew his Colt, and with a roar that sounded like a single shot, shattered every bottle.
“Damn you,” said Tally. “Damn you. Give us back our money. We ain’t goin’ nowhere with you.”
“Oh, but you are,” Nathan said. “I agreed to see you safely to Fort Griffin, and by God, I keep my promises. If I have to, I’ll hogtie the whole damn lot of you, chunk you in the wagon, and drive it myself.”
“It’s aways, yet,” Ellis snarled, “an’ you got to sleep sometime. We’ll git you.”
“I’m a light sleeper,” said Nathan, “and when you come after me, wear your burying clothes, because you’ll be needing them.”
With that, he backed out of the circle of light cast by the dying fire and returned to his blankets. Empty was there, and he was thankful for the faithful dog’s presence. There was no way they could approach him without a warning from Empty. He removed his gun belt, but kept one of the Colts in his hand.
The second day out of Dodge, they crossed the Cimarron River, spending the night at the very edge of Indian Territory’s panhandle. Another day would see them in north Texas. Three more days, Nathan thought, and they would reach Mobeetie, where he would be rid of the four women. That would solve half his problem, for the Kilgores had avoided him. Leaving Mobeetie, he estimated he would be maybe a hundred and fifty miles north of Fort Griffin. Two more weeks of Kilgore silence and Dismukes hate.
Mobeetie, Texas. September 8, 1875
Mobeetie had begun with a trading post catering to buffalo hunters, but the buffalo were gone. All that had saved Mobeetie from total obscurity was the establishment of Fort Elliott, one-half mile south of Sweetwater Creek and about a mile from Mobeetie.23
“I reckon this is Mobeetie,” Nathan said. “Mamie, Cora, Winnie, and Eula, this is as far as you go.”
Mobeetie consisted of a trading post, a saloon, and three slab-sided shanties. Of all the buildings, the saloon was the most impressive, and it was there that the four women reined up their teams.
“The rest of you are about a hundred and fifty miles north of Fort Griffin. We’ll be staying the night at Fort Elliott, a mile or so from here.”
Fort Elliott was a new outpost, and seemed to justify the determination of the women who had relocated to Mobeetie. The buildings were long, rambling structures, built in a rectangle, in the center of which was the parade ground. Some buildings were frame and some were adobe. Offices were at the front, with enlisted men’s quarters on one side and officers’ quarters on the other. Dining rooms and kitchens adjoined at the back, and behind the post, along the creek, were tepees of Indians who were part of the outpost’s personnel. While there was no stockade, there was a sentry on duty before the fort’s offices. Nathan rode ahead of the wagons and reined up.
“I’m Nathan Stone,” he said, “guiding some folks south to Fort Griffin. We aim to stay the night somewhere along the creek. I reckon I’ll say howdy to your post commander if he’ll see me.”
“Go on in to the orderly room and talk to Sergeant Wills,” said the soldier.
Sergeant Wills greeted Nathan, heard his request, and knocked on the door of the post commander. He entered and returned almost immediately.
“Captain Selman will see you,” the sergeant said.
Nathan entered the office and the captain stepped around the desk to take his hand. Briefly Nathan told him of the eventual plan to establish a twice-a-week stage run between Dodge City and Fort Griffin.
“God knows, we’ll welcome it,” Selman said. “As things now stand, the best we can expect is a once-a-month supply train from Fort Dodge. When do the stages begin?”
“I don’t know,” said Nathan, “but probably sometime between now and spring. Right now, I’m working with the railroad, filling in the gap by guiding people from Dodge City into Texas. I just left four women at the saloon in Mobeetie.”
“Thanks,” Selman said wryly. “Given a choice, I’d consider swapping that saloon for Quanah Parker and the Comanches.”
“I reckon,” said Nathan. “Add women to the whiskey and gambling, and you have all the necessary elements to send a man straight to hell.”
“Or to the guard house,” Selman said. “We’re at full strength, with close to five hundred men, and on any given Monday morning, there’s maybe twenty percent of them in the stockade, charged with drunk and disorderly conduct.”
“I can see where you’d likely stand a better chance with the Indians,” said Nathan. “I just wanted to tell you why we’re here, and to get permission to spend the night along the creek.”
“Permission granted,” Selman said. “You and your emigrants are welcome to take your meals at the enlisted men’s mess this evening and in the morning.”
“That’s generous of you, Captain,” said Nathan. “I accept, and I’ll mention it t
o the others.”
Nathan mounted and rode back to the wagons, where he was greeted in stony silence.
“We’ll take the wagons over yonder beyond those buildings at the far side of the post, and make our camp along the creek. Captain Selman has invited us to take supper tonight and breakfast in the morning with the enlisted men. I aim to be there, and I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. If there’s trouble involving any of you, I’ll have the captain lock you in the stockade and leave you there until you moss over.”
“We ain’t eatin’ with no blue bellies,” said Gabe. “We’re goin’ back to Mobeetie, to the saloon. That is, unless you’re of a mind to try an’ stop us.”
“I won’t stop you,” Nathan said, “but I am going to warn you. Don’t get involved in anything so deep you can’t get out. If you aim to rear up on your hind legs like a man, be prepared to take whatever comes with the territory.”
The five of them glared at him defiantly, saying nothing. The Reverend and the Mrs. Kilgore kept their silence, regarding Nathan with as much distaste as the Dismukes clan. Nathan rode on to the creek, beyond the post. There he dismounted, unsaddled, and after the grulla had time to roll, he rubbed the animal down. From the sack he carried behind his saddle, he fed the horse a ration of grain and turned it loose to graze. Stretching out, head on his saddle, he rested. The Kilgores had followed, and made their camp well beyond his. Nathan watched approvingly as Kilgore unharnessed his team, allowed the mules to roll, and then rubbed them down. On the frontier, a man who failed to tend his horse or mule was a fool. The Dismukes didn’t show, and Nathan decided they had made good their bid to visit the saloon in Mobeetie. He fully expected the lot of them to be roaring drunk when he saw them again. Nathan dozed until the bugler blew mess call. Empty followed him to the enlisted men’s mess hall, lagging behind. Nathan waited until the soldiers had all been served before approaching one of the cooks on the serving line.
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