“I think one should not joke about such things.”
“Very well. Tell me about the trading we will do.”
“The white men like the jewelry and the baskets. Tomorrow, we will go to the white village called Picket Post and trade.”
Before the sun rose then next morning, Delshay and Chandeisi, along with their families, left the reservation for the twenty-five-mile trek into Picket Post. When they were within two miles of the town, they halted.
“Wait here for us, Sagozhuni,” Delshay said. “Chandeisi and I will go into town and see if they will trade.”
“Very well, Delshay, my husband. I will feed the children while you are gone.”
Delshay’s wife found a place in the shade and spread a blanket for the three children. Because some of the merchants of the town resented the Indians coming in to trade, Delshay and Chandeisi thought it would be best to leave their inventory behind as they went into town to invite customers out to trade. The Indians would trade for tobacco, coffee, blankets, and other goods and trinkets that would make their life on the reservation somewhat easier.
Meechum, Philbin, Cantrell, and Oliver had been on the trail for three days, and were now giving their exhausted horses a much needed rest.
“I gotta take a piss,” Meechum said. He walked a few feet away from the others, then stopped. “Well, now,” he said, looking over the edge of a rock. “What do we have here?”
“What?” Cantrell asked.
Meechum put his finger across his lips. “Be quiet,” he hissed.
“What is it, Meechum, what do you see?”
“Come here and take a look for yourself, but be quiet and don’t show yourself.”
The other three men came up to stand beside Meechum.
“What is it?” Oliver asked.
“Look down there,” Meechum said, pointing to two Indian women and children.
“What?” Cantrell asked again. “All I see is a couple of squaws.”
“Yeah, that’s ’cause you don’t know what you’re lookin’ at. Why do you think they’re out here?” Meechum asked.
“I don’t have no idea,” Cantrell said.
“Me neither,” Oliver said.
“Why do you think, Burt?” Meechum asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I would say that it is more than likely they’ve come to trade,” Philbin said.
Meechum smiled and nodded. “My cousin is smarter than any of you,” he said. “That’s right.”
“You mean them squaws has just come out here in the middle of nowhere to trade?” Cantrell asked. “That don’t make no sense.”
“They ain’t by themselves,” Philbin said. “Not really. Whenever they come out to trade like that, they never actually go into town. If you was to ask me, I would say that the men that was with them have prob’ly rode on into town to get it all set up.”
“Burt is right,” Meechum said. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Cantrell answered. “I reckon it means the men is in town.”
“Yes, and that also means there ain’t nobody watchin’ over their trade goods but them two squaws and the young’ins,” Meechum said.
“So, what does that have to do with us? What do they have that we would want to trade for anyway?” Cantrell asked.
“Could be they got some of that turquoise and silver jewelry. Them Indians is just real good makin’ them things. And it’s right down there just waitin’ for us,” Meechum said, pointing to the Indian women and children.
“What’s that got to do with us? What do we want with a bunch of Injun jewelry anyway?”
“You don’t never think, do you, Cantrell?” Meechum said. “We can sell it.”
“We ain’t got nothing to trade for it.”
“We ain’t goin’ to trade. We’re just goin’ to go down there and get it,” Meechum said.
“Go get it?” Cantrell replied. “Meechum, it ain’t very damn likely they are goin’ to just give it to us.”
Meechum chuckled. “Hell, I didn’t say we was goin’ to go down there an’ ask for it. I said we was goin’ to take it. Their men are gone. How much trouble can a couple of squaws and a few snot-nosed kids be?”
“Yeah,” Cantrell said. “Yeah, I reckon I see what you are talkin’ about now. We can sell it, you say?”
“Yeah, we can sell it. We need to go someplace away from here like, say, Phoenix or some such place, but we’re headed that way anyway. Once we get there, we can sell the jewelry for fifty, maybe as much as a hundred dollars. I’d kind of like to have a little money in my pocket when we talk to Willis, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I would,” Cantrell agreed.
“Come on, boys,” Meechum said, mounting his horse. “This is goin’ to be the easiest money we ever made.”
“Sagozhuni, white men are coming to trade,” Chandeisi’s wife, Natanh, said. “I do not understand why they would come before our husbands return.”
Sagozhuni looked toward the four men who were riding in single file down the slope of the hill.
“Natanh, hide the jewelry,” Sagozhuni said quickly. “I do not think they are traders.”
Natanh laid a blanket over the turquoise and silver.
“Hello, ladies,” the man who rode in front said. He touched the brim of his hat. “Have you got something to trade?”
“These baskets,” Sagozhuni said, holding up one of the baskets that had the most intricate design.
“Baskets? Is that all? I was thinking more along the lines of turquoise and silver.”
“We have baskets,” Sagozhuni said. “They are very beautiful. Your wife will like them.”
“My wife?” the rider said. He laughed. “Did you hear that, boys?” he said to the others. “Our wives will like the baskets.”
The other riders laughed as well, but rather than easing her fears, their laughter frightened Sagozhuni even more.
The rider in front quit laughing and a snarl crossed his face. “Don’t lie to me now, you redskin bitch. Give us all your jewelry and we’ll just ride away and leave you alone. Otherwise, we’ll have a little fun with you two women, then take the jewelry anyway.”
“Aiyeee!” Natanh yelled, rushing toward one of the men, brandishing a knife.
“Natanh, no!” Sagozhuni shouted.
Sagozhuni’s shouted warning was too late. Natanh slashed out with her knife and brought blood from the leg of one of the riders.
“You crazy bitch!” the wounded rider shouted. Jerking on the reins of his horse, he managed to pull away from her before she could make a second swipe at him.
Natanh’s attack was answered with a flurry of gunshots, and Natanh went down. With a shout of anger, Sagozhuni grabbed Natanh’s knife, but before she could get to any of the men, she was shot down by a second volley.
“Son of a bitch!” Meechum said angrily. “What the hell did they do that for?”
The children began crying.
“What about the damn brats?” Philbin asked.
Meechum shook his head. “We got no choice,” he said. “Shoot the little bastards.” He shot one of the children and the others, following his lead, began shooting as well. For several seconds, the valley echoed and reechoed with the sound of gunshots. Finally, with the air stinking of spent gunpowder and the last echo dying away, the four men, who had not even dismounted, sat their saddles, looking on, shocked at their own actions.
“Son of a bitch, Meechum, did we have to do this?” Oliver asked.
“Didn’t look to me like we had all that much choice,” Meechum said as he dismounted. “Let’s find the silver and turquoise and get the hell out of here.”
“You sure there’s any here?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Meechum said. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t of put up such a fight.”
Meechum turned back one of the blankets, and was rewarded with the sight of a pile of silver and turquoise trinkets. He smiled and looked up at t
he others.
“Well, now, lookie here, boys, lookie here what I just found.”
The other three riders dismounted and began gathering up the jewelry.
“Damn,” Meechum said. “This is fine stuff, and there’s a lot of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t get two hundred dollars for it.”
“Two hundred dollars?” Cantrell said. “That’s fifty dollars apiece.”
Meechum chuckled. “Ahh, you are all for it now, I see. Maybe you think ole Meechum is pretty smart after all.”
“Well, this don’t quite make up for sendin’ us to rob a bank that didn’t have no money,” Cantrell said. “But it makes up for a little of it.”
“It wasn’t that the bank didn’t have no money,” Philbin said. “It had lots of money.”
“Which we couldn’t get to because of the time lock,” Cantrell said. “So, as far as I’m concerned, that was the same as having no money.”
“Let’s quit the palaverin’ and get out of here before the men come back,” Meechum said. He ran his hand over the top of his head. “I’ve grown just real partial to my scalp.”
Delshay was feeling good as he returned to the campsite. He and Chandeisi had found at least ten people who agreed to come out and trade with them. He thought of the smile he would get from his squaw when he traded for some bright red silk.
Even as he was riding back, Delshay began planning the display for them. He knew that if the silver was highly polished so that it shined brightly in the sun, the white men would be willing to give more than they would if the silver was tarnished. He didn’t know why that was so. It was the same silver, whether tarnished or shining, and it was very easy to make the silver shine, yet the whites would sometimes pay twice as much for a shiny piece as they would for a piece that was tarnished.
As the two men continued the ride back toward the camp, however, Delshay began to feel a sense of apprehension. He didn’t mention it to Chandeisi, because he had no reason to be perturbed and he had no wish to cause Chandeisi worry. But even before the camp came in sight, he began to feel anxious.
Why was he so uneasy?
“Delshay, there is no smoke,” Chadeisi said. “We should see smoke.”
“Perhaps our dinner has already been cooked,” Delshay said.
“Yes, I think that is it,” Chandeisi agreed.
Despite Delshay’s reassurance, the restlessness continued. Then, the disquiet grew to a strong fear when he saw the large, circling black birds.
Delshay didn’t have to speak to Chandeisi. He saw the circling turkey vultures as well. Delshay slapped his legs against the side of his horse, urging it into a gallop.
They were all dead, both women and every child. All had been shot, even Delshay’s infant child. The silver and turquoise was gone; only the colorful and intricately woven baskets remained.
Chapter Thirteen
St. Louis
Matt didn’t really want to go to Phoenix, but he had made a promise to Lee to find his brother and give him the money, so, checking out of the hotel, he returned to the depot and bought a ticket.
“You will be aboard the Western Flyer, sir,” the ticket clerk said as he began stamping on the long folded train ticket. “The train will depart from track five at two o’clock this afternoon.”
“There isn’t one earlier?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“All right, thanks,” Matt said, taking the ticket and putting it in his pocket. Looking up at the big clock on the wall, he saw that it was just after eleven, which meant that he had three hours to kill. He walked down to the newsstand and bought a copy of the St. Louis Democrat, then found a bench in a remote and quiet part of the waiting room. With another glance at the clock, he sat down to read. He found an article that made him chuckle.
Hokum Balloon Ascension
A balloon ascension that took part on the riverfront yesterday was deemed an absolute failure. The proprietor of the magnificent airship, Professor de la Smith of Paris, promised to take up not only a bridal party, but every reporter in the city. He ascended alone two hours before the time allotted, and the few people who saw him declared that he was so frightened that his teeth chattered. After ascending no more than one hundred feet at the end of a tether, he began calling for help. The balloon had to be pulled down by the rope, as he was incapable of even so small a thing as pulling the valve. Afterward, he admitted that he had never been up before, and that he had stolen the balloon from a proprietor in Ohio, doing so with the idea of making money by giving rides to those who were willing to pay for ascensions.
Glancing up once more at the clock, Matt saw that it was slightly after twelve, so he went into the dining room to have lunch. He had just ordered when he heard a loud and angry voice.
“You ignorant swine! This soup is cold!”
The complaint came from an irritated diner who was sitting with two others, a woman and another man, at the next table.
“Very good, sir, I shall take it back to the kitchen and have it warmed,” the waiter said.
“I don’t want it warmed, you ignorant dolt. I will require another bowl! I swear, the farther west one goes in this country, the more savage the people and the more incompetent the help.”
The man complaining was short, pudgy, and bald. He was sitting with a quiet, studious-looking man and a very pretty woman.
“Jay, please, can’t you just eat your soup without making such a fuss? There are a lot of people in here and you can see how busy the waiter is,” the young woman said. “I have tasted the soup. I find it quite warm enough.”
“Yes, I am quite sure it is warm enough for you, Cynthia, but you must understand that is only because you are willing to accept inferior as adequate and mediocrity as standard,” Jay replied. “I am not. I demand satisfactory service in all things and I say that being busy is no excuse for ineptitude. And just because you are content with less than acceptable conditions, that is no reason for me to be. You and Hendel are such mice that you would just let people run all over you.”
Cynthia did not reply, and she and Hendel ate their soup without complaint. Jay squirmed in his seat, waiting for the server to return with his soup.
Finally, the main course was brought, but there was still no soup.
“Oh, this is just unconscionable,” Jay said in anger. “Now the main course is here and I still have not had my soup.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I forgot,” the waiter said. “I will bring your soup now.”
“Well, no, you bungling oaf, there is absolutely no need to bring it now, for heaven’s sake. You have already served the main course, so what good would it do me now? However, I do want it clearly understood that I will expect an adjustment to my bill”—he held up a finger pointedly—“and you, my incompetent friend, may disabuse yourself of any expectation of a gratuity.”
Ignorning the obnoxious diner’s complaints as much as he could, though it was difficult as the man was at the very next table and found much to complain about, Matt ate his own meal. Afterward, Matt left the restaurant and walked around the depot, killing time until his train departed.
Matt saw a line of railroad cars sitting on a track at the far end of the car shed, and because he was just killing time until his train left, he walked over to look at them. The cars had been there for some time, as evidenced by the fact that there were cobwebs formed on the wheel trucks.
“No! Help! Help me, someone! Please help!”
The call for help came from the other side of the line of cars, and quickly, Matt stepped between the cars, then looked up and down the brick pathway. That was when he saw someone being set upon by two assailants.
“Give us all your money!” one of the two men said angrily.
“You two!” Matt called, starting toward them. “Get away from that man!”
Hearing Matt’s challenge, one of the two assailants turned away from the victim and started after Matt, holding a club over his head.
“Mister, you
’re goin’ to learn better’n to butt into somethin’ that ain’t none of your business,” the club-wielding thug said. “Fact is, we’ll just take your money, too.”
The would-be assailant made a vicious swing with the club, but Matt ducked easily under the attack, then rising up again, caught the man with a hard blow to the chin. The attacker went down.
“What the hell!” the other thug yelled and, abandoning his attack on the victim, he came toward Matt holding a knife in his hand, low and turned sideways in the manner of someone who knew how to use a blade.
“Friend, this here is an Arkansas toothpick and I aim use it to gut you like a fish.”
Matt crouched down and managed to avoid the attacker’s first swipe at him. When the assailant made a second attempt, Matt stepped to one side, then kicked his adversary in the kneecap.
The assailant let out a loud yelp of pain, but he kept his feet and came after Matt with still another vicious swing. This time Matt stepped gracefully to one side, grabbing the knife-wielder’s arm as he did so. He twisted the arm violently, and heard the snap of a breaking bone, even over the sharp yell of pain.
By now, the first man had regained his feet, but seeing that they were now both disarmed, and that his partner had been injured, he gave up any idea of continuing the encounter. Turning away from Matt, he started running toward the front end of the long line of cars—away from the depot itself and out into the marshaling yard.
The second assailant, now holding his injured arm, glared at Matt for a moment longer. Then, realizing that he had been abandoned by the other assailant, he ran after his partner, limping badly on his injured knee.
Matt turned to the would-be victim.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” the man replied. “No thanks to those ruffians.” He began brushing his clothes. “The name is Bixby, sir. Jay Peerless Bixby.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Matt realized this was the same obnoxious diner who had been sitting next to him in the railroad restaurant.
“I’m Matt Jensen.”
“Well, Mr. Jensen, you have my gratitude for coming to my rescue.”
“It was just lucky that I happened to be here at the right time,” Matt said. “I’m curious. What would bring you to this remote part of the car shed?”
Matt Jensen, The Last Mountain Man Savage Territory Page 9