By the time they reached the fort, the gates had been closed and they had to wait for the sentry to challenge them. Allison spoke for them all.
“I’m Clay Allison, and I’ve been here before. These two gents are part of an outfit that’s taking their cattle to market, and they need to talk to the post commander.”
The gates remained closed while the sentry sent another soldier for the sergeant of the guard. Allison waited until the soldier returned, and when he did, his words were for Dan and Silas.
“Major Montgomery will see you,” he said.
“I’ll be seein’ you gents later,” Allison said, and he set off on his own.
Dan and Silas were led through an orderly room to a closed door beyond, where their guide knocked. Bid to enter, he did so, saluting. Dan and Silas followed. Major Montgomery had gray hair, a stern face, and hard blue eyes. He said nothing, waiting for Dan or Silas to speak. Dan did.
“I’m Daniel Ember, and this is Silas Hamby. We’re part of an outfit of ranchers, and we’re driving our cattle to market. A Lieutenant Winters and his command spent the night with us somewhere south of here, and he told us to meet with you, to tell you of our intentions.”
For a long moment the officer said nothing. His eyes were on the Colts Dan and Silas wore. Finally his eyes met Dan’s and he spoke.
“I presume the lieutenant told you that with Texas under Federal rule, you are not permitted to carry weapons.”
“He did,” Dan said, “with exceptions. He realized, as I’m sure you must, that we cannot undertake such a journey unarmed. We were told that we can sign papers allowing us to keep our weapons. We understand that it will be your decision, sir.”
“That is correct,” Montgomery said, a little less stuffily. “Where are you taking this drive?”
“Fort Dodge, Kansas,” Dan said. “To the railroad.”
“There is no railroad,” Montgomery said. “It’s months away, and I must remind you that there is a government ban against commerce with anyone from a state that fought against the Union. Therefore, none of the forts to the north—in Indian Territory or Kansas— will be permitted to buy your cows.”
“We understand that,” Dan said, “and we have no intention of trying to sell to the government. We aim to wait for the railroad, if it takes a year.”
“With that understanding, I’ll permit you to keep your weapons, and it’s my duty to tell you that there’s an Indian problem we have been unable to reconcile. You may be fighting the Comanche, the Kiowa, the Arapaho, and possibly the Cheyenne. We’re already spread too thin, and can’t offer you any protection, and I expect the command at Fort Dodge is experiencing the same difficulty.”
“We have twenty fighting men,” Dan said, “and almost as many women, but we have almost no rifles. That’s why we felt it necessary to reach some agreement with you on the weapons. We hope to do some trading with the sutler’s store, arming ourselves with the new Winchester repeating rifles.”
“I fear you’ll be needing them,” Montgomery said. “Good luck.”
Dan and Silas had turned to go when Major Montgomery again spoke.
“The government can’t buy your beef, Ember, but the sutler is under no such limitation. The store is civilian operated, and with the depletion of the buffalo, I suspect there is a need for beef at most of the forts on the frontier. If the government were allowed to buy, the going price would be twenty dollars a head, but that’s too low. Don’t take less than thirty.”
Dan saluted Montgomery, and with a twinkle in his eyes, the officer returned it.
“By God,” Silas said when they had left the building, “I never would of expected that from a blue belly.”
“We fought them and they whipped us,” said Dan. “I know Washington, with its politicians, regulations, carpetbaggers, and scalawags, is givin’ us hell, but we can’t fault the soldiers for that. Most of the soldiers are good men, with thankless, low-paying jobs, doing their best. We’ve been fortunate to meet one of them. I just hope Mr. Elwood Goldstein will be one-tenth as fair-minded, but I doubt it. Let’s go take the varmint by the horns and find out.”
*Lake Abilene is located a few miles south of what would become the city of Abilene, in 1881. The peaks, unknown to the riders, are Church Mountain, Bald Eagle, and East Peak.
*The Clear Fork of the Brazos flows into Lake Fort Phantom Hill, named for the fort established near the present town of Hawley, Texas, in 1851. Phantom Hill was one in a line of forts from Red River to the Rio Grande, offering protection to Forty-niners following the Randolph B. Marcy trail across Texas. But supplies had to be hauled all the way from Austin, and Fort Phantom Hill was abandoned in 1854.
11
The sutler’s store was crowded, evidently with exbuffalo hunters and bone gatherers. Dan and Silas made the rounds, finding all the items they would need, including the new Winchester repeating rifles. Men were grouped around the counter a dozen deep, and it seemed unlikely Dan and Silas would be speaking with Goldstein anytime soon.
“Come on,” Dan said. “Let’s wait awhile and come back. I’m not of a mind to have all these buffalo hunters gathered about when we finally talk to Goldstein. We’ll have a look at the rest of the fort.”
But they quickly discovered they didn’t have the run of the place. As they left the store and passed the log building that housed the orderly room and the post commander’s office, a corporal stepped out the orderly room door and halted them.
“It’s a mite crowded in the store,” Dan said, “and we thought we’d look around the post.”
“Visitors only have access to the store,” the soldier said. “Beyond that, you must have an escort. I’m Corporal Marler, and I’ll be glad to show you around.”
Dan and Silas followed the young soldier, and as they walked, he told them about the fort, how it began, and the government’s plans for it.
“This post was established in 1867,” Marler said, “as part of a chain of military posts along the Texas frontier, by Colonel Samuel Davis Sturgis and four companies of the Sixth Cavalry. It was first named Camp Wilson, but was later changed to Fort Griffin, in honor of Major General Charles Griffin, commanding the Department of Texas. For the time being, both officers and enlisted men are living in temporary wooden shelters. For instance, the commanding officer’s quarters is a settler’s cabin, hauled from a deserted ranch, and so is the building we’re using for a post hospital. There are quarters for six companies and a band, eleven sets of officers’ quarters, an adjutant’s office, the hospital, a guardhouse, magazine, five storehouses, a forage barn, a bakery, four storage sheds, several workshops, and quarters for laundresses. Of course, there’s the sutler’s store and the blacksmith’s, which are civilian operated. Some of the fort’s early buildings were of stone, but the need for housing was immediate, and most of the existing buildings of wood are considered temporary. We have been promised a permanent installation, with proper stone structures.”*
“It’s an impressive layout, corporal,” Dan said. “Now I reckon we’ll go back to the sutler’s and wait our turn.”
The crowd in the store hadn’t diminished all that much, but word of the trail drive had reached Goldstein’s ears, and he obviously was expecting some of the riders to show up at the store. By now Goldstein had some help at the busy counter, likely a son, since the young man appeared to be a more recent version of Goldstein himself. When the storekeeper sighted Dan and Silas on the fringe of the crowd, he slipped away,
leaving the young man at the mercy of the buffalo hunters and bone gatherers.
“Here he comes,” Silas said. “How’d he know us?”
“A good, solid guess,” Dan said. “He knows by the look of us we’re not buffalo hunters. A cowboy just looks like a cowboy, and there’s no gettin’ away from it.”
“You are with the trail drive,” Goldstein said when he reached them. “Are you the owners?”
“Two of them,” Dan replied, and he said no more. It was Goldstein
’s move.
“I would be interested in buying some of them, perhaps, if the price is right.”
“We might be interested in selling some of them,” Dan said, “if the price is right.”
“Twenty dollars a head,” Goldstein said cautiously. “Cash.”
“Thirty dollars a head,” Dan countered, “but no cash. Trade only.”
“Twenty-five dollars,” Goldstein said, “and I’ll take a hundred head.”
“No,” Dan said. “We can get thirty or more in Kansas, and you know it.”
“Twenty-six,” Goldstein said.
“Thirty,” Dan said.
“Twenty-seven,” Goldstein said.
Dan said nothing.
“Twenty-eight,” Goldstein said, “and that’s my final offer.”
“Twenty-eight fifty,” Dan said. “No less.”
“Sold,” Goldstein said, “but no cash. Trade only.”
“Trade only,” Dan agreed, “but no limitations. That includes having our horses and mules shod by your smithy. We’ve already spoken to the post commander, and we want two dozen Winchester repeating rifles, and ammunition.”
“I’m not sure I have that many,” said Goldstein.
“Major Montgomery believed you did,” Dan said, “and so do I. Maybe you’d better look around some more. Give us two hours, and we’ll have your steers here, all two-year-olds or better. I’ll bring you a bill of sale, and we’ll bring a wagon for the first of our provisions. Get word to your smithy about our credit. He can start with our horses and mules whenever he’s ready, and the sooner the better.”
With that, he turned and walked out, Silas following.
“That was slicker’n calf slobber,” Silas said admiringly while they were mounting their horses. “Where you reckon Allison went?”
“His horse is still here,” Dan said, “and since civilians aren’t allowed to wander around the fort, I’d say he’s in the saloon behind the store.”
“We ain’t gonna speak to him before we leave, then.”
“No,” Dan said. “We’ve made our deal, and I don’t want Goldstein seeing us in there again until we have his hundred head of steers and a bill of sale.”
There was jubilation within the outfit when Dan and Silas returned with the news, and immediate cries for food to supplement a weary diet of beans and beef.
“We have $2,850 credit,” Dan said, “and we don’t have to use it immediately. We’ll be here a few days, with the time it takes the blacksmith to reshoe our horses and mules and for us to caulk all the wagon boxes. For starters, let me suggest this. We’ll cut out a hundred steers and take them to the fort. Silas, take your wagon, and Wolf, you bring yours. Today we’ll get the pitch we need to watertight the wagon boxes and the necessary tools. Then we’ll load up on grub, with enough flour, meal, sugar, coffee, and bacon to last us to Dodge City. The rest of the time we’re here, some of you can go in each day and choose the warm clothes you’ll need as we ride farther north. Are there any of you unsatisfied with that?”
They kept their silence, and Dan continued.
“Tobe, Walt, and Monte, I’ll need you to help me cut out the steers and drive them to the fort. Silas, you and Wolf follow us with the wagons.”
The saloon behind the sutler’s store was almost as large as the store itself. There was a bar on each side of the enormous room, each running the length of it, each with a pair of bartenders. Beer was drawn from huge kegs, and behind each bar stood row after row of whiskey bottles. There was a broad selection, everything from cheap forty-rod to expensive Tennessee and Kentucky bourbons. A full two dozen tables occupied the space between the bars, and there were men at every table, but not the man Clay Allison sought. He had chased Mort Suggs all the way from Tucumcari to El Paso, only to have Suggs get there a day ahead of him because Allison’s horse had gone lame. Suggs could have fled west into Arizona Territory or south into Old Mexico, but when Allison had again picked up the trail, it led east. The trail had been rained out before Allison could catch up, forcing him to make a decision. For sure, Suggs hadn’t ridden south into Old Mexico, for he had already forsaken that option. That left San Antonio, Austin, or some other destination to the north. Allison had pieced together that night back in Tucumcari, and thought he knew where he would find the elusive Mort. Suggs.
Mort and his brothers, Julius and Felix, had been down-at-the-heels buffalo hunters, in Tucumcari for a hell-raising Saturday night. The Suggs brothers had bought into a poker game, and Clay Allison had withdrawn, accusing Mort Suggs of cheating. Allison was about to leave the saloon, accompanied by his longtime friend, Trinity Wells, when Allison dropped his hat. Just as he had stooped to retrieve it, Mort Suggs had lunged at him with a knife, and his brutal thrust had killed the girl. Knowing what would follow, Julius and Felix had leaped on Allison, starting a brawl that had allowed Mort Suggs to escape into the night.
A posse had ridden out at dawn, but had quit the trail after a fruitless all-day ride. But Clay Allison hadn’t given up, and when he had joined the trail drive, he had fully expected to find the three Suggs brothers near Fort Griffin. Now he wondered if he had guessed wrong, if his ride had been in vain. There were no hides on the many wagons strung out along the Brazos, evidence enough that the buffalo on the plains of West Texas had all been slaughtered or driven away. With the buffalo gone, it was neck meat or nothing, and that accounted for the wagonloads of buffalo bones. It seemed some of the hunters had been forced to become bone gatherers. Might that not include the Suggs brothers?
Allison bought a bottle, slumped down at one of the tables and drank himself into a vile mood. It was possible the Suggs trio had withdrawn into Indian Territory, but with Indian hostility rampant, that wasn’t likely. They would be hunkered down in the shadow of some fort, if not Fort Griffin, then maybe Fort Dodge. Suddenly Allison was struck with an idea, and leaning over, spoke to a man at the next table.
“Pardner, is there a camp on up the river? Been lookin’ around in here for a gent I know, and can’t seem to find him.”
“Yeah,” the stranger said, “there’s a bunch sleepin’ in their wagons and eatin’ jackrabbit stew. They’re too broke to come in here.”
“When you get there with the cattle,” Dan said, “hold them along the river until I find out where Goldstein wants them.”
Dan then rode ahead to the fort, taking with him a prepared bill of sale. Reaching the store, he presented it to Goldstein in exchange for a written letter of credit for the amount of the sale.
“Take them three-quarters of a mile upriver,” Goldstein said. “There’s a barn with an adjoining corral.”
“Two of my men are outside with wagons,” Dan said. “I’m going to have them come in and begin loading some provisions.” He then spoke to Wolf and Silas.
Dan rode back, joining Tobe Barnfield, Walt Crump, and Monte Walsh, and the four of them drove the herd upriver to Goldstein’s corral.
“This Goldstein’s a more trustin’ hombre than I’d be,” Monte Walsh said. “There’s a buffalo camp up yonder, and I bet them ex-hunters is hungry as a pack of lobo wolves.”
“I reckon the varmints would like to have some of that buffalo meat they left to rot on the plains,” Tobe Barnfield said.
Suddenly there was an uproar from the jumble of wagons as men shouted and cursed.
“Come on,” Dan said, “let’s ride up there and see what’s going on.”
They found Clay Allison with his back against an oak, the cocked Colt steady in his hand. Seven men faced him, and six of them had their hands near the butts of their Colts. The seventh man had no Colt, and although he was as big as Clay Allison, he looked scared.
“Allison,” Dan said, “what’s this all about?”
“Nothing to concern you,” Allison said shortly, “but since you’re here, you might as well know. I’m here to kill a man, but not without cause. This skunk—the one without a gun—killed a lady in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Miss Trinity Wells was my friend, a
nd she took the blade this bastard intended for me. I should have gut-shot him when I caught him cheating at the poker table. He escaped after killing Trinity only because his pair of skunk-striped kin started a fight in the saloon.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Mort Suggs bawled. “She wasn’t nothin’ but a saloon whore nohow.”
Allison’s Colt roared, and Mort Suggs’ left earlobe disappeared with a spray of blood.
“I ain’t armed,” Suggs screamed.
Four of the men were no longer hostile. One of them spoke to Allison.
“We ain’t sidin’ him, mister, if what you say is true.”
“It’s true,” Allison said. “Now you three varmints,” he continued, turning back to the Suggs brothers, “have a choice. This bastard that killed Trinity can face me man-to-man, or I’ll gut-shoot the three of you.”
“I ain’t no gunman,” Mort cried.
“Oh,” Allison said mildly, “you’re a knife man, so we’ll do it your way. I’ve skinned a few skunks in my time. Ember, I’d take it as a favor if you hombres would keep an eye on this pair of Suggs while Mort and me mix it up with our cuchillos. Either or both of them would welcome the opportunity to shoot me in the back while I’m teaching little brother the error of his ways.”
Allison eased down the hammer of his Colt and hol-stered the weapon. Removing his hat, he drew the rawhide thong over his head, removing a deadly Bowie that hung down the back of his shirt. Gripping the murderous knife in his right hand, he turned to face the trembling Mort Suggs.
“Get up, damn you,” Allison said through clenched teeth.
When Suggs didn’t move form the wagon tongue, Allison snatched the front of Suggs’s shirt with a massive left hand, the deadly Bowie in his right. Mort Suggs screamed as Allison slit his shirt to shreds. Suggs broke loose and fell facedown on the ground. Allison hoisted him by his waistband and slit his trousers from waist to knee, then rolled him over and slashed the other side. With the terrible Bowie, he stripped Mort Suggs naked, Suggs whimpering like a whipped dog. Allison got astraddle of the naked man, the Bowie held high.
The Dodge City Trail Page 15