by Edward Gates
Charlie relaxed, figuring the Indians weren’t the enemy. They were just another group of people trying to scratch out a living. He realized that he had a lot to learn.
Early that evening, the six Indians approached the camp. Ed Bass, who spoke the native Choctaw language, acted as the interpreter. The visit was friendly and cordial. They all shared food and drink, did some trading, and then the Indians left the campsite and weren’t seen again for the rest of the trip. Through the entire visit, Charlie remained quiet and studied what everyone did. He was amazed at how pleasant the visit was.
It took a little over a week to travel through the Choctaw land to a point where they could cross over the Canadian River into the Creek Indian Nation. Charlie jumped at the sound of a rifle shot.
“Got it!” Ed Bass shouted.
Charlie looked out in the distance as a number of antelope scattered off through the trees and across the open fields. Both wagons stopped in the shade of a copse by the river. Ed jumped from the wagon and quickly headed off through the trees and into the field.
“You best go with him,” Dave instructed.
Charlie hopped down and hurried to catch up with Ed. As the two walked, Charlie could see the still carcass of an antelope.
“Clean shot,” Ed said, apparently pleased with his marksmanship. “Let’s get it back to the wagons.”
Ed grabbed the front legs of the dead antelope and waited for Charlie to pick up the hind legs. Charlie hesitated a moment. His stomach churned as he looked at the large brown eyes of the lifeless creature and the gaping wound just above the animal’s shoulder. Charlie closed his eyes and choked back the sickness rising in his throat. I’ve got to do this! He took a deep breath, reached down and picked up the hind legs and the two carried the carcass back toward the wagon.
“This is gonna taste mighty good tonight,” Ed said smiling. Charlie didn’t answer. We’re going to eat this?
“What’d ya think of that shot, huh?”
“That was a helluva shot, Ed,” Charlie said, unsure whether it was or wasn’t. “It was clean.”
“Yeah. I think so too. Real clean.” Ed paused. “We’ll get it dressed and have some good fresh meat tonight. We can smoke and dry the rest of it. Should last us a good while.”
After walking a little ways across the field, Charlie looked up at a ridge across the river and stopped dead in his tracks. Four men on horseback were galloping toward them. They weren’t Indians. Ed turned to look where Charlie was staring. When he saw the riders coming he dropped the animal’s legs and Charlie did the same. In no time, the riders crossed the river and approached them four abreast.
“Is the hammer strap on your holster fastened or unfastened, my friend?” Ed asked quietly.
“Fastened,” Charlie answered. He heard the other guard take a deep breath.
“You’d better unhook yours now, just in case,” Ed said. “You take the two on the right. The last man’s slicker is buttoned so he won’t be pulling a gun very quickly. Get him last.”
Charlie was terrified. Was he about to be in a gunfight? He didn’t know what to do. With shaking hands, he unhooked the hammer strap on his pistol. His breathing quickened, and he felt a little light-headed. He tried to remember how many shots he had left: there was that one shot on the boat, and he thought he had fired another one but couldn’t remember. He couldn’t stop shaking. His mind was racing, trying to remember the shooting instructions from Clemens. Deep breath… careful aim… what else, what else? He unbuttoned his coat so he would have better access to his gun.
“If any shootin’ starts, just remember to keep moving. It’s harder for them to hit a moving target. Especially on horseback,” Ed said.
“Keep moving. Right. Got it.” Charlie could feel his breath coming in quick gasps.
The four riders stopped in front of Ed and Charlie. They were of various ages and all dressed in dirty clothes and in desperate need of a bath. Two wore linen dusters and the man on the far right wore a dark brown slicker.
“Looks like you shot my supper. I thank you for that,” one rider said.
Charlie didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. At this point he could barely think. Keep moving. Keep moving. He took a step away from the carcass and Ed.
“I believe you’re mistaken, friend,” Ed said, never taking his eyes off the rider who spoke. “This is my supper. I dropped it from those trees over there.”
The rider, a large middle-aged man with a scruffy black beard, glanced at the trees. “Just the same, I believe I was aiming at that particular animal from that ridge up yonder. I’ll be taking that carcass from you.”
Charlie saw Ed’s jaw tighten and his eyes squint. Charlie could see that this was not going well. He was scared, but now he feared for Ed as well. His concern for another caused him to shift his attention away from himself and he stopped shaking. Charlie remembered Ed’s instructions and focused on the two riders on his right.
“Mister, I don’t believe I’ll be turning this meat over to you.”
The rider who was doing the talking crouched forward, leaning on his saddle horn. With Ed’s remark he sat up straight and stared at the guard. “That’s the wrong answer. I’d hate to have to kill you two over that animal.”
“I don’t think I’ll let that happen.” Ed took a step to his left.
Finally, Charlie started to think straight. This was stupid! Kill us over a dead animal?
“Wait a minute! Just wait a minute! Are you crazy?” Charlie shouted as he took another step away from Ed. The rider, who had barely noticed Charlie at first, now looked at him and placed his hand on his gun. “What do you think we’re doing out here?” Charlie asked. “You think we just walked out here with no transportation or weapons?”
The rider frowned at Charlie.
Charlie had their attention. He pointed to the cluster of trees by the river. “Mister, we got two freight wagons in those trees and right now there are three rifles trained on you guys. You so much as touch your weapons and they’ll blow you off those horses.”
All four riders turned as one and looked at the trees, straining to see past the tree line. Ed seized the opportunity and pulled his gun, cocked the hammer and aimed at the spokesman. With a trembling hand Charlie pulled his gun, being careful to keep a firm grip on it, and aimed it at the rider on his right. The four horsemen froze.
Ed smiled. “I think you’re done here. It was nice of you boys to stop by. We’re going to take our kill back to the other freighters now. If there’s nothing else, I suggest you be on your way.”
If looks could kill, he and Ed would be dead now. The spokesman glared at Ed and then Charlie before he pulled the reins of his horse and galloped off across the river and back up the ridge. The other three riders followed. While they rode away, Charlie holstered his pistol.
Ed turned to Charlie and laughed out loud. “That was a great speech, Charlie!”
Charlie vomited.
26
Indians and Thieves
Charlie felt a little queasy watching the seasoned outdoorsmen field-dress the antelope. They carved out five good chunks of meat and put each on a stick that Dave honed from some green tree limbs. The sticks were anchored with rocks a little away from the fire and angled over the coals using a shorter fulcrum stick. The other, larger chunks of meat were packed in a saltpeter, salt and molasses mixture, then wrapped in a cloth and stuck inside a small wooden keg. That apparently would preserve the meat long enough for them to enjoy it for most of their trip. The remaining meat was cut into strips and laid out on a board to be smoked and dried. Charlie was fascinated with the entire butchering, preparation and cooking process. This was a skill he would need to master if he was to survive on his own.
The smell of the roasting antelope roused Charlie’s hunger pangs, overcoming his nausea. One of the other men threw a few potatoes and apples into the coals of the fire and after a while the five were dining on antelope steaks, baked apples and baked potatoes. T
hey sat around the fire and Ed told them about the distraction that Charlie pulled on the four riders. Everyone laughed and complimented Charlie on his ingenuity.
“Funny thing,” Dave said, “we really did have a couple rifles at the ready.” They all laughed again. Charlie felt like he was one of them, now.
A canvas tarp was draped about five feet off the ground over two parallel ropes on either side of the fire to act as a crude smoke tent. The meat strips were hung under the tarp. The men made sure the fire was low flame with hot coals and kept a supply of green sugarberry wood and wild sage stems on the coals for smoke flavor. The smoke and heat dried and cured the strips of meat.
The following morning, they packed up their camp, hitched up the teams and headed north across the Canadian River into the Creek Nation. They hadn’t travelled an hour before they were met by an entourage of Indians. Charlie counted eighteen of them, some on horseback, the rest on foot.
“Don’t make any quick moves,” Dave said to Charlie. “The Creeks aren’t as friendly as the Choctaws. But we can usually trade our way through their land.”
Nobody on the team was fluent in the Creek language, although Ed and Dave both knew a few Creek words. Two of the Indians spoke a few words of English and Choctaw. Between them, the four men were able to work their way through a broken conversation.
While the four parlayed, a few of the Creek Indians went through the items in the wagons. Charlie stood in the front of the wagon watching them with more curiosity than concern -- that is, until one Indian reached for Charlie’s valise. The time belt! Charlie reached in and put his hand on the valise the same time the Indian did. The Indian cast a threatening look at Charlie, who did his best to return the look. Their eyes locked, neither let go of the bag. Charlie placed his right hand on his gun and slowly moved his head from side to side as a warning to not take the bag. At this moment nothing else existed to him but his time belt and this Indian. He knew that this man could probably kill him in an instant if he wanted to, but he was not going to let anyone see that belt. There was a tense moment in the air as their standoff was watched by all.
Finally, one of the Indians on horseback shouted something in his native language to the one holding on to Charlie’s valise. The Indian released his grip in a violent thrust and jumped off the wagon. Charlie took a deep breath. The situation was diffused. He re-stashed his valise as far down into the wagon as he could and covered it with some cargo. The Creek Indians took some tools and blankets and rode off.
“What are you doin’, trying to git us all killed?” Dave hollered at Charlie after the Indians left. “That was a stupid thing to do. What’s in that bag that’s so all-fired important that you almost got us killed over?”
“Nothing but some personal things that are not for trading.”
“Personal, huh?”
Charlie nodded. He could see Dave was not very happy with his actions.
“Well, I hope they’re worth dying for.” Dave turned to walk away, but then stopped and looked back at Charlie. “You pull something like that again and I’ll shoot you myself.”
Charlie thought about Dave’s remarks. He never considered risking his life to protect the time belt, but that’s exactly what he had just done. Was this belt worth dying over? Was any of this really worth dying over?
The team headed north for a few days to get back alongside the Arkansas River. As evening approached, thick dark clouds began to form. The temperature had noticeably dropped. They’d been on the road for about two weeks and up to this point enjoyed good weather. It was late October and Charlie could feel winter approaching. The air was ripped by a wind that bit rather than chilled.
When they set up camp for the night, Dave secured one end of a tarp to the side of the wagon and the other end to the ground, creating a lean-to. They set out their bedrolls partially under the tarp and partially under the wagon to give them some protection from any weather that might develop overnight.
After a supper of soda biscuits, fried apples with bacon and antelope meat, Charlie took first watch of the animals. He wrapped himself in his blanket, pulled on his gloves and sat on a hillside overlooking the campsite and the animals. With the cloud cover blocking out the moon and stars, visibility was at a minimum. As the night wore on, the temperature continued to drop and the wind picked up. Charlie could smell the rain in the air. It was just a matter of time before it broke loose.
A flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder startled the animals. The horses, tethered to a line, stood together and turned away from the approaching storm. The oxen huddled closer together and reclined on the ground. Charlie pulled the blanket tighter around himself as a cold rain began to fall. Dave walked up the side of the hill and called to him.
“Hey! You okay?”
Another round of lightning and thunder. Charlie stood and joined Dave at the bottom of the rise.
“Come with me. We’re gonna hobble the horses and then get out of this rain.”
Charlie followed Dave and helped him put the hobbles on the three horses. Then they went back to the campsite and took shelter under the lean-to.
“Should I go back out and watch the animals?” Charlie asked.
“No need,” Dave said. “Not much will happen in a storm. The horses will be fine in the hobbles and the oxen are too stupid to be bothered by anything. Get some rest.” Dave stretched out on his bedroll and pulled his blanket up close to his neck.
Charlie lay down on his bedroll and fell asleep to the sounds of rain falling around him.
Charlie was startled awake by a rough hand being placed over his mouth. He jumped and tried to pull away until he saw it was Dave’s hand. The wagon driver put a finger to his lips.
“We got company,” he whispered in Charlie’s ear.
The rain had stopped and it was pre-dawn where it wasn’t quite light out, but the darkness was beginning to fade. He stayed completely still, listening for any sound. He could see his breath in the cold dawn air. A horse whinnied. Charlie raised himself to a kneeling position under the wagon. Dave stepped away from him and exited from under the wagon. Charlie looked over at the other wagon and saw the figures of the other three men slowly moving around. Charlie followed Dave and stood next to him alongside the wagon. Ed Bass and Walter Holmes, the driver of the other wagon, joined Dave and Charlie. The third guard stayed by the wagon.
“Can’t hardly see a thing,” Ed whispered.
“Yeah. That means they can’t see us, either,” Dave whispered back. There was another horse neigh. “They’re by the animals.” Dave pointed to Ed. “You and Walter go over the rise to the left. Charlie an’ me will go to the right.”
Charlie watched Ed and Walter pull their guns, stoop low and creep up to the top of a small rise near where the horses were tethered.
“Let’s go.” Dave drew his pistol, bent over, and slowly walked off to the right. Charlie unhooked his hammer strap and followed Dave up the crest. When they reached the top, he knelt and made out two figures on horseback and two others on the ground untying the horses from the tether line. Charlie drew his gun. He was getting used to that gun being on his hip and never realized how easily it slipped into a comfortable fit in his hand. His handgun was becoming a part of him, just like Clemens told him.
Ed Bass stood and hollered at the four. They jumped, turned and reached for their guns.
“We got you in a crossfire! Don’t do anything stupid!” Dave shouted as he stood up.
The four looked at Dave. There was a tense moment where the four strangers looked back and forth between Dave and Ed. Charlie didn’t stand. He unconsciously cocked the hammer on his gun. The desperados on the ground began to slowly move toward their horses. The two on horseback turned their mounts to face Ed.
“Don’t do it!” Ed shouted. “Git your hands up and move away from the horses!”
One of the cowboys on the ground pulled his gun and shot at Ed. The other three gang members pulled their guns and the prairie exploded w
ith powder flashes and gunshots. Dave dropped back down to his knees and began to fire. Charlie raised his gun, aimed at a cowboy on the ground and pulled the trigger. Misfire! He cocked the hammer again and aimed and fired. The cowboy dropped to one knee and fired back at Charlie. He heard the bullet buzz by him. Charlie fired again and again, not really aiming at anyone in particular. He was just shooting into the group of four horse thieves. He shot until his gun was empty. In less than a minute, the shooting stopped. All was quiet.
“Ed?” Dave shouted.
“Walter’s hit!” came Ed’s answer from the ridge.
“Damn it,” Dave muttered. He rushed to the other ridge to check on Walter.
Charlie heard the moaning of injured men. He stood and slowly approached the four downed men. Three of the men were lying on the ground and he checked them for any signs of life. Two of them were dead; the third was still breathing but not moving, bleeding from a number of wounds. The fourth man was on his hands and knees trying to get up. Charlie stood next to the man, gun in hand, wondering whether he should do something.
“I’m shot to pieces, boy.” He took a shallow breath. “Ya killed me.”
Charlie holstered his now empty gun and reached down to help the man into a sitting position. As soon as he took his arm, the wounded man turned on Charlie, pulled him to the ground and brandished a large Bowie knife in his other hand. There was a gunshot and the man’s chest exploded over Charlie, splattering him with blood. He collapsed across Charlie. Charlie sucked in a breath, pushed the man off to the side and scooted away from the now dead cowboy. He looked to the ridge and saw Dave slowly walking toward him with his gun in his hand.
“You didn’t see the knife, did ya, son?”
Charlie sat on the ground, shaking with fear. He had come too close to his own death and was breathing too fast to answer.
“Dying men don’t pull knives.” Dave holstered his weapon and walked back to the campsite.