by Edward Gates
Charlie was alone with the man who seconds before was a muscle twitch away from ending his life. He looked at the four dead cowboys; had one of his bullets killed any of these men? He couldn’t believe that he may have taken a life, a life he may not have had any business taking. If he hadn’t come to this era, would any of these men have lived? Or maybe without Charlie, Dave would have been shot. There was no denying the fact that his presence here altered a timeline. Or perhaps many timelines. He would need to guard against his involvement in things like this from now on.
Charlie, the logical scientist, tried to find some sense to these men, their actions and their deaths. Why were they stealing horses? Why did they engage in a gun battle they were bound to lose? Why did this man in front of him want to kill him… for no reason? He was unable to control his thoughts. This was a leap away from any civilized behavior he could have imagined.
The rain began to drizzle again and he began to shiver. He sat shaking on the wet ground, covered in mud and blood, and wept. He didn’t want to be here anymore.
27
Doctoring
Charlie sat across from the dead horse thief in a trance, unaware of any passage of time. The morning had gotten lighter despite the thick dark rainclouds. The cold drizzle had stopped.
He had finally relaxed and settled down enough to think clearly. His mind pieced together the events of the early morning. As he stared at the dead man in front of him, it suddenly dawned on him that he’d seen this man before. He was one of the riders who had confronted Ed and him over the antelope.
Charlie got to his feet and looked at the other three dead men. There was no mistaking it. These were the same men that had tried to steal their kill. He felt a tinge of justification in their deaths. His guilt and remorse didn’t seem so bad, now. When Charlie turned to head back to the campsite, he noticed Ed and Dave patiently and quietly sitting on the ridge watching him. Charlie walked toward them.
“You all right?” Ed asked.
Charlie nodded, then paused. “I never killed anyone before.” Then he looked away as he remembered that wasn’t true. He had killed that traveler from San Francisco just a few months ago. Had it only been a few months? But that was an accident that he couldn’t stop in time. This gunplay was deliberate, and he had aimed to kill.
“Well, everybody has a first one. You did what you had to,” Dave said. “We gave ‘em a chance to put up. They made their own play. You did good, Charlie.”
Charlie lowered his head. Dave’s kind words didn’t help his feelings of remorse. He turned and looked at Ed. “Those are the same fellas that tried to take that antelope from us.”
“Is that so?” Ed stood and walked toward the bodies. “Maybe they got papers.”
“Papers?” Charlie asked.
“If they’re here, it’s likely they’re wanted somewhere. The only people in this part of the country, other than Indians, are men trying to hide. If that’s the case there might be a wanted poster on them,” Dave explained. “Most of these hombres collect posters and news clippings about themselves. Like they’re famous - want to see their names in the paper.”
Charlie watched Ed go through the men’s belongings before he turned to Dave. “How’s Walter?”
“He’s bad off,” Dave said. “Bullet’s still in him and he’s bleeding something awful.”
“What are we going to do?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know. He needs a doctor but we’re almost three weeks away from Fort Larned and over two weeks from Fort Smith. I don’t think he’d make it through either one of those trips. We gotta make a tough choice. Do we press on or turn back?”
Charlie walked past Dave and headed for the camp. He wanted to see the extent of Walter’s wound. Dave got up and joined him. When Charlie got to the wagons, Walter was on his bedroll below the lean-to. He was unconscious and his breathing was labored. The second guard, a short, thin, wiry man who spoke very little, sat next to him.
Charlie pulled back the blanket and lifted open Walter’s blood-soaked shirt to expose the wound, a large hole on the right side of his chest just under the breast. It was obvious to Charlie that Walter had lost a lot of blood. After watching the butchering of an antelope and then partaking in the bloodletting this morning, Charlie was able to view Walter’s wound a little more objectively. He was getting used to seeing blood and wounds. Dave watched over Charlie’s shoulder.
“You know something about doctoring?”
“A little. I had some first-aid and CPR training.”
“First what?”
Charlie realized they had no concept of immediate emergency care, let alone what CPR meant. How was he going to explain this? “It’s a little bit of medical training to help injured people while we get them to a doctor.”
“Can you get that bullet out?” Dave asked.
“I don’t think we have to. If it missed the gall bladder he should be okay. We can leave it in there until the doctor sees him. We just need to get this bleeding stopped.”
“Missed the gall… what?”
“Gall bladder. It’s a small organ right about here that produces…” Charlie looked at Dave, who was obviously not understanding any of it. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Do you have a needle and thread?”
Dave left and returned with a black fabric pouch about three inches long and the diameter of a broom handle. It contained a sewing kit with buttons, a thimble, various-sized needles and pins and two small wooden wheels each containing a thick, coarse thread.
“I’ll need you to boil some water.”
“We already washed it down,” Dave said.
“Yeah. But the water needs to be boiled to kill any bacteria.”
Dave had a puzzled look about him, like he wanted to ask another question but didn’t. He just walked away to start heating water.
“What are ya gonna do?” the wiry guard asked.
“I’m going to try and sew this wound closed enough to stop the bleeding. Give me your bandana.”
The guard pulled his bandana off and handed it to Charlie. Charlie folded it into a square pad and pressed it on Walter’s wound. He looked at the guard.
“What was your name again?”
“Jesse. Jesse Williams.”
“Look here, Jesse. I want you to do what I’m doing. Put your hand on top of this bandana and press down. Not too hard. Just keep pressure on it. It should slow the bleeding enough to where I can sew it shut.”
Jesse reached over and kept a steady pressure on the wound. He looked at Charlie. “You done this before?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. But I’ve watched it in a hologr-- Well, never mind. I’ve seen it done.”
Ed Bass returned with a small satchel. He was reading a clipping from a newspaper. “That fella that was about to kill you is Jacob Banning. He’s wanted in Missouri for robbing a bank in Springfield. Says so right here. Don’t say who those other three are. But there’s a few newspaper writings about Jacob and his gang. They never said who’s in his gang, though. I figure it’s them three.” Ed looked down at Walter. “How’s he doing?”
“If we can get the bleeding stopped, he might have a chance.”
Dave came around the wagon with the coffee pot full of hot water. Charlie poured some into a cup, dipped a cloth in it and wiped down the wound. The pressure worked and the bleeding had slowed to where he could clean the wound. He put the needle and thread in the hot water for a while. When the water in the cup had cooled, Charlie removed the needle and thread and dumped the water on the wound to rinse the area. When he began stitching the skin together, Jesse had to turn away.
Ed laughed at him. “That’s fine! You gut animals and shoot people down but can’t watch a stitching.”
While Charlie worked on the wound, Dave turned to Ed. “What’d you find out?”
“That fella you shot off Charlie is Big Jake Banning out of Missouri. He’s got a two-hundred-dollar reward on his head.”
“Two hundred dollars! What about the others
?” Dave asked.
Ed shook his head. “Don’t know about them fellas. I suppose they’re his gang, but the poster don’t mention them.”
“We’ll take Banning to Fort Larned and bury the other three where they lie.” He looked at Ed. “Let’s get to it.”
“Wait. You want to take Banning’s body all the way to Larned? I think he’d be mighty ripe by that time,” Ed said.
Dave thought about and then nodded. “You got any suggestions?”
“Take his head. That’ll be proof enough,” Ed replied. “That should keep a lot longer than his body.”
“Okay. So be it. I’ll let you do that job.”
Dave and Jesse grabbed shovels and walked to the bodies. Ed picked up Jake Banning’s Bowie knife and proceeded to decapitate its former owner. The three men then dug four shallow graves. The dead men were stripped of any useful belongings and rolled into the holes. The graves were filled and each marked with a stick driven into the wet ground and supported by a pile of rocks. Ed wrapped Banning’s head in two blankets and put it in the back of his wagon; the cold weather would help keep it reasonably preserved until they reached Kansas. The men’s four horses and the three Dave brought with him were tethered to the back of the wagons, four on one wagon and three on the other.
Charlie finished stitching up Walter’s wound and cleaned around it. He took one of his new shirts and ripped out a large section that he folded into a patch and placed over the wound. He tore the rest of the shirt into a strip and tied it around Walter to hold the patch in place.
The four men struck camp and began hitching the oxen to the yokes. To make a space for Walter, Ed and Jesse repositioned a lot of the cargo, moving some of it over to the other wagon. Right before they were ready to go, they lifted Walter into the wagon and covered him with a blanket to keep him warm and then the tarp to keep him dry. The dead men’s belongings were stowed in Dave’s wagon to be divvied up when they reached Fort Larned.
They headed north along the Arkansas River toward the Osage Indian Territory. It would take them a good week to get through the Osage Nation into Kansas. Charlie just prayed that Walter could hold on that long.
28
Osage
The wagons rolled along the trail that lined the bank of the Arkansas River. It was a level, smooth trail so Dave handed Charlie the bundle of six reins. Charlie was a little surprised but took them. He could feel the power of the ox teams through those reins. Dave leaned back and rubbed his shoulder.
“I believe I’m getting too old for all this,” he said. “Just give them the reins. They pretty much know where to go. If they start veering off, just give a tug on the two reins with the tassels on them. That’s the lead team. The others will follow the lead team.”
“They sort of have to, don’t they?” Charlie smiled.
“I suppose they do at that,” Dave said, and returned Charlie’s smile.
After a moment of silence, Charlie couldn’t help expressing his wonder about the Indians he’d encountered. He looked at Dave.
“You know, I always heard the Indians were a very savage people who hated the whites and would attack them at every chance they had.”
Dave nodded. “A lot of them are that way. I don’t think we’ll see any of them, though. Maybe in Kansas, but not around here. Max sends a lot of wagons through here, so they know us pretty well. They know we don’t mean any harm and that all we want to do is pass through their land. They also know we’ll pay for that privilege. We only hunt what we need so they usually come say hello, see if we got anything they want, and then let us be.”
Charlie didn’t answer. Now he was worried about Kansas. He turned his attention back to the oxen and drove the team until they stopped and pitched camp for the evening, giving Dave a rest. Walter was lifted out of the wagon and set on his bedroll alongside it, awake but in a great deal of pain. The bleeding had stopped and his color had come back. Charlie felt his forehead and could tell he was running a fever.
“How you doing?” Dave asked Walter.
“Hurts like hell.”
“I’ll get ya something to eat,” Dave offered.
“No!” Charlie ordered. “Only liquids and maybe a little bread. He’s got a fever, probably from an infection. Only give him fluids until the fever breaks.”
Dave looked at Walter and smiled. “Sorry, hoss. Charlie, here, seems to know what he’s doing. I’ll fetch you some coffee and a keepsake biscuit.”
Charlie was busy setting out his bedroll when he was struck by a thought. What if Walter was supposed to die back there? He had a terrible feeling that his involvement in Walter’s treatment had altered another timeline. Maybe he should have backed out of helping and let history run its course. The realization struck him that no matter where he went, what he did or whom he encountered, he would always affect history in some way. All he could do was try to keep his involvement to a minimum. He thought about preserving history as it was recorded, but how would he know what was recorded if it hadn’t happened yet?
The time belt! He could jump ahead a few years and check death records, land records, marriage records, any other records. Then he could jump back and do his best to preserve what had been recorded.
However, he remembered that any jump through time would undoubtedly cause a rift in the dimensional matrix -- a sure signal to the time-agents, giving away his location. He’d have to chance it. Preserving history would have to be his goal in this world.
He was lost in his own thoughts when he looked up and jumped: standing less than ten feet away was a group of Indian men. Six very tall, muscular Indian men. Charlie stood around five feet, ten inches tall, but not a single one of these men stood under six feet. He never heard them approach and was afraid to move. The Indians didn’t move or say anything, they just stared at him and the other freighters.
“Dave?” Charlie finally called out feebly. “We have company.”
Dave Rudabaugh came around the side of the wagon and stopped when he saw the Indians. Then he clapped his hands together, said a few words of welcome in the Osage language and walked over to greet them. Charlie relaxed as he watched Dave welcome in the tribe.
“These are Osage Indians, Charlie.”
“I take it they’re peaceful.”
Dave smiled. “They are peaceful, but they are also some of the fiercest warriors on the plains. So, you don’t want to get ‘em riled.”
Ed Bass and Jesse joined the circle around the fire. They all engaged in various conversations. Charlie sat quietly and watched.
“Who new man?” one of the older Indians asked Dave.
“Tell them who you are,” Dave said to Charlie.
“They speak English?”
“I speak eight tongues,” the oldest Indian said. He sat still and stared at Charlie.
“My name is Charlie. Charlie Turlock.”
“Charlie Turlock,” the Indian said aloud. “Charlie Turlock,” he repeated again in a singsong tone, as if looking for some spiritual meaning in the name.
“We have a man that was shot. He’s not doing very well,” Dave said to the old Indian. “Charlie, here, did his best to patch the wound and stop the bleeding.”
“I will see this man.” The Indian rose and spoke in his native language, and two other Indians stood up. Dave stood and escorted them to where Walter was lying. Charlie followed.
The old Indian checked the wound and then conversed with the other two. “I will need water.”
Dave handed the Indian a canteen. One of the others produced a leather pouch and from it removed what looked like dried leaves, twigs and berries. He crushed these into a powder and mixed it with a little water, creating a poultice that he smeared over the wound. Then he sliced the skin off one side of a cactus pad and placed it on top of the poultice. He looked at Charlie.
“Do not remove until dried up. Maybe four days.”
“Four days.” Charlie nodded. “Can I ask you what those plants were?”
“Bark fr
om willow and chokecherry trees, suncup root, chokecherry berries.” He handed Charlie a few small branches. “Lavender. Make tea for him. Spirits of plants take pain away. Heal wound.” The Indians returned to the fire.
Charlie went to his valise. He had to write those plant names down. This was just one more thing he was sure would come in handy later on. Of course, knowing the names of the plants was one thing; identifying them in the wilderness would be another. Well, one lesson at a time.
The Indians walked about a hundred yards upriver and pitched their camp for the night. They sang chants and danced in the firelight, then retired. Charlie watched them from his camp. He had enjoyed meeting them and wanted to sit and talk with them about a number of things, but when they left his camp, they didn’t invite him to theirs.
The next morning, the Indians were already gone. Charlie checked on Walter and found his fever was gone. Charlie smiled.
“How am I doin’?” Walter asked.
“Looks like you just might make it through another day,” Charlie said.
Coffee was ready, and Jesse had made some fresh soda biscuits and cooked up some bacon and fried apples. The waggoneers ate and talked about the Osage Indian visit the previous night. With Charlie’s approval, Dave fixed a plate of food and took it to Walter.
They broke camp, hitched the oxen and were on the road by the time the sun rose. In early afternoon, four Osage Indian warriors on horseback joined the wagons and rode alongside. They were heavily armed with knives, tomahawks, spears, and bows and arrows. They would be the wagons’ escorts until they got into the Kansas Territory. Charlie had never felt so safe.
29
Kansas
For four days the Indian escort rode along with the wagons. With Walter’s injury, Ed took over driving the team on the second wagon. When the Arkansas River split into Otter Creek and Grouse Creek, the Osage Indians left them. Dave thanked them and offered them blankets, tools, food, and anything else they might want. They took nothing except some jerked antelope meat and some keepsake biscuits for their journey home.