by Edward Gates
Back on the road the animals struggled to pull the heavily laden wagons through the snow.
“Gonna be a short day,” Dave said to Charlie as they rode along.
“Short day?”
“The animals are having a tough time getting through this snow. They’ll be wore out by midday.” After a brief silence Dave looked at Charlie. “At this point, we’re usually a good week or so out of Denver City. With this snow, though, it’ll most likely be a lot longer.”
Two days later, the weather warmed just enough to melt the snow. The beautiful winter landscape quickly turned into a cold, wet field of mud. Trudging through the mire was worse than plowing through the snow. A number of times Charlie and the others had to jump down to lift and push the wagons out of mud holes where the wheels got stuck. The thick mud was caked on the wheels, the sides of the wagon, the oxen and even the crew members.
Growing up in New York, Charlie was very familiar with mountainous regions. Many times he had traveled through the Appalachian and Smoky Mountains that pass through Pennsylvania and New York up into New England. He knew about the great mountain ranges throughout the western states, but was unprepared for the majestic sight of the Rocky Mountains that rose off the prairie floor. It was hard for him to take his eyes off them. He thought he would get used to the vista after a day or so, but every day brought on the feeling of awe with the view.
The estimated weeklong trip turned into twelve days. Provisions were getting scarce. By late afternoon of the twelfth day, they could see the skyline of Denver City along the foothills of the mountains. Dave stopped the wagons.
“We’ll camp here.”
“Camp? We’re so close,” Charlie said. “Why don’t we just go on in?”
“We’re not that close. Just cuz you can see the town don’t make it close. Distance is deceiving out here in the flat prairie. What looks like something’s just up the way is usually miles and miles off. It’d be the dead of night by the time we got there. Everything would be closed down. We have to put these wagons in the warehouse and the animals at the livery. We’ll wait ‘til morning.”
Charlie built a fire while the others turned out the animals and set up the camp. Once the fire was going he started coffee brewing. He was looking through their remaining provisions for the evening meal when he noticed the other four men huddled together on the other side of the second wagon locked in what appeared to be a serious conversation. They were talking just above a whisper, so he couldn’t overhear what they were saying.
Charlie’s insecurity flared. Up to this point, he had always been included in discussions. He tried to assure himself that their conversation wasn’t about him, but he wasn’t convinced. He pulled the last of the potatoes from a sack and headed back to the fire. On the way he glanced over at the four teamsters. Jesse noticed Charlie looking at them so they quickly broke off their conversation and went about setting out their bedrolls.
An uncomfortable silence filled the air as they all ate supper. Charlie was now certain their private conversation concerned him.
“Ever been to Denver City?” Dave finally asked, breaking the awkward quiet.
“No. Never been anywhere west.”
“Ever been to a big city?”
“I lived in New York,” Charlie answered abruptly.
“Well, I never been to New York, but I’m sure it ain’t nothing like Denver City. The town’s wide open. It’s the gateway of just about anyone coming or going through the Rockies. Teamsters, miners, trappers, settlers and just about every kind of lowlife you can think of pass through Denver City. You need to be real careful there.”
Charlie was somewhat comforted by Dave’s concern, but he didn’t believe this was the real subject of their conversation. “I’ll be sure to watch myself.” He looked at Dave with an expression that told him he knew their concern for his safety was not the real issue. Dave looked away.
Jesse stood, picked up his rifle and walked off toward the animals. Ed said he was tired and crawled into his bedroll and Walter did the same. Charlie stared into the fire and sipped his coffee. Dave sat nearby but didn’t speak. After a little while Dave said, “I guess I’ll turn in as well.” He crawled into his bedroll, leaving Charlie alone by the fire.
Charlie had a difficult time sleeping. His anxiety kept him awake wondering what the men had discussed without him. He figured it had something to do with Denver and it most certainly had something to do with him. All night long he would doze off for short periods with his subconscious dreaming up different scenarios of the crew ignoring him, abandoning him or worse. He wondered whether he had done something wrong.
Just before dawn he got out of his bedroll and joined Walter by the fire. Walter was now well enough to relieve Jesse and take the second watch. He had coffee brewed. Charlie sat by the fire and filled his coffee cup. Dave, Ed and Jesse were still asleep.
“How long you think we’ll be in Denver?”
“Probably a week or so.” Walter paused. “Look, Charlie. Dave wasn’t jokin’ about Denver City being a rough place. People get shanghaied, robbed and even killed there most every night. You’re really gonna have to watch yourself.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Just remember, the gamblin’s crooked, the whiskey’s bad, and most of the women are dog-ugly and sick. You should stay on the upside of town, away from the warehouses and saloons.”
“You trying to get rid of me, Walter?”
“Just tryin’ to look out for you.”
Charlie suspected there was something else… some other reason
they wanted him to stay away from them. He wanted to question Walter a little more, but the conversation ended when the other three stirred and got out of their bedrolls.
After breakfast, they struck camp and hitched the animals. Once again the wagons rolled toward Denver. Charlie was excited about finally getting off the road and into a real city. But that feeling of being an outsider among these freighters kept eating away at him. After riding in silence for a while, Charlie finally asked.
“What’s going on here, Dave?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You and Ed and the others have something going on that doesn’t include me and I’m curious as to what it is.” Charlie was a little defensive and hurt at the same time.
“Okay. Since you asked, we all have a bit of a concern about where your allegiance lies,” Dave said.
“My allegiance?”
“You’re a young, able man, Charlie. We’re wonderin’ why you
ain’t in a uniform. I know you ain’t no coward… you proved that. So why ain’t you in the Army?”
Charlie was surprised by the question. He hadn’t expected that. “You and I shared a seat on this wagon for almost three months and you ask me where my allegiance lies? That actually hurts my feelings, Dave.”
“Maybe. Don’t mean no hurt feelings by it. But it’s still a good question. We’re all too old to get in the Army. Max is, too. The Confederacy don’t want no broke-down old men to fight the Yankees, just young bucks like yourself. But you’re from the North.” Dave stared at Charlie. Charlie turned away from his stare.
“I never thought this would be an issue,” Charlie muttered.
“Normally it ain’t. But on this trip it has to be.”
“What’s so special about this trip?”
Dave didn’t answer. He just stared ahead at the road. Without looking at Charlie he asked, “What’s your feelin’ about this war?”
“I don’t have any feelings about this war at all. And it doesn’t have anything to do with one side or the other. I know you won’t understand, but I can’t have anything to do with the war. Nothing at all… and I really can’t tell you why. But, as far as my allegiance goes, I’m surprised you had to ask. My allegiance is with you and this crew.” Charlie spread his arms to encompass the ensemble of wagons. “You, and those fellows there, and this trip is my only world. You�
��re all I got. I’ve got no place to call home… no place to go back to. And I’m not heading anywhere in particular. I really have nothing else but this. Whatever you guys do, I want to be a part of it.”
Dave stared at Charlie for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I believe you. You’re a good man, Charlie. I suppose you got your reasons for stayin’ out of the fightin’. And I guess that’s your business. If you’re with us, then you’re in it all the way.”
Charlie nodded. “All the way.”
“Then there’s some things you got to know before we get to Denver City.” Dave smiled and handed him the reins. “After you hear it, though, you might want to change your mind.” Charlie accepted the reins and drove the teams on toward Denver.
“Me and them three men are all Southerners… deep Southerners. So is Max. We don’t cotton to the way the Yankees want to destroy our way of life and shove their ways down our throats. So, we fight. If we were ten years younger we’d all be in uniform. Since we can’t be in any battles, we do what we can for the cause. Anything to support the South and disturb the Yankees. That’s how strongly we all feel about things. You don’t, and I understand that. But that’s what’s got us worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“I’m getting to that. Max owns half of Fort Smith and God knows what else. He also controls most of the ground and river shipping that goes anywhere east of Arkansas. He uses his business to help the Confederacy. He disrupts any shipments going North that come through Fort Smith. But mainly he wants to use his money to help the South. That damn Lincoln tied his hands when it came to arms, though. He made it illegal for Sam Colt, Remington, Smith and Wesson, or any other arms dealer to sell firearms to the Southern states. The South ain’t got no manufacturing plants to speak of. We can’t turn out cannons and arms like the North can. Max tried to buy Enfield rifles from England, but the Brits won’t sell to the Confederacy. Even if we did buy them, we’d never get them in through the Yankee blockade of our ports. We’re kinda in a bind.”
Charlie nodded. “I can understand that. But what does that have to do with this trip?”
“Max found out that the Enfields were being made in Belgium. They don’t have a trade pact with the U.S. so they can sell to us. Max buys the rifles from Belgium and has them shipped into San Francisco. The Yankee ships don’t have the California ports blocked all that well. We got some sympathizers in San Francisco that take them rifles and repackage them in farm equipment boxes and ship them overland to Denver City.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. He began to understand the scheme. “So, we’re picking up farm equipment boxes loaded with rifles and taking them back to the South. That’s great. That’s perfect.”
“It ain’t that simple, son. First of all, we can’t just take them back to the South. It’s too dangerous. We’re taking them to Galveston and loading them on a steamer bound for New Orleans. The boat stays close to the shore and can sneak in behind the blockade.”
“Galveston? Wow, Texas.” Charlie was surprised and a little disappointed. He looked away for a moment. He was hoping to return to Fort Smith after Denver. Now, it looked as if this trip would continue for quite a long time. He wasn’t counting on another destination.
“The second thing, Charlie, is that if we’re caught smuggling rifles to the Confederacy, they’ll hang us for sure.” Dave stared at Charlie for a moment while his last comment sank deep into the young man’s brain.
Hang? Charlie took a deep breath and turned back to face the trail. He had never considered the danger or the criminal aspect of things. He’d been excited about the adventure until Dave mentioned they might hang. He just got through telling Dave that he couldn’t have anything to do with this war. And now, here he was, right in the middle of a war activity… a dangerous and secret activity at that. Well, they weren’t hauling contraband at the moment, but apparently that would change in Denver. Right or wrong, it was still a hell of an adventure.
The two rode along in silence as Denver’s skyline rose higher in front of the majestic Rocky Mountains.
“I guess we should’ve told you about this before we left Fort Smith,” Dave said. “It was Max’s decision to keep you in the dark. He didn’t want to scare ya off. Didn’t give you much of a choice, did we?” He looked over at Charlie. “Like I said, this is dangerous and could be the end if we get caught. If you want out, you can take the bay and we’ll leave you in Denver City. No questions asked, and no hard feelings.”
Charlie smiled and looked back at Dave, grateful for his honest concern and for giving him a way out. He’d have to make a choice before they left Denver.
“I guess we’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught.” Charlie winked at Dave. The old driver sat back and rubbed his shoulder as Charlie drove the oxen on toward Denver City.
Based on how long it took to get from Fort Smith to Denver,
Charlie guessed it would take at least three or four more months on the road to get to Galveston, Texas. A note of familiarity rang deep in Charlie’s memory.
“Galveston. What was it about Galveston?” Charlie muttered to himself.
“You ever been to Galveston?” Dave asked.
“No. Never. But I remember my father telling me something
about Galveston.” He shook his head as if to clear his mind. “I can’t remember. But it’ll come to me.”
35
Denver City
As they approached Denver, Dave motioned to Charlie to turn over the driving duties. Charlie handed the reins back to Dave. “Yeah, I guess you’d better drive. You know where you’re going more than I do.”
“Yep. Getting around Denver City is really something. Nothing like this town for hundreds of miles,” Dave said. He winked at Charlie and snapped the reins on the backs of the oxen.
It was the middle of the afternoon when they crossed Cherry Creek and entered the city. Charlie was amazed at the town and stared wide-eyed all around. There were two-story, three-story, even four-story buildings throughout the town. New construction was going on everywhere. Brick and stone structures were intermingled with wooden slat buildings.
The streets of Denver were jammed with people, horses, wagons and carriages. A number of settlers had stopped in the middle of Larimer Street with their Conestoga wagons. The clatter of the wagons and harnesses, coupled with the grunts and noises of the animals, broadcast through the streets. Miners, trappers and other freighters shouted at each other above the noise as they tried to move through the traffic with their wagons and teams. Everyday citizens were stuck in this traffic jam as they maneuvered their horses and carriages down the road. He had never seen so much chaos in one place. It was quite a scene.
In addition to the disorder in the street, people crowded the wooden sidewalks that fronted the buildings lining both sides of the street. Dave was right: this was nothing like New York. This was nothing like anything Charlie had ever seen.
With the melting snow, the waste from the businesses and construction and the excrement from all the animals, the streets were a sea of mud and filth. The stench was gagging. Charlie lifted his neckerchief over his nose and mouth to try to filter the smell. It didn’t help.
Dave chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. Don’t worry.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Dave and Ed skillfully maneuvered the wagons through the traffic on Larimer Street and turned onto Twelfth Street and then Blake Street. It was busy, but not as congested as Larimer Street.
“Dobson’s Warehouse is on this street. It’s where we have to take this equipment.” Dave pointed up the street. Charlie noticed that Blake Street was home to a lot of warehouse and storage facilities.
“We’ll be staying at the Planters House,” Dave continued. “It’s just a little ways past Dobson’s. And the livery is at the end of the street, just a bit past the Planters House.”
“Everything seems to be conveniently located,” Charlie replied.
Dave looked at
Charlie and chuckled. “You know, sometimes you have the funniest way of saying things.” He chuckled again. “…conveniently located…” He let out another laugh.
Dobson’s Warehouse and Storage was a large two-story brown brick building with double wooden doors facing Blake Street. However, Dave didn’t stop at the warehouse doors. He expertly guided the animals down a narrow alley alongside the warehouse. Behind the building was a large storage yard that was enclosed by an eight-foot-high wooden fence. He stopped the wagon just in front of the gate.
Jesse jumped down from the second wagon and, carrying his rifle, walked to the gate. He tried to open it but it was locked on the inside. Jesse pounded on the gate with the butt of his rifle but there was no reply. He pounded again and called out. Shortly, a voice from within the fence answered.
“All right! All right! I’m coming. Just hold on a minute.”
“That you, Asa?” Dave hollered toward the gate.
“Yeah, it’s me. Who be you?”
“It’s Dave Rudabaugh from Max Weatherby’s, Asa! We got a couple of wagons of mining equipment for George Tappan’s store.” He turned to Charlie. “Asa is okay. He’s one of us.”
Us? Charlie had never considered himself a Southern sympathizer. It suddenly dawned on him that he had really agreed to join a criminal organization of Southern smugglers. A cold chill ran down his spine. He slowly shook his head as if scolding himself. He just couldn’t seem to stay away from trouble.
Jesse helped swing the two gates open. Dave and Ed drove the wagons into the fenced yard and parked them where Asa directed. Dave grabbed the satchel of paperwork and walked into the warehouse with Asa. Charlie, Ed and the others unhitched the animals and waited.
“What now?” Charlie asked Ed.
“Right now we just wait. When Dave gets done with business we’ll herd these animals up the street to Williams’s and get them in a corral. Then we’ll go down to the Planters House and get a room. Planters ain’t much, but it’s clean, warm and cheap.”