by Edward Gates
Charlie stepped outside on the sidewalk and looked across the street at Tappan’s General Goods Store. The firearms displayed in one of Tappan’s window caught Charlie’s eye. He looked back in the store at Walter. “I’ll be across the street.”
As Charlie viewed the collection of new weapons, he was particularly captivated by a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson revolver that accepted the “new” cartridge technology instead of muzzle loads. No more powder, shot, caps and wads to mess with. Everything was contained in a single cartridge. A gun could be reloaded in seconds rather than minutes. The price tag on the gun read twenty-five dollars. After his meals, boots and new clothes, he knew he didn’t have enough money for the gun. It would have to wait. He resolved to acquire a new cartridge-loading gun as soon as he was able.
“Charlie. Need your help,” Ed called out from the grocers.
Charlie helped Ed and Walter carry the bundles back to the warehouse. Once the cargo was secured in the wagons, they loaded the provisions and filled the water barrels.
“It’s a little late in the day to be heading out,” Dave said. “I think we’ll wait ´til morning to get started.” He closed the rear doors of Dobson’s warehouse and they all walked back to the Planters House. After a meal of venison stew at the stage stop, they turned in for the night.
The next morning, Charlie woke before the sun. He packed his valise, picked up the rifle and walked downstairs. After settling his bill with the innkeeper, he grabbed a cup of coffee and a few biscuits. Jesse and Dave were already at a table, so he joined them. Dave tossed a small canvas bag onto the table in front of him; it was about the size of a tobacco pouch with the drawstrings pulled tight and tied at the top. Charlie looked at Dave’s emotionless face and then over at Jesse, who was smiling. Charlie untied the strings and pulled the bag open. Inside were quite a few gold and silver coins.
“Amos paid us yesterday for the mining gear. That’s your pay for the trip here. Merry Christmas.”
Charlie smiled at Dave and then looked back at the coins in the bag. “That’s quite a bit of money.”
“You earned it. There’ll be more when we get back to Fort Smith. Max will do us right for the Galveston trip. Don’t you worry.”
Charlie’s first thought was to run over to Tappan’s and buy that cartridge pistol. But Ed and Walter came downstairs, and after everything was settled they all left for the livery.
The teamsters retrieved the twelve oxen and five horses and herded them back to the warehouse. When all were hitched and secured they climbed aboard.
On Christmas Day, in 1862, while most of the town celebrated with church and family, two wagons, each loaded with one hundred sixty illegal rifles and four boxes of legitimate farm tools, headed south out of Denver along Cherry Creek.
Four days later the two wagons stopped at a small trading post in old Fort Pueblo. They stayed two nights and resupplied, then continued their trip south toward Trinidad. It was New Year’s Day, 1863, the year that would become the bloodiest year of the Civil War and the beginning of the decimation of the South.
The mining settlement of Trinidad was little more than a tent city. The fledgling town only had a couple of permanent buildings. Construction was underway on a few more, but mostly the town was made up of tents and shacks built from whatever materials were available.
It was early evening when the two wagons drove around the outskirts of Trinidad. There seemed no rhyme or reason to the residents’ campsites. They squatted wherever they could find an open spot. Dave and Ed drove around the trail of campfires until they came to an open area just beyond the city. There, they set up camp for the night.
Dinner and coffee was followed by the sharing of stories of past trips, humorous anecdotes and memories of past loves. The evening ended when Jesse told the story of how his wife and two children died of the fever in Springfield in the mid-1840’s. He never remarried and had no other kin. His story left everyone in a somber mood, perfect for turning in.
Charlie had first watch, so he slipped his slicker on over his sack coat, grabbed an extra blanket, picked up the rifle and began to walk toward the horses. Dave stopped him as he passed.
“You know you’re not only looking for animals around here, right?” Dave asked. Charlie didn’t answer. “You need to keep an extra eye out for the two-legged kind, too. People have a tendency to get curious about strangers. No tellin’ what kind of knaves are here. Just be careful and pay attention.”
Charlie nodded and walked out to the animals. All night long his gaze shifted between the Trinidad settlement and the wilderness around them. Halfway through the night Dave relieved him and he retired to his bedroll.
The next morning after coffee and breakfast, Ed, Dave and Charlie walked into Trinidad leaving Walter and Jesse to watch the animals and guard the cargo. As they made their way through the maze of shacks and tents, they appeared to be closely scrutinized by the townspeople.
“I guess they don’t like strangers,” Ed said.
“Yeah. From the looks about ‘em, I don’t think they like anybody,” Dave replied.
“I think I liked this place better when it was just a dirty little trapper’s post.”
Ed, Charlie and Dave entered a large open-air tent that served as a market. Goods of all sorts were displayed for sale. The prices were staggering. Basics like flour, sugar, butter and salt were all triple the prices they paid in Denver.
“Hell! I don’t think we can afford to eat,” Ed said.
Dave got the attention of one of the clerks. “How come you charge so much for these goods? I could get three times as much in Pueblo and Denver City for this price!”
“There’s a war on, mister. Supplies are scarce here. And, if you don’t like it, you can go back to Pueblo.”
Dave shook his head and looked at the clerk. “Well, I guess we ain’t got much of a choice. You take cash money?”
“Only Union dollars.”
Dave handed the clerk a list of supplies they needed for the long journey across Texas. “Can you fill this order for us?”
The clerk read it and nodded. “Yep, I sure can. It’s quite an order. It’ll take me a little while to get all this together.”
Dave nodded. “We’ll bring a pack horse to the other end of your tent in about an hour.”
“What are ya haulin’?”
Charlie was about to blurt out that they were hauling farm equipment, but he felt Ed’s hand squeeze his shoulder. He recognized that grip: it was the same grip his father had used on him when he was a child to keep him quiet without telling him as much. It was nice to see that something hadn’t changed over the centuries. Charlie didn’t move or utter a sound.
Dave looked at the clerk and smiled. “Nothing of much value. Why ya askin’?”
“Oh, thought maybe we could do some tradin’,” the clerk said. “Maybe your list for some of your goods.”
Dave shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think that would be good. Like I said, it ain’t much value for ya. We’ll pay Yankee gold.” He turned and walked out of the tent before the clerk could answer. Charlie and Ed followed.
When they reached their campsite Walter and Jesse were engaged in a conversation with six miners about the contents of the wagons. Walter saw Dave and walked over to him.
“These men read the sides of the boxes we’re carrying and want to buy the contents. I told them nothing was for sale, but they seem pretty dogged.”
“I’ll take care of this.” Dave handed Walter the satchel and sent him to take a horse down to the general merchandise tent and pick up the supplies.
Ed took Jesse and hitched the oxen teams to their yokes and then hooked them to the wagons. Charlie walked to the front of the wagon, picked up his rifle and joined Dave as he spoke with the miners. Dave reiterated what Walter had told them.
“Mister, you got two wagons of farm equipment, there. Surely you can spare a few shovels and picks,” one miner protested.
“Ain’t mine to sell. I just
haul them.” Dave rested his hand on his gun. “I got to turn in every one of these pieces or they take it out of my hide. You don’t want me to lose my hide, do ya?”
“Name your price, mister,” another miner shouted.
“Like I said, they ain’t for sale. At any price.” Dave looked at him. “You don’t seem to care about my hide. That bothers me.”
“Don’t mean to rile ya none. It’s just that the company sells us goods for more than we can afford and then makes us work to pay off the debt. We can’t ever get away. We thought you might cut us a break.”
“Can’t help you boys. Sorry.”
There was a long silent tension in the air as the miners stared at Dave and Dave stared back. Charlie fought the urge to open his mouth and say something. He took a step forward and stood next to Dave and slowly cocked the rifle making sure they all heard the hammer clicks. As this silent showdown continued, one by one the miners drifted away and walked back to camp. When they were all gone, Dave turned to Charlie and gave him a slight smile and a nod. Nothing else was said.
When Walter returned with the horse laden with supplies, they transferred the bundles to the wagons and left Trinidad as quickly as possible. Charlie sat in the back of the wagon facing the rear, guarding against any posse of miners who might attempt to raid their equipment. When they figured they were a safe distance away from Trinidad, Charlie rejoined Dave in the front seat. The Texas border was only a few days away.
39
North Texas
The trail out of Trinidad led down the foothills of the Rockies and onto the vast northwestern plains of Texas that would later become known as the Panhandle. It took them a few days to get out of the mountains, but once they were on reasonably flat terrain they would be able to cover more ground in a day.
The trip across the Panhandle was long and boring. As the weeks dragged by, the landscape they put behind them looked exactly like the landscape they faced. Sagebrush, ragweed and thistles grew amongst the wild rye and buffalo grasses that covered the prairie as far as they could see. A few rolling hills in the distance broke up the flat horizon. A number of creeks cut trenches and ravines across the plains as they channeled rain and snowmelt away. There was always a good supply of water and plenty of grasslands for grazing.
Three weeks out of Trinidad brought them to the Canadian River. In late January, with the winter snow and rain, the river was raging. They turned the wagons eastward and headed upstream along the river bank.
“I’ll ride ahead to see if I can’t find a place to cross,” Walter said.
Dave nudged Charlie. “You go along with him.”
Walter saddled the dun and Charlie the bay and the two rode ahead looking for an area where the water wasn’t moving very fast but was still shallow enough for the oxen to cross.
After riding for a while they came to a junction where Blanca Creek met the Canadian River. The creek deposited a lot of gravel at the junction of the two water systems, which created a shallow area that would support the wagons. Walter dismounted and checked the banks to make sure they could be traversed without any trouble. Out of the corner of Charlie’s eye he thought he saw movement. When he turned to look, there was nothing.
“Did you see that?” Charlie asked.
The two froze so they could listen and watch for anything that moved. No sound, no movement. Walter climbed back on the dun and he and Charlie both caught a glimpse of something moving between the trees. They gently spurred their horses and rejoined Ed and Dave.
“There’s a place up ahead by a creek where we can cross. But I think we may have company,” Walter said as he rode alongside the wagon.
Dave looked over to him. “Where? What did you see?”
“Shadows. I didn’t get a good look. I think it was a couple bucks watching me.”
“Comanche?”
“Not sure,” Walter said. “Like I said, I didn’t get a good look. Coulda been Comanche… or maybe even Kiowa.”
“How could you tell?” Charlie asked.
“Indians are very territorial. The Comanche tribe claim North Texas as theirs. So do the Kiowa. So it’s got to be one or the other.”
“Are they friendly like the others we met?”
“Not likely. They hate the settlers and hunters coming onto their land. We have to be careful.” Dave glanced at Walter again. “Well, let’s not worry about it ‘til they show themselves.”
The crossing spot worked well and supported the oxen and the wagons without any problem. Once across the river they headed southeast toward Palo Duro Canyon. Going through the Canyon instead of around it would save them days of travel. The only problem was, the canyon was dangerous because of the Indian tribes residing there.
A few days later they came across a massive herd of buffalo grazing the plains. There was no telling how large the herd was because a cloud of dust hung around and above it, obscuring the beginning and end. The grunts and bellows of the animals were continuous. Charlie had never seen buffalo. Overcome with astonishment, he stared wide-eyed with his mouth agape.
The thousands of animals appeared as a sea of brown and black fur that blotted out the landscape. Dave pulled the oxen to a stop and Ed did the same. They sat on a slight rise overlooking the prairie and took in the magnificence of it all.
“Ain’t that a sight!” Dave said. “I never get tired of seeing them.”
“My God!” Charlie exclaimed. “They’re amazing.” He stood up in the wagon to get a better view.
“Ain’t you ever seen buffalo?”
“Never. Only pictures. These are all gone where I come from.” Charlie just stared at the incredible assemblage.
“Gone? I guess they don’t have them in New York, then?”
“No, it’s not that. They went extinct. Buffalo hunters destroyed them back in the eighteen hundreds. They tried to save them in the twentieth…” Charlie stopped, finally remembering that he was in the nineteenth century.
“What the hell you talking about now?” Dave asked. “I swear. Sometimes you say some of the dumbest things. Just look out there. There’s thousands of them and that’s only one herd. There’s hundreds of herds like that all over the territory. The hunters couldn’t kill that many in a hunnert years.” Dave snapped the reins and the oxen teams lurched forward, causing Charlie to fall back down to his seat. Charlie didn’t speak. He was overcome by conflicting emotions of awe at seeing the amazing sight of the vast buffalo herd, and then sadness for knowing what would eventually become of them.
The next morning the freighters struck camp and resumed their travel toward Palo Duro Canyon. Charlie sat quiet, still saddened by the impending fate of the millions of buffalo that Dave was so certain would last forever. Brought out of his thoughts by a whistle, he tapped Dave’s shoulder and they both looked back at Ed, who pointed to the horizon off to his left. Riding parallel to the wagons, a few hundred yards away, was a large group of Indians. There were too many for Charlie to get a good count. He remembered the friendly Indians they encountered going through Indian Country after they left Fort Smith.
“You see them?” Charlie asked Dave.
“Yeah, I see ‘em.”
“You know these Indians?”
Dave didn’t answer, but the worried look on his face said all that needed to be said. Charlie checked the load in his rifle and set the box of cartridges next to him. He took a deep breath and looked straight ahead.
“They don’t seem to be doing much to stay out of sight,” Charlie observed.
“No. They want us to know they’re watching us.”
“I kind of wish they’d stay hidden. Seeing them makes me a little nervous.”
“That’s why they do it. Just to git ya rattled.”
“Well, when you see them, you can tell them it’s working,” Charlie said. He watched the Indians as they walked their horses pacing the ox teams. “Fifteen… twenty… twenty-five… My God, there must be thirty or forty of them. What do you think they want?”
“Kill us?” A warm flush of terror raced through Charlie’s body.
The Indians shadowed the wagons until late afternoon, when they suddenly and eerily vanished from view. Charlie, who had been worried about their presence, now found himself gripped by a paralyzing dread. He found it more terrifying not knowing where the Indians were than watching them at a distance. He checked the box of cartridges and the load in the rifle again.
“I don’t see them. Where’d they go?”
Dave remained quiet. He too scanned the horizon looking for any sign of the Indians. Charlie was about to ask him whether he thought the Indians had left, when the they suddenly came charging at full gallop from behind a bluff a few hundred yards away. Charlie turned and looked behind him where the thunderous sound of the galloping horses resonated.
“Damn! Here they come!”
Dave pulled the wagon down a slight incline and stopped. Ed followed.
“What the hell you doing?” Charlie exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here!”
“These animals can’t run, boy! We have to get to some cover. Get off this wagon and head for that dry creek bed over there.” Dave pointed to a depression in the land off to his left.
Charlie jumped from the wagon clutching his rifle. He grabbed the box of cartridges and noticed that Ed, Walter and Jesse were already off their wagon and on a fast run for the creek bed. There was a volley of rifle fire from the Indians. Charlie heard the screech of the bullets as they whistled past him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jesse fall to the ground. He stopped and was about to go help him when Dave grabbed him and pulled him down into the trench. Charlie looked back and saw Jesse get up and run for the cover of the channel. Dave pulled Charlie’s rifle from his hand, took careful aim and fired. One Indian fell from his horse. He shoved the rifle back to Charlie.