Revenge Requires Two Graves

by George Emery Townsend

  Chapter 35

  Fort Sutter

  It was sure good to see Richard up and around again. The stab wound he had suffered in Ray’s defense became infected and he was very sick for several days. They weren’t sure if he was going to make it. But, being as strong as a bull moose, he pulled through. In fact, Ray thought Moose would make a fitting nickname for him as long as he was able to put back on some of the weight he’d lost while recovering. Even though his belt was pulled up several obvious notches now to keep his pants up, he was still was the biggest man in camp. Each time Ray had visited him at Laurie's wagon he had tried to thank him for saving his life. But Richard would have none of it. “Ray,” he would say, “ain’t we like brothers by now? And don’t brothers look out for one another? And wouldn’t you have done the same thing for me? How can I take thanks for something I would expect you to do for me if I was in the same pinch?” Ray laughed every time he told him that. Richard truly believed it. Even when Ray explained that the odds of that ever happening again were too great to count, he would still stick to his story. Richard was, if anything, stubborn as a mule and a great friend to have.

  Richard, John, Larry and Ray proudly rode through the gates of Sutter Fort in Sacramento. The wagons were expected to arrive later in the day.

  The boys were thirsty enough to drink down a keg of beer each, but first they had to find a good spot for all the wagons. They hitched their horses to the pole outside the Fort Captain’s office. Stepping up onto the boardwalk they were greeted by a large man wearing a blue uniform blocking their entry into the Captain’s office.

  “State your business,” commanded the man in blue.

  “Well, we just wanted to ask the captain where we could put up a wagon train for a few days,” Ray answered with a smile at the formality of this over-weight cavalryman.

  “One moment,” snapped the soldier as he turned in position and marched into the office, closing the door behind him.

  After a few minutes the door opened and out stepped the same hefty trooper, “The Captain instructs that you can bivouac your wagons a half mile west, up the river.”

  With a snicker Ray found hard to contain, he asked, "what the hell is a bivouac?”

  John, Larry and Richard also snickered.

  “Bivouac: it means to camp. You can camp your wagons along the river, now move on off the porch. The captain likes it left open for important people.”

  “Oh yes of course sir, thank you General,” laughed Larry.

  As they walked away they could hear the soldier from behind them, “I am not a general, gentleman, I am a private,” which drew even more laughter from them as they mounted up to secure the campsite, or as the soldier called it, the bivouac.

  The area suggested by the captain would serve their needs quite well. Deciding it wasn’t going to take all of them to watch the plot, they drew straws and Larry lost. With a wave from their saddles they headed back to the fort.

  Sutter Fort wasn’t all that big of an area but it did have a nice, high wall around it. It contained stables, with a blacksmith, and a general store. Outside the walls were several Indian huts constructed of either adobe and straw or hides thrown over poles. But this wasn’t what they were looking for. They were three boys who had grown on the trail and they had a man-sized thirst. On the opposite side of the fort from where the Indians were encamped, the traders had constructed several large tents. They found a handwritten placard over one of the tents that said simply, “Saloon”. The sound of merriment was erupting from within the canvas walls. With a big smile the boys dismounted and headed for that drink. Upon entering the fine establishment they were surprised that it actually looked a hell of a lot better from outside. But they weren’t selling beer outside so they figured on coping. The tent was filled beyond capacity with trappers down from the Sierras, soldiers from the fort, a few hard cases that they intended to avoid, and a few saloon working girls to encourage the men to buy more drinks.

  “You two go stand over there in that open spot. I’ll get us three beers and be right back,” Ray said as he pushed on through the crowd.

  “Thanks Coop, get a bottle while you’re at it. We may never be able to get up to the bar again,” smiled John, as he slapped Ray on the back in dismissal.

  After much effort Ray reached the oasis and leaned up against the wood planks that acted as the bar top. Now all he needed to do was get the bartender’s attention. Three men were working behind the bar and he managed to catch a glance from the bartender closest to him. He ordered three beers and a bottle of Red Eye.

  “That’s two bits for each beer and the bottle’ll cost you a dollar,” yelled the barkeep over the roar of the saloon noise.

  Throwing two-dollar pieces onto the planks he told him to keep the change. The barkeep picked it up, waved it at Ray in thanks and went back about serving the other customers. It was no small effort getting those three beers and bottle back through that crowd, but he finally broke free into the light. Across the tent sat John and Richard at a table they had secured from some patrons who had ran out of drinking money. With a wave from Richard to get his attention, Ray headed in their direction. Well the place sure as hell was nothin’ to write home about, but that beer went down nice. With the three beers guzzled down Richard opened the bottle and filled their beer mugs with the golden liquid. At first they each took a sip to see if they were going to be drinking real whiskey or a blend of corn alcohol, gunpowder, and snakeheads. Fortunately or unfortunately, they couldn’t tell; the damn stuff was so strong there was no taste, just burning flesh in their mouths.

  Coughing over the rim of his mug, and eyes watering John exclaimed, his voice hoarse, “Man that is some good whiskey.” To which they all broke into laughter.

  “Here boys, here’s some cigars to have with that whiskey. Mind if I join you?”

  Ray looked up from his mug into the eyes of a man twice his age wearing a black broadcloth suit with a white shirt and black string tie. The suit fit his body well but not so much his personality. Ray took an immediate disliking to him. Kicking the one lone chair away from under the table Ray nodded for him to sit.

  “Much obliged gentlemen,” he said as he handed out the cigars to each of them and took a seat.

  John and Richard quickly lit their cigars, enjoying the tobacco. Ray left his sitting on the table.

  “Well boys, where you from?” asked the stranger.

  “A little nosy aren’t you friend,” Ray said.

  Richard and John knew Ray long enough to know the tone of his voice. They both set their mugs down and just held their lit cigars.

  “Well I didn’t mean to pry. I was just trying to be friendly,” spoke the stranger as he looked over to John and Richard. “What’s the matter with your friend here? Ain’t he very social like?”

  They both just looked at the man at first not saying a word. Then John spoke up, “we’re from places back east, where you from mister?”

  “Well I don’t mind tellin ya. I’m from the great state of Texas,” he bragged. “In Texas they walk tall and ain’t afraid of nothin’. I saw you boys come in and figured you must be the front riders for that wagon train coming in soon. Am I right?”

  Still no answer was forth coming. “Listen Mister,” Ray broke the silence, “why don’t you just tell us what you’re selling and then move on.”

  “You sure have a mouth on you boy,” said the man. You could tell he was getting mad, but thinking better of it.

  “Look, I’m not here to cause you no problems. What I do have is a proposition for the folks on your train. Many of them will no longer need some of their oxen or mules, if they decide to take up roots here. I’m just making the offer, I’m willing to buy some of their livestock, that’s it, boys. All I ask is that you pass that along to your train master and them with too many animals. Just tell them they can find me in here. Names Earl Schmitt.”

  “Okay, you’ve said your piece. We’ll pass it along. Now if you’d excuse
us we’re having a private party here,” Ray said with a cold stare.

  “Suit yourself mister. But a piece of advice, you better lose that chip before someone shoots it off you,” finished the man as he rose and walked from the table.

  After a few moments, John said quietly, “what the hell was that all about, Coop? I’ve never seen you like that before. That man is just trying to make a living.”

  “Boys, if that man is just out to make an honest living, then I’m becomin’ a preacher in the mornin’.”

  “So, you don’t trust him?” asked Richard peering up from his beer mug.

  “Not any further than I could throw him. Come on, let’s get out of here,” Ray said as he rose from the table, picking up his drink and draining the mug.

  The three of them rode back out to where they had left Larry. He was lying on his back in the grass next to the river with a long piece of weed stuck in his mouth.

  Seeing them approaching, Larry rose to his feet and walked toward them, “Well it’s about time you three got back, damn it, I was about to die of boredom.”

  “Quiet down,” Ray said, “Or we won’t give you what we brought from town.”

  “What is it? I don’t see any señorita sitting behind you so it better be a drink.”

  “Better than a drink Larry, it’s half a bottle,” laughed John, tossing the bottle to Larry.

  Quincy joined them by the river as the air began to fill with the dust of several wagons filing into their predetermined spots. “I don’t suppose you have another bottle to go with that empty one over there?” asked Quincy.

  “Sorry, Quincy, we got it for you. It just took you too long to get here,” laughed John.

  “I’ll bet,” sneered Quincy.

  “Don’t worry, Quincy. I’ll buy you a drink once we get all these folks settled in. By the way, do you know a man by the name of Earl Schmitt?”

  “That sidewinder’s still around here?” said Quincy, “I would of thought someone would have either shot him or hung him by now.”

  “Who is he Quincy?” inquired John.

  “He’s a damn thief, is what he is. He’d steal the teeth right out of his own mother’s mouth. Comes out to each incoming train off the trail and if he can’t buy stock from the folks, he’ll wait until they’re out on the trail alone headin’ for their new homes, and steal whatever he can take.”

  “How do you know that, Quincy?” Ray asked.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be sayin’ it as I can’t prove it. But he ain’t never worked a day in his life. Yet he always has money to spend. Folks here say they’ve found some poor souls laying dead out by their stripped wagons, folks that wouldn’t have any part of selling to him here in Sacramento. I suggest you spread the word to the rest of the train to stay away from him. He’s plum loco and so are the boys that ride with him.”

  “How many are there?” asked Ray.

  “There’s Earl and last I knew he rode with about six other gents and that’s old information. I haven’t been back here in a year. Just watch your backs boys. Now let’s get these wagons anchored and go have that drink.”

  “Sounds good to us, Quincy,” said Larry as he headed into the dust.