Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) (22 page)

“You knew?”

“So would you if you ever listened to yourself talk, or that pretty wife o’ your’n.”

“Oh! Well, I started out in Tennessee, learned to be a scout an’ courier, then got sent to Virginia with a message. I transferred to the First Virginia Cavalry rather than go back. Spent two years with them up until Appomattox.”

The sergeant studied him narrowly, frowning. “I recall the First Virginia. We ran into them at Yellow Tavern.”

“You were there? What unit?”

“First Michigan.”

“Y’all did damned well. You overran one of our artillery batteries in a charge just before General Stuart was shot. I had to run like hell to get out of your way!”

The sergeant couldn’t help smiling at the compliment. “Yeah, but the First Virginia chased us off again. They weren’t scared to fight. What happened to you after that?”

“After General Stuart fell, command passed to Fitzhugh Lee. I spent the next couple of days watching where Sheridan was heading, and passing word back to him.”

“Uh-huh. It was a hell of a fight, wasn’t it?”

“It sure was.” Walt reached for his saddlebag, where he’d secreted a bottle of the bourbon intended for Fort Fletcher. “Here’s to those who died there, blue and gray alike.”

“Michigan and Virginia. I’ll drink to that.”

Buell accepted the bottle and upended it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he took a long swig. “
Aaahh!
That’s the real stuff, right there!” He handed it back, a little reluctantly.

Walt took a more moderate drink, then returned the bottle to him. “Keep it, from one sergeant to another. I think we’re going to need to work together if we’re going to get this wagon train to Pond Creek in one piece. I hear the Indians are painting up.”

“Yeah. I’m real worried about my new boys. They’re not ready for this, not by a long shot. Most of ’em can’t even sit a horse properly yet, let alone ride one all day! Their butts are gonna be bleedin’ by nightfall. As for shootin’, a couple of ’em have hunted before, but others hardly know one end of a gun from t’other.”

Walt knew from bitter personal experience with raw recruits that Buell wasn’t joking about their lack of skill. “Maybe I can help,” he offered. “If you teach ’em how to ride better, and handle their horses cavalry fashion, and how to move together and cover each other in a fight, I can teach them to shoot. We’ve got enough ammunition to let them fire a couple of hundred rounds each, and still have plenty to get to Pond Creek.”

“Mr. Ames, you might just be the answer to a prayer!”

“Call me Walt.”

“Walt, then. I’m Frank.”

They shook hands, and nodded solemnly at each other.

“I can take half of them to shoot while you take the other half to ride,” Walt went on. “We can swap halves each day. I reckon we can also stop for a few days between here and Fort Ellsworth, to give them a chance to train together as a unit. By the time we get there they should know a lot more than they do now. After we leave there we’ll pause for another day or two, so the scouts can teach all of us what to expect on the prairie and how to react.”

The training began that very day. Walt had to suspend his excursions with the scouts while he taught the recruits how to handle their carbines and revolvers, but he figured it was worth it. The lives of everyone on the wagon train might depend on how well these soldiers could fight.

Three days after leaving Fort Riley they came across a well-watered camp site large enough for the whole wagon train. They decided to halt there for three days, so that the trooper recruits could undergo intensive instruction. The scouts helped with the training, while the teamsters took the opportunity to perform routine maintenance on their wagons and harness, and poke fun at the soldiers while they sweated. Sergeant Buell soon taught the troops to give as good as they got, to everyone’s amusement.

On the third day, Walt stayed behind while Buell took the whole platoon out with Tad Sorrel, as if on patrol through territory infested with Indians. He was going over his wagon’s harness when Tom Jones hailed him. “Ames! Take a look!”

Walt climbed up on his wagon seat and followed the company owner’s pointing arm. A cloud of dust was on the southern horizon. He took out his spyglass, extended it and peered through it. “It’s a herd of cattle,” he called down to the freighter. “There are riders with them. They’re coming this way.”

“We’d better warn ’em to stay clear. I don’t want ’em getting mixed up with our wagons and teams.”

Hurriedly saddling their horses, they rode out towards the herd. As they approached two riders galloped to meet them, reining in their horses abruptly with their rifles in their hands. “Who are you an’ what do you want?” one of them asked curtly in a Texas accent.

Jones stiffened at the hostility in the man’s voice. “I’m the boss o’ that train back yonder. I’m askin’ you to steer clear of our wagons and teams.”

“Oh!” The two glanced at each other, and suddenly relaxed. “Sorry, mister. I figured you for more of them Kansas jayhawkers. They tried to steal our herd as we crossed the border.”

“I don’t get it. Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re thieves, that’s why! We ran into a bunch that claimed our cattle was diseased and wanted to confiscate ’em. We got rid of ’em, then turned west until we were south and west of Wellington. We reckoned that was far enough to avoid the farmlands where the trouble was, so we turned north there and headed for Nebraska. We plan to turn east when we get there. There’s cattle feeders in Iowa who’ll buy cows for decent prices, fatten ’em on local corn, then ship ’em by rail to Chicago an’ New York for slaughter.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It is, but it’s worth a try. The war’s left Texas beat down, but we’ve got millions of stray cows runnin’ around doin’ nothin’ but gain weight an’ breed. May as well use ’em to feed Yankees. They cost a couple of dollars a head in Texas right now, but we can get five times that in Iowa, if we can get ’em there in good condition.”

Walt whistled appreciatively. “That’s a good profit in anyone’s language. I wish you luck.”

The other cocked his head. “You sound like a Southern man—middle south, maybe? I heard that accent in Virginia when I served in the Texas Brigade under General Hood during the war.”

“You’re right. I’m Walter Ames from Sparta, Tennessee. I served with the Second Tennessee, and later with the First Virginia Cavalry.”

“I’m Tyler Reese from Gainsville, Texas. Put ’er there.” They shook hands. “Any chance y’all might want to buy some beef? Biggest problem I got right now is that we’re short of spendin’ money. I need supplies for my cowboys, but the towns round here won’t let me sell cattle to get cash money to buy what we need. They keep tellin’ us our cattle carry disease. They look healthy enough to me, so I reckon it’s just another excuse for jayhawkers to make life difficult for us.” There was real anger in his voice.

“I may be able to help you there.” Walt glanced at the train boss. “What would you say to beef steak for supper?”

He could almost hear the waterfall of saliva in Jones’s voice as he replied, “I wouldn’t say a damned thing. My mouth would be too full to talk!” They all laughed.

“All right.” Walt looked back at the cowhand. “How much would it cost to buy, say, three yearling beeves from you, young enough to be tasty and tender?”

“How about five dollars a head?”

“Done. If you’ll point your herd to the east of our wagons, you’ll find good water by those trees.” He indicated a clump of trees in the distance. “If one or two of your cowhands can drive the three beeves over to us, I’m sure Mr. Jones here can arrange to slaughter them.”

“You bet I can!” Jones agreed. “Let me head back and set that up. I’ll also have our teams moved to grazin’ on the west side of the wagons.” Without waiting for a reply he whirled his horse and started back to the wagon train.

Walt waited until the company owner was out of earshot, then added, “I understand your need for ready cash. A lot of us Southerners have that problem these days. How many people do you need to feed?”

“I’ve got fifteen cowhands, two hoss wranglers and a cook. Fresh meat ain’t a problem, but all the other fixin’s are.”

“Uh-huh. Come over yourself when you deliver the cattle. I’ll take you on one side and give you two hundred and fifty dollars. That should buy you enough supplies to get you to Nebraska, where you can sell some cows to buy more. Do your shopping in Salina, just east of here. Don’t wait until you reach the railroad. Prices are much higher there.”

The man stared at him, astonished. “Ames, you don’t know me from Adam. Why would you give me so much money for no reason? I ain’t earned it, an’ if I don’t get this herd through, I can’t repay you, even if I can find you again.”

“Reese, a man from the Texas Brigade needs no further introduction. We both fought for what we believed was right. We lost. We’re going to have to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. You’re doing your best with what you have, just like me. One way or another, I’ve made a lot of money off the Yankees since the end of the war. I’m using it to head for Denver City in Colorado Territory with my wife, to make a fresh start out west. It seems fitting to me to try and help others who wore the gray. Don’t worry about repaying me. Instead, use the money to help other veterans in Texas when you get back. Help them get back on their feet too. If enough of us do that for each other, maybe one day the whole South will be able to get back on its feet again.”

The Texan heaved a long, low sigh of relief. “There ain’t enough words to thank you. I’ll do as you say. Here’s my hand on it. My cowhands will sure be grateful to you. I’ll try to send word to you in Denver City to let you know if we make it through an’ get home safe again.”

“Thanks. You can write me care of General Delivery at the Denver City post office.”

“I’ll do that. Iffen you want, you can get word to me at my spread, the TR Ranch outside Gainesville. It’s a small place, but I got plans for bigger things, iffen I can make enough money to afford ’em.”

As Walt rode back to the train, he saw that some of the teamsters were already moving the grazing teams across to the far side of the circle of wagons, out of the way of the approaching herd. Tom Jones rode out to meet him. “That was mighty generous of you, buyin’ those cattle for us.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m going to enjoy those steaks just as much as you are.”

“Yeah. Fresh cut, they’ll be tough, but we’ll cut ’em thick, then beat ’em between two rocks until they’re tender. It’s an old trail trick. You ever eaten sonofabitch stew?”

Walt stared. “
What
did you say?”

Jones laughed. “Range cooks make it out of all the bits of a cow you can think of, and some you can’t. They reckon to use everything but the horns, hooves, hide an’ holler. It’s pretty good. I’ll have some of my teamsters whomp up a few pots out of what’s left after we butcher those beeves for steak. We’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow afore we pull out.”

“I’ll look forward to it, but do please think of a better name for it. I can’t imagine what my wife will say if I ask her to eat something called that!”

The haulier laughed. “I’ll think of something. Son-of-a-gun stew, maybe?” He paused for a moment, looking reflectively at the approaching cattle. “I can’t blame the farmers in east Kansas for not wanting those cattle around them. They really do spread sickness, y’know. It’s what they call tick fever. The Texas cattle are mostly immune to it, but they carry the ticks with ’em. When the ticks drop off, they infect local cattle that ain’t immune. Several places are talkin’ about laws to keep ’em out.”

“That won’t work. The Texans aren’t going to stop bringing cattle north, if that’s the only thing they can do to earn money.”

“There’s a Chicago man, name of McCoy, who figures he’s found a way around the problem. He’s talkin’ about building cattle yards at Abilene, between Salina and Junction City, once the railroad reaches that far. He’s gonna advertise in Texas, encouragin’ ranchers to drive their herds to Red River Station on the border with Indian Territory, then north to Kansas. That way they’ll stay clear of the farmlands in east Kansas. As soon as they arrive at Abilene he’ll load their cattle onto trains headed for Chicago. That’ll free up space for more herds to take their place. He reckons if it catches on, he’ll move tens of thousands of head every year.”

Walt said soberly, “I hope his plans succeed. I’d hate to see another war break out over cattle ticks!”

―――――

Fort Ellsworth proved to be a dismal place, its buildings mostly sod huts and dugouts. The troops manning it gave the impression of being dispirited and demoralized by their living conditions, as well as the pressure they faced from Indians in the area. “They’re getting more active now summer’s here,” the garrison’s commanding officer explained to Tom Jones, who had called on him with his scouts and Walt in attendance to get the latest information about what lay ahead.

“Yeah, we saw those two groups camped next to the western side of the Fort,” Jones acknowledged. “Why are they here?”

“They’re Cheyenne an’ Arapaho huntin’ parties. They’re allowed to leave Indian Territory to hunt buffalo, so there’s nothing I can do about them. They camp here partly to avoid trouble with other tribes. They know the others won’t come too close to us.”

“I thought those tribes were fightin’ the army after the Sand Creek massacre?”

“The northern ones are. There are still groups of ’em in the south that aren’t. About the only way you can tell the difference is that hunters will pitch camp. Warriors on the warpath pitch into you instead.”

Jones grimaced. “Funny how their buffalo huntin’ often ends up with stock goin’ missin’, or a settler here an’ there raided by hostiles who never seem to get tracked down.”

“You said it, mister. There’s talk of getting their chiefs together here later this year, to try to make ’em see sense an’ keep their young men from raidin’. I’d guard your camp carefully if I were you. They may try to steal your horses an’ those of your escort. They’re real good at it.”

“Yeah, we’re used to that from last year. We’ll set watch every night to try to keep ’em out, but they’ve been known to sneak in between our pickets an’ get out again with a horse or two, right under our noses. It’s the damnedest thing.”