The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (11 page)

Ash Hollow! Caleb knew of it. That was where the pioneers gathered on the Oregon Trail and lowered their wagons with ropes by hand down a treacherous hill to the road below. It seemed a monumental task, but you could then cross to the North Platte River from the south. A wagon train had been spotted! Perhaps their luck had changed. Caleb's hands finally stopped shaking.

***

Wagons! For miles! Caleb reined Pride to a stop at the edge of the impossibly steep trail. Below, perhaps a mile away, was the wide Platte River. In the distance beyond, wagons were disappearing into a growing cloud of dust. As Pride danced along the edge of the near vertical hill, Caleb looked around to figure a way down. There seemed no way to get their buckboard safely to the bottom without riding some distance away and making their way back. Time was everything and it would be hard to catch up. If they were to travel in the safety of this wagon train, they had to join up with them now. As the wagons drew farther away, Caleb saw his solution. Just ahead at the edge of the clifflike trail were several long ropes! This was where the wagons were lowered over the side.

“Ready?” cried Caleb as he and Julie stood holding the reins of Dusty and Pride. After they had emptied the wagon of their supplies, Caleb hitched the two horses to the wagon with the long ropes left by the pioneers. Their Pawnee friends held the wagon steady at the edge of the steep trail some two hundred feet away.

“Yes!” Jumping Dog and the three other Indians began to push the wagon over the side. Once the rear wheels went over, they grabbed hold of the ropes and braced themselves. Keeping tension on the ropes, Caleb and Julie carefully backed Dusty and Pride a few feet toward the lip of the hill as the wagon disappeared over the side. The rope snapped taut and held! Then they began to back Dusty and Pride toward the edge as the wagon slowly inched toward the bottom below.

“It's working!” exclaimed Julie as she coaxed Dusty slowly backward. Jumping Dog and another Pawnee man held their knives, ready to cut the ropes in case of any problem. “Back, Dusty!”

“Easy, Pride,” said Caleb as the big warhorse strained against the weight. “How much farther?”

“Almost there!” shouted Tilly, dangerously close to the edge.

“Tilly!” cried Julie. “Get away from there!”

SNAP!
It happened so fast, Jumping Dog and one of the other Pawnee Indians were thrown to the ground. Dusty's rope had broken and the weight of the wagon began to carry the Indians to the edge of the steep trail. The other two Indians dug their feet into the ground with all their might and held on. One of them began to try to cut the rope, but it was awkward and he dropped the knife and went down. Tilly got caught up with the two Indians and rolled toward the edge. Jumping Dog reached out and pushed her back.

“Tilly!” Julie dove to grab her sister.

“Come on, Pride!” cried Caleb. If they lost Pride and the wagon now, it would be a disaster. Pride pulled hard as all the Indians grabbed the good rope and began to brace.

“Ten feet!” called Jumping Dog as he scrambled back. The other Pawnee Indians pulled mightily against the weight as they tried to steady the wagon. Finally the rope slacked as the wagon hit the bottom with a jolt and flipped over.

“It looks OK!” cried Julie as she looked over the clifflike hill.

“That was a close one,” said Jumping Dog with a sheepish grin. For a moment, they could only stare at the little wagon now resting on its side, but seemingly intact.

Caleb looked at the wagon in amazement. Hopefully, nothing was damaged. “We'd better load up Dusty and Pride.” He started to pile their belongings on the horses. Soon they had everything ready to make the descent. On horseback, it was dangerous, but much easier to make their way down to the canyon floor. The horses picked their way slowly along the treacherous trail. It was pretty obvious their wagon never could have made it down. They would have had to travel for miles out of their way to find a safe route. Once they got the wagon packed up, they turned to say good-bye to their Pawnee friends. “Thank you, Jumping Dog, for all of your help.” Caleb held out his hand to shake and together they shared a smile.

“I wish you good journey.” Jumping Dog then took out his knife and handed it to Caleb. “Take this.”

“This knife?” It was long and graceful with turquoise stones set in the handle. “I can't,” said Caleb, trying to give it back.

“It has brought me good luck. It is yours,” said Jumping Dog. “Better hurry.”

With barely a wave of good-bye, the Indians mounted their horses and rode back up the steep slope. They did not waste time with sentiment. Caleb and Julie marveled at the generosity of the Pawnee people. Some day they would return to thank them properly, for stopping in their camp had saved Tilly's life. The Indians had helped them on their journey without so much as a thought to their own safety. Caleb's father had always talked about the character of men. He was beginning to find out what that meant.

“Ready?” asked Caleb as he mounted Pride and studied a grove of ash trees in front of him. Julie boosted Tilly onto the back of the wagon, where Tumble sat barking in excitement.

“Let's go,” Julie said as she climbed aboard and grabbed Dusty's reins. “Over to the right looks like the best way to the river.”

***

“It's OK! It's shallow!” shouted Caleb as he urged Pride through the waters of Ash Hollow. “Hurry!” After a mile or so of navigating their way through the ash trees, they had entered the river. The wagon train was more than two hours ahead of them. They were falling behind, but the river was so pure up the bend that they took a few minutes to bathe and water the horses. Who knows when they would see the likes of these springs again? The water in Ash Hollow was famous and said to be the best around. Now they had to catch up.

Julie struggled a little with the wagon, but then Dusty found his footing and she was able to guide the gray horse through the gentle current, Tumble barking all the way. Dusty loved the cleaning Caleb had given him, and with newfound vigor, they crossed the mile-wide river with few problems. They pressed on, determined to close the gap with the wagon train, passing other pioneers who could not keep up. Many wagons over the years had broken down from the journey on the trail and had been cast aside like dead carcasses. There was even a lone man pushing a wheelbarrow stuffed with his belongings. As they passed the exhausted pioneer, Caleb noted the fixed, haunted look in the man's eyes. But the man walked on, his head no doubt filled with visions of gold, riches, or a new life. Dreams of the people from the east who had no idea of the rigors and hardships of traveling the trail drove them farther west. On they pushed into the unknown and into the teeth of danger. It was all some could do to keep their horses and wagons in a straight line, because of their lack of western experience. Caleb and Julie were learning this life quickly. They had to, for if they let up, they would not survive. They had traveled nearly four hundred miles in a little over a month since they had left their beloved home in flames. Not even halfway to the Bitterroot and their new home with their Aunt Sarah, they had been tested time and again. Caleb couldn't afford to let up, and the dying wish of his mother filled him with all the strength he would need. The muscles in his arms and the strength of his grip battled with his doubts and his fears, for who could say what perils lay ahead. They would be there, he thought, but he would not cave in to them. He vowed to never waver.

“You smell that?” Caleb pulled alongside Julie, who stood up on the seat of the wagon to get a good look ahead. The air was filled with dust and the stench of sweaty animals.

“Look, Tilly!” cried Julie as she hoisted Tilly onto her shoulders. There, far ahead against the setting sun, was the longest wagon train they had ever seen. “Wagons! There they are!”

I don't care how you say it, boy, you can't join up, and that's it!” The red-faced wagon master, Captain John Bellows, spat a stream of tobacco juice at Caleb's feet. Several other men circled on horseback around Caleb, Julie, and the wagon as the former Union officer chewed Caleb out for riding up behind the train. Sentries patrolling the rear nearly fired on them as they rode hard to catch up.

“I'm the leader of this here wagon train, and I am telling you we can't afford to take on three brats with no folks to take care of 'em. We got better than a thousand miles to Oregon and you'd be a danger to us all. Darn near got yourselves killed just now!”

“Sir, we would only go as far as the Bozeman Trail with your wagons, and then we'll split off. Maybe Fort Fetterman or Fort Casper,” said Caleb.

“Look, boy, I can't guarantee half these folks are going to make it even that far. There's a heck of a lot of trouble with the Sioux up at Scotts Bluff and I got greenhorns who can't shoot and can't ride from places I never heard of. Tarnation, half of 'em don't speak good English. Last thing we need is to take care of you snot-nosed brats. Now get on back to Ash Hollow then to wherever you came from,” ordered the Captain as he chewed off another chaw of tobacco.

“We can take care of ourselves,” said Julie. “We've come weeks on our own so far!”

“Then you don't need us now, do ya?” sneered the Captain. “And we've got no use for you.”

“I can outride any of you!” insisted Caleb. “I can shoot too.”

“Hear that?” guffawed the Captain. “That's a laugh.” All the men seemed to think that was particularly funny. “What about you, little missy? I suppose you're about as worthless as your brother here? You at least cook?”

“Yes, sir, I can.” Julie narrowed her eyes and stared straight at the Captain. “I can also stitch you up next time you do something foolish and fall on your head, or whatever you men are prone to do,” said Julie defiantly.

This caused a great roar of laughter from the men that did not sit well with Bellows. “Shut up!” barked Captain Bellows as he stared at Julie, trying to figure on some sort of answer. He settled on Caleb rather than take on Julie. “How old are you, boy?”

“Twelve, sir,” answered Caleb.

“Twelve, huh? You think you can outride my best man?” muttered the Captain.

“Yes, sir!”

“This I gotta see. Corporal Posey!”

“Sir!” shouted a voice from behind the last wagon.

“Get your butt over here!” ordered the Captain. “And bring that excuse for a horse you call Devil with you!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now, boy, I'll make you a little wager. You even keep up with Posey, I'll let you stay on. He beats you flat out, you and your sisters here head back, understood?” barked Bellows.

“Yes, sir!” Caleb smiled. “Pride will beat him.”

“I know he can!” cried Julie.

“He'll eat Pride's dust!” yelled little Tilly as she bravely stood next to her sister.

“Pride, huh. We'll see,” mused Bellows as he gave Pride the once-over. “Dad gummit, Posey!”

“Sir!” Posey galloped around the wagon on a screaming stallion so white, it glowed in the midday sun. The young Corporal's blue uniform with sparkling gold buttons and yellow-striped leggings clung perfectly to him, and his shiny black boots beat a brisk rhythm on the horse's flanks. Long blond hair flowed under a yellow-tasseled cavalry hat, its wide brim swept up on the left side. This was a real horseman. He gave a flick of the reins, and Devil reared up on his hind legs to his full height, his front hooves pawing at the air. Caleb had only seen a horse like this in books. An Arabian! He was big and strong, almost as big as Pride at the shoulder. Caleb swallowed hard as Posey let the snorting horse prance sideways. Devil, he knew, would be tough to beat. Arabians could run all day, and this one was young. Pride had seen many battles and was at least fifteen years old, Caleb figured.

“This boy says Pride here can beat that crazy-looking horse of yours. You gonna let that happen, Corporal?” challenged Bellows.

“No, Captain!” Posey guided Devil alongside Pride. Instantly, Pride began to get agitated, for he was a warhorse that did not like a young stallion riding up on him. Pride reared up, and Caleb almost fell off the back. “Watch yourself there, boy,” laughed Posey as he purposely swung his horse into Pride.

“All right.” Bellows pointed to a tree some two hundred yards away. “Around that first tree and back. You fall too far behind, you and your sisters go. Got it?”

Caleb thought for a second and had an idea. A short race, anything can happen, but a long one? “Around that tree? That's too easy. What about that other one on the hill behind it? Might be more interesting,” said Caleb as he pointed at another tree far in the distance.

“OK,” muttered Posey confidently. “Don't matter much.”

“Fine,” growled Captain Bellows. “On your way back, take a shot at that stump over there. We'll see if you can shoot like you say.”

“OK.” Caleb looked across the trail at a burned-out stump some fifty yards away. He checked his Sharps to make sure it was loaded and put it back in its scabbard. Pride sensed something was up and he began to shift his feet in excitement. Posey lined up next to Caleb and yanked Devil in toward Pride. Pride, not to be messed with, lashed out with his hind leg and cracked the Arabian. Devil suddenly turned and bit Pride. Pride reared up hard. It was all Caleb could do to hang on.

“Wait for my shot!” Captain Bellows took out his Colt and pointed it skyward, then fired.

Corporal Posey spurred Devil hard, and the big Arabian took off like he was shot from a cannon. It was two seconds before Caleb could react. At first Caleb struggled, but Pride seemed to know his task and bolted on his own after the Arabian stallion. They were already thirty yards behind when Caleb settled in, and he could hear the jeering laughter behind him. “Let's go, Pride! Ya!” cried Caleb as he squeezed with his knees. It was nearly a half-mile to the tree and if he figured right, he might run the white Devil down.

On they raced over the prairie, and the big Arabian held the lead. Caleb winced as bits of dirt and rock were slung into his face, adding insult to injury. As he tried to control Pride, he thought about saving him for the finish, but Pride would have none of it. When Caleb tried to hold him back, Pride fought against the bit, struggling to gain more speed. He seemed to want to beat this Arabian stallion in the worst way. This was something Caleb had not known about Henderson's horse. He was as hardheaded as the gunfighter was. So, instead of trying to control the huge warhorse, Caleb simply squeezed again. “All right, Pride, go get him!” Pride stormed ahead, his proud blood pounding through his veins, willing himself to catch this white stallion. Posey shot a look back in disbelief as Pride surged toward him and he took out a crop and beat Devil, whipping the Arabian horse mightily to keep his lead. The Arabian rounded the tree first at a tremendous pace, his white tail flying straight behind him. Caleb rounded the tree seconds behind and shot after Posey and his horse. Posey whipped his horse like a madman and for a moment seemed to creep ahead. Posey tried to cut Pride off, but Pride veered to the side and pulled even with Devil. For some seconds it stayed like that, neck and neck. Then Caleb just gave Pride another squeeze, leaned a little forward, and relaxed his grip on the reins. Now Pride took it on his own. Smooth as glass, Pride flattened out his head, his black tail flying behind him. They left Posey and Devil several lengths in back of them as they closed in on the wagon train, the figures up ahead jumping up and down with excitement. The wind whipped and whistled as they pulled farther ahead. Now it was Posey eating his dust, as Pride pounded out a thunderous beat to the finish line.

Caleb let go of the reins and reached back for his Sharps. Calmly, carefully, he sighted on the blackened stump. Time seemed to stand still. He squeezed the trigger and fired.

“Holy sweet mother!” gasped Captain Bellows as Caleb shot past on Pride and scattered the wagon sentries who had gathered along with a growing crowd of pioneers to watch the race. “Did he hit it? Johnson! Check that stump!”

Ben Johnson, an older trapper dressed head to toe in animal skins, sauntered over to the stump as Caleb walked Pride back to the group of onlookers. After some inspection, he walked back to the group, scratching his head.

“Don't see nothing, Captain,” said Johnson. “Guess he missed.”

“Missed, huh? Boy, get over here!”

Caleb slid off Pride and gave him a pat as he ambled over toward the Captain.
I
can't believe it
, Caleb thought as he led Pride past the sentries. He had done well to win the race, but since he missed the stump, he figured Bellows would cut them loose. Posey trotted up on Devil and nodded to Caleb.

“Nice race, boy,” said the Corporal grudgingly.

“What's your name, son?” The Captain eyed Caleb and ran his hand over Pride's sweating flank.

“Caleb O'Toole, sir.”

“Well, Caleb O'Toole, that was one dandy of a race. Never thought I'd see the day the Devil would be beat. This is some horse you got here. Seen his share of battle, I see.”

“Yes, sir.” Caleb watched as Bellows inspected Pride, touching the big warhorse's wounds.

“N…V…” Bellows fingered the initials that were etched into the saddle. “Nebraska Volunteers, I take it? Where'd you get him?”

“A man gave him to me, sir.” Caleb was careful not to mention Henderson's name.

“Gave him to you, huh?” Bellows stared hard at Caleb. “Well, Caleb O'Toole, you sure can ride. Too bad you can't shoot. Johnson!”

“Sir!” snapped Ben Johnson.

“You make sure this boy learns how to shoot that Sharps of his!” growled the Captain. “Caleb O'Toole?”

“Yes, sir?” Caleb brightened at the possibility of traveling safely with the wagon train.

“Johnson can hit the eye out of an eagle. You learn from this man. If you can shoot like you can ride, we'll keep you and your family around. Maybe make you a scout.”

“Thank you, Captain, I will,” said Caleb as Julie and Tilly ran up alongside.

“And you, what's your name?” Bellows asked Julie.

“Julie O'Toole. And this is Tilly.”

“I told you Pride would eat Devil's dust!” exclaimed Tilly proudly.

“Ha!” laughed Bellows. “Well, Julie O'Toole, you say you can stitch a man's head?”

“I can!”

“Good. You can start with old man Peterson's head right now. The idiot got himself kicked by that ox of his. Posey!” barked Bellows. “Take her up to the idiot's wagon and see she fixes him up!”

Julie ran to get the doctor bag. “Wish me luck,” Julie whispered to Caleb as she walked ahead with Posey and Devil. Caleb silently wished old man Peterson luck.

“Boy, until you learn to shoot, you need to make yourself useful,” said the Captain.

“Yes, sir, I will. Anything,” answered Caleb.

“Good.” The Captain shoved another chaw into his mouth. “You can start by hanging behind in the back and collecting buffalo chips.” Then Captain Bellows signaled and he and the sentries headed for the front of the wagon train.

“Buffalo chips, sir? What are…?”

“It's dried crap from a buffalo!” roared the Captain. “You see some, you throw it in that wagon of yours. It makes a good fire!”

***

Caleb stunk of buffalo dung in the worst way. His throat ached from the choking dust that kicked up from the wagon wheels. For a week, the wagon train crept across the desolate prairie, the oxen dragging the wagon train along the trail at barely ten miles per day. Sometimes they could only make two or three miles. Every morning, they would get up while it was still dark and build a fire with the buffalo chips. A breakfast of bacon, bread, and beans was mostly what they ate. The wagon master would give the word and Caleb would help the other pioneers hitch up all the wagons and rouse the livestock. Soon they would head out for another day on the trail. Wagons broke down and had to be fixed, and sometimes the weather would act up. The oxen were methodical, dependable beasts. Caleb had managed around twenty miles per day when they traveled with their horses alone. At the end of each day, Captain Bellows would order the wagons to circle so they could pen in all the livestock. Sentries would be posted to keep watch for Indians.

It was slow going, but Caleb was glad for the protection they needed from the two hundred or so wagons along with several hundred earnest but tired pioneers. Along the way, Tilly fell in with the children of a family who came all the way from Europe. Dreamers who were headed to California or Oregon for the gold. Tilly played games with them like leapfrog or hoops or London Bridge. She led the other children to make bouquets from all the wildflowers and hand them out to the travelers. Julie was making a reputation for herself as a nurse and had stitched up more than a few fellow travelers who were injured along the trail. Sometimes she would help teach some of the children at night by the fire from books folks had managed to bring with them. And of course, Tilly wanted to hear her stories of King Arthur and medieval times.