The Last Ride of Caleb O'Toole (12 page)

But Caleb could not get the stink off him, for the prairie yielded no firewood, and buffalo chips were the only thing that burned well enough for the cooks that prepared their meals. He was so tired of the rock-hard bread, beans, and salted bacon. He longed for a real hearty meal, and today was the day he was to get one. They had made it to Courthouse Rock. In the distance, the huge sandstone rock looked like a war-torn castle. When pioneers made it this far, they knew their journey along the flat prairie was pretty much over. Rugged and difficult terrain loomed ahead.

Caleb sat from his perch halfway up Courthouse Rock and looked out on the vast landscape for deer or antelope. From several hundred feet up, he could see for miles around, and the silence of the desolate prairie filled his ears. He and Ben had ridden ahead to hunt. It was a relief from the relentless grinding and jingling of wagon travel. Far off he could see the dust rising into the midday sun from the wagon train. He figured the distance to be about five miles. Carefully he descended the rocky sandstone cliff as he saw Ben Johnson signal to him from below. The trapper must have found something.

An hour later, Caleb lay patiently in the tall grass in the shadows of Courthouse Rock, determined to bring back food. Johnson had shown him the signs and the droppings of some antelope, and there they crouched, downwind. Finally, an antelope grazing several hundred yards in the distance picked his head up, then moved to higher ground. Caleb had seen a few far away from the trail, but they were skittish and would not come near the ruckus of the wagons. Often, many of the pioneers would try to shoot at antelope or buffalo grazing in the distance for sport, an act that would drive Captain Bellows to sit the men down for a loud lecture. He despised the wasteful act.

Johnson had helped him in the days before to adjust the sights on the Sharps, given him pointers about wind and distance, and corrected him on how he should squeeze the trigger of the big rifle. They had grown close over the days of travel. With gentle hands, Johnson would refine Caleb's grip, encouraging him to use his own stance, find his own method of sharpshooting. The trapper had the soothing patience of his father. It was a comfort to Caleb in the places of his heart where he held the black sorrow of loss. “It ain't what you look like when you're shooting, it's where the dang bullet ends up,” Johnson would say. He had a lever-action Henry rifle and let Caleb shoot it. It did not have the hard kick of the Sharps and Caleb soon could hit the bull's-eye from two hundred yards. The Henry rifle also held a dozen bullets, so if you missed, you could cock it and shoot without reloading. But the Sharps held only one. This antelope was a true test, and now it showed itself in plain sight.

Caleb took a deep breath and fired. The heavy recoil of the Sharps slammed into his shoulder. For a second, nothing happened, so Caleb quickly reloaded and sighted again. Then the antelope went down. “Got him!” Caleb cried as he mounted Pride. Together, the two of them rode across the prairie toward the fallen animal.

“Now that there is a heck of a shot!” Johnson clapped Caleb on the back. “Must be three hundred yards. Got him clean too, and that's what you want, so it don't suffer.”

As they hoisted the antelope across Pride's back, Caleb felt a sense of satisfaction. He also felt some regret as he looked at the antelope, for he had taken its life. But it would feed his sisters and many others who wanted a good meal that night. And that made him happy.

***

“Three hundred yards, you say?” said Captain Bellows as he wolfed down the stew the cooks made from the antelope. “Pretty good shot. That settles it. Tomorrow we make Chimney Rock. Get Posey, and you, him, and young Caleb ride point.”

“Ride point?” Caleb asked as he looked at his father's map of the territory.

“Scout ahead,” said Johnson as he gnawed on a bone.

“I figure take your distance about two miles in front. Should be pretty safe for the next fifty miles or so, but when we hit Scotts Bluff, that's when things can heat up. And it won't be antelope that's shooting at you, boy!” Captain Bellows rose from the campfire. “We ride at dawn.”

“Right, Captain,” said Johnson. Then, seeing Caleb's confusion, he offered, “Scotts Bluff has some problems with the Sioux, mainly. Most of the Indians along here just want to trade for food, blankets. Peaceful folks. Crow, Cheyenne, Arapaho. Don't normally give the white people much of any trouble. Fact, they even go against the Sioux. But lately these years have seen it go bad sometimes all up Montana way.”

“That's where we're headed.” Caleb studied the map by the firelight. “Up to the Bitterroot Mountains on the Bozeman Trail.”

“Bitterroot, huh,” mused Johnson. “Jump off the Bozeman and into Yellowstone, Virginia City, then Bannack?”

“I guess so.”

“Better do more than guess. You watch yourself good. That's a mean trip. Virginia City, there used to be some kinda war going on up there with all the gold and the thieves. Mining country. Heard the vigilantes are on the prowl, hangin' folks,” said Johnson as he picked his teeth.

“We've got family there waiting for us.”

“Young Caleb, don't know what your business is, what you're runnin' from, but you watch yourself in these parts. My belly says you ain't out here alone, the way I see you checking back of you. Got an instinct for these things.”

“We'll make it,” said Caleb.

“The three of you alone out here are some easy pickings. You'll be all right with the wagon train, cover up your tracks and all, but this train ain't going north, it's going west, and whoever is behind you is going to know what I know.”

“What?” Caleb asked warily.

“That Pride's got a funny front hoof, and that wagon of yours has a cut wheel. A blind man could track it.” Johnson rose from the campfire and nodded toward Julie and Tilly who were asleep in the wagon. “You jump off to the Bozeman, they might just pick up your trail. That is, if you need to worry about that. I'm just sayin'. Meantime, we may have some Sioux to deal with once we get near Chimney Rock.”

“Where's that?”

“Some miles ahead. It's a giant rock that shoots up and marks the trail west. Looks like a haystack with a chimney on it,” explained Johnson. “Can't miss it.”

But it wasn't Indians they ran into as they made their way past Chimney Rock. It was buffalo. Miles of the huge beasts in a herd so vast it took Caleb's breath away. Even using Johnson's telescope, they could not see the end to them. He had heard about the vast herds of buffalo that once roamed these territories. He also knew of their needless slaughter by white pioneers. Folks from all corners of the world were known to shoot them for sport without any regard to the future of these great beasts. Shot them from moving trains even, and left them to rot. Some buffalo hunters simply killed and sold their hides for pennies or a dollar, leaving the carcass. It was a source of trouble with the Indian nations. They relied on the buffalo as a way of life. The herds were dwindling. But what Caleb saw in front of him filled him with awe. The air was full of their rugged stench as they peacefully grazed on the prairie grass. Their bellows sounded like distant thunder. Posey sat chewing a piece of that prairie grass while Johnson sighted in on the lead buffalo. They were downwind of the herd. Caleb took out his Sharps and checked the breech. Then he aimed at a large buffalo some two hundred yards away.

“Figure we'll take maybe three,” said Johnson to Caleb as he looked down the barrel of his Henry rifle. “Should feed us good for days. You on one?”

“Yes, that big one close in,” said Caleb as he took a deep breath.

“All right then, go ahead and take him when I fire. They spook easy and once they scatter, look out.”

The sudden crash of gunfire jerked them around in confusion. They had not fired on the buffalo. Half expecting to see Indians, they were surprised to see thirty or so of their own men from the wagon train riding toward the giant herd, firing at will at the huge beasts.

“Gall-darn fools!” shouted Posey as the pioneers advanced on the buffalo and proceeded to slaughter the animals with no discretion. “They'll stampede the herd!”

“Mount up quick,” said Johnson. “This don't look good.”

More men left their horses and advanced on foot with long rifles and even revolvers. They ran toward the herd, shooting the raging buffaloes for no reason other than having some fun. They clapped each other on the back as they brought down the beasts. Caleb knew there was no way they could eat or transport all the dead or dying buffalo, the carnage was so great. Caleb leaped on Pride and rode toward some of the pioneers who were bent on their slaughter, shouting at them to stop. Posey and Johnson tried to head some of the men off, but the pioneers ignored them and refused to back away from their sport. Great bleating moans could be heard from the wounded animals as they fled in panic. Caleb urged Pride into the herd where some of the men fired with glee, whooping and hollering, some in English, others yelling in languages Caleb had never heard before.

“Stop!” Caleb cried over the blasting of the rifles and the thunder of buffalo hooves. Some of the men looked at him like he was crazy. Men with no soulful feeling for the lives of these free-living beasts. To them it was a game. But the game turned deadly. The ground shook under the panic of the buffalo and, as quickly as they had scattered, the vast herd came together and circled around, thundering down on the firing pioneers. Suddenly, there were shouts of alarm as the stampeding buffalo charged the fleeing men. Caleb saw one man trampled like he was straw, his skull smashed. A horse went down and its screams were heard over the fury of the hooves. Two men tried to run and were swallowed up by the herd, never to be seen standing again.

“I'll ride back to the wagons!” shouted Posey as he spurred Devil. “This herd comes down on us there won't be nothing left! Try to head 'em around upriver!”

“Go on, Posey!” shouted Johnson as he and Caleb galloped their horses to the head of the herd. Together they tried to veer the front of the herd away from the path of the wagon train.

“Ya! Pride!” Caleb shot out of the herd toward the lead buffaloes as Johnson scrambled on his horse to keep up. Together they tried to force the herd farther north to the river. Caleb pushed Pride within inches of one buffalo but the huge beast would have none of it. Suddenly it lashed out at Pride with its horns, but Caleb jerked his horse to the side just in time. Johnson nearly went down as another buffalo smashed into the side of his horse. Caleb looked around behind him as they crashed over the prairie, his legs gripping his warhorse tight, terrified he would get swallowed up by the thousands of storming animals in the herd. On he and Johnson rode with the lead buffaloes, and together they tried to veer them toward the Platte River. But the furthest buffalo ahead, the biggest of all, circled.

“Caleb! Put that one ahead tight against the river! They'll slow down! Go get him!”

“All right! Come on, Pride!” Caleb had never before herded on the gallop, but he was learning fast. He had to, for if they were not successful, the wagon train would be lost and many folks trampled or killed. Many including Julie and Tilly. He gave Pride a squeeze and took off toward the lead buffalo. Once alongside, Caleb was close enough to see the rage in the beast's eyes.
This
one
must
be
well
over
two
thousand
pounds
, thought Caleb, as time and again he tried to force it toward the river. Caleb stayed with the buffalo for perhaps a mile, side by side, blocking the huge beast from circling back. Pride seemed to sense that he could keep just the right distance, dashing in and pulling away, frustrating the buffalo, staying just far enough away from the horns, until finally the buffalo veered to the right toward the river. Caleb shot a look back toward Johnson, who rode like a madman in his animal skins, once crashing his horse into a beast beside him. Behind him, the thunder and rage of a thousand buffaloes tore a wide path over the prairie.

They rode for miles until the buffaloes stormed into the North Platte River, finally slowing down, the panic ebbing from the herd. They'd done it! As Johnson trotted his horse toward Caleb, he saw in the trapper's eyes the respect that one man gives another.

“Well, there you go,” Johnson said simply. “Let's pray we took 'em all away from the wagons.”

***

Caleb and Johnson arrived at the wagon train to the sound of Captain Bellows's booming voice. Fuming, the wagon master stomped among the pioneers who had attacked the buffalo, lecturing them about their foolhardy ways. Posey had ridden in hard on Devil and sounded the alarm. The wagons were bunched together in a tight circle to try to protect the women and children along with their livestock. Four men had been killed in the stampede and seven ended up badly injured. Julie was tending as best she could to them, assisting two of the other women who fancied themselves as prairie doctors. These brave women were not educated in medicine in any formal way like Dr. Sullivan, but were good at caring for the sick or injured along the trail. Julie held her own as they struggled to set broken arms and legs. The women nodded in approval as Julie carefully and skillfully sewed a man's torn ear back on to his head. The wails of the families of those killed could be heard. Gunshots sounded in the distance as Posey and Johnson returned to the wounded buffalo and mercifully put the injured animals out of their misery.

Caleb's heart was heavy as he unsaddled Pride and sorted out the events of the day, the sun just setting in the western horizon. Julie was building a fire near the wagon. Caleb sighed. The sight of so many slaughtered buffalo filled him with sadness. The scent of blood hung in the air like a punishment of the terrible deeds of the day. Many of the dead buffalo were cut up and handed out to the wagon party. Carcasses were stripped of their hides, the pioneers figuring they would need the warmth come winter. Still, scores of the magnificent beasts lay to rot on the prairie. Caleb went over to Dusty, the loyal gray horse nuzzling him as he fed him the last remaining oats they had.

“Hey, boy,” said Caleb as he hugged his horse to him. “You've been doing all the work around here. You get us to Aunt Sarah's, you'll never have to do this again. You can just take it easy on her ranch.” Dusty gave a soft whinny and pushed his nose into Caleb, looking to be scratched on his favorite spot on his head. Caleb noticed Julie reading a book by the fire. “What are you reading?”

“It was in Dr. Sullivan's bag. It's a medical book.” Julie flipped the pages, lines of concentration appearing on her face. “I've found some things that come in handy. Common remedies and such. It says you can use a mixture of gunpowder and whiskey and spread it on a rattlesnake bite.” She leaned over to toss another buffalo chip on the fire. The old Julie may have found that dirty task unsettling, but now she gave it no thought. She merely clapped the manure dust off her hands and then continued her reading.

“Where's Tilly?”

“She and Tumble are over at the Smiths' wagon. They're from England,” said Julie with a laugh. “You can imagine what she's up to with their children. She's got them all playing her Once Upon a Time game.” Just then, Ben Johnson ambled over with buffalo steaks and some long sticks. “Looks like we've got company.”

***

“Why did they do it?” asked Caleb as he tested a piece of meat from the fire.

“Well, Caleb O'Toole,” said Johnson as he gnawed on his buffalo meat. Julie held her steak over the campfire as the old trapper chewed away. “Don't rightly know why these people do what they do, killing the buff like that. Suppose they read all about it in books and once they get to these parts, just go crazy. Like the Lord put the buffalo out here just for their sport. Makes a mess with the Indians and all.”

“I don't understand it, since if they keep on killing them, there won't be any left.” Julie tried a piece of her steak. Her eyes lit up with appreciation. “This beats bacon and beans.” Caleb was too busy eating to even reply, the juice running down his chin. All he could do was grunt in agreement.

“Heck, there used to be ten times more out here. I've been around for a while, as you can see from the snow on my roof,” chuckled the trapper as he took off his beaver hat. His white hair glistened in the firelight. “I'm somewhere over fifty years old and for as long as I've been taking these folks over the trail, I've seen it over and over again. To them, everything out here is for the taking. Land, gold, buffalo. Don't matter. They just take it. Turns out a lot of them folks get took as well. But they keep on a comin'.”

“My father said they were mainly city folks from back east and all over the world and they don't know any better,” said Caleb as he dug into his buffalo steak.

“He's mostly right, but there's a lot of others that are good folk who just want somethin' better. Dern shame, though. For the Indian folk too. Seems no matter what they're given, it gets took away too.”

“Do they ever bother you?” asked Caleb.

“The Indians? Not much. I just move in and move out, take some beaver or something. Trade with them sometimes. Once in a while, I get a bad feeling, like an itch for it in the middle of my chest.”

“What do you mean an itch?” asked Caleb.

“An arrow.”

“Have you always worked the trail, leading folks?” asked Julie.

“Pretty much. Though since the railroad got built, I go up north for the trappin'. Beaver and bear and such.” Johnson chewed the last piece of his meat and stood and stretched by the fire. “I'll say this, Caleb O'Toole, I never saw the likes of what you did today from a young man yer age. Boy, you sure can handle that black of yours. And I am proud to have you alongside. Not a bad shot now too.”

“I'm proud of you too, Caleb. I'm going to fetch Tilly and turn in.” Julie squeezed Caleb's shoulder in affection. “Good night, Mr. Johnson.”

“Night, missy,” answered Johnson as he nodded to Julie.

“You may call me Julie or Miss O'Toole,” said Julie, her eyes narrowing.

“Well, excuse my disrespect. I should say Miss O'Toole,” nodded Mr. Johnson. Caleb couldn't help but smile as his sister walked off to the Smiths' wagon to get Tilly. With her medical bag in one hand and the heavy Colt in her pocket, Julie was becoming a woman to be reckoned with.

“Anyway, you did real good today. A father would bust his buttons to have a son like you.”

“Thanks,” said Caleb, glowing in the man's praise. “But it was Pride who turned the buffalo.”

“Ha! I know better.” Johnson ruffled Caleb's hair and jammed his beaver fur hat onto his snow-white head. “Well, I'm gonna turn in. In a day or two, we make the Bluff and something in my bones tells me we got trouble after today and what these gall-darn fools did.”

“What kind of trouble?” asked Caleb as he kicked out the campfire.

“Sioux trouble,” said Johnson as he headed off to his campsite.

***

Caleb rode in the deep ruts of the trail toward the split between the towering cliffs of Scotts Bluff, the wagon train a few miles behind. There must have been many thousands of wagons passing through over decades to make these grooves in the rocky trail, he thought. The sun beat down mercilessly, but even in the heat of the dusty prairie, he got chills from the glorious sight of the huge, fortress-like mountain of rock. It stood before him like a forbidden gateway to the unknown. Pioneers had talked of Scotts Bluff as the main landmark to the West. The landscape was changing, flat prairie turning to rocky hills and canyons. And in these hills, secrets lay hidden. Posey and Johnson rode beside him, ever on the watch for trouble, for trouble was known in these parts. As they rode along the trail through the vast split of the rock, Caleb couldn't help but reach back and take hold of his Sharps. On his hip, he wore Jumping Dog's knife and he touched it. The hilt of the large weapon gave him the slightest comfort as Pride surged forward, nostrils flaring and ears up, listening for some sound of danger.