The Trail West Ch. 04

Within a couple of miles they saw a horse standing with its' head down fifty yards or so off the trail. Josh and Red separated and came at the animal from opposite sides, looking for the rider; they found him at the bottom of a shallow arroyo 25 to 30 feet from his horse, lying on his back. The man apparently had a gun shot wound in his belly and was still bleeding.

He looked up as Josh and Red approached him from either side with their pistols drawn. His own pistol was on the ground beside him. He was holding his wound with both hands and didn't make a move toward his weapon.

"Well boys, you got me. Don't have much fight left in me," the man said as the two young men got closer.

"I'll be damned," Josh said. Turning to Red he continued, "Its John Fogerty himself." Red picked up the man's pistol and tucked it under his own belt.

"Do I know you boy? I've seen you somewhere before," Fogerty said.

"It's Josh Kelly from Missouri, Fogerty." Red saw that his friend's face was stern and cold looking.

"Like old home week, ain't it boy? Don't guess I'll be recruiting you after all." Fogerty chuckled and then coughed, spitting up some blood. "Looks like I'm out of action for a while," he continued after his coughing spell.

"Hang tight Fogerty, we'll get you some help from the wagon train, though you don't deserve it." Josh went to examine Fogerty's horse; the animal had a wound in his chest that blood bubbled out of every time it breathed. Shot through the lung Josh thought. We'll have to put him down.

Red shouted to him, "Why don't you go get some help? You're better mounted than me; I'll wait here and put the horse down while you're gone."

Josh mounted his horse and started back to the wagon train. He had gone about 200 yards when he heard the gun shot. Well at least that poor animal is out of its' misery he thought. About ten seconds after the first shot he heard a second one. Puzzled he stopped and looked back over the trail. Why a second shot he asked himself?

Back in the arroyo Red had pulled the saddle off the wounded horse and stroked the animal's neck for a minute. For a man that had just been in a battle his movements and his eyes were very gentle. He waited until Josh was all but out of sight before he shot the suffering animal. Returning to where Fogerty was lying he squatted down beside the leader of the outlaw band.

"You're gut shot Fogerty. You don't have much more chance than that horse," Red told him with a hard look in his eye. He'd had that same look facing down the man in the saloon in Oklahoma City.

Fogerty looked back at Red and said, "I figure I've got maybe three, four days before I croak and I'll be in misery and pain the whole time. That about right boy?"

Red nodded in agreement. "What's your name son?" Fogerty asked. "If you don't mind telling me."

"John McCall."

"Well Mr. McCall, you'd be doing me a service if you'd finish me off; or give me my pistol and I'll do it myself. Don't hanker laying around for several days in pain before the end."

Red didn't like the man but he had to admire his courage to do what needed to be done. Even with a doctor Fogerty had no chance; gut shot men just didn't survive. He drew his pistol then handed Fogerty his gun and stood back; keeping a sharp eye on the outlaw. Fogerty nodded at Red, looked around for a few seconds and put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. That was the second gun shot that Josh had heard.

Josh turned his horse after a minute or so to return and check out the second gun shot. He saw Red riding toward him at a slow lope. He pulled up next to Josh and handed him a Henry Repeating rifle.

Pointing at the rifle and then at a pistol stuck in his belt he said, "These are the only useful things he had on him. Fogerty decided he didn't want to go through all the pain and die anyway so he shot himself."

"How'd he get a gun, did you give it to him?" Josh asked knowing the answer.

"I didn't like the scum but he was going to die anyway. Why make him suffer?"

Josh looked at his friend for a few seconds and said, "You can be a hard man sometimes Red."

"Sometimes, in this country, you have to be hard," Red replied.

The two friends looked at each other for a moment. Josh nodded and they rode back to the wagon train. They reported to Hobart that the raiders were half way to Mexico by now and told him about Fogerty. Josh handed the pistol and the Henry rifle to Hobart to add to the stores of the wagon train.

In spite of the late night attack, Hobart got the wagons on the trail at first light. They had almost three hundred mile to Santa Fe and the weather would start to turn shortly. The wagons needed to get to Santa Fe before the summer temperatures began to soar into triple digits and the summer thunderstorms struck. It was the middle of June '62 and by the end of the month they could expect daytime temperatures of 95 and more. And when the temperatures were at their highest you could expect thunderstorms too.

The wagon train made very good time over the flat land for the next twelve days. They kept the horses and mules well watered and fed. Without the animals the people on the train could be stranded in this desert like land. Planning ahead, the oxen had been sold or traded for mules in Oklahoma City because their brute strength was no longer necessary in this arid mostly flat landscape. Josh and Red spent hours in the saddle scouting ahead for water and grazing.

Normally the wagon train would start the day just after first light. Feeding the people and stock, breaking camp and hitching the teams to the wagons took better than two hours and they would hit the trail by 7 AM. But now by 7 AM the wagons had been on the move for two or three hours; the change in the schedule was due to the heat. Around noon the wagons would stop and everyone, people and animals, would rest and take a siesta during the heat of the day. They would get back on the trail around 4 PM and travel until just before dusk; several times they would push on under the light of a full moon.

The wagons needed to get to Santa Fe before the real heat hit this increasingly dry and dusty land; their lives could depend on it. They were about ten days out of Santa Fe and the end of the trail when the summer storms hit. First they suffered a hail storm which spooked the horses and mules; they had to stop and calm the animals down.

The hail tore holes in some of the canvas covers over the wagon beds and when the hard rain followed it soaked the inside of several wagons. At first the wagons continued on through the rain, but on the second day it rained so hard that it was hard to keep the teams headed into it. The animals wanted to turn their backs to the storm and ride it out; sometimes it was almost impossible to force them on.

There were several arroyos and small washes to cross that were only small inconveniences in dry weather but were now impossible to cross because of the water rushing through them. The wagons had to sit and wait until the rain water ran off and got low enough for the train to continue, and as long as it rained the arroyos would be full of water. These delays cost them several days.

The families in the train silently gave thanks that they had gathered so many buffalo chips when they had the chance. Those chips made the difference between a cold camp and cook fires. Even if there had been a wood supply nearby it would have been too wet to burn.

Josh and Red didn't have a lot to do while it was raining, all the gear was in good repair, the animals were still in good shape, and you couldn't hunt in this weather. They did do scouting trips around the camp to avoid any surprises; it didn't pay to let your guard down in this wild country.

In the afternoon of the second day of waiting, the rain quit. Hobart inspected the arroyo that had forced them to stop and predicted the water would be almost gone by late that afternoon. He explained that the wagons would break camp the following morning; no need to travel for only a couple of hours and then have to make camp again.

As Hobart predicted, by the afternoon the water level in the arroyo had dropped to a trickle and would be entirely gone by the next morning. He asked Josh and Red to make a sweep on horseback around the wagons. "Take a ride and see if anything is stirring now that the rains stopped boys."

They young men smiled and quickly saddled their horses; they were happy to get out and ride after being cooped up for a few days. Red rode south while Josh took off to the north, they would ride a sweep out to about two miles and then return to the wagons.

Josh rode north amazed at the change in the land because of the rain. Instead of being hot and smelling dusty, the landscape smelled clean and fresh; the scrub trees, grass, and some wild flowers were already beginning to bloom. As he topped a small rise he saw something else new to the land, at least it was new to him.

About 100 feet away at the bottom of the rise were a dozen or so Indians.

He pulled Diablo to a stop on the crest in surprise. These were the first Indians he had seen on his journey. Josh knew that these weren't the same as the Cherokee and Osage back in Missouri; mostly those had become farmers and mixed with the white man.

The Indians that Josh saw were not farmers. They all carried weapons from bows to lances and even three or four rifles. He wasn't too worried for the wagons, they had enough fire power to protect themselves against this group; he was worried that there might be a lot more of them. Josh wondered if he could get away to warn the camp; twelve to one, when you're the one, was not good odds.

Although Josh was alone he didn't think the Indians could catch him before he could get back to the wagons. None of the Indian ponies had the look of speed and before they could get to the top of the rise Josh would be long gone down the other side and going at a full gallop for the camp. Josh almost smiled thinking of how far behind Diablo would leave the Indian ponies.

Apparently the Indians were a surprised as Josh; they pulled their horses to a stop also. There was a lot of talking going on between them with most of it directed at one of the men with a rifle. Josh and the band watched and inspected each other for several minutes while the talk was going on. Finally the one that appeared to be the leader handed his rifle to one of the others.

The Indian held one hand up with an open palm and started slowly up the rise toward Josh. You had to admire the man's courage; I don't know that I would have the nerve to approach an armed stranger like that, Josh thought. As the Indian got closer, Josh took his hand off the rifle lying across his saddle and held up his open hand and nodded at the man.

The distance between the two totally different men closed to about 20 feet. The young white man and the older Indian examined each other for a minute or two. The Indian's body showed several scars with a big one running down the side of his face; this man was a veteran of many battles, Josh thought. Then the Indian pointed to Diablo and slapped his palms together letting one slide past the other in a universal sign of speed, speaking as he did. Josh knew some Cheyenne courtesy of the Reece's but he didn't understand the man's language.

The Indian continued to made signs with his hands and Josh could understand a bit more of what he was trying to say; he had also learned some sigh language from the Reece's and from Johnny Burrows. After several minutes of repeated signs and mistakes Josh understood the Indian was signing that his name was Chief Running Wolf. He and the others had been on a hunting trip but the thunderstorm had spooked all the game and the Indians were headed back to their camp empty handed.

Josh made sign, again with some misunderstandings and mistakes telling them that he was with a wagon train headed to a white man's village further west. The two men from different backgrounds continue to "talk". Josh was surprised again when Running Wolf smiled and laughed trying to get him to understand his sign.

Among many other things he'd learned from Johnny Burrows was that Indians weren't always stern and stoic. They liked to smile and laugh as much as anyone; they just didn't do it in front of strangers or white men. By smiling at Josh, Running Wolf showed that he thought Josh was trust worthy.

After several minutes, Josh understood that The Chief and his people would have to cut back on food until they had a successful hunt. The rain had held them up too and they would be late getting to their summer camp in the high country. Learning that there were women and children at the Indian's main camp, Josh thought of a plan that he hoped he could convince Mr. Hobart to allow.

Josh signed asking Running Wolf to wait on the rise; he explained that he would go to the wagon train and return by midday. He had taking a liking to the Chief during their "conversation" and wanted to help the Indian families if he could.

Hobart saw Josh returning at a high lope and was concerned; Josh normally didn't ride that hard unless there was trouble. He mounted his own horse and went out to meet his young scout, not seeing a reason for Josh's hurry.

"What's got a burr under you saddle, boy? Riding pretty fast just to get back for coffee," Hobart said.

"Yes sir, I mean no sir, it's not coffee I'm after. I met someone north of here that I would like to help if we can," Josh said.

Hobart nodded at him to continue and Josh told him about Running Wolf and the Indian families being short on food. "Maybe we could spare enough of that smoked buffalo to get them to their high camp. What'd you think Mr. Hobart?"

"You say Running Wolf has a scar across his face?

"Yes sir, it runs from his hairline down to the corner of his mouth. Why?"

"Running Wolf may be his Indian name, but the Mexicans call him Cicatriz, the name means Scar. He's Jicarrilla Apache and been a thorn in their side for a lot of years; they've been trying to capture or kill him for a long time. Scar's a bad one, at least according to the Mexicans," Hobart said and then added, "Although I never heard tell of him bothering a wagon train. Whites neither, unless they went after him first. Still want to help him son?"

"Yes sir. I don't know about all that other ; I think he's just a man trying to get his family to a safe place. I'd like to help them if we could spare the food," Josh answered.

Hobart had to smile at the young man, "Always picking up strays aren't you? First Red and now Scar."

Josh smiled back at Hobart, laughed, and said, "Look how good Red turned out once we got him broke."

"Ok, go get your latest stray and bring em closer to the camp. I'll see what we can come up with to help them."

It took Josh about an hour to get back to the Indians and then about 20 minutes to convince Running Wolf to follow him back to the wagon train. As Josh and Running Wolf, followed by the rest of the Indians approached the wagons, Hobart rode out to meet them.

When Hobart got close to them he held up opened hand and began to talk to the Indian Chief, making signs as he spoke. Josh was amazed the Hobart could speak the language. The two men talked and signed for several minutes. Hobart told Josh to return to the wagons and bring the three cattle that he had roped together and give them to Running Wolf.

Josh returned driving the cattle with the help of Jerry Barnes. Hobart questioned Josh about the Barnes boy coming with him. Josh told him the boy wanted help with the cattle and to see real Indians; this was the safest way to do that. Running Wolf also asked Hobart about the boy. He told the Chief why the boy had come out from the wagons and Running Wolf nodded.

The Chief pointed to Josh and spoke for a minute or two gesturing repeatedly at the young man. Before leaving, Running Wolf walked his horse over to the Barnes boy and handed him an eagle's feather that had been woven into his horse's mane. Then Running Wolf shook hands with Jerry, Josh, and Hobart and with a last few words drove the three cattle off to the north. Hobart watched them go and rode back to the wagons with the young men by his side.

As they returned Hobart explained to Jerry that the Apache "blessed" their horses by weaving eagle feathers and good luck totems into their tails and manes; they believed it kept the horses and their riders safe. When they got back to the wagons the boy dismounted and wove the eagle feather into his horse's mane; just like the Chief had done.

"I noticed that you called him Running Wolf instead of Scar," Josh said as he watched Jerry lead his horse toward what was now his wagon.

"You're damned right I didn't, Scar is the name his enemies call him, we're not his enemy and I don't want him thinkin we are. Indians put a lot of store in being respected," Hobart told him.

"Why'd you give Running Wolf cattle instead of some of the smoked meat?"

"Those cattle will help feed Running Wolf's village better than the amount of buffalo meat we could have spared. I plan to come this way again and it never hurts to have a powerful friend, don't you know," Hobart replied.

As they weaved their way between the wagons Josh asked, "Whose cattle did you just give away? How did you get them to agree to let them go?"

Hobart smiled and said, "Sometimes even a bad thing can help down the line. Those cattle had belonged to Jerry's parents; I bought them from the boy. I had planned to sell them in Santa Fe to give him a stake but thought this was a better use for them. And Jerry got the money either way."

The excitement died down but Hobart still had men out scouting around the camp. No need to be surprised at this point, he thought. Josh had just finished wiping down Diablo and was giving him water and feed when Red returned from his scout.

"What's this I hear about you and some Apache Chief?" Red was upset that he hadn't been there too.

Josh told him the whole story as they walked across the camp for the evening meal.

"Damn you get all the luck. I've heard about Running Wolf for years and now you get to meet him," Red said.

At first light the wagon train began to stir and get ready for the day's travel; they were on the move by 6:30. The wagons had made about five miles when Jerry Barnes came back at a high gallop; Red and he were riding point that morning. Hobart and Josh were riding beside the lead wagon and the boy pulled up by them.

"Mr. McCall said we got company. He said to tell y'all there's Indians on top of that rise yonder," the boy said excitedly.

"Where's Red now?" Hobart asked.

"He's just sitting in the middle of the trail watchin em," Jerry answered. "He wants Josh and you to come meet him, Mr. Hobart. He said he'd keep an eye on em until you got there," the boy said with admiration at Red's nerve.

Josh looked at Hobart and said, "Reckon we oughta go see who our guests are Mr. Hobart? Jerry you best stay here, close to your wagon." Noticing the disappointment on the youngster's face, Josh continued, "We'll need help with the wagons if they're hostiles and in case this turns into something bad."

Hobart nodded, gave Jack his second in command orders to stop the wagons and stay alert. Josh was already riding to meet Red when Hobart caught up to him. Red was calmly sitting on his horse watching the Indians who were watchin him back from the top of the rise. The small hill was only about 30 feet high but it stood out like a mountain on this flat land. The two groups had about 200 yards between them and neither group moved until Josh and Hobart joined Red; that's when the Indians started down the rise.

In unison Red, Josh, and Hobart pulled their rifles from their saddle scabbards and laid them across their saddles in front of them. This move wasn't done in a threatening manner but the three wanted to be ready to fight if need be.