A Heart Renewed (39 page)

Thomas stood and did as instructed, taking his saddle bags with him.  The captain showed him to a tent and pointed out the mess tent and where he should take the military mail.  Deciding the mail was most important, he delivered it to another sergeant standing behind the counter of the small supply cabin.  Before taking his leave, he asked about mail going to civilian towns throughout the territory.  The sergeant told him there was a non-military express rider that came up to the fort every other week to take personal letters heading south or further west.

Walking back to his tent, he tried to keep his discouragement at bay.  He could not believe that the major general sent him all the way out here to the middle of nowhere to be a courier across Indian infested desert.  He never did anything to warrant a lack of trust from the major general, yet here he was.

Drew.
  He thought of his brother again.  Maybe this would be his opportunity to find Drew without waiting for the end of the war.  Taking a sheet of paper from his bag, Thomas sat on the edge of his cot, trying to balance the ink well, quill, and paper on the flat back side of his saddle bag.

Dear Drew,

I am writing to you from Fort Whipple, near Prescott in the Arizona Territory.  Odd that I find myself in a situation where I should be stationed in the West.

I have much to discuss with you and hope that you will give me the opportunity to do so, either by coming to the fort if you can, or by letter.

I hope this finds you and Hannah well.

Your humbled brother,

Sergeant Thomas Anderson

He looked the brief note over twice before deciding to seal it.  It seemed so inadequate—not expressing his desire for forgiveness and not mentioning any more details of his journey.  He did not want to write about these things.  Instead, he preferred to speak face to face with Drew.  He wanted to look into his eyes and weigh his reaction.

He hoped this letter would be well received.  Putting the stopper back on the ink well, he secured his writing supplies.  Standing, he made his way back to the sergeant at the supply cabin.

The sergeant said, “This should arrive in the next week, what with the express rider expected tomorrow morning.  Good timing.”

Or Providence.  Thomas chided himself.  He did not believe in Providence.  It was Mixford’s belief not his.  At least that is what he tried to convince himself.

Leaving his thoughts and tent behind, he walked to the mess tent.  There was a large line out the door, indicating he arrived at the tail end of the meal.  Taking a spot in line, the older man in front of him turned to look at him.

“You’re new here aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Sergeant Thomas Anderson.”

“Anderson, huh?” the man paused scrutinizing Thomas carefully.  “I’m Sergeant Bixley, but most the men just call me Bixley.”

Thomas smiled.  This Bixley reminded him a bit of Mixford.

“So, Anderson, how’d ya end up stationed all the way out here?” Bixley asked.

“It’s a long story.  I’ll be leaving in the morning to courier mail to Wingate, and then back again.”

“Ah, so you’re the new courier,” Bixley said, all trace of jesting disappeared from his face.  “Let’s hope you outlast the previous one.”

They moved forward in the line, but were still some distance from the grub.  “What do you mean outlast?”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Anderson, but this here job ain’t exactly one you’ll grow old doin’.  Last courier was killed on his first ride.  One before that lasted a month.  If you ain’t a prayin’ man, you might consider it.”

Perhaps the West was not as boring as he thought.  Knowledge would keep him alive, so he tried to gain a better understanding of what he would face.  “And how did all of these couriers die?”

Bixley looked at him cocking one eyebrow up.  “If it ain’t the Injuns, which it usually is, then it’ll be the cold or the heat or the lack of water.  One man died ‘cause his horse went lame and he ran outta water.”

“Indians, you say?”

“’Round here, it’s Johnny Apache you gotta watch out for.  Then Navajos as you get closer to New Mexico.  They like picking off the couriers because they’re an easy target and it irritates the whites.”

Thomas rubbed his hand across his chin.  He better learn the signs of these Apaches and Navajos quickly, as well as the terrain, if he hoped to survive this job.  Holding out his plate to the young Mexican woman serving, he decided to pry as much information from Bixley as possible during the meal.  He followed the much older sergeant to a bench and sat next to him.

Throughout the rest of the meal, he learned a great deal about the dangers he would face.  He learned where the best and most reliable water sources were.  He learned to watch for rattlesnakes.  Bixley even gave him tips about one of the cactus that could be found sometimes in the forests called prickly pear.  Apparently the pads, once removed of the spurs, were safe to eat.  He memorized the description and would write it in his journal once he returned to his tent.  Bixley also gave him tips on what route to take and what areas the Indians were known to hide in.  By the time the meal concluded, Thomas felt more at ease with the assignment.  He wondered if the other couriers had been equally prepared.

Taking his leave, he returned to his tent.  He retired, hoping an early start tomorrow would give him more time on the trail.

The next morning, Thomas saddled his mare and left just after sunrise.  When he reported to the major for his assignment, the major looked as if he just rolled from bed.  He was again struck by Major Willis’s lack of military etiquette.  He had only learned of the major’s name from Bixley the night before.

Mounting his horse, he pointed her in a northerly direction towards Point of Rocks.  That was one of the many areas he would need to remain alert, as the large boulders acted like a natural fort.  According to Bixley, the Apaches would often hide in between the boulders.  From there, he would take Hell’s Canyon up to Pishon Road.  Pishon Road mostly followed the thirty-fifth parallel across the wide open plains.  The first section, when heading east, was covered in thick pine forests and skirted between several mountains.  The second two-thirds of the road opened up to flat plains.

Bixley kindly suggested a few campsites along the way.  Thomas made notes, figuring he would have to stop for at least three to four nights on the trail each way.  He planned to keep an eye out for an alternate campsite as well, since it would be wise to vary his route, especially if he was ever followed.

The first night, he camped on the western edge of the San Francisco Peaks, having made better progress than other couriers before him.  Finding a safe place, Thomas cared for his horse then fed himself.  The temperature was cool, but he opted against building a fire, just in case any natives watched.

The next day, he made excellent progress again, covering a great deal of the trail over the flatlands.  Few landmarks varied the view.  As he neared the Little Colorado River to look for a suitable campsite, a movement ahead off to his right caught his attention.  Thomas held the reins in one hand and reached for his rifle in the other.  There it was again.  Even in the fading light, he clearly saw a man covered in tan hide.

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest.  Was this one of the Apaches or Navajos Bixley mentioned?  As far as he could tell, the man had not seen him.  He hoped the man did not smell or hear him either.  Thomas sat frozen on his mare until the man disappeared from his sight.

The sun was nearly set, but after seeing the man, he did not feel comfortable making camp here.  He pressed on despite the darkening sky.  The half-moon gave enough light to see the trail in front of him.  After another five miles or so, he stopped, fed the mare and rested until daylight.

The next morning, Thomas woke to the feeling he was being watched.  He slowly lifted his head, scanning the empty flatlands around him.  Other than a slight dip in the land about twenty yards south, there was nothing but him, his horse, and open flat grasslands.  Brushing the dirt from his pants, he stood and mounted his mare. 

After riding for several hours, the foreboding feeling would not leave him.  He turned around in his saddle to scan the trail behind him.  There was a puff of dust, much like what his horse was kicking up, about two or three hundred yards behind him.  Looking ahead, he found little cover.  It would be near nightfall by the time he left the flatlands.

Not much he could do about that.  Perhaps Providence would smile on him again.  Shaking his head, Thomas pushed the idea from his mind.  Providence didn’t control him.

Was it possible the rider did not have sinister intent?  Was it an Apache, or could it be someone else?  Well, either way, he thought the rider would be on him within an hour of when he stopped for the night.

As the sun hung low in the sky, he came across an area where the ground dipped some.  Hopefully it was enough to provide him some cover from the rider, and it would allow him some measure of defense.  Leaving his horse loose, Thomas laid flat on his stomach at a vantage point where he could not be seen.

He stared at the approaching rider.  The uniformed man was only a corporal.  As the rider approached, Thomas carefully rose to his feet, keeping his gun handy.  The time he spent in the war made him wary to believe all was as it appeared.  Clearing his throat, he got the corporal’s attention.

“What are you doing out here?” Thomas asked.

“Sergeant?” the young man asked pulling his horse to a stop.  “I’ve been trying to catch up to you for the past two days.  I was supposed to leave with you from the fort.”

If he was to have a traveling companion, surely the major would have told him.  His hair stood on end on the back of his neck.

As the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked clicked behind him, Thomas noticed the dried blood and open hole on the corporal’s uniform.  Adrenaline kicked in as the danger of the situation registered.

The corporal dismounted the horse and stood in front of him.  The man behind him shoved the barrel of the gun flush against his back.  When the corporal spoke nonsensical words to the man at Thomas’s back, he was certain these men were Indians.

He had to get out of here.

Slowly he glanced over his shoulder.  Only one man stood behind him.

Thomas brought the butt of his rifle up in a sharp movement, surprising the man behind him.  It connected with the man’s chin, sending the cocked gun flying.  The gun went off as it flew through the air.  The corporal scrambled for the gun.  Thomas aimed and fired his rifle.  The bullet tore through the corporal’s chest, shattering the man’s rib cage.  The victim’s eyes were wide with fear as he fell limp toward the ground—the shot fatal.

Heart beating rapidly, Thomas spun around to the other man.  The man rose with knife in hand.  As he lunged towards him, Thomas fired his pistol.  The bullet hit the aggressor right between his eyes.  The force knocked him backwards to the ground.

Thomas looked around to make sure he was alone.  Only his horse and the dead corporal’s horse were standing.  He mounted his horse, his blood still fiercely tearing through his veins.  With shaky hands, he slid his rifle back in its sheath.  That was much too close.

As he approached the corporal’s horse, he recognized the Union saddle.  Perhaps it belonged to one of the previous couriers.  Looping the reins forward, he led the horse behind his own.

Given the unexpected encounter, he decided to ride for two more hours before making camp.  And here he thought the West would be unadventurous.

Chapter 31

Prescott

March 8, 1865

“You know, you are going to wear a hole in the floor with all of your pacing, Miss Colter,” Mr. Hamilton said.

Julia smiled at his teasing and took a seat in the lobby.  Wearing her tan split skirt, a white shirt, and a ribbon holding her hair back, she was eager for Adam to arrive.  The last week she thought of this outing daily.  She missed the freedom of riding.

The door creaked open and there before her stood a grinning, handsome Adam Larson.  Her pulse quickened at the sight of him and she flashed him a big smile.

“I see you’re ready to go,” he teased her.

Standing she headed straight for the door.  He got there just in time to open it for her.

“I guess you’re eager to be on the way,” he said as he followed behind her.

“Good morning, Adam,” she finally greeted him sweetly before mounting her horse without assistance.

He chuckled.  “Oh, Julia.  If I didn’t know better, I might think you missed Annabel more than you missed me.”

She felt a little prick at his comment.  There might have been some truth to his observation.  After he mounted his horse, she stopped the mare beside him.  Reaching out her hand to take his, she gave a gentle squeeze.  “I won’t lie, Adam, I have missed riding a great deal.”

At his mock look of hurt, she added, “But, I’ve missed you more.  Where are we headed for the day?”

“I thought we could ride along Granite Creek or up towards the butte.”

“Let’s ride to the butte,” she suggested.

“After you.”  He motioned for her to take the lead.

She pointed the mare west heading out of town.  They rode in silence for some distance, until they came to a small clearing near the base of the butte canopied by several tall pines.  Julia stopped, allowing Adam to pull up next to her.

“This looks like a nice place to rest,” she said.

He smiled and dismounted his horse.  Walking to her, he said, “Please, allow me.”

Julia giggled, knowing he was asking her to let him assist her down from her horse—something she rarely accepted assistance with.  When he placed his hands on her waist, her breath left in a dizzying rush.  She braced her hands on his shoulders as he slowly eased her down.  He kept his hands on her waist even after her feet touched the ground.